[17.] A Schollar was lock'd out of _Wadham_ Colledge, and about ten a Clock he came and knockt; the Porter came to the Gate, and told him the Warden had took up the keys with him: Pray, says he to the Porter, go to the Warden, and tell him I am here: Truly, Sir, says he, the Warden is angry with me already, I dare not do it: but if you'll go your self, it may be he'll give you the keys. He's rich that hath great in-comes by the year; [5.] Then that great belly'd man is rich, Ile swear: For sure, his belly ne'r so big had bin, Had he not daily had great comings in. [26.] One meeting a mad Fellow that was drunk, ask't him whither he was going? says he, I am going to the Tavern: No, says t'other, that you are not; for Drunkenness is the way to Hell, and thither you are going. Puh, says the Drunkard, you are therein much mistaken; and I ne'r fear that, for I am so drunk, that my Legs are not able to carry me so far; and what need I go thither agen, for I came from the Devil[F. 118] (_Tavern_) but now. [Footnote 118: In Fleet Street, close by where Temple Bar stood, now Messrs. Childs' Bank.] PORTSMOUTH'S LAMENTATION OR _A Dialogue between Two Amorous Ladies_, E.G.[F. 119] and D.P.[F. 120] Dame _Portsmouth_ was design'd for _France_, But therein was prevented; Who mourns at this Unhappy Chance, and sadly doth lament it. To the Tune of, Tom the Taylor, Or, Titus Oats. [Illustration] I prithee _Portsmouth_ tell me plain, [73.] without dissimulation, When dost thou home return again, and leave this English Nation? Your youthful days are past and gone, you plainly may perceive it Winter of age is coming on, 'tis true, you may believe it. And, _Nelly_, is't not so with thee, why dost thou seem to flout me, I am in clos'd with misery, and sorrows round about me: O, 'twas a sad and fatal hour, as ere could come to me, When Death did all my joys devour, on purpose to undoe me. Thy loss was much, I must confess, and much to be lamented, Now thou art almost pittiless, thy design it is prevented: To _France_ 'twas thy intent to go, but therein did'st miscarry, And trouble 'tis to thee I know, that thou art forc'd to tarry. Fye _Nell_, this news is worse and worse, and doth increase my trouble, That I must now unstring my purse, doth make my sorrow double: From hence I thought for to convey what in this land I gained, But I am here confin'd to stay, and now my credits stain'd. Pish, lightly come, and lightly go, ne'er let this matter grieve thee, Tho' fortune seems to be thy foe, and for a while to leave thee: Yet shee again on thee may smile, then be not broken hearted, Tho' from this little _Brittish_ Isle, thou must not yet be parted.