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Epigram.
[A iolly fellow Essex borne and bred]
A iolly fellow Essex borne and bred,A Farmers Sonne, his Father being dead,
T'expell his griefe and melancholly passions,
Had vowd himselfe to trauell and see fashions.
His great mindes obiect was no trifling toy,
But to put downe the wandring Prince of Troy.
Londons discouerie first he doth decide,
His man must be his Pilot and his guide.
Three miles he had not past, there he must sit:
He ask't if he were not neere London yet?
His man replies good Sir your selfe besturre,
For we haue yet to goe sixe times as farre.
Alas I had rather stay at home and digge,
I had not thought the worlde was halfe so bigge.
Thus this great worthie comes backe (thoewith strife)
He neuer was so farre in all his life.
None of the seauen worthies: on his behalfe,
Say, was not he a worthie Essex Calfe?
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