Wits Bedlam, Where is had, Whipping-cheer, to cure the Mad [by John Davies] |
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To my worthy approued deere friend Mr. Iackson, Manciple of All Soules Colledge in Oxford.
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Wits Bedlam, Where is had, Whipping-cheer, to cure the Mad | ||
To my worthy approued deere friend Mr. Iackson, Manciple of All Soules Colledge in Oxford.
If wee must speake as we haue found; why then,Th' hast beene to me and mine, the best of Men:
For, of all those that euer yet I prou'd,
Thou best deseru'st of mee to be belou'd.
Thine Out-sides plaine, but yet within thy Brest,
A Heart (I finde) as braue and free doth rest
As that great Cæsars, who would euer moane
The passed day, wherein he pleasur'd none.
Thou art a Townseman, yet the Countrey mend'st,
& glad'st it with what there thou get'st & spend'st
For, two Months, in a time of pestilence,
There, freely cheer'd, I saw thy great expence.
While thou in Oxford (plagu'd) wast then expos'd
To death: thy family and mine dispos'd
In safety there, where wee, besides, were fed;
While thou for vs did'st liue among the dead.
Th' art haplesse so) for some doe ca'l me Iacke.
But, like a Father, thou to Iacke hast bin;
That is, in kindnesse, farre beyond his Kin.
Then, Iack's thy sonne, to loue and honour thee;
And so, for fostring both, must Iack's Sonne bee.
Thus, though Iacke can not giue thee reason for't,
Hee'le giue thee Rime, Renowne & good report.
And if that be too thyn for thy desert.
Wer't thou not all heart, thou shouldst haue his Heart,
Yet, for thine may be sicke, when his is sound,
He giues it thee, sith so to thee it's bound.
Wits Bedlam, Where is had, Whipping-cheer, to cure the Mad | ||