University of Virginia Library

The Language Of The Frontispeice.

Amid the thrice three sacred Quire,
Gold-haird Hyperion strikes his Lyre,
Whose musick charmes the power of Fate,
Th' Aonian Gyrles reverberate,
His melodie with voyces sweet,
(Th' whole Consort in one tune do meet)
Shewing when Mars is grown the proudest,
The Muses ever chaunt the lowdest.
Martial the life and soule of Sence,
(That mighty Lord of Eloquence)
Ausonius, in Arts Schole most great,
[Sublime, quick, fluent of conceit]
Before this Fabricks Portall stand,
And (in the Dialect of the hand)
Invite all to aproach; beneath
These, Mercury presents a wreath
New pluckt from Daphnes browes to one,
Whose Language and Invention
Whether Legitimate, or no,
He knowes, but few will care to know.

To Mr. Sheppard on His Epigrams.

No matter! let the dunghill-wits crow on,
And bathe their Beaks in putrifaction:
Joves harness-bearing-bird finds better prey,
Flying alone, the Magpy, and the Jay,
Not worth the meanest of his mœniall train:
Thou hast discovered (friend) so rich a veine
Of wit, and learning, that the pit-pat frie,
Will (with Minervas bird (sure) feare to fly
By day, but linger till their wits are ripe,
Dreading the danger of thy powerfull gripe.
Thou hast redeem'd the age, (leprous with Schisme)
And taught the world to perfect Barbarism:
We are not yet reduc'd; but that we yet
Are Masters of Minervas Carkanet:
And our perdition may (perhaps) protract,
Maugre this most portentuous Cataract,
Which threatens Earth and Heaven; untill now,
Daphne hath dwelt upon quaint Martials brow.
No more the Nymph will with his dust remaine,
But make her mansion in thy vigorous brain.
For what the son of THIA made such sute,
She (like a THAIS) loves to prostitute
To thee, (which if we truly scan, 'twill follow)
Thou art HYPERIONS Son, the true APOLLO.

To the Author on his exquisite Epigrams and other Poems.

To the Author on his Epigrams.

Had these thy learned Epigrams been own'd
By L. or B. or any wit renown'd
For empty trifles, (oh the name! the name!)
Thy Statue had been fixt ith' house of Fame,
And o're thy head, in golden letters, writ,
‘The Prince of Epigrammatists and Wit.
But we (alas) do take up Wit on trust,
If this man say 'tis his, of force it must
Be rare and excellent, although if scand
More dull then drosse, heavier then lead, or sand.
Rare Sheppard, nere what Fount, upon what Hill,
May I sometimes but listen to thy Quill,
And see the horn-hooff'd Satyrs dance to please,
Those Sylvan beauties, the Oreades:
Sure not a Nymph, or Wood-God but doth lie
Couchant, when thou dost chant a Lullabie.
But when more strenuously thou list t' advance
Thy tone, they cannot but Corantos dance:
For to thy Lyre the Thespian Ladies sing,
The thrice three Spheares, in consort answering,
Ecchoed by all those Orders, named Nine,
(Who still sing sacred Anthems to the Trine)
Both Heaven and Earth to share thy wit contend,
How blest am I, then, to have such a Friend.

To my much honoured Friend the Author, on his most Excellent Epigrams.

Take heed ye crabbed Criticks, how
Ye censure; he that weares a brow
Curld up in furrow's, viewing these,
Is Traytor to th' Aonides.
Friend, (though without thy Lawrell on)
Feare not the conflagration
Of any (foolish) fiery Spirit,
Though he did Typhons yre inherit,
Thy Epigrams have strength and skill,
To sink him underneath a hill,
More ponderous then Ætnas loade,
Chiefe Darling to the Delphian God.
Th' Mnemosinides doate on thee,
(Those Ymps of Jove and Memory)
In this our Brittish Horizon
On JUDGEMENT, and INVENTION,
(The two wings with which MARTIAL flew)
Thou soar'st a pitch he never knew,
Rich in all knowledge; thou dost twist
The Poet, and Mythologist,
And (with a FIAT more then man)
The Catholick and Affrican.
Me thinks I heare sweet Martial mourne,
See; he with tears bedews his Urne
Angry, thou art as great as he
In all (save th' Art of Flattery)
He had a Cæsar, who at least
Gave him a Graunge (though else a beast)
But thou (his Rivall) canst find none,
Worthy a Dedication;
For who would force his Muse to trudge
To him that knows not how to judge
Nay, (which to water thrills my blood)
Cares not to gratifie a good.
But thus it hap't with him to fare,
In whom all Arts included are.
Homer, who doth all Judgments fix,
More then the dark Apocalyps,
Yet though reward crawle backward; this
Make thy Asylum; thou'lt not misse
Eternall Fame, the after times,
As Diamonds will prize thy Rimes,
And though the Parcæ gall thy thread,
Thou shalt survive when thou art dead:
And while thou liv'st, the wiser few
Who know the worth of wit, what's due)
To such a Genius as is thine,
So quaint so terse, and so Divine)
Will count it glory for to be
Partakers of thy Amitie.
This I pronounce (as back'd by Fate)
All know I scorn to Adulate.

A due Encomium on the Author and his Ingenious Epigrams.

The ancient Shephards of th' Arcadian Plaines
Elegant were in Verse and witty Strains,
And as their Rurall title is thy Name,
So thou partak'st of their Eternall Fame:
In thy facetious Fancy Learning, Wit,
Which merit in Apollos Chaire to fit,
And to correct the Sisters in their Layes,
Each of which offer thee a Crown of Bayes,
Which like another Martiall thou dost merit,
And shalt (in these thy Epigrams inherit)
Which elevate thine honour to the skie,
And tells the World the Ingenuity
Of these thy lines, are of such excellence
As may be termed, (Wits rare Quint-essence)
Even in this criticall and carping Age,
When few in Epigrams durst vent their rage,
Yet thy Minerva (doubtlesse) will be free,
From Envy, as from Thunder, Daphne's Tree,
And Sheppard by his sharpe ingenuous Quill,
Shall honour gaine, and grace Parnassus Hill.

To the Author on his excellent Epigrams.

Sir, I have read your Epigrams, and confess
To read them is a reall happiness.
Martiall, Ausonius, Harrington, and Moore,
All that have written in this kind before,
In you included are, the worth of all,
Their Wit is yours, which makes you Principall.

EPIGRAMS

The First Book

Epig. 1.

I write of Feare, of Love, of Harme, of Hate,
Of Honour, Magnanimity, of Fate,
Of Courtezans, of Chastity, of Charmes,
Of Policie, of Perfection, and of Arms,
Of Heaven, Earth, and Hell, of Temperance,
Of Prodigallity, of Choice, of Chance,
Of Knaves, of Dolts, Cowards, and Valliant men,
Of Art, and Eloquence, and now and then
Of Kings, and Captaines, Queenes, and Queans, of Schism,
Of Theeves, and Panders, sometimes Aphorism,
Drops from my quill; thus Proteus-like Iv'e dealt,
To please thee (Reader) be thou what thou wilt.

Epig. 2. To my beloved Friend Mr. James Naworth, the best way to better a bad Wife.

Friend, thou art yoakt, and canst not help the thing,
(Thou seest what power there's circled in a Ring)
Better or worse, 'tis in the power of Fate,
And not in man, to alter thy estate:
Therefore take counsell, “It is meritorious,
“In Husbands (sometimes) for to be Uxorious.
Thou sai'st she's clamorous, yea will disimbogue
Too often, and not stick to call thee Rogue.
To strike is barbarous, a better way
Observe; laugh at her, on thy Viol play.
If she will needs in folly be prolix,
Sometimes inform her, that she shames her sex,
“No better way to calme a womans Ire,
“Then to breath water, when she belcheth Fire.
But thou wilt say, can flesh and blood dispence
With such incorrigible impudence?
Know that you are incorporate; but one
Connext, by a Celestiall union,
She's but thy selfe, cast in another mold,
Thou art a Verbalist, if she's a scold.
“Women like Tortoises, are ever wonne,
Throw her upon her back, and all is done.

Epig. 3. To Sir I. C. Knight.

When the Law enjoyn'd your feet
To tread the Labyrinth of the Fleet,
You were clog'd with various sports;
“Bands are but Bracelets, Goales but Courts,
Sea-borne Sturgeon, broad-side Breame,
The Trout that thrives against the streame,
The Carp full laden with her spawne,
The Scarlet Lobster, prick nos'd Prawne,
Oyle-steept Anchovis (from his brine)
Came swimming in red Seas of wine;
The brawny Capon, full egg'd Hen,
The Swan, and Mallard of the Fen,
The costly Plover, mounting Lark,
Furnish't your Table, (like the Arke
Preserv'd Ogiges) whiles I made moane
Or'e smoakie beefe in Whittington.
Never was heard one note to sing,
But droopt, and hung my feeble wing:
But (Sir) your fare my soul abhors,
You fed upon your Creditors.

Epig. 4. Of Proems.

Proems, to Cypresse Trees we may compare,
They'r long, but yet they very fruitlesse are.

Epig. 5. The proofe of Princes.

I wonder Princes should be good,
(When I conceit them flesh and blood)
What change of Pleasure,
What ease, what Treasure,
Can't he Command
And not obtaine, that's Ruler o're a Land?
Who dares enquire
Or thwart's desire,
Who dare begin
To tax his Vice, or call a Sin, a Sin?
Who will not be
(Nay what is he)
Won't fan the fire,
To increase the flames, of his unblown desire?
What sawcy eye
On him dares prie?
What season will
Not wait, his Royall lust for to fulfill?
Then (sure) that Prince,
Can curbe his Sence,
Swaying his Passion,
Is more then Man, and fit to rule a Nation.

Epig. 6. Loving Mirabell.

Mirabell doth her Mate, so dearly love,
That if the least he from her sight do move,
She seemes as one distract, the good man once
Went out, and staid to try her for the nonce,
But when againe return'd, his dearest Wife
(whom he thought lov'd him better then her life)
Was with his friend in bed, and seeing him
She cries, oh husband, you are welcome in,
My deare affection unto you was such,
I thought I could not love your friend too much.

Epig. 7. Absolonisme.

As Absolon, so do the Sectists now,
They mean a Ruine, but pretend a vow.

Epig. 8. Homer.

Homer though blind, yet saw with his Soules eye
The secrets hid, in deep'st Philosophy,
Who while he sang the Gods, deserv'd to be
Himselfe adored, as a Dietie.

Epig. 9. To his unconstant Mistresse.

Satan, no woman, yet a wandring spirit,
Once did hell disinherit
O'th Saylers Trade,
(By strict inquiry made)
When he saw ships saile two waies with one wind,
The Divell himself, loves not a wavering mind.

Epig. 10. To Captaine C. D. on his Periwig.

Sir, this exactly doth with Justice sute,
Your Mistresse quaintly knowes to retribute,
She stole your haire (thanks to your lusts excess)
And gives you hers, though in another dress.

Epig. 11. To Mistresse E. L.

My prettie Protea, thou, without a spell
Canst transform Satan to a Michaell,
Like those Effigies (sometimes) Artists paint,
This side a loathsome Fiend, that side a Saint.
Tis not for love of thee, but least that shame,
Should swallow thy whole sex, I shrowd thy name.

Epig. 12. To James Nevill Esquire.

Beleeve me (Sir) this Town's all on a flame,
London we now, may well Lutetia name,
Perfumes without, but plaisters are within,
(Take heed how with a Citty Dame you sin)
I'le sooner enter a Cole-mine, although
The reaking ventage were damd up, then go
To one of those, they Ætna alwaies beare
Beneath the navell; tremble (Sir) and feare.
“O'tis a fatall object, and a Dire,
“To see Saint Anthony triumph in fire.
You'l say, to whom then would you love professe,
T'a Country Damsell, in a City Dresse.

Epig. 13. The Letanie.

Epig. 14. On Saint Thomas .

Thomas was diffident, the Scripture saith,
Till at his fingers ends he had his Faith.

Epig. 15. To my Friend Theodor Vaux .

It is set down, by Heavens just Decree,
The Child of Riot, must be beggerie.
Take caution (Friend) for “that man spends with shame,
“That with his riches doth consume his name.

Epig. 16. Afflictions Beneficiall.

It is not for our good, in ease to rest,
“Man (like to Cassia) when bruiz'd is best.

Epig. 17. The Incarnation of Iesus Christ our blessed Redeemer, narrated by a Shepherd.

This night
By Cynthias light
A Virgin hath brought forth a sonne,
God, though clad in flesh and bone:
Prince of rest
For ever blest,
A Virgin hath brought forth a Child
Immaculate, and undefil'd,
All the Troope
Of Prophets stoope,
All the harmonious Quire of Heaven,
Archangels, Angels, t'other Seaven;
Perfect man
His life a span
Like to us, is the Heire of Glory,
Whose Kingdome is untransitory.

Epig. 18. An Acknowledgement.

These Verses (Martiall) I compos'd to be
Tapstry, for to be trodden on by thee;
Oh may thy Genius pardon my escapes,
Some are much fam'd, for being great mens Apes.

Epig. 19. On my Selfe.

Some look upon me, as one rude,
Quite erring in my Altitude,
For above Atlas Shoulders, I
Am plac'd, and all the world do eye,
When I took for me the earthly Signe
Of Scorpio, in's ascent did shine,
Just in the Planetary houre
Of Saturne, (who doth ever lowre)
I viewd the light; it much doth winne mee,
I have part of that Plannet in me.
No way facetious am I
To toyish mirth or Jollitie,
Yet in one dreame I can compose
A Comedy, in Verse or Prose,
Behold the Action, apprehend
The Jest, and the quaint plot commend,
And so much of the sence partake,
As serv's to laugh my selfe awake.

Epig. 21. Ballad Poets.

The Muses weare these patches on their Faces
To foile their Beauties, greater then the Graces.

Epig. 22. Scylla and Charibdis.

Scylla's Dogs bark not more, nor yawn so wide
As Mortalls 'gainst each other in their pride,
Rejoycing to augment each others woe,
Man is to Man Charybdis, his worst foe.

Epig. 23. Pedro, and Roderigo, The one Franciscan, the other a Dominican Frier.

Pedro , and Roderigo traveling,
Came to the brink of a Religious spring,
But Pedro fearing for to wet his feet,
Prayes Roderigo, if he think it meet,
Since he is bare-foot, on his back to carry
Him over, and save charges of a Ferry,
Roderigo's willing, takes him on his backe,
And being in the mid'st, him thus bespake,
Tell me good Brother, have you any Cash;
Poore Pedro fearing that he would him wash,
Replies I have, and mean to pay thee too,
(Not daring to return him answer, no;)
Which Roderigo hearing lets him fall
Ducking him over head, and ears, and all,
Saying, You know that by my order I,
Must beare no money, therefore, there e'ne lie.

Epig. 24. Acrisius Inclosing his Daughter Danae .

Foole! dost thou think thy Destinie to dare,
By hiding from thy Jealous eyes thy feare:
“Women are never wiser in their drifts,
“Then when by fortune forc'd unto their shifts.
‘Had not Jove came to Danae in a shower,
‘Her hot Lust had dissolv'd her brazen Tower.

The Second Book.

Epig. 2. Epitaph on I. P.

But are you sure he's dead, and did you heare
The Screitch-owls voyce? else tis not true I feare,
Was the skie blasted and with thunder torne,
The Devil's seldome layd without a storme;
Yet like a fatall Comet though he's gone,
Ha's left behind a sad contagion.

Epig. 3. Catalines conspiracy.

It was thy praise, thou like a Chymist chose,
To work thy poysons in the smallest Dose,
Extract of Treason, Schismes Compendium,
Short-hand Sedition, and Rebellions Summe.
To thee the great Sejanus large soule fell,
As did great Pompey at Ericthos spell.

Epig. 4. Confident Carrus.

Thou saist thy wife flies him as her last houre,
And he to winne him to her hath no power.
I like thou art so well conceited on her,
But know, her last houre still doth come upon her.

Epig. 5. Richard the Vsurper.

Thy active braines ow'd to Prometheus much,
Like Sulphur they caught flame at every touch.
Quick thy contrivance was, thy Lamprey eyes
Where there were none, could make discoueries,
Discord thy musick was, and in thy Bed
Thou onely slep'st, when Stormes did rock thy Head.

Epig. 6. To Mr. E. C. on his Spolario.

As unsound men, who do with Feavers burn,
Do the best meates to their diseases turn:
So of all subjects, what was worst you chose,
Like a course searser, still the finest lose.
So the best viper wines, if you stir their lee,
And hony badly still'd will poyson be.

Epig. 7. The Spanish Armado.

Neptunes back crack'd so great a weight to beare,
The Monsters of the Sea affrighted were,
Their overthrow doth cause proud Spaine to quake,
Crying Jove once a Swan, is now a Drake.

Epig. 8. Borgias.

Most excellent villaine, thou that did'st do all,
And wer't more sin then we can think or call,
We now begin to love thee for thine ill,
As Drugsters Serpents which most venome spill.
And as from blackest clouds comes thunders light,
And the worst leprosie is alwaies white:
So thy foule crimes are with this honour clad,
That t'was thy glory to have been so bad.

Epig. 10. These Times.

Learning doth live in penury, and bare,
While fooles grow rich, and feed on daintiest fare.

Epig. 11. To Claius.

Claius , thou saist, I write too misticall,
Had better write for to be read of all,
I know not, but if some not understand,
Tis sure cause Ignorance hath most command;
But yet this is Ænigma unto me,
How thou shouldst find out such a Mysterie.

Epig. 12. Ovid banished.

Love break thy Bow, ye Muses sing no more,
For Ovids banish'd to the Pontick shore.

Epig. 13. On the two admirable witts, Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher .

Cease Greece to boast of Aristophanes,
Or of Menander, or Euripides,
The Comick Sock, and Tragick Buskin we
Weare neatest here, in forreigne Brittanie:
Or if you list to struggle for the Bayes,
Wee'l fight with Beaumont's, and with Fletchers Playes.

Epig. 14. Ovid, to Augustus Daughter in the Person of Corinna .

OVID.
Since thou did'st deigne (Soule of my life)
Within these Walk's to dally,
Me thought I saw the Nine at strife,
All taxing Nasos folly.

CORINNA.
Tell them Augusta claimes thy love,
Whose farr superior looks,
Commands thy measures not to move,
And bids thee burn thy books.

OVID.
Should any to Augustus shew
The triumph of my fate,
How should unhappy Ovid know
For to preuent his hate.

CORINNA.
Timorous foole dar'st thou adore
My shrine, yet feare to be
Marty'rd, as others heretofore
For Love, and Venerie.

Epig. 15. To our Brittish Bards.

Tell me Sons of Levi, who professe
More of the Gospell though you practise lesse;
How dare you Boanerges, Sonnes of Thunder,
Untwist Loves knot, and break that bond in sunder;
While in the Pulpit you revive old Jarrs,
And re-imbroyle the Kingdome in new warrs;
Whiles you preach controverting points, and next
In parts divide the people with the text.

Epig. 16. Palladium Homeri.

Vertue, was the Palladium Homer feign'd
Kept Troy so long from sacking, and when gain'd
By the curl'd pated Greeks, then Illium fell,
(Juno conspiring with the powers of Hell)
Religion onely bringeth peace and glory,
It is the surety of things transitory.

Epig. 18. To my Friend Mr. E. R.

Friend, thou art farr above me, and do'st slight
Poetick Lays, wherein fond I delight:
For thou, whil'st I do Poems scrible, tak'st
Thy seat in Bacchus Temple, where thou mak'st
Lyæus flow, and quaff'st a health to those,
Who love (like thee) to drink and pledge in prose:
Yet at thy call the Muses come, tis strange,
That when thou wilt, thou canst thy liquor chang,
Aand tipple Aganippe, I must learn
Thy Art, but first would thy great gaine discern.

Epig. 19. To Mr. Davenport on his Play called the Pirate.

Make all the cloth you can, haste, haste away,
The Pirate will o'retake you if you stay:
Nay, we will yeeld our selves, and this confesse,
Thou Rival'st Shakespeare, though thy glory's lesse.

Epig. 20. A Pacification.

By Moses Law, he that desir'd to take
His Captive to his bed, meaning to make
His slave his Wife, must cleane cut of her haire,
Give her new garments, and her nailes must pare:
So let the Church of Rome repudiate
Her Superfluities; find her pristine State,
We two will be one flesh, hate banisht quite,
She shall be unto us an Israelite.

Epig. 21. Francis Spira.

Divines, and dying men may talke of Hell,
But in my heart her severall torments dwell

Epig. 22. Of Fame.

Oft have I wonder'd at it, yet tis so,
Fame, when she list her Trumpet lowd will blow,
Renowning some with wealth and eminence,
Onely for folly, and for Impudence;
And those, whose merits ought on earth ner'e die
She buries with them in obscuritie.

Epig. 24. Of Honour.

A time there was (but ah) that time is gone,
When pretious Honour was bestow'd on none
But such as for their valiant Acts did merit,
Or for their Learning Honour to inherit:
But Dastards now the Badge of Knighthood beare,
And Fooles like to the wise respected are.

Epig. 25. On the wondrous accident happening in Delf, a Towne in Holland (much frequented by Storks) which Towne being accidentally set on fire, the old Storks perceiving the Flame to approach their Nests, attempted to carry their Young ones away, but could not, they were so weighty, which perceiving, they never ceased with their wings spread to cover them, till both the old ones and young ones perished together.

The white hu'd Stork, that never toucheth bough,
Whom once the foolish Frogs did King allow,
Seeing her young in flames, oh how it paines her,
Shall she for them adventure life to lose,
Pitty bids her try, but feare restraines her,
Yet pitty her feare soon overthrowes,
And so one tombe, with her poore young, containes her.
Give place Arabian Bird, thou seek'st new breath,
By being burnt, but she sought onely death:
Learn hence Medea, from an Augurs tong,
To cherrish, and not to destroy thy young.

Epig. 26. An old Woman Letcherous.

Give over Beldame now to sport,
The young men will not thank thee for't,
Pull'st thou thy garments ner'e so hie,
They will not stoope for to descrie;
Prepare for to encounter Death,
And try to blast him with thy breath.

Epig. 27. Ben. Johnsons Play, called the silent Woman.

The reason why this play's not counted common
Is, 'cause it doth present the silent woman.

THE THIRD BOOK.

Epig. 1. The Sectaries of these times.

Like to Goliah they do make their brags,
Yet of the people are the taggs, and raggs:
Men of small knowledge, though they love to bawll,
Lesse Honesty, Discretion none at all.
In their attempts Pragmaticall,
In their humors Phantasticall,
In their profession Pharisaicall,
Their Books Hypocriticall,
Their opinions Anabaptisticall,
Their Doctrine Schismaticall,
Their words Angelicall,
Their deeds Diabolicall.
Yet these (oh England) are thy Gods, ô Dire!
This Ignis lambens is thy holy Fire.

Epig. 2. A Contented Citizen called Horne.

Sure thy Progenitors all Cuckolds were,
Why should'st thou grudge, like them the horn to beare?
Remove thy feare, thy wife's a comely Dame,
And doth report thou art so coole and tame,
She in thy body hath not least delight,
Thou not of strength to sate her appetite:
Why dost thou let thy Roomes to Gallants brave
If thou intend'st thy Wife alone to have?
Thy name is ominous, and sure I think,
For money thou, at thy Wives faults dost winke.

Epig. 3. To Penelope.

VVhy should'st not thou as farr renowned be,
As ever was the chast Penelope
Wife to Ulissis? this I dare averr,
By contraries thou imitatest her.

Epig. 5. To Clarissa

What though thy eyes
(Clarissa) do surprize
My yeelding heart,
Tis in the power of Art,
Alcon concludes for me
To quit this Lunacie:
What words can cheare
The wounded Deare
The Herbe being gone
Hee'd nibble on?
I burne, I burne,
I mourne, I mourne,
My selfe I tyre
In yce and fire,
Though Juno gave
Her gesture brave,
Pallas her skill
Unto thy will,
Venus her Ceston,
Yet my blest one,
Faire Hellens pride
But terrifide
Her self at last
Her splendour past.
And Anaxerete
Mourns Iphys bitterly,
And Lydia plaines
In ruthfull paines,
With much rebuke
The Frizland Duke;
Thy lovely face
Can find no grace
With Charon in his Boate;
'Mongst others thou must floate:
To him all are
Alike, the foule as faire,
Prithee assent,
In Hell ther's punishment
For those, who love to try
Their lovers till they die:
Else, Danaes gyrls by turn,
Ere this had fil'd their Urn;
The Gorgons howling there
At first were Maydens faire,
From love they were estrang'd,
Therefore to Haggs were chang'd,
So bright their beauty shone
They turnd all men to stone,
That is the power of Cupid
Made them dull and stupid,
But no reliefe would they
Afford for to allay
A Lovers passion,
Therefore in uncouth fashion
Their once faire tresses
A Snake-haird front expresses:
But the Babylonion Maid

THISBE.

,
And Hero who obeyd
Him of Abydos

LEANDER.

, Semele
Calistho, and faire Ariadne,
By power Divine
Bright Constellations shine.
Yeild, and Ile out-play
Him of Venusia

HORACE.

,
Striking mute
The Alcian Lute,
My musick shall constraine
The sad Ephesian

HERACLITUS.

In mirth for to delight
Beyond the Abderite

DEMOCRITUS.

:
It is in me
To give Eternitie
Unto thy Name,
Or else to blast the same:
All that I crave
Is Love, for Love to have.

Epig. 6. To the most excellent Poet, Sir William Davenant .

VVhat though some shallow Sciolists dare prate,
And scoffing thee; Apollo nauseate:
What Venus hath snatch'd from thee, cruelly,
Minerva, with advantage doth supply:
Johnson is dead, let Sherly stoope to Fate,
And thou alone, art Poet Lawreate.

Epig. 8. Of Sillius.

Sillius , himselfe doth to the Starres apply,
And saies, they are the Book of Destiny,
List he to ride in's Coach but to Mile-End
By the Almanack he doth the houre attend.
If his eye-corner itch, the remedy
From calculation of's Nativity
He fetches, but at this I wonder much,
How he should break his neck, whose skill was such.

Epig. 9. The fall of the Druinian Oake.

The clap of this dire thunder sounds
From Ganges, to Aleides bounds:
Earths Monarks stand amazed all,
To heare an Act so Tragicall;
They Rest forsake, Repast forbeare
And do the selfe same fortune feare.

Epig 10. To my Friend Lucius Varrus .

How can I chuse, but like mount Ætna glow,
Though I Carussa made my drink each day,
Or fed on frigid lettice, and lay low
Upon the humble earth, Love to allay:
Her skin for whitenesse passeth Atlas snow,
Her cheeks the Roses that in Jury grow:
Her crisped locks do out shine Lybian Gold,
Her teeth the pearles, in stately {Ormas} sold;
Her lipps as Cherries, breath as incense flow,
Her eyes as to pure Chrystall Heavens show;
Her tongue, like Lydian Musick, doth delight,
Then how can I (Friend Varrus) want her sight;
Her presence can alone preserve my breath,
Her losse (to me) is Famine, War, and Death.

Epig. 12. Carbo the Courtier.

Carbo a great Astrologer is grown,
The Plannets motions unto him are known,
And all the Signes, he most judiciously
Observ's, black patches under either eye
He places, and so variable proves,
He them misplaces, as the Signe removes:
Nor Warlike Mars, nor potent Jupiter,
Were Rulers at his birth, but onely her
Whom Alexander gave the Apple to,
For which Saturnia wrought the Trojans woe:
That fatall Apple which faire Illion fir'd,
Is mightily by this Musk cat desir'd,
Variety of Females make his skin
Look parch'd, and all his marrow frie within.

Epig. 13. On a Lady singing.

VVhat Heavenly sounds inchant my eares,
Passing the Musick of the Spheares?
Me thinks I heare a Mellodie
Better then Arions harmonie,
The quavering of a well tun'd voyce
Making a most Celestiall noise.
Angel-like Quires that sing in Heaven,
The Muses Nine, the Plannets Seven
Stand still, and listning do admire
These songs, equall t'Apollos Lyre.

Epig. 14. To my noble Friend Van Velsen, the merited praise of the famous Citty of Amsterdam .

Belgias bright glory we may call
This Towne, who from the Rivers fall
Call'd DAM, hath name; the People ne're
For ought save clothes, and meat did care,
Hence Amsterdam, and with the name
Its Fortune hath increas'd, and Fame:
Known to farr Coasts, and Continents,
And may well, for the good it vents,
Tis Rich in corne, in Flesh, and Fish,
And all that Heart can think or wish,
And to speake truth it seemes to hold
Tage, Hermus, and Pactolus gold.

Epig. 15. Epitaph on Prince Henry .

Here lies Prince Henry, I dare say no more,
Lest after times this Sepulcher Adore.

Epig. 16. The Lady E. D. had her Picture drawn thus.

In her faire hand just overthwart her wombe
A green bay-branch, one sprig whereof did come
Up to her Heart, another downward ranne,
Shading the place of procreation:
And crosse the branch these words all might espie,
“Fetch'd from the Fields, Here let me never die.
Upon the upper sprig was written, HITHER,
Upon the lower, (who would not come)

Epig. 17. Joves Cup-Bearer.

Sweet Ganimed, snatch'd fvom the Idean Hill
By Joves appointment, Nectar for to fill
Unto him, and the rest o'th' Dieties,
The Allegory fitly this implies.
“Ganimed, or the understanding Soule,
“The beauteous mind not clog'd with error foule,
“(So drawing neare the nature of great Jove)
“Is rap't to Heaven by his Eternall love.

Epig. 18. Wicked Myrha.

VVhat will none serve for to allay thy fi[illeg.]
Is there no young man abler then t[illeg.]
For to content thee? See, she hath her will,
Her Father sports with her all night, untill
Aurora blushes, thou had'st he're more need
(Lady) to leave old Tythons bed with speed,
See the old man, when he beholds her face,
Knows tis his Daughter, and bewailes his case.
Her crime he'd expiate with her hot blood,
Behold she flies into a neighbouring wood,
Not worthy for to breath, the Gods Decree,
She is transformed to a weeping Tree.

Epig. 19. To Cupid.

God of hearts Prithee be gon,
Forsake my homely Mansion,
Thy Diety is all to great
On Parsly for too make thy meat,
Such, as to my Lares I
Offer up nocturnally;
Lucullus doth not harbor here,
But Cato with his beard austere.

Epig. 20. Homers Prophesie of our Saviours Incarnation and Passion, &c. Odiss. 12.

Epig. 21. To Mr. Glascow, a solution of his Question, what Wit is, and who ought chiefly to drink Sherrie.

Hee's wittie, and be onely, that can speak
Things little greatly, and things dull and weake
In their own entity, can so embelish
With flowry eloquence, that they shall relish
The nicest pallat, can make Barren things
And empty, honoured as the Acts of Kings,
Rendering them fruitfully, and fully too,
The man (my Glascow) that these things can do
May be called wittie, for his skill Divine,
And worth the favour of the God of Wine.

Epig. 22. Joves Raping Europa.

If we beleeve the wittie Sulmian, Jove,
Was pleas'd (in shape) a lustfull Bull to prove
In all proportion, (sure) as strong as he
Leap't the prodigious lustfull Pasiphæ)
For faire Europas sake; great Jove thy brow
Should have had hornes, when Io was a Cow.

Epig. 23. Lucians memoriall.

Could Charon chuse but laugh alow'd,
To see thy Soule 'mongst others crowd,
(Who with such art did'st him deride)
To have passage to the other side,
Or wer't thou not so much abhord
By him, he threw thee over board,
Hating thy Trunke should lade his Wherrie,
Now in Cocytus fishes worrie
Thy Ravens Soule, (Fishes in Forme)
As once thy carrion lumpe was torne
On earth, thou can'st not now aspire
To carp at the Meonian Lyre;
Excellent Rogue erect thy eyes,
See all the deathlesse Dieties
Laugh at thy dolor, and esteem
It just, because thou didst blaspheme.

Epig. 24. The transformation of Narcissus .

Narcissus , once a Cupid, add but wings,
Who too much trusted to deceitfull springs,
A flower now to the flood enclines, and so
By that which was his ruine, he doth grow:
While with Narcissus on our selves we doate,
We lose our selves, and act we know not what.

Epig. 25. Tis money makes the man.

Now onely wealth prevailes, let him be base
Descended, of a vile and vulgar race,
Be he a sot, a foole, yea a meere swine,
Yet if he have but money, and goe fine,
He shall be honour'd by our sonnes of earth,
As the best he that comes of noble birth:
Be he debauch'd, yet he's a second Cato,
Money makes him divine, he equalls Plato:
He's Virtuous, Wise, well borne, and what you will,
That can with money, both his pockets fill.

Epig. 26. To Mrs. Rhodes .

Sitting, reading, ever spinning,
Knitting, kneading, never linning,
Painting, progging, ever doing,
Fainting, cogging, ever woing
For knacks, as Girdles, Ribbons, Lace,
Striving at Feasts for the best place,
Yet still at hatred, spited, loathed,
As unto Lust, and Hell betrothed;
Well may it be if truely Bernard sweares,
That Devils sway thy eyes, and stop thy eares.

Epig. 27. Epitaph on a young man that dyed on his Wedding Day.

Hymen hath lost his honour, here doth lie
A young man, who as soon as wed, did die.

Epig. 28. On the death of Mary Queen of Scots.

The doome of Judges fore appointed,
Racking the Law beyond all reason
To death condemn'd a Queen anointed,
Without allegiance finding Treason:
The Axe to do the execution
Shun'd to cut off a head once crown'd,
The Hangman lost his Resolution,
To kill a Queen so much renound:
Remorse in hangmen, and in steele,
Yet Judges no remorse to feele?
O henceforth may there ne're be seen
By English eyes, a headlesse Queen.

Epig. 29. To my much honoured unckle M. Paul Clapham .

VVhy bring'st thou not to light thy worthy layes?
That we may crown thee with a wreath of Bays
But thou art wiser far (alas) then I,
And scorn'st to have those judge thy poesie:
Whose sordid souls cannot afford them Art
Of Hopkins maymed Psalmes to sing a part,
Who take the lines to pieces that they read,
Wound some, wire-drawing others, and do need
A Prompter, M. P's, Sonnets to con or'e,
But let not these, Deare Sir, I you implore
Hinder the wise from what they else might gaine,
Who shall with shouts reward your learned paine:
“For though we cannot tie the tongues of Fooles,
“'Twere madnesse therefore to pull down the Schools.

Epig. 30. On Sir Phillip Sydneys Decease.

When Æricina saw brave Sydney die,
She threw her purple Ceston clean away:
(As when Adonis bath'd in blood did lie
At her faire feet) weeping, she thus did say,
For Mars I plaine, and not for him alone,
In Sydney, Mars, and Sminthus both are gone.

Epig. 31. Disorder the fore-runner of Ruine.

Both bodies Politick, and Naturall,
By this ill-shaped enemy doe fall:
Christendomes whip, who now doth soare so high,
By this in her own ruine low shall lie,
Factions those Comma's are, ordain'd by God,
When he'l bring Kingdomes to their period.

Epig. 32. A journey to Totnam Court.

Epig. 33. Valour alwaies accompanied with Love.

They swell with LOUE, that are with UALOUR prest,
UENUS DOUES, in a head-piece wish to rest

Epig. 34. To Mr. K. R.

If thou art injur'd, thank thy own deceit,
Serpents prove Dragons, when they Serpents eate,

Epig. 35. Lodowick and Artesia.

Lord Lodowick with Artesia walking was,
And hapning through a Galery to passe
Where many Antick Statues they espie,
Some on their feet, some on the ground to lie:
Artesia, whose bright eyes about did rove,
Espies Sylvanus nak'd, as in a Grove
With pendents hanging ore his privities,
(Which were carv'd out, of a most wonderous size)
Quoth then Artesia, (Lodowick) who is this,
That looks so gravely, and yet naked is?
He answers (Madam) verily to me
One of the six Clerks he doth seem to be.
Why think you so said she? said he, look then,
And see his mighty Inkhorne, and his Pen.

Epig. 36. The basenesse of the present age.

Epig. 37. On the death of that Incomparable Hero, Sir Walter Rawleigh Knight.

Epig. 38. On Mr. Sands inimitable translation of Ovids Metamorphosis .

Tell me did'st thou converse with Ovid's Spirit
Converse, said I, most sure thou didst inherit
His Soule, I now will credit thy relation,
That soules transplanted are by transmigration:
For when I read thy work, and it compare
With Naso's own, to me it doth appeare
Thou hast out-done him, and his Latine Verse,
(Pure and unspotted) while thou dost reherse
In our own tongu, is grac'd and made more high
Then when t'was absent from each vulgar eye.

Epig. 39. The power of money, to Sir Edward Buzbey Knight.

Even the Gods with gold are fed,
Jove resteth in a golden Bed:
Gold helpes in peace, prevailes in Warres,
Causeth debate, compoundeth Jarres,
It beares with it such potent sway,
Earth, Aire, and Sea, to it obey:
It breaks down Towers, (such power it claimes)
And Cities wrapt in eager flames:
To give me gold, would any be
Enclin'd, he in my Poesie
(Which 'twixt my fingers—thus—I streine)
Should find a bright and golden veine.

Epig. 40. A Simile.

The Frogs will sing, though wanting wooll or haire,
Therefore to them we Poets may compare.

Epig. 41. An Apollogie to Sir Thomas Engham .

SIR,

Blame me not although I flag,
My wings are wet, I needs must lag,
I tast ('tis true) the holy spring,
But then am forc'd Swan-like to sing
My own sad Fate, Swans should have faire
Weather to sing in; clogg'd with care
Who's he can clime Pernassus Hill?
I'me with my Fortune jarring still:
The reason why I am so hoarse,
Lost to my singing, and discourse.

Epig. 42. To Sir Alexander Wroth, of the most noble Order of the Garter Knight, a Resolution to his Demand, &c.

As Sarams beauteous Countesse in a Dance
Let fall her spangled Garter, that great King,
Who layd such powerfull claime to fertill France,
By accident himselfe took up the String;
The Origen from hence that order came,
O high Originall—oh monstrous shame—
That fam'd installment is eclips'd, and we
Give it to meane and vile a Pedigree:
Truth is victorious, Richard (that brave King)
At Acon pleas'd to tie a leather string
About each Souldiers Leg, with his own hand,
Thence came this order (famous in our Land)
But (Sir) I leav't to you, pray chuse you whether
You'l have the Countesse Sylke, or Souldiers leather.

Epig. 43. On the probable continuance of these Civill Warrs, the Scot, and Irish not reduced.

Epig. 44. King Arthur.

Great Arthur worthy Fame, but that
Thy Acts are told by those who chat
Of Hamptons cut-throat, and the Knight
Of the Red Rose, (that sanguine wight)
The errors of some Monkish pen
Doth wound thy honour, farr more then
The Saxons could thy body; he,
That kild such truthes with Forgerie,
Deserv's to have his hand lop't off,
Thy legend is but wise mens scoffe,
When truth and falsehood mingled lie,
All's falshood to Posteritie;
Ther's truth enough in thy faire story
For ever to enshrine thy Glory.

Epig. 45. Lots Wife turned to a Pillar of Salt.

This is a Sepulcher, a Body too,
A Sepulcher or Body chuse you whether,
A Riddle strange, one, yet distinctly two,
A Sepulcher and Body both together:
This fatall fortune fell to Niobe,
Yet this the odds; this the more Savorie.

THE FOVRTH BOOK.

Epig. 1. On the death of I. P.

None di'de more griev'd, we all lament thy Fate,
So as we do our Sins, which we most hate.

Epig. 2. Sir Philip Sydneys Arcadia.

Sir, you are at the Races end before us,
But must acknowledge thanks to HELIODORUS,
Your Romance is most rare, yet halfe it's fame
Had been eclips'd, had any other name
Troubled the Title Page, each Ladies Kidney
Twitter'd to heare but of the Name of Sydney.

Epig. 3. To Doctor Bulwer, on his artificiall Changeling .

Were Naso now alive, and should he see
Thy Book full fraught with Ingenuitie,
He would write or'e his changed shapes anew,
Or scorne to weare the Chaplet that's thy due:
Those that read thee, and find no change at all,
Are Changelings, not by Art, but Naturall.

Epig. 5. On Lucians true History.

That there were Snake-foote Gyants, that a Ring
Obscur'd the person of the Lydian King,
That Ixion got a race of halfe horse-men,
That Hercules drew Cacus from his Den,
That Uulcans shop's in the Island Lemnos, where
He forgeth fire-balls for the Thunderer,
That the two Gorgons could transforme to stone
All those unhappy men they look'd upon;
Are things so credible compar'd with those,
Weav'd by thy wilie hand in looser prose,
I will beleeve them all, and as I read
Register each an Article of Creede:
Great Lord of Lying, I applaude thy wit,
But wish none, save thy self, may Father it.

Epig. 6. AN HYMN TO BACCHUS.

To Sir Thomas Engham.

Yvie deck'd God, with dangling haire,
Unto thy Rites we make repaire,
As is thy Right
This Gloomie Night.
Thou that hast thy tresses bound
With Vernall flowers, and Miter crownd,
Now curiously
In knots thy tresses tie.
As when of thy step-dame affraide
Thou rarely counterfeit'st a maide,
Come hither drest,
I'th robes and naked brest.
Those Nations who do Ganges drinke,
And slide in cold Araxis brink,
Could not thee behold
In thy Chariots rooff'd with gold.
Untamed Lyons dragg thy Carre,
Then Hyrcian Tygers fiercer farre,
Silenus on's lean Jade
With thee himself doth shade.
Drunke Priests thy Orgies celebrate,
Basarian Froes upon thee waite
With INO, the Nereides,
And thy Aunt in sacred Seas.
The Stranger Boy there make's abode,
Thy Son PALEMON (held a God)
Pactolus thy burthen tride,
(Whose waves bright gold to hide)
Thy power, Lycurgus Kingdome knowes,
Zedacians too, where Boreas blowes,
On hoarie trees that shake
Ysicles, in Mœotis lake.
Those under the Arcadian starr,
The Northern and slow Waggoner
Sound thy applause i'th skies,
Lustiest of the Dieties.
Naxos, girt with Ægean wave,
A bed to Ariadne gave,
Her losse repair'd by thee:
Oh let thy pleasures be
Sent hither by some frantick hand,
Let us drink deep at thy command,
Set ope thy flowing Springs,
Create us potent Kings.
Thou art our LÆTHE, we preferre
Thee too, for our REMEMBRANCER,
Come not arm'd Cap-a-pe
Lapethites we would not be.
O come not frowning we implore,
Let not thy surly Lyons roare,
Messagians quaffe Beasts blood,
None but thine can do us good.
That so the watch-man, and his bill
At Christs-Church corner may stand still:
Our Drawer flie his Fate,
Who feares a broken pate, &c.

Epig. 7. To Lillie the Starre-Gazer.

VVhat weather waites upon the Hyades,
Orions progresse, and the Pleiades,
Arcturus and his Sonnes, with the two Beares,
Cynthias revolv's, the motions of the Spheares,
And what Pelides Schoolmaster doth doe;
Whether the Sun (so bright to humane view)
Be not a lumpe of matter, made red hot
With fire, (at first by fervent heate begot?)
And whether pale-fac'd Cynthia so unstable,
Be not a Region, (though inhabitable?)
What Zoroastes , and the Chaldes taught,
And what Ægyptian Ptolomey hath brought
To light, thou know'st (Oh Emperick Divine)
Predicting with the liver of a Swine.

Epig. 9. Dedalus, and Icarus, A Dialogue .

DEDALUS.
VVhy striv'st thou to salute the Sun,
Soaring above thy Syre?
(Deare boy) Sols radient luster shun,
Thy wings can't brook his fire.

ICARUS.
To sport thus 'twixt the Aire and Sea,
Oh how it glads my sence,
To doubt a danger, seemes to me
But foolish diffidence.

DEDALUS.
From cruell Minos, Cretan Tower,
Have I escap'd by skill,
To see these Waves my Son devoure,
(Rash youth) then use thy Will.

ICARUS.
Now up unto Olympick Jove
I'le take my speedy flight,
These Pinnions were not made to move,
But in the Angels sight.

DEDALUS.
Descend (fond youth) ere't be too late,
Thy waxen wings do frie,
Thy wretched Father wailes thy fate,
“Those must fall low, mount high.

ICARUS.
Oh Father (see) I fall, I fall,
And plunge into the deepe,
“This Destinie must waite on all
“That in no Medium keepe.

DEDALUS.
So drops some erring Starre, farewell
Deare Icarus, thy Fame
Shall not with thee find paralell,
This Sea shall beare thy name.

Epig. 10. To Clio, having but begun my Faerie King.

O muse, what dost thou whisper in my eare?
What thou suggests to me I dare not heare,
Find thee an abler Agent, alas I
Am all unfit for Warlike Poesie,
To sing the Acts of Heros, and compile
The Deeds of Kings, in a full heightned stile,
Is such a task I dare not undergoe,
How to begin, or end, I do not know:
And more, if Spencer could not scape the spite
Of tougues malevolent, whose gentle spright
Prompted him, so meek as never man
Before him could, nor (I think) ever can,
I then shall (sure) be bitt to death, but yet
If thou commandest that I forward set,
I will not be rebellious, but desire,
Thoult warme my bosome with thy hottest fire.

Epig. 11. To Iudge Jenkins .

Sir be content, it grieves not me at all,
The Gospell Cajold, that the Law should fall.

Epig. 12. To the Illustrious Cardinall Mazerine, his Victory lately obtained over the Spanish Army under the Archduke Leopold .

Now hast thou silenc'd Slander, par'd the clawes
O'th Blatant Beast, and given Gallia cause
To curse her fond misprission, and apply
Her selfe to thee, (great Lord of Loyaltie)
Not long agoe twas hop'd a fine pretence
Should send thee to the Land of Diffidence,
—But by thy skill
The Scene is chang'd, ascend (great Sir) untill
Thy loyall head knock 'gainst the arched skie,
While the Iberians howle thy memory.

Epig. 13. To Mr. E. C. the Lawyer.

Thou hast a voice so sharpe, so shrill, and peircing,
When thou art, Littleton, or Cooke rehearsing,
That though thy beard bespeake thee man, thy tongue
Proclaimes thee woman, or that thou had'st wrong
Beneath the navell, I conclude that Fate,
Shap'd thee both to conceive, and generate.

Epig. 14. All is not Gold that Glisters.

Glorie's like Glow-womres, afarre-off shine cleare,
But have nor heate, nor light, if look't too neere.

Epig. 15. A Catholick Medicine to cure the Passion of Love.

Hard fare will famish Love, if that not doe,
Time, and long absence will impaire thy woe:
View others beauties, if that will not speed,
Then take a Halter, that will do the deed.

Epig. 16. To Mr. E. G.

You gave me Gold, I did accept your gift,
But give me leave for to refuse your drift.

Epig. 17. A Dialogue maintained by five, viz. the Poet, Clio, Povertie, Ignorance, Mammon.

CLIO.
Hither direct thy steps, descend this Cave,
Castalia call'd here, thou a place shalt have
To heare our Harmonie, here Homer sate,
When he his high immortall Illiads wrote,
Here Orpheus penn'd his Hymns, here Maro sung
Æneas Travells with a golden tongue:
Here Pindar, and Anacreon did devise
Their Odes, which since none er'e could equalize:
Here Flaccus, Naso, Spencer, hath been seen,
I help'd the last to frame his Faerie Queen:
Here make thy selfe Immortall, taste this spring,
Which will informe thee like some God to sing,
And though (perhaps) thou taste of some affliction,
It shall be sweetned by our Benediction.

POVERTIE.
If to her charmes thou listen, then with me
Thou must expect torne Raggs, and Penurie,
For to converse with want in some darke Den,
Shunning, and shunned of all other men,
Thy whole life one continued Scene of carke,
Leaving the world despised, and in the darke.

POET.
Twixt Scilla and Charydis, thus I stand,
Not knowing which to take on either hand,
This way my Genius wills me for to goe,
But wise foreseeing caution answers, no.

IGNORANCE.
Looke this way, erring mortall, learn to know
What gratitude to me the World doth owe,
Tis I that graspe both Poles, and unto me,
Both Love and Honour Vassalized be,
He that hath me to friend, can never want,
“Hee's onely happy that is ignorant.:
Knowledge confoundeth knowledge, what got he,
So much renowned for his Poesie.,
But blindenesse, nakednesse, and hunger sharpe,
Yea sometimes forced for to pawne his Harpe:
And he that wrote The Art of Love, the Rapes
Of Jupiter, and of transformed shapes,
Found banishment the guerdion of his wit,
He curst his Veine, and wilt thou Father it:
Combine with me, and my endowments trie,
Thou liberally shalt live, and wealthy die.

MAMMON.
If credence to her words thoul't not afford,
Unstable man, take thou God Mammons word,
Pluto hath made me Master of his Treasure,
I have whole Hills of Ophyr, Gold at pleasure,
For to dispose to them, I lift t'advance,
Who bow the knee to God-like Ignorance;
Hee's mad, that literature or Science chuses,
Hee's trebly plagu'd, that's loved of the Muses:
Turne or'e blind Homers workes, consume thy time,
Till thou grow'st hoarse in reading Maro's Rhime,
Or take thou Platos Prose his Schollar too,
And con or'e him, who Natures secrets knew,
Yet with the First thou'lt die a wretched man,
Or with the last, perish ith' Ocean.

CLIO.
Behold this wreath, pluck'd from that Damsell bright,
Tunr'd into Lawrell by the God of Light.

MAMMON.
View this refulgent O are, these heapes of Pearle.

IGNORANCE.
Be Ignorant, and be a Lord or Earle.

CLIO.
Converse with us, and famous shalt thou bee,
Canoniz'd unto all Posteritie.

POET.
Thrice sacred Virgin, unto thee I come,
Thou onely lead'st unto Elizium.
Though Folly glorious seem, thou art more faire,

POVERTIE.
Here I adopt thee then, my lawfull Heyre.

POET.
And welcome Poverty, thou art my choyce,
Oh that I could but beg with Homers voyce.

Epig. 18. A defiance to Fortune.

Do thy worst (whore) I will not Cry,
Although thou pinch me till I die,
Throw me down on the vilest earth,
Let one ill give another birth,
Cloath me in raggs, yea let me be
Scornd by all Mortalls, as by thee,
Yet like my selfe I needs must fall,
Though in a Ruine Generall.

Epig. 19. The Poets invitation to Ben Johnsons Ghost to appeare again.

Epig. 20. Women must not rule.

Let him be made a slave, to all a scorn,
That will not be the same that he was born.

Epig. 21. To my much honoured, and incomparable Friend, Mr. Theodor Loe Esquire, upon his request to me to pen a peculiar Poem of Oberon and his Queen.

Noble Sir, your Poet prayes
You'd teare from's head his wreath of Bayes,
And in its stead a Chaplet place
Of living flowers, t'would better grace
His aspect, now you'd have him sing,
Pucks treachery against his King.
Jelous Ob'ron when his Queen,
Dub'd him Cuckold on the green,
Conveigh me into yonder grove,
Where the broad fac'd Owle doth rove
With waving wings from tree to tree,
And the sweet Turtle mournfully
Chants her own Dirge, beneath an Oake
Which Sylvanus never strooke
In anger, nor the Dryad's curst
Since the time it sprang up first,
Here seat me, and I'le sing to life,
Oberon's frenzy for his wife.

Epig. 22. Lucan to Nero .

Dialogue.

LUCAN.
But why Sterne Tyrant must I bleeding die?

NERO.
Wretch, thou wert one in the Conspiracie
With Trayterous Piso. LVCAN, I confesse my guilt;

NERO.
And therefore shall thy tainted blood be spilt:
Know too (ambitious Mushrompe) not alone
For that, I'le send thy Soule to Acheron,
Remember my disgrace upon the Stage,
Then thou inspir'd with a Lymphatick rage
Step'st forth to thwart, my Action.—

LUCAN.
—O Apollo!
Who'l dare (warn'd by my Fate) thy steps to follow?
Thus Orpheus, and Euripides went hence,
Forc'd by the hand of Rabbid violence;
But know (pernitious Monster) I shall live,
Pharsalias Field Eternity shall give
Unto my Name, when thou Ingloriously
(Blaspheming Jove) on thy owne sword shalt die.

Epig. 23. Fantastick Silius .

Silius' an Arras maker sendeth for,
To whom he thus declares his pleasure; Sir,
I would desire you in a piece of Cloath
(Was never stain'd or eaten by the Moath)
To work me a strong Castle, and in it
A Dog that barkes, yet on his tayle doth sit,
And at the Castle gate in Armor bright,
A big-bon'd man who dares with any fight;
The workman did so, and then brought it home,
Presenting it unto this gawdy Mome,
Who in a chafe doth stampe, and sweare, and cry
Where is the Dog should in the Castle lie?
The workman answers, pardon Sir a sinner,
Belike those in the Castle are at dinner,
And (perhaps) in some corner all alone,
The Curre you misse is gnawing of a bone.

Epig. 25. Epitaph on the Lord Capell .

Here Virtue, Valor, Charity, and all
Those rare endowments we Celestiall call
Secluded are; nor wonder at the Story,
Capell lies here, Loyalties chiefest Glory.

Epig. 26. Epitaph on Duke Hamilton .

A Politian, yet a Foole,
A Teacher, and yet went to Schoole,
A Hempen cord of Silken twist,
A Papist, yet a Calvinist,
A meere OGYGES, Yet a Stranger
To Prudence, that foresees a danger;
Here lies (hee's but to Scotland gon,
No worse a Hell) tis Hamilton.

Epig. 27. On the Earle of Holland .

By Uenus selfe beneath this stone
Lyes Holland that spruce Earle,
His Carcasse here, his Head is gone
To Bridget his brave Girle,
Who makes it her Memento Mori,
While she lies close to Captaine Pory.

Epig. 28. On Mr. Spencers inimitable Poem, the Faerie Queen .

Collin my Master, O Muse sound his praise,
Extoll his never to be equal'd Layes,
Whom thou dost Imitate with all thy might,
As he did once in Chawcers veine delight,
And thy new Faerie King, shall with Queen,
When thou art dead, still flourish ever green.
Cease wealthy Italy to brag and boast,
That thou for Poesie art famed most
Of any Nation, Ariostos veine,
Though rare, came short of our great Spencers streine:
His great Orlando hath receiv'd great losse
By Spencers Faerie Knight of the Red Crosse:
Warrelike Rogeros honour clouded is
By his Arthegall, and much fame doth misse,
His sweet Angellica describ'd with Art,
Is wan and withered, to his Brittomart,
His admirable Poem darkned quite,
As if he onely had known how to write,
Nor may that wonder of your Nation claime
Supremacie, before our Spencers Fame:
Admired Tasso, (pardon) I must do
That right the Muses all perswade me to,
Although to Godfery by thy worthy Layes,
Thou dost a Mausolean Trophey raise,
Yet Spencer to Eliza hath done more,
And by his fullnesse lesseneth thy store:
He like the grand Meonian sits on high,
Making all Verse stoope to his Poesie;
Like to some mighty River Nile or Po,
All that obstruct him, hee'l soon overthrow:
And shallow Brooks, if any list to strive,
From forth his Ocean soon they may derive.
Hee next unto Apollo sits above
With Homer, and sweet Maro, who approve
Of his society, and joy to see
Him that did equall their fam'd Poesie.
Niggardly Nation be asham'd of this,
A Tombe for thy great Poet wanting is,
While fooles, not worth the naming, seated high
On Sepulchers of Marble God-like lie:
The learned in obscurity are thrust,
But yet their Names shall long out-live their dust:
Although Great Spencer they did thee interre,
Not Rearing to thy name a Sepulcher,
Yet thou hast one shall last to the last day,
Thy Faerie Queen, which never shall decay:
This is a Poets Priviledge, although
His person among sordid dolts do goe
Unto the Grave, his Name shall ever live,
And spite of Time, or Malice shall survive.

Epig. 29. To the brave and nobe Lady, the Lady E. B.

Oh may these Comick layes be blest by thee
And from thy Lips, suck their Eternity.

Epig. 30. On Mr. Davenants most excellent Tragedy of Albovinek of Lombards .

Shakespeares Othello, Johnsons Cataline,
Would lose the their luster, were thy Albovine
Placed betwixt them, and as when the Sunne,
Doth whirling in his fiery Chariot runne,
All other lights burn dim, so this thy play,
Shall be accepted as the Sun-shine day:
While other witts (like Tapers) onely seems
Good in the want of thy Refulgent beames.
This Tragedy (let who list dare dissent)
Shall be thy everlasting Monument.

Epig. 31. CUPIDS CREATION.

Lust favouring Vice, a Dietie
Ascrib'd to Love, and to be free
To that wilde Fury adds
A forged power, that Cupid gladds,
By his Paphian Mother sent
All about Earths Continent;
Flies up to Heaven and there straies,
Shoots shafts, that every God obeyes:
Saturnus, he with the awfull Rod
Whose feet with winged shooes are shod,
All power to him is given,
On Earth, Seas, Hell and Heaven;
T'xcuse their guilt, Franticks bestow
Upon Dame Venus Son an awfull Bow.

Epig. 32. All Saints, and all Soules Day, 1. and 2. of November .

Thou Sunne, that shed'st the dayes, looke down and see,
A moneth more shining by events then thee,
Departed Soules, and Saints sign'd it before,
But know the living now do signe it more,
Persons, and Actions meet, all meant for Joy,
But some are born to build, some to destroy;
Bate us that Ushering curse so dearely known,
Not these two daies, but the whole moneth's our own.

Epig. 33. The Ægyptians first found out the Art of Navigation.

These pass'd the dangerous Gulph, and durst
By new found waies adventure first,
These first fraught Ships, found Merchandize,
First observ'd Starres, and Checquer'd skies.

Epig. 34. For the Statue of Queen Elizabeth .

Behold th'Effigie of a Virgin Queen,
Zealously courted wheresoever seen:
The Peoples Love first from her troubles grew,
And then her Reigne did make that Love her Due:
That comely order, which did then adorne
Both Fabricks, now's by many Factions torne,
That forme by her allow'd of Common Prayer,
Our Sectaries call vaine beating of th' Ayre,
How do they honour, how forsake her Crown,
Her Times are still cried up, but practis'd down.

Epig. 35. Baptizing of Infants, the New Mode.

Bring here the Bason, is the Babe defil'd,?
Good Parson play the Barber with the Child,
Place him in publick view, in sight of all,
But spare your Crosses, and your Washing-ball;
And (that the Gold-smith may be quite undone)
The Father and the Godfathers are one.
This Babe of Grace shall be of more account,
Then all the Antichristians of the Font.

Epig. 36. The Powder Treason.

This was a Treason of the worst intent,
Had not our own done more then strangers meant.

Epig. 37. To Mr. L. H.

To eate so much, and yet to looke so thinn,
Thus Lust puts out, what Luxurie puts in.

Epig. 38. On the birth of the Lady E. D.

Away, and view the Graces, and the Houres
Hovering aloofe, and dropping mingled flowers
Upon the Cradle where an Infant lies,
The greatest Grace, chiefest of Dieties.

Epig. 39. On the Death of Strafford Deputie of Ireland .

That thou wert wise as Nestor, vallianter
Then great Priamides, and stronger farre
Then big-bon'd Ajax, that thy skill did shine
Suparlatively in Warrs art, to thine;
That Cæsars vici was but slow, that all
Which makes an able Statesman, thou migh'st call
Thine, and thine onely, that thy mighty Soule
Dispans'd, extended unto either Pole:
Truth must acknowledge, that thy Royall Lord,
Durst to have morgag'd unto thee his Sword,
So great his confidence, during whose Reigne
Thou shon'st a Constellation, next his Waine,
And tis not yet decided, whether thou
Or he were more resplendent, on thy brow
Sate Terror mixt with Wisedome, and at once
Saturne, and Hermes in thy Countenance.
(Second Sejanus) in thy fall we see
Nosce teipsum, was not known to thee.

Epig. 40. On the Death of the truely learned and exquisitely Vertuous I. D. Esquire.

VVhen Fates impartial hand shall summon me,
It will increase my Joy to visite thee,
Yet we must sympathize, and on thy Herse
Powre out a Sable teare to write a Verse:
With your swart weeds my Azure lines agree,
“A mourners beauty is deformity.
Blame not the Three for this sad Fate, they do
Consume themselves in teares, as well as you,
'Twas not their will so faire a flower should stay
So short a time, and fade so soone away,
They had resolv'd upon this common Stage,
He should have acted out old Nestors Age,
While they their over-busied hands conjoyne
With curious Art, to draw the fatall twine
To a full length, they forc'd the same so small,
That (unawares) alack) it brake withall:
And all but right, should they do heaven wrong
To keep his precious Soule on Earth so long
That long'd to part, should they his Joyes repreive
And kill him thus, by keeping him alive;
Heaven then took pitty, and could not dispence
With this their kindnesse, therefore Rap't him hence.

Epig. 41. A Cobler to Plato, on his Commonwealth.

Aristos Son, behold wee all agree
To have the Government prescrib'd by thee,
And sit enthron'd even in our drudgerie.

Epig. 42. To Mr. G. K.

Sir, I do runne, but you attaine the prize,
“'Tis better to be Fortunate then Wise:
Besides by Randalle's Exit, it appeares,
“Witt's a Disease, that kills men in few yeares:
Which bids me this Prediction freely give,
Longer then Nestor you are like to live.

Epig. 43. To Will. Lee, the Bookseller at Pauls Chaine.

Syrrah; thou art so base a Foole that I,
Think thee not worth my Anger, else I'de try
In ARCHILOCHUS tone, so loude to sing,
(With a Quill borrowed from a Ravens wing,
Penning such fatall Scripture) thou (thou Else)
But hearing it, should'st streightway hang thy (selfe,
But I am mercifull, repent thy ill,
And know no sword, cutts deeper then my Quill.

Epig. 44. To Lydia scorning him.

I care not now, still harden, know that I
By viewing thee, begin to Petrefie,
Though thou art Rockie, yet the Gods assent
I am the stone must be thy Monument.

Epig. 45. To I. Buzby

Th'art not in debt, (thou swear'st) and I dare say it,
For those alone do owe, that meane to pay it.

Epig. 46. Epitaph, on Mr. Fountaine and his young Son dying, and being buried together in one Grave.

Fountaine of teares shed here, here lies a man,
In whom a Fount of Learning gliding ran,
Yet cruell death this living. Fountaine stop'd,
The pleasant Palme that grew beside it crop't:
You may search farr, and yet not find a Well,
Fit with this matchlesse Fount to paralell.

Epig. 47. The deliverance from a garrulous vain-glorious Scholar in Sion Coledge.

To I. P's Chamber, I one day resorted,
Where the young man to me rare things imparted,
As first his Study full of Learned Books,
On which (I dare be sworn) he seldome looks.
Then next a Chamber, at the Eastern end
Thereof, a bed to entertaine a Friend.
Then led he me towards a gloomie hole,
Quoth he, this is repleat with Wood and Coale,
Not so well stuff'd was Epeus Brazen steed,
Then he discover'd boxes full of seed
Which fed his Finches, and Canary-Birds,
And then he led me to his house of (------)
Gravely Discoursing all the tedious way,
That Athanasius in a Cistern lay
Fearefull of Arius, seven yeares and more
Not halfe so sweet: then next he op'd a dore,
Discovers a large Shelfe of Boots and Shoes,
Refulgent Sol (said I) that al things views,
Rescue, oh rescue me, (great Dietie)
This Foole will kill me with's discovery.
Apollo heard, one towards us did advance,
And so great Phœbus saved me by chance.

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.

THE SIXTH BOOK.

Epig. 1. Uirgula Divina.

Some Sorcerers do boast they have a Rod,
Gather'd with Vowes, and Sacrifice,
And (borne about) will strangely nod
To hidden treasure, where it lies:
Mankind is (sure) that Rod Divine,
For to the wealthiest (ever) they encline.

Epig. 2. To Wil. Drosse the upstart Gallant.

Friend, those gay cloathes, aswell thy hyde befits,
As Purple doth th' untutord Marmuzets.

Epig. 3. To Tatam.

Tatam makes Verses of all sorts, and sizes,
And Playes, and Songs, and Ballads he comprizes:
In keene Iambicks a Lymphatick Lyrick
He is, and playes, and sings, sweeter then Derick,
For which, amongst the Broakers and Broom-criers,
Amongst the Watermen, 'mongst Dolts, and Diers,
Hee's cri'd up for a Bards and he is one,
For he writes Welsh, or in some stranger tone.

Epig. 4. To Mr. Giles Granvert .

Now wee
(Deare Sir) be
Our owne Antipodes,
Our owne Disease,
Seamen the Whip,
Plowmen the Ship
Vsurpe and guide,
Men walk, Mules ride,
Children begin
To teach to spin
Their Grandams old,
Sheepe Shephards Fold,
Meteors exhal'd
From mud are call'd
The highest Spheares,
Small hopes, great feares,
Wolves in Humane shapes
Men, Asses, Hoggs and Apes,
Hermaphrodites with Child,
Herod reconcil'd
To Pilate; Iustice, Knowledge,
From Gotham Colledge
Proceed, the blind perceive
What Seer's wo'nt beleeve,
No way but Chymistry,
Salt, Sulphur, Mercury.

Epig. 5. Aristotle.

Natures great Midwife, thou that knew'st far more
Then all the Ethnick Sages, did before
'Tis more then a Chimera unto me,
Thou that could'st weigh the Earth, should'st by the Sea
Be swallow'd, thy Witts Ocean knew no shore,
Fathoming Rheas wealth and Thetis store.

Epig. 6. Epitaph on Mahomet the Second, Emperour of Turkes, Anno Dom. 1450 .

I that so many nations have
Tumbled together in one grave,
Am now by Death, which all devowers,
Layd here; where now are my powers?
Phillip's mad Sonne's most glorious Fame,
Compard with me shall want a Name,
And mighty Julius have small glory,
Parrallel'd with my Deathless story:
I the Greeks vanquish't, all Epire,
I tam'd, and with vindictive ire,
Made the squat bodied Tartars stoope,
Th' Assyrians under me did droope,
Likewise the Arabs, fierce and wilde,
I Persia, and Hungaria spoild,
Rhodes I had tane by Martiall strife,
Had the three Sisters spar'd my life:
Death in the twinkling of an eye
Forc'd me to a Satietie,
So perished the Pride of Glory,
Proving all things but Transitory.

Epig. 7. To the brave and beautious Lady, the Lady I. G.

Circe the Enchanteresse (who as Homer relates) transformed rationall men into the similitude of bruite Beasts.

Circe , not onely was a Sorceresse,
But also Lais Function did professe,
By her loose postures many were enthrall'd,
Most aptly she's Hyperions Daughter call'd,
Because her filthinesse to every eye
Was obvious, by her Impudicitie,
Lascivious gestures, and her wanton tricks,
(More base then any London Meretrix)
Shee caused men, of honest Morallists
To become Brutish, and meere Sensualists:
“Man by the Gods was framed Just, and Free,
“But innate guile forfeits his puritie.
Thus did she Metamorphose Men to Beasts,
So he (bright Lady) on your beauty feasts,
Sol's Daughters Soporiferous draught doth drink,
Let me be Gryll, or what you please to think,
Not any sordid shape will I eschew,
Some Bristled Swine, so I may grunt neare you.

Epig. 8. Silvesters Translation of Du-Bartas, His Divine Weeks, and Works.

'Twere no absurdity to question it,
Whether the great Du-Bartas better writ,
Or Silvester translated, quaintly rare
Is his conversion, had he rested there
His Fame had been advanced to the skies,
Now groveling, clog'd with his own Fripperies.

Epig. 9. On the pollution of a well known Temple.

Now birds, and Four-foot-beasts inhabite where,
The Sacred Fathers er'st assembled were,
The Porches full of noble Imagerie,
Oppressed with their own weight, prostrate lie,
Fanes lie full low,
Grasse on Tombs do grow,
So many adornments, rare workes, Sepulchers
And sacred Urnes, one ruine now interr's.

Epig 10. The celebration of a Health to my jovial Friend, James Gort Esquire.

See Sir, here flowes a curious Cup
Of sparkling Nectar, full charg'd up
To'th'brim, her sprightly dauncing bubbles,
(Defying feares, and duller troubles
Of care-clog'd hearts) look how they swell
In proud disdaine, as threatning Hell,
As if she meant to undertake
A Duell, with th' Infernall Lake,
See how she mantles, with what grace
She sweetly smiles upon thy Face:
Drink Sir, (a fig for Fooles, and Wealth)
This Sea to Claracillas health.

Epig. 11. Defacing of Images

If that all Images defac'd should be,
(My Friends) I'me sure, you would not scape Scot-free.

Epig. 12. To the Pamphleters of these times.

Forbeare fond Pamphleters, forbeare to vex,
The giddy world, as with an Apoplex,
Cease rayling Rabsheka's cease to disclose,
And vent such poyson in prophaner Prose,
Whose Basilisk-like Vapors seeme t'impaire
The squeasie temper of the troubled Ayre.

Epig. 13. To John Taylor (commonly called) the Water-Poet.

If ever I did drink, or taste one drop
Of Hellicon, or coveted the top
Of craggy cliv'd Parnassus, if that I
Did ever pipe or sing Harmoniously,
Then let my censure find a free accesse
To those that make thee more, making thee lesse:
I say thy Lines are fluent, and thy Layes
(I do avowch't, not partiall in my praise)
[Some Cockle cast away] are such to mee,
That when I read'em, I'me in Love with thee,
And sighing say, had this man Learning known,
(Who hath so quaint a Genius of his own)
Great Ben had crept to's Urne without a Name,
And Taylor solely slept i'th' house of Fame.

Epig. 14. Modest, Martha .

VVhen to thy Husband I resort,
Wee sometimes jest, and talk in sport,
And if that any word obsceane,
Do passe, thou askt's us, what me meane,
With lookes demure thou silently
Dost sit, as one lov'd Pietie,
Yet I one day unwares came in
Ere thou had'st time to shrowd thy sin,
And found in those faire hands of thine
The filthy workes of Aretine.

Epig. 15. Lactantius, his strange opinion of that Text of Scripture, Gen. 6. 2. Then the Sonnes of God saw the Daughters of Men that they were faire, and they took them Wives, &c.

To the Faire and Courteous Mistress, R. H.

The Angles, whom their mighty Lord
Appointed mankind for to Guard,
With this Command, they should take heed
How they Commixt with humane seed,
And so polluted, did become
Unfit for blest Elizium.
Yet could not scape the Paphian Gin,
Jehovah sees, and hates their Sin,
And now as uselesse properties,
Secludes them from celestiall Blisse
Thrown down, ne're to returne againe
Fell Satan, doth them entertaine
His Agents, their prodigious brood,
(Not harmefull Fiends, nor Angels good)
Not mortall, nor aëriall Spirits,
Suffer not for their Fathers merits,
To Barathum they were not sent,
Nor yet up to Olympus went,
Two sorts of Devils there became,
The one we may Celestiall name,
T'other Terrestiall, thus farr hee,
Whose profound Ingenuitie,
All men admire, but he forgot,
That Heavenly Spirits cannot blot,
Their puritie by such a deed
Not capable of humane seed,
But this (bright Mistress) makes for me,
If to Lactantius you'l agree:
For if the Angels could not tame,
The force of Æricinas flame,
No marvell I am scorcht to dust,
Serv'd up an Oglio unto Lust.

Epig. 16. My Imprisonment in Whittington for Writing Mercurius Elencticus .

Most strange it seemes unto the Vulgar rout,
That, that which thrust me in, should guard me out,
My Soule with no engagement's clog'd, but thus
My gaining life, strook dead Elencticus.

Epig. 17. In Memory of our Famous Shakespeare .

Epig. 18. Pimponello, Flambello, A Dialogue.

Flambello.
Happy Pimpinello, thou
Thriv'st, I prithee tell me how,

Pimpinello.
Learn of me for to engage
If thoul't thrive this Iron Age,
Pleasures at the highest pitch,
Pandora onely can make rich,
No gold, nor meed is held too deare
To buy a Beauty for a yeare,
To sin securely, swim in pleasure,
Twice six Moneths:

Flambello.
If that Treasure
May so facily be wonne,
I have a Daughter, she shall shunne
No wealthy Letcher.

Pimpinello.
A match, our Trade
Shall last till Sin, and Pleasure fade.

Epig. 19. To Mr. James Ford, his Medalls being Miraculously preserved from fire.

Vulcan to save these Monuments
Suffocates his own flaming Vents,
The Elements themselves had sence,
(By a coactive Providence)
Their Father Ayre, and Mother Earth,
Bridled their fury in its birth,
As when they choak't Enceladus,
For Anapis, and Amphinomus,
For which (Sir) you ought every day
A Jocund Vulcanalia say.

Epig. 20. Our Blessed Redeemer (in scorne) by the Cursed Jewes, cloathed in White Rayment.

Almighty and Omniscient, thus thy Power
Was visible, even in that very hower,
When Satans yre, was most predominant,
(When the thing made did 'gainst its Maker vant:)
Wrapt in an Alball, (though on vile pretence
The perfect Emblem of thy Innocence).
Unwittingly they did Mithologize
Thou wert to die a spotlesse Sacrifice,
Thus wert thou Typified by Samuels deed
Then when he made a sucking Lambe to bleed,
And Israel, was Victorious ore his foe,
By thy deare blood, we quell Apollion So.

Epig. 21. Mortimer, and Queene Isabel ,

A Dialogue.

MORTIMER.
Now, now, securely we may clip
Not fearing Edwards Ire,
Let me suck Nectar from thy lip,
And 'bove the gods aspire.

ISSABEL.
Yet, our embraces are but stol'n
No safety, can I see,
The Commons, are with anger swol'n,
And rage 'gainst thee and me.

MORTIMER.
Let the Plebeians mutter all,
All is our own (my Deare)
Confirmed in Canarvans fall
Which I expect to heare.

ISSABEL.
Is Gurney gone to do the deed,
Our Loves Foundation
Is layd in blood. Mortimer. Edward must bleed,
This night (my Love) t'is done.

ISSABEL.
I, that when Edward was a King
Enthron'd, by all obeyd,
Durst love thee, now do feare the thing
I shake,—We are betray'd.

MORTIMER.
Betrayd, me thinks thy Noble Soul
Should not be timorous,
Who's he dares Mortimer controule?
Fate must not menace us.

ISSABEL.
I could rejoyce that he were dead,
But that I durst conspire
To macerate his vitall thread
Is horrible and Dire.

MORTIMER.
In that, in that alone (faire Queen)
Thy Love is manifest,
All had been nought, had this not been
In sanguine Lines expre'st.

ISSABEL.
Then let our Loves obstructer die,
But I Prognosticate,
Many, that his Throne shall supplie,
Shall taste the selfe-same Fate.

MORTIMER.
No matter, I am sure my brow
Shall ne're empaled be,
With Brittains wreath, a Crown I know
Was not ordain'd for mee.

ISSABEL.
Oh, but unhappie Edwards Sonne,
See'st not how he does lower,
Hee knowes, although a Child, what's done,
He must ere long have power.

MORTIMER.
But I'le anticipate his time,
The Boy shall to his Syre,
That he is Edwards is his Crime,
Ere long he shall expire.

ISSABEL.
But my distress'd Soule doth Divine
Thou by his rage shalt Perish,
I justly in a Prison pine,
That durst such Treason cherish.

Epig. 22. To the hopefull and excellently Ingenious, Mr. John Quarles.

It were a Treason, 'gainst Apollo's Gam,
Should I not consecrate one Epigram
To thee (sweet Quarles) whose Person though I ne'r
Did blesse my eyes with, I affect most dear,
Heyre to thy Fathers Genius, Hee whose Braine
Measur'd the Earth, and Fathomed the Maine,
Whose Theologick Layes I do admire,
Who drew the Starr's down with his Thespian Lyre.
How like thy Father dost thou strike the Strings,
Soaring aloft, borne on those very wings
Rap't him to the third Heaven, where hee's now,
Wearing as faire an Anadem on's brow
As god-like Bartas claimes, go thou but on,
And doubt not of a Chaplet, and a Throne.

Epig. 23. On Mr. Chapmans Incomparable Translation of Homers Workes.

VVhat none before durst ever venture on,
Unto our wonder is by Chapman done,
Who by his skill hath made great Homers Song
To vaile it's Bonnet to our English tongue,
So that the Learned well may question it,
Whether in Greek, or English Homer writ?
O happy Homer, such an able Pen
To have for thy Translator, happier then
Ovid, or Uirgil, who beyond their strength
Are stretcht, each Sentence neare a Mile in length:
But our renoun'd Chapman worthy praise,
And meriting the never blasted Bayes,
Had rendered Homer in a genuine sence,
Yea, and hath added to his Eloquence:
And in his Comments, his true sence doth shew,
Telling Spondanus, what he ought to know;
Eusthatius, and all that on them take
Great Homers Mistick meaning plaine to make,
Yeeld him more dark, with farr fetcht Allegories,
Sometimes mistaking, clean, his learned Stories:
As 'bout the flie Menalaus did inspire,
Junos retreat, Achilles strange desire;
But he, to his own sence doth him restore,
And Comments on him better then before
Any could do, for which (with Homer) wee
Will yeeld all Honour to his Memory.

Epig. 24. Epitaph on Mr. Flood .

Reader, thou need'st no Inundation feare,
Yet be it known a Flood's Imprisoned here.

Epig. 25. To Mr. E. G.

You say, (Sir) that I do obscurely live,
And my retyr'dnesse doth suspicion give,
Fame (you say) on wings doth flie,
“Whole aves himselfe, doth living die,
'Tis true, I do in darknesse goe,
That I am thought-bound well I know,
Honour I seek not, I flight Fame,
I feele within, what those do blame
That are without, I scorn, 'tis true
The World, it me, I honour you.

Epig. 26. Epitaph on Mr. James Gourd a singing-man.

Here lies a Chorister, whose voice appli'd
Unto the Organ, oft hath dignifi'd
His maker, who so likt his Carroling,
He took him into heaven there to sing.

Epig. 27. To the Parliament of England .

You are the Braine, the Liver and the Heart,
Wee are the Hands
Of this great Body, and the Vitall part,
The Feet whereon it stands,
The Bones, and Bulke, which must the Burthen beare,
Therefore without offence
With you wee (sure) may claime an equall share,
'Specially in the Common sence.

Epig. 28. To Mr. Edward Gosling pittying my want of Books.

The rage of these rude times hath snatch'd away
My Books, from Æsop to Mirandula,
I now for Books have 'bove my head the skies,
The Truth for Light, and Reason for my Eyes,
Under me Earth, about me Ayre, and Sea,
Vertue for Guide, and Nature for my Way,
And truth to say, in Books, as Clouds, men see
Of whose Embracements, Centaures gotten be.

Epig. 29. A Paralell.

As Humours drawn up from the Ground
Are unto many Functions bound,
'Cause of their native property,
And climes through which their journeys be,
Some Meteors, that amaze below,
Some Comets, that fore-threaten woe,
Some hailestones, that afflict the earth,
Some raine, which hastens every birth,
Lightning and Thunder made of those
Cold regions double heates inclose:
So is mankind in other fashion
Rais'd and let fall with his own passion,
Form'd, Transformed, made instruments
In many shapes, and many vents,
Feeding great men, as Vapours do,
And vading Scourge their Parents too:
Some mishap'd Meteors terrifying
True Spirits, under Tyrants lying,
Others like Windes, and made to blow
To breath themselves, and overthrow
Others, some like Dewes where they touch,
Exhalation-like, some flame too much,
Catching in heates of power and will,
Thunders, and Flames, t'amaze and kill.

Epig. 30. To Mr. John Sob, of these times.

Fame, and Religion but assure
Vaine man, to give wounds, and endure,
Those Princes still most famous are,
Who staine most earth with blood in warre,
As when windes 'mongst themselves do jarre,
So restlesse humours bring forth warre,
Seas then are tost, the waves do fight,
The people beare the wounds of might,
All the diseases of the head
Descending till the Limbs be dead.

Epig. 31. The Character of an accomplisht Man.

Epig. 32. To his Excellency, the Lord Generall Cromwell .

Sir, Power is proud, till it look down to Feare,
Though onely safe, by ever looking there,
Kings Thrones were ever like enchanted fires,
Mighty to see, and easie to passe over:
The Torrid Zone of Tyranny retyres
Into the Frigid, and can ne're recover
Its Pristine Station, when t'is dislocated
By Providence, and Power ingemminated:
Sir, I confesse when one man ruleth all,
There Feare and Care, are secret wayes of Wit,
Where all must rise, and onely one must fall,
Safety aspire, and care must manage it.
“Dead men are onely trusted by the wise,
“On speechlesse Formes we may securely rise.
Those Spirits of Practise that contend with Fate,
Must by their Deaths do Honour to a State,
New counsells must be had, when Plannets fall,
“Change hath her Periods, and is naturall.

Epig. 33. To the profoundly Learned, and unparalleld Antiquary, John Selden Esquire.

Thou living Library, the admiration
Of this our Borean Clime; who know'st each Nation
Their Origen, Lawes, Ceremonies, all
Their Customes triviall, or authenticall,
All which thou hast narrated with such skill,
That (more then Cambdens) all admier thy Quill,
Scalliger's but a Puple unto thee,
(The very Basis of Antiquitie)
Sufficient Characters to expresse all things
Thou hast, nor need'st thou Metaphorick wings:
For all the Earth is thine, a Caspian Sea
Thou art, and all Brookes sally into thee,
But like the Ocean, thou giv'st back farr more
To those clear springs, then thou receiv'st before;
From thee true living Wisdome doth proceed,
Thou hast the art of Eloquence (indeed)
What bold presumption is it (then) in me
To dedicate my Epigrams to thee,
Yet so I dare to do, that all may know
I wish the censure of the rigid'st brow.

Epig. 34. Not to wonder at the Monstrositie of these times.

Mens Vices, Beasts chiefe Virtues are,
The shames of Peace, the pride of Warr.

Epig. 35. To Mall my Wife.

Dearest Love, I pray thee tell,
Is not he an Infidell,
That conceiv's thy dainty sex
Were onely made for to perplex
Wretched mankind, and that the Gods,
Fram'd the first woman, when at odds:
The Whore Pandora with her Box
Brought healing medicines, not the Pox.
Hesiod was beside his sence
When he divulg'd with impudence
All the Plagues that fall on man
From Pandora first began.
O my Deare, whom I preferre
Above my Life, my wished Starre,
In whose embraces I do sleep,
When I have folded up my Sheep,
Let not any casualty,
Any harsh Adversitie
Dull thy noble sence, or yet
Force thee 'gainst thy starrs to fret,
Philemon, and poor Baucis, who
Liv'd in penury, and woe,
By Saturnus and his Sonne
Were visited and Favours wonne,
When mighty Kings their Persons wanted,
Let nought make thee and I be daunted.
But what need I advertize thee,
Whose copious Ingenuitie,
Athenia makes more jealous farre
Then when Arachne challeng'd her,
The Gods, I'me sure, appointed thee
As onely fit, my Wife to bee:
Juno, and Hymen, both delight
To waite on us, let Fortunes spight
But give us cause of mirth, the Graces
Do waite on us, and our Embraces.

Epig. 36. The Conclusion.

'Tis done, but (Englishman) if thou will't sit
As Judge, be sure thou hast a Latine wit.

The SOCRATICK SESSION,

OR The Arraignment and Conviction, of Julius Scaliger.

To the Author on his Socratick Session.

'Twas boldly ventur'd (Friend) what, to defie,
And fight with him, with whom all do complie,
Most out of feare, and others of affection,
This 'tis to have Apollo's grand protection:
Such a Dilinquent Scaliger was ever,
He hath been blam'd, (till now) arraigned never:
How doth the grand Mœonian Bard rejoyce
To hear the sound of thy Stentorian voyce,
Reverberated by the Trump of Fame,
Purging his Honour, Deifying his Name:
Such power is in thy spell, (not like Medea
To raise up Pluto) but call down Astrea,
That at thy summons all the witts do come,
And for thy sake, forsake Elizium:
Their censure's just, and so is mine, thy Praise
Should not be Thankes, but Anadems of Bayes.

The SOCRATICK SESSION,

OR The Parliament of Poets, Containing, The Arraignment, and Conviction OF Julius Scaliger.

The Persons in this Parliament.

• ORPHEUS.
• LINUS.
• HESIOD.
• MUSEUS.
• MENANDER.
• ARISTOPHANES.
• SOPHOCLES.
• EURIPIDES.
• PINDAR.
• ANACREON.
• THEOCRITUS.
• ÆSCHELINUS.
• APOLLONIUS.
• JUVENAL.
• VIRGIL.
• SENECA.
• MARTIUS.
• CAPELLA.
• LUCRETIUS.
• HORACE.
• PERSIUS.
• MARTIAL.
• OVID.
• LUCAN.
• STATIUS.
• CLAUDIAN.
• TIBULLUS.
• MANTUAN.
• PROPERTIUS.
• CATULLUS.
• AUSONIUS.
• PALINGENIUS.
• MANILLIUS.
• BOETHIUS.
• HOMER, (as a mute)
• SCALIGER, the Delinquent.
• APOLLO, President.
• NEMESIS, A Furie employed.
• THE CONVOCATION HOUSE.
• CASTALIA.
• MERCURY, Cryer of the Court.

Mercury.
O yes, O Yes, come on, come on,
Ye tiplers of cleare Helicon,
Here take your seates, ye wise, and grave,
And cramme up this Castalian Cave,
No matter though you sit all night,
Since countenanc'd by the god of light.

Apollo, With A Traine Of Bards.
Apollo
to Homer.
Sit here (grave Sir) or else more rather
Fill that Throne, my most honour'd Father,
Thy Dorick Lyre
Made th'Heavenly Quire
More wonder, and more joccund farre
Then when I sung the Gyants Warre:
The rest (Hermes) I leave to thee,
Place each man, as is his Degree.

Mercury.
Orpheus, Linus, Hesiod,
Who gav'st a birth to every God:
You three
Accompany,
Unlesse you please for to preferre
This ancient School-Master
To your Societie;

ORP. LIN.
He merits it,
Is not this he Leander writ?

Mercury.
The same, why heres Menander too,
Faith (Sir) we did look for you.
Please (Sir) to be
Alone, You ere lov'd singularity,
Pray take your ease,
Sir, Aristophanes,
With Sophocles,
And Euripides,
You need not brawle—
For roome, this Forme will hold you all,
This seat must be reserv'd alone
For Pindar, and Anacreon,
They come amongst the rest for to discusse,
What! my smooth Theocritus,
Most accute in every Page,
Possess'd with Lymphatick Rage,
Here are no Neat-heards—sit thee down,
Whence comes this muffled Clown?

Pindar.
Oh tis our Friend
Æschelinus, see his head
Is wounded, some Malevolent Feind
Shap'd like an Eagle.

Mercury.
Tread
Softly, for feare
Hyperion heare,
Whose wrath I must expect to beare,
If any I admit to come
With a crack't pericranium.
Good Sir come in,
The game is ready to begin,
Here onely wants
You, and your Argonantes.

Apollonius Enters.
The Grecians all are marshal'd for the Fight,
Now let me ranke Æneas off-spring Right.
Virgil Enters.
Stay (Sir) have you the face
To claim a place
'Fore Juvenal, we know your Muse
Juvenal preferred before Virgil by Mercury.
Did the Mœonian, and Ascræan use,
Him no supply,
All sprang from his own Ingenuitie.
Now you may sit
Having done homage to his Wit,
Make way
For Seneca.
Seneca Enters. A Scuffle for Superioritie.
Nay be not angry (Sirs) for you must know it,
Hee's a Peripatetick, and a Poet.
Martius Capella Enters.
The like to us
Art thou (sweet Martius,)
Lucretius Enters.
And thou Lucretius,
Sit yee together, be not vex't
Deare Horace, thou art next.
Horace Enters with Persius.
Horace.
I cannot Persius brook,
H'as such a crabbed look.

Mercury.

Martial Enters.
—You have been mist
Quaint Epigrammatist.
Ovid Enters.
Oh Sir, y've lost the Day,
By your too tardy stay,
Admired Naso t'would not please,
If we should Metamorphose these
Already seated, 'twould become
Another Tristium.
Therefore, though great
In worth, there take thy seate.
Apollo.

Lucan And Statius next Apollo.
Yee worthy paire, who did great Acts reherse,
In farre more mighty and Immortall Verse,
It is your due,
That I should honour you.—here sit.
Mer.

Claudian Enters, with Tibullus, Propertius, Catullus, Ausonius, Palingenius, Manillius, Boethius.
Sit Claudian, now approach Tibullus,
Propertius, Mantuan, and Catullus,
Ausonius, Palingenius too,
(Sir) here is hardly roome for you,
Yet enter, th'ast a throate
Will help make up the Vote.
Mercury.
By the faith of gods, and men
You have undone us Gentlemen,
You cannot now inherit
The places which you merit.

Manil.
Wee'l onely bee spectators.

Boe,
We
Will not disturbe the Company.

Mercury.
Your assent,
Must mix in this great Parliament,
Sweet Naso is alone
Without Companion,
You two sit next him.

Apollo.
Are all plac'd?

Mer.
Yes Sir, with much adoe, at last.

Apollo.

Nemesis enters with Scaliger, places him at the Barre.
Mer.
Rhamnusian Nemesis—appear
With the Cur'st Critick Scaliger.
Great light, he doth refuse to kneele.

Apol.
Whip him (stern Feind) and let him feele
Thy strokes.

Scal.

Scalliger tormented.

Hold, hold, I am content,
Oh, wherefore am I hither sent?

Apol.

Scal.
My guilty sence
Cannot afford me so much impudence
For to deny
My treachery.
Great Phœbus, I acknowledge my offence,
By thy bright selfe, I sweare,
I held great Homer deare:
His Poesie
As sung by thee,
Above all humane wit did seem to me,
Yet by Ambition lead,
I rashly censured
His most incomparable works; as low
That by eclipsing him, I great may grow.

Apollo.
This Ingenious free confession
Mitigates much of the Transgression,
But must not Anticipate
The destin'd rigour of thy fate.
You heare (great Rivall) and the rest
Of my lov'd Sonns, this Critick hath confest
His Treachery, but thers no reason,
Acknowledgement should expiate a Treason,
Great Homer must not be
His Judge, do you decree
Each give his verdict,
But Impartially.—Speak dearest Son—

Scaliger Censured.
Orpheus.
Unto a Rock of yce.
Let him be chain'd.

Linus.
To expiate his vice
With Ixion, give him torture on a wheele.

Hesiod.
Tantalus torment let him feele.

Museus.
I still must sing as I was wont,
Plunge him (Leander like) i'th Helespont.

Menander.
Let Cerberus still worrie him, or let
Him to the chin in Phlegeton be set.

Sophoc.
Let him be given into Ænyos hand.

Euripides.
Let fell Mægera lash him with her brand.

Pindar.
In a steepe gulph of fire
Let him howle, and nere expire.

Anacreon.
Falling ever
From on high,
Wishing still
A greater ill,
And yet never,
Any other torture try.

Lucan.
His Critick Soule into some flesh preferre.
Destin'd by Fate to be a School-Master.

Statius.
Or else by power Divine,
Seclude it in some Swine.

Æschelinus.
Titius Kites still teare his heart.

Apollonius.
Horror from him never part.

Juvenal.
Beneath mount Ætna give him place
With the Ringleaders, of the snakefoot-race,
Once darted mountaines at Joves face.

Virgil.
Sysiphus snow-ball let him roule.

Seneca.
Let the three Furies teare his Soule
Eternally, with furious ire.

Martius Capella.
Confine him to that Lake of fire
Gyrts Erebus.

Lucretius.
I confirm his Vote.

Horace.
Let Sulphur down his throate
Continually be powr'd.

Persius.
Let him give ease
Unto the Belides,
And ever mourn,
Filling the fatall Urne.

Ovid.
Let him still curse his Fate,
While he the Elizian Joyes doth contemplate.

Claudian.
Charons assotiate let him be
To ferrie,
Soules in his Wherrie,
And tug the oare, till the earth dissolved be.

Tibullus.
And then be cag'd with swart Tysiphone.

Propertius.
Sodoms destruction still inviron him.

Mantua.
Ever in black Cocytus let him swim.

Ausonius.
Seat him where Nero sits.

Catullus.
Place him on
Some ever-flaming Grydion.

Pal.
The like I Vote.

Manilus.
Let him still melt, and ne're expire
In THIESTES sickly fire.

Boethius.
With Homers Momus (Lucian) seat him,
And let his Fancy ever cheat him.

Apollo.
These are your Votes.

Omnes
They are.

Apollo.
A Shout.

Omnes.
Thankes great Apollo, Heaven and Earth
Still blesse thy Beames.

Apollo.
Now all be gon,
Thus endeth our SOCRATICK SESSION.

Mercury.

Hyperion, a name of Apollo.

Hyperion, and Homer all alone,
Are flown up to the milkie path,
And now every Bard that hath
Place in Elizium, follow me along,
Each Prophet chaunting a Triumphant song.

A MAUSOLEAN MONUMENT, ERECTED By a Sorowfull Sonne over His Deceased Parents: With Three Pastorals. Two of them alluding to some Late Proceedings between Parties. By S. Shepard.

FUNERAL ELLEGIES.

An Ellegie On The Death Of My Most Deare And Reverend Father, Doctor Harman Sheppard, who Deceased Iuly 12. 1639.

An Ellegie On The Death Of My Deare And Truly Vertuous Mother, Mis. Pettronella Sheppard, Who Deceased September 10. 1650.

THE ADVENTUROUS Bard. OR (UXORIOUS) ORPHEUS His Descent.

Euridice
To Orpheus.
What madness thus confounds
Thy self and me, stern Fates surprize
Me back, Deaths slumbers close my eyes,
Farwell; Im'e summond, and must goe
Back to the yron Isle of Woe:

PASTORALS.

The FIRST PASTORAL.

Amarillis. Claius.

The SECOND PASTORAL.

Amintas. Admetas.

Admetas.
Amintas wherefore dost thou moane
As if all thy joyes were gone,
Up man, leave this uncouth shade,
This tenebrous and fatall glade,
Where none but Satyrs us'd to prance,
And the nimble Faeries daunce;
See, thy sheep go all astray,
Thy belt and scrip is stol'n away,
Thy pipe lies neere the Brook in twaine,
Chear up, O thou dejected Swaine.

Amintas.
Cease (good Admetas) thy harsh din,
And know I suffer for my sin,
Under this broad spreading Beech,
Whose curled front to Heaven doth reach,
I'le lie, and listen to the Owle,
And languishing sigh out my Soule.

Admetas.
So to dare thy frowning Fate,
Argues thee madly desperate,
Most loved Shepheard, what may be
The cause of thy great miserie?

Amintas.
O Friend, t'will but augment my griefe,

Admetas.
To breath one woe is some reliefe,
All the Shepheards of the plaine
Mourn for thee delicious Swaine,
They sorrow that thy Pipe is still,
Which came so near to Astrophill,
Yea, wont aswell to please the route,
As the rare Layes of Collin Clout:
Their Oaten Reeds they also break,
And make great sorrow for thy sake.

Amintas.
May they be happy, I am lost,
Split when I hope to harbour most,
I feell the frozen hand of death,
But yet before I yeeld my Breath,
Ile tell thee (dear Friend) ere thou goe,
The cause and progresse of my woe.

Admetas.
Here Il'e lie down, proceed to tell,

Amintas.
Admetas hear and mark mee well,
Thou knewst faire Cloris, lovely faire,
Who tyed wing'd Cupid in her haire,
The little god being glad to stay,
Did with his golden-fetters play,
Lovely as Hebe, fairer farre
Then she the plumpe god made a starre;
As coldly chaste as ere was she,
Titan turnd to Lawrell tree,
Wise as Tritonia, her bright eyes,
Dazl'd Apollo in his rise,
Her forehead cheerefull, corrall lip'd,
Her cheekes were Roses in milk dipt,
Fingers such as Aurora faire
When pleating her old Tythons haire,
This goddesse of my life and I
(Joynd in mutuall amitie)
By Hymen to the Temple led,
Dame Flora having deckd our bed,
To add unto our active sports
Fortune who still our wishes thwarts
Joyning with Atropos conspired,
To kill the thing I so desired,
Chloris in the Temple dies,
Her Nuptialls are her Obsequies.

Admetas.
Most gentle Shepheard I confesse,
Thou hast great cause of heavinesse,
But wise men have concluded still
Tis vaine to waile an helplesse ill.

Amintas.
Her memory remaines with me,
Although her body buried be,
Ye purling brooks, who murmuring
Still run on errands to your King,
Earth-shaking Neptune, bid him rore
Untill he do eat up the shore,
And let his Tritons loud resound
The cause, and dolour of my wound,
Both Death, and Destinie, and Hell,
Avernus, where the Furies dwell,
With the loathsome stream of Stix,
In their Counsels do commix
For to rob me of my Blisse,
Staying my Love in shadie Dis.

Admetas.
What frenzie doth possess thy brain,
O thou late most honoured Swaine?
But Love I know no Law abides,
Since his great power, Heaven guides,
And all things that on earth survive,
Without they love they never thrive.
“Love altereth nature, ruleth Reason,
“Makes vice a Virtue, Virtue Treason.
Iove, whose voice Olympus shakes,
Love, to be transformed makes.
Love caus'd Hypollitus with briers
(Shunning Phædras lustfull fires)
To be out of his Chariot born,
And into many peices torn.
Love layd Absyrtus limbs o'th Strand,
Scattered by his Sisters hand,
Forc'd Pasiphæ that impious trull)
To the embraces of a Bull.
Love great Alcides did betray,
And while upon Polixena
Achilles doated, he was slaine,
(Rhamnusia so her will did gaine.)
Love, smooth Leander did compell
To swim the Helespont so well.
No marvell then that thou art tane
(Admintas) thus unto thy bane,
These were with living beauties fir'd
By thee a dead Maid is desir'd.

Amintas.
Admetas, cease t'upbraid my will,
'Lesse thou hast Podalyrius skill,
And with thy oyntments canst asswage
The fire that in my heart doth rage,
In direfull sobbing, sighs and teares,
Perpetuall plaints Il'e spend my years,
On Rocks, in Dens, and deserts I
Will breath my woes incessantly,
Farewell for ever, my deare Flocks,
Ye Woods, ye Rivers, and ye Rocks,
A black stone ever on this day,
Let each true Lover cast away;
On which let Titan never shine,
But let the clustering clouds combine
For to obscure the sight of day,
And dim the glories of his ray,
Let loathsome snakes loud hissing keep,
And scaly fishes leave the deep,
To come on shore, let scritch-owles sing
Myrtles wither, Willowes spring;
Dearest Chloris, see I come
To meet thee in Elizium.

The THIRD PASTORAL.

Linus. Coridon.

Linus.
Come Coridon sit down by me,
Our flocks securely feeding be,
While Phœbus beames do parch the earth,
Giving the slime of Nilus birth,
An houre weel wholly spend in chat,
Finding discourse of this, and that.

Coridon.
I list not spend my time so ill,
But yet because it is your will,
Il'e sit, though much against my mind,
Now—what talk with me will you find.

Linus.
Indeed I know thou lov'st to heare
Of nought, but how thy Oxe will beare
His yoke, and when thy sheep to sheare,
That thou mayst make a gainefull yeare,
But yet to mee more pleasant is
To hear Tytirus play I wis
Upon his oaten Reed, while hee
Doth make delitious mellodie,
(As once to Orpheus Harp) each tree
Does nod, Beasts of the wood agree
To cast aside their furious kind,
And take to them a gentle mind,
While he records in pleasant verse
Sweettales of Love, and doth rehaerse
His dreames and songs, the stones do move.

Coridon.
O foole with fancies much in love,
I wot not what Tytirus was,
Nor for his tales and songs, do passe,
But yet I pray thee let me heare
Yet more of this fantastick geare,
If they were Shepheards like as we.

Linus.
O Coridon that cannot be,
They passe us Swainlings all as farr,
As doth the Moon the smallest Star,
But I to thee will now display
What I have heard my Father say.
Next unto Tytirus there came
One that deservd a greater name,
Then was bestowed, but when She swaid,
Whom to this day some call a Maid,
Then Collin Clout his pipe did sound,
Making both Heaven and Earth resound;
The Shepheards all both farre and near
About him flock'd his layes to hear,
And for his songs he was so fam'd,
He was the Prince of Shepheards nam'd:
And next to him was the sweet quill
Of far renowned Astrophil
Admired, who whether that he chose
To pipe in Verse or else in Prose,
Was held the bravest swain to be,
Ere folded Flocks in Arcadie:
After him rose as sweet a Swaine,
As ever pip'd upon the Plain,
He sang of warres, and Tragedies
He warbled forth, on him the eyes
Of all the Shepheards fixed were,
Rejoycing much his songs to hear.
And then liv'd He who sweetly sung,
Orlandos fate in his own tongue,
Who would not deigne t'divulge his own,
But by another would be known,
O gentle Shepheard we to thee
Are bound in a supream degree.
And after him a swain arose,
In whom sweet Ovids Spirit chose
For to reside, he sang of Love,
How Cupid Ladies hearts can move,
And each how large the Continent
Of Arcadie is in extent,
He praisd his maker in his Layes,
And from a King receiv'd the Bayes.

Coridon.
Although thy words a mistery
Include, not understood by me,
Yet these I think our Fathers were,
Have we none now their names to bear?
And able are their Pipes to sound
As lowd as those so much renownd.

Linus.
Yes Coridon, Ile tell thee then,
Not long agoe liv'd learned Ben,
He whose songs, they say, out-vie
All Greek and Latine Poesie,
Who chanted on his pipe Divine,
The overthrow of Cataline,
Both Kings and Princesses of might,
To heare his Layes did take delight,
The Arcadian Shepheards wonder all,
To heare him sing Sejanus fall,
O thou renowned Shepheard, we
Shall ne're have one againe like thee,
With him contemporary then,
(As Naso, and fam'd Maro, when
Our sole Redeemer took his birth)
Shakespeare trod on English earth,
His Muse doth merit more rewards
Then all the Greek, or Latine Bards,
What flowd from him, was purely rare,
As born to blesse the Theater,
He first refin'd the Commick Lyre,
His Wit all do, and shall admire,
The chiefest glory of the Stage,
Or when he sung of war and Strage,
Melpomene soon viewd the globe,
Invelop'd in her sanguine Robe,
He that his worth would truely sing,
Must quaffe the whole Pierian spring.
And now—(be gone ye gastfull feares
Alas I cannot speak for teares)
There is a Shepheard cag'd in stone
Destin'd unto destruction,
Worthy of all before him were,
Apollo him doth first preferre,
Renowned Lawreate be comtent,
Thy workes are thine own Monument.
Apollo still affords supply,
For the Castalian Fount's nere drie,
Two happy wits, late brightly shone,
The true sonnes of Hyperion,
Fletcher, and Beaumont, who so wrot,
Iohnsons Fame was soon forgot,
Shakespeare no glory was alow'd,
His Sun quite shrunk beneath a Cloud:
These had been solely of esteem,
Had not a Sucklin Rivald them.
Sucklin

Sir John Sucklin.

, whose neat superior phrase
At once delights, and doth amaze,
Serene, sententious, of such worth,
I want fit words to set it forth,
Exactly excellent, I think,
He us'd Nepenthe stead of Inke,
In this he all else doth out-do,
At once hee's grave, and sportive too.
And next to him well rankt may be
He, whose Pipe melodiously
Doth sound, who for his well-tun'd Layes,
May before Plautus claim the Bayes,
Whose Commick straines, and Tragick sounds,
Do ecchoe all about our grounds:
O gentle Shepheard still pipe on,
Still take deep draughts of Helicon,
And thou'lt be rankt I make no doubt
With Tytirus and Collin Clout.

Coridon.
Come let us rise, I wonder why,
Thou'lt spend thy time so foolishly,
By this we might our traps have set,
The Wolfe within our toiles to get,
Have made new Hurdles for our fold,
While we have heard these stories told,
That are not worth a lock of wooll,

Linus.
Wisely to speak unto a Foole
Is madnesse, come, bright Sol declines,
And glimmering on the Hills he shines.
Lets fold our flocks, which done, then I
My self will to my pipe apply.

ANINTOR. MARTAGON.

Martagon.
Now Titans heat the mountaines Snow dissolves,
All pleasing Ver in her smooth arme involves
Meadowes, and Woods, and like some gawdy Queen
Weares various colours, but delights in green,
Here let us sit, and descant on our Fate,
This Poplar to Alcides dedicate.

Amintor.
Rather beneath yon branched balefull Yew,
That Pitch tree, or black Yvie in our view,
Lets throw our selves, and with alternate cries,
Force audience from the deafned Dieties,
Who seem to flie from our complaints and us,
As once from Typhon, and great Iapetus.

Martagon.
Here we hunt Bores with a loopt Spanish Dart,
Take Cranes in springes by the Phrygian Art,
Farre from our Native, &c. ------ Ol ------ Yle,
On which when thou Olympick Jove didst smile,
Nor fertile Ægypt, nor rich Lydia more,
Nor Medes, nor Parthians did their ------ adore,
Divine Amintor change thy oaten Pipe,
For the shrill Trumpet, and the solemne Fife,
To Panopea, Glaucus, Inoes boy,
Whole heards of Beeves, and sheep, we will destroy,
When thou imbarkst with thy Iberian traine,
To win thy own Ruina back againe,
Faire Opis, Deiopeia, Cydippe
Ligæa, Spio, and Cymodoce,
Ar'thusa, Clio, and Lucothoe,
By Amphitrites side, shall waft thee ore,
Dauncing before thee to Ruinas Shore.

Amintor.
Farewell then Pales, and thou god whose Syre,
By a wrong'd Goat did in the waves expire,
Tysiphone assume thy knotted snakes,
Which with the surfeit of Æchidna makes
Earth tremble, and the pines of Ossa nod,
Piercing the Pallace of the Stygian god,
Thou Patronesse of Rhamnus help thy Priest,
My wrongs thou knowst, my innocence thou see'st.

Martagon.
But on what soile, in what Illustrious Coast,
Shall we discourse with thy great Fathers Ghost?
As once the wittie, fam'd Dulichian guide
Did with Tyresias shade, when terrifi'd
With feare of future woes, the hand of Fate
Crushing him (under Ærycinas hate.)

Amintor.
If Orpheus had the power Hells gates to see,
Entering in search of his Euridice,
(Caught by Avernian Juno's wile) if he
Who conquered Latium, peopled Brittanie,
(As once Amphitrios Son) by Sybill led,
Viewd Plutos Pallace, and with armes out-spread
Courted his Fathers shade, why may not I,
With (Atlas Grandchild) wingd-foot Mercury
Hyperion ayding, passe black Erebus,
Still burning Phlegeton, and Tartarus,
Not ceasing till with happy speed I come,
And kisse my Syre in blest Elizium.

To the Reader on the Errors of the Presse.

I gave the Bullion good into the Mint,
Do thou cement the fractions of the Print.