With a new gentleman-ufher, whofe carriage is compleat, With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat,

With a waiting-gentlewoman, whofe dreffing is very neat, Who when her lady has din'd, ¡ets the servants not eat ; Like a young courtier, &c.

With new titles of honour bought with his father's old gold,

For which fundry of his ancestors old manors are fold;
And this is the course moft of our new gallants hold,
Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown fo
cold,

Among the young courtiers of the king,
Or the king's young courtiers.

XIII.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING's CAMPAIGNE.

When the Scottish covenanters rose up in arms, and advanced to the English borders in 1639, many of the courtiers complimented the king by raifing forces at their own expence. Among thefe none were more diftinguished than the gallant Sir John Suckling, who raised a troop of horse, so richly accoutred, that it coft bim 12,000l. The like expenfive equipment of other parts of the army, made the king remark, that “ the "Scots

** Scots would fight ftoutly, if it were but for the English* men's fine cloaths." [Lloyd's memoirs.] When they came to action, the rugged Scots proved more than a match for the fine fhewy English: many of whom behaved remarkably ill, and among the reft this fplendid troop of Sir John Suckling's.

This humorous lampoon, fuppofed to have been written by Sir John Mennis, a wit of thofe times, is found in a fmall poetical mifcellany intitled, "Mufarum delicia: or the mufes recrea"tion, conteining Several pieces of poetique wit. 2d edition. By Sir J. M. [Sir John Mennis] and Ja. S. [James "Smith.] Lond. 1656. 12mo.' -See Wood's Athena. II. 397.481.

IR John he got him an ambling nag,

To Scotland for to ride-a,

With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore,

To guard him on every fide-a.

No Errant-knight ever went to fight

With halfe fo gay a bravado,

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Had you feen but his look, you'ld have fworn on a book, Hee'ld have conquer'd a whole armado.

The ladies ran all to the windowes to fee
So gallant and warlike a fight-a,
And as he pass'd by, they began to cry,
Sir John, why will you go fight-a?

But he, like a cruel knight, fpurr'd on;

His heart would not relent-a,

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For, till he came there, what had he to fear?

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Or why should he repent-a?

X 2

The

The king (God bless him!) had fingular hopes
Of him and all his troop-a :

The borderers they, as they met him on the way,
For joy did hollow, and whoop-a. ·

None lik'd him fo well, as his own colonell,
Who took him for John de Weart-a;

But when there were shows of gunning and blows,
My gallant was nothing fo peart-a.

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For when the Scots army came within fight,

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And all prepar'd to fight-a,

He ran to his tent, they afk'd what he meant,
He fwore he must needs goe sh*te-a.

The colonell fent for him back agen,

To quarter him in the van-a,

But Sir John did fwear, he would not come there,
To be kill'd the very firft man-a.

To cure his fear, he was fent to the reare,
Some ten miles back, and more-a,
Where Sir John did play at trip and away,

And ne'er faw the enemy more-a.

But now there is peace, he's return'd to increase
His money, which lately he spent-a,

But his loft honour must lye ftill in the duft;
At Barwick away it went-a

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XVI. TO

XIV.

TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON.

This excellent fonnet which possessed a high degree of fame among the old cavaliers, was written by colonel Richard Lovelace during his confinement in the gate-boufe Westminster: to which he was committed by the house of commons, in April 1642, for presenting a petition from the county of Kent, requesting them to restore the king to his rights, and to Settle the government. See Wood's Athenæ. Vol. II. p. 228; where may be feen at large the affecting story of this elegant writer, who after having been diftinguished for every gallant and polite accomplishment, the pattern of his own fex, and the darling of the ladies, died in the lowest wretchedness, obfcurity, and want, in 1658.

This Jong is printed from a volume of his poems intitled, Lucafta, 1649. 12mo." collated with a copy in the editor's folio MS.

W

HEN love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates,

When I lye tangled in her haire,

And fetter'd with her eye,

The birds that wanton in the aire,

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Know no fuch libertye..

X 3

When

When flowing cups run fwiftly round
With no allaying Thames,

Our careleffe heads with roses crown'd,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,
When healths and draughts goe free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,

Know no fuch libertìe.

When, 'linnet-like, confined I
With fhriller note shall fing

The mercye, sweetness, majeftye,

And glories of my king,

When I fhall voyce aloud how good

He is, how great should be,

Th' enlarged windes, that curle the flood,
Know no fuch libertìe.

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