Detail View: LUNA: Folger Manuscript Transcriptions Collection: A book of verses collected by me, R. Dungarvan [manuscript].

Digital Image File Name: 
Source Call Number: 
Source Title: 
A book of verses collected by me, R. Dungarvan [manuscript].
Image Details: 
Part I. When reading Part I, Part II is inverted and reversed.
Source Creator: 
Burlington, Richard Boyle, Earl of, 1612-1698, compiler.
Source Created or Published: 
ca. 1630
Physical Description: 
folio 39 verso || folio 40 recto
Digital Image Type: 
FSL collection
Hamnet Catalog Link:
Rid of her duller reason [each] all are bent To giue th' annuly Venus Spirit vent Then like knights errants each to his Lady flies Who captiv e in Some obscure corner lyes Where when you are like blest ├ćneas come Into the entrance of this blest Elizium You fare much like the Cripples at the Poole Where hee who first can enter in doth foole { His lazie fellowes while th' encluded crue { Sweare & catch cold & learne a dainty cue { In spleene to burne & lead their liues anew Now hee that from the rest doth win the gole To Madam Baw'd hee payes his vsuall Tole Then may-be comes a wench whose breath doth smell Like a dead Rats that twixt the wainscote fell This mounts his angry foote two cubits high Leueld against the Bawd sweares shee shall die Wherefore as the blind Paynims of old dayes With Some Selected Damsell sought t' appease Their angry friends soe one shee doth afford Which at first sight y'oude thinke game for a llord page break 40. But marke her well you'le See Shee better paints Then ould deuotion did the Chauncell Saints Fall but a Kissing & you'le find ere long Though shee bee Silent yet shee hath a toungue Then great Priapus Sends his cunning Eand As his especiall to Search out the land Whose false report doth often Soe beewitch His Maister that hee trailes him to the ditch Like a knaue = guide who in the darke doth crie Here hoe alls cleere when hee i'th durt doth lie Thus once embog'd when res to rem is brought Make your owne play or by my troth t'is nought For shee soe little minds the game shee beares As shee may crack a nut or say her prayers Last when the ventrous part hath Sprung a leake Tis like a Venson pastie that doth breake by th' ouer heated oven; when from the Pie The liquor flowes till it grow hot & drie Now woe & Well a day you Muses nine Put, on your sable weeds & helpe to whine Heers a distemper heer the fier flies Through out the bones with such Solemnities Of Aches, Tumors, Snuflings, as would fright Soules to the other world in Such a plight
Transcriptions made by Shakespeare's World volunteers (, participants in EMROC classes and transcribathons (, participants in Folger paleography classes and transcribathons, and Folger docents.