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Clarastella

Together with Poems occasional, Elegies, Epigrams, Satyrs. By Robert Heath
Heath, Robert (fl. 1636-1659)

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Occasional POEMS
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ELEGIES.
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EPIGRAMS.
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The first Book.
  
To the Reader of my Epigrams and Satyrs.
  
To a lacivious Blackamoore Woman.
  
To Cosmus.
  
On Lieutenant Catch.
  
To one that after ten years studie, brought forth a lamentable work.
  
On rich Lock.
  
To the Printer.
  
On Galla her going to a Nunnerie.
  
On Marcus.
  
To Sullen.
  
On Cleombrotus.
  
To a Travellour.
  
On the Ladie Seem-pol.
  
On Sir Gervas Loftie.
  
To the Reader.
  
Epitaph on a Poor Alchymist.
  
Why men are so unlike.
  
To Madam Moyle on her Picture.
  
Epitaph on a very fat man.
  
To Clois.
  
On the English Mounsieur.
  
On Philautus.
  
On Nab and Plodwel.
  
To Lupa.
  
On Priske and Galla.
  
To a fat Usurer.
  
On Wylde.
  
On Smart.
  
On Brisk.
  
On Mopsa a Chambermaide.
  
To fat Apicius.
  
On a deaf man and his blind wife.
  
On Lena.
  
Why Justice is painted blind.
  
Of Love Sonnets.
  
To Sir Gregorie Nonsense.
  
To spend-fast a Gamster.
  
To the Ingenious Reader.
  
On Sullen.
  
To Pistor.
  
On a fruitful Merchants wife.
  
To a painted Whore.
  
To Brisk.
  
To Jeffry the Kings dwarfe.
  
To Overwise.
  
On Mounsieur Finedress.
  
On Philautus.
  
To Gripe.
  
On Lurch the match-contriver.
  
To the Reader.
  
On Proud.
  
To his dear friend H. N.
  
To Gripe and Holdclose.
  
To Gallus.
  
On Bib.
  
Of Loving Husbands.
  
On Luscus.
  
On Stut.
  
On the strange Death of Eschylus a Poet.
  
On Cob.
  
On Cleopatra.
  
On an Inveighing Poetaster.
  
The Dedication to Momus.
  
On Dul.
  
On Accismus.
  
On Tucca.
  
To Rash.
  
To Crispinus.
  
On Howdee.
  
To Brave.
  
On Venterwit.
  
On Braggadochio Cit.
  
On Wylde.
  
On Childish love.
  
On Mr Spendall.
  
On Lawyer Say-much.
  
To Medicus on Tucca.
  
To Vetus an old Antiquary.
  
On Fine.
  
On the Drunkards lavishness.
  
On Poetizing Momus.
  
On Linus.
  
On Gallus.
  
On Histrio.
  
To a Tobaccoseller.
  
To the Reader.
  
To Bankes.
  
To the Physicians.
  
To Lupa.
  
Epitaph on Bibulus.
  
On Histrio.
  
To Gut.
  
To Simple.
  
To Brisk.
  
On Nano being angry.
  
To my Reader.
  
To one that asked me why I would write an English Epigram after B. Johnson.
  
On Galla.
  
To Nab.
  
Certain modest deprecations against my malevolent Detractour.
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Epigrams. Lib. 2.
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SATYRS.

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To fat Apicius.

Apicius leave! scratch thy bald pate no more
Hark how thy Muse supine doth sleeping snore
In thy diseas'd and bedred soul! She lies
Slumbring resolv'd neither to wake or rise.
Not all thy sprightly Sack or far fetcht chear
Can help as midwives to deliver her.
The fumes from thy ful paunch ascending fil
Thy head with vapours, whose dul mists do kil
And suffocate thy vitals, hurt thy brain,
Where all thy genitive faculties are lane.
The Muses live in hungry air, feed clean,
So must you; els your wit wil ne'r be keen.
As 'tis in Nature so in Poesie,
Seldom or nev'r fat bodies pregnant be.
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