I then was punisht for my fin,

That I fo long had lived in ;

Yea, every one that was his friend,

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This tyrant brought to fhamefull end.

Then for my lewd and wanton life,
That made a ftrumpet of a wife,
I penance did in Lombard-street,
In fhamefull manner in a fheet.

Where many thousands did me viewe,
Who late in court my credit knewe;
Which made the teares run down my face,
To thinke upon my foul difgrace.

Not thus content, they took from mee
My goodes, my livings, and my fee,
And charg'd that none fhould me relieve,
Nor any fuccour to me give.

Then unto Mrs. Blague I went,
To whom my jewels I had fent,
In hope therebye to ease my want,
When riches fail'd, and love grew

scant:

But she denyed to me the same
When in my need for them I came;
To recompence my former love,

Out of her doores fhee did me shove.

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So

So love did vanish with my state,
Which now my foul repents too late ;
Therefore example take by mee,
For friendship parts in povertìe.

But yet one friend among the rest,
Whom I before had seen distrest,
And fav'd his life, condemn'd to die,
Did give me food to fuccour me:

For which, by lawe, it was decreed
That he was hanged for that deed;
His death did grieve me so much more,
Than had I dyed myself therefore.

Then those to whom I had done good,
Durft not afford mee any food;
Whereby I begged all the day,
And ftill in streets by night I lay.

My gowns befet with pearl and gold,
Were turn'd to fimple garments old;
My chains and gems and golden rings,
To filthy rags and loathfome things.

Thus was I fcorn'd of maid and wife,
For leading fuch a wicked life;
Both fucking babes and children finall,
Did make their paftime at my fall.

I could not get one bit of bread,

Whereby my hunger might be fed:
Nor drink, but fuch as channels yield,
Or ftinking ditches in the field.

Thus, weary of my life, at lengthe
I yielded up my vital strength

Within a ditch of loathsome scent,

Where carrion dogs did much frequent :

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The which now fince my dying daye,

Is Shoreditch call'd, as writers faye * ;

Which is a witness of my finne,
For being concubine to a king.

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You wanton wives, that fall to lust,
Be you affur'd that God is just ;
Whoredome shall not escape his hand,

*But it had this name long before; being fo called from its being a common SEWER (vulgarly SHORE) or drain. See Stow.

You

You husbands, match not but for love,
Left fome difliking after prove;
Women, be warn'd when you are wives,
What plagues are due to finful lives:

Then, maids and wives, in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end.

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XXVII.

CORYDON's DOLEFUL KNELL.

This little fimple elegy is given, with fome corrections, from two copies, one of which is in "The golden garland of princely delights."

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The burthen of the fong, DING DONG, &c. is at prefent appropriated to burlesque fubjects, and therefore may excite only ludicrous ideas in a modern reader; but in the time of our poet it usually accompanied the most folemn and mournful frains. Of this kind is that fine aerial Dirge in ShakeSpear's Tempeft:

"Full fadom five thy father lies,

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"Of his bones are corrall made;
"Thofe are pearles that were his eyes;
Nothing of him, that doth fade,
"But doth Juffer a fea-change
"Into fomething rich and firange:

$6 Sea

"Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell, "Harke now I heare them, Ding dong bell."

"Burthen, Ding dong."

I make no doubt but the poet intended to conclude the above air in a manner the moft folemn and expreffive of melancholy.

Y Phillida, adieu love!

ΜΥ

For evermore farewel!

Ay me! I've loft my true love,

And thus I ring her knell,

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,

My Phillida is dead!

I'll stick a branch of willow