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If haply he the sect pursues,

There, Thomas, didst thou never sco That read and comment upon news;

('Tis but by way of simile) He takes up their mysterious face;

A squirrel spend his little rage, He drinks his coffee without lace;

In juniping round a rolling cage; This week his mimic tongue runs o'er

The cage, as either side turn d up, What they have said the week before;

Striking a ring of bells at top ?His wisdom sets all Europe right,

Mov'd in the orb, pleas'd with the chimes, And teaches Marlborough when to fight.

The foolish creature thinks he climbs :
Or if it be his fate to meet

But here or there, turn wood or wire,
With folks who have more wealth than wit; He never gets two inches higher.
He loves cheap port, and double bub;

So fares it with those merry blades,
And settles in the Hum-drum-club:

That frisk it under Pindus' shades. He learns how stocks will fall or rise ;

In noble song, and lofty odes, Holds poverty the greatest vice;

They tread on stars, and talk with gods ; Thinks wit the bane of conversation ;

Still dancing in an airy round, And says that learning spoils a nation.

Still pleas'd with their own verses' sound; But if, at first, he minds his hits,

Brought back, how fast soe'er they sq,
And drinks champaign among the wits;

Always aspiring, always low.
Five deep he toasts the towering lasses ;
Repeats you verses wrote on glasses;
Is in the chair; prescribes the law;
And lies with thuse he never saw,

Sav, sire of insects, mighty Sal,"

A fly upon the chariot-pole

Cries out,

what blue-bottle alive Śly Merry Andrew, the last Southwark fair

Did over with such fury drive?"(At Barthol'mew he did not much appear,

Tell, Beelzebub, great father, tell,"

(Says t other, perch'd upon the wheel) So peevish was the edict of the mayor);

“ Did ever any mortal fly At Southwark, therefore, as his trieks he show'd,

Raise such a cloud of dust as I?
To please our masters, and his friends the crowd;
A huge neat’s-tongue he in his right-hand held,

My judgment turn'd the whole debate :
His left was with a good black pudding fillid.

My valour sav'd the sinking state." With a grave look, in this odd equipage,

So talk two idle buzzing things; The clownish mimic traverses the stage,

Toss up their heads, and stretch their wingsą Why bow now, Andrew!" cries his brother droll :

But, let the truth to light be brought,

This neither spoke, nor t’ other fought: To-day's conceit, methinks, is something dull:

No merit in their own bchaviour:
Come on, sir, to our worthy friends explain,
What does your emblematic worship mean?"

Both rais'd, but by their party's favour.
Quoth Andrew, “ Honest English let us speak:
Your emble-(what d'ye call 't) is heathen Greek.
To tongue or pudding thou hast no pretence :
Learning thy 'talent is, but mine is sepse.
That busy fool I was, which thou art now ;
Desirous to correct, not knowing how ;

With very good design, but little wit,

Ix grey-baird Celia's wither'd arms Blaming or praising things, as I thought fit.

As mighty Lewis lay, I for this conduct had what I deserv'd;

She cry'd, • If I have any charms, And, dealing honestly, was almost starv'd.

My dearest, let's away! But thanks to my indulgent stars, I eat;

For you, my love, is all my fear, Since I have found the secret to be great."

Hark how the drums do rattle ; “ 0, dearest Andrew," says the humble droll,

Alas, sir! what should you do here *“ Henceforth may I obey, and thou control;

In dreadful day of battle? Provided thou impart thy useful skill.”

Let little Orange stay and fight, “Bow then,” says Andrew ;“and, for once, I will

For danger's his diversion ; Be of your patron's mind, whate'er he says;

The wise will think you in the right,
Sleep very much ; think little; and talk less :

Not to expose your person :
Mind neither good nor bad, nor right nor wrong ;. Nor vex your thoughts how to repair
But eat your pudding, slave, and hold your tongue.”

The ruins of your glory: .
A reverend prelate stopt his coach and six,

You ought to leave so mean a care To laugh a litile at our Andrew's tricks.

To those who pen your story. But when he heard him give this golden rule,

Ara not Boileau and Corneille paid " Drive on," he cried; this fellow is no fool."

For panegyric writing?
They know how heroes may be made,

Without the help of fighting.

When foes too saucily approach,

'Tis best to leave them fairly; Dear Thomas, didst thou never pop

Pu' six good horses in your coach, Thy head into a tinman's shop?

And carry me to Marly,



Let Boullers, to secure your fame,

Go take some town, or buy it;
Whilst you, great sir, at Nostredame,
Te Deum sing in quiet!”

WAB, faster than his costive brain indites,
Philo's quick hand in flowing letters writes :
His case appears to me like honest Teague's,
When he was run away with by his legs.

Phoebus, give Philo o'er himself command;

Quicken bis senses, or restrain his hand; Great Bacchus, born in thunder and in fire,

Let him be kept from i aper, pen, and ink : By native heat asserts his dreadful sire.

So may he cease to write, and learn to thinko Nourish'd near shady rills and cooling streams, He to the nymphs avows his amorous Aames. To all the brethren at the Bell and Vine, The moral says; mix water with your wine,


For what tomorrow shall disclose

May spoil what you tonight propose:'

England may change; or Cloe stray :
Frank carves very ill, yet will palm all the

Love and life are for today.

He eats more than six, and drinks more than he
Four pipes after dinner he constantly smokes;
And seasons his whiffs with impertinent jokes.
Yet sighing, he says, we must certainly break;

And my cruel unkindness compels him to speak;
For of late I invite him—but four times a week.



Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among, on women To John I ow'd great obligation;

do complayne ;

[vayne, But John unhappily thought fit

Affyrmynge this, how that it is a labour spent in To publish it to all the nation:

To love them wele; for never a dele they love a Sure John and I are more than quite

man agayne:

[tayne, For late a man do what he can, theyr favour to atYet, yf a newe do them parsue, theyr fyrst true lover than

(a banyshed man. Yes, every poet is a fool,

Laboureth for nought; for from her thought he is By demonstration Ned can show it, Happy, could Ned's inverted rule

B. Prove every fool to be a poet.

I say nat, nay, but that all day it is bothe writ and sayd,

(decayed: That womens fayth is, as who sayth, all utterly

But, neverthelesse, ryght good wytnessc in this case Thy nags, the leanest things alive!

might be layed,

(browne inayde; So very hard thou lov'st to drive;

That they love true, and continue; recorde the NotTheard thy anxious coachman say,

Which, when her love came, her to prove, to her It cost thee more in whips than hay,

to make his mone,

(hym alone. Wolde nat depart; for in her hart she loved but

A TO A PERSON WHO WROTE ILL, Than betwayne us let us dyscus what was all the


(and fere,

Betwayne them two; we wyll also tell all the payne, Lyr, Philo, untouch’d, on my peaceable shelf;

That she was in: nowe I begyn, so that ye me an. Nor take it amiss, that so little I heed thee :

[an ere:I've no envy to thee, and some love to myself:

Wherefore, all ye, that present be, I pray you gyve Then why should I answer ; since first I must I am the knyght; I come by nyght, as secret as I read thee?


(banyshed man.”

Sayinge, “ Alas, thus standeth the case, I am a Drunk with Helicon's waters and double-brew'd Be a linguist, a poet, a critic, a wag; (bub,

B. To the solid delight of thy well-judging club, And I your wyll for to fulfyl in this wyll nat refuse; To the damage alone of thy bookseller Brag. Trustynge to shewe, in words fewe, that men have

an yll use

[lesse them accuse: Pursue me with satire : what harm is there in't?

(To theyr own shame) women to blame, and causeBut from all viva voce reflection forbeas:

Therefore to you I answere nowe, all women to exThere can be po danger from what thou shalt print:

cuse ; There may be a little from what thou may'st swear.

So Prior. -First printed about 1521, says Capel





(and awe;

shall growe;

rede I can;

not so sone:

Myne owne hart dere, with you what chere? I pray

A. you, tell anone;

I counceyle you, remember howe it is no mayden's Por, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you lawe,

[outlàwe: alone.

Nothyne to dout, but to renne out to wode with an A.

For ye must there in your hand bere a bowe, redy It standeth so; a dede is do, whereof grete harm to drawe;

And, as a thefe, thus must you lyve, ever in drende My destiny is for to dy a shamefull deth, I trowe; Wherby to you grete harme myght growe: yet had Or elles to file: the one must be; none other way I lever than,

(man. I knowe,

[my bowe.

That I had to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed But to withdrawe as an outlawe, and take me to Wherfore, adue, my owne hart true! none other


(man. I say nat, nay, but as ye say, it is no mayden's lore: For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed But love may make me, for your sake, as I have

sayd before,

[in store; B.

To come on fote, to hunt, and shote, to get us mete O Lorde, what is this worldys blysse, that chaungeth for so that I your company may have, I aske no as the Mone!


[ony stone; The somers day in lusty May is derked before the From which to part, it maketh my hart as cold as I here you say, “ Farewell !” Nay, nay, we départ For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you

[ye done?

alone. Why say ye so? wheder wyll ye go? alas, what have

A. All my welfare to sorowe and care sholde chaunge,

For an outlawe, this is the lawe,--that men hym yf ye were gone; (alone. take and hynde;

[wynde. For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you without pytė, hanged to be, and waver with the A.

Yf I had neede, (as God forbede!) what socours

coude ye fynde? (drawe behynde: I can beleve, it shall you greve, and somwhat you For sothe I trowe, ye and your bowe for fere wolde dystrayne;

(or twayne And no mervayle; for lytell avayle were in your But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde within a day councele than :

(nyshed man. Shall sone aslake, and ye shall take comfort to you Wherfore I'll to the grene wode go, alone, a ba

agayne. Why sholde ye ought? for, to make thought, your

B. labour were in vayne.

Right wele knowe ye, that women be but feble for And thus I do; and pray you to, as hartely as I can'; to fyght;

(knyght: For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed No womanhede it is, indeede, to be bolde as a

Yet, in such fere yf that ye were with enemyes day B.

and night,

[with my myght, Now, syth that ye have shewed to me the secret of I wolde withstande, with bowe in hande, to helpe you your mynde,

[fynde: And you to save; as woinen have from deth many a I shall be playne to you agayne, lyke as ye shall me


(alone. Syth it is so that ye wyll go, I wolle not leve be- For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you hynde; [her love unkynde :

Shall it never be sayd, the Notbrowne Mayd was to
Make you redy'; for so am I, although it were Yet take good hede; for ever I drede that ye conde
anone ;

nat sustayne

[frost, the rayne, For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you The thornie wayes, the depe valèies, the snowe, the

The colde, the hete: for, dry or wete, we must lodge A.

on the playne;

[twayne : Yet I you rede to take good hede what men wyll And, us above, none other rofe but a brake, bush, or thynke and say:

[away: Which sone sholde greve you, I beleve; and ye Of yonge and olde it shall be tolde, that ye be gone

wolde gladly than,

(man. Your wanton wyll for to fulfill, in grene wode you

That I had to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed to play; (make delay :

B. And that ye myght from your delyght no lenger Rather than ye sholde thus for me be called an yll Syth I have here been partynère with you of joy womàn,


and blysse, Yet wolde I to the greue wode go, alone, a banysbed I must also parte of your wo endure, as reson is:

Yet am I sure of one pleasure ; and, shortely, it is B.


[fare amysse. Though it be songe of olde and yonge, that I sholde That, where ye be, me semeth, pardė, I coude not be to blame,

(of my name: Without more speche, I you beseche that we were Theyrs be the charge that speke so large in hurtynge

shortely gone;

(alone. For I wyll prove, that faythfull love it is devoyd For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you of shame; (the same;

In your distresse, and hevynesse, to part wyth you,
To shewe all tho that do nat so, true lovers are they Yf ye goo thyder, ye must consider,—whan ve hare

Just to dyne,

(ale, ne wine; Por, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you There shall no mcte, be for to gete, neyther bere



3 nowe



Ne shetes clene to lye-betwene, maden of tbrede, Ye were betrayed: wherfore, good mayd, the best and twyne; [your hed and myne : rede that I can,

(man. None other house, but leves and bowes, to cover is, that I to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed O myne hart swete, this evyll dyète sholde make you pale and wan; (nyshed man

B. Wherfore I'll to the grene wode go, alone, a ba- Whatever befall, I never shall of this thyng you


(trayed. B.

But yf ye go, and leve me so, than have ye me beAmonge the wylde dere, such an archère as men Remember you wele howe that ye dele; for, if ye say that ye be,

(plente? be as ye sayd, (notbrowne mayda May ye nat fayle of good vitayle, where is so grete Ye were unkynde, to leve behynde, your love, the And water clere of the ryvère shall be full swete to Trust me truly, that I shall dy sone after ye be me;

(sball see:

With which in hele I shall ryght wele endure, as ģe For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you
And, or we go, a bedde or two I can provyde anone;
For, in my myyje, of all mankynde, I love but you

A. alone.

Yf that ye went, ye sholde repent: for in the forcst A.

(than you: Lo yet, before, ye must do more, yf ye wyll go with I have purvayed mc of a mayd, whom I love more

(the kne: Another fayrère than ever ye were, I dare it wele As cut your here above your ere, your kyrtel above

(as I trowe: With bowe in hande, tor to withstande your ene- And of you bothe eche sholde be wrothe with other, myes, yf nede be:

It were myne ese, to lyve in pese; so well I, yf í And, this same nyght, before day-lyght, to wode


(man. warde wyll i tle.

Wherfore I to the wode wyll go, alone, a banyshed Yf that ye wyll all this fuláll, do it shortly' as ye can;


B. Els wyll I to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed Though in the wode 1 undyrstode ye had a para


(I will be your: B.

All this may nought remove my thought, but that I shall as nowe do more for you than longeth to wo. And she shall fynde me soft, and kynde, and courmanhede;

(of nede:
teys every hour;

(my power: To shorte my here, a bow to bere, to shote in tyme Glad to fulfyll all that she wyll commannde me, to O my swete mother, before all other for you I have for had ye, lo, an hundred mo, yet wolde I be that most drede:

(me lede,

(alone. But nowe adue! I must ensue where Fortune doth | For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you All this make ye: nowe let us fle; the day cometh fast upon;


A. For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you Myne own dere love, I se the prove that ye be

kynde, and true;

[ever I knewe. A.

Of mayde, and wyfe, in all my lyfe, the best that Nay, nay, nat so; ye shall nat go, and I shall tell Be mery and glad, be no more sad, the case is you why,

chaunged newe; {have cause to reme: Your appetyght is to be lyght of love, I wcle espy : For it were rathe, that, for your truthe, ye sholde For, lyke as ye have sayed to me, in lyke wyse Be nat dismayed; whatsoever I sayd to you, whan hardely

I began,

(man. Ye wolde answère, whosoever it were, in way of I wyll not to the grene wode go, I am no banyshed It is sayd of olde,“ Sone hote, sone colde;" and

B. so is a woman :

(man For I must to the grene wode go, alone, a banyshed | These tydings be more gladder to me than to be

made a quene,

(sene, B.

Yf I were sure they sholde endure: but it is often Yf ye take hede, it is no nede such wordes to say Whan men wyli breke promyse, they speke the by me;

(loved, pardė:

wordes on the splene : (me I wene: For oft ye prayed, and longe assayed, or I you Ye shape some wyle, me to begyle, and stele from And though that I of auncestry a baron's daughter Than were the case worse than it was, and I more be,

(of lowe degre;

(alone. Yet have you proved howe / you loved, a sqnver For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you And ever shall, whatso befall; to dy therefore

A. anone;

(alone. For, in my mynde, of all mankynde, I love but you Ye shall nat nede further to drede; I will not dys


(a lynage. A.

You, (God defende!) syth you descend of so grete A baron's chylde to be begylde! it were a cursed Nowe understande,

-- to Westmarlande, which is dede:

myne herytage,

(maryage To be felaue with an ontlàre! Almighty God for- I wyll you bringe; and with a rynge, by way of Yea, beto's werc, the pore squyère alone to forest I wyll you take, and lady make, as shortely as I yede, (dede

(man. Than ye shulde say another day, that by that cursed Thus have ye won an erlys son, and not a banyshed



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And (all due honours faithfully discharg'd) Here may ye se, that women be, in love, meke, Had brought back his paternal coat, enlarg'a kynde, and stable :

With a new mark, the witness of his toil, Late never man reprove them than,

And no inglorious part of foreigu spoil. But, rather, pray God, that we may to them be

From the loud camp retird, and noisy court, comfortable,

(be charytable.

In honourable ease and rural sport, Which sometyme proved such as he loved, yf they The remnant of his days he safely past ; Forsoth, men wolde that women sholde be' meke to Nor found they lagg's too slow, nor flew too fast them ech one;

[but hym alone. He made his wish with his estate comply, Moche more ought they to God obey, and serve Joyful to live, yet not afraid to die.

One child he bad, a daughter chaste and fair,
His age's comfort, and his fortune's heir.
They call'd her Emma; for the beauteous dame,

Who gave the virgin birth, bad borne the name:

The name th' indulgent father doubly lor'd:

For in the child the mother's charms impror'd.

Yet as, when little, round his knees she play'd,

He call'd her oft, in sport, his Nut-brown Maid,
The friends and tenants took the fondling word,

(As still they please, who imitate their lord):

Usage confirm'd what fancy had begun ;

The mutual terms around the land were known : Thou, to whose eyes I bend, at whose command And Emma and the Nut-brown Maid were one. ('Though low my voice, though artless be my hand, As with her stature, still ber charms increas'd; I take the sprightly reed, and sing, and play, Through all the isle her beauty was confess d. Careless of what the censuring world may say: Oh! what perfections must that virgin share, Bright Cloe, object of my constant vow,

Who fairest is esteem'd, where all are fair! Wilt thou awhile unbend thy serious brow? From distant shires repair the noble youth, Wilt thou with pleasure hear thy lover's strains, And find report, for once, bad lessen'd truth. And with one heavenly smile o'erpay his pains ? By wonder first, and then by passion mor'd, No longer shall the Nut-brown Maid be old; They came; they saw; they marveli'd; and they Though since her youth three hundred years have By public praises, and by secret sighs, flor'd At thy desire, she shall again be rais'd; (rollid: Each owu'd the general power of Emma's eyes And her reviving charms in lasting verse be prais'd. In tilts and tournaments the valiant strove,

No longer man of woman shall complain, By glorious deeds, to purchase Emma's love. That he may love, and not be lov'd again : In gentle verse the witty told their flame, That we in vain the fickle sex pursue,

And grae'd their choicest songs with Emma's Dame Who change the constant lover for the new. In vain they combated, in vain they writ: Whatever has been writ, whatever said,

l'seless their strength, and impotent their wit. Of female passion feign'd, or faith decay'd Great Venus only must direct the dart, Henceforth shall in my verse refuted stand, Which else will never reach the fair-one's heart, Be said to winds, or writ upon the sand.

Spite of th' attempts of force, and soft etfects of arta And, while my notes to future times proclaim Great Venus must prefer the happy one: Unconquer'd love, and ever-during flame, In Henry's cause her favour must be shown; O fairest of the sex! be thou my Muse :

And Emma, of mankind, must love but bim alones Deign on my work thy influence to diffuse.

While these in public to the castle came, Let me partake the blessings I rehearse,

And by their grandeur justified their flame; And grant me, love, the just reward of verse! More secret ways the careful Henry takes;

As beauty's potent queen, with every grace, His squires, his arms, and equipage forsakes: That once was Emma's, has adorn'd thy face; In borrow'd name, and false attire array'd, And as her son has to my bosom dealt

Oft he finds means to see the beauteous maid. That constant flame, which faithful Henry felt: When Emma hunts, in huntsman's habit drest O let the story with thy life agree:

Henry on foot pursues the bounding beast.
Let men once more the bright example see; In his right-hand his beechen pole he bears;
What Emma was to him, be thou to me.

And graceful at his side his horn be wears.
Nor sepd me by thy frown from her I love, Still to the glade, where she has bent her way,
Distant and sad, a banish'd man to rove.

With knowing skill he drives the future prey;
But, oh! with pity, long-entreated, crown

Bids her decline the hill, and shun the brakt; My pains and hopes; and, when thou say'st that And shows the path her steed may safest take;

Directs her spear to fix the glorious wound;
Of all mankind thou lov'st, oh! think on me alone. Pleas'd in his toils to have her triumph crown'dy

And blows her praises in no common sound.
Where beauteous Isis and her husband Tame, A falconer Henry is, when Emma hawks:
With mingled waves, for ever flow the same, With her of tarsels and of lures he talks.
in times of yore an ancient baron liv'd;

l'pon his wrist the towering merlin stands, Great gifts bestow'd, and great respect receiv'd. Practis'd to rise, and stoop at her commands.

When dreadful Edward, with successful care, And when superior now the bird has flown, Led bis free Britons to the Gallic war;

And headlong brought the tumbling quarry downs This lord had headed his appointed bands, With humble reverence he accosts the fair, tu arm allegiance to his king's commands; And with the honour'd feather decks her hain



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