Then let them neither bray nor boast, But if they come again a, Let them take heed they do not speed As they did you know when a, As they did you know when a. A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING SIR JOHN SUCKLING I tell thee, Dick, where I have been; Where I the rarest things have seen; Oh, things without compare! Such sights again can not be found In any place on English ground, Be it at wake or faer. At Charing Cross, hard by the way Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, There is a house with stairs; And there did I see coming down Such folks as are not in our town; Vorty at least, in pairs. Amongst the rest one pest'lent fine (His beard no bigger tho' than thine) Walk'd on before the rest; Our landlord looks like nothing to him; The King (God bless him), 'twould undo him, Should he go still so drest. At Course-a-park, without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maids i' the town: Though lusty Roger there had been, Or little George upon the green, Or Vincent of the crown. But wot you what? The youth was going To make an end of all his wooing: The parson for him staid: Yet by his leave, for all his haste, He did not so much wish all past, Perchance as did the maid. The maid (and thereby hangs a tale) For such a maid no Whitson-ale Could ever yet produce; No grape that's kindly ripe could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half so full of juyce. Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring; It was too wide a peck: And, to say truth (for out it must), It look'd like the great collar (just) About our young colt's neck. Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice stole in and out, As if they fear'd the light: But oh! she dances such a way; No sun upon an Easter day Is half as fine a sight. Her cheeks so rare, a white was on, No daisie make comparison (Who sees them is undone); For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Kath'rine pear, The side that's next the sun. Her lips were red; and one was thin, Compared to what was next her chin (Some bee had stung it newly); But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze, Than on a sun in July. Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break That they might passage get; But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit. Passion, oh me! how I run on! There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, beside the bride. The business of the kitchen's great; For it is fit that men should eat, Nor was it there denied.