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14 With new titles of honour, bought with his father's

old gold, For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors are


And this is the course most of our new gallants hold,
Which makes that good housekeeping is now grown
so cold

Among the young courtiers of the king,
Or the king's young courtiers.

1 There is a garden in her face,

Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,

Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that none may buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

2 Those cherries fairly do enclose

Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,

They look like rose-buds filled with snow:
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

3 Her eyes like angels watch them still;

Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill

All that approach with eye or hand
These sacred cherries to come nigh,

Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

1 In melancholic fancy,

Out of myself,
In the vulcan dancy,
All the world surveying,

Nowhere staying,

Just like a fairy elf; Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping, Out o'er the hills, the trees, and valleys tripping, Out o'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping.

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

2 Amidst the misty vapours,

Fain would I know
What doth cause the tapers;
Why the clouds benight us

And affright us,

While we travel here below. Fain would I know what makes the roaring thunder, And what these lightnings be that rend the clouds

asunder, And what these comets are on which we gaze and

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

3 Fain would I know the reason

Why the little ant,
All the summer season,
Layeth up provision

On condition

To know no winter's want: And how housewives, that are so good and painful,

Do unto their husbands prove so good and gainful; And why the lazy drones to them do prove disdainful

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

4 Ships, ships, I will descry you

Amidst the main;
I will come and try you
What you are protecting,

And projecting,

What's your end and aim. One goes abroad for merchandise and trading, Another stays to keep his country from invading, A third is coming home with rich wealth of lading,

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

5 When I look before me,

There I do behold
There's none that sees or knows me;
All the world's a-gadding,

Running madding;

None doth his station hold. He that is below envieth him that riseth, And he that is above, him that's below despiseth, So every man his plot and counter-plot deviseth.

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

6 Look, look, what bustling

Here I do espy;
Each another jostling,
Every one turmoiling,

The other spoiling,

As I did pass them by.
One sitteth musing in a dumpish passion,

Another hangs his head, because he's out of fashion,
A third is fully bent on sport and recreation.

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

7 Amidst the foamy ocean,

Fain would I know
What doth cause the motion,

And returning

In its journeying,

And doth so seldom swerve! And how these little fishes that swim beneath salt water, Do never blind their eye; methinks it is a matter An inch above the reach of old Erra Pater!

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

8 Fain would I be resolved

How things are done;
And where the bull was calved

Of bloody Phalaris,

And where the tailor is

That works to the man i' the moon ! Fain would I know how Cupid aims so rightly; And how these little fairies do dance and leap so lightly; And where fair Cynthia makes her ambles nightly.

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go!

9 In conceit like Phæton,

I'll mount Phoebus' chair;
Having ne'er a hat on

All my hair a-burning

In my journeying,

Hurrying through the air.
Fain would I hear his fiery horses neighing,

And see how they on foamy bits are playing;
All the stars and planets I will be surveying !

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

10 Oh, from what ground of nature

Doth the pelican,
That self-devouring creature,

Prove so froward

And untoward,

Her vitals for to strain? And why the subtle fox, while in death's wounds is lying, Doth not lament his pangs by howling and by crying; And why the milk-white swan doth sing when she's adying.

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

11 Fain would I conclude this,

At least make essay,
What similitude is;

Why fowls of a feather

Flock and fly together,

And lambs know beasts of prey: How Nature's alchemists, these small laborious creatures, Acknowledge still a prince in ordering their matters, And suffer none to live, who slothing lose their features.

Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?

12 I’m rapt with admiration,

When I do ruminate,
Men of an occupation,
How each one calls him brother,
Yet each envieth other,

And yet still intimate!

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