PATRICO

STay my sweet Singer, The touch of thy finger, A little, and linger; For me that am bringer Of bound to the border, The rule and Recorder, And mouth of the order, As Priest of the game, And Prelate of the same. THer's a Gentry Cove here, Is the top of the Shire, Of the Beaver Ken, A man among men; You needs not to fear, I have and eye, and and ear That turns here and there, To look to our gear. Some say that there be One or two, if not three, That are greater then he. ANd for the Roome-Morts, I know by their ports, And their jolly resorts, They are of the sorts That love the true sports Of King Ptolomeus, Or great Coriphaeus, And Queen Cleopatra, The Gipsies grand Matra. Then if we shall shark it, Here Fair is, and Market. Leave Big by, and Goose, And play fast, and lose, A short cut, and long, Some inch of a song, Pythagoras lot, Drawn out of a pot; With what says Alchindus? And Pharaotes Indus, John de Indagine With all their Pagine Of faces and Palmistry, And this is Almistrie. Lay by your wimbles, Your boring for thimbles, Or using your nimbles, In diving the pockets, And sounding the sockets Of Simper-the Cockets; Or angling the purses, Of such as will curse us; But in the strict duel Be merry, and cruel, Strike fair at some jewel, That mine may accrue well, For that is the fuel, To make the Town brew well, And the pot wring well, And the brain sing well, Which we may bring well About by a string well, And do the thing well. It is but a strain Of true legerdemain, Once twice and again. Or what will you say now If with our fine play now, Our feats, and our fingering, Here without lingering; Cosening the sights Of the Lords, and the knights. Some one of their Georges Come off to save charges. Or what will you say now? If with our fine play now, Our knacks, and our dances, We work on the fancies Of some of these Nancies. These trinkets, and tripsies, And make'em turn Gipsies. Here's no Justice Lippus Will seek for to nip us, In Crampring, or Cippus, And then for to strip us, And after to whip us. His justice to vary, While here we do tarry, But be wise, and wary, And we may both carry, The Kate, and the Marry, And all the bright ae'ry, A way to the quarry. The George and the Garter, Into our own quarter; Or durst I go further In methood and order: Ther's a purse and a Seal, I have a great mind to steal. That when our tricks are done, We might seal our own pardon; All this we may do, And a great deal more too, If our brave Ptolemy, Will but say follow me. AS happy a Palm Sir, as most in the Land, It should be a pure, and and innocent hand; And worthy the trust, For it says yowl be just, And carry that Purse, Without any curse Of the Public-weal, When you take out the Seal, You do not appear, A Judge of a year. I'll venture my life You never had wife, But isle venture my skill, You may when you will. You have the Kings conscience too in your breast, And that's a good guest; Which you will have true touch of, And yet not make much of; More then by truth your self forth to bring, The man that you are, for God, and the King. A Hunter you have been heretofore, And had game good store; But ever you went Upon a new sent, And shifted your loves As often as they did their smocks, or their gloves: But since that your brave intendments are Now bent for the war, The world shall see You can constant be, One Mistress to prove, And court her for your love. Pallas, shall be both your Sword, and your Gage; Truth, bear your Shield, and fortune your Page, Sweet Doxies, and Dells, My Roses, and Knells, Scarce out of the shells, Your hands nothing else. We ring you no knells With our Ptolemy's Bells', Though we come from the fells, But bring you good spells, And tell you some chances, In amid of your dances, That fortune advances, To Prudence, or Frances; To Sisly, or Harry, To Roger, or Marry, Or Peg of the Dary; To Maudlin, or Thomas, Then do not run from us, Although we look tawny, We are healthy, and brawny, What ere your demand is, Weell give you no jaundice. WHy now you behold, It truth that I told, And no devise; They are changed in a trice, And so will I, Be my self, by and by. I only now Must study now To come off with a grace, With my Patrico's place: Some short kind of blessing, It self addressing Unto my good Master, Which light on him faster, Then wishes can fly. And you that stand by Be as jocund as I; Each man with his voice, Give his heart to rejoice, Which I'll requite, If my Art hit right, Though late now at night, Each Clown here in sighed, Before day light, Shall prove a good Knight; And your Lasses Pages Worthy their wages, Where fancy engages Girls to their ages. MAdam we know of your coming so late, We could not well fit you a nobler fate Then what you have ready made; And old men wife, Is the light of his life, A young one is but his shade. You will not importune, The change of your fortune; For if you dare trust to my forecasting, T'is presently good, and will be lasting. WHy this is a sport, See it North, see it South, For the taste of the Court, Do—do—down Like my hose. A Gipsy in his shape More calls the beholder, Then the fellow with the Ape, Yes, awake on the Bench. And has so much worth, Though he fit i'the stocks, He will draw the Girls forth, If they can, for their guts. Come mend us, come lend us, their shouts, and their noise, Fear not, in hell you'll never led Apes; A mortified maiden, of five escapes. Christian shall get her a lose bodide-gowne, In tri'mge, how a Gentleman differs from a Clown. Yet look to your self, you'll would some ill luck, And shortly, for I have his purse at a pluck. Away birds Mum, I hear by the Hum, If Beck-harman come, He'll strike us all dumb, With a noise Like a Drum, Let's give him our room, Here, this way some, And that way others, We are not all brother's; Leave me to the cheats, I'll show they some feats. For that take my word, We have a record, That does it afford, And says our first Lord, Cocklorrell he hight, On a time did invite The Devil to a feast; The tail of the jest, Though since it be long, Lives yet in a song; Which if you would hear, Shall plainly appear. I'll call in my Clarke Shall sing Like a Lark, Come in my long shark, With thy face brown and dark; With thy tricks, and thy toys, Make a merry merry noise, To those mad Country boys, And chant out the fart of the Grand-devils arse. Friends not to refel ye, Or any way quell you, To buy or to fell you, I only must tell you; You aim at a mystery, Worthy a History; Ther's much to be done, Ever you can be a Son, Or brother of the Moon. 'Tis not so soon Acquired, as desired. You must be Ben-bowsie, And sleepy, and drowsy, And lazy, and lousy, Before you can rouse ye, In shape that arowse ye. And then you may stalk The Gipsies walk; To the Coops, and the Pens, And bring in the Hens, Though the Cock be sullen For lose of the Pullen: Take Turkey, or Capon, And Gammons of Bacon, Let nought be forsaken; Wee'll let you go lose, Like a Fox to a Goose, And show you the sty Where the little Pigs lie; Whence if you can take One or two, and not wake The Sow in her dreams, But by the Moon beams; So warily hie, As neither do cry. You shall the next day Have license to play At the hedge a flirt, For a sheet, or a shirt; If your hand be light, I'll show you the slight Of our Ptolemy's knot, It is, and it's not, To change your complexion, With the noble confection Of Walnuts, and Hogs-grease, Better then Dogs-grease: And to milk the Kine, Ere the Milkmaid fine Hath opened her eine. Or if you desire To spit, or fart fire, I'll teach you the knacks, Of eating of flax; And out of their noses, Draw Ribbons, and posies, As for example, Mine own is as ample, And fruitful a nose, As a wit can suppose; Yet it shall go hard, But there will be spared, Each of you a yard, And worth your regard. When they colour, and size Arrive at your eyes. And if you incline To a cup of good wine, When you sup, or dine; If you chance it to lack, Be it Clarret, or Sack; I'll make this snout, To deal it about, Or this to run out, As it were from a spout. IS this worth your wonder, Nay then you shall under- Stand more of my skill. I can (for I will) Here at Burley o'th Hill, Give you all your fill, Each Jack with his Gill, And show you the King, The Prince too and bring; The Gipsies were here, Like Lords to appear, With such there attenders, As you thought offenders, Who now become new men, Yowl know them for true men; For he we call chief, I'll tell it you in brief, Is so far from a thief, As he gives you relief With his bred, bear, and beife And 'tis not long since You drank of his Wine, And it made you fine; Both Clarret, and Sherry, Then let us be merry; And help with your call, For a Hall, a Hall. Stand up to the wall, Both good men, and tall, We are one men all. Nothing, but bear the bob of the close, It will be no bruthen you well may suppose. But bless the Sov'raine, and his senses, And to wish away offences, Wee'll take them in order, as they have being, And first of seeing. FRom a Gipsy, in the morning, Or a pair of squint-eyes turning: From the Coblin, and the spectre, Or a Drunkard, though with Nectar; From a woman true to no man, Which is ugly, beside common; A smock rampant, and the itches, To be putting on the breeches: Where so here they have their being, Bless the Sov'raine, and his seeing. FRom a fool, and serious oyes; From a Lawyer, three parts noise; From impertinence, Like a Drum Beat at dinner in his room; From a tongue without a file, Heaps of Phrases, and no style. From a Fiddle out of tune, As the Cuckoo is in June. From the candlesticks of Lothbury, And the loud pure wives of Banbury: Or a long pretended fit; Meant for mirth, but is not it: Only time, and ears out-wearing, Bless the Sov'raine, and his hearing. FRom a strolling Tinkers sheet, Or a pair of Carriers feet: From a Lady that does breath, Worse above, then underneath. From the Diet, and the knowledge Of the students in Bears-college. From Tobacco, with the tipe Of the Devils glister-pipe; Or a stink all stinks excelling, A Fishmongers dwelling, Bless the Sovereign, and his smelling. FRom and Oyster, and fried fish A Sows baby in a dish: From any portion of a Swine, From bade Venison, and worse wine. Ling, what Cook so'ere it boil, Though with mustard fawc'd and oil, Or what else would keep man fasting, Bless the Sovereign, and his tasting. BOth from birdlime, and from pitch, From a Doxy, and her itch. From the bristles of a Hog, Or the ringworm in a Dog. From the courtship of a brier, Or St. Anthony's old fire. From a needle, or a thorn; I'the bed at Even, or Morn. Or from any Gowtes least grutching. Bless the Sovereign, and his touching. Bless him too from all offences, In his sports, as in his fences. From a Boy to cross his way, From a fallen, or a foul day. Bless him, o bless him Heaven, and lend him long to be the sacred burden of all song; The Acts, and years, of all our Kings to out go; And while he's mortal, we not think him so.