11 With a new study, stuffed full of pamphlets and plays, And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays, With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five days, And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws and toys: Like a young courtier, &c. 12 With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on, On a new journey to London straight we all must begone, And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John, Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone: Like a young courtier, &c. 13 With a new gentleman usher, whose carriage is complete, With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat, With a waiting gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat, Who, when her lady has dined, lets the servants not eat: Like a young courtier, &c. 14 With new titles of honour, bought with his father's old gold, For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors are sold; And this is the course most of our new gallants hold, Which makes that good housekeeping is now grown so cold Among the young courtiers of the king, Or the king's young courtiers. THERE IS A GARDEN IN HER FACE. (FROM 'AN HOUR'S RECREATION IN MUSIC,' BY RICH. ALISON. 1606.) 1 There is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies grow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; There cherries grow that none may buy, Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 2 Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rose-buds filled with snow: Yet them no peer nor prince may buy, Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 3 Her eyes like angels watch them still; Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threatening with piercing frowns to kill All that approach with eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh, Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. HALLO, MY FANCY. 1 In melancholic fancy, Out of myself, In the vulcan dancy, All the world surveying, Nowhere staying, Just like a fairy elf; Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping, Out o'er the hills, the trees, and valleys tripping, Out o'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? 2 Amidst the misty vapours, Fain would I know What doth cause the tapers; Why the clouds benight us And affright us, While we travel here below. Fain would I know what makes the roaring thunder, And what these lightnings be that rend the clouds asunder, And what these comets are on which we gaze and wonder. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?