By any traveller; for, when w' had bin

So did they not builde upwards, but digg thorough, Through at both ends, wee could not finde an inne : As hermitts caves, or conyes do their borough: Yet, for the church sake, turne and light we must, Great underminers sure as any where; Hoping to see one dramme of Wickliff's dust; Tis thought the powder-traitors practis'd there. But we found none: for underneath the pole Would you not thinke the men stood ou their heads, Noe more rests of his body then his soule.

When gardens cover howses there, like leades; Abused martyr! how hast thou bin torne

And on the chymneyes topp the mayd may know By two wilde factions ! first, the Papists burne Whether her pottage boyle or not, below; Thy bones for hate; the Puritans, in zeale, There cast in hearbes, and salt, or bread; their meate They sell thy marble, and thy brasse they steale. Contented rather with the smoake tben heate? A parson mett us there, who had good store This was the Rocky-Parish ; higher stood Of livings, some say, but of manners more; Churches and bouses, buildings stone and wood; In whose streight chearefull age a inan might see Crosses not yet demolish't; and our Ladye Well govern'd fortune, bounty wise and free. With her armes on, embracing her whole baby. He was our guide to Leister, save one mile, Where let us note, though those are northerne parts, There was his dwelling, where we stay'd a while, The crosse finds in them

more than southerne hearts And dranke stale beere, I thinke was never new, The castle's next; but what shall I report Which the dun wench that brought it us did brew. Of that which is a ruine, was a fort? And now we are at Leister, where we shall The gates two statues keepe, which gyants' are, Leape ore six steeples, and one hospitall

To whome it seemes committed was the care Twice told; but those great landmarkes I referr Of the whole downfall. If it be your fault ; To Camden's eye, England's chorographer. If you are guilty; may king David's vault, Let me observe that almesmans heraldrye, Or Mortimer's darke bole", contain you both! Who being ask'd, what Henry that should be A just reward for so prophane a sloth. That was their founder, duke of Lancaster, And if bereafter tidings shall be brought Answer'd: "'Twas John of Gaunt, l'assure you, sir;" of any place or office to be bought, And so confuted all the walles, which sayd And the left lead, or unwedg'd timber yet Henry of Grisemond this foundation layd.

Shall pass by your consent to purchase it ; The next thing to be noted was our cheere, May your deformed bulkes endure the edge Enlarg'd, with seav'ne and sixpence bread and beere! Of axes, feele the beetle and the wedge ! But, oh you wretched tapsters as you are, May all the ballads be call'd in and dye, Who reckon by our number, not your ware, Which sing the warrs of Colebrand and sir Guy! And sett false figures for all companyes,

Oh you that doe Guild-hall and Holmeby keepe Abusing innocent meales with oathes and lyes; Soe carefully, when both the founders sleepe, Forbeare your coos'nage to divines that come, You are good giants, and partake no shame Least they be thought to drinke up all your summe. With those two worthlesse trunkes of Nottinghame: Spare not the laity in your reckoning thus, Looke to your severall charges; wee must goe, But sure your theft is scandalous to us.

Though greiv'd at heart to leave a castle so. Away, my Muse, from this base subject, know The Bull-bead is the word, and we must eate; Thy Pegasus nere strooke his foote soe low. Noe sorrow can descend soe deepe as meate: Is not th' usurping Richard buryed here,

So to the inne we come; where our best cheere That king of hate, and therefore slave of feare ; Was, that his grace of Yorke had lodged there : Dragg'd from the fatall feild Bosworth, where he He was objected to us when we call, Lost life, and, what he liv'd for,-cruelty? Or dislike ought : “My lord's grace" answers all: Search; find his name: but there is none. Oh kings! “ He was contented with this bed, this dyett." Remember whence your power and vastnesse springs; That keepes our discontented stomackes quiett. If not as Richard now, so shall you be;

The inne-keeper was old, fourescore allmost, Who hath no tombe, but score and memorye. Indeede an embleme rather then an host; And though that Woolsey from his store might save In whome we read how God and Time decree A pallace, or a colledge for his grave,

To honour thrifty ostlers, such as he. Yet there he lyes interred, as if all

Por in the stable first he did begin ; Of him to be remembred were his fall.

Now see he is sole lord of the whole inne: Nothing but earth to earth, no pompeous waight Mark the encrease of straw and hay, and how, Upon him, but a pibble or a quaite.

By thrift, a bottle may become a mow. If thou art thus neglected, what shall web Marke him, all you that have the golden itch, Hope after death, who are but shreads of thee? All whome God bath condemned to be rich 0. Hold! William calls to horse; William is he, Who, though he never saw threescore and three, 6 The figure in these lines is taken from the fine Ore-reckons us in age, as he before

church of St. Mary's, Nottingham, in which the In drink, and will baite nothing of foure score: long chancel and nave with the tower in the midst And he commands, as if the warrant came resemble the object of the bishop's metaphor. The From the great earle himselfe of Nottingham. castle mentioned in the succeeding lines bas“ peThere we crost Trent, and on the other side rished ’mid the wreck of things that were. Prayd to St. Andrew; and up hill we ride. Where we observ'd the cunning mon, like moles,

Guy and Colebrand. G. Dwell not in howses, but were earth't in holes ;

• Where David king of the Scots was kept pri

G. 5 Students of Christ-Church College, Oxford,

"G.

7

Farwell, glad father of thy daughter Maris, Twas night, and the swifte horses of the Sunne Thou ostler-phænix, thy example rare is.

Two houres before our jades their race had runn; We are for Newarke after this sad talke; Noe pilott Moone, nor any such kinde starre And whither tis noe journey, but a walke.

As governd those wise men that came from farre Nature is wanton there, and the high-way

To holy Bethlem ; such lights had there bin, Seem'd to be private, though it open lay;

They would have soone conray'd us to an inne; As if some swelling lawyer, for his health,

But all were wandring-stars; and we, as they, Or frantick usurer, to tame his wealth,

Were taught noe course, but to ride on and stray. Had chosen out ten miles by Trent, to trye When (oh the fate of darknesse, who hath tride it) Two great effects of art and industry.

Here our whole fleete is scatter'd and divided; The ground we trodd was meddow, fertile land, And now we labour more to meete, tban erst New trimm'd and levell’d by the mower's hand; We did to lodge; the last cry drownes the first : Above it grew a roke, rude, steepe, and high, Our voyces are all spent, and they that follow Which claimes a kind of reverence from the eye: Can now no longer track us by the bollow; Betwixt them both there glides a lively streame, They curse the formost, we the hindmost, both Not loud, but swifte: Mæander was a theme Accusing with like passion, hast, and sloth. Crooked and rough ; but had the poetts seene At last, upon a little towne we fall, Straight, even Trent, it had immortall bin. Where some call drinke, and some a candle call : This side the open plaine admitts the sunne Unhappy we, such stragglers as we are To halfe the river; there did silver runne:

Admire a candle oftner then a starre: The other halfe ran clowdes; where the curl'd wood We care not for those glorious lampes a Joofe, With his exalted head threaten'd the floude. Give us a tallow-light and a dry roofe. Here could I wish us ever passing by

And now we have a guide we cease to chafe, And never

past ; now Newarke is too nigh : And now w' have time to pray the rest be safe. And as a Christmas seemes a day but short, Our guide before cryes come, and we the while Deluding time with revells and good sport; Ride blindfold, and take bridges for a stile : So did these beauteous mixtures us beguile, Till at the last we overcame the darke, And the whole twelve, being travail'd, seem'd a mile. And spight of night and errour hitt the marke. Now as the way was sweet, soe was the end ; Some halfe howre after enters the whole tayle, Our passage easy, and our prize a friend", As if they were committed to the jayle: Whome there we did enjoy; and for whose sake, The constable, that tooke them thus divided, As for a purer kinde of coyne, men make

Made them seeme apprehended, and not guided : 52 Us liberall welcome; with such harmony

Where, when we had our fortunes both detested, As the whole towne had bin his family.

Compassion made us friends, and so we rested. Mine host of the next inne did not repine

Twas quickly morning, though by our short stay That we preferr'd the Heart, and past his signe : We could not find that we had lesse to pay. And where we lay, the host and th' hostesse faine All travellers, this heavy judgement heare: Would shew our love was aym'd at, not their gaine: “ A bandsome hostesse makes the reckoning deare;” The very beggars were s' ingenious,

Her smiles, her wordes, your purses must requite They rather prayd for him, than begg'd of us.

them, And, soe the doctor's friends will please to stay, And every wellcome from her, adds an item. The Puritans will let the organs play.

Glad to be gon from thence at any rate, Would they pull downe the gallery, builded new, For Bosworth we are horst: bebold the state With the church-wardens' seat and Burleigh-pew,

Of mortall men! Foule Errour is a mother,
Newarke, for light and beauty, might compare And, pregnant once, doth soone bring forth an other:
With any church, but what cathedralls are. We, who last night did learne to loose our way,
To this belongs a vicar, who succeeded

Are perfect since, and farther out next day.
The friend I mention'd; such a one there needed; and in a forrest" having travell’d sore,
A man whose tongue and life is eloquent,

Like wandring Bevis ere he found the bore;
Able to charme those mutinous heads of Trent, Or as some love-sick lady oft hath donne,
And urge the canon home, when they conspire Ere shee was rescued by the knight of th' Sunne:
Against the crosse and bells with swords and fire. Soe are we lost, and meete no comfort then
There stood a castle, too; they shew us here But carts and horses, wiser then the men.
The roome where the king slep't, the window where which is the way? They neyther speake nor point;
He talk't with such a lord, how long he staid Their tongues and fingers both were out of joynt:
In his discourse, and all, but what he said. Such monsters by Coal-Orton bankes there sitt,
From hence, without a perspective, we see

After their resurrection from the pitt. Bever and Lincolne, where we faine' would bee; Whilst in this mill wee labour and turne round But that our purse and horses both are bound As in a conjurer's circle, William found Within the circuite of a narrower ground.

A menes for our deliverance: “Turne your cloakes," Our purpose is all homeward, and twas time Quoth he, "for Puck is busy in these oakes : At parting to have witt, as well as rime;

If ever ye at Bosworth will be found, Full three a clock, and twenty miles to ride, Then turne your cloakes, for this is Fayry-ground.”. Will aske a speedy horse, and a sure guide; But, ere this witchcraft was perform'd, we mett We wanted both: and Loughborow may glory, A very man, who had no cloven feete; Errour bath made it famous in our story.

Though William, still of little faith, doth doubt

Tis Robin, or some sprite that walkes about: 11 Dr. Jucks. G. 1 Mr. Edward Mason.-MS. 1625. G.

13 Leister forrest. G.

“Strike him," quoth he, “and it will turne to ayre; / Of Guy and his devotions; who there stands Crosse your selves thrice and strike it. “Strike that Ugly and huge, more then a man on's hands : dare,'

His helmet steele, his gorgett mayl, his sheild Thought I, “ for sure this massy forrester Brass, made the chappell fearefull as a feild. In stroakes will prove the better conjurer.” And let this answere all the pope's complaints; But 't was a gentle keeper, one that knew

We sett up gyants though we pull downe saintes Humanity, and manners where they grew; Beyond this, in the roadway as we went, And rode along soe farr till he could say,

A pillar stands, where this Colossus leant ; “ See yonder Bosworth stands, and this your way." Where he would sigh and love, aod, for hearts ease, And now when we had swett 'twixt sunn and sunn, Oftimes write verses (some say) such as these: And eight miles long to thirty broad had spun; “ Here will I languish in this silly bower, We learne the just proportion from hence

Whilst my true love triumphes in yon high tower." Of the diameter and circumference.

No other hinderance now, but we may passe That night yet made amends; our meat and sheetes Cleare to our inne: oh there an hostesse was, Were farr above the promise of those streetes; To whome the castle and the dun cow are Those howses, that were tilde with straw and mosse, Sights after dinner; she is morning ware. Profest but weake repaire for that day's losse Her whole behaviour borrowed was, and mist, Of patience: yet this outside lets us know, Halfe foole, halfe puppet, and her pace betwixt The worthyest things make not the bravest show: Measure and jigge; her court'sy was an bonour; The shott was easy; and what concernes us more, Her gate, as if her neighbour had out-gon her. The way was so; mine host doth ride before. She was barrd up in whale-bones which doe leese Mine host was full of ale and history;

None of the whale's length; for they reach'd ber And on the morrow when he brought us nigh

knees : Where the two Roses 14 joyn'd, you would suppose Off with her head, and then she bath a middle: Chaucer nere made the Romant of the Rose. As her wast stands, she lookes like the new fiddle, Heare him. “See ye yon wood? There Richard lay, The favorite Theorbo, (truth to tell ye,) With his whole army : looke the other way, Whose neck and throat are deeper then the belly. And loe where Richmond in a bed of goisse Have you seene monkyes chain'd about the losses, Encampt himselfe ore night, and all his force : Or pottle-potts with rings ? Just soe she joynes Upon this hill they mett.” Why, he could tell Her selfe together: a dressing she doth love Theinch where Richmond stood, where Richard fell: In a small print below, and text above. Besides what of his knowledge he could say, What though her name be King, yet 't is noe treason, He had authenticke notice from the play;

Nor breach of statute, for to aske the reason Which I might guesse, by 's mustring up the ghost, Of her brancht ruffe, a cubit every poke; And policyes, not incident to hosts ;

I seeme to wound her, but she strook the stroke But cheilly by that one perspicuous thing,

At our departure; and our worshipps there Where he mistooke a player for a king.

Pay'd for our titles deare as any where : For when he would have sayd, "King Richard dyed, Though beadles and professors both have done, And call’d-A horse! a horse !"—he, “ Burbidge Yet every inne claimes augmentation. cry'de's.

Please you walke ont and see the castle"?? Come, How'ere his talke, his company pleas'd well; The owner saith, it is a scholler's home; His mare went truer than his chronicle;

A place of strength and health : in the same fort, And even for conscience sake, unspurr'd, unbeaten, You would conceive a castle and a court. Brought us six miles, and turn'd tayle at Nuneaten. The orchards, gardens, rivers, and the aire, From thence to Coventry, where we scarcely dine; Doe with the trenches, rampires, walls, compare: Our stomackes only warm'd with zeale, and wine : It seemes nor art nor force can intercept it, And then, as if we were predestin'd forth,

As if a lover built, a souldier kept it. Like Lot from Sodome, fly to Killingworth. Up to the tower, though it be steepe and high, The keeper of the castle was from home,

We doe not climbe but walke; and though the eye Soe that halfe mile we lost; yet when we come Seeme to be weary, yet our feet are still An host receiv'd us there, wee'l nere deny him, In the same posture cozen'd up the hill: My lord of Leister's man; the parson by him, And thus the workeman's art deceaves our sence, Who had no otber proofe to testify

Making those rounds of pleasure a defence. He serv'd the Lord, but age and baudery 16. As we descend, the lord of all this frame, Away, for shame, why should foure miles devide The honourable chancellour, towards us came !. Warwicke and us? They that have horses ride. Above the hill there blew a gentle breath, A short mile from the towne, an humble shrine Yet now we see a gentler gale beneath. At foote of an high rock consists, in signe

The phrase and wellcome of this knight did make

The seat more elegant; every word he spake 14 Bosworth field. Edit. 1648. G.

Was wine and musick, which he did expose

To us, if all our art could censure those. 15 From this passage we learn that Richard Bur- with him there was a bage, the alter Roscius of Camden, was the original Arch-deacon to the byshopp, by his face

elate', by his place representative of Shakespeare's Richard the Third. A greater man; for that did counterfeit

He was buried in the parish of St. Leonard, Lord abbot of some convent standing yet, Shoreditch, as Mr. Chalmers discovered, on the 16th of March, 1618-19. G.

17 Warwick castle. Edit, 1648. G. 16 The clerical profligate thus gibbeted for the example of posterity was John Bust, inducted the

18 Pulke Greville, lord Brooke. G. 8th of April, 1611. G.

14 Arch-deacon Burton. Edit. 1648. G.

A corpulent relique: marry and 't is sinne Of seeing it remaines; ere long yon shall
Some Puritan gets not his face call'd in ;

Have that rac't downe, and call'd apocrypbal, Amongst leane brethren it may scandall bring, And in some barne heare cited many an author, Who seeke for parity in every thing.

Kate Stubbs, Anne Askew, or the Ladye's daughter; For us, let him enjoy all that God sends,

Which shall be urg'd for fathers. Stopp Disdaine, Plenty of flesh, of livings, and of freinds.

When Oxford once appears, Satyre refraine. Imagine here us ambling downe the street, Neighbours, how hath our anger thus out gon's ? Circling in Flower, making both ends meet : Is not St. Giles's this, and that St. John's? Where we fare well foure dayes, and did complain, We are return'd; but just with soe much ore Like harvest folkes, of weather and the raine: As Rawleigh from his voyage, and noe more. And on the feast of Barthol'mew ve try What revells that saint keepes at Banbury 29. Non recito cuiquam nisi amicis, idque coactus,, In th' name of God, amen' First to begin,

Non ubivis, coramve quibuslibet. ; The altar was translated to an inne;

Hor. lib. i. sat. 4.
We lodged in a chappell by the signe,
But in a banquerupt taverne by the wine :
Besides, our horses usage made us thinke
'T was still a church, for they in coffins drinke?!;

ON MR. RICE,
As if 't were congruous that the ancients lye

THL MANCIPLE OF CHRIST-CHURCH IN OXFORD. Close by those alters in whose faith they dye. Now ye be!eeve the church hath good varietye WHO

Ho can doubt, Rice, but to th' eternall place Of monuments, when inns have such satiety;

Thy soule is fledd, that did but know thy face? But nothing lesse : ther's no inscription there, Whose body was soe light, it might have

gone But the church-wardens' names of the last yeare: To Heav'ne without a resurrection. Instead of saints in windowes and on walls,

Indeed thou wert all type; thy limmes were signes, Here bucketts hang, and there a cobweb falls :

Thy arteryes but mathematicke lines : Would you not sweare they love antiquity, As if two soules had made thy compound good, Who brush the quire for perpetuity?

That both should live by faith, and none by blood.
Whilst all the other pavement and the floore
Are supplicants to the surveyor's power.
Of the high wayes, that he would gravell keepe;
For else in winter sure it will be deepe.

ON HENRY BOLINGS.
If not for God's, for Mr. Wheatlye's sake
Levell the walkes; suppose these pittfalls make

If gentleness could tame the Patcs, or wit
Him spraine a lecture, or misplace a joynt Deliver man, Bolings had not di'd yet ;
In his long prayer, or his fiveteenth point:

But One wbich over us in judgment sits,
Thinke you the dawes or stares can sett him

Doth say our sins are stronger than our wits.
· right?
Surely this sinne apon your heads must light.
And say, beloved, wbat unchristian charme
Is this? you have not left a legg or arme

ON JOHN DAWSON,
Of an apostle: think you, were they whole,

BUTLER OF CHRIST-CHURCH.
That they would rise, at least assume a soule?
If not, 't is plaine all the idolatry

Dawson the butler's dead : although I thivk
Lyes in your folly, not th’ imagery.
'T is well the pinnacles are falne in twaine ;

Poets were ne're infus'd with single drink, Por now the Divell, should he tempt againe,

L'll spend a fartbing, Muse; a watry verse Hath noe advantage of a place soe high:

Will serve the turn to cast upon his herse Fooles, he can dash you from your gallery,

If any cannot weep amongst us here, Where all your medly meete; and doe compare,

Take off his cup, and so squeeze out a tear. Not what you learne, but who is longest there;

Weep, O ye barrels ! let your drippings fall The Puritan, the Anabaptist, Brownist,

In trickling streams; make waste more prodigal

Than when our beer was good, that John may loat Like a grand sallet: Tinkers, what a towne ist? The crosses also, like old stumps of trees,

To Styx in beer, and lift up Charon's boat

With wholsome waves : and, as the conduits ran Are stooles for horsemen that have feeble knees;

With claret at the coronation,
Carry noe heads above ground: they which tell,
That Christ hath nere descended into Hell,

So let your channels flow with single tiff,

For Jobn, I hope, is crown'd: take off your whiff, But to the grave, his picture buried have In a far deeper dungeon thau a grave:

Ye men of rosemary, and drink up all,

Remembring 't is a butler's funeral: That is, descended to endure what paines

Had he been master of good double beer,
The Divell can think, or such disciples' braines.

My life for his, John Dawson had been here.
No more my greife, in such prophane abuses
Good whipps inake better verses then the Muses.
Away, and looke not back; away, whilst yet
The church is standing, whilst the benefitt

GREAT TOM OF CHRIST-CHURCH. 20 At the signe of the Alter-stone. Edit. 1648. G.

Which serve for troughs in the backside. Ib. Be, dumb, yeinfant-chimes, thump not your mettle, G.

That ne're out-ring a tinker and his kettle;

ON

21

INTITULED

Cease, all you petty larums; for, to day
Is young Tom's resurrection from the clay :

A PROPER NEW BALLAD,
And know, when Tom rings out his knells,
The best of you will be but dinner-bells.
Old Tom 's grown young again, the fiery cave
Is now his cradle, that was erst his grave:

THE FAERYE'S FAREWELL;
He grew up quickly from his mother Earth,

OR,
For, all you see was but an hour's birth;
Look on him well, my life I dare engage,

GOD-A-MERCY WILL.
You ne're saw prettier baby of his age.

TO BE SUNG OR WHISELED TO THE TUNE OF THE YEDSome take his measure by the rule, some by

DOW BROW, BY THE LEARNED; BY THE UNLEARNED, The Jacob's staff take his profundity,

TO TUB TUNE OF “ FORTUNE."
And some bis altitude; but some do swear
Young Tom's not like the old: but, Tom, ne're fear

FAREWELL rewards and Faeries,
The critical geometrician's line,

Good houswives now may say, If thou as loud as e're thou did ring'st nine.

For now foule slutts in daries
Tom did no sooner peep from under-ground,

Doe fare as well as they.
But straight St. Marie's tenor lost his sound.
O how this may-pole's heart did swell

And though they sweepe theyr hearths no less

Then maydes were wont to doe,
With full main sides of joy, when that crackt bell

Yet who of late for cleaneliness,
Choakt with annoy, and's admiration,
Rung like a quart-pot to the congregation.

Fiods sixe-pence in her shoe?
Tom went his progress lately, and lookt o're
What he ne're saw in many years before;

Lament, lament, old abbies,

The Faries lost command;
But when he saw the old foundation,
With some like hope of preparation,

They did but change priests' babies,

But some have chang'd your land :
He burst with grief; and lest he should not have
Due pomp, he's his own bell-man to the grave:

And all your children sprung from thence And that there might of him be still some mention,

Are now growne Puritanes ; He carried to his grave a new invention.

Who live as changelings ever since They drew his brown-bread face on pretty gins,

For love of your demaines. And made him stalk upon two rolling-pins ;

At morning and at evening both But Sander Hill swore twice or thrice by Heaven,

You merry were and glad, He ne're set such a loaf into the oven.

So little care of sleepe or sloth And Tom did Sanders vex, his Cyclops maker,

These prettie ladies had;
As much as he did Sander Hill, the baker;

When Tom came home from labour,
Therefore, loud thumping Tom, be this thy pride, Or Ciss to milking rose,
When thou this motto shalt have on thy side:

Then merrily merrily went theyre tabor, “ Great world! one Alexander conquer'd thee,

And nimbly went theyre toes.
And two as mighty men scarce conquer'd me."
Brave constant spirit, none could make thee turn, Wittness those rings and roundelayes
Though hang'd, drawn, quarter'd, till they did thee Of theirs, which yet remaine,
burn:

Were footed in queene Marie's dayes
Yet not for this, nor ten times more be sorry,

On many a grassy playne; Since thou was martyr'd for the churche's glory; But since of late, Elizabeth, But for thy meritorious suffering,

And later, James came in, Thou shortly shalt to Heaven in a string :

They never daunc'd on any heath And though we griev'd to see thee thump'd and As when the time hath bin.

bang'd, We'll all be glad, Great Tom, to see thee hang'd.

By which we note the Paries

Were of the old profession;
Theyre songs were Ave Maryes;

Theyre daunces were procession :

But now, alas! they all are dead,
R. C.

Or gone beyond the seas;

Or farther for religion fled,
When too much zeal doth fire devotion,

Or elce they take theyre ease.
Love is not love, but superstition :
Even so in civil duties, when we come

A tell-tale in theyre coinpany
Too oft, we are not kind, but truublesome,

They never could endure, Yet as the first is not idolatry,

And whoe so kept not secretly So is but grieved industry:

Theyre mirth was punisht sure; And such was mine, whose strife to honour you

It was a just and christian deed
By overplus, hath rob'd you of your due.

To pinch such blacke and blew :
O how the common welth doth need

Such justices as you !
Now they have left our quarters

A register they have,
Who looketh to theyre charters,

A man both wise and grave;