The Downfall of May Games, Poem
As a Mantiſſa, and little over-weight, I ſhall give you a Coppy of Verſes, which have lain long by mee, they will give ſome light▪ and ſome delight to ingenious and ingenuous Readers.
HO Paſſenger! knoweſt thou not mee?
Where is thy cap, where is thy knee?
Thy betters do mee honour give,
And ſwear they'l do it while they live:
Both high and low give mee reſpect,
I can command them at my beck:
I think thou art ſome Puritan,
Or cenſuring Preciſian,
That loves not May-poles, Mirth and Plaies,
But cries, alas, theſe wretched daies!
That ſtop their ears; and ſhut their eyes,
Leſt they behold our vanities.
But Goodman-Gooſecap, let them know,
I do diſdain their holy ſhow,
Their peeviſh humours I do ſcorn,
And hold them wretches all forlorn:
Their Cenſures all I do ſhake off,
And at their zeal I freely ſcoff,
I will ſtand here in ſpight of ſuch,
And joy to hear that they do grutch.
But prethee fellow learn of mee,
My Birth, my Worth, my Pedigree▪
My name, my fame, my power, and praiſe,
My ſtate my acts, my honoured daies.
I am Sir May-pole, That's my name:
Men, May, and Mirth, give mee the ſame,
Dame Flora once Romes famous whore,
Did give to Rome in daies of yore
By her laſt Will great Legacies,
Her yearly Feaſts to ſolemnize
In May-times ſportful pleaſantneſs
In luſt procuring wantonneſs,
In ſhews and ſights of ſuch delight,
As mens affections raviſht quite.
In Bowers of May-ſprigs gaily built
With Flowers and Garlands all bedilt,
In tuffs of trees, in ſhady groves,
In rounds of ſounds, and wanton loves,
And thus hath Flora, May, and Mirth,
Begun, and cheriſhed my birth,
Till time and means ſo favoured mee,
That of a twig, I waxt a tree:
Then all the people leſs and more,
My height and tallneſs did adore;
Romes Idol-gods made much of mee,
For favouring their Idolatry;
When thus inlarged was my Fame,
Then into other Lands I came,
And found my pomp and bravery
Increaſed much by Popery;
Sith their will-worſhip I advanc'd,
I was moſt highly countenanc'd:
All Townſhips had mee in requeſt,
Where ere I came, that place was bleſt,
And to ſay ſooth, I'me near of kin
Unto that Romiſh man of Sin,
And why? 'cauſe under Heavens Cope,
There's none I ſay ſo near the Pope.
Wherefore the Papiſts give to mee,
Next Papal, ſecond Dignity.
Hath holy Father much adoc
When hee is choſen: ſo have I too:
Doth hee upon mens ſhoulders ride?
That honour doth to mee betide;
There's joy at my plantation,
As is at his Coronation.
Men women, children, on an heap,
Do ſing and dance, and frisk and leap;
Yea drums and drunkards on a rout,
Before mee make a hideous ſhout;
Whoſe loud alarms, and bellowing cryes
Do fright the earth, and pierce the skies.
Hath holy Pope his noble guard?
So have I too, that watch and ward:
For where 'tis noiſ'd that I am come,
My followers ſummon'd are by drum.
I have a mighty retinue,
The ſcum of all the raſcal crew
Of Fidlers, Pedlers, Jayi-ſcap't-ſlaves,
Of Tinkers, Turn-coats, Toſpot-knaves,
Of Theeves, and Scape-thrifts many a one,
With bouncing Beſſe, and jolly Jone,
With idle Boyes, and Journey-men,
And Vagrants, that their Country run:
Yea, Hobby-horſe doth hither prance,
Maid-marrian, and the Morrice-dance.
My ſummons fetcheth far and near
All that can ſwagger, roar and ſwear,
All that can dance, and drab, and drink,
They run to mee, as to a ſink.
Theſe, mee for their Commander take,
And I do them my black-guard make.
The Pope doth keep his Jubilee,
A time of mirth, and merry glee:
On ſuch as unto Rome will go,
Great benefits hee doth beſtow;
For ſins paſt, yea, and ſins to come,
Hee ſaith hee can free them from doom:
Hee brings men to tranſgreſſion,
With hope of abſolution:
And if they will in him beleeve,
Do what they liſt, hee'l them forgive.
I dare avouch in doing this,
My power is as great as his.
My yearly Jubilee keep I,
Which great concourſe doth dignifie,
And to all ſuch as it frequent,
I procure mirth and great content,
I do inlarge their conſcience,
And qualifie each great offence:
I take away all fear of evil,
Of ſin and hell, of death and devil:
I tell them 'tis a time to laugh,
To give themſelves free leave to quaff,
To drink their healths upon their knee,
To mix their talk with ribaldry,
To reel and ſpue, to brawl and fight,
To ſcoff and rail with all their might:
I bid men caſt off gravity,
And women eke their modeſty:
Old crones that ſcarce have tooth or eye,
But crooked back, and lamed thigh
Muſt have a frisk, and ſhake their heel,
As if no ſtitch, nor ache they feel.
I bid the ſervant diſobey,
The childe to ſay his Parents nay.
The poorer ſort that have no coin,
I can command them to purloin:
All this, and more, I warrant good,
For 'tis to maintain neighbour-hood.
The Pope's a friend to Letchery,
Witneſs his Stews for Venery.
In this I come not far behinde,
I give them leave to take their kinde,
I have allurements for the ſame,
As they do know that love the game:
Firſt, mirth doth make their paſſions warm,
Then liquor ſtrong their luſt doth charm,
Then dancing geſtures, looks, and words,
More fewel to their fire affords,
And 'cauſe their works do hate the light,
Wee take th' advantage of the night,
Which covers with dark Canopy,
The means producing baſtardy.
The Pope doth challenge power divine,
I next to him may ſay 'tis mine.
I can command more countenance
Than can the Lords own Ordinance:
They do to mee their love convert,
That from the Church withdraw their heart;
I can command from them great coſt,
Who on the poor would think it loſt:
For mee they will adventure life,
They flye the Goſpels threatned ſtrife▪
The honour of the Sabbath day,
My dancing-greens have ta'en away.
Let Preachers prate till they grow wood,
Where I am, they can do no good.
The Pope doth every where beat down
The haters of his triple Crown:
Bell, Book, and Candle do defie
Such as will not on him relye;
And to effect his dear intent,
New Locuſts ſtill from Hell are ſent,
That fill the world with villanies,
And act each where their Tragedies;
Sometimes mens lands, ſometimes their ſtate
Muſt pay for't, 'cauſe they do him hate.
And have not I as powerful wrath,
To work the world as great a ſcath?
Have not I vaſſals like the Devil,
To pay ſuch with all kinde of evil,
That 'gainſt mee ſpake, or dare to frown,
Much more that ſay, they'l pull mee down?
Theſe brave my foes unto their face,
And glad this office to imbrace.
In colour that they plead for mee,
They'l fight againſt all honeſty:
To make their foes ſeem odious,
They'l firſt proclaim them factious:
They'l term them Rebels to the State,
And ſay they ſeek to innovate,
And breed diſorder in each thing,
Yea, that they hate their Soveraign King:
And if they be not purg'd, the Land,
Nor Church, nor Commonwealth can ſtand.
Then Libels foul are caſt abroad
When filthy ſlanders lay on load.
Incarnate Devils wee them call,
Of men moſt vile, the worſt of all.
Rogues, Theeves and Drunkards, ſaith our pen,
Compar'd with theſe, are honeſt men:
And as for Papiſts, oh! they are
Subjects more true than theſe by far:
Yea, Puritans wee do them prove,
All ſuch as do not May-poles love;
And if ſome matter there bee found,
That wants good proof to make it ſound,
Wee have whole dozens preſt to ſwear,
And freely falſe witneſs to bear:
Yea, when my Rogues do victuals want,
When mony, cloths, and all grow ſcant,
Then forth a forraging they go,
And fall upon our common foe.
No pillage ſeemeth half ſo good,
As what is ſtollen from th' brotherhood.
Thus do wee joy our foes to grieve,
And 'tis our death that they do live.
And leſt you think my ſtately port,
Maintain'd alone by th' baſer ſort:
I have ſome of a better note,
That jet it in a ſilken coat;
I cannot boaſt much of their grace,
But this Ile ſay, they're men of place,
Whoſe Country-worſhip hath great praiſe
For May-polizing now adaies;
Though cold enough in better things,
In this they reign like Pariſh-Kings;
Though bit to th'bare by Uſury,
Yet prodigal to maintain mee:
Yea, Gentiles of the Female kinde,
To mee devoted have their mind,
They keep my Feſtivals with joy,
And fence mee from my foes annoy.
Themſelves ſometimes will lead the dance▪
And Tomboy-like, will leap and prance:
And though they ſeem (O fatal hap)
As light as feathers in their Cap,
Yet how much bound to them am I,
To grace mee with their levity!
And more than theſe, ſome learned men,
Perhaps Divines, what ſay you then?
That have diſputed oft in Schools,
I hope theſe are no ſimple fools:
Theſe ſtifly do maintain my cauſe,
To bee according to Gods Laws;
They ſay, I benefit the poor,
And help t'increaſe the Churches ſtore,
They'l make them good, were't not for mee,
All love would periſh ſpeedily.
They Champion-like, dare to maintain,
That Papiſts to the Church I gain,
Where neither fear of God nor man,
Can make them come, Theſe ſay, I can.
O leap for joy, yee Papiſts all,
Sith theſe do you my Converts call,
And cleave no more to Popiſh Rites:
You are Sir May-poles Proſelites.
Now Traveller learn more grace to ſhow;
And ſee that thou thy betters know.
Thou hear'ſt what I ſay for my ſelf,
I am no Ape, I am no Elf,
I am no baſe ones Paraſite,
I am this great worlds Favorite,
And ſith thou muſt now part mee fro,
Let this my bleſſing with thee go.
There's not a Knave in all the Town,
Nor ſwearing Courtier, nor baſe Clown,
Nor dancing Lob, nor mincing Quean,
Nor Popiſt Clerk▪ bee't Prieſt or Dean,
Nor Knight debaucht, nor Gentleman,
That follows Drabs, or Cup or Can,
That will give thee a friendly look,
If thou a May-pole canſt not brook.
FINIS.
End of the text · Thomas Hall, The Downfall of May Games (1661)