Decrees are bought, and laws are fold,
Honours, and Offices, for gold;
The people's voices, and the free
Tongues in the fenate, bribed be.

Who thinketh to buy villany with gold,
Shall ever find fuch faith so bought, fo fold.

When I go to hell,

I

Johnfon's Catiline.

Marfion's Sophonisba.

mean to carry a bribe: for look ye,

Good gifts evermore make way for the worst perfons.

'Tis gold must fuch an inftrument procure,

Webster's Dutchess of Malfy.

Webfter's White Devil.

With empty fift no man does falcons lure.

Silver, though white,

Yet it draws black lines: it fhall not rule my palm
There to mark forth his base corruption.

Middleton and Rowley's Fair Quarrel.

A drudge may find more corners in the house
Than e'er the master knew, and may discover
A fecret inlet to betray a city;

'There will I now begin, he fhall advise
Where I fhall plant my golden batteries.

Sir Ralph Freeman's Imperiale. BRID

E.

I wonder Zanthia, why the custom is

To ufe fuch ceremony, fuch ftrict fhape
About us women; forfooth the bride muft fteal
Before her lord to bed: and then delays
Long expectations, all against known wishes.
I hate thefe figures in locution,

Thefe about-phrafes, forc'd by ceremony;
We must still seem to fly what we most seek,
And hide ourselves from that we fain would find:
Let those that think, and speak, and do just acts,
Know, form can give no virtue to their facts,
Nor detract vice.

Marfton's Sophonisba. 1. While

1. While early light fprings from the skies,
A fairer from your bride doth rife;
A brighter day doth thence appear,
And make a fecond morning there.
Her blush doth fhed,
All o'er the bed,

Clean fhame-fac'd beams,
That fpread in streams,

And purple round the modest air.
2. I will not tell what fhrieks and cries,
What angry pishes, and what fies,
What pretty oaths then newly born.
The lift'ning taper heard there fworn:
While froward fhe,
Moft peevishly,

Did yielding fight
To keep o'er night,

What she'd have profferr'd you ere morn.
3. Fair, we know, maids do refufe
To grant what they do come to loose.
Intend a conqueft you that wed;
They would be chaftly ravished.

Cartwright's Ordinary

The maid, and thereby hangs a tale,
For fuch a maid no Whitfon ale

Could ever yet produce :

No grape that's kindly ripe, could be
So round, fo plump, fo foft as fhe,
Nor half fo full of juice.

Her Finger was fo fmall, the ring
Would not ftay on which they did bring
It was too wide a peck :

And to fay truth, for out it must,
It look'd like the great collar juft,
About our young colt's neck.

VOL. I.

F

Her

Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice, ftole in and out,
As if they fear'd the light:
But, Oh! fhe dances fuch a way!
No fun, upon an Eafter day,
Is half fo fine a fight.

He would have kifs'd her once or twice,
But she would not, fhe was fo nice,
She would not do't in fight.

And then the look'd, as who should fay,
I will do what I lift to-day;

And you shall do't at night.

Her cheeks fo rare a white was on
No daify makes comparison,

Who fees them is undone :
For ftreaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Cath’rine pear,

The fide that's next the fun.

Her lips were red; and one was thin,
Compar'd to that was next her chin;
Some bee had ftung it newly.
But, Dick, her eyes fo guard her face,
I durft no more upon them gaze,
Than on the fun in July.

Her mouth fo fmall, when he does speak,
Thoud'it fwear her teeth her words did break,
That they might paffage get:

But fhe fo handled ftill the matter,
They came as good as ours, or better,
And are not fpent a whit.

If wifhing fhould be any fin,
'The Parfon himself had guilty been ;
(She look'd that day fo purely :)
And did the youth so oft the Feat
At night, as fome did in conceit,

It would have spoil'd him furely.

Suckling
Now

Now that love's holiday is come,

And Madge, the maid, hath fwept the room,
And trimm'd her spit and pot,

Awake, my merry Mufe, and fing
The Revels, and that other thing,
That must not be forgot.

As the grey morning dawn'd, tis faid,
Clarinda broke out of her bed,
Like Cynthia in her pride:
Where all the maiden lights that were
Compriz'd within our hemisphere
Attended at her fide.

But wot you then, with much ado,
They drefs'd the bride from top to toe,

And brought her from her chamber;
Deck'd in her robes and garments gay,
More fumptuous than the live-long day,
Or ftars enfhrin'd in amber.

The fparkling bullice of her eyes
Like two eclipfed funs did rife
Beneath her crystal brow;

To fhew like thofe ftrange accidents,
Some fudden changeable events
Were like to hap below.

Her cheeks beftreak'd with white and red,
Like pretty tell-tales of the bed

Prefag'd the bluft'ring night;

Which his encircling arms and shade
Refolv'd to fwallow and invade

And skreen her virgin light.
Her lips, those threads of scarlet dye,
Wherein love's charms and quiver lie,
Legions of sweets did crown;
Which smilingly did feem to fay,
Crop me, crop me, while you may,

Anon they're not mine own.

Her breafts, thofe melting Alps of fnow,
On whofe fair hills, in open fhew,

The god of love lay napping;
Like fwelling buts of lively wine,
Upon their ivory ftells did fhine,
To wait the lucky tapping.

Her wafte, that slender

type

of man,

Was but a small and fingle span,
Yet, I dare safely swear,

He that whole thousands has in fee,
Would forfeit all, so he might be
Lord of the manor there.

BUILDING.

See, boys! this gate,

Cleveland.

Inftructs how t'adore the heav'ns; and bows you
you
To morning's holy office. Gates of monarchs
Are arch'd fo high, that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbands on, without
Good morrow to the fun. Hail, thou fair heav'n!
We house i'th' rock, yet use thee not fo hardly
As prouder livers do.

Shakespear's Cymbeline.

She builds in gold, and to the stars,
As if the threaten'd heav'n with wars;
And feeks for hell in quarries deep,
Giving the fiends, that there do keep,
A hope of day.

Johnson's Catiline.

They had rather drown their fubftance
In fuperfluities of bricks and ftones;
Like Sisyphus, advancing of them ever,
And ever pulling down) than lay the cost
Of any fluttish corner, on a man

Built with God's finger, and inftil'd his temple.
Chapman's Revenge of Buffey D'ambois.

-And