All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet Being Sixty and three in Number. Collected into one Volume by the Author [i.e. John Taylor]: With sundry new Additions, corrected, reuised, and newly Imprinted |
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Epitaph.
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 | All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet |  |
Epitaph.
He that could alwayes lye, doth lye
Sixe foote below thy feet:
Of any colours he could dye
His lyes, to make them meet.
In lyes vntrue he spent his youth,
And truly dead, lies here in truth.
Sixe foote below thy feet:
Of any colours he could dye
His lyes, to make them meet.
In lyes vntrue he spent his youth,
And truly dead, lies here in truth.
How saist thou Fennor, is not all this worth
Thy harty thanks, which I haue here set forth:
If not, thou shew'st thy selfe the more ingratefull,
Which vice, is to the very Diuell hatefull.
Thou didst belye me when thou saidst I threat thee,
For rather then I would doe so, I'd beat thee:
And 'twere the easier taske of both by halfe,
But who will foule his fists on such a Calfe;
A Calfe said I, for age thou dost appeare
To be a Bull, or Oxe, th'art past a Steere.
Thou liest againe, accusing me of Griefe,
Because thou gotst a pardon for a Thiefe.
Why should I grieue at that was neuer done,
The pardon yet I'm sure thou hast not-won,
The poore man he hath cause to grieue enuffe,
For being Cheated of his houshold stuffe.
Thou bragg'st and prat'st how charity and loue
Of mankind, onely did thy pitty moue,
And not desire of siluer for thy paine
Did make thee seeke his pardon to attaine.
And then (as if thou wert deuour'd with zeale)
Thy false hypocrisie thou dost reueale.
In our Contentious writing 'tis vnfit
That any word of Scripture should be writ,
The name of God is to be feard with trembling,
And thou mak'st it a Cloke for thy dissembling;
Shall Raskall Rimes, profane vnhallowed things,
Be mixt with naming the great King of Kings.
The onely one in three, and three in one;
Let him and all his Attributes alone.
Thou saist before that I should hanged be,
How thou a pardon woudst procure for me.
Before it come to that, I'l end the strife,
And hang before I'l thanke thee for my life:
But sure thy gilt of conscience wondrous great is,
Else thou wouldst ne'r write thy repenting treatis,
Perswading me to patience and forgiue,
This shewes thou some abuse to me didst giue,
To make me cry Vindicta, and requite
My wrongs, before all misconceiuers fight.
As for my Arm's th'ast giu'n me quit for quo.
Thou must to Tyburn, I to Wapping goe,
But I haue gotten a Reprieue, and can
Well proue my selfe to be an honest man.
My Muse for thee a Habeus Corpus brings,
From Tyburne to Saint Thomas Waterings.
Thy harty thanks, which I haue here set forth:
If not, thou shew'st thy selfe the more ingratefull,
Which vice, is to the very Diuell hatefull.
Thou didst belye me when thou saidst I threat thee,
For rather then I would doe so, I'd beat thee:
And 'twere the easier taske of both by halfe,
But who will foule his fists on such a Calfe;
A Calfe said I, for age thou dost appeare
To be a Bull, or Oxe, th'art past a Steere.
Thou liest againe, accusing me of Griefe,
Because thou gotst a pardon for a Thiefe.
Why should I grieue at that was neuer done,
The pardon yet I'm sure thou hast not-won,
The poore man he hath cause to grieue enuffe,
For being Cheated of his houshold stuffe.
Thou bragg'st and prat'st how charity and loue
Of mankind, onely did thy pitty moue,
And not desire of siluer for thy paine
Did make thee seeke his pardon to attaine.
And then (as if thou wert deuour'd with zeale)
Thy false hypocrisie thou dost reueale.
In our Contentious writing 'tis vnfit
That any word of Scripture should be writ,
The name of God is to be feard with trembling,
And thou mak'st it a Cloke for thy dissembling;
Shall Raskall Rimes, profane vnhallowed things,
Be mixt with naming the great King of Kings.
The onely one in three, and three in one;
Let him and all his Attributes alone.
Thou saist before that I should hanged be,
How thou a pardon woudst procure for me.
163
And hang before I'l thanke thee for my life:
But sure thy gilt of conscience wondrous great is,
Else thou wouldst ne'r write thy repenting treatis,
Perswading me to patience and forgiue,
This shewes thou some abuse to me didst giue,
To make me cry Vindicta, and requite
My wrongs, before all misconceiuers fight.
As for my Arm's th'ast giu'n me quit for quo.
Thou must to Tyburn, I to Wapping goe,
But I haue gotten a Reprieue, and can
Well proue my selfe to be an honest man.
My Muse for thee a Habeus Corpus brings,
From Tyburne to Saint Thomas Waterings.
| All the workes of Iohn Taylor the Water-Poet | |