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Poems Divine, and Humane

By Thomas Beedome
Beedome, Thomas

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On the deceased Authour, Master Thomas Beedom, and his Poems.
  
On the death and Poems, of his most deare friend, Master Thomas Beedome.
  
On his deserving Friend, Master Thomas Beedom, and his Poems.
  
To his Friend the Author, Master Thomas Beedom before his death, on these his Poems.
  
To the Memory of his Ingenious friend, Master Thomas Beedom, and on these his Poems.
  
To the Memorie of his friend, Master Thomas Beedom. And upon his Poems.
  
On the Poems of his worthy friend, Master Thomas Beedom, the lately deceased Author.
  
On the Memory of his most Ingenious friend, Master Thomas Beedome, and his Poems.
  
Elegie, on his Ingenious friend, the deserving Author, Master Thomas Beedome.
  
Elegie on the death of his ingenious friend, the deserving Author, Master Thomas Beedome.
  
On the Poems of the Author, his deare Brother, Master Thomas Beedom deceased.
  
THE Author, To the READER.
  
THE JEALOVS LOUER, OR, THE CONSTANT MAID.
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POEMS.
  
To his Mistresse, when shee was going into the Country.
  
The Knell.
  
The Perfume.
  
To his Mistresse on her scorne.
  
The Question and Answer.
  
The new Petition.
  
Fooles Paradise, or Reason Bewitcht.
  
Loves Apostacy to his friend Mr. E. D.
  
The broken heart song.
  
Women are mens shadowes.
  
Women are not mens shadowes.
  
To his worthy friend Mistresse.
  
To Mistresse.
  
On a Lillie now withered in her bosome.
  
The Choyce.
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EPITAPHS.
  
Epitaphium Regis Swedorum.
  
An Elegy on the death of the renowned, and victorious Gustavus Adolphus King of Sweathland.
  
To the truly worthy, and his worthily honoured friend Mris Judith Dyke, on the death of her brother Mr John Dyke, obiit ult. Martii 1636.
  
Encomium Poetarum ad fratrem Galiel Scot.
  
Against prejudicate opinion.
  
------Mors æquo pede pulsat Pauperum tabernas, Regumque turres.
  
To the Noble Sr Francis Drake.
  
To his friend Mr. Em. D. on a rich vaporing sot, whom hee stiles Ignoramus.
  
To my matchlesse friend, my dearest William Scot, a New-yeares guift.
  
The Corner stone.
  
The Royall Navy.
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EPIGRAMS.
 1. 
Epigram 1. To my deare friend William Harrington.
 2. 
Epigram 2. Of one Mary Fraile, who lay with Mr Reason.
 3. 
Epigram 3. On the same Mary a great lover of Mary-bones.
 4. 
Epigram 4. To the excellent Poets Mr George Wither
 5. 
Epigram 5. By way of consolation to his deare friend William Scot, on the death of his brother Gilman Scot.
 6. 
Epigram 6. To his friend Mr Thomas Beedom, of single life.
 7. 
Epigram 7. E contra, of Marriage.
 8. 
Epigram 8. Of good women.
 9. 
Epigram 9. E Contrario.
 10. 
Epigram 10. Being a Translation of this Latin verse, composed by Dr Hensloe
 11. 
Epigram 11. To the worthy honoured, Sir Henry Wootten Knight.
 12. 
Epigram 12. To the same Knight being President of Eaton Colledge.
 13. 
Epigram 13. Of a fresh water Souldier.
 14. 
Epigram 14. Being a meditation to my selfe.
 15. 
Epigram 15. To himselfe of his Mistresse.
 16. 
Epigram 16. To his Superlative Mistris.
 17. 
Epigram 17. To his intimate friend William Pearle.
 18. 
Epigram 18. To the Heroicall Captaine Thomas James, of his discovery made by the Northwest passage towards the South Sea. 1631.
 19. 
Epigram 19. A Complaint of his separation from his Mistris, caused by his friends injunction.
 20. 
Epigram 20. To the memory of his honoured friend Master John Donne, an Eversary.
  
An Elegie on the death of his loving friend. J: C
  
My sonne give mee thy heart.
  
The Petition.
  
[VVhen first of sinne I tooke survey]
  
The Inquisition.
  
A Proud man.
  
Meditation.
  
The Crosse.
  
The Resurrection.
  
Conscience.
  
The Mercy Seate.
  
The Present.
  
Ad punctum mortis.
  
To the Angels.
  
On Æternity.
  
On the death of Mris. M. T.

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The Question and Answer.

When the sad ruines of that face
In it's owne wrinkles buried lyes,
And the stiffe pride of all it's grace
By time undone, fals slacke and dyes:
Wilt not thou sigh, and wish in some vext fit,
That it were now as when I courted it.
And when thy glasse shall it present,
Without those smiles which once were there,
Showing like some stale monument,
A scalpe departed from it's haire,
At thy selfe frighted wilt not start and sweate
That I beleeved thee, when I call'd thee faire?
Yes, yes, I know thou wilt, and so
Pitty the weaknesse of thy scorne

That now hath humbled thee to know,
Though faire it was, it is forlorne,
Loves sweetes, thy aged corps, embalming not,
What marvell if thy carkasse beauty rot.
Then shall I live, and live to be
Thy envie, thou my pitty; say
When e're thou see mee, or I thee,
(Being nighted from thy beauties day)
'Tis hee, and had my pride not wither'd mee,
I had, perhaps, beene still as fresh as hee.
Then shall I smile, and answer: true thy scorne
Left thee thus wrinkled, slack't, corrupt, forlorne.
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