Or if thou wilt goe shoote at little Birds With bow and boult (the Thrustle-cocke and Sparrow) Such as our Countrey hedges can afford's; I haue a fine bowe, and an yuorie arrow: And if thou misse, yet meate thou shalt [not] lacke, Ile hang a bag and bottle at thy backe. Wilt thou set springes in a frostie Night, To catch the long-billd Woodcocke and the Snype? (By the bright glimmering of the Starrie light) The Partridge, Phæsant, or the greedie Grype? Ile lend thee lyme-twigs, and fine sparrow calls, Wherewith the Fowler silly Birds inthralls. Or in a mystie morning if thou wilt Make pit-falls for the Larke and Pheldifare; Thy prop and sweake shall be both ouer-guilt; With _Cyparissus_ selfe thou shalt compare For gins and wyles, the Oozels to beguile; Whilst thou vnder a bush shalt sit and smile. Or with Hare-pypes (set in a muset hole) Wilt thou deceaue the deep-earth-deluing Coney? Or wilt thou in a yellow Boxen bole, Taste with a woodden splent the sweet lythe honey? Clusters of crimson Grapes Ile pull thee downe; And with Vine-leaues make thee a louely Crowne. Or wilt thou drinke a cup of new-made Wine Froathing at top, mixt with a dish of Creame; And Straw-berries, or Bil-berries in their prime, Bath'd in a melting Sugar-Candie streame: Bunnell and Perry I haue for thee (alone) When Vynes are dead, and all the Grapes are gone. I have a pleasant noted Nightingale, (That sings as sweetly as the siluer Swan) Kept in a Cage of bone; as white as Whale, Which I with singing of _Philemon_ wan: Her shalt thou haue, and all I haue beside; If thou wilt be my Boy, or else my Bride. Then will I lay out all my Lardarie (Of Cheese, of Cracknells, Curds and Clowted-creame) Before thy male-content ill-pleasing eye: But why doo I of such great follies dreame? Alas, he will not see my simple Coate; For all my speckled Lambe, nor milk-white Goate. Against my Birth-day thou shalt be my guest: Weele haue Greene-cheeses and fine Silly-bubs; And thou shalt be the chiefe of all my feast. And I will giue thee two fine pretie Cubs, With two young Whelps, to make thee sport withall, A golden Racket, and a Tennis-ball. A guilded Nutmeg, and a race of Ginger, A silken Girdle, and a drawn-worke Band, Cuffs for thy wrists, a gold Ring for thy finger, And sweet Rose-water for thy Lilly-white hand, A Purse of silke, bespangd with spots of gold, As braue a one as ere thou didst behold. A paire of Kniues, a greene Hat and a Feather, New Gloues to put vpon thy milk-white hand Ile giue thee, for to keep thee from the weather; With Phœnix feathers shall thy Face be fand, Cooling those Cheekes, that being cool'd wexe red, Like Lillyes in a bed of Roses shed.