University of Virginia Library

THE FIFTH BOOK.

Epig. 1. To Lydia.

To thee faire Nymph my life, my love, my gaze,
Thought-chaste Dictinna, Natures onely maze,
More Lovely then was bright Astioche,
Or Junos hand-mayd sacred Diope
I didicate these labours, Read I pray,
For thine eyes stellifie all they survey.

Epig. 2. Unmanly Feare.

Thunder affrighteth Infants in the Schooles,
And Threatnings are the Conquerours of Fooles.

Epig. 3. To Cap. Purvey .

True Vallour ever accompanied with deliberate Advice.

Rash Isidas, the Lacedemon Lord,
That naked fought against the Theban power,
Although they crownd his Vallour by accord,
Yet was he fin'd for rashnesse that same hour,
For in attempting, Prowesse is not meant,
But wisely doing what we do attempt.

Epig. 4. A Callidonians Character.

A Callidonian, ever at his birth,
Doth enter Hell, and when he goes from Earth,
He leaves tormenting Tophet, wonderous well
Assur'd there cannot be a worser Hell.

Epig. 5. To Mr. E. H. Complaining of his Wife.

Sir, be content, let this your hopes uphold,
Venus was but a Queane, Juno a Scold.

Epig. 6. Sir John Harringtons translation of Ariosto .

Ariost beyond Protagoras did lim'
Better then Zeuxes could, th'hast rendred him.

Epig. 8. To Mr. John Sands, on his excellent Water-Worke called the Chaos .

Friend, thou the Chaos hast in every part
So well expressed by the power of Art,
That when I saw't I wonder'd, and I find
In that rude masse, thy well digested mind:
Nor is that all, but when I do behold
Thy whirling Orbes, how they about are rol'd,
The Earth replenish'd, and the Heavens cleare,
More quaintly then in Archimedes Spheare,
And then our Grandsyre Adam in his blisse,
(The same I think Arabia felix is)
His fearefull fall in height of all his pride
[Tempted by her was taken from his side]
Then other Stories to thy matter fit,
Not feign'd, but borrowed out of holy Writ,
Performed by Pigmeis of thy own Creation,
Who seem to walke, and talke in pretty fashion,
I then to learned Rhasis do adhere,
That great and wonderfull Philosopher,
And do conceit, one may so play his part,
As to make little living men by Art:
But to conclude, for I abhorre to be
Guilty of tedious Prolixitie:
Thy show shall more and more in Fame encrease,
And ever shall be stil'd Arts Master-peice.

Epig. 9. A Constellation betwixt bad and good Fortune, for Antiquitie, and Supremacie.

Epig 10. To H. P.

Thou Grand Apostle of the Gadarens,
Thou, who hast cur'd the Nodes, slic'd off the Wens
O'th Body Politick, it troubles us,
That thou should'st have the Morbus Gallicus.

Epig. 11. The Invention of Letters.

Tradition tells us that the Elephant,
(Made up of sence like man, who nought doth want
Save speech) the Alphabet did first invent,
At this some laugh, and others to't assent,
Voting its veritie, but some contest
That Cadmus first found Letters, and expre'st
His Art first in Campania, if the first
Found out that milk by which all arts are nur'st,
I dare Decree the Beasts expressions all,
Were figured forth in letters Capitall.

Epig. 12. On the death of the late Prince of Orange, by the Small Pox.

Pox one thee (Fortune) had'st no other way,
To bring the Royall Cause unto decay,
But by that Scarre-Crow picks out Childrens eyes,
There were sure many noble Malladies
Farre fitter Harpyes, to prey on a Prince,
But oh! the Fates by snatching Nassaw hence,
Doe by a contradictive Riddle tell,
They'l bring their ends to passe by Miracle.

Epig. 13. The Boy-preaching Furrier.

Dost thou know what thou dost, fond Child, alas!
Thy heart is furr'd, as is thy Face with Brasse:
Dost thou not feare the fervour of his Ire,
That slew two Brethren who produc'd strange fire
Upon his holy Altar? can'st thou show,
Us thy Commission, and who bad thee goe?
If not, remember fourty thousand di'd,
Because too nearely in the Arke they pri'd.

Epig. 14. To Delia.

Delia , alasse, and art thou now grown poore?
Walking like a dejected forlorn whore,
Have all thy Lovers cast thee off, what all,
And given thee unto the Hospitall?
No presentations of Gloves, Tyres, or Pins,
Now nought is left unto thee save thy sinnes:
O heavie load, now (Delia) thou dost find,
“They nothing have, who want a virtuous mind.

Epig. 15. To Claudius.

And why (good Claudius) should I hide,
That wherein gods do take a pride,
She, who is of the Nymphs the Queen,
The loveliest that hath yet been seen,
She, with her most enflaming eyes
Hath fir'd my Heart, those curious tyes
Of her entortell'd tresses bind,
With golden fetters my whole mind:
Her gracefull smiles, her red and white,
Which Art can never pencill right,
That wisdome in her tender yeares,
Scarce to be found amongst gray haires,
The constant tenour of her life
Which may beseem the gravest wife,
Her modest, and not gay, Attyre,
Whereby she honour doth acquire,
The pleasing Majestie of her face,
And her deportment with such grace,
These have Captive took my mind,
Oh! that my Martiallesse were kind,
I count me happy in my Gyves,
And would not change for thousand Lives.

Epig. 16. The Prodigall.

See in a Tavern where Calianax sits,
Spending his coine, and dulling of his witts,
His painted Cockatrice doth sit him nigh,
(Who hath the marrow from his bones drawn drie)
His naked crown a Perriwig doth cover,
See how he courts her like an amorous Lover,
Foole, she more deadly is, thou dost imbrace,
Then th'juice of Hemlock, or the loathed Race
Of Scorpions, her poysonous breath more hot
Then Ætna's fumes, by Earth and Ayre begot,
Who, when thou hast thy Lands morgag'd away,
And beg'st for food, will smile at thy decay,
And having fill'd thy body full of sores,
Will laugh to see thee turned out of doores,
Despised by all men, when too late t'will bee
To wish for that, thou hast spent Id'ly.

Epig. 18. An Alderman.

Yonder goes Carrus in his Velvet Gown,
And is reputed one of great Renown,
He stroakes his Beard, and on the Bench doth Cough
And seldome is beheld to smile or laugh,
Ascends his Coach with an austeere aspect,
And gravely all his Actions doth direct,
He would be thought a very sollid man,
As equalizing the fam'd Ithacan,
Yet hath not braines enough for to endite
A Letter, when occasion calles to write.
O Fortune, thou wert cursed from thy birth,
And aye wilt be so: Fooles have all on Earth.

Epig. 19. Christmasse Day.

No matter for Plomb-porridge, or Shrid-pies,
Or a whole Oxe offered in Sacrifice
TO COMUS, not to CHRIST, this day I'le sing
Cœlestiall songs to IESUS, who did bring
Unto depraved Adam's race Salvation,
By the Ænigma of his Incarnation:
I'le daunce too, but as Jesses God-like Son
Before the Arke, a sacred Ephod on.

Epig. 20. To Mr. L. H. Esquire.

You say, (Sir) that you wonder some times I
(Who am a rigid Stoick naturally)
When I do practise mirth, am so profuse,
My mirth is madnesse, and my sport abuse,
I will not (Jove forbid it) say you erre,
But take this Story, The Philosopher
Rich, Learned Proclus, had a Son whose veine
Was to spend money, but get none againe,
On Whores, on Hounds, on Hawkes, his Fathers eyes
Were witnesse to his Prodigallities,
No Counsell he omitted, nor no way,
That might the young mans swerving passions sway;
Nothing proves prevalent, his grieved Syre
Finding he powr'd but oyle into the fire,
Resolv's upon a way, as new as strange,
Not doubting speedily to cause a change:
A very youthfull habit he puts on,
And needs will be Associate to his Sonne,
Who doth his Fathers dotage deadly hate,
And now bethinks him of his owne Estate,
Condem's himselfe t'have been so much a foole,
Leaves Epicurus, sits in Plato's Schoole.
So Sir, take notice when I sportive am,
I doo't, such Fooles as you for to reclaime.

Epig. 21. To E. K.

I just had made an end, for to rehearse
Some of my Papers blotted o're with Verse,
Unto a learned Friend, when thou cam'st in
And once againe would'st have me to begin:
Untutor'd Groome, suppose that thou should'st come
Without a Supper in thy dirty wombe,
I being newly sated, were it fit,
Or would it not proclaime preposterous wit,
For thee, for to desire me for to try
My teeth againe, to beare thee Company.

Epig. 22. A Dialogue 'twixt Lydia, and the Poet, for the renewing their Loves after a long time of suspension.

POET.
Now she is numbred with the dead,
That wonne my heart from thee,
Why art thou like to Stone, or lead,
And mak'st not haste to me.

LYDIA.
Claudius, the Son of Aretine,
Possesseth now my Love,
And shall I change for that of thine,
Who ever lov'st to Rove.

POET.
Forget what's past, my future Zeale
And my obsequious care
To thee, all former wounds shall heale,
Not leaving any scarre.

LYDIA.
After thy stock of strength is spent,
And thou grown weake with doing,
Thou would'st our former breach Cement,
Away, I hate thy woing.

POET.
The shag-hair'd Goate in's prime of heate,
Is not more apt then I,
For to performe the wished feate,
My Veines with blood swell high.

LYDIA.
Though thou art harsh and Rude as fire,
More humerous then the winds,
So well thou satiat'st my desire,
To thee Loves cords me binds.

Epig. 23. On excellent strong Beere.

Plumpe cheek'd Bromeus venge thy wrong,
Barly, as thy berry strong
Makes us talk, and sing, and laugh,
As if we did Nepenthe quaffe;
With Elder leaves our heads we twine,
Not with the Ivie-creeping Vine,
And Oake-leav'd Javelings we beare,
Which in our drunken rage we teare:
Thy Orgies must ever faile,
If this strong Liquors fame prevaile,
All for to drink will agree:
Smooth chin'd Anacreon could not be
More heated with his Corsick vine,
Nor Flaccus with his Falern wine,
Then I with this most potent Beere,
Kept in a Marble Vault a yeare:
And now it sparkling freely drills,
Cur'st be he a drop that spills:
Fill the steepe flaggons, and each pot,
Drink till all sorrow be forgot.
Had great Johnson had the hap
To taste of what flowes from this tap,
Nine muses had no number been
To contend 'gainst such Hypocrene,
And he (no doubt) had finish'd well
His Mortimer, and Issabell:
Nymbly dance all in a Ring,
Pæans to god-BARLY sing,
Gallop round in Faerie measures,
Oh that in height of all these pleasures,
Charmed by the sleepy God,
Ere the Hymn is sung, I nod.

Epig. 24. Leanders Ruine.

While bold Leander, swam as he was wont,
Brushing the billowes of the Helespont,
Thetis her selfe envying faire Heros blisse,
(His Love being sought by the Nereides,
Cymodoce, and sweet Pronea too)
But when she found twas but in vaine to sue,
She beggs of Æolus, and he complies,
To raise a storme, by which Leander dies.

Epig. 25. A Frolick to Capt. Baines the Poet being Prisoner (for his Loyalty) in Whittington Goale.

Epig. 26. Martagon, and Ancilla in the person of the Poet, and Mistris E. R .

Mart.
Must thou be gone, my prettie one,

Ancil.
Alas, I dare not tarry,

Mart.
O what a spite is marriage-life,

Ancil.
Then why (Sir) did you marry?

Mart.
Although that Hymen hold full high,
His Torch above my tresses,
Yet thousands sweet as well as I
May purge their lights with Cresses:
Pox on his hornes, and spotted hide,

Ancil.
His Dowcets, and his Rutting,
But (Sir) he is like Argus ey'de,

Mart.
And like a Ram still butting.
Away by Moone-shine we will wend
Unto my Country Villa,
And there securely wee will spend
Our dayes, my deare Ancilla.

Ancil.
Love give us wings unto our wish,
Be lustfull Jove, Protector,

Mart.
A Toade be still i'th Husbands dish,

Ancil.
And poyson in his Nectar.

Mart.
Actæons Ghost still haunt him,

Ancil.
The God of Cuckolds daunt him,

Mart.
Let a dead man stroke him,

Ancil.
And his spittle choake him,

Mart.
And every Fiend invoke him,

Ancil.
While we thus twine,
Like the Amorous Vine,

Mart.
Away base Strumpet leave me,
If thou hast Will
Thy Lord to kill,
Most sure thou wilt deceive me.

Epig. 27. On Mr. Websters most excellent Tragedy, Called the White Devill.

VVee will no more admire Euripides,
Nor praise the Tragick streines of Sophocles,
For why? thou in this Tragedie hast fram'd
All reall worth, that can in them be nam'd:
How lively are thy persons fitted, and
How pretty are thy lines, thy Verses stand
Like unto pretious Jewels set in gold,
And grace thy fluent Prose; I once was told
By one well skil'd in Arts, he thought thy Play
Was onely worthy Fame to beare away
From all before it, Brachianos Ill,
Murthering his Dutchesse, hath by thy rare skill
Made him renown'd, Flamineo such another,
The Devils darling, Murtherer of his brother:
His part most strange, (given him to Act by thee)
Doth gaine him Credit, and not Calumnie:
Vittoria Corombona, that fam'd Whore,
Desp'rate Lodovico weltring in his gore,
Subtile Francisco, all of them shall bee
Gaz'd at as Comets by Posteritie:
And thou meane time with never withering Bayes,
Shalt Crowned bee by all that read thy Layes.

Epig. 28. Epitaph on that Excellently Learned young man Mr. Anthony Dyer .

A Morning faire as the first looke of May,
With the glad promise of a Glorious Day,
The sun was earely up, and at first rise
With noone-tide Beames amaz'd our duller eyes,
Is crep'd behind a cloude, a blossome bright,
As those Sun-beames that kisse and paint the Light,
Which first of all salutes the budding yeare,
And smiles to see it's fellowes not appeare,
Dies by rude Frosts: so when beginnings raise
Too great an expectation, and amaze
Our Sences, Wisedome plucks it by the eare,
And bids us turne our hopes into a feare,
So if some one leap over sluggish time,
And wear his Ages Autumne in his Prime,
Nature her selfe her future Progresse feares,
And dares not trust this Vertue with more yeares,
And therefore Dyer di'd, and here doth lie,
To force a teare from every passer by.

Epig. 29. To his Muse in (reference to his Faerie King.

By thee faire Muse, when violent hands have made
England a Den of Dragons, a darke shade
Where shag-hayrd Satyres Daunce, when Kingdomes are
Quite overturn'd, and frie in flames of Warre,
I shall command the Earth, and to the skie,
Above the Earth, borne on Fames Wings shall flie.

Epig. 30. Epitaph on my dearely loved Kinsman Thomas Clapham .

Reader, here lies a youth, whose Face
Pass'd even Adonis for sweet grace,
And winning gesture without peere
For wit unequall'd, closed here
Doth lie, an heape of vertuous dust
Keep it safe (Marble) to thy trust,
We do commit it as a Gemme,
Hid in a Casket of esteem.

Epig. 31. To his Book.

Goe forth in thine owne strength amid the Crowd,
Be not thou too submisse, nor yet too proud,
If any jostle, stand the sturdy shock,
Have I not fixt thee firmer then a Rock.

Epig. 32. It is the greatest Conquest for a Conquerour to Conquer himself, to conquer his Irascible passions, which Alexander could not doe, and his Concupiscible, which Hercules could not do, so vassalized to his IOLE, to him, Dei ira Hercules.

He Cacus, Cerberus, Hydra overthrew,
Lyons, not Lust and Whores could he subdue.

Epig. 33. Ben Johnson's due Encomium.

VVhen he, with Verse to's pipe appli'd did, sing,
The Rude Woods listned to his caroling,
Scillas Doggs bark'd not, the harmonious spheares
Tooke paines to plant their Soules into their eares,
More excellent then he, no age e're saw,
More sacred, wonderfull, (by Phæbus Law)
His Verse Divinely fram'd, deserves alone,
The thrice three Sisters Benediction.

Epig. 34. Epitaph on a Virgin dying for Love.

Yee Virgins that this Tombe passe by,
Behold the same with weeping eye,
Accuse the blind god of sterne wrath,
That he this Virgin here layd hath,
For he was partiall, nothing mov'd,
He wounded her, not him she lov'd.

Epig. 35. The Paper Hero's .

Their murmuring splendour is Nocturnall all,
They are but Torches to a Funerall,
That's all, their glory for themselves must fall
In his great doome, quite waste and perish all
In Lighting him to's Vault, their Luster must
Shrink to a Snuffe, their Honour to the dust.