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Pocula Castalia

The Authors Motto. Fortunes Tennis-Ball. Eliza. Poems. Epigrams. &c. By R. B. [i.e Robert Baron]
Baron, Robert
  
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THE AUTHORS MOTTO.
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FORTVNES TENNIS-BALL.
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ELIZA
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POEMS.
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EPIGRAMS, &c.
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FIRST BOOKE.
 I. 
I. To my Lady E. R. Commending his Muse.
 II. 
II. To the same, On War.
 III. 
III. On the Picture of Lovys the fourteenth King of France.
 IV. 
IV. Antithesis, to the conclusion of Sannazarius his Epigram on the City of Venice, which when he has compared to Rome, he saies
 V. 
V. To a Cadet.
 VI. 
VI. An Epitaph, Upon Henry the eighth King of England, Translated out of Spanish.
 VII. 
VII. Another, on Queen Elizabeth.
 VII. 
VII. To Sim the Letcher.
 VIII. 
VIII. To Momus.
 IX. 
IX. On the same.
 X. 
X. To Will: Ad. upon his Marriage.
 XI. 
XI. On Wittoll:
 XII. 
XII. On Hornes.
 XIII. 
XIII. Epitaph, On Henry the fourth, surnam'd the Great, King of France.
 XIV. 
XIV. On Sir Iohn Suckling.
 XV. 
XV. On Spend-all.
 XVI. 
XVI. To Leigh the Linguist.
 XVII. 
XVII. To Mr Robert Brownrigg.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. To Mrs Diana Willoby, Upon her marriage Day morning it being very dark and misty.
 XIX. 
XIX. To his Rivall.
 XX. 
XX. The Rivalls Answer.
 XXI. 
XXI. To Sir Iohn Falstaffe.
 XXII. 
XXII. Upon the Picture of my Nephew Mr. Iohn Man.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. Of Sutes.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. Epitaph, On a scolding Woman, Sub persona mariti.
 XXV. 
XXV. The Golden Age.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. To Kate common.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. On the same.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. On the same.
 XXIX. 
XXIX. Occupations.
 XXX. 
XXX. To an Antidated Cuckold.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. Women strongest.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. To Mal: Winter.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. To curst Tib.
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. To loan Tosse-pot
 XXXV. 
XXXV. Campo-musæ.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI. To my Lady Venetia Grey.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII. To the same, on her Wedding day morning.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. To my Poetique friend, I. S.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. To Poetaster.
 XL. 
XL. To fiery Face.
 XLI. 
XLI. Too a covetous Puritan.
 XLII. 
XLII. To the same.
 XLIII. 
XLIII. To a Detractor.
 XLIV. 
XLIV. Past recovery.
 XLV. 
XLV. Perfumed corruption.

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Song. A Dialogue 'twixt Passion and Reason.

P.
VVhy doth her smiling eye shoot Rayes
(Able to gild a Captives Dayes,)
Which kindle in my Soul Desire?

R.
'Cause Love that dwels there is a fire.

P.
But why is tender Pitty bar'd
Out of her Heart that's frozen hard,
And cold as ycie Scythia?

R.
'Cause Love's a Nymph born o'the Sea.
And like her wavering Dame to be
Is faithlesse, as the Moon or Shee.

86

Chorus.

Love is cold, and yet a fire,
Tis a hot cold fiction,
A pleasant Affliction,
A fond Desire,
That puzzles Reason with a meer contradiction.
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