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Compiler: Margaret Bellasys
Online: CELM FolgerFirstLines LibCat

I keepe my horse, I keepe my whore,
I have no wealth, yet I’me poore.
I travell all the world about,
And yet was borne to ne’re a foot.
wth partridge plump, with woodcocke fine,
At midnight oft I use to dine.
And when my whore is out of case,
My hostesse daughter takes her place.
The maids sit up, & watch their turnes,
If I stay late the tapster mournes.
The cooke-maid will not yeild to sin,
Though tempted by the Chamberlin
And when I knocke, oh! how they hustle,
The Ostler yawns, the Geldings justle.
And then I call bring forth my horse, Sr
And after comes, deliver your purse, Sr.
By Latrocinio, in The Widow (3.1.22-37), Thomas Middleton
in British Library Additional MS 10309, f. 96r

By Ben Jonson
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were goeing to a feast;
Still to be pouder'd, still pfum'd
Ladie it is to be presum'd
Though arts hid causes are not found
All is not sweete, all is not sound.
Give me a looke, give me a face
That makes simplicitie a grace:
Roabe loosely hanging, hayre as free.
Such sweet neglect more taketh me.
Then all the spurious feats of art
They please mine eyes, but not my hart.
By , in not in source (1.1.71-82), not in source
in British Library Additional MS 10309, f. 100v

By Ben Jonson
Come Sweet Caelia let us prove
While we may ye sports of Love
Time will not be ors for ever
He at length or blisse will sever
Spen not then his giftes in vaine
Suns that set, may rise againe.
But if we once loose this light
It's wth us perpetuall night
Why should we defer or joys
Fame, & Rumour, are but toyes.
Cannote we delude the eyes?
Of a few poore household spyes.
And his easier eares beguile,
Soe remov'd by many a mile.
It's no sinne loves fruits to steale,
But the sweet thefts to reveale.
To be taken, to be seneseene>
These hath crimes accounted beene.
By Volpone, in Volpone (3.7.164-182), Ben Jonson
in British Library Additional MS 10309, f.117r

Verses before a Masque
Gentlemen y’are welcome, but not from me,
For god’s my judge, doe but let you see
Men; whom of late, from out ye Northerns sands
The sea belcht up, upon our fruitfull lands,
They are all males, put yo u but females to’um
They will not sticke in baudy termes to woo 'um
I brought them hither for to make yo u sport
And when that’s done we’le whip them to ye court.
They’re skill’d in horne-pipes, Jigs, & country-rounds
God save King James, the divell take his hounds.
By not in source, in not in source (unknown), not in source
in British Library Additional MS 10309, f.140v