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His presence and his safe return, still

wooes, With thousand dolefull sighs & mourn

full Cooes. Or as the loving Mullet, that true Fish, Her fellow lost, nor joy nor life do wish, But lanches on that shore, there for to

dye, Where she her captive husband doth

espy. Mine being gone, I lead a joyless life, I have a loving phere, yet seem no wife: But worst of all, to him can't steer my

course, I here, he there, alas, both kept by force:

Return my Dear, my joy, my only Love, Unto thy Hinde, thy Mullet and thy

Dove, Who neither joyes in pasture, house nor

streams, The substance gone, O me, these are but

dreams. Together at one Tree, oh let us brouze, And like two Turtles roost within one

house, And like the Mullets in one River glide, Let's still remain but one, till death divide.

Thy loving Love and Dearest Dear,
At home, abroad, and every where.

A. B.





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Gray Gravity it self can well beteam,

That Language be adapted to the Theme. BY THOMAS MORTON

He that to Parrots speaks, must parrotise. Drinke and be merry, merry, merry boyes; He that instructs a fool, may act th' unLet all your delight be in the Hymens wise.

joyes; Joy to Hymen, now the day is come,

These whimm' Crown'd shees, these fashAbout the merry Maypole take a Roome. ion-fansying wits, Make greene garlons, bring bottles out

Are empty thin brain'd shells, and fidling

And fill sweet Nectar freely about.
Uncover thy head and feare no harme,

The world is full of care, much like unto For hers good liquor to keepe it warme.

a bubble, Then drinke and be merry, etc.

Women and care, and care and Women, Joy to Hymen, etc.

and Women and care and trouble. Nectar is a thing assign'd

The joyning of the Red-Rose with the By the Dieties owne minde

White, To cure the hart opprest with greife,

Did set our state into a Damask plight. And of good liquors is the cheife. Then drinke, etc.

When States dishelv'd are, and Laws unJoy to Hymen, etc.


Wise men keep their tongues, fools speak Give to the Mellancolly man

what they list.
A cup or two of 't now and than;
This physick will soone revive his bloud,

And make him be of a merrier moode. 20
Then drinke, etc.

1. When God shall purge this Land with Joy to Hymen, etc.

soap and nitre,

Wo be to the Crown, wo be to the Give to the Nymphe thats free from

Mitre. scorne

2. There is a set of Bishops coming next No Irish stuff nor Scotch over worne.

behind, Lasses in beaver coats come away,

Will ride the Devil off his legs, and Yee shall be welcome to us night and

break his wind. day. To drinke and be merry, etc.

Where clocks will stand, and Dials have Joy to Hymen, etc.

no light, 1637.

There men must go by guess, be't wrong



Si natura negat, facit indignatio versum

Qualemcunque potest.--JUVENAL. When boots and shoes are torn up to the

1 lefts,

They seldome lose the field, but often win, Coblers must thrust their awles up to the They end their warrs, before their warrs hefts.

begin. 1 With fine inappropriateness, this roistering his second deportation was imprisoned in Boston song by Thomas Morton of Merry Mount is

for a year.

He died in Maine in 1646. actually the first memorable piece of verse asso. 2 See note “The Tenth Muse" by N. ciated with Puritan New England. He was twice

Ward, page
13. These verses

are scattered sent back to England and after the return from throughout a prose text of 89 pages.


In Breaches integrant, 'tween Principalls

of States, Due Justice may suppresse, but Love red


2 Their Cause is oft the worse, that first

begin, And they may lose the field, the field that win.

3 In Civil warrs 'twixt Subjects and their

King, There is no conquest got, by conquering.


There, lives cannot be good,

There, Faith cannot be sure, Where Truth cannot be quiet,

Nor Ordinances pure.

4 Warre ill begun, the onely way to mend, Is ť end the warre before the warre do end.

5 They that will end ill warrs, must have

the skill, To make an end by Rule, and not by Will.

No King can King it right,

Nor rightly sway his Rod; Who truely loves not Christ,

And truely fears not God.



6 In ending warrs 'tween Subjects and their

Kings, Great things are sav'd, by losing little

things. The crazy world will crack, in all the

middle joynts, If all the ends it hath, have not their

parapoynts. The body beares the head, the head the

Crown, If both beare not alike, then one will

down. Subjects their King, the King his Sub

jects greets, Whilome the Scepter and the Plough

staffe meets.


He cannot rule a Land,

As Lands should ruled been, That lets himself be rul'd

By a ruling Romane Queen. No earthly man can be

True Subject to this State; Who makes the Pope his Christ,

An Heretique his Mate. There Peace will go to War,

And Silence make a noise :
Where upper things will not

With nether equipoyse.
The upper World shall Rule,

While Stars will run their race:
The nether World obey,
While People keep their place.

The Clench
If any of these come out

So long's the World doe last Then credit not a word

Of what is said and past. The World's a well strung fidle, mans

tongue the quill, That fills the World with fumble for

want of skill, When things and words in tune and tone

doe meet, The universall Song goes smooth and

sweet. He that to tall men speakes, must lift up's

head; And when h' hath done, must set it

where he did : He that to proud men talkes, must put on

pride; And when h' hath done, 'tis good to

lay't aside.

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It were best to cast such rotten stuff

away : And look for that, that never will decay.

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Coblers will mend, but some will never

mend, But end, and end, and end, and never

end. A well-girt houre gives every man con

tent, Six ribs of beefe are worth six weeks

of Lent. Poore Coblers wel may fault it now and

then, They'r ever mending faults for other And if I worke for nought, why is it said, This bungling obler would be soundly

So farewell England old

If evil times ensue,
Let good men come to us,

Wee'l welcome them to New.
And farewell Honor'd Friends,

If happy dayes ensue,
You'l have some Guests from hence.

Pray Welcome us to you.
And farewell simple World,

If thou'lt thy Cranium mend,
There is my Last and All.
And a Shoem-akers


If all were shod with Gospel's lasting

Peace; Hatred abroad, and Wars at home would cease,


By N. WARD1 Mercury shew'd Apollo, Bartas Book, Minerva this, and whisht him well to look, And tell uprightly which did which excell, He view'd and view'd, and vow'd he could

not tel. They bid him Hemifphear his mouldy

nose, With's crackt leering glasses, for it would

pose The best brains he had in's old pudding

pan, Sex weigh’d, which best, the Woman, or

the Man? He peer'd and por'd, & glar'd, & said for

wore, I'm even as wise now, as I was before: They both 'gan laugh, and said it was no

mar'i The Auth'ress was a right Du Bartas

Girle. Good sooth quoth the old Don, tell ye

me so, I muse whither at length these Girls will

go; It half revives my chil frost-bitten blood, To see a Woman once, do ought that's

good; And chode by Chaucers Boots, and Ho

mers Furrs, Let Men look to't, least Women wear the Spurrs.

Cir. 1650.

1 Madam, twice through the Muses Grove

I walkt, Under your blissful bowres, I shrowding

there, 1 This clergyman, well-known as the eccentric author of "The Simple Cobbler of Agawam," had been a neighbor of Mrs. Bradstreet in Ipswich. He returned to gland in 1647, and may have been concerned in the publication of her poems.

(Printed with this note in "Works of Anne Bradstreet" ed. J. H. Ellis.)



Postscript This honest Cobler has done what he

might: That Statesmen in their Shoes might

walk upright. But rotten Shoes of Spannish running

leather: No Coblers skill, can stitch them strong


It seem'd with Nymphs of Helicon I

talkt: For there those sweet-lip'd Sisters sport

ing were, Apollo with his sacred Lute sate by On high they made their heavenly Son

nets flye, Posies around they strow'd, of sweetest Poesie.

2 Twice have I drunk the Nectar of your

lines, Which high sublim'd my mean born phan

tasie, Flusht with these streams of your Maro

nean wines Above my self rapt to an extasie: Methought I was upon Mount Hiblas top, There where I might those fragrant flow

ers lop, Whence did sweet odors flow, and honey

spangles drop.

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3 To Venus shrine no Altars raised are, Nor venom'd shafts from painted quiver

Ay, Nor wanton Doves of Aphrodites Carr, Or Auttering there, nor here forlornly lie, Lorne Paramours, not chatting birds tell

7 Thus weltring in delight, my virgin mind Admits a rape; truth still lyes undiscri'd, Its singular, that plural seem'd, I find, 'Twas Fancies glass alone that multipli'd; Nature with Art so closely did combine, I thought I saw the Muses treble trine, Which prov'd your lonely Muse, superiour

to the nine.



How sage Apollo, Daphine hot pursues, 20 Or stately Jove himself is wont to haunt the stews.

4 Nor barking satyrs breath, nor driery

clouds Exhal'd from Styx, their dismal drops

distil Within these Fairy, flowry fields, nor

shrouds The screeching night Raven, with his

shady quill: But Lyrick strings here Orpheus nimbly

hitts, Orion on his sadled Dolphin sits, Chanting as every humour, age & season fits.

5 Here silver swans, with Nightingales set

spells, Which sweetly charm the Traveller, and

raise Earths earthed Monarchs, from their hid

den Cells, And to appearance summons lapsed dayes,

8 Your only hand those Poesies did compose,

50 Your head the source, whence all those

springs did flow, Your voice, whence changes sweetest notes

arose, Your feet that kept the dance alone, I

trow: Then vail your bonnets, Poetasters all, Strike, lower amain, and at these humbly

fall, And deem your selves advanc'd to be her Pedestal.

9 Should all with lowly Congies Laurels

bring, Waste Floraes Magazine to find a wreathe; Or Pineus Banks 'twere too mean offering, Your Muse a fairer Garland doth bequeath

60 To guard your fairer front; here 'tis your Shall stand immarbled; this your little

frame Shall great Colossus be, to your eternal




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