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University of Virginia Library

Dia Poemata

Poetick Feet Standing Upon Holy Ground: Or, Verses on certain Texts of Scripture. With Epigrams, &c. By E. E. [i.e. Edmund Elys]

Elys, Edmund (ca. 1634-ca. 1707)

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To my FRIEND, Mr. E. E. on his Divine Poems.

On the sacred Poems of my Ingenious Friend, Mr. E. E.

To his honest Cousin, E. E. on his Dia Poemata; or, his setting Feet on Holy ground.

To my Friend, the Author.

To his Honour'd Friend M. E. E. on his Incomparable Poems.

To Mr. E. E. on his DIA POEMATA.

To Mr. E. E. on his Book, &c.

To the Laurell worthy Mr. E. E. on his Excellent Poems.

To his most Deserving Friend, Mr. E. E. on his DIAPOEMATA.

In Dia Poemata; Or, Poetick Feet standing upon Holy Ground.

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EPIGRAMS, &c. By E. E.

ENCOMIAST: To J. C.

On a dull Poet, but good Logitian.

On a Little Gentleman of Great Parts.

To a false-hearted Poet.

On a Gentlewoman of a Brown Complexion, but Handsome Features.

On a Gentleman who Died with Lord in his Mouth.

On the Death of Leander.

To one that gets his Living by writing Satyres.

Nec Fonte labra prolui Caballino.

------ Vino pellite Curas.

Of Vulgar Criticks.

To the Eye Adulterer.

On a Gentlewoman that would be married to none but a Rich man.

To an Epigrammatist, that inveighs against Women.

On the perfect Conclusion of a fierce War.

To a Vertuous Gentlewoman, weeping for the Death of her Eldest Brother, my Bosom-Friend.

On the Tempestuous season of Wind and Rain, 1654.

[His Soul's so Dark all o're, He cannot see]

An unquiet bad Conscience.

To a Lascivious Poet.

The World's Fine Gentleman.

To Unlearned Criticks.

To an Hireling Poet.

To his Displeased Pater in Phœbo, Mr. F. M.

On a NEWES-MONGER.

To an Honourable Lady Rarely Accomplisht with Wit, and Beauty.

On the fifth of November.

To an Handsome Gentlewoman on this part of her Anagram: Each Beauty Shoots.

Swearing and Cursing.

To One marrying for Love, not Money.

Thanks To a Vertuous Gentlewoman, who gave him a Dish of Sweet Meats.

To his Honour'd Friend, W. W. Esq.

To Mrs. M. S. in her Child-bed Dresse.

To the same, newly Married, on her Anagram: SO! YOU'RE MATCHT.

Mars Togatus: Or, Fighting in the Schooles.

Hac Ignis: Sive Lues Venerea.

To Mr. E. F. The only Son of Sir E. F. Knight.

To Mrs A. S. on the Death of her Two first Children.

To that Pretty Piece of Perfection Mrs L. C.

To Mrs. K. G. having been lately sick of the Small Pox.

A Love sick Gentleman to a Fair Lady scorning him.

To a Phantastick Vagabond, Professor of Satyricall Pet Poetrie.

To his Book.

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To his Book.

Come on, my Book, no Page of thine
Shall Beat mens Brains with a strong line:
Thou'rt Plain (no Phrase-Crags in thee plac'd)
Apollo's Temples Pav'd, not Caus'd.
'Tis true; thou art no Gallant, Fine,
Clad with Silk Words, and full of Wine:
But yet, I doubt not, some confesse,
Thou'rt Comely, though in a Plain Dresse.
Our Eagle-Muse her Young ones Tries
By none, but true Phœbæan Eyes.
But if some Minor Critick Carps,
With Satyr Wit would Fight at Sharps;
His Heavy Censures Ile despise:
Prest by Lead-Wits my Palm shall Rise.

FINIS.