The breast-milk, and the very Gown That she did wear in _Bethlehem_ Town, When in the Barn she lay: But men may think that is a Fable, [p. 65.] For such good cloaths ne’er came in Stable Upon a lock of hay. No Carpenter can by his trade Have so much Coin as to have made A gown of such rich Stuff: But the poor fools must, for their credit, Believe, and swear old _Joseph_ did it, ’Cause he received enough. [_al. lect._, deserv’d] There is the Lanthorn which the Jews, When _Judas_ led them forth, did use, It weighs my weight down-right; And then you must suppose and think The Jews therein did put a Link, And then ’t was wondrous bright. [? light] There is one Saint has lost his nose, Another his head, but not his toes, An elbow, and a thumb; When we had seen those holy rags, We went to the Inne and took our Nags, And so away we come. We came to _Paris_, on the _Seine_, ’Tis wondrous fair, but little clean, ’Tis _Europes_ greatest Town: How strong it is I need not tell it, For every one may easily smell it As they ride up and down. There’s many rare sights for to see, The Palace, the great Gallery, Place-Royal doth excell; The Newbridge, and the Statute stairs, [p. 66.] At _Rotterdam_, Saint _Christophers_, [? _Nostre Dame_] The Steeple bears the Bell. For Arts, the University, And for old Cloaths, the Frippery, The Queen the same did build; Saint _Innocent[s’]_, whose earth devours Dead Corps in four and twenty hours, And there the King was kill’d. The _Bastile_, and Saint _Dennis_ street, The _Chastelet_, like _London_ Fleet; The Arsenal is no toy; But if you will see the pretty thing, Oh go to Court and see the King, Oh he is a hopeful boy. He is of all [his] Dukes and Peers Reverenc’d for wit as well as years; Nor must you think it much That he with little switches play, And can make fine dirt-pies of Clay, O never King made such. Birds round about his Chamber stands, The which he feeds with his own hands, ’Tis his humility: And if they want [for] any thing, They may but whistle to their King And he comes presently. A bird that can but catch a Fly, Or prate to please his Majesty, [_al. lect._, doth please] It’s known to every one; The Duke _De Guise_ gave him a Parrot, [p. 67.] And he had twenty Cannons for it For his great Gallion. O that it e’er might be my hap To catch the bird that in the Map They call the Indian Chuck, I’d give it him, and hope to be As great and wise a man as he, Or else I had ill luck.