Not a claw, in the law,

Shall keep us in awe ;

What fools are we then, that to prattle begin

Of things that do not concern us?

Let the three kingdoms fall to one of the prime ones, My mind is a kingdom and shall be to me,

I could make it appear, if I had but the time once,
I'm as happy with one, as he can be with three,
If I could but enjoy it.

He that's mounted on high, is a mark for the hate,
And the envy of every pragmatical pate,
While he that creeps low, lives safe in his state,
And greatness do scorn to annoy it.

I am never the better which side gets the battle,
The Tubs or the Crosses what is it to me?
They'll never increase my goods or my cattle,
But a beggar's a beggar and so he shall be,
Unless be turn traitor:

Let misers take courses to heap up their treasure, Whose lust has no limits, whose mind has no meaLet me be but quiet and take a little pleasure, [sure, A little contents my nature.

My petition shall be that Canary be cheaper, Without patent or custom or cursed excise; That the wits may have leave to drink deeper and deeper,

And not be undone, while their heads they baptise, And in liquor do drench 'em :

If this were but granted, who would not desire, To dub himself one of Apollo's own choir ? [fire, We'll ring out the bells, when our noses are on And the quarts shall be the buckets to drench 'em.

I account him no wit, that is gifted at railing,
And flirting at those that above him do sit,
While they do outwit him, with whipping and
goaling,
[wit;
Then his purse and his person both pay for his
"Tis better to be drinking:

If sack were reform'd into twelvepence a quart,
I'd study for money to merchandize for 't,
And a friend that is true, we together will sport.
Not a word, but we'll pay them with think-
ing.

THE CURE OF CARE.

WHY should we not laugh and be jolly?
Since now all the world is mad?

All lull'd in a dull melancholy;
He that wallows in store,

Is still gaping for more,

And that makes him as poor,

As that wretch that never any thing had. How mad is the damn'd money-monger,

That, to purchase to him and his heirs, Grows shrivel'd with thirst and hunger? While we that are bonny,

Buy sack for ready money,
And ne'er trouble scriveners nor lawyers.

Those gulls that by scraping and toiling,
Have swell'd the revenues so vast,
Get nothing by all their turmoiling,
But are marks for each tax,
While they load their own backs,
With the heavier packs,
And lie down gall'd and weary at last :
While we that do traffick in tipple,
Can baffle the gown and the sword,
Whose jaws are so hungry and gripple,
We ne'er trouble our heads,
With indentures or deeds,
But our wills are compris'd in a word.

Our money shall never indite us,

Nor drag us to Goldsmith's-hall,
Nor pirates nor storms can affright us;
We that have no estates,
Pay no taxes or rates,

But can sleep with open gates,
He that lies on the ground cannot fall.
We laugh at those fools whose endeavours
Do but fit 'em for prisons or fines,
While we that spend all are the savers,
For if thieves do steal in,
They go out empty again,
Nay the plunderers lose their designs.

Then let's not take care for to morrow,
But tipple and laugh while we may,
To wash from our hearts all sorrow;
Those cormorants, which

Are troubled with an itch,

To be mighty and rich,

Do but toil for the wealth which they borrow.
The mayor of the town with his ruff on,
What a pox is he better than we ?

He must vail to the men with the buff on,
He custard may eat,

And such lubberly meat,
But we drink and are merrier than he.

WRITTEN IN 1648.

COME, drawer, and fill us about some wine,
Let's merrily tipple, the day's our own,
We'll have our delights, let the country go pine,
Let the king and his kingdom groan:
The crown is our own and so shall continue,
We'll monarchy baffle quite,

We'll drink off the kingdom's revenue,
And sacrifice all to delight.

'Tis power that brings

Us all to be kings,

And we'll be all crown'd by our might.

A fig for divinity lectures and law,

And all that to loyalty do pretend, While we by the sword keep the kingdom in awe, Our power shall never have end.

The church and the state we'll turn into liquor,
And spend a whole town in a day,

We'll meit all their bodkins the quicker
Into sack, and drink them away.

We'll keep the demesnes
And turn bishops and deans,
And over the presbyter sway.

The nimble St. Patrick is sunk in his boggs, And his countrymen sadly cry, "O honey, honey!"

St. Andrew and's kirkmen are lost in their fogs,
Now we are the saints alone.

Thus on our superiors and equals we trample,
And Jocky our stirrup shall hold,
The city's our mule for example,
That we may in plenty be roll'd.
Each delicate dish,

Shall but echo our wish,
And our drink shall be cordial gold.

ON CANARY.

Or all the rare juices,

That Bacchus or Ceres produces,
There's none that I can, nor dare I
Compare with the princely Canary.
For this is the thing
That a fancy infuses,
This first got a king,
And next the nine Muses

'Twas this made old poets so sprightly to sing. And fill all the world with the glory and fame on't, They Helicon call'd it, and the Thespian spring, But this was the drink, though they knew not the name on't.

Our cider and perry,

May make a man mad, but not merry,
It makes people windmill-pated,
And with crackers sophisticated;

And your hops, yest, and malt,
When they're mingled together,
Makes our fancies to halt,
Or reel any whither;

It stuffs up our brains with froth and with yest,
That if one would write but a verse for a bellman,
He must study till Christmas for an eight shilling
jest,
[whelm man.
These liquors won't raise, but drown, and o'er-

The bagrag and Rhenish

You must with ingredients replenish;
'Tis a wine to please ladies and toys with,
But not for a man to rejoice with.

But 'tis sack makes the sport,

And who gains but that flavour,

Though an abbess he court,

In his high-shoes he'll have her;

'Tis this that advances the drinker and drawer: Though the father came to town in his hobnails and leather,

He turns it to velvet, and brings up an heir,

In the town in his chain, in the field with his feather.

THE LEVELLER.

NAY prithee don't fly me,

But sit thee down by me,

I cannot endure

A man that's demure.

Go hang up your worships and sirs,

Your congees and trips,

With your legs and your lips,
Your madams and lords,
And such finikin words,

With the compliments you bring
That do spell no-thing,

You may keep for the chains and the furs; For at the beginning was no peasant or prince, And 'twas policy made the distinction since.

Those titles of honours

Do remain in the donours,

And not in that thing,

To which they do cling,

If his soul be too narrow to wear 'em.

No delight can I see

In that word call'd degree,
Honest Dick sounds as well
As a name of an ell,

That with titles doth swell

And sounds like a spell,

To affright mortal ears that hear 'em.

Me that wears a brave soul, and dares gallantly do,

May be his own herald and godfather too.

Why then should we doat on,

One with a fool's coat on?

Whose coffers are cramm'd,

But yet he'll be damn'd,

E're he'll do a good act or a wise one?

What reason has he

To be ruler o'er me,

That's a lord in his chest,

But in 's head and his breast

Is empty and bare,

Or but puff'd up with air,

And can neither assist nor advise one?
VOL, VL

Honour's but air, and proud flesh but dust is, 'Tis we commons make lords, and the clerk makes the justice.

But since men must be

Of a different degree,
Because most do aspire

To be greater and higher,

Than the rest of their fellows and brothers: He that has such a spirit,

Let him gain it by 's merit,

Spend his brain, wealth or blood,
For his country's good,
And make himself fit

By his valour or wit,

For things 'bove the reach of all others. For honour's a prize, and who wins it may wear it, If not 'tis a badge and a burthen to bear it.

THE ROYALIST'S ANSWER.

I HAVE reason to fly thee,

And not sit down by thee;
For I hate to behold,

One so saucy and bold,

To deride and contemn his superiours:

Our madams and lords,

And such mannerly words,
With the gestures that be

Fit for every degree,

Are things that we and you

Both claim as our due,

From all those that are our inferiours.

For from the beginning there were princes we know, 'Twas you levellers hate 'm 'cause you can't be so.