Here lie the bones of him, that was, of late,
A churlish Porter of a Prison gate!
Death, many an evening, at his lodging knocked;
But could not take him, for the door was locked!
Yet, at a tavern, late one night, he found him;
And getting him into the cellar, drowned him.
On which the world (that still the worst is thinking)
Reports abroad that "He was killed with drinking!"
Yet let no Prisoner, whether thief or debtor,
Rejoice, as if his fortune were the better!
Their sorrow's likely to be ne'er the shorter!
The Warden lives! though Death hath took the Porter.
A Sonnet upon a Stolen Kiss.
Now gentle sleep hath closèd up those eyes,
Which waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe;
And free access unto that sweet lip lies,
From whence I long, the rosy breath to draw.
Methinks, no wrong it were, if I should steal
From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss!
None sees the theft, that would the theft reveal!
Nor rob I her, of ought which she can miss!
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,
There would be little sign I had done so!
Why then should I, this robbery delay?
O, she may wake! and therewith angry grow!
Well, if she do: I'll back restore that one;
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan!
An Epitaph upon Abraham Goodfellow, a common Alehouse hunter.
Beware, thou look not who hereunder lies!
Unless thou long to weep away thine eyes.
This man, as sorrowful report doth tell us,
Was, when he lived, the Prince of all Good Fellows.
That day he died, it cannot be believed
How, out of reason, all the Alewives grieved.
And what abominable lamentation
They made at Black Boy, and at Salutation.
They howled and cried, and, ever more, among,
This was the burden of their woful Song.
Well, go thy ways! thy like hath never been!
Nor shall thy match again be ever seen!
For, out of doubt, now thou art dead and gone,
There's many a Taphouse will be quite undone!
And Death, by taking thee, did them more scath
Than yet, the Alehouse Project done them hath.
Lo, such a one but yesterday, was he;
But now, he much is altered, you do see!
Since he came hither, he hath left his riot;
Yea, changed both his company and his diet;
And, now, so civil lies, that, to your thinking,
He neither for an Alehouse cares, nor drinking.