The whole frame hung with pins, to mend which clothes, In mirth they sent him to old Father Prose; Of these sad Poets this way ran the stream, And _Decker_ followed after in a dream; _Rounce_, _Robble_, _Hobble_, he that writ so high big[;] Basse for a Ballad, _John Shank_ for a Jig: [_Wm. Basse._] Sent by _Ben Jonson_, as some Authors say, _Broom_ went before and kindly swept the way: Old _Chaucer_ welcomes them unto the Green, And _Spencer_ brings them to the fairy Queen; The finger they present, and she in grace Transform’d it to a May-pole, ’bout which trace Her skipping servants, that do nightly sing, And dance about the same a Fayrie Ring. _The Vow-breaker._ When first the Magick of thine eye Usurpt upon my liberty, Triumphing in my hearts spoyle, thou Didst lock up thine in such a vow: When I prove false, may the bright day Be govern’d by the Moones pale ray, (As I too well remember) this Thou saidst, and seald’st it with a kisse. Oh heavens! and could so soon that tye Relent in sad apostacy? Could all thy Oaths and mortgag’d trust, Banish like Letters form’d in dust, [? vanish] Which the next wind scatters? take heed, Take heed Revolter; know this deed Hath wrong’d the world, which will fare worse By thy example, than thy curse. Hide that false brow in mists; thy shame Ne’re see light more, but the dimme flame Of Funerall-lamps; thus sit and moane, And learn to keep thy guilt at home; Give it no vent, for if agen Thy love or vowes betray more men, At length I feare thy perjur’d breath Will blow out day, and waken death. _The Sympathie._ If at this time I am derided, And you please to laugh at me, Know I am not unprovided Every way to answer thee, Love, or hate, what ere it be, Never Twinns so nearly met As thou and I in our affection, When thou weepst my eyes are wet, That thou lik’st is my election, I am in the same subjection. In one center we are both, Both our lives the same way tending, Do thou refuse, and I shall loath, As thy eyes, so mine are bending, Either storm or calm portending. I am carelesse if despised, For I can contemn again; How can I be then surprised, Or with sorrow, or with pain, When I can both love & disdain? _The Red Head and the White._ 1. Come my White head, let our Muses Vent no spleen against abuses, Nor scoffe at monstrous signes i’ th’ nose, Signes in the Teeth, or in the Toes, Nor what now delights us most, The sign of signes upon the post. For other matter we are sped, And our signe shall be i’ th’ head. 2. [White Head’s ANSWER.]