CHORUS. That our jollity may be completer ; Must be drown'd, as well as the greater. We'll drink till our cheeks are as starred as the skies, Let the pale-colour'd students flout us, And our noses, like comets, set fire on our eyes, Till we bear the whole heavens about us. And if all Make us fall, Let Lilly Go tell you And wonders, And let Booker Be a looker In our features, THE PAINTER'S ENTERTAINMENT. Tuis is the time, and this is the day Design’d for mirth and sporting, And make St. Luke's feast And hallow our yearly resorting. While in them our colours we mingle, And happy are we That in unity be, 'Tis a Hell upon Earth to be single. CHORUS. 'Twas love at first that brought us hither, And love shall keep us here together. First to the master of the feast, This health is consecrated, Whose soul doth desire And bis fancy is elevated, CHORUS Then let full bowls, &c. CHORUS. COPERNICUS. Let the bowl pass free As it first came to me, 'Tis pity that we should confine it, Having all either credit or coin yet; Let it e'en take its course, There's no stopping its force, He that shuffles must interline it. 'Twas love, &c. Have all brought in their treasure, Plump Bacchus brings wine, All club to create us pleasure. CHORUS. The world in all its glory, Imagine all delight that grows, And pleasures that can By the fancy presented before you. Lay aside your cares, And irrational fears, We'll banish each soul, That comes here to condole, Or is troubled with love or business. CHORUS. The king we'll not name, With desire to the game, We'll have this wbole night Set apait for delight, And our mirth shall bave no co-rival. 'Twas love, &c. Let every artist know it, Each health that is took When each painter is turned a poet ? Then see that the glass Till it come where it was, As Copernicus found, That the Earth did turn round, We will prove so does every thing in it. CHORUS 'Twas love, &c. WHY should we not laugh and be jolly? All lull'd in a dull melancholy; Is still gaping for more, And that makes him as poor, As that wretch that never any thing had. How mad is the damn'd money-monger, That, to purchase to him and his heirs, Grows shrivel'd with thirst and hunger? While we that are bonny, Buy sack for ready money, Those gulls that by scraping and toiling, And lie down gall'd and weary at last : Our money shall never indite us, Nor drag us to Goldsmith's-hall, But can sleep with open gates, Then let's not take care for to morrow, Are troubled with an itch, To be mighty and rich, Do but toil for the wealth which they borrow. He must vail to the men with the buff on, And such lubberly meat, But we drink and are merrier than be, THE INDEPENDENT'S RESOLVE. WRITTEN IN 1648. COME, drawer, and fill us about some wine, We'll drink off the kingdom's revenue, 'Tis power that brings Us all to be kings, And we'll be all crown'd by our might. A fig for divinity lectures and law, And all that to loyalty do pretend, The church and the state we'll turn into liquor, We'll melt all their bodkins the quicker We'll keep the demesnes The nimble St. Patrick is sunk in his boggs, St. Andrew and's kirkmen are lost in their fogs, Thus on our superiors and equals we trample, ON CANARY. Or all the rare juices, That Bacchus or Ceres produces, This first got a king, 'Twas this made old poets so sprightly to sing, And fill all the world with the glory and fame on't, They Helicon call'd it, and the Thespian spring, But this was the drink, though they knew not the name on't. Our cider and perry, May make a man mad, but not merry, And your hops, yest, and malt, It stuffs up our brains with froth and with yest, Our drowsy metheglin Was only ordain'd to inveigle in, The novice that knows not to drink yet, Have a gunpowder fury, The bagrag and Rhenish You must with ingredients replenish; But 'tis sack makes the sport, And who gains but that flavour, Though an abbess he court, In his high-shoes he'll have her; 'Tis this that advances the drinker and drawer: Though the father came to town in his hobnails and leather, He turns it to velvet, and brings up an heir, THE LEVELLER. NAY prithee don't fly me, But sit thee down by me, I cannot endure A man that's demure. Go hang up your worships and sirs, With your legs and your lips, With the compliments you bring You may keep for the chains and the furs ; For at the beginning was no peasant or prince, And 'twas policy made the distinction since. Those titles of honours Do remain in the donours, To which they do cling, If his soul be too narrow to wear 'em. No delight can I see In that word call'd degree, That with titles doth swell And sounds like a spell, To affright mortal ears that hear 'em. He that wears a brave soul, and dares gallantly do, May be his own herald and godfather too. Why then should we doat on, One with a fool's coat on? Whose coffers are cramm'd, But yet he'll be damn'd, E're he'll do a good act or a wise one? What reason has he To be ruler o'er me, That's a lord in his chest, But in 's head and his breast Is empty and bare, Or but puff'd up with air, And can neither assist nor advise one? Honour's but air, and proud flesh but dust is, 'Tis we commons make lords, and the clerk makes the justice. But since men must be Of a different degree, To be greater and higher, Than the rest of their fellows and brothers: Let him gain it by 's merit, Spend his brain, wealth or blood, By his valour or wit, For things 'bove the reach of all others. For my part let me And let great ones sway, And spend their whole time in thinking: The news books I'll burn all, Light tobacco, and admit That they're so far fit, As they serve good company and drinking; All the name I desire is an honest good-fellow, And that man has no worth that won't sometimes be mellow. THE ROYALIST'S ANSWER. I HAVE reason to fly thee, And not sit down by thee; One so saucy and bold, To deride and contemn his superiours: Our madains and lords, And such mannerly words, With the gestures that be Fit for every degree, Are things that ve and you Both claim as our due, From all those that are our inferiours. For from the beginning there were princes we know, 'Twas you leveliers hate 'm 'cause you can't be so. All titles of honours Were at first in the denours; But being granted away With the grantee's stay, Where he wear a small soul or a bigger. There's a necessity That there should be degree, Where 'tis due we'll afford A sir John, and my lord, Though Dick, Tom and Jack, Will serve you and your pack, Honest Dick's name enough for a digger. He that has a strong purse can all things be or do, We have cause to adore, There's something to be got, Though he be neither honest nor witty: Make him high, let him rule, He'll be playing the fool, And transgress, then we'll squeeze And so we shall gain, By the wants of his brain, 'Tis the fool's cap that maintains the city. If honour be air, 'tis in common, and as fit, For the fool and the clown, as for the champion or the wit. Then why may'nt we be Of different degree? And each man aspire To be greater and higher, Than his wiser or honester brother, For then what would befall Him, that's born nor to one nor to t'other? Though honour were a prize at first, now 'tis a chattle, [cattle. And as merchantable grown as your wares or your Yet in this we agree, To live quiet and free, To drink sack and submit, And not show our wit By our prating, but silence and thinking; Let the politic Jews Read diurnals and news, And lard their discourse, With a comment that's worse; That which pleaseth me best Is a song or a jest, And my obedience I'll show by my drinking. Me that drinks well, does sleep well; he that sleeps well, doth think well; [must drink well. He that thinks well, does do well; he that does well, THE SAFE ESTATE. How happy a man is he, And liveth content with his own! That does not desire To swell nor aspire, To the coronet nor to the crown? He doth sit and devise, Those mushrooms that rise, But disturbs not his sleep; At the coil that they keep, Both in country and town, In the plain he sits safe, And doth privately laugh, At high thoughts that are tumbling down. His heart and his head are at rest, That aspires not to sit at the helm ; The desires of his mind, To's estate are confin'd, And he lets not his brains to o'erwhelm. He's for innocent sport, And keeps off from the court, And if sad thoughts arise, With sack to repel 'um. Both in a republic and realm. He wears his own head and ears, If he meet with a cross, A full bowl he doth toss, Nor his wealth nor his wit are his crime. He doth privately sit With his friend clubbing wit, And disburd'ning their breasts And not higher doth climb. Of those courters of state, That fall down 'cause their thoughts are sublime. But princes and nobles are still, Not tenants for life, but at will, And the giddy-brain'd rout is their lord; He that's crowned to-day, A sceptre to sway, And by all is obey'd and ador'd, Both he and his crown In a trice are thrown down, Or an ill-relish'd word; Is secure from the vote or the sword. For those grand cords that man to man do twist, But self and interest. Io th' interim, Travelling will make us weary ; He's strong enough to carry. THE PRISONERS. WRITTEN WHEN 0. C. ATTEMPTED TO BE KING. THE POLITICIAN. WRITTEN IN 1649. What madness is't for him that's wise To be so much self-hating? By meddling still with things too high, His lechery of prating. But longer not an hour. But men that fram'd this fiddle To tune this state down diddle. Some mount while others fall. Sits with his host of bill-men As if they sate to kill men. Will do the same trick too. That is not what it seems; 'Tis but in boys' esteems. And close revenge they'll share it. And every man a player, Play whiffler, clown, or mayor. To the prosperous whirligig's lust. Lives close, thinks, and obeys, Nor idle squanders it away, On wbat he does or says: Come, a brimmer, (my bullies) drink whole ones or Now healths have been voted down; [nothing, 'Tis sack that can heat us, we care not for clothing, A gallon's as warm as a gown: 'Cause the parliament sees, Nor the former nor these, They vote that we shall Drink no healths at all, To keep up good fellowship still; [thinking, drinking, Thuse men that did fight, And did pray day and night Did make all that bustle The king out to jostle, But now we all clearly see what was the end on't. also, And now (my lads!) we May still cavaliers be, We will drink, and we'll sing, And each health to our king, Which shall be the standard in every town. That other men's calling invade, (asses, The lion of the Tower Their estates does devour, Into prison we get, For the crime called debt, And that is ne'er taken for murther or treason. give 's more drink, boys!” Here we lie at our ease, And get craft and grease, Then as drink brought us in, 'Twill redeem us again; We got in because we were poor, And swear ourselves out on the very same score, |