Tyros Roring Megge Planted against the walles of Melancholy. One Booke cut into two Decads [by T. Tyro] |
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Recentibus (Salem,/Plurimum.) & Salutem
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 | Tyros Roring Megge |  |
Recentibus (Salem,/Plurimum.) & Salutem
Absurd. Let Heraclyte do nought but crie,And put his raw-bond finger in his eie.
Laugh ye: let earthie melancholie parte:
It's Aqua fortis to a merrie heart.
Can all your Logick prooue that matter good,
That fils the mother-veyn with sickly bloud?
Salt not so much your tender bosomes frets,
As do the humours thrilling greefe begets.
What is the reason why your faces beene
So neare a kinne to Wakefield on the greene?
Is't not, for that you do so seldome smile,
Ne with blithe matters winter nights beguile?
Is't not, because you sit in darke some nookes,
And reade such vengeable and puling bookes?
Go then, my rimes, with dimples in your cheekes,
Be ye as working pilles to purge their paine,
And make them cleare complectiond once againe.
Say for theyr sakes your maister tooke in hond,
(Being tyed their friend with Adamantin bond)
With sun-shine iest t'expell their rotten fogges,
And make them dappet like pale yellow frogges.
O ye no Tyrants, but of Tyros crew,
Beate not my crouching meeters blacke and blew.
O let your Substances be well content
For to support this feeble Accident.
So shall I pray with voyce articulate,
That the drie Barrell may you euer hate.
Each day Ile perbreake wishes more or lesse,
That ye may oft be seniors of your messe.
If not: and if my chickens fare not well,
Which are but newly crept forth of the shell:
By the fiue prædicables I protest,
That who writes nought at all, does write the best.
Your matriculated cozen and fast friend Winter and Summer. T. Tyro.
| Tyros Roring Megge | |