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Wheresoe'er they have their being,
Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his SEEING.
Pat. From a fool, and serious toys;
From a lawyer, three parts noise :
From impertinence, like a drum
Beat at dinner in his room;
From a tongue without a file,
Heaps of phrases and no style.
From a fiddle out of tune,
As the cuckow is in June,"

From the candlesticks of Lothbury,*
And the loud pure wives of Banbury;
Or a long pretended fit,

Meant for mirth, but is not it;

Only time and ears out-wearing,
Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his HEARING.
Pat. From a strolling tinker's sheet,
Or a pair of carrier's feet:
From a lady that doth breathe
Worse above than underneath;
From the diet, and the knowledge
Of the students in Bears-college;

3 From a fiddle out of tune,

As the cuckow is in June.] The dissonant note of the cuckow in this month, is thus alluded to by Shakspeare:

"So when he had occasion to be seen,

He was but as the cuckow is in June,
Heard, not regarded."

Hen. IV.

4 From the candlesticks of Lothbury.] This expression will be best illustrated by a quotation from Stow's Survey of London. "The street of Lothbury is possessed (for the most part) by founders that cast candlesticks, chaffing-dishes, spice-mortars, and such like copper or laten works, and doe afterwards turne them with the foot, and not with the wheele, to make them smooth and bright with turning and scratching, making a lothsome noise to the by-passers, and therefore disdainedly called by them 'Lothburie," p. 287. Banbury has been already noticed as being chiefly inhabited by Puritans.

From tobacco, with the type
Of the devil's glyster-pipe ;
Or a stink all stinks excelling,

From a fishmonger's stale dwelling;
Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his SMELLING.
Pat. From an oyster and fried fish,

A sow's baby in a dish ;3

From any portion of a swine,

From bad venison, and worse wine;
Ling, what cook soe'er it boil,

Though with mustard sauced and oil,
Or what else would keep man fasting,
Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his TASTING.
Pat. Both from birdlime, and from pitch,
From a doxey and her itch;
From the bristles of a hog,
Or the ring-worm in a dog;
From the courtship of a briar,
Or St. Anthony's old fire :
From a needle, or a thorn
In the bed at e'en or morn ;

Or from any gout's least grutching,

Cho. Bless the Sovereign and his TOUCHING.
Pat. Bless him too from all offences,

In his sports, as in his senses;
From a boy to cross his way,
From a fall, or a foul day.

5 A sow's baby in a dish.] "Three things to which James had a great dislike; and with which, he said, he would treat the Devil were he to invite him to a dinner, were a pig, a poll of ling with mustard, and a pipe of tobacco for digesture. Witty Apothegms delivered by James I. &c. 12mo. 1671.

6 Or a foul day.] There was nothing James bore so impatiently as this, whenever it interfered with his hunting. This was pretty nearly the case with those of his followers, who were much attached to the chase, I believe. The king sometimes relieved his ill humour by a sonnet: whether they tried the efficacy of a little poetry on themselves, is not said.

Bless him, O bless him, heaven, and lend him long

To be the sacred burden of all song;

The acts and years of all our kings t' outgo;

And while he's mortal, we not think him so.

After which, ascending up, the Jackman sings.

SONG I.

Jack. The sports are done, yet do not let
Your joys in sudden silence set;
Delight and dumbness never met
In one self-subject yet.

If things oppos'd must mixt appear,
Then add a boldness to your fear,

And speak a hymn to him,

Where all your duties do of right belong,
Which I will sweeten with an under-song.

Captain. Glory of ours, and grace of all the earth; How well your figure doth become your birth! As if your form and fortune equal stood, And only virtue got above your blood.

SONG 2.

Jack. Virtue, his kingly virtue, which did merit
This isle entire, and you are to inherit.

4 Gipsy. How right he doth confess him in his

face,

His brow, his eye, and ev'ry mark of state;

As if he were the issue of each Grace,

And bore about him both his fame and fate.

SONG 3.

Jack. Look, look, is he not fair,

And fresh and fragrant too,

As summer sky, or purged air,
And looks as lilies do,

That were this morning blown.

4 Gip. Oh more! that more of him were known. 3 Gip. Look how the winds upon the waves grown

tame,

Take up
land sounds upon their purple wings;
And catching each from other, bear the same
To every angle of their sacred springs.
So will we take his praise, and hurl his name
About the globe, in thousand airy rings,
If his great virtue be in love with fame,

For that contemn'd, both are neglected things.

SONG 4.

Jack. Good princes soar above their fame,
And in their worth,
Come greater forth,

Than in their name.

Such, such the father is,

Whom ev'ry title strives to kiss;

Who on his royal grounds unto himself doth

raise,

The work to trouble fame, and to astonish praise.

4 Gip. Indeed he is not lord alone of all the state, But of the love of men, and of the empire's fate. The muses' arts, the schools, commerce, our honours,

laws,

And virtues hang on him, as on their working cause. 2 Gip. His hand-maid justice is.

3 Gip. Wisdom, his wife.

4 Gip. His mistress, mercy. 5 Gip. Temperance, his life.

2 Gip. His pages bounty and grace, which many

prove.

3 Gip. His guards are magnanimity and love.
4 Gip. His ushers, counsel, truth and piety.
5 Gip. And all that follows him, felicity.

SONG 5.

Jack. Oh that we understood

Our good!

There's happiness indeed in blood,
And store,

But how much more,
When virtue's flood

In the same stream doth hit?

As that grows high with years, so happiness with it.

Capt. Love, love his fortune then, and virtues known,

Who is the top of men,

But makes the happiness our own; Since where the prince for goodness is renown'd, The subject with felicity is crown'd.

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At Burleigh, Bever, and now last at Windsor,
Which shews we are gipsies of no common kind, sir:
You have beheld (and with delight) their change,
And how they came transform'd, may think it strange;
It being a thing not touch'd at by our poet,
Good Ben slept there, or else forgot to shew it:
But lest it prove like wonder to the sight,
To see a gipsy, as an Ethiop, white,

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