University of Virginia Library

Epigrams. Lib. 2.

To the gentle Reader.

'Cause second thoughts are best, perhaps you'l look
For higher Gusto in this second book:
If so; read on! fine stomacks pleased are
Better with second cates, though lighter fare.
Sawce here perhaps you'l find unto your meat,
I'l bring the Tart, if you'l but make it sweet.

To the Lady Phanton.

Madam! you wear a feather in your head,
Your face is all Mosaick, coloured
With shining unguents; next your linnen's white,
Your garments too are, as your carriage, light;
Your heel's are cork you walk on: I'l avow't,
That Madam! now y' are light from head to foot.

On Lying.

Poets and Painters by authoritie
As wel as Travellers we say may lie:
Peripateticks lie, few know 'tis so;
Painters for lying have some colour too;
But Bolder Poets when they falsifie,
They do't as neatly, they in Print do lie.

Epitaph on John Newter.

Reader! John Newter who erst plaid
The Jack on both sides, here is laid,
Who like th'herb John Indifferent
Was nor for King or Parliament;
Yet fast and loose he could not play
With death, he took him at a Bay;
What side his soule hath taken now
God or Div'l? we hardly know:
But this is certain; since he dy'd,
Hee hath been mist of neither side.

A Question about Law.

One ask'd why th'Law was now so much neglected!
Marry (said I) it never was respected,
But stil declin'd ee'r since the Judges ruffs
Were turn'd to little falling bands and cuffs.

To my Book-seller.

I'ave common made my book; 'tis very true;
But I'd not have thee prostitute it, too;
Nor show it barefac'd on the open stall
To tempt the buyer: nor poast it on each wall
And corner poast close underneath the Play
That must be acted at Black-Friers that day:
Nor fee some Herring-cryer for a groat
To voice it up and down, with tearing throat.
Nor bid thy 'prentice read it and admire,
That all i'th' shop may what he reads enquire.
No: profer'd wares do smel: I'd have thee know
Pride scorns to beg: Modestie fears to wooe.

On Mr Fanning the Engastrometh.

To speak within, and to ones selfe, and yet
Bee heard, is much, yet Fanning doth it:
So tall and stout a man, 'tis strange to see't
So like a coward should his words down eat:
The belly hath no ears they say; yet his
Hath ears to hear, and tongue to talk, I wis.

On the Invention of Printing and Guns.

A souldier found at first the way to Print,
And 'twas a German Munk did Guns invent:
Thus like arm'd Pallas, learning doth depend
On arms, nor can they without this, defend.

To Megæra.

Megæra! since thy ugly face would fright
The Div'l himselfe, and all that look on it;
Prithee why dost thou wear a looking-glasse?
I cast a figure for that cause, she saies,
To fright him from me, and each lustful eie:
Fear't not! I'l warr'nt thee none shal tempt thee, I;
For he that should on thy face doar, I'd swear,
Both blind, and mad, bewitcht indeed he were.

On Plot.

Plot now he's married, and keeps house, I hear
Is like his butter, mad but twice a year:
In Hymens sheets good-fellowship may lie
Thus bedred, and in time expiring die.

To VV.B. a smal Poet.

One distick well-made's worth two Poems ill;
Prithee contract then thine to disticks Will.

The Stonie Age.

'Tofore there was a Golden Age, next that
A Silver one, but now 'tis Iron all:
To what I tro wilt next degenerate?
To stone I think in stead of Minerall.

To Captain Nym.

Betimes thou findst me e'r I stir, and sai'st
Thy mornings draught o'r night thou promis'd wast,
But thou nor car'st so much for that or me,
My breeches in the chair thou com'st to see;
Thy plot prevented thus thou fliest hence,
In hast to th'next friend with the like pretence,
Whose pockets, you surprising, borrow there
Without his leave a crown perhaps, for fear
More mist, might be discover'd, for thy friend
Shouldst thou but ask it, would not six pence lend:
Thus each friends hinder Phob thy want supplies,
Whence thou dost raise thy daily subsidies,
And pick some crums of comfort; but alas!
Nym th'other night by Festus couzned was,
With whom he needs would lie; for Festus did
Not think his money safe though under's bed,
But hid it in Nyms pocket: thought he, ne'r
Wil, shifting Nym, look once for money there.
Thus Nym protected, what he els had stole;
Better to venter thus, then lose the whole.

To Mutus.

Mutus where e'r he comes in companie
Sits stil, observes, speaks not a word to any:
Are you a spie or State-informer grown?
Set to pick treason, when we are high flown,
From out our harmless mirth? forgive me pray!
I'ave wrong'd you Mutus, you can nothing say.

To Jealous.

Jealous if any laughs is angry straight,
Suspects they jeer at him; oh foolish Wight!
Because another smiling wries his nose
Wilt thou betray thy selfe, and so expose
Thee to more laughter? though you guilty bee,
Yet I dare say there's no man thought of thee.

On Taurus.

I Taurus told that his wife many lov'd;
Hee lov'd her better 'cause she was approv'd:
I said they us'd her; then he made reply,
I care not so they use her wel, not I.
Oh wilful Cuckold! who wil pittie thee,
That when you're told, won't believe til you see?

On Swill.

On fasting-daies Swill eats and drinketh fast,
Plaies fast, hopes thus the world wil alwaies last:
Thus Swil doth fast, while the rule Fast and Pray,
Hee onely changes into feast and play!

On Resolute Bat.

As rough as bear-skins for behaviour,
Abisket face as hard for favour,
As blunt as back of knife, as dul
As whetstone, or cram'd capon ful,
His talk as women backward flat,
And though laught at, he's Resolute Bat;
Hee'l to the Club, and prate his share
Or more, pay lesse than any there;
Oh what a pretty thing is it
To be but bold though without wit?

To Veta an old Shrew.

Your husband musters old things quite forgotten,
As men eat Medlers when they are quite rotten;
All th'rags of time he hangs up, he can see;
Keep out of's sight! or els he'l hang up thee!

To Big.

Big why hast got so smal a wife? 'tis best
Thou sai'st, of evils we should chuse the least:
Thou hop'st to overlay her, that's thy plot,
Kil her and get another, is it not?

To Mæchus.

To be most idle thou maist well be sed,
Whilst lazily thou dost thy work abed.

On Captain Sharke.

Sharkes Creditor promis'd oft, at length did say,
Hee now begun to fear hee ne'r wou'd pay:
You need not fear it Sir! Sharke made replie,
I ne'r intended to repay it, I.

To Boldface.

Boldface I wonder at thy impudence,
That dar'st affirm things so against all sence:
For shame be n't impudent and foolish too!
And think all men are fooles 'cause you are so!

To Phydias a Painter.

I Phydias askt how he could paint a maid?
Find mee but one! I'l paint her then he said.

On Chœril.

Chœril because his wife is somewhat il,
Uncertain in her health indifferent stil
Hee turns her out of doors without reply:
Wondring at which, I askt the reason why?
In sickness and in health saies he, I'm bound
Onely to keep her, either weak or sound;
But now shee's neither, he replies: you'l see,
Shee'l quickly now or mend or end, saies hee.

On Stupro.

Stupro on horseback saies hee'l ride no more,
'Tis 'cause hee hath been jaded much before:
Hee may the Trojan Palfrey now bestride,
The living jades are fiery hot, to ride.

On Swillmore.

Swillmore grown dry with talking, drinks til hee
Was got so drunk he could nor speak nor see:
His windy words foxt him; some drunk have bin,
As well by letting out as taking in.

On Brave.

Braves money melt's in's pocket, 'tmay be so
'Twas warm before, but now 'twil colder grow.

On Pure.

His text no sooner nam'd, but Pure inveigh'd
'Gainst Rome, and run quite from't as one afraid:
A sudden rapture 'twas; his text and hee
I fear wil ne'r again meet, or agree.

On Dull.

So many men, so many minds there be;
Yet in dispute Dull wil not disagree,
But alwaies is on's neighbours mind, 'cause hee
Cannot tel how to contradict, I see.

On Sir Sullen Haughtie.

When I thankt Haughtie for his curtesie,
He said he not expected it from me:
Nor I from him that kindness, wherefore I
Thankt him 'cause't came so unexpectedly.

To his worthy friend T.S. Esquire.

If to be mild be Generositie;
To scorn to give or take an injurie;
If to be patient, and yet valiant too
Be truly noble, then (Sir!) you are so:
Virtu's the best Nobilitie is known,
You're virtuous noble too, in this alone.

To Pantagus.

None can say ought, but you'l say something to't,
There's nought another doth, but you can do't:
You're cunning Pantagus, and singular,
Good at all things, but no particular.

To Lautus.

Lautus thy palate can be pleas'd with nought
But the best cates far-fetcht, and dearest bought;
Sicilian Lampreys, and the Thuscan Boar,
With witty dainties ne'r heard of before
Vitelleus age, such as Minerva's shield,
A dish made of Scares livers, and then fil'd
With milt of Sturgeon, and with brains of Railes,
Pheasants and Peacocks, and Egyptian Quailes,
With tongues of Nightingales, and those more rare
And seld-seen Crimson birds, his usual fare:
Mullets and Celsey Coccles, the Severn Trout,
And what more daintie novels can be bought:
Botargo, Anchovois, Puffins too, to taste
Thy Maronæan wines, at meals thou hast.
Thus all thy lands thou eat'st and drinkest down,
In thy fair Boggards buried lie, thus grown
With dear-bought soil so rich, to dung the small
Acre that's left unsold, and that is all.

On Prophane.

Prophane ne'r speaks of God, but in his oathes,
Which he doth change more often than his cloathes:
Nor thinks he on him when he vainly swears,
Oh Atheist, that nor God, nor Devil fears.

On Bib.

Wisedome doth teach us silence, now Bib is
With drink made speechless, is he not then wise?

The effects of Brainsick's letters.

Your lines were all so sweet, and work't so wel,
So purg'd me too, that I can hardly tel
Whether they wrought on my affections more
Or on my body, I drew thence such store
Of precious Elixer, and so much
Compounded Cates, whose qualitie was such,
That where my Physick promis'd me but seven,
By virtue of your lines I had eleven,
But yet I'l tel you; troth 'twas een forgot
It purg'd and scar'd and wipt off you know what;
It griev'd mee your fair hand should undergo
So foul an office as to wipe it too;
But rather then your hand or paper bee
Stain'd with this act, let the guilt lie on mee.
I did it 'cause I know that you could write
Such lines again as fast as I could—
Write to me oftner pray! so I may save
Physicians fees, and may bum-fodder have.

On Mr Ap-Taffie Shentilman of Wales.

The way to make proud Taffie down on's knees
Is tel him that the Moon's made of green cheese;
Hee then in Heav'n would bee, and wil desire
Nought but to tost his bobbie by her fire.

To an Irish-man.

When I do sneeze, God blesse you, you do say,
Why not the same when I do fart, I pray?
Are not both sudden ruptures that do make
As with an earthquake the whole body shake?
To break before, at Irish, you do find
To be less dang'rous then to break behind;
Besides, this brings a good report you see,
Why is not this as welcome then to thee?
When I break forward, you (Christ help you) say,
But when I backwards break, you backwards pray.
Pardon me Sir! 'tis my infirmitie,
'Tis the windcholick that thus troubles me.

To Spruce.

Spruce wears a comb about him, alwaies he
To prune and smooth his polisht haire:
The Cock's ne'r too without his comb you see,
Spruce 'tis a Coxcomb then you weare.

To Formall.

When Formal knows not what to say, then hee
Oh Lord, Sir! cries with much tautologie:
Now the Lord help thee Formal, 'twas wel meant,
Though you but spoke of him in compliment.

On Swift.

Swift though h'has bin but once 'mongst Gentlemen,
And hath learnt what their Christen names are, then
He speaks to them in such familiar phrase,
As if th'had long acquainted been, and saies,
If any speak of them, he knows 'um wel,
And cals them Jack, Dick, or the like, wil tel
You when, and where he saw them last, and how
Their intimate acquaintance first did grow.
Swift thy too much familiaritie
May breed contempt. Believ't they know not thee.

The Wisdome of this age.

The Wise-men were but seven: now we scarce know
So many fools, the world so wise doth grow.

On Priscus.

Priscus doth poetize now he's in love;
Strange each blind Lover should a Poet prove!
He is inspired sure, how els could he
Be such a Chymist in Loves Poetrie?
He courts his Mistris out of Ovids art
Has th'Amadis and Spencer all by heart,
Whence he extracts his sonnets, and his rime,
And speaks them, dreaming, in and out of time.
Such sudden raptures seldome constant be,
His love is blind, and so's his Poetrie.

On Proud.

Proud quarrels in his cups, and then wil fight,
Is beaten sober, 'troth he is served right.

On Doctor Emperick.

Wise Emperick can all diseases cure,
His Physick though't be strong it worketh sure:
A litte mors in ollâ which expels
Disease and life together, nothing els.
Happy thy patient, you dispatch him quick;
Your mighty art won't let him long be sick.

On Bib.

To quench his sorrows Bib drinks very free,
Sorrow is drie, he saies, and so is hee.

On Nokes.

One askt why Nokes discoursing shakt his head?
A Rattle-head 'twas 'cause he was, I sed:
Therefore he shakt his empty sconce, to find
Whether within with any braines 'twer lin'd:

To his friend and Companion Mr H.N.

Wit's all the younger sons inheritance,
A small estate, which cannot much advance:
Virgil may talk of Bees, and dunging land,
But 'tis the Heir that has them in his hand:
To him th'indulgent father all doth give,
While they alas have nought wherewith to live
But what Dame Nature, like a careful mother,
Laid up, and said 'twas for a younger brother.
A store of Wit, heav'n knowes 'tis all she gave,
And yet you're rich enough, while this you have.
A Fico for thy brothers lands! thou'ast more
In Mount Pernassus, than is all his store:
There with Apollo thou maist sit and dine
With heav'nly Nectar, sup with th'Muses nine;
The lustie Gods and Goddesses wil be
With all the Graces there in companie:
There we have fields to walk in; oh what fine
Mirth there is in good company and wine!
Lastly to make you fully happy, Bettie;
Will meet i'th' arbour; oh shee's wondrous prettie!
Now tel me friend, is not this better sport,
Than to have money, and no pleasure for't?

To Levinus.

I have lent Sharke monies, which Levinus, you
Perswade me, long put off, he'l pay me now:
When tro? at the Greek Calends? when the Fleet
Wants guests? when he and I; two Sundaies meet?
If he solve he, deceives me, if not, he
Cozens me worse; stil I deceiv'd must be
Whither he pay or not: I'ad rather tho
Be thus deceiv'd then cozend: tel him so!

On Vulpe.

As Ravens 'bout the breathless Carkass flie,
So swarm Vulpe's friends, now he but seems to die:
Each greedy angler hook and line doth lay,
Baited with gifts to catch this Aurata
Which swallows both, escapes, takes all they give,
Thus old get heirs each day, and stil doth live:
Vulpe preys o'th, living, he most Vulter is;
These Harpies hope for prey, but when Vulpe dies,

Blessed Ignorance.

Hee is most happy sure that knoweth nought,
Because he knows not that he knoweth not.

To a poore Begger.

If thou hadst said th'hadst had no money, I
Would then have thee believed, but now you lie,
'Cause you do say you want it, for 'tis mad
To say one wants that which he never had:
A word wel plac't may serve one at a need,
Learn to beg right, or you may want indeed.

On Thais her Bastard.

Thais the mother, but the father who?
Thais her self nor any else doth know:
Can th'son oth' people want a father? when
For parents he can claime so many men?

On Gamster.

Play fair and swear not? burn the tables! I
Wil neither th'one nor th'other by this die:
Gamester I'l now believe thee valiant too,
'Cause you'l not swear less then you mean to do.

Epitaph on the Preaching Cobler How.

Translated here lies Cobler How,
Who, when he liv'd could rip and sow
Divide and stitch a text together
Just as he us'd to spoil his leather.
Or rather here he's underlaid,
Who oft o'rlay two chairs and praid,
That his inspired tongue might mend
More souls then e'r his Coblers end
Or hands could cure: he often said
Walk ye uprightly in your trade!
And when your soles do tread awry
Bring them to me I pray! and I
Wil set them streight: be mending stil
As I am! 'Tis Gods heav'nly wil.
Many were wrought on thus, but th'time was past,
And so he finisht when death brought his last.
Cobler thou hast set up enow
That since can prate like Cobling How.

On Sir John Lackland.

Jack Lackland bringing gracious news to Court,
The King was hap'ly pleas'd to Knight him for't:
He proud of's honour writes to all his friends,
And with—Yours Sir Iohn Lackland—Knight—he ends.
'Tis fit he shud, for wer't not under's hand
None would believe him Knight, that had no land.

On Cosmo.

Cosmo in's new and holiday array,
Then to be sure he walks abroad that day;
Goes to a play, wil stand i'th' pit, and talk,
Whiffe smoak, or to be markt, out often walk.
'Tis pitty Cosmo wears no oftner new,
For then he oftner would appear in view.

On Lowsi-Patch.

Who saies Patch low sie vestments weareth, when
They are so threadbare that no vermin can
Upon them stick? Yes: though that they be thin
His loving lice stick closer to his skin.

On Light.

Light steals a jeast, and then to mak't his own
He walks from one to th'other, up and down;
By oft repeating thus he prostrates it;
Light hath a common, though a running wit.

On a fire in a Town.

One night through all the streets the men did crie
Fire fire! at which I wak't and wondred by;
Not that drie wood should burn, but because all
Did crie fire, when they should for water call.

Epitaph on Hocas Pocas.

Here Hocas lies with his tricks and his knocks,
Whom Death hath made sure as his Juglers box:
Who many hath cozen'd by his Leiger demein,
Is presto convey'd and here underlain:
Thus Hocas he's here, and here he is not,
While death plaid the Hocas, and brought him toth' pot.

To one that talked finely.

How prettily it talks as you would say
His speech did wear her holiday array?
With fine spun language drest is his discourse,
It talks in print where not a word of course
Drops from his tongue, but all so finely wove
So smooth so soft as you would swear he strove
To outdo the silkworm, whilst each word he saies
Was studied for before, for th'better grace.
Speak like a man stil to be neatly drest
Is womanish: your homespun cloath is best,
Because 'twil longer last and finer wear,
Labour'd invention holds not out the year.

To Cosmo on his fair scolding wife.

Smoak makes one fair, yet saies the Proverb, where
It alwaies smoaks, 'tis a soul sign that there
A dangerous Scold doth dwel, whose fiery tongue
Outdo's the fire and draws the smoak along.
The troubled house. Cosmo th'hast light upon
A fair scold to thy wife, the Question
Whither her tongue, that charm'd these clouds to rise,
Or the smoak, cause so many crying eies.

On Silly.

Silly observes the company and hears
How each man throws about his jeasts and jeers,
Lest any spie him he about him looks
And forth his pocket steals his table-books.
To glean those crums which wise men throw away,
With which he feasts himself another day.
Silly by chance did loose his Diarie
Of wit, which he had got o'th' companie:
No marl he now so mute and pensive sits,
How can he chuse, since he hath lost his wits?

To Momus.

Because I no Mæcenas get
To patronize my verse as yet
Nor wooing e'r bespok my friend
To swear them witty or wel pen'd;
Momus dares say they'ar poor, not worth
The owning, silly, and so forth:
Ingenious Readers are my Judges here,
But Momus you are none of those I fear.

On Bib.

A drunken man can catch no harme they say,
How then came drunken Bib so poxt I pray!
He was not drunk enough when that he caught,
He could not so have done or suffer'd ought.

To Moore.

A Pockhold-lean-swarth-face with ugly hair
And yet be trim'd each morn to make thee fair?
If 'bout that face thoult keep so much ado,
Get thee a Barbar, a Facemender too?

To Madam Cr. wearing a lookinglass at her Girdle.

Madam! you look so often on your glass,
I fear you doubt whither or no your face
Be stil your own, or the same yesterday
It was: for colours change or fade away.
Then view no more thy own fair Physnomie!
Because I'd have thee look the more on me.

On Squire Huffe.

Squire Huffe had got a vap'ring trick to talk
High ranting words, then 'bout the room to walk
Like bold Andrea acting on the stage
Often in speech would personate his rage:
Sometimes he grew Satyrick and would strein
To jeer each man in King Cambyses vein.
Blunt being toucht grew angry, made reply
Though I cann't prate yet you shal find that I
Can fight, and beat him soundly: 'tis the way
Thus to cure madmen, as I have heard say.

On Philip Soupe and Jone his wife.

Lo I the tragick story sing o'th' life
And death of Philip Soupe and Ione his wife;
A friendly pair of Turtles that did love
Goodfellowship and lusty ale above
All earthly good: for why? they oft wu'd say
'Tis high and mighty Ale doth griefs allay,
And when 'tis nappy and spirituall,
Ale is both meat and drink, and cloath, and all,
For all's included in this sentence Ale:
Lets drink it then they cryd, or new or stale.
It hap't these two once wanting companie
Which made them sad, and sadness made them drie,
Set foot to foot, and tryd the masterie,
Each lookt to th'to'ther too with narrow eie,
Phil drunk to Iug, and Iug cryd Phil again
Til none could stand or speak one sentence plain,
Fild up toth' throat when both could drink no more
And th'rest o'th' drink left running 'bout the floor,
'Cause neither could the spicket wield aright,
Resolving as 'twas time to sleep that night,
They shok their cloaths off both at last, and so
Stumbled into their beds with much ado:
But oh the sad disasters that befel them
At this encounter! You anon shal smel them:
For when Iug rows'd to buss her Philip, she
Her stomack being o'r-charg'd did rain a sea
Of pow'rful Ale in poor Phil's face and breast,
Whose gaping mouth, and stomack thus opprest
With the receipt of his wives spew'd-up liquor
Grew sick, no vomit could have made him sicker,
He turn'd and groan'd as if he were to die,
Then straightwaies fac't about, and furiously
Reverst, he charg'd her body with his rear
On her right flanck all-to-bedighting her,
Then he drew up and spew'd, then charg'd agen
Til he had routed all her bodie, then
After a Parley sounded, Iug did say
Thou'rt pestlence hot, draw off now, Philip, pray;
The place soon grew too hot indeed for them,
For the foul Stygian lake did never steam
With such gross vapours as did thence arise,
Ready to choak them both in woful wise.
At last Phil reacht for th'Iordan where he might
Convert his Ale to Lees, but missing it
He fel a ground: the like did Iug bety'd
Who reaching for the drink o'th' other side
Fel down with th'chamberpot upon her head,
Beside themselves, and both beside the bed;
Nak'd and asleep i'th' morning both were found
In pickle prostrate on the spawled ground:
Sad chance! this loving couple never were
Known until now to fal out any where:
Oh cursed Ale could thus part man and wife!
'Twas in their cups, let that excuse the strife.

On Poet Cordus a Rimer.

When Poet Cordus writes, he oftentimes
Doth wier draw his matter to his rimes,
Provide but reason, rime wil flow; but he
Harps more upon the words, then sence, I see.

On Fusk.

Why should Fusk of his wife so jealous be
Unless his own sins taught him jealousie?
(For we are often more suspicious far
Of that wherein our selves most guilty are:)
Some rather think Fusk insufficient,
And 'cause he cannot give his wife content
Therefore he fears she seeks abroad, for why
Women they wil be satisfi'd, or cry:
Some say he thinks she's wiser far then he,
And so turns Envie into jealousie:
Stil the fault lies in him not her, you see,
While Fusk grows lean with triple jealousie.

To an old deformed Woman.

Thou art a Remedie for love, for he
That thee beholds, in love shal never be.

To Cit.

I wonder Cit thou art so confident
Sure I ne'r gave thee such encouragement,
I never borrowed of thee, nor was I
Ever once drunk in thy base companie,
Nor did you e'r pimp for me, or bid me come
To dinner with your friendly wife at home,
You ne'r yet offer'd to be bound for me
Nor canst claim kinred by affinitie:
How dare you then be so familiar
With me? what! do you think because you are
Free of the City, and in time may be
The grave Cinquater of your Companie
Or 'cause sometimes you walk in scarlet gowne,
Reverenc'd by boys and watermen oth' town,
Or 'cause your sattin doublet's girt with gold,
I'm therefore bound to you? are you thus bold
Because you are grown rich by wicked gain?
To your shop Squundrel! and your wares again!
And converse there with thy Apprentices.
If thou'lt oblige me with true curtesies
And lend gentilely, then perhaps I'l own
Thee for a friend, else thou'rt a Cit: be gone.

To Plagiarie.

Feloniously thou stealst anothers wit,
'Cause sure thou art to have thy book for it:
Thou art no learned thief yet, for although
Thou readest wel thou canst not write wel too.

To Lysippus a Barber.

Lysippus! some mistane, have said that you
Are a Barbarian, but I think a Jew,
You circumcise so much, and for your ends
So smoothly stroak the faces of your friends,
Making young novices of all that you
Can circumvent: thus you are a Barbarous Jew.

To a corrupt Judge.

Why thou so dear dost law and Justice sel,
Dost hear and take on either side so wel,
I wonder not: the Court Seianus made
Thee buy thy place so dear as some have said;
Great reason then that who so dear doth buy,
Should th'price enhance when he doth sel, as high.

Lydia encountered.

Francis and Lydia in a jeasting way
Each other strove to jeer; he won the day
At last, and silenc'd her; at which she grew
So vext, that in her passion she flew
Upon young Francis, and 'twixt rage and fear
Saluted him with a fair box o'th' ear,
He threw her down o'th' bed, and kist her 'til
She cri'd agen, for madness, 'gainst her wil:
Oh sweet revenge! who would not thus fall out
If he might have but such a kissing bout?
Kiss and be friends was the old way you know
Of reconciling, so it seems 'twas now.

On Gaming.

Some play for gain, to pass time others play
For nothing, both do play the Fool I say:
Nor time or coin I'l lose or idly spend;
Who gets by play, proves loser in the end.

On Brag.

Brag his right glove draws often off and on,
To show his wounds on each occasion:
Tel not for shame, Brag, where thou gotst those scars;
A tavern broil did mark thee, not the wars.

To Cosmo.

Reading my verses Cosmo wonders why
They swel not with Poetique Historie,
Why I not use their pretty fables, whence
I may suck matter to enlarge my sence?
As now to speak of Danae's golden show'r,
Then of Narcissus turn'd into a flow'r,
Ixions wheel, or Sysiphu his stone,
Or how the Moon kiss'd lov'd Endymion;
Then to display Medusa's snakie locks,
Or talk of wise Pandora and her box,
Or him that wisht that all he toucht were gold,
And how this granted all his meat resolv'd
At the first touch to gilded baits, and he
Not able to disgest them, forc't to die:
Then of slain Pelops Ivory shoulder, how
Io by jove was turn'd into a cow:
Of th'Minotaur's born of Pasiphe
And of Leucothee turn'd into a tree
Of frankincense: or of Tiresias
Who sometimes man and sometimes woman was:
Then of Minerva born of Jupiters brain
Or by his wife how Hercules was slain
With Nessus poison'd shirt: or of the maid
Turn'd to a spider, how she first was said
To invent spinning: these he did conclude
With many more you may ofttimes allude
Unto your purpose, where each fiction
By allegoricall allusion
Becomes your own, and thereby also you
Are both Historian and Poet too.
Troth I wil tel thee why I did omit
Such fabulous phansies, first because I writ
Not only to be read but understood;
And next 'cause lies, down not with all, for food.
The finest web is by the spider spun;
He's poor that borrows his invention.

On Mounsieur Congee.

A proper handsome courtly man indeed,
And wel set out with cloaths, can for a need
Discourse with legs, and quarter congies, and
Talk half an howr with help of foot and hand.
But when I viewd this Mounsieur clean throughout
I found that he was only man without.

On Gripe.

Gripe to himself talks of the sums he lent
And of the debts he ows, but to prevent
Others from borrowing more; away you Iew
Dost think I'd ask of such a knave as you?
Besides if I of thee to day should borrow,
I know th'whole town should hear of it to morrow.

To Harsh.

Musick that once could move each rock and tree
Not a whit moves thee Harsh, or pleaseth thee;
Thy inharmonious soul how wilt thou bring
To Heav'n, where Angels nothing else but sing?
A Hellish sure and untun'd soul hath he
That is not rapt with musicks extasie:
Knowst not what evil-spirits it expels?
It cur'd afflicted Saul, and nothing else:
It doth inspire the soul and heighten it;
Tho' hadst better lose thy ears than once be bit
By a Tarantula whose deadly wound
Is only healed by soft musicks sound.

To Cupid.

His Armes blazoned.

Luna he bears, in a cross Saturn plain
A flaming heart transfixed Sol; thus slain
In the wounds orifice it bleeds Mars, from whence
Bloudie drops flow, and under the pretence
For Motto this inscribed more is,
Sanat Amor vulnus amoris.
Thy Arms do speak thee Noble, Cruel too,
Else thou wouldst ne'r so many hearts undo:
How much thou dost degenerate I find,
For thy fair Goddesse Mother was more kind.

On proud Mrs. Minx.

Pride takes no cold, yet Pride oft takes a fal:
Both which are true in this our finical
Proud Mrs. Minx fair Madams waiting maid
For though she went like her spruce Dame arraid
In her cast gowns, bare, all the neck and breast
Down to the shoulders, and sometimes the rest;
Yet took no cold, pride and lust kept her warm
Though she went stript up above half the arm.
Yet did the pride of this She-goat at last
Catch a shrewd fal, for by a stumbling cast
I'th' Lobby room her heels flew 'bove her head
And so she broke her elboe 'gainst the bed.
Yet though she fel her belly riss: what else?
Pride naturally when 'tis at lowest swels.

On three Knights without spurs.

Sir Iohn in's spurs no rowels had, because
There was no need, his horse twice roweld was:
Sir George but one spur wore, for if one side
Will go, to'ther wil follow he reply'd:
I askt Sir Lancelot why no spurs he wore?
Because saies he, a free horse needs no spur.
If spurs shew Knights and Horsemen; then I fear
'Mongst them was neither Knight or Chivalier.

On Copernicus his opinion who thought the earth went round.

In vain did Drake with pains the Earth sail round,
Here's one could do it easier on the ground.

On Doctour Love-Self.

Love-Self when th'Plague in London reigned sore,
Grown rich himself shuts up and wu'd no more
When most his help was wanted: it seems then
Hee'd not his patients keep as married men
Must keep their wives in Sickness and in Health,
Such is the fearful cowardize of wealth.
Though thou with th'Plague would'st nothing ha' to do,
A Plaguy cunning Doctour yet wer't thou.

To my smal friend with a great beard.

Thy face and self are smal, but large thy beard:
Lop't off! thy wood wil hide thee I'm afferd.

To Ignorant Zoile.

Zoile I am told you pish and pough, when e'r
You any do my lines commending hear:
Pish on! 'cause you stil in the wrong place pish,
Aspersing most the best, as I could wish.

To the Reader.

It is enough: but if you think too much,
Then Reader! say you saw me not! for such
As I for writing what is bad, will you
By others be for reading counted too.