University of Virginia Library

EPIGRAMMES.

Don Pedro's Debt.

Don Pedro 's out of debt, be bolde to say it;
For they are said to owe, that meane to pay it.

Sextus Wit.

To haue good wit is Sextus thought by many;
But sure he hides it all, hee shewes not any.

Of casting out Spirits by Prayer, without Fasting.

A vertuous Dame, who for her state and qualitie,
Did euer loue to keepe great Hospitalitie;
Her name I must not name in plaine reciting,
But thus, The chiefe Instrument of writing,
Was by Duke Humphrey's Guests so boldly hanted,
That her good minde therewith was sorely danted:
She sighing said, one day, to a carelesse lester,
These ill-bred guests my boord and house so pester,
That I pray God oft times with all my heart,
That they would leaue their haunt, and hence depart.
He that by his owne humour haply ghest,
What manner Sprite these smell-feasts had possest;
Tolde her the surest way such Sprites out-casting,
Was to leaue Prayer a while, and fall to Fasting.

Of wicked Prayers.

A husband and a Wife oft disagreeing,
And eyther weary of the others being,
In choller great eyther deuoutly prayes
To God, that he would shorten th'others dayes:
But more deuout then both their Sonne and Heyre
Prayes God that he would grant them both their prayer.

The Author, of his Fortune.

Take Fortune as it fals, so one aduiseth,
But Heywood bids me take it as it riseth:
And while I thinke to doe as both doe teach,
It fals and riseth quite besides my reach.

Of Misse-pointing.

Dames are indu'd with vertues excellent:
What man is he can proue that? they offend
Daily, they serue the Lord with good intent
Seld, they displease their Husbands to the end
Alwayes, to please them well they doe intend
Neuer, in them one shall finde shrewdnesse much,
Such are their humours, and their grace is such.

To his Wife.

My Mall, the former Verses this doth teach you,
That some deceiue, some are deceiu'd by shewes:
For this that in your prayse so firmely goes,
With one false poynt and stop will ouer reach you,
And turne the prayse to scorne, the Verse to Prose,
By which you may be slandered, all as shrewes,
And some perhaps may speake, and say no treason,
The Verses had more time, the Prose more reason.

Of a Precise Taylor.

A taylor thought a man of vpright dealing,
TRue but for lying, honest but for stealing:
Did fall one day extreamely sicke by chance,
And on the sudden, was in wondrous trance.
The fiends of hell mustring in fearefull manner,
Of sundry coloured silkes displaid a banner
Which he had stolne, and wisht as they did tell,
That he might finde it all one day in hell.
The man affrighted with this apparision,
Vpon recouerie grew a great precision:
He bought a Bible of the best translation,
And in his life he shewde great reformation.
He walked mannerly, he talked meekely.
He heard three lectures, and two sermons weekly.
He vou'd to shun all companie vnruly,
And in his speech he vsd no oath but truly.
And calously to keepe the saboths rest,
His meate for that day on the eue was drest.
And least the custome which he had to steale,
Might cause him sometime to forget his zeale,
He giues his Iournyman a speciall charge,
That if the stuffe allowance being large,
He found his fingers were to filch inclind,
Bid him to haue the banner in his mind.
This done, I scant can tell the rest for laughter,
A captaine of a ship came three daies after,
And brought three yardes of veluet, and three quarters,
To make venetians downe belowe the garters.
He that precisely knew what was ynough,
Soone slipt aside three quarters of the stuffe.
His man espying it, said in derision,
Maister remember how you saw the vision.
Peace knaue quoth he, I did not see one ragge,
Of such a coloured silke in all the flagge.

Of a Cittizen and his Sonne

A cittizen that dwelt neare Temple barre,
By hap one day fell with his sonne at iarre:
Who for his euill life and lewd demerit,
He oft affirm'd he would quite disinherit.
And vow'd his goods and lands all to the poore.
His sonne what with his play, what with his (------)
Was so consumed at last, that he did lacke,
Meate for his mouth, and clothing for his backe.
O craftiē pouertie, his father now,
May giue him all he hath, yet keepe his vow.

Mistaking a word.

An English Lad long woed a lasse of Wales,
And entertain'd her with such prettie tales,
As though she vnderstood not, yet to try him,
She gaue consent at last to vnderly him.
Both hauing dallied to their full societie,
The wench to show some womanly sobrietie,
Told in her language she was well ypaide,
And Diggon, Diggon once or twise she said.
Digge on in welch doth signifie ynough,
Which he mistaking, answeres thus in snuffe:
Diggon that can (quoth he) for I so sore
Haue diggde alreadie, I can digge no more.

Of his Cooke, named Cornish.

My Cornish Cooke in rage and fury great,
Did chase, and chide, and curse & sweare, and sweate.
Because the turne-broach burned had the meate.
And with the basting ladle did him beate.
Was not my Cooke a rash and angry Cullion,
When he should bast the meate, to bast the Scullion?

Of his Writings.

My Writings oft displease you. What's the matter?
You loue not to heare truth, nor I to flatter.

Of a Ladyes Cabinet.

A vertuous Lady sitting in a muse,
As oftentimes faire vertuous Ladyes vse,
Did leane her elbow on her knee full hard,
The other distant from it halfe a yard.
Her Knight to taunt her with some priuie token,
Said, Wife, awake, your Cabinet stands open.
Shee rose, and blusht, and smil'd, and soft did say,
Then locke it if you list, you keepe the key.

Of Wiues ruling.

Concerning Wiues, hold this a certaine rule,
That if at first, you let them haue the rule,
Your selfe at last, with them shall haue no rule,
Except you let them euermore to rule.

Of Gella's Periwig.

See you the goodly hayre that Gella weares
'Tis certaine her owne hayre, one would haue thought it.
Shee sweares it is her owne, and true she sweares:
For hard by Temple-barre last day she bought it.
So faire an hayre vpon so foule a fore-head,
Augments disgrace, and shewes her grace was borrow'd.

Of a Prater, out of Martiall.

Who so is hoarse, yet still to prate doth presse,
Proues he can neyther speake, nor hold his Peace.

Of trusting to his Friend.

If you will shrowd your selfe from all mishaps,
And shun the cause of many after-claps;
Put not in any one too much beliefe,
Your ioy will be the lesse, so will your griefe.

Of Faustus, a stealer of Verses.

I heare that Faustus oftentimes rehearses
To his chaste Mistresse certaine of my Verses:
In which, by vse, so perfit he is growne;
That shee, poore foole, doth thinke they are his owne.
I would esteeme it (trust me) grace, not shame,
If Danyel, or if Dauies did the same.
Nor would I storme, or would I quarrels picke,
I when I list, to them could doe the like.
But who can wish a man a fouler spight,
Then haue a blinde man take away his sight?
A begging theefe is dangerous to my purse,
A beggage Poet to my Verse is worse.

An Epitaph by a man of his Father.

God workes wonders now and than,
Here lyes a Lawyer was an honest man.

An Epitaph of Aretine.

Heere lyes Aretine that poysonous Toade,
Whose spightfull tongue and Pen, all Saints beshrow him,
Did raile on Prince and Priest, and all but God,
And said for his excuse he did not know them.