The Mad-mans Morrice:
OR,
A warning for Young men to have a care,
How they in Love intangled are:
Wherein (by experience) you shall find,
His trouble and grief, with discontent of mind.
To a pleasant new Tune.
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HEard you not lately of a Man
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That went besides his Wits,
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And naked through the Streets he ran,
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Wrapt in his frantick fits?
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My honest Neighbours tt is I,
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Harke how the people flout me,
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See where the Mad-man comes they cry,
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With all the Boyes about me.
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Into a Pond stark naked I ran,
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And cast my Cloathes away sir,
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Without the helpe of any Man.
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Made shift to run away sir;
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How I got out I have forgot,
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I doe not well remember,
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Or whether it was cold or hot,
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In June or in December.
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Tom Bedlams but a Sage to me,
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I speake in sober sadness,
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For more strange Visions doe I see,
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Then hee in all his madness.
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When first to me this chance befell,
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About the Market walkt I,
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With Capons Feathers in my Cap,
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And to my selfe thus talkt I.
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Did you not see my Love of late,
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Like Titan in her glory?
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Did you not know she was my Mate,
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And I must write her Story,
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With Pen of Gold on Silver leafe,
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I will so much befriend her,
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For why I am of that beliefe,
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None can so well commend her.
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Saw you not Angels in her eyes,
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Whilest that she was a speaking?
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Smelt you not smels like Paradice,
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Betweene two Rubies breaking?
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Is not her haire more pure then Gold,
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Of finest Spiders spinning?
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Me thinkes in her I doe behold,
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My Joyes and Woes beginning.
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Is not a dimple in her cheeke?
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Each eye a Star thats starting,
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Is not all Graces instald in her
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Each step all joyes imparting?
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Me thinkes I see her in a Cloud,
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With Graces round about her?
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To them I call and cry aloud,
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I cannot live without her.
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The second Part, To the same tune.
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THen raging towards the Sky I rore,
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Thinking to catch her hand,
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O then to Jove I call and cry,
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To let her by me stand.
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I looke behind and there I see
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My shadow me beguile,
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I wish she were as neere to me,
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Which makes my worship smile.
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There is no Creature can compare
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With my beloved Nancy:
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Thus I build Castles in the Aire,
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This is the fruits of Fancy.
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My thoughts mount high, above the Sky,
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Of none I stand in awe,
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Although my body here doe lye
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Upon a Pad of Straw.
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I was as good a harmlesse Youth,
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Before base Cupid caught me.
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Or his owne Mother with her Charmes,
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Into this Cage hath brought me:
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Stript and whipt now must I be,
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In Bedlam bound in Chaines;
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Good People now you may see
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What Love hath for his paines.
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When I was young as others are,
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With Gallants did I flourish,
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O then was I the properest Lad,
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That was in all the Parish:
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The Bracelets which I used to weare,
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About my Armes so tender,
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Are turned now to Iron plates,
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About my Body slender.
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My Silken Suits doe now decay,
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My Cups of Gold are banished,
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And all my Friends doe weare away
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As I from them were vanished:
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My Silver Cups are turnd to Earth,
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Ime jeerd of every Clowne,
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I was a better Man by birth,
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Till Fortune cast me downe.
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I me out of frame and temper too,
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Though I am somewhat cheerfull,
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O this can Love and Fancy doe,
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If that you be not carefull:
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O set a watch before your Eyes,
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Lest they betray your heart,
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And make you Slaves to vanities,
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To act a Mad-mans part.
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Declare this to each Mothers Son,
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Unto each honest Lad:
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Let them not doe as I have done,
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Lest they like me grow mad.
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If Cupid strike, be sure of this,
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Let Reason rule Affection,
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So shalt thou never doe amisse,
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By Reasons good Direction.
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I have no more to say to you,
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My keepers now doth chide me;
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Now must I bid you all adieu,
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God knowes what will betide me:
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To pi[c]king Strawes now must I goe,
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My time in Bedlam spending;
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Good Folks you your beginning know,
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But doe not know your ending.
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