FITTON

Or News of doubtful credit, as Barbers news. Whereto, beside the Corant , and Gazetti. As vacation news, Terme-newes, and Christmas-newes. As the Reformed news, Protestant news, And men of Correspondence i'the Country — Factors, and Agents — Nay more I'll stan to't. For, where he was wont to get In, hungry Captains obscure Statesmen. We have seen't, And dish ou news, Were't true, or false. How, do you call him there? He that has the maidenhead Of all the books. Or rather prostituted. Oh Sir! it is the printing we oppose. Though it be never so false, it runs News still. I, that's and Error Ha abused many; but we shall reform it, As many things beside (we have a hope) Are crept among the popular abuses. once, in Seven Years, As the age dotes— Fresh and new stamped, And if a man will assure his News, he may: Twopence a Sheet he shall be warranted, And have a policy for't. Sir. It ha Cost sweat, and freezing. But now it ha the shape— Emissary Westminster. For his Essay, his piece. It's as News come, in, And for a needs can make them. So is your creature. We shall be your servants. Our selves. This noble Doctor here. This Man of war, he was our Mustermaster. Thou needest not fear him man, his credit is found, Of and untainted credit; what say you to him? And Heir to a fair fortune, A drench of sack At a good tavern, and a fine fresh pullet, Would cure him. And odd bargain of Venison, To driven. Or Curriers hands! His face looks Like a Dyers apron, joust! No certain species sure, A kind of mule! That's half and Ethnic, half a Christian ! See! this pure rogue! A rogue, a cheater. He never thinks. More then a log, of any grace at Court, A man may do him: or that such a Lord Reached him his hand. What a damned Harpy it is? where's Madrigal? Is he sneek'd hence. That was a favour. Good morrow, Master Secretary. Or in porc lane dishes There were some hope. Who would hold any Land To have the trouble to marl it. And you Mass. Broker Shall have a feeling. Oh! the Prodigal! Will you be at so much charge with us, and lose? And yet his eyes were drier then a pummise. He has offer worser To gather up spilled water, and preserve Each hair falls from him to stop balls with all. Let us leave the viper. And counsel of and Oracle! brother Picklock, I shall adore thee, for this parcel of tidings, It will cry up the credit of our Office, Eternally, and make our Staple immortal! Thou seemest, by thy language, No less a Courtier, then a man of Law. I must embrace thee. Fitton is brought a bent. I do admire this nimble engine, Picklock. You have rectified my error! BY your leave, Gentlemen, what news? good, good still? I'your new Office? Princess, here's the Staple! This is the Governor, kiss him, noble Princess, For my sake. Thom, how is it honest Thom ? How does thy place, and thou? my Creature, Princess? He tells Pe cunia of Thom. This is my Creature, give him your hand to kiss, He was my Barber, now he writes Clericus ! I bought this place for him, and gave it him. For penance. IT has been long the aim Of the house of Austria. No, of Liechtenstein, Lord Paul, I think. Witness the Engine, that they have presented him, To wind himself with, up, into the Moon : And thence make all his discoveries! It shall clear consume, Palace, and place; demolish and bear down, All strengths before it! Come, do not stick with the gentleman. From a right hand I assure you, The Ecle -boats here, that lie before Queen-Hyth, Came out of Holland. I do grant you Spinola's new project: and army in cork-shoes. But what if Spinola have a new Project : To bring and army over in cork-shoes, And land them, here, at Harwich? all his horse Are shod with cork, and fourscore pieces of ordinance, Mounted upon cork-carriages, with bladders, In stead of wheels to run the passage over At a springtide. As true as the rest As there is no Princess, But may perfume her chamber with the extraction. A very Paradise, if you saw all, Lady. Sweet Mistress Statute, gentle Mistress Band, And Mother Mortgage, do but get her Grace To sojourn here.— Come, they all scorn us, Do you not see't? the family of scorn! Let's jeer a little. Madrigal, A jeer. Very Like, But we were not well in. This Canter, Is and old envious Knave! I have marked him all this meal, he has done nothing But mock, with scurvy faces, all we said. We say, we wonder not, your man of Law, Should be so gracious wi'you; but how it comes, This Rogue, this Canter! A fellow That speaks no language— And no honest Christian Can understand— A Lady, The Graces taught to move! Whose lips are the instructions of all Lovers ! A voice, as if that Harmony still spoke! Young Hebes neck, or Junoe's arms! Laeda might yield unto her, for a face! Flora, for cheeks! The pearl does strive in whiteness, with her neck, Oh, she has A front too slippery to be look't upon! That's the 'ill luck of all his works still. To begin many works, but finish none; Imperfect. It is his Rose. He can make nothing else That's fairly said of Money. It's good. And then I have a Saraband — She makes good cheer, she keeps full boards, She holds a Fair of Knights, and Lords, A Mercat of all Offices, And Shops of honour, more or less. According to Pecunia's Grace, The Bride hath beauty, blood, and place, The Bridegroom virtue, valour, wit, And wisdom, as he stands for it. Nor none shall know, by my consent. Oh, he's a dainty Poet ! When he sets to't! It's excellent! A dainty Air ! The Pump They all threaten, Is not far off; If't were, the sink is near: Or a good Jordan. No, you are kicked And used kindly, as you should be. Oh Master Pyed-mantle ! Pyed-man tle brings the Lady Pecuniam her pedigree. BY your leave, Gentlemen. Her Graces Herald, A decayed Doctor at least! This is some other then he seems! This cannot be a Canter! It's his Father! We come to bail your dogs. And tender, we are told. To be fairly knocked o'the head. No, nor no Mortgage. Pox o'these true jests, I say. Where's your venison, now? I, and now, and then, And Emblem, o'your self, and overgrown Pike ? You have made a shift To swallow twenty such poor Jacks ere now. Tut, he'll live Like a Grass hopper— He calls his dogs to his aid. Away. He's a flame. He may be in time, he is his Agent, now. Sir, all are alike true, and certain. Why, let him, It's but writing so much over again. Faith, and when they are gone, Here's nothing to be seen beyond.