University of Virginia Library

VVhile with the wiser dead I monument have,
Intomb'd with books, a study make a grave;
From that more terrene part below begun,
Vapors ascend, and obscure reasons Sun:
My better part turn'd Earth, from th' dead I fly,
To read the living, and find remedy.
Where while a Doctors books I do turn over;
I view a book stand by with mourning cover.
I'm Pleas'd to see one like my self half dead,
Could live whose better part was buried.
When if th' dead Doctor by his books had known,
I would read this which still his name did own.

What are you Lady like a Diamond set,
To put your lustre off in mourning Jet?
Your Doctor sure did read you more then's books,
In them there is no physick like your looks.
An itch of Courtship revels through my veins;
A sight of broken meat a stomack gains:
O I could marry, was it done in hast.
But I am cur'd when once the itching's past;
Yet for the itch no better med'cine sure.
You can't be lesse then a quicksilver cure;
I'de wed a widow ore her husbands grave;
VVe'd share, a foot he, I a hand would have.
Nay, pule not rather, let those pearls be strung,
And to inrich your neck in laces hung.
VVidows at most should but one month complain,
The next should grieve they no new husband gain.
VVhat diff'rence is 'twixt maid and VVidow known?
Maid is a rose in bud, you'r fairer blown.
Her April face now laughs, then straight doth weep:
Their mutual courses, joy and sorrow keep.
A husband lost now raises Clouds of tears:
Hopes of one present then her smiling clears;
She neither silence knew, nor how to speak;
Yet the vessels crack'd, how can it choose but leak?
Ah my dear husband he in peace is blest!
He's blest indeed, with thee he could not rest.
I could no husband love, had I a new,
You could no husband love, your husband knew.
Ah I could die? to take the ready way;
Under a Souldier you'd have enter'd pay.
We have no Portia's, Martia's, Julia's here,
From Coats, Swords, halters, we no danger fear.
A wife, a widow, wife within an hour,
Women-like Crocodiles weep for to devour.
They weep for more, not weep 'cause they are dead;
They fear that gone, they gain no other head.
Here widows faith is fleeting as her tears;
In counterfeit the sorrow's Livery wears.
What Proteus Polypus, or Cameleon doe;
Or Poets feign of change in her meet true,
Who weep alone 'tis they who truly grew;
Who weep for others, 'tis but to deceive.
But lest this Widow too much grief endure,
VVho grieves in jest, a jest her grief can cure;
She'll mump and mow, now gigle, then she'l whine?
You'd think with laughter burst, or sorrow pine.
Thus Ladies tasters, waitingmaids who please,
Ladies your Servants cry, give kisses fees;
Which while they take, some skittish beasts are coy,
And turn from that they covet to enjoy.
'Twould cure the spleen, to see them pare their lips,
To writh their mouths, to th' wrigling of their hips,
But they'r no Ladies, nor we servants sure,
Let dregs to dregs, and crack'd crack'd pieces cure.
Surely civility would be strangely plac'd,
Should these but brag, they could 'fore Ladies tast.
Venus a Cat would to a woman change,
Her shape she could, her manners not estrange:
Shee peeping at a hole a mouse doth spy,
And leaves her husband, and the hole draws nigh.
Thus dregs of frothing nature will be apes,
To Lads, yet no manners change with shapes.
A gilded flye of putrefaction bred,
By virtues death who gains a mourning head,
That from the dirt she her advance may show,
She'l cast her head up, and on tiptoes go:
A velvet Cushion stuffed out with straw,
In plumes of generous birds a chatring Dawe,
Makes Country hobnails on the stones strike fire,
While they her rusling petticoats admire,
Yet the subtile Fox knows th' Asse ith' Lyons skin,
He hears her bray, and knows an Asse within.
With these froth-born like boyes with froth we play,
First raise a buble, then we blow't away.
Talk'd I of Diamonds in a mourning jet,
To put them off for greater lustre set?
Or how that fairer widows do disclose:
The sweets that do inrich the new blown rose?
To attract straws we place that blacker jet:
To take some poor Jack-straw in black you'r set.
Don't they deride who praise th' frogs speckled skin?
The rose that's withered, or wormeaten in?
Your lips, nor cheeks do not partake of th' rose,
The glory that you gain is by the nose.
But not so glorious sure, none near it come,
Which by the heat don't suffer martyrdom.
The Cynqiue humbly would to Statues beg.
And to each gilded post would make a leg:
Thus when we gilt toys see with Ladies clothes,
What's Lady like we Lady will suppose;
And court Idolatry to the gay rags pay,
While phancy with these things of clouts must play;
Each Knot love knits; each pin must wound the heart;
And Oh 'tis rare perfume if she but—
Scabs but embosse; or an enammels itch;
Pocks do ingrave; Carbuncles face inrich.
Hath she a red, a black, or yellow skin?
O precious wench, ruby, jet gold's within.
We beauties call what may for Mormo's passe;
Or Acho-like turn phrantick by a glasse;
Or should a Conjurer in his room them place,
People would swear the Devil in each face?
Yet we these puppets move by phancies wire;
Ev'n lay our selves in dirt to raise them higher;
Till rais'd, themselves and us they cease to know;
Abuse seems Courtship, who deride them woe:
We court bad faces not to please our sense,
But thus to mortifie our Concupiscence.
Sometimes a deaths head a devotion rears,
To say a prayer, it kisse, and leave with tears,
I never see the ruines of a face,
But dust to dust I cry, and straight embrace.
Yet my embraces here in bed sheel meet,
Brings husbands bones, or her own winding sheet,
But should my sins bring an untimely grave,
I'd a rare Monument rich embalming have:
My Art should teach the snake new skin assume,
Or else i'd bribe corruption with perfume.
Her gold, pearl, Diamonds should my Cordials be,
Against each touch would prompt an Agonie.
Salacious birds lusts sacrifice should attend;
And spawning fishes should their Lecheries lend;
Potato, Skirret, and Eringo root,
Satyrion Cod resembling should recruit;
I'de strength of earth, of beasts the marrow have;
At second hand i'de give but what she gave.
But oh for dirt who would in Earth intomb,
Earth, Air, and Sea can't fate a barren womb.
That gallant wretch which did up Holborn ride,
Presented with the choice of rope or bride;
With a reprieve a lovely piece he spies;
With sparrow mouth, frog skin, and ferrets eyes,
Whose barren womb, might but a brothel be,
Where twins are murder and Adulterie:
Mariage and hanging both are Destiny,
Cry'd give the easier, hangman let me die.
Brave soul, in honours Catalogue have room;
Better the cursed tree, then cursed womb.
Nuptials fill earth; virginity fills Heav'n;
To barren Widows; ah what place is giv'n?
Hence of corruption bred you gayer mothes;
No virtue know; but what you find in clothes.
Know no religion, 'bove a sundays dresse;
No Heav'n, but there where golden Angel's bless.
Who you 'twixt froth of Cups and phancy Court,
'Tis not to gain them love, but gain them sport.
Tyr'd with the grayer looks of Madam book,
Thus natures Pamphlets we in sport ore look.
When vines shall leave the Elm, with Coleworts twine;
And serpents Court the Ash, thou shalt be mine.
Anthus and Ægithus blood shall mingled be;
The panther and Hyena's skin agree;
The Oak, and Olive, Walnut, and Oak agree;
And masking nature leave antipathie;
Till then, from the Philosopher I'l vary,
Said beasts chose like, but man his contrary.
But if I needs my contrary must choose,
Of all thy sex I could not thee refuse.
Disgrace of Poetry hence, be thou his theam
Who whisling cools the horsetails of his team.
Let him cool thine by fanning thus thy breech,
Or else the horsewhip take to cure the itch.
Shine out bright stars in Honors hemisphear.
I'le raise my fortunes, fix my phancy there.