Though lusty Roger there had been, Or Vincent of the Crown. 5 But wot you what? the youth was going To make an end of all his wooing; The parson for him staid: Yet by his leave, for all his haste, (Perchance) as did the maid. 6 The maid-and thereby hangs a tale For such a maid no Whitsun-ale Could ever yet produce: No grape that's kindly ripe could be 7 Her finger was so small, the ring 8 Her feet, beneath her petticoat, As if they fear'd the light: But oh! she dances such a way! Is half so fine a sight. 9 He would have kiss'd her once or twice, But she would not, she was so nice, She would not do't in sight; And then she look'd as who should I will do what I list to-day; say And you shall do't at night. 10 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. 11 Her lips were red, and one was thin, Some bee had stung it newly. Than on the sun in July. 12 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, 13 If wishing should be any sin, She look'd that day so purely: And did the youth so oft the feat It would have spoil'd him, surely. 14 Passion o'me! how I run on! The business of the kitchen's great, For it is fit that men should eat; Nor was it there denied. 15 Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice, And all the waiters in a trice His summons did obey; Each serving-man with dish in hand, 16 When all the meat was on the table, And this the very reason was, 17 Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; And who could help it, Dick? 18 O' the sudden up they rise and dance; Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass, 19 By this time all were stol'n aside But that he must not know; But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind, Above an hour or so. 20 When in he came (Dick), there she lay, Like new-fall'n snow melting away, "Twas time, I trow, to part. Kisses were now the only stay, Which soon she gave, as who would say, 21 But just as heavens would have to cross it, In came the bridemaids with the posset; The bridegroom eat in spite; For had he left the women to 't It would have cost two hours to do 't, Which were too much that night. 22 At length the candle 's out, and now All that they had not done, they do! What that is, who can tell? But I believe it was no more Than thou and I have done before I With Bridget and with Nell! SONG. pray thee send me back my heart, For if from yours you will not part, Yet now I think on 't, let it lie, To find it were in vain; Would steal it back again. Why should two hearts in one breast lie, If thus our breasts thou sever? But love is such a mystery, I cannot find it out; For when I think I'm best resolved, Then farewell care, and farewell woe, For I'll believe I have her heart WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. CARTWRIGHT was born in 1611, and was the son of an innkeeper-once a gentleman-in Cirencester. He became a King's scholar at Westminster, and afterwards took orders at Oxford, where he distinguished himself, according to Wood, as a 'most florid and seraphic preacher.' One is reminded of the description given of Jeremy Taylor, who, when he first began to preach, by his 'young and florid beauty, and his sublime and raised discourses, made men take him for an angel newly descended from the climes of Paradise.' Cartwright was appointed, through his friend Bishop Duppa, Succentor of the Church of Salisbury in 1642. He was one of a council of war appointed by the University of Oxford, for providing troops in the King's cause, to protect, or some said to overawe, the Universities. He was imprisoned by the Parliamentary forces on account of his zeal in the Royal cause, but soon liberated on bail. In 1643, he was appointed Junior Proctor of his University, and also Reader in Metaphysics. At this time he is said to have studied sixteen hours a-day. This, however, seems |