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For of the lower end two handful
It had devoured, 'twas so manful,
And so much scorn'd to lurk in case,
As if it durst not shew its face.
In many desperate attempts
Of warrants, exigents, contempts,
It had appear’d with courage bolder
Than Serjeant Bum invading shoulder :
Oft had it ta'en possession,
And pris'ners too, or made them run.

This sword a dagger had, his page,
That was but little for his age;
And therefore waited on him so,
As dwarfs upon knights-errant do:
It was a serviceable dudgeon,
Either for fighting or for drudging :
When it had stabb’d or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread ;
Toast cheese or bacon, though it were
To bait a mousetrap, 'twould not care :
'Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth
Set leeks and onions, and so forth :
It had been 'prentice to a brewer,
Where this and more it did endure,
But left the trade, as many more
Have lately done on the same score.

In th' holsters, at his saddle-bow,
Two aged pistols he did stow,
Among the surplus of such meat
As in his hose he could not get :
These would inveigle rats with th' scent,
To forage when the cocks were bent,
And sometimes catch 'em with a snap,
As cleverly as the ablest trap :

They were upon hard duty still,
And ev'ry night stood sentinel,
To guard th' magazine i’ th' hose
From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd foes.

Thus clad and fortify'd, Sir Knight,
From peaceful home, set forth to fight.


BORN 1613-DIED 1641,

This gay young cavalier, whose mercurial productions look

like the mere ebullition of high animal spirits, while they in fact possess the ease and grace of polished composition, was the son of the comptroller of the household of Charles I., and born and bred in the atmosphere of a court. Suckling died at the age of twenty-eight, having written five plays, lyric pieces, letters, tracts, &c. &c. He was also in parliament, and distinguished for the various accomplishments of a court-gallant. At the commencement of the civil wars, he raised what would now be called a crack regiment of horse for the King's service. His soldiers were as ridiculous, in the first instance, for the finery and effeminacy of their equipments, as they afterwards became contemptible for their cowardice when opposed to the sturdy Scottish covenanters. It is related, that the King, seeing many of the troops so finely equipped, remarked, that " the Scots would fight stoutly were it but for the Englishmen's fine clothes." The disgrace of Suckling and his foppish regiment produced a “pasquil," as it was then called, which overwhelmed him with shame.(a) This humorous ballad is attributed to Sir John Mennis, a contemporary versifier, though it has been given to Suckling himself. Human nature never

carried mirth so far. Suckling, being involved by an attempt to rescue Strafford

from the Tower, fled to France, where he died soon afterwards. The manner of his death is not a little painful. Having discovered that his foreign servant had robbed him and fled, Suckling hastily dressed himself to pursue the thief, and, in drawing on his boots, pierced his foot with a rusty nail, which speedily occasioned mortification

and death. His ballad of the WEDDING has ever been admired : it is

unequalled in its kind.

(a) A few stanzas from this ballad may be amusing, as a specimen of the tone of ridicule and mockery about 200 years ago. Our modern party-newspapers rarely produce any thing so good. The lack-a-daisical metre is not its least merit :

Sir John he got him an ambling nag,

To Scotland for to ride-a,
With a hundred horse more, all his own he swore,

To guard him on every side-a.

No errant-knight ever went to fight

With half so gay a bravado,
Had you seen but his look, you'd sworn on a book,

He'd have conquer'd a whole armado.
The ladies ran all to the windows to see

So gallant and warlike a sight-a,
And as he pass'd by, they said with a sigh,
“ Sir John, why will you go fight-a ?"






I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen,

Oh! things without compare !
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on English ground,

Be it at wake or fair.

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The maid-and thereby hangs a tale
For such a maid no Whitson ale

Could ever yet produce :
No grape that's kindly ripe could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,

Nor half so full of juice.

Her finger was so small, the ring
Wou'd not stay on which they did bring,

It was too wide a peck :
And to say truth, for out it must,
It look'd like the great collar (just)

About our young colt's neck.
Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice stole in and out,

As if they fear’d the light :
But oh! she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter day

Is half so fine a sight.
He wou'd have kist her once or twice,
But she wou'd not, she was so nice,

She wou'd not do't in sight;

And then she look'd as who shou'd say,
I will do what I list to day,

And you shall do't at night.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisy makes comparison,

(Who sees them is undone) For streaks of red were' mingled there, Such as are on a Katherine pear,

The side that's next the sun.

Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compar'd to that was next her chin,

(Some bee had stung it newly) ;
But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze,

Than on the sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou’dst swear her teeth her words did break,

That they might passage get ; But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better,

And are not spent a whit.


Why so pale and wan, fond lover ?

Prythee why so pale ?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail ?
Prythee, why so pale ?

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