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

[by John Davies]

Davies, John (1565?-1618)

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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.

The BOOKE to Grauitie.

The BOOKE to the Reader.

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.

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.

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

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On one Loue a Gold-finder alias a Iakes-Farmer. 77.

If yee can smell,
Then draw ye neere:
And you'l soone tell
Who lyeth heere.