University of Virginia Library

Liber Septimus

Epigr. 1. Ad Lectorem.

If thou thinke, Reader, that desire of gayne,
Hath mou'de me to indite or stir'de my veyne.
Or rather if thou thinke I vndertake,
To come vpon this stage for glories sake.
Ile giue thee all that profitt and that praise.
And make me but a Lawyer for three daies.

Epigr. 2. De Mathone.

Matho bethought what life him best might fitt,
For basenes sake he scornd all occupation.
Studie he could not for he wanted witt.
And fight he durst not, hence he tooke occasion
To loue, of all liues this life pleasde him best:
Till loue to all these euils him obiected.
To labour, study, fighting and the rest,
More these by all, then euer he suspected.
Thus they endure, which liue in louers state.
For one thing lou'de, a thousand things they hate.

Epigr. 3. In Cophum.

Cophus is a fine dancer and a trimme.
A nimbler head to dance you haue not seene.
Dance you he danceth, cease yet danceth he.
Praise or dispraise him, yet about will he.
When you are weary he will hold it out.
When he is weary, he will skippe about.
All that behold are weary, and are gone.
Yet Cophus danceth being left alone,
At last Cophus himselfe departes, but so.
Me thinkes Cophus doth dance when he doth go.

Epigr. 4.

Sextus is thrall to goold, as many be,
But hath it in his chest, happy is he.
Dacus three ships do cut the Ocean waue.
What neede he grudge to be a goolden slaue?
Misus good land by coueting hath got.
I am a thrall to goold, and haue it not.

Epigr. 5. De Fortuna sua.

I see good Fortune runne before,
As Palinurus sawe the shoare.
And if I die before it hitch,
Welfare mine eyes for they be rich.

Epigr. 6. Ad Thomam Strangwayes de Martialis Epigrammate, Aurum & opes & rura, &c.

Goold, wealth, and gleab, how many friends will yeeld?
But few in witt will giue place to their friend.
Why Martiall? many haue goold wealth & gleab
But few haue witt, if so our strife hath ende.
And sooth se sayes Strangwaies, but yet I would,
That I for want of witt might say heers goold.

Epigr. 7. ad Lectorem.

Reader I warne thee, now the second time,
Stand not vpon th' exactnes of my rime.
I'admitt a small to shunn a great offence.
Better ten rimes should perish then one sense.

Epigr. 8. In Carum.

When Carus dy'de these were the last he spake,
O friend's take heed Tobaccho was my death.
You that can iudge tell me for Carus sake,
He which dy'de so, dy'de he for want of breath?
If so he did, then am I more in doubt
How breath being taken in, may blow breath out?

Epigr. 9. De senectute & iuuentute.

Age is deformed, youth vnkinde,
We scorne their bodies, they our minde.

Epigr. 10. Ad Iohannem Sooche.

Thou with the last sweete doctor nam'de by me,
Of any of thy name first in desart.
First in my loue, first placed in mine heart.
Demaundest thou the cause what it may be?
To my desire inuention seemed scant,
Which now doth set thee forth & yet doth want,

Epigr. 11. De nouo orbe.

The worlds great Peers & mighty conquerours
Whose sword hath purchas'de thē eternal fame
If they suruiued in this age of ours,
Might add more glory to their lasting name.
For him which Carthage sackt and ouerthrewe,
We haue found out an other Africa.
Newe Gauls and Germaines Cæsar might subdue,
And Pompey great an other Asia.
But you O Christian Princes do not so.
Seeke not to conquer nations by the sworde,
Whom you may better quell and ouerthrowe,
By winning them to Christ and to his worde.
Giue him the new worlde for olde Asias losse.
And set not vp your standart, but his crosse.

Epigr. 12. De Moro & Caro patrono.

Morus presented to a fat benifice.
Condition'd with Carus but for the tenth fleece
Post twentie yeeres seruice his patron did grutch,
And said that the tenth of the tenth was to much.
A quartell was picked, and sett was the day,
To sende insufficient Morus awaie:
When he was remoued and quite dispossest.
He shut vp the matter with this bitter iest.
Bala-ming his patron which did him this wrong,
Am not I thine asse which haue seru'd thee thus long

Epigr. 13. ad reginam Elizabetham.

Now fourty solemn feasts, thine english nation.
Fedd with sweet peace & plentie all the while.
Hath yeelded to thy happy coronation.
O fayrer keeper of the iayrest yle.
Our first great ioyes with greater seconded.
Our second with succeeding ioyes defast,
They with the next extinct and vanished:
The next with greater ioyes, all with the last,
And yet thou liu'st to make vs yet more fayne,
And to set vp new triumphes and new pleasure,
To add more sweetnes to thy sweetest reigne.
To make more roome for ioy which knows no measure.
O liue as do the stars, which shine for euer.
And as the Sunne so rise, but set thou neuer.

Epigr. 14 ad eandem.

Eliza , thou hast spread a goolden peace,
Ouer thy land thrise blessed by thy raigne,
And were it that some ciuill wars did cease,
Which in our selues deuided we sustaine:
Betweene the patron and poore minister,
Landlordes and Tenants, raigning more and more.
Betweene the borrower and the vsurer.
Betweene so fewe rich, and so many poore:
Ours were the golden age, but these home iarres,
Houses, and fields and states haue ouerthrowne.
And spoyled vs no lesse then foreyne wars.
Thanke we this idle mischefe of our owne.
But who did heare, or who did euer read,
Peace without wars, or something else in stead.

Epigr. 15. In Misum.

First Misus coueted a peece of goold,
Then a small house, and little garden plott.
Then copie land, and after a freeholde.
At last a shipp by coueting he got,
Then out he streched reaching auarice,
To a shippe loade with goolde, and by degrees,
Manours and castles tempt his hollow eyes,
Then to a mine of goold he swiftly flees.
Then greater Lordships he doth seaze vpon.
No goold can still his bottomles desire.
Nothing can scape his goold, he presseth on,
And to all India lastly doth aspire.
Where now a little mine hath him inhold,
Where is nor house, garden, land, ship nor goold.

Epigr. 16. Ad Comitem Essexæ.

How hath a little chance great fortune crost?
The Spanish fleete euen balased with goolde,
A narrow misse did snatch out of our holde,
Which we nere had, but yet desire as lost.
But if this losse must purchase thy returne.
And buy thee out of danger emminent,
How rich are we by loosing, and content,
How woe are they that they are not vndoone?
More thou art fearde then any losse of Spayne
Deurox, and England loues thee more then gaine.

Epigr. 17.

Rome hath a barrayne vine, yet doth not spare
With a strong hedge to compasse her about.
We haue the true vine, which we do not care
To fence against the wilde boares rooting out.
If my poore prayers may be heard in time,
I would we had their hedge, or they our vine.

Epigr. 18. In Caium.

Caius hath brought from forraine landes,
A sootie wench with many handes.
Which doe in goolden letters say,
She is his wife not stolne away.
He mought haue sau'de with small discretion,
Paper inke and all confession.
For none that seeth her face and making,
Will iudge her stolne but by mistaking.

Epigr. 19. De nauo in facie Faustinæ.

Faustina hath a spott vpon her face,
Mixt with sweete beawty making for her grace.
By what sweete influence it was begott,
I know not, but it is a spotlesse spott.

Epigr. 20. De eadem.

As with fresh meates mixture of salt is meete,
And vinegere doth relish well the sweete.
So in fayre faces moulds somtimes arise,
Which serue to stay the surfeyte of our eyes.

Epigr. 22.

If a poore minister haue done amisse,
Then his high calling is obiected to him.
High to all wrong I grant our calling is,
And great and wonderous to our vndoing,
But they which set vs high to all disgrace,
In honour put vs to the lowest place.

Epigr. 23. Ad Thomam Strangwaies.

Strangwaies leaue London & her sweet contents,
Or bring them downe to me to make me glad.
And giue one month to country meriments.
Giue me a fewe daies for the yeeres I had.
The Poets songs and sports we will reade ouer,
Which in their goolden quire they haue resounded
And spill our readings one vpon another,
And read our spillings sweetly so confounded.
Nulam shall lend vs night in midst of day,
When to the euen valley we repaire.
When we delight our selues with talke or play,
Sweete with the infant grasse and virgine ayre.
These in the heate, but in the euen later,
Weele walke the meads, and read trowts in the water.

Epigr. 24. In Mathonem.

Matho with angry countenance threatned me.
For that I toucht him in a verse of mine.
I said I knewe it not, not so quoth he?
That can I shew: and pointed to the rime.
So he accusde himselfe, for had not he,
He might haue kept concealements close for me.

Epigr. 25.

Stand, want, and waite, doe what you can.
Stand poore, want foole, waite seruingman.
Their doors are made to shut thee out,
Or let thee in to goe without.
Their goolde their idoll they doe make.
Should they for thee their God forsake.
Fye filthy muckers tis not so.
Ye erre, God is not goold I know.
But if he did consist of pelfe,
What would you haue him all your selfe?

Epigr. 26.

Philo in friendly sort saluteth me,
And feedes me with embrasing courtesie.
But what of these sith he hath wronged me?
Thus doe I suffer Philoes courtesie.

Epigr. 27.

Th' arke-Angell Michaell looketh wan & blewe,
More then his predecessor Bartlemewe.
More then his neighbour Mathew: as men say,
Because he hath to many debts to pay.

Epigr. 28 De infante mortuo ante partum.

The infant lying in the mothers wombe,
Through vnknowne griefe & vnsuspected death
Resing'd not fully yet receiued breath.
And so lay buried in a liuing tombe.
The wofull mothers heart this so did greeue.
She wisht it had bin buried aliue.

Epigr. 29. In Causidicos.

Ovr vice, our outrage and malitiousnesse,
Set ouer vs newe maisters and new lawes.
Which preying on our wicked simplenesse.
Do grow so great by minishing the cause.

Epigr. 30.

He which an elder seeking to defame,
Reueales his secret to his enemies.
Deserues the heauy curse of wicked Cham,
Which did contemne his fathers priuities.
The Sire was dronke, and yet the plague did light,
Vpon the sonne which scornd a sinfull sight.

Epigr. 31.

Clerkes to their liuings wedded once did thriue,
From which some are diuourst and yet do wiue,
Then Moses lawe tooke holde, the brother dead,
The brother should suruiuing raise him seed.
But we succeding husbands can haue none.
Which are so wicked husbands to our owne,
The wife tofore which many husbands had,
With their soft rayment and rich iewels clad.
Deckt with their comely loue and costly care.
Tyr'de like a Princesse and without compaire.
VVe haue cast of from her owne blood & kinne.
To serue a stranger and to stoope to him,
And she alreadie groanes as thrall indeed,
And we yet liuing stinke of this foule deede.
VVhat should the enemie do with barbrous knife?
Learne of the husband to torment the wife?
Wolues to your selues, vipers to your own mother.
And caterpillers eatinge one an other.

Epigr. 32

How deerly doth the simple husband buy,
His wiues defect of will when she doth dye?
Better in death by will to lett her giue,
Then let her haue her will while she doth liue.

Epigr. 33. De Poeta Martiali.

Martiall in Rome full thirtie yeares had spent,
Then went he home, was not that banishment?

Epigr. 34. In Lætum.

Letus in vertuous manners may excell,
But what neede hath he so rath to be good?
His strength of body which he knowes to well,
His life forbids him and his youthly blood.
Thus vice and pleasure haue our strength & prime,
And vertue hath, the leauings of them both.
She hath the orts and parings of our time.
Then when euen sinne our cation course doth loath,
We may be good, but must be aged furst.
Thus we are good neuer, or at our worst.

Epigr. 35. Epitaph: Iohannis Sande.

Who would liue in others breath?
Fame deceiues the dead mans trust.
Since our names are chang'de in death.
Sand I was, and now am dust.

Epigr. 36. De puero balbutiente.

Me thinkes tis pretie sport to heare a childe,
Rocking a worde in mouth yet vndefild.
The tender racket rudely playes the sound,
Which weakely banded cannot backe rebound,
And the soft ayre the softer roofe doth kisse,
With a sweete dying and a pretie misse.
Which heares no answere yet from the white ranke
Of teeth, not risen from their corall banke.
The alphabet is searcht for letters soft,
To trye a worde before it can be wrought.
And when it slideth forth, is goes as nice,
As when a man doth walke vpon the yce.

Epigr. 37.

Svch was my griefe vpon my fatall fall,
That all the world me thought was darke withall
And yet I was deceiued as I knowe.
For when I proou'de I found it nothing so
I shewde the Sunn my lamentable sore.
The Sunne did see and shined as before.
Then to the Moone did I reueale my plight.
She did deminish nothing of her light.
Then to the stars I went and lett them see,
No not a starre would shine the lesse for me.
Go wretched man, thou seest thou art forlorne.
Thou seest the heauēs laugh while thou dost mourn.

Epigr. 38.

Ye Cookes and Pothecaries be my friend,
For ye of all, my booke dares not offend.
I made him for the homely countries tast.
They loue not spice, they vse not feede on past.
If he haue salt enough then let him go.
You haue no neede to put in pepper to.

Epigr. 39. Ad Do. Mountioy.

If in these naked lines perhaps be ought,
Great Lord, which your conceipt or sense may fit,
Then had that dy'de and perisht from your thought
Had not audacious neede preserued it.
If neede haue well done, I am glad therfore.
But I be seech you lett her do no more.

Epigr. 40. ad Lectorem.

If my bookes easie of digestion be,
Thanke not my matter reader but thanke me,
How many verses haue I cancelled?
Howe many lompes of meaning seasoned.
I suffer Epigrams to sprowte forth, when
I vse mine arte, and prune them with my pen.
For he that will write Epigrams indeed,
Must vse to wring the meaning till it bleede.

Epigr. 41. in Sabellum.

Biting Sabellus hereat takes offence,
Because I lay not open all my sense.
All must be plaine, and nothing I must hide,
There must be notes at ende, and notes by side.
There must be nothing fett, and nothing strayned,
The reader must delighted be, not payned,
But I am of an other minde, for why
Should not he take some paines a well as I?

Epigr. 42.

Ovr vice is runne beyond all olde mens sawes,
And farre authenticall aboue our lawes.
And scorning vertues safe and goolden meane.
Sits vncontrolde vpon the high extreame,
Circes thynne monsters painted out the hue,
Of fayned filthinesse, but ours is trewe.
Our vice puts downe all prouerbes and all theames,
Our vice excels all fables and all dreames.

Epigr. 43.

Whē books & poore men, they their parish burned
These their low houses raz'd & ouerturned,
Are driuen to seeke, changing their olde repayre,
They in the ground, these dwelling in the ayre.
When sport is made of damned fornication.
And vsurie an honest occupation.
When dull, cramde, grosse, and swollen gluttony,
Scornes wholsome temperance with leaden eye.
When pride like polling miller sits vpon.
The bated gryst of poore religion.
When holy tithes the highest callings price,
Make iags for coates, and fuell for the dice
May we not well O times, on manners cry?
This were an ease, it were no remedie.

Epigr. 44. In Brillum.

Brillus tolde such a tale as neuer man
Did heare, or thinke of since the world began.
Tw'as not of murther strange, nor filthinesse,
Nor open wrong, nor secret wickednesse;
Nor legend tale, nor ancient poets fable,
Nor such as parasites do tell at table.
It was nor monstrous lie, nor pleasant fiction,
Nor of affirming, nor of contradiction.
All writers, trauellers, merchants are to seeke,
Yea Iohn deuiser neuer tolde the like.
It was a tale of oaths abhominable.
God was the iest, and our dread Christ the fable.

Epigr. 45.

Lætus did in his mistresse quarrell, die,
Quintus was slayne defending of the lie.
Germanus in his friendes defence did fall.
Sakellus died striuing for the wall.
Merus did spend his life vpon a aiest.
Sannius lost it at a dronken feast.
Mirus at Sundaies wake, reueng'de the wrong,
Of his bull dogge, vntill he lay along.
What sayst thou now contemn'de religion?
Vice hath her Saynts and martyrs, thou hast none.

Epigr. 46. In Porum.

Bitus desired Porus of his grace,
That in his seruice he might haue a place.
He sayde he was of honest occupation.
He could no lye nor false dissimulation,
He knewe no wicked meanes to fill his purse,
But Porus answred, he likes him the worse.

Epigr. 47. De Hominis Ortu & sepultura.

Nature which headlong into life doth thring vs
with our feet forward to our graue doth bring vs
What is lesse ours, then this our borrowed breath,
We stumble into life we goe to death.