'S THE CLOUT.

<72.1> A portion of this little poem is quoted in Brand's
POPULAR ANTIQUITIES (edit. 1849, ii. 70), as an illustration
of the custom to which it refers. No second example of such
an usage seems to have been known to Brand and his editors.

<<AN.4>> P. 183. TO A LADY WITH CHILDE THAT ASK'T AN OLD SHIRT.
The custom to which the Poet here refers, was no doubt common
in his time; although the indefatigable Brand does not appear
to have met with any illustration of it, except in LUCASTA.
But since the note at p. 183 <i.e. note 72.1> was written, the
following passage in the old morality of THE MARRIAGE OF WIT
AND WISDOM (circa 1570) has come under my notice:--

"INDULGENCE [to her son WIT].
Well, yet before the goest, hold heare
MY BLESSING IN A CLOUTE,
WELL FARE THE MOTHER AT A NEEDE,
Stand to thy tackling stout."

The allusion is to the contemplated marriage of WIT to his
betrothed, WISDOM.

SONG.

I.
In mine one monument I lye,
And in my self am buried;
Sure, the quick lightning of her eye
Melted my soul ith' scabberd dead;
And now like some pale ghost I walk,
And with another's spirit talk.

II.
Nor can her beams a heat convey,
That may my frozen bosome warm,
Unless her smiles have pow'r, as they,
That a cross charm can countercharm.
But this is such a pleasing pain,
I'm loth to be alive again.

ANOTHER.

I did believe I was in heav'n,
When first the heav'n her self was giv'n,
That in my heart her beams did passe
As some the sun keep in a glasse,
So that her beauties thorow me
Did hurt my rival-enemy.
But fate, alas! decreed it so,
That I was engine to my woe:
For, as a corner'd christal spot,
My heart diaphanous was not;
But solid stuffe, where her eye flings
Quick fire upon the catching strings:
Yet, as at triumphs in the night,
You see the Prince's Arms in light,
So, when I once was set on flame,
I burnt all ore the letters of her name.

ODE.

I.
You are deceiv'd; I sooner may, dull fair,
Seat a dark Moor in Cassiopea's<73.1> chair,
Or on the glow-worm's uselesse light
Bestow the watching flames of night,
Or give the rose's breath
To executed death,
Ere the bright hiew
Of verse to you;
It is just Heaven on beauty stamps a fame,
And we, alas! its triumphs but pro