And God-like rul'd alone,
And tho' his Subjects were but few,
Their Hearts were all his own;
But since the Slaves revolted are,
And turn'd into a State,
Their Int'rest is their only Care,
And Love grows out of Date.
_A_ SONG.
_Set by Mr._ FISHBURN.
[Music]
Wealth breeds Care, Love, Hope and Fear;
What does Love our Business hear?
While _Bacchus_ merry does appear,
Fight on and fear no sinking,
Charge it briskly to the Brim,
'Till the flying Top-sails swim,
We owe the great Discovery to him
Of this new World of Drinking.
Grave Cabals that States refine,
Mingle their Debates with Wine;
_Ceres_ and the God o'th' Wine;
Makes every great Commander.
Let sober Sots Small-beer subdue,
The Wise and valiant Wine does woe;
The _Stagyrite_ had the honour to
Be drunk with _Alexander_.
Stand to your Arms, and now Advance
A Health to the _English_ King of _France_;
On to the next a _bon Speranze_,
By _Bacchus_ and _Apollo_.
Thus in State I lead the Van,
Fall in your Place by your right-hand Man,
Beat Drum! now March! Dub a dub, ran dan,
He's a _Whig_ that will not follow.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ Fishburn.
[Music]
Tho' Fortune and Love may be Deities still,
To those they Oblige by their Pow'r;
For my Part, they ever have us'd me so ill,
They cannot expect I'll adore:
Hereafter a Temple to Friendship I'll raise,
And dedicate there all the rest of my Days,
To the Goddess accepted my Vows,
_To the Goddess accepted my Vows_.
Thou perfectest Image of all things Divine,
Bright Center of endless Desires,
May the Glory be yours, and the Services mine,
When I light at your Altars the Fires.
I offer a Heart has Devotion so pure,
It would for your Service all Torments endure,
Might you but have all things you wish,
_Might you_, &c.
But yet the Goddess of Fools to despise,
I find I'm too much in her Power;
She makes me go where 'tis in vain to be wise,
In absence of her I adore:
If Love then undoes me before I get back,
I still with resignment receive the Attack,
Or languish away in Despair,
_Or languish_, &c.
_A_ SONG.
_Set by Mr._ Henry Purcell.
[Music]
He himself courts his own Ruin,
That with too great Passion sues 'em:
When Men Whine too much in Wooing,
Women with like Coquets use 'em:
Some by this way of addressing
Have the Sex so far transported,
That they'll fool away the Blessing
For the Pride of being Courted.
Jilt and smile when we adore 'em,
While some Blockhead buys the Favour;
Presents have more Power o'er 'em
Than all our soft Love and Labour,
Thus, like Zealots, with screw'd Faces,
We our fooling make the greater,
While we cant long winded Graces,
Others they fall to the Creature.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Mr._ DAMASENE.
[Music]
Cease lovely _Strephon_, cease to charm;
Useless, alas! is all this Art;
It's needless you should strongly arm,
To take a too, too willing Heart:
I hid my weakness all I could,
And chid my pratling tell-tale Eyes,
For fear the easie Conquest should
Take from the value of the Prize.
But oh! th' unruly Passion grew
So fast, it could not be conceal'd,
And soon, alas! I found to you
I must without Conditions yield,
Tho' you have thus surpriz'd my Heart,
Yet use it kindly, for you know,
It's not a gallant Victor's part
To insult o'er a vanquish'd Foe.
_A_ SONG.
_Set by Mr._ DAMASENE.
[Music]
You happy Youths, whose Hearts are free
From Love's Imperial Chain,
Henceforth be warn'd and taught by me,
And taught by me to avoid inchanting Pain,
Fatal the Wolves to trembling Flocks,
Sharp Winds to Blossoms prove:
To careless Seamen, hidden Rocks;
To human quiet Love.
Fly the Fair-Sex, if Bliss you prize,
The Snake's beneath the Flow'r:
Whoever gaz'd on Beauties Eyes,
That tasted Quiet more?
The Kind with restless Jealousie,
The Cruel fill with Care;
With baser Falshood those betray,
These kill us with Despair.
_A_ SONG. _Set by Dr._ STAGGINS.
[Music]
When first _Amyntas_ charm'd my Heart,
The heedless Sheep began to stray;
The Wolves soon stole the greatest part,
And all will now be made a Prey:
Ah! let not Love your Thoughts possess,
'Tis fatal to a Shepherdess;
The dangerous Passion you must shun,
Or else like me, be quite undone.
A SONG.
_Set by Mr._ RICHARD CROONE.
[Music]
How happy and free is the resolute Swain,
That denies to submit to the Yoak of the Fair;
Free from Excesses of Pleasure and Pain,
Neither dazl'd with Hope, nor deprest with Despair.
He's safe from Disturbance, and calmly enjoys
All the Pleasures of Love, without Clamour and Noise.
Poor Shepherds in vain their Affections reveal,
To a Nymph that is peevish, proud sullen and coy;
Vainly do Virgins their Passions conceal,
For they boil in their Grief, 'till themselves they destroy,
And thus the poor Darling lies under a Curse:
To be check'd in the Womb, or o'erlaid by the Nurse.
_A_ SONG.
_Sung by Mrs._ Cross _in the_ Mock-Astrologer, _Set by Mr._ RAMONDON.
[Music]
Why so pale and wan fond Lover?
Prithee, prithee, Prithee why so pale:
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking Ill, looking ill prevail?
Why so dull and mute young Sinner?
Prithee, prithee why so mute;
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing, nothing do't?
Quit, quit for shame, this will not move,
This cannot, cannot, cannot, cannot take her;
If of her self she will not love,
Nothing can, nothing can make her,
The Devil, the Devil, the Devil, the Devil take her.
_A_ SONG _occasioned by a Lady's wearing a Patch upon a becoming place
on her Face. Set by Mr._ John Weldon.
[Music]
That little Patch upon your Face
Wou'd seem a Foil on one less Fair,
Wou'd seem a Foil, wou'd seem a Foil,
Wou'd seem a Foil on one less Fair:
On you it hides a charming Grace,
And you in Pity, you in Pity,
You in Pity plac'd it there;
On you it hides a Charming Grace,
And you in Pity, you in Pity,
In Pity plac'd it there.
_And you in Pity, Pity,_
_And you in Pity plac'd it there._
_A_ SONG.
_Set and Sung by Mr._ LEVERIDGE _at the_ THEATER.
[Music]
_Iris_ beware when _Strephon_ pursues you,
'Tis but to boast a Conquest won:
All his Designs are aim'd to undo you,
Break off the Love he has begun:
When he's Addressing, and prays for the Blessing,
Which none but his _Iris_ can give alone;
O then beware, 'tis all to undo you,
'Tis but to boast a Conquest won:
She that's believing, while he is deceiving,
Like many already, will be undone;
_Iris_ beware when _Strephon_ pursues you,
'Tis but to boast a Conquest won.
_A_ SONG.
_Set by Mr._ RAMONDON, _Sung at the_ Theatre.
[Music]
How charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair,
How charming _Phillis_ is, how Fair,
O that she were as willing,
To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
And make her Eyes less killing;
To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
And make her Eyes less killing;
To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
And make her Eyes less killing;
To ease my wounded Heart of Care,
And make her Eyes less killing.
I Sigh, I Sigh, I Languish now,
And Love will not let me rest;
I drive about the Park and Bow,
Where-e'er I meet my Dearest.
_A_ SONG.
_Set by Mr._ ANTHONY YOUNG.
[Music]
Cease whining _Damon_ to Complain,
Of thy Unhappy Fate;
That _Sylvia_ should thy Love disdain,
Which lasting was and great.
For Love so constant flames so bright,
More unsuccessful prove:
Than cold neglect and sudden slight,
To gain the Nymph you love.
Then only you'll obtain the Prize,
When you her Coyness use;
If you pursue the Fair, she flies,
But if you fly, pursues.
Had _Phoebus_ not pursu'd so fast
The seeming cruel she;
The God a Virgin had embrac'd,
And not a lifeless Tree.
_A_ SONG _in the_ OPERA _call'd the_ BRITTISH ENCHANTERS. _Set by Mr._
J. ECCLES.
[Music]
Plague us not with idle Stories,
Whining Loves, whining Loves, whining Loves,
And Senceless Glories.
What are Lovers? what are Kings?
What, at best, but slavish Things?
What are Lovers? what are Kings?
What, at best, but slavish Things?
What, at best, but slavish Things?
Free I liv'd as Nature made me,
Love nor Beauty durst invade me,
No rebellious Slaves betray'd me,
Free I liv'd as Nature made me,
Each by turns as Sence inspired me,
_Bacchus_, _Ceres_, _Venus_ fir'd me,
I alone have learnt true Pleasure,
Freedom, Freedom, Freedom is the only, only Treasure.
JUNO _in the Prize._
_Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.
[Music]
Let Ambition fire thy Mind,
Thou wert born o'er Men to Reign;
Not to follow Flocks design'd,
Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain:
Not to follow Flocks design'd,
Scorn thy Crook, and leave the Plain.
Crowns I'll throw beneath thy Feet,
Thou on Necks of Kings shalt tread,
Joys in Circles, Joys shall meet,
Which way e're thy fancy leads.
_The Beau's Character in the Comedy call'd_ Hampstead-Heath. _Set and
Sung by Mr._ Ramondon.
[Music]
A Whig that's full,
An empty Scull,
A Box of _Burgamot_;
A Hat ne'er made
To fit his Head
No more than that to Plot.
A Hand that's White,
A Ring that's right,
A Sword, Knot, Patch and Feather;
A Gracious Smile,
And Grounds and Oyl,
Do very well together.
A smatch of _French_,
And none of Sence,
All Conquering Airs and Graces;
A Tune that Thrills,
A Lear that Kills,
Stoln Flights and borrow'd Phrases.
A Chariot Gilt,
To wait on Jilt,
An awkward Pace and Carriage;
A Foreign Tower,
Domestick Whore,
And Mercenary Marriage.
A Limber Ham,
G---- D---- ye M'am,
A Smock-Face, tho' a Tann'd one;
A Peaceful Sword,
Not one wise Word,
But State and Prate at Random.
Duns, Bastards, Claps,
And Am'rous Scraps,
Of _Caelia_ and _Amadis_;
Toss up a Beau,
That Grand Ragou,
That Hodge-Podge for the Ladies.
_A_ SONG _in the Innocent Mistress. Set by Mr._ John Eccles, _Sung by
Mrs._ Hodgson.
[Music]
When I languish'd and wish'd you wou'd something bestow,
You bad me to give it a Name;
But by Heav'n I know it as little as you,
Tho' my Ignorance passes for Shame:
You take for Devotion each passionate Glance,
And think the dull Fool is sincere;
But never believe that I spake in Romance,
On purpose to tickle, on purpose, on purpose,
On purpose to tickle your Ear:
To please me than more, think still I am true,
And hug each Apocryphal Text;
Tho' I practice a Thousand false Doctrines on you,
I shall still have enough, I shall still have enough,
Shall still have enough for the next.
VENUS _to_ PARIS _in the Prize Musick. Set by Mr._ JOHN WELDON.
[Music]
Hither turn thee, hither turn thee, hither turn thee gentle Swain,
Hither turn thee, hither turn thee, hither turn thee gentle Swain,
Let not _Venus_, let not _Venus_, let not _Venus_ sue in vain;
_Venus_ rules, _Venus_ rules, _Venus_ rules the Gods above,
Love rules them, Love rules them, Love rules them, and she rules Love?
_Venus_ rules the Gods above,
Love rules them, Love rules them, Love rules them,
Love rules them, Love rules them, and she rules Love.
Love rules them, and she rules Love.
_A_ SONG.
_The Words by Mr._ WARD, _Set by Mr._ HARRIS.
[Music]
_Belinda_! why do you distrust,
So faithful and so kind a Heart:
Which cannot prove to you unjust,
But must it self endure the smart:
No, no, no, no the wandring Stars,
Shall sooner cease their Motion;
And Nature reconcile the Jars,
'Twixt _Boreas_ and the Ocean:
The fixed Poles shall seem to move,
And ramble from their Places;
E'er I'll from fair _Belinda_ rove,
Or slight her charming Graces.
_A_ SONG.
_Set by Mr._ William Turner.
[Music]
Long was the Day e're _Alexis_ my Lover,
To finish my Hopes would his Passion reveal;
He could not speak, nor I could not discover,
What my poor aking Heart was so loath to conceal:
Till the Strength of his Passion his Fear had remov'd,
Then we mutually talk'd, and we mutually lov'd.
Groves for Umbrella's did kindly o'er-shade us,
From _Phoebus_ hot rages, who like envy in strove;
Had not kind Fate this Provision made us,
All the Nymphs of the Air would have envy'd our Love:
But we stand below Envy that ill-natur'd Fate,
And above cruel Scorn is happy Estate.
_A_ SONG.
_Set to Musick by Mr._ John Eccles.
[Music]
As _Cupid_ roguishly one Day,
Had all alone stole out to play;
The _Muses_ caught the little, little, little Knave,
And captive Love to Beauty gave:
The _Muses_ caught the little, little, little Knave,
And captive Love to Beauty gave:
The laughing Dame soon miss'd her Son,
And here and there, and here and there,
And here and there distracted run;
Distracted run, and here and there,
And here and there, and here and there distracted run:
And still his Liberty to gain, his Liberty to gain,
Offers his Ransom,
But in vain, in vain, in vain;
The willing, willing Prisoner still hugs his Chain,
And Vows he'll ne'er be free,
And Vows he'll ne'er be free,
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,
No, no, no, no, no he'll ne'er be free again,
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,
No, no, no, no, no he'll ne'er be free again.
_Old_ SOLDIERS.
[Music]
Of old Soldiers, the Song you would hear,
And we old Fidlers have forgot who they were,
But all we remember shall come to your Ear,
_That we are old Soldiers of the Queens,_
_And the Queens old Soldiers._
With the _Old Drake_, that was the next Man
To _Old Franciscus_, who first it began,
To sail through the Streights of _Magellan_,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
That put the proud _Spanish Armado_ to wrack,
And Travell'd all o'er the old World, and came back,
In his old Ship, laden with Gold and old Sack,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
With an _Old Cavendish_, that seconded him,
And taught his old Sails the same Passage to swim,
And did them therefore with Cloth of Gold Trim,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
Like an _Old Rawleigh_, that twice and again,
Sailed over most part of the _Seas_, and then
Travell'd all o'er the World with his Pen,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
With an _Old John Norris_, the General,
That at old _Gaunt_, made his Fame Immortal,
In spight of his Foes, with no loss at all,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
Like _Old Brest Fort_, an invincible thing,
When the old _Queen_ sent him to help the _French_ King,
Took from the proud _Fox_, to the World's wond'ring,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
Where an old stout _Fryer_, as goes the Story,
Came to push of Pike with him in Vain-glory,
But he was almost sent to his own _Purgatory_,
_By this old Soldier_, &c.
With an _Old Ned Norris_, that kept _Ostend_,
A terror to Foe, and a Refuge to Friend,
And left it Impregnable to his last End,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
That in the old unfortunate Voyage of all,
March'd o'er the old Bridge, and knock'd at the Wall,
Of _Lisbon_, the Mistress of _Portugal_,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
With an _Old Tim Norris_, by the old _Queen_ sent,
Of _Munster_ in _Ireland_, Lord President,
Where his Days and his Blood in her service he spent,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
With an _Old Harry Norris_, in Battle wounded,
In his Knee, whose Leg was cut off, and he said,
You have spoil'd my Dancing, and dy'd in his Bed,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
With an _Old Will Norris_, the oldest of all,
Who went voluntary, without any Call,
To th' old _Irish_ Wars, to's Fame Immortal,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
With an _Old Dick Wenman_, the first in his Prime,
That over the Walls of old _Cales_ did Clime,
And there was Knighted, and liv'd all his Time,
_Like an old Soldier_, &c.
With _Old Nando Wenman_, when _Brest_ was o'er thrown,
Into the Air, into the Seas, with Gunpowder blown,
Yet bravely recovering, long after was known,
_For an Old Soldier_, &c.
When an _Old Tom Wenman_, whose bravest delight,
Was in a good Cause for his Country to Fight,
And dy'd in _Ireland_, a good old Knight,
_And an old Soldier_, &c.
With a Young _Ned Wenman_, so valiant and bold,
In the Wars of _Bohemia_, as with the Old,
Deserves for his Valour to be Enroll'd,
_An old Soldier_, &c.
And thus of Old Soldiers, ye hear the Fame,
But ne'er so many of one House and Name,
And all of old _John Lord Viscount_ of _Thame_,
_An old Soldier of the Queens,_
_And the Queens old Soldier._
_On the Tombs in_ Westminster Abby.
_You must suppose it to be_ Easter _Holy-Days: At what time_ Sisly
_and_ Dol, Kate _and_ Peggy, Moll _and_ Nan, _are marching to_
Westminster, _with a Leash of Prentices before 'em; who go rowing
themselves along with their right Arms to make more hast, and now and
then with a greasie Muckender wipe away the dripping that bastes their
Foreheads. At the Door they meet a crowd of_ Wapping _Sea-men_,
Southwark _Broom-men, the Inhabitants of the_ Bank-Side, _with a
Butcher or two prickt in among them. There a while they stand gaping
for the Master of the Show, staring upon the Suburbs of their dearest
delight, just as they stand gaping upon the painted Cloth before they
go into the Puppet Play. By and by they hear the Bunch of Keys, which
rejoyces their Hearts like the sound of the_ Pancake-Bell. _For now
the Man of Comfort peeps over the Spikes, and beholding such a learned
Auditory, opens the Gate of_ Paradise, _and by that time they are half
got into the first Chapel, (for time is very precious) he lifts up his
Voice among the Tombs, and begins his Lurrey in manner and form
following._
_To the foregoing Tune; In Imitation of the Old Soldiers._
Here lies _William de Valence_,
A right good Earl of _Pembroke_,
And this is his Monument which you see,
I'll swear upon a Book.
He was high Marshal of _England_,
When _Henry_ the Third did Reign;
But this you take upon my Word,
That he'll ne'er be so again.
Here the Lord _Edward Talbot_ lies,
The Town of _Shrewsbury's_ Earl;
Together with his Countess fair,
That was a most delicate Girl.
The next to him there lyeth one,
Sir _Richard Peckshall_ hight;
Of whom we only this do say,
He was a _Hampshire_ Knight.
But now to tell you more of him,
There lies beneath this Stone:
Two Wives of his, and Daughters four,
To all of Us unknown.
Sir _Bernard Brockhurst_ there doth lie,
Lord Chamberlain to Queen _Ann_;
Queen _Ann_ was _Richard_ the Second's Queen,
And was King of _England_.
Sir _Francis Hollis_, the Lady _Frances_,
The same was _Suffolk's_ Dutchess;
Two Children of _Edward_ the Third,
Lie here in Death's cold Clutches.
This is the Third King _Edward's_ Brother,
Of whom our Records tell
Nothing of Note, nor say they whether,
He be in Heaven or Hell.
This same was _John_ of _Eldeston_,
He was no Costermonger;
But _Cornwall's_ Earl, and here's one dy'd,
'Cause he could live no longer.
The Lady _Mohun_, Dutchess of _York_,
And Duke of _York's_ Wife also;
But Death resolv'd to Horn the Duke,
She lies now with Death below.
The Lady _Ann Ross_, but wot ye well,
That she in Childbed dy'd;
The Lady Marquiss of _Winchester_,
Lies Buried by her side.
Now think your Penny well spent good Folks,
And that you're not beguil'd;
Within this Cup doth lie the Heart
Of a _French Embassador's_ Child.
But how the Devil it came to pass,
On purpose, or by chance;
The Bowels they lie underneath,
The Body is in _France_.
[Sidenote: Dol. _I warrant ye the_ Pharises _carried it away._]
There's _Oxford's_ Countess, and there also
The Lady _Burleigh_ her Mother;
And there her Daughter, a Countess too,
Lie close by one another.
These once were bonny Dames, and tho'
There were no Coaches then,
Yet could they jog their Tails themselves,
Or had them jogg'd by Men.
[Sidenote: Dick. _Ho, ho, ho, I warrant ye they did as other Women
did, ha_ Ralf. Ralf. _Oy, Oy._]
But woe is me! those high born Sinners;
That went to pray so stoutly;
Are now laid low, and 'cause they can't,
Their Statues pray devoutly.
This is the Dutchess of _Somerset_,
By Name the Lady _Ann_;
Her Lord _Edward_ the Sixth Protected,
Oh! he was a Gallant Man.
[Sidenote: Tom. _I have heard a Ballad of him sang at_ Ratcliff Cross.
Mol. _I believe we have it at home over our Kitchin Mantle-Tree._]
In this fair Monument which you see,
Adorn'd with so many Pillars;
Doth lie the Countess of _Buckingham_,
And her Husband, Sir _George Villers_.
This old Sir _George_ was Grandfather,
And the Countess she was Granny;
To the great Duke of _Buckingham_,
Who often topt King _Jammy_.
Sir _Robert Eatam_, a _Scotch_ Knight,
This Man was Secretary;
And scribl'd Compliments for two Queens,
Queen _Ann_, and eke Queen _Mary_.
This was the Countess of _Lenox_,
Yclep'd the Lady _Marget_:
King _James's_ Grandmother, and yet
'Gainst Death she had no Target.
This was Queen _Mary_, Queen of _Scots_,
Whom _Buchanan_ doth bespatter;
She lost her Head at _Tottingham_,
What ever was the Matter.
[Sidenote: Dol. _How came she here then?_ Will. _Why ye silly Oafe
could not she be brought here, after she was Dead?_]
The Mother of our Seventh _Henry_,
This is that lyeth hard by;
She was the Countess wot ye well,
Of _Richmond_ and of _Derby_.
_Henry_ the Seventh lieth here,
With his fair Queen beside him,
He was the Founder of this Chapel,
Oh! may no ill betide him.
Therefore his Monument's in Brass,
You'll say that very much is;
The Duke of _Richmond_ and _Lenox_,
There lieth with his Dutchess.
[Sidenote: Rog. _I warrant ye these were no small Fools in those
days._]
And here they stand upright in a Press
With Bodies made of Wax;
With a Globe and a Wand in either Hand,
And their Robes upon their Backs.
Here lies the Duke of _Buckingham_,
And the Dutchess his Wife;
Him _Felton_ Stabb'd at _Portsmouth_ Town,
And so he lost his Life.
Two Children of King _James_ these are,
Whom Death keeps very chary;
_Sophia_ in the Cradle lies,
And this is the Lady _Mary_.
[Sidenote: Bess. _Good Woman pray still your Child, it keeps such a
bawling, we can't hear what the Man says._]
And this is Queen _Elizabeth_,
How the _Spaniards_ did infest her?
Here she lies Buried, with Queen _Mary_,
And now agrees with her Sister.
To another Chapel now we come,
The People follow and chat;
This is the Lady _Cottington_,
And the People cry, who's that?
This is the Lady _Frances Sidney_,
The Countess of _Suffolk_ was she;
And this the Lord _Dudley Carleton_ is,
And then they look up and see.
Sir _Thomas Brumley_ lieth here,
Death would him not reprieve;
With his four Sons, and Daughters four,
That once were all alive.
The next is Sir _John Fullerton_,
And this is his Lady I trow;
And this is Sir _John Puckering_,
Whom none of you did know.
That's the Earl of _Bridgwater_ in the middle,
Who makes no use of his Bladder;
Although his Lady lie so near him,
And so we go up a Ladder.
[Sidenote: Kate. _He took more pains, than I would ha done for a
Hundred such._]
_Edward_ the First, that Gallant Blade,
Lies underneath this Stone;
And this is the Chair which he did bring,
A good while ago from _Scone_.
In this same Chair, till now of late,
Our Kings and Queens were Crown'd;
Under this Chair another Stone
Doth lie upon the Ground.
[Sidenote: Ralf. _Gad I warrant there has been many a Maiden-head got
in that Chair._ Tom. _Gad and I'll come hither and try one of these
Days, an't be but to get a Prince._ Dol. _A_ Papist _I warrant him._]
On that same Stone did _Jacob_ sleep,
Instead of a Down Pillow;
And after that 'twas hither brought,
By some good honest Fellow.
_Richard_ the Second lieth here,
And his first Queen, Queen _Ann_;
_Edward_ the Third lies here hard by,
Oh! there was a Gallant Man.
For this was his two handed Sword,
A Blade both true and Trusty;
The _French_ Men's Blood was ne'er wip'd off,
Which makes it look so rusty.
Here he lies again, with his Queen _Philip_,
A _Dutch_ Woman by Record,
But that's all one, for now alass!
His Blade's not so long as his Sword.
King _Edward_ the Confessor lies
Within this Monument fine;
I'm sure, quoth one, a worser Tomb
Must serve both me and mine.
_Harry_ the Fifth lies there, and there
Doth lie Queen _Eleanor_;
To our first _Edward_ she was Wife,
Which was more than ye knew before.
_Henry_ the Third lies there Entomb'd,
He was Herb _John_ in Pottage;
Little he did, but still Reign'd on,
Although his Sons were at Age.
Fifty six Years he Reigned King,
E'er he the Crown would lay by;
Only we praise him, 'cause he was
Last Builder of the _Abby_.
Here _Thomas Cecil_ lies, who's that?
Why 'tis the Earl of _Exeter_;
And this his Countess is, to Die
How it perplexed her.
[Sidenote: Dol. _Ay, ay, I warrant her, rich Folks are as unwilling to
die as poor Folks._]
Here _Henry Cary_, Lord _Hunsdon_ rests,
What a noise he makes with his Name?
Lord Chamberlain was he unto
Queen _Elizabeth_ of great Fame.
[Sidenote: Sisly. _That's he for whom our Bells ring so often, is it
not_ Mary? Mol. _Ay, ay, the very same._]
And here's one _William Colchester_
Lies of a Certainty;
An Abbot was he of _Westminster_,
And he that saith no, doth lie.
This is the Bishop of _Durham_,
By Death here lay'd in Fetters;
_Henry_ the Seventh lov'd him well,
And so he wrote his Letters.
Sir _Thomas Bacchus_, what of him?
Poor Gentleman not a Word;
Only they Buried him here; but now
Behold that Man with a Sword.