AD LIBRUM. 
Go booke, and (like a marchant) new arriu’d, 
Tel in how strange a traffick thou hast thriu’d 
Vpon the country which the Sea-god saues, 
And loues so dere, he bindes it round with waues : 
Cast anchor thou, and impost pay to him 
Whose Swans vpon the brest of Isis swim ; 
Bat to the people that do loue to buy, 
(It skils not for how much) each Nouelty, 
Proclaime an open Mart, and sell good cheap, 
What thou by trauell and much cost doest reape. 
Bid the gay Courtier, and coy Ladie come, 
The Lawyer, Townsman, and the Country-groom, 
Tis ware for all: yet thus much let them know, 
There are no drugs here fetcht from Mezico, 
Nor gold from India, nor that stinking smoake, 
Which English gallants buy, themselues to choak. 
Nor Silkes of Turkie, nor of Barbary, 
Those luscious Canes, where our rich Sugars lie : 
Nor those hot drinkes that make our wits to dance 
The wild Canaries, nor those Grapes of France 
Which make vs clip our English: nor those wares 
Of fertile Be/gia, whose wombe compares 
With all the world for fruit, tho now with scarres 
Her body be all ore defac’t by warres : 
Go, tell them what thou bring’st, exceeds the wealth 
all these Contries, for thou bring’st them HEALTH. 
