SONGS.

NEWS FROM COLCHESTER:

OR, A PROPER NEW BALLAD OF CERTAIN CARNAL PASSAGES BETWIXT A QUAKER AND A COLT, AT HORSLEY, NEAR COLCHESTER, IN ESSEX.

To the tune of Tom of Bedlam.'

ALL in the land of Essex,
Near Colchester the zealous,
On the side of a bank

Was play'd such a prank
As would make a stone-horse jealous.

Help, Woodcock, Fox, and Naylor,
For brother Green's a stallion:
Now, alas! what hope

Of converting the Pope,

When a Quaker turns Italian ?

Even to our whole profession
A scandal 'twill be counted,
When 'tis talk'd with disdain
Amongst the profane

How Brother Green was mounted.

And in the good time of Christmas,

Which though our saints have damn'd all,

Yet when did they hear

That a damn'd Cavalier

Ever play'd such a Christmas gambol ?

Had thy flesh, O Green! been pamper'd With any cates unhallow'd,

Hadst thou sweeten'd thy gums

With pottage of plums,

Or profane minced-pie had swallow'd;

Roll'd up in wanton swine's flesh
The fiend might have crept into thee;
Then fullness of gut

Might have caused thee to rut,

And the devil have so rid through thee.

But, alas! he had been feasted
With a spiritual collation,

By our frugal mayor,

Who can dine on a prayer, And sup on an exhortation.

'Twas mere impulse of spirit, Though he used the weapon carnal: Filly-Foal, (quoth he)

My bride thou shalt be;

And how this is lawful learn all :

For if no respect of persons

Be due 'mongst sons of Adam,

In a large extent

Thereby may be meant

That a mare's as good as a madam."

Then without more ceremony,
Not bonnet vail'd, nor kiss'd her,

But took her by force,

For better for worse,

And used her like a sister.

Now when in such a saddle
A saint will needs be riding,
Though we dare not say
'Tis a falling away,

May there not be some backsliding?

'No, surely, (quoth James Naylor) 'Twas but an insurrection

Of the carnal part,

For a Quaker in heart

Can never lose perfection.

For (as our masters' teach us)
The' intent being well directed,
Though the devil trepan
The Adamical man,

The saint stands uninfected.'

But, alas! a Pagan jury
Ne'er judges what's intended;
Then say what we can,
Brother Green's outward man

I fear will be suspended.

And our adopted sister
Will find no better quarter;
But when him we enroll
For a saint, Filly-Foal
Shall pass herself for a martyr.

Rome, that spiritual Sodom,
No longer is thy debtor,

O Colchester! now
Who's Sodom but thou,
Even according to the letter?

1 The Jesuits.

SONG.

MORPHEUS! the humble god that dwells
In cottages and smoky cells,

Hates gilded roofs and beds of down,
And though he fears no prince's frown
Flies from the circle of a crown:

Come, I say, thou powerful god,
And thy leaden charming rod,
Dipped in the Lethéan lake,
O'er his wakeful temples shake,
Lest he should sleep, and never wake.

Nature, (alas!) why art thou so
Obliged to thy greatest foe?
Sleep, that is thy best repast,

Yet of death it bears a taste,

And both are the same thing at last.

TRANSLATIONS.

PREFACE

ΤΟ

THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY.

THERE are so few translations which deserve praise, that I scarce ever saw any which deserved pardon; those who travel in that kind being, for the most part, so unhappy as to rob others without enriching themselves, pulling down the fame of good authors without raising their own; neither hath any author been more hardly dealt withal than this our master; and the reason is evident, for what is most excellent is most inimitable; and if even the worst authors are yet made worse by their translators, how impossible is it not to do great injury to the best? And, therefore, I have not the vanity to think my copy equal to the original, nor (consequently) myself altogether guiltless of what I accuse others; but if I can do Virgil less injury than others have done, it will be in some degree to do him right; and, indeed, the hope of doing him more right is the only scope