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Clarastella

Together with Poems occasional, Elegies, Epigrams, Satyrs. By Robert Heath
Heath, Robert (fl. 1636-1659)

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Occasional POEMS
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ELEGIES.
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EPIGRAMS.
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The first Book.
  
To the Reader of my Epigrams and Satyrs.
  
To a lacivious Blackamoore Woman.
  
To Cosmus.
  
On Lieutenant Catch.
  
To one that after ten years studie, brought forth a lamentable work.
  
On rich Lock.
  
To the Printer.
  
On Galla her going to a Nunnerie.
  
On Marcus.
  
To Sullen.
  
On Cleombrotus.
  
To a Travellour.
  
On the Ladie Seem-pol.
  
On Sir Gervas Loftie.
  
To the Reader.
  
Epitaph on a Poor Alchymist.
  
Why men are so unlike.
  
To Madam Moyle on her Picture.
  
Epitaph on a very fat man.
  
To Clois.
  
On the English Mounsieur.
  
On Philautus.
  
On Nab and Plodwel.
  
To Lupa.
  
On Priske and Galla.
  
To a fat Usurer.
  
On Wylde.
  
On Smart.
  
On Brisk.
  
On Mopsa a Chambermaide.
  
To fat Apicius.
  
On a deaf man and his blind wife.
  
On Lena.
  
Why Justice is painted blind.
  
Of Love Sonnets.
  
To Sir Gregorie Nonsense.
  
To spend-fast a Gamster.
  
To the Ingenious Reader.
  
On Sullen.
  
To Pistor.
  
On a fruitful Merchants wife.
  
To a painted Whore.
  
To Brisk.
  
To Jeffry the Kings dwarfe.
  
To Overwise.
  
On Mounsieur Finedress.
  
On Philautus.
  
To Gripe.
  
On Lurch the match-contriver.
  
To the Reader.
  
On Proud.
  
To his dear friend H. N.
  
To Gripe and Holdclose.
  
To Gallus.
  
On Bib.
  
Of Loving Husbands.
  
On Luscus.
  
On Stut.
  
On the strange Death of Eschylus a Poet.
  
On Cob.
  
On Cleopatra.
  
On an Inveighing Poetaster.
  
The Dedication to Momus.
  
On Dul.
  
On Accismus.
  
On Tucca.
  
To Rash.
  
To Crispinus.
  
On Howdee.
  
To Brave.
  
On Venterwit.
  
On Braggadochio Cit.
  
On Wylde.
  
On Childish love.
  
On Mr Spendall.
  
On Lawyer Say-much.
  
To Medicus on Tucca.
  
To Vetus an old Antiquary.
  
On Fine.
  
On the Drunkards lavishness.
  
On Poetizing Momus.
  
On Linus.
  
On Gallus.
  
On Histrio.
  
To a Tobaccoseller.
  
To the Reader.
  
To Bankes.
  
To the Physicians.
  
To Lupa.
  
Epitaph on Bibulus.
  
On Histrio.
  
To Gut.
  
To Simple.
  
To Brisk.
  
On Nano being angry.
  
To my Reader.
  
To one that asked me why I would write an English Epigram after B. Johnson.
  
On Galla.
  
To Nab.
  
Certain modest deprecations against my malevolent Detractour.
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Epigrams. Lib. 2.
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SATYRS.

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Epithalamium Amatorium

To Aurora.

Why peeps the envious Morne so soon upon
The pleasures of our bed?
Pul back thy fierie coursers Phaeton!
And drive not til I bid!
And lest thy headstrong steeds their reins shu'd break,
That Virgin girdle take
I now unti'd! too soon for you it is
And me, our rosie nests to leave, and rise.
3

Have I so many tedious Suns beheld
And nights in sighing spent,
E'r to temptation I could make her yield?
And would you now prevent
The long-wisht harvest of my joys delight?
Nor grant as long a night?
Go back to thy lov'd Thetis bosome! go!
Whilst in our beds wee'l sport it longer too.
I'd have the world til we our curtains ope,
Expect the Morning star,
And from my glorious Darlings blushes, hope
The Day may once appear:
'T shud be then alwaies night she saies, that we
Might ne'r discover'd be.
So might it be! for whilst she's in mine arme,
In her Suns shade I'd keep me ever warme.
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