Wits Bedlam, Where is had, Whipping-cheer, to cure the Mad ::

Wits Bedlam, Where is had, Whipping-cheer, to cure the Mad

[by John Davies]

Davies, John (1565?-1618)

[section]

To the Right noble Lord the Earle of Buckingham,

To the Printer.

Againe, of my Selfe.

It's a mad world my Maisters. And a merry world my Mistrisses.

Bitter zeale, is lesse than Loue.

A Caueat.

To Martiall.

The BOOKE to Grauitie.

The BOOKE to the Reader.

Againe.

Why Poets of the present times, be not so well esteem'd as those of former.

Of the worth of wittiest Workes, or Bookes.

Mercy with Iustice.

Those Lines which all, or none do vnderstand, Do neither with Wit, Art, nor Iudgment stand.

Of My selfe; and, this Bable, my Booke.

[Epigrams.]

EPITAPHS.

To my Worthily much honored M. Richard Martin, learned in the Lawes, Arts, and Languages.

To my Noble and euer best beloued Pupill, Captaine Henry Maynwarring.

The conclusion.

On Banning.

An excuse for Faults escapt in Printing by reason my Occasions would not permit me to looke to the Presse.

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To my learnedly witty friend, Mr. Beniamin Iohnson.

Thy sconse (that guards thy wits as it they guard)
Is sound, & large, yet no whit can be spard
For thy Wits throng: that Plenty makes thee scarce,

Which makes thee slow, as sure in Prose or Uerse,
As say thy worst detractors; then, if thou
For all eternity, writ'st Sure and Slowe,
Thy Wits, as they come thronging out of Dore,
Do sticke a while, to spread their praise the more.

University of Virginia Library

To my learnedly witty friend, Mr. Beniamin Iohnson.