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Feminine Valor Eminently Discovered

James Strong (1618 or 19-1694) · 11,140 words · 50 min

The source for this document is https://quod.lib.umich.edu/e/eebo/A61840.0001.001

Project Note

This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.

The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.

This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.

Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.

However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.

This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.

Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org

Joanereidos: OR, FEMININE VALOUR; Eminently discovered in WESTERN WOMEN, At the Siege of LYME. AS WELL By defying the merciless Enemy at the face abroad, as by fighting against them in Garrison Towns; sometimes carrying stones, anon tumbling of stones over the Works on the Enemy, when they have been scaling them, some carrying powder, other charging of Pieces to ease the Soldiers, constantly resolved for generality, not to think any ones life dear, to maintain that Christian quarrel for the long Parliament. Whereby, as they deserve commendations in themselves, so they are proposed as example unto others. With Marginal Notes on the Work, and several Copies of Verses by a Club of Gentlemen on this Authors year and half WORK.

Languet virtus sine adversario.

Horace, Scribimus indocti, docti{que} &c.

By JAMES STRONG Bachelor, &c.

Re-printed Anno Dom. 1674. (with Additions) for the satisfaction of his Friends.

A BALLAD

On the Famous Author of Joanereidos, or Feminine Valour (That Incomparable Piece, drawn some years since by his most Unimitatable Pencil.) To the Tune of Chivy Chace.

I Sing the Man whose Lofty Muse,
With Zeal and Wit inspired,
Did Western Womens Valour choose
To chant with Art acquired.
Strang is his Name, though Strong he writes,
Forgetting's Father's House,
Whom he neglecteth and thus slights
Because a Poor Prick-Louse.
For ought he met him on the Road,
And in the Market-Town,
But would swell on him like a Toad,
And not his Parent own;
Though he had bred him up at School,
By'th help of Doctor Pitts,
Yet hath he proved both Knave and Fool,
At least one not in's Wits.
At length to Oxford James was sent,
And was there a Poor Scholar
A year or two, and from thence went
As he came. But when Choler
And heat of Zeal had prompted him
To be a Holder-Forth,
He then became as Spruce and Trim
As Any in South or North.
The Sacred Function he invades
Without a Lawful Call,
(As nowadays do Men of Trades,
Though learned not at all.)
And soon became a Teacher queint,
Zealous of Reformation,
Presently falling on the Point
Of dire Predestination.
Bishops and Deans he much decri'd
As Things intolerable,
The Surplice and the Cross beside
Were most abominable.
The Doctor he turned out of door,
And took into possession
His Lands, his Goods, and, which is more,
His Books by Sequestration.
These he removed to Bettescombe,
Which was his Benefice,
That did by Smock-Simony come
And with a Belly-piece.
His Wife he often did chastise,
Who was a Gentlewoman,
And would her Beat and Kick, though Niece
To's Patron, the Old Roman.
She hap'ning on a Day to wipe
Her Shooes with Wash-dish Clout,
He therefore gave her many a stripe,
And at Door turned her out:
But takes the Clout and buries it
In holy Turf hard by,
Causing its Knell in Angry Fit
To be rung solemnly.
The Holy Font that raised was
For the Administration
Of Infant-Baptism, he (alas)
Fed Pigs, and put his Wash in.
When Raw the Sequestrator had
Himself hanged, through Despair,
Our Author (as his Chaplain) made
A Sermon to repair
The Credit of this Fallen Saint,
And did him much applaud,
As one impatient of Restraint,
From being with his God.
This Corps which should have buried been
In some Cross-way and stak'd,
In Holy Ground interred was seen
By our Author, and up rak'd.
For being a Brother of the Cause,
His Corps the Temple was
O'th Holy Ghost, though judged by th' Laws
The Carcass of an Ass.
But James at length so Pettish grew,
And eke so Cholerick,
That his Good-natured Consort knew
Not how to find the Trick
Of Pleasing him; and therefore left
His Bed, Board, House and All,
And to her Tender Parents cleft,
To shun her Husband's Brawl.
For Iimmy is an Eager Man,
Most Froward all his Life,
No Body near him Quiet can
Be, he's so full of Strife.
And 'tis because he is so Eager
And Spightful too withal,
That he is grown so Thin and Meagre
By Trouble and by Thrall.
His Tender-hearted Wife he did
Heart-break, as most Men think,
Though Some there be have boldly said
They know 'twas his Breath's stink.
For James doth breath so Ill an Air,
That he can Spiders slay
At three yards distance, and Few dare
I'th Room, where he is, stay.
This is the Cause that near his House
No Rose or Flower blows,
Nor on his Body will a Louse
Come, nor within his Clothes.
His Feet have eke so strong a Scent
That This our Fragrant Brother
Is often sent for with intent
To cure the Womens Mother.
For Feathers burnt are not so strong
In stinking, as his Toes,
Therefore they follow him in throng
Where ever Iimmy goes.

The second part to the same Tune.

But being at length Ambitious grown,
He could not be Content
With that Small Lot which was his Own,
To Ilmister he went,
A Market-Town in Somerset,
And though a Sequestration,
Yet Iimmy 's Throat could swallow it
Glibber than Ordination.
Our Author here increased in Wealth,
As well as in Renown,
Though what he got was All by stealth,
And was none of his Own.
A Purchaser he then became
Of House, and eke of Lands,
And rose to be a Man of Fame;
But he built on the Sands.
For moving from the Vicarage-house
The Porch, unto his Own,
The Fact, so Sacrilegious,
Did throw his Own House down.
And being now a Widower,
He would a Wooing ride,
To get a Rich Wife, far or near,
His Palfrie he'd bestride.
In order whereunto, on goes
The Rich Black Velvet Coat,
(Which worn is, Every Body knows,
Only by Men of Note.)
In This he swagger'd up and down
Ilmister, Taunton, Chard,
On Market-days; scarce any Town
Near him, but saw, or heard
How Brave a Gallant Iimmy was
Become. But though the Skin
Without was Lion, yet the Ass
Enclosed was within.
Thus habited, our Author did
Accost with Complement
His Widow, and as fairly bid
With's Coat, and's Implement;
As Any could at One Congress,
Which proved so Fortunate,
She thought it her Great Happiness
To make him her Bed-mate.
But not her Belly isit alone
That he hath so well ply'd,
She often since hath made great Moan,
He beats her Back and Side.
For James can Cuff, Kick, Scratch, and Scold
Like any Butter-Quean,
He'l not be Thwarted or Control'd
By John, Mall, Bess, or Jane.
And though he Female Valour raised
In Rich Heroic Verse,
Yet is our Author to be praised
In that he will not turn Arse
To th' Weaker Sex. What ere the Song
Says, Iimmy, put up thy Dagger;
He will unsheath it, and among
His Country Lasses swagger.
For Iimmy 's good at Poniard point
(The Western Women know it)
He'l pierce the Bone, and strike the Joynt
(Where's such another Poet?)
His Children very Many are,
But tatter'd so, and torn,
That, should you see them, you would swear
That they are quite forlorn.
On Carrion commonly he feeds,
(For his Appetite's Canine)
And therewith satisfies his Needs
Beit Bullock, Sheep, or Swine.
His Servants frequently complain
That he is so unjust,
As their Due Wages to detain;
Then summon him they must,
By Justice Warrant to Appear;
But James, This Man of Strife,
To save his Coin will boldly swear
He stands in fear of's Life:
And so doth cause them to be bound
Unto the Good Behaviour,
But if his Debt shall be disowned
He himself will be their Savior.
And yet will Iimmy pule and whine,
And make Devout-Bad Faces
I'th Pulpit, and look so Divine,
You'd think he'd All the Graces.
Did you but see him rhank his Nose
And hear its Zealous Twang,
This Instrument you would swear, in the Close,
At New-Inn Hall was strang.

On the Masculine-Feminine Poem of Mr. James Strong, Poet Hermophrodite.

POET of Mars and Venus! sweetly met,
And as before embracing in a Net.
A Net so thin and wonderfully small,
You cannot but conclude it Cobweb all.
Only the Postures changed, for by thy knack
Venus is uppermost, and Mars on's back.
Cow'd Hercules must at the Distaff spin.
And Madam Omphale wears Lions skin.
The Female glory melted down thy head
As Flints are broken on a Feather-bed.
Pity it is for so much service done
Thy Pate's not washed from secret Helicon.
And with that Linnen to dear flesh so nigh
Thy sacred brows and lips were not wipt dry.
Sure they would doit; and it would soon come from' em
Thou hast so meltingly quite overcome' em.
Orpheus was once with furious Froes assail'd
But unto thee They've all their Kerchiefs veiled,
Thou canst not stir abroad a Gossipping
But they their Caudles, Kisses, Amours bring.
They love thee for thy Name, and thy strong charms,
And all are ready Captives for thine arms.
Freely thou mayest (if thou wilt not be shy)
With Hercules his thirteenth Labor vie.
Go on brave Man, and do not think it much
(As times shall serve) to give us tother touch.
Some plagiary Poets steal their Bayes,
And from what others writ their Trophyes raise.
From Homer, Virgil, much of glory drew,
And much of matter from old Ennius too.
But thou this honor hast (and be it known)
That what thou writest, purely is thine own.
Nor can we call thine Dogg'rel-Poetry
Great Laureat of dear Pres-bitchery.
Thy Name's immortal then, and shall still ring,
Whilst Wives wear Breeches, and whilst Milk-maids sing.

On STRONG, and his more Stronger Poem.

STRONG is the Name, Strong is the Fame
Of this our Poet James,
Strong his Fancy's which out-prances
Valorous Western Dames.
Strong is his skull, like that of Bull,
Strong is his riming brain,
Strong is his Sconse as Parnass Mons
And Forked too some fain.
Strong are his Eyne, which by their shine
Pure Sistren comfort, Oh!
Strong his Eye-brow, like brisled Sow,
Her Arched back I trow.
Strong is his Snout, which high doth strout,
Strong both his breath and weazon,
Strong is the dinn, when from within
Bag-pipe lungs he plays-on.
Strong is his Lip, whose Muscles skip
More quick than nimble Hart.
Which tear and beat like Puss in seat,
Before his words do start.
Strong is his Mouth, and firm of growth,
And also heavenly wide,
The many mops of's Monkey Chops
Shows Pug hast edified.
Strong is his Tongue, which sounds among
The Precious, Alarm's,
Even to prevail unto Battail
'Gainst Antichrist his Arms.
Strongly he strives, by his Motives,
The Saints to set a-Gog;
Strongly to fight with all their might,
Against God and Magog.
Strong is his Chin, where Jaws do twin,
Thence forking back to Ear,
Strong is their Mass, like that of Ass
Made Philistine to fear.
Strong Teeth are set in Jaw's socket,
Which meat doth grind, and wrack,
Both great and small serve like Iackall
To Lion -like stomach.
When prey is got, They slow it not
Ne finee nor nibble,
He Eateth so, you would cry, Oh
Th'stroke of his Mandible!
Strong are the Wrist's, strong are the Twist's
Of face so scru'd with tricks,
That 'tis hard bout, for to squeese out
His Costive Rhetoric's.
Forehead's drawn back, when ginns to speak,
Back nose strong fibres draw,
You'd swear like vile, Monster of Nile
He'd ope his upper Jaw.
Strong is his Arm, which does much harm
To Feathers and to Wood,
When he did gin to beat down sin
'It is marle the Pulpit stood.
Strong heart of Oak, rends every stroke
Laid on by furious skill
When he doth pump, then fist doth thump
Like Mall of Tucking-Mill.
Strong though and fierce, yet neretheless
Cunning grew hand, and meek,
When to advance in wise semblance
It stroke'd his Mistress Cheek.
But when all wooed our Iamsee stood
Rectus in Curia,
He did embrace, and Wife solace
After the Russian way.
Strong were her tears, he perseveres
In Soul-Correcting sense,
Bangs hip and thigh, leave's place hard by
Undue Benevolence.
Strong since he grows, but weak his Spouse,
No otherwise we deem,
But James at length by tried strength,
Confutes his own Poem.

Rog. Rimer of Doggrill -Hall.

The Book-Seller to the Reader.

THis matchless piece of Poetry falling into my hands, whether directed by Providence or by Accident, I shall not distinguish; but conceiving it to be of so much importance, in regard of the times, for comfort to those famous Western women, whose piety and valor deserve to be recorded amongst the worthiest of their Sex in this declining age, and may well serve as Presidents to others. And fearing lest some malignant spirits should have injured the Author, in exposing an imperfect copy, by reason the sundry transcriptions which this elaborate Poem hath much suffered in, the Author in this is rendered according to the Original. And whereas many obscure places would have admitted a double construction different from the Authors true meaning, you shall find the literal sense of those places explained by one that had a great insight into the Authors fancy. And for the better encouragement for a further progress, many Wits have presumed to lend their willing fancies, as servants to usher into the world these elaborate Poems; and though they appear to the eye but small lights to thy Sun, yet the reflection from thee may in time make them worthy to be accounted thy Scholars; what literal errata's thou meetest with in the printing, let thy candid disposition pass by, and let not any fault lessen the worth of the Author, and him that is most ambitious how he may be accounted yours in all service,

Thomas Harrison.

To my most esteemed friend Mr. James Strong, cause these to be delivered.

Worthy Sir:

HAving had the unexpected happiness of seeing you at this Book-Sellers shop, I was so surprised with your reverend aspect, grave habit, and Scholar-like comportment, that I wanted confidence to address myself to you, being conscious of mine own unworthiness to deserve your knowledge: but returning to the shop the next morning, the Book-Seller was pleased to show me the incomparable Poem, which assured me that sage outside had a lining suitable; then was I enflamed with an affection too strong to be suppressed, which hath now broke out in this address, humbly begging the happiness of your acquaintance, and the honor to prefix a copy of commendatory verses, when you oblige the world by making it public: truly Sir, the little needle of my soul wrought so strongly after the great Load stone of yours, that I had designed the same gallant subject to my thoughts long since, and intended what you have beyond imitation performed, in so sweet a chyme of words and sense, so rare a contexture of stories, and so exquisite embellishments throughout the whole piece, that I must forever be

The great admirer of your unparalleled abilities, THO. ALLEN.

Honor'd Sir:

TO accept your courtesy might seem to argue vain glory, to deny it stupidity; whatever I am to others, I shall acquit myself of both, and deem myself unworthy to be so honored, as to have either countenance or commendation from a man so dressed with ingenuity: herein indeed will be my grief, that it smells of no more than (believe me) a year and halfs labor, whereby I may seem to undervalue your respects for so easily acquiring it; deal with it as you please, and tomorrow if you please to give me a meeting at the three Daggers at nine of the clock, I shall not fail of attending you.

Your undeserving friend, I A. STRONG.

To my most ingenuous friend, Mr. James Strong, on his excellently well-penned Poem.

INimitable Sir, your lofty strain
So far transcends the lazy low-strung vein
Of those faint Rhimers which the world admired
For buskin'd raptures, that thou seemest fired
From the same flame, which whilom shone so bright,
It seemed Meridian after the Star-light
Of meaner Poets, when great Gascoyn lived,
And Alexander Barklayes Muse contrived
That rare Translation of Brants stately ship,
Fraught with those fools deserved his Satyrs whip:
I'd think their charming souls revived in thee,
But that I find a vast disparity:
Their lines are easy, and their phrases common,
Thine are heroic, thy words used by no man;
And here the Sun sets brighter in the West,
Then erst it rose in the refulgent East;
Thou hast the disadvantage, but in time
Thy admirable Subject, and thy Rhyme
Will render thee more famous to the age
Ensuing, then the high Poetic rage
Of heathen wits, whose brows deserved but bays,
Whilst on thy reverent head these lines do raise
King Midas ornament, a guerdon due
Unto no mortal juster then to you:
Withers a man of Arms and Arts hath wrote
In gallant Rhyme, but thy immortal throat
Hath far out-voic'd him, and thy active Muse
Out-does his lance, and pen; all Pedlars use
Next unto Almanacs with care to buy
Their dear delight Tho. Pru's sweet Poetry,
Which spread in wickar scive, hath oft invited
The Chamber-maids with itch of verse delighted,
Unto their moving shops, where they do sell
Nothing but tape and needles half so well,
Thy stately Poem will usurp their place,
And bring them to the fatal sad disgrace
Of Chandlers shops, whilst thine alone are sung
With tuneful noise unto the long-ear'd throng;
Whose well-weighed praises will advance thy name
'Bove Heywood, Viccars, or John Tailors fame
As far as e're the Bard past Aristarchus,
Or foolish Bavius was excel'd by Marcus.

Tho. Allen.

On this reverent Poem, and the more reverent Author.

ARms, and the man I sing, whose lines rehearse
The Western wenches doughty deeds, in verse;
More high, then (erst) the acts of Guy of Warwick,
Southamptons Beavoys, or the Knight of Barwicke.
Assist Mol Cut-purse, and ye warlike bands,
That march towards Billings-gate with eager hands,
And tongues more loud then bellowing Drums, to scale
Oyster or Herring ships, when they strike sail
In that Creeks bosom; you the Muses are
Most fit to be invok'd to aid this war,
And the courageous Poet, that dares write
The Rare adventures of this doughty Knight,
Who in a Village Belfry ruled of late
The awing rod, and in that happy state
Each hour survey'd Pernassus double Hill,
When Lillys Rules, being pars'd or conster'd ill,
The weeping Lads mount wooden Pegasus ;
How could the Pedant choose being furnished thus
But write this Poem in a motley style,
Which first in bumbast prose he did compile?
With toil and sweat out of a Dictionary,
Mixing some stories of the Virgin Mary,
And other Saints, whose names his babbling tongue
(Fitter for Ballads) doth profanely wrong.
Then buffeting his patient desk he bites
His nails, inspired with new fancy, writes,
Breaks off abruptly, knocks his empty scull,
Falls toit again, and with a mouth brim-full
Of spumy froth spits praises on that sex,
Tells inconsistent stories, which perplex
The sense, and his dull noddle, now at length
His hackney Muse is tired, and wanting strength
To trot on farther, ends his stately song,
With which his teeming brain travail'd as long
As breeding Elephants; but by the help
Of Midwives this his self resembling whelp
Is like the Moon-calf born, and as men carry
Their Monster-children, Satyr-like all hairy,
Distorted in their limbs, dwarfish in stature,
Or unlike men in any brutish feature,
From Villages to Cities where they show
By painted clothes hung out, the throng that go
Thorow those streets, that their admiring eyes
For two pence may behold those prodigies.
So learned Strong full sixty miles did travel,
Maugre all danger of the dirt and gravel,
From Village Belfry unto London City
With many a weary step, to show this pretty
Spawn of his ignorance, so like him in shape,
Owl was never liker Owl, nor Ape like Ape;
Ith' crooked lines of's face and hands you may
Each line within his Book fully survey,
And more exactly view wonder in both,
Then in the picture on the painted cloth:
Were he and his brat mine, I would out-vy
Thredesken, Gill, and all the frippery
In the Tower-wardrop, but in this I wrong
The Bookseller, unto whose shop the throng
Will hourly flock, amazed at the post,
Where this rare Frontispiece shall proudly boast
A sight so strange and pleasant, that his gain
Will equal thy expense in purse and brain.
Pedantick wretch, whilst thy much hoped reward
(Ten shillings) is unpaid, without regard
Of thy necessity; but thou art sure
Of happiness above a Country cure
In Gotham College; where the cap and bable,
The reverent Hood, and Tippet, shall enable
The learned Bible Clark to instal thee
Vice-President of their Society.

ALLEN. THOMAS.

Verses made into Meeter, whereby they might more illustriously give praise unto this Author, who whilom was a Student of the seventeen Liberal Sciences of New-Inn-Hall in Oxenford.

This may be either said, Or sung, To the Tune of When Sculls.

O Oxenford! old Oxenford!
how many Clerks I wis,
Learned in deed, and eke in word,
hast thou yspawn'd like this?
O New-Inn-Hall! New-Inn-Hall high!
how hast thou doctrinated
His plumbeous cer • brosity,
he is so subtle pated?
Some segregated are, I ween,
fro midst the ruder throng,
By Providence, so hath he been,
and placed Schollards among:
Where comptly nurtured up in good,
and savoury literature,
Sage words of wise he understood,
and put all eke in ure.
To argumentate he was taught
Syllogistically,
First to divisionating brought,
to define by and by:
But why alas? nay why alas?
should I by a gradation
Think to declare how he did pass
all men in disputation,
Or in mysterious Sciences,
As in M • ll-stones pellucid,
Saw quiddities, and entities,
and all that Art produced.
Much less how he, with sweat and pain,
drudged in Poetry,
And Mid-wiv'd gravitated brain
Swoln big with rapsody;
Taking Occasions fore-top then,
eft soons his mind he bent,
To write with paper, ink, and pen,
wars most sanguinolent.
With pulchritude of sense, and rhyme,
he strait charactered
West women's valor stout, what time
in Towns they were besieged.
And eke also what time in field,
at face of Foe they vaunted,
Whilst monstrous stones they nimbly wield,
and the fierce Soldiers daunted▪
O man of worth, memento now,
in height of glory, whence,
By dotes transfunded your scull through,
your learnt skillful-loquence:
And in requital of the same
on Bodley 's Library,
Bestow this Book of greater fame,
than ever Groat did buy.
This was composed by A.B. quondam Student of Oxenford.

To the Author on this never-enough praised Poem.

EVen as the Sun, and eke the Wind,
With laughter fills the Elephant:
So do I thus to please my mind,
thy praise, O Author, loudly chaunt.
And as the Moon, and eke the Sky,
are nearer unto Heaven than Earth:
So also do I versifie,
being far from grief, and full of mirth.
Or as a man, and eke a woman,
is neither Horse, nor Dog, nor Cat:
So do I write, enforced by no man,
I know not, nor I care not what.
Or lastly, as a Harry Groat,
(being gray) is worth four single pence:
So is he worthy a fools Coat,
that writes to thee in rhyme or sense.

On the Lurned labor of this Worshipful good Power.

ICh pray you Readers, have you no dizdain,
'Cause I an ing-rant, and unletterd zwayn,
'Mungst lurned Glarks do zomething notivy:
Good will unto the thang cleppt powetry;
Cham zore abashed with this rudeness to haundle
The point, or zhow forth with an hauf-penny caundle,
His worth to the world varr off and at haund,
'Mongst those houge bon-vires which before this book staund,
And make zike a cracklin blaze that ich ween,
My greazed Bul-rush will scauntly be zeen;
Yet ich do well ken that moany a mon,
Will pook out my intendiments better thon
Moony tales and names, in thuck lurned Powet,
Who ich do believe himselve did not know it,
But writ it, that we with wonderment mought
Think him in schollardzhip, marlous ztout;
Cham not zo well liked with his cunning wit,
As cham with the wonches he talks of in it,
Zike bounsing Lasses would hold a mon tack,
Though he had my tough gray vour horses back;
My teeth do water to wrestle a vall,
Though it were with the zdurdiest wench an um all:
Chave known the time when Maudlin and Joan,
And two ztouter girls the west hath not known,
Have vallen down vlat, and not stood upright,
When I gan ta buckle my tools to the vight,
And with my implement, and but twa stones,
Have clawd um zoundly both twice and once:
But vor thy meed, Sir John, if thou comst ere
Toward my zimple cottage ich'le make thee good cheer,
Of Uurmenty, White-pot, vat Bacon, and Cale,
And vill thy skin with March Beer, and Ale,
Uor the zweet sport chave had and tickling lafter,
That ich shall be merry vor ever hereafter,
When I think in my mind, that moony a parson,
Poor Uicar, and Reader, and Bell-fray whorson,
Durst never in verson zo doughty and bold,
Zince the cunning Bards, and the Monks of old,
Zet vorth the valorous deeds of women,
That have gen the voyl to moony ztout yeomen,
And dare in their zmocks without coat of Mayl
Incounter the ztrongest hind with his vlayl.
Go vorward, Sir John, and tell of the boys,
That are got on these girls in this time of noise,
Will not do exbloyts vit vor thy high verze,
With bellowing zound zweetly to reherze,
Uor wich hereafter 'twill of thee be zeed,
Sir John, the Powet, had a harey head.

B. A.

A Sang made to gang to the Balliballeer, to the tune of the Authors praise, by B. A. of Aberdeen.

O Doughty Sankster, thy luggs sa lang,
Thy loins sa stark, thy wit sa strang,
Makes me agast with brussels upright,
As if I kend some uncouth wight,
How mought I than with dread beheld
Thy gude-wives drill in martial fleld?
And heave sike miccle stanes as I ween
In Albion Clyffs man never did ken,
But what recks that these willy coats gay,
Those fause lowns did well beat by my say,
Mare sare then unwhile in Muscleborough-field,
When the stern so pour Scots-men queld;
Ide lever have a gripp of anes crage,
And with twa stanes her bonny wem invade,
Then fra their weildy fists ha ane
At the fair mark of my noddle thrane.
Thus ta conclude my trim Scotch-hops now,
Mare praises to thee I must allow,
Then to Rhymer Lord Sterline, and Mis-Davee Linfy,
And all they leave an um in Poyets frensy.

An Hymn, for to declare the Authors praise withal.

WHen sculs of men are sorely bent
to learned Poetry,
Then deeds of arms are sung in tent
full lofty-loftily.
Lo, in tall Verse the Authors self,
with Pen in ear so thick,
Doth brandish rhyme from Western clime,
of dead and eke of quick.
Of Giants thumbs and Saracens ears,
he nill no care to take,
Of Ladies fell and Damsels keen,
his Poem is y make:
Whose brawny arms, full delicate,
distilling amber sweat,
Through trusty nose of Poet good
inspire no vulgar heat.
Tough quil in hand is hent most sure,
which goose so gray did bear,
In wrathful wise, he to the skies
stern chivalry doth — clare.
With — phane and sacred history
y granished all over,
The Maiden Fame is stretched out
from West, all eke to Nor'e.
No more in dirty socks, no more
shall Poet stride the plains:
Nor under fustian cap shall work
those bay-deserving brains.
On Sconce of hill bold squire of art
hath shook the Laurel tree,
His gols been washed in Pegase Fount
by Ladies three times three.
Moreo're, his face is Mouse-trap true,
over done with bacon rind,
To snap your Critick black or blue
where ere so them he find.
O soul of man, to glory bent!
may that day never come,
When Custard fond, or Tart more gay,
thy leaves to pavement doom.

Performed by one of the Wisdoms.

To the Renowned Author, Master JAMES STRONG.

WHen first thy parts and person I did view,
I mean thy outward lineaments and hue,
Thy vaster bulk, thy grave and wise aspect,
And all with equal guise and beauty decked,
I much admired, and to myself concluded,
(And well I ween'd, I could not be deluded)
Within that cask (and right it was defined)
Some nobler spirit sure must be inshrined:
Thus wondering as I stood, straight to mine eye
Were brought thy rarest Rhymes and Poesie.
Poor mortal, how agast! I read 'hem with wit so fraught,
That like to one who was of wits bestraught.
I stood amazed, astonished let it be,
For much I feared the fate of Niobe ;
Only this difference 'twixt us there had been,
(Which to forget, I fear had been a sin.)
She, she, poor soul, through grief was petrify'd,
But I through admiration stupify'd,
But well; these pangs, and pantings being over,
After myself, I'gan for to recover.
Oh how I kist, embracit, and hug'd thy Verse?
And now naught else but Strong I could rehearse.
Nay, which is more, I'gan to love the times
That had occasioned these thy happy Rhymes:
And blamed those peevish wits, who oft had cried,
Since Abraham Frauner, and haughty Church-yard died.
All Poesie is left, (indeed I know it,
Since they were gone till now, we scarce had Poet)
For now like Sun with clouds of sable hue,
Bedeckt, and covered, all's returned in you.
No more let's now the much renowned trade
Of Ballading, too much of late decayed,
As lost bewail, for from thy clearest spring,
Poets inspired each market day shall sing;
And stories now bedight in homely Prose,
Each morn in Rhyme and Meeter we'll expose
Unto the greedy view of mortals, who
Shall own restored Poetry to you.
I must confess, when first I did but glance
Upon thy huger bulk, and that by chance,
I deemed sure now a well proportioned birth
From Teeming Mount: to mortals greatest mirth
Shall issue forth, 'twas even as I did guess it,
And now my Muse desires an acquiescit.
This only needs she I must for to rehearse,
Strong is thy name, but stronger is thy Verse.

Peter Jeffrey.

A gratulatory Poem to the Western Amazons, and to their Learned Bard.

WHich I should most admire, I know not yet,
The women's valor, or the Poets wit.
He made the Verses, and they threw the stones
(Verses you'ld swear were all made for the nonce)
O happy stones which those fair fingers grip'd!
But happier Muse, which their loud praises pip'd
Through nostrils oaten-reed, and sung so shril
That the whole Earth's Horizon 'broad they fill.
Miracles are not ceased, we see; for here
The weaker Sex, whom nature taught to fear
The face of death and danger, now out-dare
Even valiant men in fight; nor do they spare
Their willing flesh. Here comes an Amazon,
And fearless treads th' assaulted Works upon:
With coats tuckt up, and tippet bolt upright,
Lap full of stone • , she fits her for the fight.
Two might have served you will think, but more she brings
Which 'mongst the Enemies heathen troops she flings;
And after them words, harder then the Pebbles,
She thunders 'gainst those Antichristian rebbels.
So do the rest, for planted all a-row
Fast as they can they jointly curse and throw.
O had you seen them toil, and swink, and sweat
With the same ardor they their husbands beat
When they came home at night, you would then confess
These Western Saints had well deserved the press.
They've wrought a wonder too, and you shall know it,
They changed this Western Pug into a Poet.
Else had his mouldy brains never been inspired
With rage Poetic, nor this all-admired
And sacred work ere seen the gladsome light.
For who'ld expect a Poem from a wight
Nurs'd up with Beans and Butter-milk, or on
Festival days, stale Bisket and Poor John?
Strange diet to train up a Muse, you'le say;
Yet see the luck on it; having viewed one day
A skirmish 'twixt those brave Virago's, and
Their Foes, a gray Goose quil he takes in hand
The omen pleased him well: (Quoth he) Of old
Strange stories have of these poor birds been told.
The Roman Capitol by Geese was kept,
They wakit, poor souls, when the dull Soldiers slept.
Alas! who now keeps Lime? poor female Cattle,
Who wake all night, labor all day in Battle,
Geese, as a man may call them, who do hiss
Against the opposers of our Countries bliss.
And by their seasonable noise discover
Our Foes, when they the Works are climbing over.
And shall such acts as these forgotten die
Unrecommended to posterity?
No, whilst I have a Muse that can afford
One verse, their names shall stand upon record.
Nor shall the cankered teeth of envious Time
Devour the story of besieged Lime.
Thus having spoke: He drenched his Virgin Quill
Ith' sable Flood, and did his Paper fill
With rich Invention, which if thou wouldst see,
Reader, disburse thy groat and happy be.

Toby Trundle.

Certain fit similitudes, whereby for to set forth the worth of this Poem.

AS little Be in broiling heat
doth search the fields about,
So Authors best are drained quite,
And sucked by this learned lout:
As precious pearl in little room
shrouds virtues more then many,
So secret knowledge much is showed
in this Book, as in any.
As little sphere by tumbling round
doth Heavens high unfold,
So mayest thou in this rumbling Book
things Heavenly behold.
As load-stone doth the iron hard
by secret force hold fast,
So little volume in despite
will envy make agast.
As glittering Sun with his bright hue,
doth other Stars make slink,
So where this Book doth once appear,
of others never you will think.
As Crab tree fair, both flower and fruit
doth bring forth without stay;
So fruitful is the Book to all
in time, and place always:
Then honey taste, buy precious pearl,
view sphere that turneth fast,
Fear load-stones force, walk by Suns light,
eat fruit that aye doth last.
By the same Author.

Coriato Juniori.

ENter the Ring, all fear discard,
The woman's grand Olympique Bard,
Th'ast foil'd Apollo, and given all
The weaker Muses a fair fall:
This Trophy of thy female verse
Shows how they did themselves disperse,
Some ran away on Badgers feet,
And some on Scotch-hops, not so fleet;
(Their airy motion quite forgot)
Need makes them in thy verses trot;
Coriat had once each Eastern lip
Upon his propatetique hip:
But thy Pug poem has in hug
Each western tongues virago dug,
Wits compass hath but two points blest,
Tom 's lines ran East, and yours to West.

D. W.

Al Autor.

LIsonjas introdu zidas
(Por error de las edades)
Vsurpan a las verdades,
El traje de ser creidas.
Yfrases encarecidas
(Lo mas incierto y lo mas vano)
Que yo en tu alaban ç a ufano,
Sin adornos de tal tira,
Iuzgo, milagro a tu Lyra,
Ya ti, divino, en lo humano.

J. D.

FLattery the greatest crime
Was ever introduced by time;
Usurps some truth, a whoreson thief
The more to Cunny-catch belief
With heightened language of a strain,
Ambiguous ever, yea and vain:
And therefore my plain-dealing Muse
Abhorrs that vices Arts to use.
Now this premised, thrice happy I,
For Zoylous none can say I lie
In saying thou art to be prefer'd
Before the blind or wanton Bard,
Or the best master of that trade
That ever Ode or Eglogue made.
( Phoebus his rays alas with thine
Appearing once, would lose their shine.)
Their Muses Pyes were and their songs
Ballads compared with those of Strongs:
Their Music Reeds, their Harps of Wyre;
But to speak truth 'tis thine's the Lyre.

To the deserved Commendations of that well meaning Poem of the Western, but most Christian Amazons Ioanizareidos.

NO ravished Brain was e're since Homer spude
Heroique models, with a vein endude
Of such high consequence, to raise a style
Out of the medley of the Lyre and File.
How strangely are thy thoughts and numbers met!
While in each line the Fancies rise and set.
This is (indeed) t' indite unto a Mint,
And to coin current Rithms that run in Print.
Thy Epique White-pot is not like the prose
Are scand upon a snorting six foot nose:
Thy valiant Muse, that is so highly born,
Fears not the wrinkles of their nasal horn,
Who under a bent Brow's profaner Bay
Men in their nostrils rugged balance weigh;
Like nosewise Critiques striving to suspend
By judgment, what their wits can never mend.
Injoy thy Issues attributes, well known
By Pallas voted for the Muses Hone.
Rich pen! to light upon a blessed nest
Of Amazonian Worthies in the West:
That where the Wisemans Adage says a shrew
Should be sought ought to drive away the foe:
Thy she's, like silent men themselves behave
Not (Capitolian Geese) by kackling save;
And whereas female valor (apt to quail)
Is seldom seen to rise above the nail:
Here with the Phalanx of each Hand array'd
In natures files, they men at Arms invade.
Take heed henceforth you She-beat Royal Bands,
Who wave their mouths loud weapon in their Hands,
Will be (when all your feeble valours spent)
Most oriental in their Occident.

Aesculapius Menecraticus.

Ignoto novarum cruditatum Authori Scribendi Cacoethe laboranti S.

CArmina ronchissas balba de Nare Poeta,
Ad Rhombum resonans Maevius alter eris.
Sic glacit as mollem Calamo crepitante triumphum,
Scilicet ut fuso Palladis hasta fuit:
Exitus acta probat: Si nunc Cacophonia grata est
Sphyncteris occidui sibilus, omen erit.
Lectori.
Long as oscitationes trahenti,
Et vix sibi lecta paginâ
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 severe spectanti,
haec mora
Epigrammatis morigeri :
In morosas, hujus Morologiae cruditates,
Per Authorem, virum moratum
Et summopere morandum
Nuper editas;
Ac (O mores !) ex improviso
Excussas,
Etiam dum Remores auspicium vaticum
Moretis incusabat.
Attica Qui moriens obiter dicteria lusit,
Ille Morus, vibrans, Vtopiensis Olor;
Plebicolus{que} nigro Chiliadis Indice vultu,
Sacrans moríae pegmata pulchra Moro :
Arrident nostro, morum Diplomate Vati,
Quem tu morari dixeris Encomio.
Morion Colax minor
Cognomento Remora.
Custos Morii Poetici.
Helleboratus.
Cum Cicerone ad Atticum. Vultum tuum
Videre cuperem quùm haec legeres.
Authori Oscedinis & Orthopnoneae
Poeticeae gravidine deplorato
Alexipharmaca
Hygiae{que} Litatio.
Mandibulis prodest succis Oleaster amaris
Hinc Oscedo volans & satagentis opus.
Res. Iradices persilidis, optime succo,
Perdulcis Calami conde, superque sapis.
Os. Pennae (Scripturo) acri stet semper aceto
N • m musam ronchos ducere saepe, vet at.
POets (that have one) with a waking Nose
May make a scurvy shift to snort in Prose:
But here's the secret cunning of thy Art!
To snore so well in tune, and sing thy part.
The Greek, whose vomits dregs Thou seems to lap,
Was wont sometimes in verse to take a nap:
But herein your Errata's are at odds,
His were short slips, and yours are thorough nods.
He Cepius -like, to his male friends did keep;
And thou dost only unto women sleep,
So loud; as if Th'adst hir'd Menippus cave
To be thy Muses long poetique grave.
Were tart Lucilius but alive agen
To set a wiping nose upon his pen!
He would his own smart accent let alone,
Drive Hogs to Rumford in thy Muses tone.
The sneezings of thy Genius we would call
(Were there Familiars now) Socratical;
And though Thou hast such rites in small repute,
W'are bound those sacred omens to salute:
And do (as sympathetically drawn)
Grow nauseous, for to see thy Fancy yawn.

Larus Lucianus. Cognomento Implumis. Alias Jonathan. Rumford.

Physiognomical Conjectures at the unseen Author.

NAture hath seemed to make our Faces terse,
In manner of a well-composed verse;
But sure, there's something in the air of Thine
Remarkable above the native line:
Thou'dst be by him could copy out thy look
By pencil, for a Crisp Abderite took.
A Prophet of the true Pierian race,
Bred on Parnassus forked Top; his Face
Should have the Jiggs and Fancies of his mind
Prickt down in Crotchets, and so interlin'd
With Clifts and Moods; it might be, for a Book
Of Physiognomy, or Music took;
Not look like those, whose thoughts do suck their Dam
Through the close hurdle of an Anagram.
The wits Idea in thy Visage seen,
Works like Platonique capers on the spleen;
And brings Sardonian laughter into scorn!
Were man's dull fivers made of Stoique horn,
The spruce aspect, could not introduce a gleek
Of Cynique Spasms into his dimpled cheek.
Such in his visages Dramatique map
Was Rowley, when his look d • served a clap:
Who from the Thuscan stem derive their style,
Oft by Arts magique, raise a humming smile:
But thine (a virtue of a higher bi • th)
Moves, so, an interjections shaking mirth,
(Had he seen Thee) Democritus had died,
And Heraclitus eyes had soon been dry'd;
Sure mine (had I once entered at this door
Into thy mind) would never pain me more.
Since thy description made my midriff sprout,
And through my liver thrust these wild figs out.
Had thy rich countenance e're blest the eye
Of my judicial Astrology;
I could have then, by virtue of a beam,
Have drawn thy Horoscope into a Scheam.
But fate has laid on me a harder task
To Physiognomize, as through a mask.
By the long strokes and scratches of thy pen,
Thou shouldst be the seventh son of a white Hen.

Ianus de Indagine.

Pam may garw blaen blewyn baf garfr yn pori kelyn kaled dan dy nhâd ei.

LYthyr wyfi yn myned nid oes ond un dyn am gwyr
Na egored neb honof fam selieda chwyr.
Nis gwyr ond un dyn y chwaith ibleu traf
Os dywed ynte i un dyn nid ydiw fo ond knaf.
Gwalcchmai fab Gwenllian ferch
Gwenhwyfar ferch Edynyfed
Fab Gronw ab Tudor fab
Angharad ferch Rhydderchap
Rhirid ben blaid.

Ai Kunt.

To her much honored, though unknown Friend, the Author on his Spinning Poem.

FAncy cut out of a block,
First, hung spindle at a rock;
And so plodding wit brought in
The Peripatetique sin.
Wine set Poets to the wheel,
Made their warmed verses reel;
Sent them strong into the loom,
Thence, they scorned the people's doom;
Women, here set up thy Gigg,
Make it spin into a Jigg
Of as high and great regard,
As the Pyrrhique Gallyard:
But ceasing to let it feel
The scourge of thy Brains flayed Eel;
Thinking it had power to keep
(Town-top like) itself asleep;
Whirling put thee in a swoon,
So (alas) thy Gigg went down:
And we doubt 'twill be in vain
E're to set it up again.

Eve Spinster.

Rhodomontado Qackesalvo Bobadill de Montebanko the Hispanolized Emperique:

On the Great Don Deigo of Parnassus, Master Operator to the Muses, thus danceth his attendance by way of preamble, in the measures of the Spanish Pavin

OLd Erasistratus who thought!
That Nature did commit a fault
To give us Spleens were good for naught,
As he imagined.
He would have, sure, retriev'd his wit,
And found some pleasant use of it
Had he felt in thy Muses fit
Thy pulses.
For there he mought have found the strain
Of sweet Herophilus his vein,
Who unto Musicks living gain
The Shygmick moods did add.
His Systol' and Diastole
So with thy verses do agree,
That I must dance for company
Morisko.
Each line doth run so smooth away
They nor for sense nor reason stay,
And yet the Rhymes are very gay
And well breathed for a course.
Sure Phoebus cut thy spleen from Thee
Thou mights the Muses Footman be,
And (Insect like) in Poetry
Be flying.
Hermophroditus Proselyta foeminili Poetae.
ANdrogynus nutans nec mas nec foemina, steti
Ambos sic sexus singere, Neuter eram;
Donec in Encomii requiescens auspice vatem
Hoc muliere virum vincere posse, tuli.
Demitto auriculas Epicoeni facta virago
Tiresiae venerem Martis alumna probo.

Some sprinklings of commendations on the fragrant and most aromatick Poem of Ja. Strong.

STow talks of Albions Amazons, I swear,
Mandeviles Pigmies to thy Haeroines hear:
How they mow down their mighty foes; protest
Meer clippings, to thy hacksters in the West.
Thy Mu • e (young Ovid ) trumpets these Viragoes
To the utmost bounds of Indies, or Barbadoes:
That Sidneyes Zelman when she'l hear of you,
Will w • sh her counterfeiting gender true:
And Tomyris, (were she alive) not dead,
Had rather hold their trains then Cyrus head.
What miracle is this in sight of men,
When other folk did cry, nay howl and scream,
Put finger in the eye, and made great moans,
These should be pulling up, now throwing down stones.
They willingly embrace the cornish hug,
At which the boldest Hectors shoulders shrug,
Like to light corks they beoy up gainst the tide,
Like Water-men, never work before they are ply'd:
Or as indeed (young Ovid ) thou hast it best,
Like grapes never fallen till they were pressed.
Let them wear buskings ever to their knees,
Or higher it, for (friend) thy verse all sees
That is in them, of vertuousness I mean,
Pray take my rime as I suppost, that's clean,
Let them have statutes made (like men) of stone,
Another wonder, which may be daily sh • wn,
And let thy pen contrive it, which must stand
Immovable, when stiffened by thy hand.

Bu • lie Ioans.

Ascunes motts ou verses sur les marvelous Gests del tresnoble puzeles en le West.

Provant auxi que le entry de ses dits puzeles sur les
Cavalieres fuit bone per le Ley.
VOus avez icy (Mastres) verses scaches
De tresgrand faits de nostre Western lasses
Et ceo suppuose que il serra come Treason
Ou all pluis meindre il serra misprision
Si nostre Ley voile riens de ceo escrie
Ne voile reporter cielx femes Chivalry
Est en nous pris un Count nosme Devon-shire
Le scite & sink de plusars Cavalire
Mes ceux bones Houswives vice le broom le weapon
Ad scour ceo clean & done all eux disseison
Et s' bone ley que quant home per tort enter
Le feme avera un brief de inspiciend' venter.

John Perkins un sage Mastre de Ley. Reg. Ed. 6. ac Rotulo 1645.

To his honored friend Mr. JAMES STRONG, on his excellent Poem.

HOw dost thou strain thy wits! thy thoughts perplex
With Stronger lines to court the weaker Sex!
He who in time to come shall read their story
Beyond Haec homo, or The Female glory,
Will (if no wiser than thyself) admire
Both them and thee: and think you did conspire
T' amaze the minds of men, more than to teach
The zeal you here present: For who can reach
The top of that gay garland, wherewith thou,
Like Whitson-Ladies hast bedeckt their brow.

S. W.

In ipsissimum Musarum melliculum, Phoebi germanum, & maxim Familiarem Dominum Presbyterum- IACOBVM cognomento STRONG, & pium ejus subuculare Carmen.

SAxa, virumque cano, gressus removete Prophani;
Haec ne, quisquis ades, tela lacesse volens.
Si sapis his credas, rapiat ne fide carentem
Turba loquax, captum at redime quam minim • .
Certe Author caveat, novum ne augendo furorem,
Castratus miser, hinc audiat ipse male.
Io triumph canunt petientes Penthea Bacchae.
Multae unum, minor est gloria Naso tuis.
Molle genus nobis pugnando restituit rem,
Saxa dabat testes nam retinere cupit.
Quam been scripsisses novam Batromuomachyam?
Carmine avent repeti Nuxque Culexque tuo.
Dignaque quae melius describi, à Pollice dicti
Facta Equitis: faciunt quaeque stupenda grues.
O tibi si dominae reserasset scrinia Fotis,
Bubonem been vix unctum abtisse puto.
Dicitur, ut memini, faecundis • latibus olim,
Lascivus celeres gignere ventus equos.
Quisve neget Zephyro nostrum praegnasse Poetam,
Talibus hic videas quem properare modis.
Ast animal quodcunque, asinus, fuit, anne caballus,
Nil moror, at mulum parturit egregium,
Cardo quod occiduus trahat hunc, sympathia quaedam ast;
Nasum Heliconiadis forte lavavit aquis.
Ridiculum caput est, vultuque, habituque perennis,
Risus sacra ferens, quemque vidisse sat est.
Nil prohibit sed si ridentem dicere verum,
Musarum huic crepitus aura jocosa tulit.

D. G.

Sonnet.

WHen first thy doughty verse I read,
O verse! no verse! but stranger thing;
And saw what wondrous mirth it bred,
I marvel'd how the Queen and King
Had mist this while thy high-strained note,
And thou the privileged Coat.
For as the Moon with crisped beams
Produceth flowers which please the sight;
And as the Sun amidst the streams
Doth make the waves stand bolt upright;
So thou, though by no Star allowed,
Nor Planet loved, shin'st in the Crowd.
I will not believe those tales, which say,
Apollo fed Admetus sheep,
His Cow, or Ox, for by my say,
Since thou the number up dost keep,
The Herd was of, I dare protest,
Arcadia's more peculiar beasts.
And since the Lamiae all are pleased,
Their God's should all be born by thee,
Thou of thy load shalt not be eased
By roses, though here plenty be;
One Apuleius was, they say,
But he I think did never bray.
Wherefore be thou secure, and now
To you whose blessed hapit shall be
This Syrian Goddess to to bow,
And dream some Fane, or great City;
I tell you plain, O Mortals, Mortals,
This Myndus is, look you secure the portals,
For there the jest lies, but to thee
Again, my Meta- Virgil, terse
Thought of my end now driveth me;
For since thou wouldst live by thy verse,
How dare I hope a death in mine,
Aim'd for so just, so jump, like thine.

Richard Ionson, Salamanca.

A Character of the Author.

ME think it, Sirs, accordaunt to reason,
To tell you now all the condycion
Of the like on, so as it seemed me,
And what hem were, and of what degree,
And eke in what array that he were in,
And all for forward by Saint Runnyon.
A Clerke of Oxenford he was though,
That unto Logic h • d long ygoe,
Of his complexion nothing sangyne
He is, but all swa sw • rt; and of Latyne
A few terms hath he, two, or three,
That he han learned out of some degree:
His face is bald, and shines as any glas,
His mouth as great as is a furnas,
With scaled brows, black and pylled berde,
Of his visage children are sore afferde;
His voice as small as is a Gotes fare,
I trow he be a Geldyng or a Mare;
His here is by his eeres round yshorne,
His top is docked like a Priest beforne;
He is short sholdered, a thick gnarre,
There nis no door but he wol hede the bar,
Or breke it at a renning with his heed,
Dares none ones wyle him but he wol be deed,
Aye by his belt he bares a longe Pavade,
And, of a sword full trenchaunt is the blade,
To rage as twere a whelp he is said,
Yet of his porte, as meek as is a Mayde:
Full longe he lokes, and thereto soberly,
Full thread-bare is his over Court py;
For he han yet getten him no benefice,
Ne is naught worthy to have none office,
And yet Saint Iulyan is in's countre,
And the best beggar of his house truly:
Full longe are his legs and full l • ne,
I like a staff, there is no calf ysene,
Of yedding he bares utterly the price,
Well loveth he garlike, onions, and eke likes,
He holden a side wemme for the none,
Full oft time he han the bourde begun,
No Crysten man soe oft in his degree,
And in Lime at the siege had he be.
But soth to say he is somewhat squaimus
Of far • yng, and of speech dangerous.
Now is it not of God a sul fair grace,
That such a lewd man's wit shall pace
The wisdom of an heap of learned men?
But I must sayne, as that I farther twyn,
I ween he fares as doth an open •• rs,
That ylke fruit is ever lenger the w • rs,
Til it be rotten in molloke or in •• re,
And so God save us all that here be.

J. Chaucer junior.

PROLOGUE.

GEntlemen, (in the Authors phrase) I come to chatter
My mind unto you, and think not I should flatter
At all our Penman; for, believe me, he
Will hardly read or hear me, willingly:
But some there be, I know, will ask why here
In Satan's name a Prologue should appear?
Since they Drammatike Ushers still were known,
And this the world will for an Epic own.
I answer, sure our Author meant to raise
The first best instituted form of plays,
To its prime height: were one Narration took
The fore-top, and the toe of the whole Book.
One more Objection there will be, which is,
Why to so scarrifi'd a piece as this,
A merry Prologue, and a laughing name,
Are tendered? Ye, fine Coxcombs, fie for shame,
Know ye not yet t' what sage Mimnermus stood?
That but what pleasant was nothing was good.
Our Authors of his mind and no man grieves
So far, but that he may laugh in his sleeves.
Think then you hear him now, and think anon,
How that you hear the swelling Lycophron
Chaunt, how the Trojan women stir'd their bones,
To tumble down their walls huge massy stones;
For ours did so, yet wiser far then those,
These to repel, those to let in their foes,
Oh would himself now but his face make shine,
With daubing plaster, and the Lees of wine!
Ascend a Cart (as was the mode of old)
And through the streets himself this Poem trol'd.
Yould think if not Apollo fresh and young,
Because his hair is short, his ears are long.
Because Don Phoebus robes do loosely float,
And he alas has but a petti-coat:
Yet since he had paper got, by teaching School,
He had been sworn (you would swear) Groom of his stool.
And this same Poem here which now you view,
Part of the excrements from thence which flew.
A year and half boxed up, (this is sad mirth)
From whence (like to an Elephantine birth)
Is dropt this wonder; Sirs, pray hold your noses,
Or hold some of my friends wits here for poses:
I doubt you will snuff else, and like him, to whom
Admetus showed the Verse for his own tomb,
Admire the strangeness of it, but yet say,
You wish that you had seen it yesterday.

Richard Ionson. Si non dant Proceres, dabit Histrio.

Feminine Valour: OR THE Western Women.

COme Reader wilt thou see how Grace
Through Sable veil shows comeliest face:
Womens virtues in the West
Like Grapes never drop till they were pressed:
One rib of Adam there is grown
Like Cadmus teeth when they were sown;
Almost an Army, they have spent
Prayers and praise for Parliament.
Could'st thou the parts of Devon trace
No via lactea, but thy race
Of blood would be, there see the field
Maintain'd by Women though men yield:
Look round about and see, who can
But wonder if he see a man,
But stand and wonder more at this,
To see a Metampsukesis.
Men's spirits lost have reinformed
Womens bodies, both's reformed:
Who could see the sword not daunting
A Woman's heart, but stand still vaunting?
A Garrison in part defended
By Women, till the Quarrels ended,
And worn out men to be supplied
By second strength of Women tried,
And not acknowledge that 'tis true,
I give West Women what is due.

Ia. St.

WHat former Age did ever want a Quill
Drencht with the dew of high Parnassus hill?
Those Bastard gifts of nature to record,
But ah! cannot our ill taught times afford
One to give virtue juster praise? Ye Nine,
Have ye no quicker fancy now then mine
To limn the praises of that weaker Sex
Exactly as beseems an Artisex
Where's now that nimble tongue, Apollos vein,
Or had we one could match blind Homers strain,
Or but that wanton Poet who to flatter,
One Lalage sweet Poems once did chatter.
Here's now a subject worth his pains, who sings
Had need carouse of all the Muses springs:
A saint-like sort of Females as before,
Earths broad Horrison till now never bore.
From heaven are fallen, O let's not be dull
To write their worth whereof the West is full.
New natured are they and their grace divine,
Come let's embalm their faces, and eke enshrine
Their worth with honor, which doth claim the bays
And round their heads, let's deck the Daphnean bays.
If constancy that golden garland wreath'd
Which mortals none yet wore that ever breathed,
In sun-burnt times of danger, but he lost
This sacred jem, wherewith this crown's imbost
Sometime or other: O what cause had we
To spread the praise of female constancy?
Yet such a train of virtues do attend
This Lady leader, as I should not spend
Some pain of speaking of her retinue,
I should deny her what I know is due:
Not one but hand in hand me thinks she goes
Linkt to all virtues following her in rows:
An injury it were should I describe
The mistress by herself which it doth ride,
Born not by few but such a train of Graces
As did the three, but see they'd hide their faces:
Cease now Agathocles to speak the praise
Of thy Theogina, for our late days
Have overmatcht thy mate for constancy;
Yea constant Camnia or Antiope:
I must search further for a parable,
Or else our all past females will excel:
Virtue in those was single, show me one
Like ours hold virtue all and I have done.
If here Corvina, Sapho, or that Queen,
Zenobia for their learning would be seen
So far as ere the Bard past Aristarchus,
Or foolish Bavius was outstripped by Marcus :
Our christal wits be pearl'd with gifts divine
Those ruder rugged spirits do out-shine.
If Great Gorgonia or Evanders mother
Endowments now would show beyond all other, Trasilla
And prove their eminence in pious zeal,
O let our Matrons only but appeal
To heavens high Chancellor▪ where they may not boast
If ere himself were conquered by an host
Of praying females, where every hour
Heaven be not forced his mercy down to shower:
No strangers are they at the throne of Grace,
But vow to pray until they see his face;
Which being hidden hath eclipst this I will,
As when the glorious Sun's withdrawn a while:
Doth noble Portia or Lucretia strive
For chastity this praise us to deprive.
Modesty forbids you vaunt, hark how Diana
Prefers our females far beyond Susanna :
Who though the crimson whore seek to deflowr,
And spoil this Virgin virtue every hour.
Let each day testify how they refuse
Her whorlsh proffers, and do rather choose
To sacrifice their blood to Christ their Bride,
Then with Rome's Idols to be stuprifide.
This makes Rome's beasts to foam with rage
'Cause we hold fast that knot of Marriage
With Christ our Husband, and will not defile
Our milk-white garments with his whoredoms vile.
Dost thou Sulpitia fret for this their glory,
And for thy verity relat'st a story
Which needs must lay a claim unto that Rose
That joys our females temples to inclose?
Their persons yet their hearts do bend
As circle lines do to one center tend.
Religion reformed is all their scope
Which not one few or most but all do hope:
Ones griefs not another's joy, but all
Do live and die together, rise and fall,
So closely are they join'd by union • tie,
That all resolve to live, and all to die.
'Mongst them not one Tarpeia ere betrayed
Their strength through bribes or else with fear dismayed.
Blush then to see our Corus so combined
That all seem better one, then more defined.
How strangely frugal still Dame Nature seemed
Pinching her gifts till now, these may be deemed
Her darling unto others being bereaved
Of those choice dowries to our sex bequeathed,
But flesh and blood never gave a legacy
To match the graces we in them descry:
None but that sacred story must produce
A Saint to challenge my undaunted Muse.
'Mongst Mary's three 'twas chiefly given in charge
With never forgotten praises to enlarge,
The Sacred Bible with her praise that cast
Perfuming Nard on Christ, 'twas called wast:
Not one but many matrons there we see
Who rather then to Baal they'll bend a knee,
A set of martyred matrons chose to be,
As earths contemners jointly do contend
Who most in ointment shall on Christ expend
Whole mannors, large possessions lost, are gain
In their account, Christ's honor to maintain.
Did Mary wash with tears? 'twas much with blood,
These steep the parched earth as doth a flood.
O precious balm sweat from a soul perfumed
With grace till body be again resum'd.
This like an Ordure shall the world fill
And keep your glory pure and spotless still:
But Jael thinks at last this palm to win
By valor greater far then feminin:
Ours truly warlike are, she took the odds
When Sisera lay sleeping, ours with clodds,
Stones, swords or fists, can fight on equal terms,
A handful scorns to fly from Summer swarms.
This Amazon-like train vows never to stoop
Being fled from Venus unto Mars his troop,
Where they with tumors, tost, Truths standard bear,
And Zion's downfaln breaches strive to rear:
They stop the gap themselves, where judgment flies
Praying in Moses turn with tear-swoln eyes,
Nor fancy, frenzy, or blind passion,
Or ought but pious resolution
Moves them with constant courage thus to hold,
Right tutoring reason makes them bold.
Why speak I more then this, to most 'tis known
The weaker vessels are the stronger grown.
The vine which on the pole still lean'd his arms,
Must now bear up and save the pole from harms.
How many man-like spirits have been steeled
By these she helpers being like to yield.
How have some to courage been exhorted,
How often others by them been supported?
I this deblason coat that makes the crest
Is constancy of virtues all the best:
A virtue which till now was never known
In women's breasts, till now was never shewn:
Their choice was Mary's (Christ) then 'tis not strange
Their motto's this (Our choice admits no change.)
Worlds wanton wooers may rend Josephs coat
From him, but him from Christ's, hell cannot dooit:
A sweeting solace have they in their crosses,
We keep our Christ, what matter isit for losses?
Go on, heavens saints, like to those Roman Dames
Cornelia, Portia, and the rest whose names
Shall wear out time, who first began
To make a Pagan state a Christian one:
Your praise is great who cannot abide
That Babels tired whore herself should hide
Under Christ's garments, or be fostered longer
Within the Kingdom to some now grown stronger
By opposition filled with detestation
Of Romish Locusts near to deaths damnation▪
Rejoice then travelling women thy time near grows
To be delivered from the painful throws
Of twice two tiring Summers that do make
Our bowels yearn to see our hearts to ache:
The Judge already set on bloody room
And murdered Saints cry loudly for her doom,
How long Lord, how long shall this whore wallow
In guiltless blood, and threaten still to swallow
Each day a deeper draught; O make her drunk
With vials of thy plagues; let her be sunk
As low as hell with vengeance from above
Judge'd to the persecutors of thy Dove;
Mean while continue pure, the lilly scorns
To be defiled though behedg'd with thorns.
The husbandman's at hand and he must needs
Gather the rose or else destroy the weeds.
Come Lord to thy garden and do pity
The wild Bore routs thy plants in every City:
Hedge us within the pales of thy defense
So shall thy plants be safe from violence.
Farewell rare paramours, I must confess
Virtues perfection claims a purer dress,
Stand fast a while, the nuptial chambers sweeping
To welcome those to joy that now stand weeping.

The Epilogue.

SIrs, if you are set on edge, you must excuse
Our Author says, the sharpness of his Muse.
Because he vows, and stands toit, that no wines
Do grow in th' West, he thought for lack of Vines.
Next to ground apples, be loves naught before
The milk-maids courtesy behind the door,
When for a tale of love, or last nights dream,
She pays him with two kisses, and sour cream.
Besides as he remembered, 'a did think,
That 'a put verguice into once his Ink,
But wonderit should be stale, for by the sun,
He swore 'twas scarce two years since he begun.
Truth 'twas the Stati'ners fault, that was too nice,
To bate at first ten shillings in the price!
If y'are displeased he vows to write no more,
But Satyrs (I'ad forgot) against the whore,
And you his friends howere he does not fear
But to preferthem to a judges ear,
And reason; for to me, he did protest
They'd make as good neck verses as the best.
Pray donit provoke him, for you know not what
An inrag'd fancy may attempt; that's flat
He'll write Iambicks, and then if that you
Do hang yourselves, mechance he will do so too.
Faith, do not trust him; for who justly can
Value the loss, that such a worthy man,
Would bring upon the Commonweal of wit
Should he but undergo a fate unfit?
Werit not for him Apollo would be sad,
And th' Muses want of mirth, poor girls, run mad.
But 'gainst the Proverb, while he lives I will swear,
The God will laugh more then bare once a year:
Now much good doit ye, 'tis th • Authors will;
Beshrew you if you did not laugh your fill.
But lest this mirth should cease, pray write ye too,
And then perchance we'll laugh as much at you.

Lusimus Octavi 8 Sive G. D.

FINIS.