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Dia Poemata

Poetick Feet Standing Upon Holy Ground: Or, Verses on certain Texts of Scripture. With Epigrams, &c. By E. E. [i.e. Edmund Elys]

Elys, Edmund (ca. 1634-ca. 1707)

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To my FRIEND, Mr. E. E. on his Divine Poems.

On the sacred Poems of my Ingenious Friend, Mr. E. E.

To his honest Cousin, E. E. on his Dia Poemata; or, his setting Feet on Holy ground.

To my Friend, the Author.

To his Honour'd Friend M. E. E. on his Incomparable Poems.

To Mr. E. E. on his DIA POEMATA.

To Mr. E. E. on his Book, &c.

To the Laurell worthy Mr. E. E. on his Excellent Poems.

To his most Deserving Friend, Mr. E. E. on his DIAPOEMATA.

In Dia Poemata; Or, Poetick Feet standing upon Holy Ground.

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EPIGRAMS, &c. By E. E.

ENCOMIAST: To J. C.

On a dull Poet, but good Logitian.

On a Little Gentleman of Great Parts.

To a false-hearted Poet.

On a Gentlewoman of a Brown Complexion, but Handsome Features.

On a Gentleman who Died with Lord in his Mouth.

On the Death of Leander.

To one that gets his Living by writing Satyres.

Nec Fonte labra prolui Caballino.

------ Vino pellite Curas.

Of Vulgar Criticks.

To the Eye Adulterer.

On a Gentlewoman that would be married to none but a Rich man.

To an Epigrammatist, that inveighs against Women.

On the perfect Conclusion of a fierce War.

To a Vertuous Gentlewoman, weeping for the Death of her Eldest Brother, my Bosom-Friend.

On the Tempestuous season of Wind and Rain, 1654.

[His Soul's so Dark all o're, He cannot see]

An unquiet bad Conscience.

To a Lascivious Poet.

The World's Fine Gentleman.

To Unlearned Criticks.

To an Hireling Poet.

To his Displeased Pater in Phœbo, Mr. F. M.

On a NEWES-MONGER.

To an Honourable Lady Rarely Accomplisht with Wit, and Beauty.

On the fifth of November.

To an Handsome Gentlewoman on this part of her Anagram: Each Beauty Shoots.

Swearing and Cursing.

To One marrying for Love, not Money.

Thanks To a Vertuous Gentlewoman, who gave him a Dish of Sweet Meats.

To his Honour'd Friend, W. W. Esq.

To Mrs. M. S. in her Child-bed Dresse.

To the same, newly Married, on her Anagram: SO! YOU'RE MATCHT.

Mars Togatus: Or, Fighting in the Schooles.

Hac Ignis: Sive Lues Venerea.

To Mr. E. F. The only Son of Sir E. F. Knight.

To Mrs A. S. on the Death of her Two first Children.

To that Pretty Piece of Perfection Mrs L. C.

To Mrs. K. G. having been lately sick of the Small Pox.

A Love sick Gentleman to a Fair Lady scorning him.

To a Phantastick Vagabond, Professor of Satyricall Pet Poetrie.

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Mars Togatus: Or, Fighting in the Schooles.

Foole! What! dost strive with might, and main,
For a Broke Pate to a Crackt Brain?
Thy Brains leake out already, man;
And wouldst for Anger Break the Pan?
Thy Head swoll'n in this boyish Fight,
By Rising, shewes that it is Light.
Thy Black Eyes, by such Marks, as these,
Wear Mourning for thy wits Decease.
Such Apish Braules who'd not despise,
Whose Fume had not put out his Eyes.
Throughout the Schooles such Hissings are,
'Sthough all the Furies Snakes were there.

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Grave Zabarells, and Aristotles
(Whose Thirsts nere reach beyond Beer-Bottles)
Come fiercely on (who'd not decline 'um?
With Argumentum Bacillinum.
Young Preachers too stare, stamp, and Hum,
As if they'd Kill both all, and some:
Who {ere} but saw their Fifty pushing,
Wou'd swear they learnt to Beat the Cushion.
Mad Poets too come Vap'ring here,
'Sthough Helicon were Bottle Beer.
Each all his Faculties combines
To shew his Arme as Strong's his Lines.
Had but Orestes seen these men,
He'd Startled into's wit agen:
Here seeing's Emblem, wretched Else,
Actæon-like Hee d fled Himselfe.
Goe, Sirs, you are Fooles Rampant: and
(To which ev'n Mad men set their Hand)
The WORME, that gnawes your Pates was Bred
By some Snake on Medusa's Head.