University of Virginia Library


110

[Certaine Poems.]

E dulci virus contractat aranea flore,
Quando ex vrtica mella leguntur ape.


112

Vera quid hominis forma.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

What makes a perfect man? My Muse declare.
Externall qualities? Their force is much
I doe confesse; but beastes excell vs farre
In them; our stepdame Natures will is such,
The lions strength mans force doth overquell;
The hare in swiftnesse doth vs all excell.
In sences likewise brutes doe vs exceed;
Hartes in quicke hearing, eagles in sharp sight;
Spiders in touching; apes when as they feed,
Have daintier palates to procure delight:
Tender-nosd houndes, & vultures, senting prey,
In smelling doe surpasse vs every waie.
Neither doth mans essentiall forme consist
In lineaments of body well contr[i]vde;
Although heerin of force I must insist
He doth excell all beastes that ever livde;
Since beastes aspect is downeward as they passe,
And man the heavens hath for his looking-glasse.
What then? Doth wealth mans perfect forme compose?
Noe, though thy wealth doe Crœsus wealth exceed;
Though many miles thy land cannot enclose,
Though all things to thine owne desire succeed:
Yet this (if thou the matter rightly scanne)
Is of noe force to make the perfect man.

113

There is a soule, not generate, but infusde,
Immortall therfore, which conjoyntly knit
With [the] corriptible bodie, & diffusde
By vertue through each member, as is fit,
Informes each part, & animates the same,
And this mans true essentiall forme doth frame.

De quatuor anni partibus.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Apollo to his flaming carre adrest
Taking his dayly, never ceasing course,
His fiery head in Thetis watry brest,
Three hundred sixty & five times doth source:
As many times Aurora doth appear
Ere there be made a full & perfect year.
This year equally doth it selfe distribute
Into 4 partes, which we doe quarters call,
Each having his peculiar attribute
Of name, & severall qualitie with all:
Spring ever plesaunt, Summer hot & dusty,
Fruit-ripening Autumne, Winter colde & frosty.
Sweet smelling Spring, that ever chearfull season,
Clad with the verdure of fresh hearbes & flowers,
Renewes the year & makes it alwaies geason
By distillation of his fruitfull showers:
This quarter doth (for soe it is assignde)
Refresh the sence & recreate the minde.
No sooner doth the blazing bright beamd starre,
Sol, enter Cancer that signe tropicall,
But Summer in his progresse doth declare
A hot ensuing season that must fall:
Now Ceres, goddesse of all corne & tillage,
Begins her harvest in each country village.

114

When day & night are in equalitie,
Autumne doth then beginne his course to take,
Whom aires temperate serenity
A pleasaunt quarter evermore doth make:
Now Bacchus treadeth downe the fruitfull vine,
And doth compose the spirit quickning wine.
When longest night doth make the shortest day,
Frostie-facde Winter Autumne doth succeede,
In boysterous stormes his force he doth display,
Whose nipping colde doth ofte diseases breed:
Yet man to please this quarter doth present
Domesticke sportes & homebred merriment.

Planetarum energia.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Astronomers, with their heaven searching eyes,
Seven planets in their severall orbs have found,
Whose influence, they say, descends the skies,
And in our mortall bodies doe abound:
Whose force is great, or else they greatlie lye
That calculate mans fatall destinie.
Saturn is mounted in the highest sphear,
Vnder which planet if man life receive,
He shalbe subject to dispairefull feare,
Dull melancholy to his minde shall cleave:
His stupid braine, his frowning looke, shall bear
A crabbèd nature & a life austere.
Next vnto lumpish Saturn, sprightlie Iove
Moves in his orbe. Who vnder his aspect
Shall breathe this aire (which doth him mortall prove)
He alwaies shalbe held in good respect:
Pleasing his looke shalbe, comely his feature,
Bounteous his minde, and ever kinde his nature.

115

After Iove, Mars assumes his proper seat,
Whom poets faine to be the god of warre;
That man in battell shall his foes defeate
Which vnder Mars is borne, that warlike starre:
He will (for of his nature hath been tride)
Be quicklie angrie & soone pacifide.
In midle of the planettes regiment,
Bright Sol, that heauenlie ever burning lamp,
Himselfe doth in his glorious orbe present.
Who vnder him receives his native stampe,
Shalbe well skild in artes, in conference wise,
Religious in heart, in life precise.
After bright Sol, the beauteous queen of love
Faire Citherean Venus takes her place:
Who vnder her aspect is borne, shall prove
Skilfull in love; & with a blushlesse face
He shall vnto his lawlesse lust allure
Many that are of thoughts & life impure.
Next Venus, in his sphear is Maiaes sonne,
Ioves messenger, wing-footed Mercurie:
Who vnder his aspect his life begunne
Shalbe endude with craft & subtilty;
He wilbe (soe his state thereby may mend)
Apt to deceive even his most trusty friend.
Lowest of all the planets placèd is
Selfe-chaunging Luna: vnder whose aspect
If man be borne, he never shall have misse
Of an inconstant heart, which doth detect
A perverse nature, & a peevish minde:
Vnder this starre are borne most women kinde.
Every man hath his constellation
Vnder one of these planets influence

116

Predominating, & the calculation
O[f] his ensuing fortunes comes from hence,
Be he to labour borne, to art, or warres:
Thus starres rule man, & God doth rule the starres.

De quatuor elementis.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Each sublunarie bodie is composde
Of the fower elementes, which are proposde
By Nature to that end, a worke t' admire
That aire should meet with earth, water with fire,
And in one bodie friendlie sympathize,
Being soe manifestlie contraries.
These elements apparent to the eye
Are mixt, & not of simple puritie;
Pure simple ones ther are, but wher they be
Passes the skill of our philosophie.
Wheither earths purer elementall part
Reside within Thessalian Tempes heart;
Wheither Arabia Fœlix it containes,
Or Edens garden, or th' Elizian plaines;
Olympus hill, or mountaine Appenine,
Our Albion heer, or fertill Palestine,
I rashly in opinion dare not enter.
Who shall finde out earth[s] yet vnheard of center?
Where purest water is, declare who can,
Whether in midst of the vast ocean,
Or where rich Tagus workes vp golden sand;
Whether in some clear rivolet on land,
As in the spring vpon Parnassus hill,
Where the nine Muses dip their learned quill;
In silver Ganges, or that fountaine rather
Where faire Diana with her nymphs doth bath her?
Art thou perhaps that purest breathing aire,
Sweet Zephirus, which wontst to make repaire

117

To amarous Psyche, when for Cupids love,
She fearlesse lept downe from the rocke above.
If thou be that pure aire without all doubte,
Shew me thy dwelling, & I'le seeke thee out,
And having found thee, then my next desire
Shalbe for purest elementall fire;
Be it within the moones concavity
Or above all the heavens convexity,
Doe it within that fornace closely lurke,
Where Vulcan & his Cyclopes doe worke,
Or be it that celestiall fire above
Which wise Prometheus stole away from Iove.
But I leave these pure elements alone,
To speake of these amongst vs better knowne.
This quadruplicity, these elements,
From whom each body takes his existence,
Have qualities calde elementarie,
Knowne by the names of first & secundarie.
Earth is the driest in his first degree,
Then coldnesse is his second quality.
Coldest is water in first quality,
Then moysture is his second propertie.
Moistenesse in aire houldes principality,
And heat is secundarie quality.
Fire doth predominate in calidity.
And then the next degree is siccity.
Fire hot & dry, aire moyst & hot we call,
Seas colde & moist, earth dry & colde with all.
These elements, although they doe agree
In the composure of mortalitie,
Yet in each body one it selfe doth vaunt,
And is above the rest predominant.
In man complexions plainly doe dilate
What element is moste predominate.
In cholerick bodies, fire doth govern moste;
In sanguine, aire doth chiefly rule the rost;

118

In flegmatick, hath water greatest sway,
Dull melancholy seemes to be of clay.
It is recorded by some antiquaries,
Nor doe I see that it from truth much varies,
That each before recited element
Gives to a bruit his onlie nutriment.
I speake not this of those we purest call,
For they, I know, cannot sustaine at all.
The earth vnto the mole her essence gives,
The herring only in the water lives;
Aire only the camelion doth suffice,
And salamander from the fire dies.
To these 4 brutes, living in this estate,
Fowre kindes of men we may assimilate.
Like to the mole the worldly minded man
Workes in the earth, as if he headlong ran
Into her bowels; for some paltry gaine,
He digs, & delves, & toiels himselfe with paine.
His avaritious minde is wholy bent
Vpon the purchase of this element;
Blind like the mole in 's intellectuall eye
That should direct him to felicity.
The second kinde from water doth alone
Produce his lifes best sustentation,
And such are they which vse damnd piracie,
And live vpon the sea by robberie,
These with the herring make the sea their friend
Till some of them at Wopping take their end.
Ambitious men doe one the ayer feed;
Like the camelion they are pleasde indeed
With meer aeriall praise; good wordes (I think)
Fattens them better then their meat & drinke.
Some of this kinde build castles in the aire,
Thinking themselues instald in honours chaire
In their selfe pleasing mindes, when such promotion
Is as farre from them as they from devotion.

119

But they think soe; & he should doe them wrong
That puts them by this their conceit soe strong.
Lust is the fire that doth maintaine the life
Of the venereous man (but sets at strife
The soule & body). Did I say maintaine?
I should haue saide consume, for soe 'tis plaine.
Yet can he live noe more without desire,
Then can the salamandra without fire.

De quatuor virtutibus cardinalibus.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

What may the reason be that we doe call
Our fower excellent vertues cardinall?
Is it because Romes Cardinals moste vse them,
And other men doe more then they refuse them?
No truely, for each severall vertue trie,
And you shall finde that they one few relie.
For wisedome first, what wisdome can ther be
In them, who, given superstitiouslie,
For the true God doe images adore,
And in necessity their healpe implore?
Yet why should I their wisdome thus defie,
Whose crafty witt and damnèd pollicie
Is to enrich themselves, though their soules have
Perdition, whom true wisdome seekes to save?
For iustice next, doth iustice with them live
Who absolution to each sinne doe give
For a corrupting bribe? The sonne may kill
His aged parentes; man the blood may spill
Of his deepe foe & 'scape; for a large fee
Wrong shall take place, & right perverted be.
If these thinges we may iustice iustly call,
Iustice is vsde by every Cardinall.
But it may be in temperance they excell,
And therin doe all only bear the bell.

120

If to be Epicures, and live at ease,
Swallowing vp pleasures when & how they please,
We doe account a temperat sober life,
Then these are they we graunt withouten strife.
Their chastety is soe immaculate
That they doe alwaies live in virgin state,
Marriage they nill admitt by any meanes,
Yet doe allowe of concubins & queanes.
Lastly to speake of manlie fortitude,
Therin their calling shews them to be rude;
Full ill (we know, & every man may see)
A steely helme, & Cardnals cap agree;
As for their fortitude of minde, 'tis small,
Proud in their height, dejected in their fall.
I, but their power 's great great; in oppression,
Treding downe vertue, raising vp transgression.
These are their cardinall vertues of cheife fame,
Which we may trulie cardnall vices name.
But now at last a reason shew I shall,
Why we these vertues doe name cardinall:
Cardinall iustly may derived be
From cardo, which a hinge doth signifie;
Soe these 4 vertues, all the rest enfolde,
Even as the hinges doe the dore vpholde.

Scilicet vt fulvum spectatur in ignibus aurum,
Tempore sic duro est inspicienda fides.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

A certaine man which great possessions had,
Had likewise store of friendes; as who's so mad
To think that friendship doth not wealth pursue,
Though for the moste part fainèd & vntrue?
This man of wealth (though seld it soe be found
In a young man) in iudgement did abound,

121

And him bethought a way his friendes to trie,
How they would serve him in extremity.
He kills a calfe & ties him in a sacke,
Whom vp he takes & carries one his backe;
And then straightwaies vnto his friendes he goes,
And in this manner doth his minde disclose.
“My friendes,” quoth he, “your loves I now must trie,
For friendes are truly prov'de in misery;
Vnlesse your succours doe my life defend,
I am in danger of a shamefull end.
Knowe, in my rage I have slaine a man this day,
And knowe not where his body to conveigh
And hide it from the searchers inquisition,
My house being subject to no mean suspition.
Healp me, good Sirs, in my distressèd state,
Since thus to you my griefs I doe dilate.”
“Depart,” quoth they, “from vs, you are a stranger!
We mean not for your love to bring in danger
Our goodes & lives; should we a murder hide
'Twould even by sencelesse creatures be descride.
Your friendship thus distainde with innocent blood
We doe disclaime. While your estate was good,
And your selfe free from danger of the lawe,
The fatnesse of your purse had power to drawe
Our wealth-pursuing loves; but you must knowe,
Our friendships with your fortunes ebbe or flowe.”
Thus severally he all his friendes did trie,
And had from them this or the like replie;
At last he cals to minde a man of fashion,
With whom his father held much conversation
Whilome he livde, & oft had heard him praise
His friendship, prov'de in divers hard assaies.
To this as to the rest the young man hies,
And in like manner his fainde griefe discries;
He for his fathers sake, which was his friend,
Sweares he will doe his best his life to shend.

122

The body then he takes, & meanes to hide;
Vowes secrecie, what euer doe betide.
“And if,” quoth he, “you 'le on my faith relie,
I 'le keep you safe from the world searching eye,
Vntill this gust of danger be o're blowne,
Which threatens death, if that the fact be knowne.”
The man reioycing in his friends firme love,
Sayes how he did it but his faith to prove,
“And now,” quoth he, “by giving of false fire,
I have found out the thing I doe desire,
A faithfull friend, vpon whose trust I may
My life, my landes, & all my substance lay.”
Then vp & tels him all the project plaine,
How the dead body was a calfe yslaine.
The other, wondring at his pollicie,
Resolvèd straight a knot with him to tie
Of never-dying friendship to their end,
Thus each to other was a perfect friend.
Mean while the other from him he removde,
Whose fainèd love sufficientlie was prov'de.

Somnium.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

About the dead time of the silent night,
Disquiet thought debarring sounder sleepe,
A dreame I had that did me much delight,
Wherof my minde doth yet impression keepe,
Because it chiefly touchèd single life,
In good or bad election of a wife.
Methought 3 virgins did appear vnto me,
In their attyer all full seemly clad,
Which saide they came on purpose for to wooe me,
To know to which I most affection had:
“But first (said they) before this thing thou shew
Thou each of vs shalt severally knowe.”

123

Then first gan say the fairest of the three,
“I Beawty am; if me thou list to take,
Thy fancy shall receiue content in me,
And I will never thy true love forsake:
But I am poore, & have no meanes at all
Reliefe to give, if want should thee befall.”
The second then begann, “I Wealth am hight;
If me thou chuse thou never shalt have lacke;
Aboundance thee to give is in my might,
To fill thy belly, or to clothe thy backe:
Only I am (as thou maist well beholde)
Deformde, hard-favourd, crabbed, wringkled, olde.”
Then quoth the third & last, “My name is Witt;
If me thou chuse to give thy minde content,
I can discourse, with wordes moste apt & fitt,
Of nature, heaven, & every element:
But this be sure, a wanton I will prove,
And not be tyed vnto on[e] only love.”
“And now,” quoth they, “thine answeare we request,
For we of purpose come the same to knowe;
Tell whether of vs thou canst fancy best.”—
And heer me thought they left to speake; when loe!
I framèd me an answear them to make,
But forc'd my selfe, & thus I did awake.

Brevis Allegoria.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Out from the depth of Griefes infernall cave
Sad Melancholie rose with weeping eyes;
Company had she none, ne would she have,
But ne're pleasd Discontent, with whom she hies
With as swift feet as Griefe to her had lent,
Vnto the surging billowes of Lament,
To be washt o're into the desert Languishment.

124

The ferriman, or boatswaine of the lake,
Incredulous, all doubting, hight Dispaire,
Would none conduct that did not aye forsake
To draw the breath of that halfe killing ayre
Issuing from Hope, his still professèd foe,
Which makes men constant in abiding woe,
Expecting still at length their trouble to forgoe.
The boat wherin this Ferriman of hell
Dischargde his office, was a fearfull hulke
Framd' of a guilty conscience (worst of ill);
The sailes composde of sinne, whose monstrous bulke
Swelling with sighs, which were the gales of winde
Made the barke seeme to flie; a fearfull minde
Was the maine-mast, & doubt for anchor was assignde.
Thus rigd & trimd, it floteth vp & downe,
To ferry passengers vnto the shore
Of that inhospitable desert, where no towne,
Ne humane wight inhabited of yore;
Yet gins it now with people to abound,
Which daylie passe o're to that hatefull ground,
Although they know it will at length them quite confound.
For whie, within that desert lyes a cave,
Where horrid Murder, Death[s] sterne sire, doth dwell;
Him that Dispaire doth hither bring, this slave
Doth straight encounter, leads him to his cell,
Presenting him with cordes to stop his breath,
Poyson to kill him, or else doth vnsheath
Swordes, ponyards, knives, all instruments of cursèd death.
As Melancholie posted to the shore,
To be conducted to this balefull place,
Hope met with her & never gave her o're,
Till she had staide her rash vnsteady pace.

125

And with wise wordes, diverting her intent
From seeking out the desert Languishment,
At last she brought her to the house of Merriment.

De Fortuna.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Well have the poetes fainde the queen of chance,
Dame Fortune, blinde, & fixd vpon a wheele,
The swiftnesse of whose motion may entrance
A dull spectatours eye; at whose feet kneele
Great potentates, & kinges that sue for grace,
Whom as she list she spurns or doth embrace.
Sometimes she rayseth to emperiall throne
An abject peasant & base cuntry swaine,
Who from the ycie to the torrid zone
Boundeth the frontiers of monarchall raigne:
Then downe she thrustes from their supernall seat
Princes & kings, & makes them begg their meat.
O could she see, she would not be soe mad
(As now she is) in honour to advaunce
(Vertue despisde, & art but meanlie clad)
Vnmatchèd vice, & worthlesse ignoraunce:
But blinde she is, & seeth no mans fall;
Deafe, & can harken vnto no mans call.

Homo Arbor.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Like as a tree from forth the earth doth spring,
So from the earth doth man his essence take;
The tree shootes forth & doth faire blossoms bring,
So man, till youth his mansion doth forsake:
The tree growing crooked, if you'l have it mended,
Whilst that it is a twigg it must be bended.

126

Right soe it fares with man, whose infant age
Is apt of any forme to take impression,
Following advice & reason or else rage,
According as his youths frame takes succession:
If green he be not bended, but let grow,
When he is olde hee'l breake before hee'l bowe.
When lusty Ver approcheth, he doth bring
Fresh vigour to the tree & liveries gay;
Soe man doth reassume new health i' th' spring;
The tree when moysture failes will fade away:
And man will quickly perish like a plant,
If he that humidum radicale want.
Looke how at length the tree to ground doth fall,
Though long it stand fast fixèd in the earth;
Soe man, thoug[h] long he live, yet die he shall;
No helpe there is in honour, wealth, or birth:
The tree what way it falls, that way doth lye;
Even so shall man be iudgde as he doth die.

Mundus Theatrum.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

The world by some, & that not much amisse,
Vnto a Theater comparèd is,
Vpon which stage the goddes spectatours sitt,
And mortals act their partes as best doth fitt.
One acts a king, another a poore swaine;
One idely lives, another taketh paine;
One, like Orestes, becomes mad with rage,
Another seeks his furie to asswage.
And as i' th' play that man which acts the king,
(Though many he to his obeisaunce bring)
I' th' end is of no more account then he,
Which represents the beggers misery,

127

So is't i' th' world, when every man by death
Has his last exit, which doth stop his breath.
The king for all his crowne shall reape noe grace,
Nor beggers meannesse shall his cause embase.
But to my thinking, in this saide compare,
Though many iump, yet some things differing are.
In our stage-plaies ther 's but one foole at most
And sometimes none at all; we cannot boast
So much, farre otherwise with vs it is;
We act the same part all, not one doth misse.
They shew awhile in iest their foppery,
We still in seriousnesse our foolery.

Armat spina rosas.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Hard is it for the patient which is ill,
Fulsome or bitter potions to disgest,
Yet must he swallow many a bitter pill,
E're he regaine his former health & rest:
To keep the body safe is mans desire,
Though it be done through water, sword, & fire.
The hardy soldier, with death-threatning sword,
To kill his hostile enemy procures,
In hope the conquest will rich spoiles afford,
He mortall strokes & bloody woundes endures:
Victorious tryumph ther doth never grow,
But by the adverse parties overthrowe.
The silly bee his hony doth defend,
And from his hive doth chase the drone away;
Yea oftentimes with man it doth contend
And 'gainst him doth his threatning sting display:
Loth is it his mellifluous meat forgoe,
Which with such paine it gathers too & froe.

128

The odoriferous & fragrant rose,
Which in the spring tide shewes his blushing hiewe,
For fence it selfe with prickes doth round enclose,
Which make the gatherer oftentimes to rue,
And wish, with his prickt fingers making mone,
That he had let the verdant rose alone.
T[h]e amorous lover, ere he can enioy
His wishèd end, doth many paines endure;
Sometime his love disdainfull is & coy,
And will not stoop vnto his gentle lure;
Sometime he feares she will vnconstant prove,
And not reward him faithfull love for love.
Straight is the passage vertue to attaine,
And steep the hill that vnto honour leads;
Art is not had without industrious paine,
Nor wealth possest by praying vpon beads:
Things of great prise are not atchiev'de with ease,
But once attaind, they doe for ever please.

Comparatio mortis & Hyenæ.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

A monstrous beast ther is Hyena namde,
Whose shape of sundry formes composèd is;
Like to a wolfe her visage is iframde,
A vipers swelling neck she hath, I wis;
An elepha[n]ts huge backe, voice like a man,
And Proteous-like, transforme her selfe she can.
Death like this monster is in each respect:
First like a wolfe that ravenous is of prey,
Whose very looke his rapine doth detect,
Ne spareth he ought commeth in his way;
So death is cruell, suffering none escape;
Olde, young, rich, poore, of all he makes his rape.

129

Next as a viper swelleth on the ground,
And glideth to & fro to many a place,
Yet wher he was no print there can be found,
So nimble is he & so quick of pace;
Soe death is heer & yonder in one stound,
And kills & sleas, yet no man sees him wound.
The elephant in strength to him doth yeild,
Though he 'mongst beastes the strongest be accounted,
And castles carries on his back in field,
Where fighting men, as on a tower mounted,
Safegard themselves & doe their foes annoy;
But death whole townes & countries doth destroy.
A man he is in craft & pollicy,
Lurking full closely to devour his prey;
So death is full of craft & subtilty,
And vnawares doth many take away;
As with sweet sleep he closeth oft the sight,
Yet shuttes the eyes in an eternall night.
Lastly as Proteus into sundry shapes
(When as him list himselfe transforme) could change,
Or male or female he could be perhaps
Nor male nor female; soe doth death estrange
Himselfe into each sexe when as him will,
That is, both male & female he can kill.

Vesper exornat diem.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

What proffits it the well built ship to ride
Vpon the surging billowes of the maine,
Drivne with a pleasant gale & a calme tide,
If, ere it iornies end it doth attaine,
By boysterous stormes, which cannot be withstood,
Sea wrackt it perish in the raging floud?

130

The learned artistes much admired skill
In life-preserving phisicke is then tride,
When some strange cure is wrought; not every pill
Or olde wifes medecine to the sick applide
Can griefe recure; 'tis arts all knowing lore
Must man vnto his wonted health restore.
He that with trenchaunt blade in bloody fight,
Singlie opposde, & clad in equal armes,
Hath slaine his foe, or forcd him vnto flight,
Vsing noe witch-craft, sorcery, nor charmes,
May worthely crowne his victorious brow
With oken leaves of Ioves tryumphant bow.
Who truely can affirme the day will prove
Pleasant & faire, e're even doth appeare,
When sodeinly o'recast, the heauens remove
Oft times their beawty which our sight doth chear;
Successe by the event is knowne, the end
Doth every action praise, or discommend.

Virtus persequenda.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

He that in youth doth vertues path way tread,
When age vpon his wrinkled front shall sitt,
A crowne of honour shall enguirt his head,
And though he dye, his praise shall never flitt:
With her shrill trumpet never dying Fame,
Vnto the world shall still resound his name.
But he that vertue in his youth disdaines,
And like a lozell runneth out his race,

131

Shame & not honour in his age attaines,
And after death on earth shall have noe place:
Lethe shall drowne his ill deserving name,
But vertuous acts are still enrolde by Fame.

Cur Venus orta mari.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

The poetes faine (for soe I know I read)
That Venus of the seas white foame was bred,
And therfore Aphrodite doe her call,
Which name doth signifie as much to all
That know the word; but wherfore she should be
Derivèd from the froath of Neptunes sea
I know noe reason, since, as I doe gather,
Neptune her vnckle was & not her father;
Vnlesse that we, against true logicks lawes,
From the effect produce th' efficient cause;
And that too by comparison must be
As thus:—we all know that the foaming sea
Is salt & bitter to our tasting sence;
So lustfull Venus, which is saide from thence
To issue forth, proves salt & bitter still,
To them that follow her disordered will.

Medio tutissimus ibis.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Climenes brat, aspiring Phaëton,
Dryving the fierie horses of the sunne
Out of the midle way, vp to the seat
Of Iupiter, & scorching with the heat
Of his bright flaming charriot all the goddes,
Was by incensèd Iove whipt downe with roddes
Of thundering lightning to the raging wave
O' the vast ocean, his vntimely grave.

132

Fond Icarus, proud of his waxen wings
Soaring to high, is drenchèd in the maine,
When Dædalus his plumèd bodie brings
Safe to the shore. Ambition is a traine
That life entraps; a golden mean the way
To live securely; for we often see
Men of most honor soonest doe decay,
When meaner men live in tranquility.
Wilt thow be safe? strive not to climbe at all;
Low shrubs stand fast, when statelier okes doe fall.

Scribimus indocti doctique epigrammata passim.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Iohnson they say 's turnd Epigrammatist,
Soe think not I, believe it they that list.
Peruse his booke, thou shalt not find a dram
Of witt befitting a true Epigram.
Perhaps some scraps of play-bookes thou maist see,
Collected heer & there confusedlie,
Which piece his broken stuffe; if thou but note,
Iust like soe many patches on a cote.
And yet his intret Cato sta[n]ds before,
Even at the portall of his pamphlets dore;
As who should say, this booke is fit for none
But Catoes, learned men, to looke vpon:
Or else, let Cato censure if he will,
My booke deserves the best of iudgement still.
When every gull may see his booke 's vntwitten,
And Epigrams as bad as e're were written.
Iohnson, this worke thy other doth distaine,
And makes the world imagine that thy vein

133

Is not true bred but of some bastard race.
Then write no more, or write with better grace;
Turne thee to plaies, & therin write thy fill;
Leave Epigrams to artists of more skill.

In Madamam quandam.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

A country lasse of silly parents bred,
In London was for service entertainde,
And being of a wealthy master sped
She with her luring lookes so farre him trainde,
That he embrac'd her in a marriage bed,
But first she pawnd to him her maydenhead.
What plottes she had, what tricks she then did vse,
To bring her matter to soe good effect,
I list not now repeat; lest for the stewes
New stratagems I plainlie doe detect:
But such they were, that from a scullians life
Made her a wealthy marcheantes second wife.
Then gan she trip it proudlie one the toe,
And mince it finely vpon London streetes.
She lady-like in her attire did goe,
Bought with the purchase of vnlawfull sheets;
At last, her of her husband death bereft,
Who dying, her a wealthy widow left.
Ambition now began to swell her minde,
All her desire was to be ladifide;
And with a knight at len[g]th she was combinde,
Which made her think herselfe halfe deifide:
But well she might, in Edens plot she lies,
And all men know that place is paradise.
Long liv'de she not in Edens fruitfull soile,
For her aspiring minde straight drave her thence;

134

That serpent pride did her soe far beguile,
Eden she banisht was for her offence:
Iudge, was not woman very much vnwise
That thus by pride hath twice lost paradise?

In Neandrem.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Neander, held a great cevillian
(Let me not say a Machiavillian)
Appointed to dispute before the king,
Struck mute with fear, could not say anything
Save 'twas ill luck; for if he had done well,
As we expected he would bear the bell
From the whole Academie for the test,
'Tis certaine he had been a knight a[t] lest,
And made his wife (what she hath lookt for long)
A Madame. Fortune, thou hast done her wrong
To hinder his once dubbing of his wife,
Which hath dubde him soe often in her life.

In Asinium.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Asinius what I speake straight overhears;
Will you know why? Asses have longest eares.

In Balbutiam.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Balbutia, which hath all the tricks of art
That doe belong vnto a whorish part,
Wholly bewitchd a gentleman to leave
His wife & children vnto her to cleave

135

Even to his end, &, though God did him blesse
With a faire issue, clean to dispossesse
His children of his goodes & give her all
By his last dying testimoniall.
But how dost thrive with her? Exceeding well;
She is the likelyst still to goe to hell.
But heer she doth not without crosses goe,
Those in her children, sonnes & daughters too.
Her eldest sonne is hangd or drownd i' th' seas,
Her other is as good in forwardnesse.
Her eldest daughter 's married to her griefe,
Whose husband lives a prisoner & a theefe.
Her other daughters would fain married be,
But moste that knowe doe hate this progenie.
Thus she which made mothers fare the worse
In her owne seed hath this deservèd curse.

In adulantes Aulicos.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Base sycophantes, crumbe-catching parasites,
Obsequious slaves, which bend at every nod;
Insatiate harpies, gormandizing kites,
Epicures, at[h]eists, which adore no God
But your owne bellies & your private gaine,
Got by your oily tongues bewitching traine!
O how my Muse, armde with Rhamnusiaes whip,
Desires to scourge your hell-bred villanie,
And with Astræas sharp edgd sword t' vnrip
The hatefull cloke of your deformity;
Whose naked view soe odious would appear,
That we should hate what now is held full deare.
Your sly deceits dissimulation hides,
Your false intent faire wordes obnubilate;

136

So 'mongst the greenest grasse the serpent glides,
And freshest flowers foule toades coinquinate:
All is not golde that hath a glistering hiew,
But what the touchstone tries & findeth true.
Dissentions, & twixt friends vnfriendly jarres,
Your base tale-carr[y]ing tongues doe sett abroch,
Intestine broyles, cyvill vncivill warres,
Which end in death or infamous reproch,
Are causd' by your insinuating wordes,
Whose poysnous breath wounds deeper then keen swordes.
Avaunt, ye fauning curres, & leave the Court!
Flatter not greatnesse with your scurrill praise.
Dare flies approach where eagles doe resort?
And shall the cuckoe in [a] cove[r]t chaunt his laies?
For ye, like cuckoes, all one note doe sing,
And like to flies doe buzze about our king.
But he, the princely Eagle, scornes such flies,
Such butter-flies, such gnates, whose humming sound
Relisheth not his eare; nor doe his eyes
Affect your gaudy outside, which abound
More in queint speach & gorgeous attire,
Then in your loves, which ought to be entyre.
Ye Aristippian zanies, Albions ill,
Leave off at last your poysning honnied speach;
Let not your sugred wordes be traines to kill,
Iust like the foxe when he to geese doth preach:
And ye rich men, which selfe-conceit doe love,
Be not such geese, foxe-flattering praise to prove.
So Aesops crow whom crafty rainard spide
With prey in bill, was earst by him deceivde;

137

“O thou faire bird” (a lowd lie!) then he cride,
“Why singst thou not, whose musick hath bereavd
The nightingale of that respect she held,
Since thy sweet voice a sweeter note doth yield?”
The silly crow, bewitchd with flattering praise,
Addrest herselfe to give the foxe a song,
When opening wide her bill to chaunt her laies,
Downe fell the prey she held! The foxe ere long
It quite devoured had, gan her deride;
Then, all too late, his cunning she espide.
Such crowes are they whom flatterers beguile;
Such foxes they which flatter, faune, & cog:
Brittans, let them no more sucke vp your oyle;
Be Aesops crow noe more, but Aesops dog.
Chace hence these foxes, which at your mercy stand,
For our then happy made Eutopian land.

Somnium.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

About that time when as the chearfull spring
Bedeckes the earth with her sweet smelling flowers,
When pretty birds with their sweet caroling,
Record their ditties in Silvanus bowers,
I fortunde, envited by the aire,
Vnto a pleasant grove to make repaire.
Quite through the thicket ran a pleasant spring,
Whose gentle gliding a sweet murmure made;
The place (sufficient to content a king)
Allurde me to repose vnder the shade
Of a broad beech, the aptnesse of which seat
Preservde me from the sunnes annoying heat.
Not many minutes did I there repose,
Ere gentle Morpheus, powerfull god of sleep,

138

With his compelling charmes mine eyes did close.
Such harmony the chirping birdes did keep
Coniointly with the sweetly warbling streame,
That my long slumber did begett this dreame:
Me thought it was about the dead of night,
What time there was presented to my view
A spectacle that did me much affright,
And all my sences in amazement drew;
Till manly courage, putting fear to flight,
Made me expect the issue of the sight.
The fearfull obiect of my wandring eye,
In shew appeard to be a womans shape;
Her looke was heavy, & did well descrie
She had been subiect to noe mean mishappe:
Her robes were costly, crownèd was her head,
Which did foretell she was not basely bred.
One of her handes a bloody sword did graspe,
Wherwith had been transfixd her tender heart;
The other hand a burning torch did claspe,
By light wherof I might descrie each part
Of her well featured body, whose sad plight
Drew forth salt teares from my relenting sight.
I would have questiond whence, or who, she was,
But admiration such amasement bred,
That not one word from forth my lips could passe,
My voice had lost his office & was dead,—
Buried in silence lay; when loe, ere long
The apparition thus let lose her tongue:—
“Young man” (quoth she) “thy spirites recollect;
Be not amazde mine vncouth shape to see;
Such peevish fear doth shew a minde deiect,
Or guilty conscience, which are farre from thee:
Give ear vnto me, & I will relate
A true sad story of my passèd fate.

139

“I am by birth of most divine discent;
For I am daughter to immortall Iove,
From whom into the world I first was sent
As witnesse of his reconcilèd love
With mortall man; for which effect I came
From heaven, & True Religion is my name.
“First went I to the vnbeleeving Iewes;
But there I could smale entertainment finde:
The greater part did vtterlie refuse
To lodge me in their heartes, & wilfull blinde
Did cast me from them; though alone by me
Man can attaine to true felicity.
“By them reiected thus, I did intend
Vnto the Gentiles next to bend my course,
To see if they would greater favour lend:
With these I had indeed somewhile great force,
And purchasde a large kingdome with this crowne,
Till the ten persecutions put me downe.
“But noe oppression could me quite suppresse;
Nay, persecutions made me flourish more;
I still was slaine, yet still I did increase,
And growing lesse, grew greater then before:
Cammomill trodden doth the farther spred,
And the palme prest, the higher lifts his head.
“Rome was of yore my place of residence,
Where as a soveraigne I long time did sitt,
Till antichristian prelats drave me thence;
Then did I flie to Brittaine, & in it
I have till now, & ever will remaine,
Till the world shall to chaos turne againe.
“With this sharp sword, which in my hand I holde,
A cruell Lady pearcd me to the heart;
The wound is fresh to see, the blood scarce colde,—
Her name was Mary that did act this parte:

140

But e're she kilde me she was slaine by death,
And I revivd'e by young Elizabeth.
“Forty-fower yeares this far renownèd queen,
Honord of all, me above all did honor;
But fates her, graie in yeares, in vertues green,
Cald to a worthier place, death seazd vpon her,
And for this world, which nought but sorrow yeilds,
Carried Eliza to th' Elizian fields.
“After her death the good Iosiah came,
When the land feard some sodaine innovation,
And, for the propagation of my name,
Contracts a league with many a neighbour nation;
Wisely foreseeing that by such a peace,
My crowne should flourish & my power encrease.
“Vnder this monarch, or above him, rather,
I rule this Britaine Empire & doe bring
Many a soule vnto my heavenly Father,
In spite of Rome, which for me hates the king:
But God will blesse him, & vnto the end
He and his issue shall my cause defend.
“If thou wouldst know whie this bright burning light
Mine other hand doth bear, I will thee tell;
I have an enemie as darke as night,
Cald Error (I to heaven, she leades to hell)
Whose blacknesse to obscure me doth endevour,
But that this light doth her false mists dissever.
“The reason why I looke thus heavily,
Is 'cause of late my power gins decay;
That hellish monster, damnd hypocrisie,
Doth carry in the land far greater sway;
Enters my temples &, in spite of me,
Vsurps my place & titles soveraigntie.

141

“There is a sort of purest seeming men,
That aide this monster in her wrongfull cause,
Those the world nameth—Puritanes I meane—
Sent to supplant me from the very iawes
Of hell, I think; by whose apparant shew
Of sanctity doe greatest evils grow.
“Vnless the hand of wise authority
Doe reinstall me in my former place,
And punish them & their hypocrisie,
They will ere long mine honour quite deface.
And so I prethee, tell him gentle youth,—
Be not afraide, 'tis nothing but the truth.”
This saide, methought she vanishd from my sight,
And left me much perplexèd in my thought.
I musde a Puritan should be a wight
So seeming good, & yet soe passing naught;
Till thinking long vpon so strange a theame,
At last I wakd, & then I writ my dreame.

In curiosos theologos.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

You high aspiring wittes, which seeke to prie
Into the secretes of the Diety,
Is 't not enough to know his will reveald,
But you must aime at that which is conceald?
By curious inquisition, too much light
Hath made you lose the perfect vse of sight.
Saint Austines saying may you well befitt,
Which vnto one would know (without all witt)
By curious interrogation,
What God did ere he layd the worldes foundation,
Replide, “I think, or rather know full well,
He made for such as thee infernall hell.”

142

A place most meet for them that dare adventure
Into Godes secret cabbinet to enter.
O, strive not then to know his secret will,
Which art can never compasse with her skill!

Gratia peccatum superat.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Mounted on winges of high aspiring thought,
I soare a loft vp to the throne of grace;
My heartes repent, by true contrition wrought,
I there present before th' Almighties face.
The spotlesse Lambe which for my guilt was slaine,
I offer vp a ransome for my sinne;
With sighs, praiers, teares, I begge release of paine,
Of him that ever mercifull hath been.
My soule thus seated in divine desires,
Selfe-love allurs me vnto vaine delight,
Then quenchèd are my former heavenly fires,
Till grace doth once againe put sinne to flight.
Thus sinne with grace, & grace with sinne doth strive,
Till sin lie dead, & grace doe sinne survive.

Christianus Agnus.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Like a young tender lambe that man must be
Which doth professe true Christianity
With sincere heart, in imitation
First of that spotlesse Lambe, whose Passion
Brought sinfull man from endlesse misery
To the true center of felicity.
Next, as a lambe is harmlesse, innocent,
Meek, gentle, humble, quiet, patient,
So must a Christian be; his harmlesse life
Must be devoide of all malicious strife.
Revilde, he must not once revile againe,
But must doe good for ill, must suffer paine

143

And persecution with an humble heart
And patient minde; yea, though it doe impart
The bodies death; such martirdome shalbe
A glorious crowne of immortality.
Lastly, in this respect (if I not erre)
A lamb is a true Christians charecter:
The infant lambe among a thousand sheep,
Whose frequent bleatings a loude murmere keepe,
Knowes his owne damme when he but heares her voice,
And to sucke her milke onlie doth reioyce:
So must a Christian know the Church his mother
By her owne voice, the word of God, from other
Which are but stepdames:—Popish congregations,
Brownisme, & Puritannicke invocation[s],
Which bleat false doctrine & damnd heresies,
He must distinguish from true misteries;
And like an infant lambe, the childe of grace,
Sucke only from her breastes, which flow apace
With the sincere milke of Godes holie word,
His soules nutrition. Thus ther is accord
In these respectes & more, which I'le not trace,
Twixt lambes of nature & the lambes of grace.

Christianus Navis.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

A ship vnto a certaine haven bent,
Turmoilde in Neptunes watry element,
With longing expectation doth attend
To make arrivall to his wishèd end.
This ship thus troubled is a Christiane
Tost vp and downe in the vast ocean
Of this terrestriall orbe, of which even all
We fitlie by the name of sea may call;
For 'tis a place of perturbation,
Of anguish, sorrowe & vexation,

144

Like the tempestuous sea; & is to vs
For rockes, quicksandes, & gulfes, as dangerous.
Vpon this ocean terrestriall,
This ship, this vessell allegoricall,
A Christian, floating vp & downe, doth strive
To heaven his safest haven to arrive.
Which harbour ere he can entirely winne,
He must first passe by rockes & gulfes of sinne,
And therfore needes good preparation
To make a prosperous navigation.
Assist me Phœbus, & I will recite
How he must riggèd be to saile vpright.
The earthly stuffe wherof this ship 's composde
Is flesh & bones in order well disposde.
Ships have their sides or ribbes, & soe hath man
All tacklings else, soe must a Christian.
The maine-mast must be love o' th' Diety;
The lesser ones, meeke heart & charity;
The sailes strong faith, hope anchor is assignde,
And fervent prayer is the gentle winde
That blowes it forward; other tacklings be
Good thoughtes, good wordes, good workes, which trinity
Must all conioyne in one to holde the sailes,
For when these stringes slip, faith then quicklie failes.
The pilote which must alway be aborde
To steere the right way, is Godes holy worde;
The sences must the common sailers be,
Affections, slaves restrainde of libertie,
Kept only to take paines, their actions
Must still be ordered by directions
Given by reason, which must have some sway
In this same voyage; but all must obey
The counsell of the pilot, & still stand
Prest at his service, when he doth command.
Now, 'cause this voyage cannot welbe made
Free from all danger, but ther will invade

145

Some hostile foe or other; be ther placd
A prospective vpon the top o' th' mast,
Wherin 'tis fitt that carefull diligence
Keep evermore his watchfull residence,
And straight give notice, when he doth descrie
The force & comming of the enemie.
For Sathan, that leviathan, that whale,
Who is an enemie & ever shall
To Christian man, doth wat[c]h occasion
When he may make his best invasion.
Wherfore against this foe, which seekes to kill,
Offensive & defensive weapons still
This ship must carrie, & himselfe prepare
To fight it out like a strong man of warre.
First at his beake-head he must fasten on
Th' impenetrable helme salvation,
And then the breastplate of true righteousnes
Which will resist the devill, & represse
His furious rage. Then faith his sheild must be
To quench the balles of wilde-fyer presentlie;
But the sword of the spirit Sathan quailes,
And to attaine the conquest never failes:
This is the weapon that the pirate woundes,
This is the sword-fish which the whale confounds.
Thus if vnto the end he doe endure
Like a brave champion, then he shalbe sure
The fiend will like a coward run away,
And he, a happy victour, gett the day.
Then having once attaind the victorie,
He may advance his flag trivmphantly,
And saile with ioy, till he the port attaine,
Where in perpetuall blisse he shall remaine.

146

Deum nescire est nihil scire,
ipsum rectè scire, omnia.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Philosophers, which search the cause of things
As farre as nature gives their knowledge winges
To soar vnto; whose quicke & ready witt
A definition to each thing can fitt;
Though they can sillogize with arguments
Of all thinges, from the heavens circumference
To the earths center, & true reason give
Of natures power, which makes thinges move & live;
Yet if they want faiths intellectuall eye
First to believe ther is a Diety,
In Godhead one alone, in Persons three,
By whom all creatures are, & cease to be,
They are but fooles, & they 'r still blinde, not seeing
The Cause of causes, which gives all their being.
Astronomers that can foretell eventes
By the celestiall creatures influence,
By errant planettes & by fixèd starres,
Can pre-divine of famines, plagues, & warres;
And of their contraries pre-indicate,
Which come by an inevetable fate;
Can shew th' ecclipses of the sunne & moone,
And how the planettes make coniunction;
Which have found out, & will maintaine it true,
Three orbes, which Aristotle never knew.
Yet all this knowledge, though it reach as farre
As is the Articke from th' Antarticke starre,
Is nothing, if they know not God above,
That Primus Motor, which all orbes doth move;
Their art wherein they doe themselves advaunce,
Lives still ecclipsèd in black ignorance.
Phisitions which prescribe a remedy
To each disease & bodies maladie;

147

That know what is nocivous, & what good,
When it is fit to bath, to purge, let bloode;
Although they know the nature & the power
Of every simple, every hearbe, & flower,
With Solomon, which from the cedar tall
Vnto the hisope spreading on the wall,
Knew every growing plant, flower, hearbe, or tree,
With their true vse & proper qualitie;
Yet all their skill as follie I deride,
Vnlesse they rightly know Christ crucified.
He, he it is, which truly is alone
The soules best physicke & Physition.
All artes, as well those we call liberall
As other sciences mechanicall,
What e're they be, & howsoever lov'de,
And worthily by mortall man approv'de,
If the best knowledge theologicall,
Be not conioynèd with their rationall,—
What e're they may vnto the world professe—
All their best wisdome is starke foolishnesse.
He is the only wise & prudent man
Whose knowledge makes him the best Christian.
For practise must agree with speculation,
Belief & knowledge must guide operation;
Man may believe & yet he may dissemble,
For even the divels doe beleeve & tremble.
'Tis not enough that we beleeve a God,
For this will all confesse that feele his rod;
But we must alsoe in this God beleeve,
And in our actions not the Spirit grieve.
We must beleeve that it was he alone
Which gave to man his first creation,
And that from him alone comes our redemption,
Which is from everlasting death exemption;
That we in him alone are iustifide,
And by him only shall be glorifide.

148

This we must trow & (though it passe our sence)
Repose in this assurde confidence,
Which how we must performe in each respect
The Scripture plainly doth vs all direct.
He that knowes this (although the poorest worme)
And to this knowledge doth his life conforme,
Want he the giftes of nature, education,
Speake he the tongue but of one only nation;
Be he a foole in the esteeme of man,
In worldly thinges a meer simplician;
Yet for all this, I boldly dare averre
His knowledge great, & will it farre preferre
Before the skill of wise philosophers,
Phisitions, lawyers, & astronomers,
Which either want the knowledge of the Diety,
And live in sinne & damnd impiety,
Or, if they know a God, doe fear him rather
As a just Iudge then as a loving Father.
He that doth truly know Christ crucifide,
Doth know enough, though he know nought beside;
But he that knowes him not doth only rave,
Though all the skill else in the world he have.

Ternarius numerus perfectissimus.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Of all the numbers arithmeticall,
The number three is heald for principall,
As well in naturall philosophy
As supernaturall theologie.
Philosophers, in causes naturall,
Holde that all thinges have their originall
From three chief causes, or principia,
And therfor say tria sunt omnia,
From three all essence & existence growe,
Materia, forma, & privatio.

149

The body three dimensions doth include,
And they are these, length, bredth, profunditude.
In mathematique bodies three thinges please,
their punctum, linea, superficies.
The soule, that breath of life, we threefold call,
Vegitive, sensitive, & rationall.
Time doth his three divisive partes endure,
That which is past, the present, & future.
There are three graces; ther be vertues three,
Theologicall, faith, hope, & charity.
The father of the faithfull, Abraham,
Receivde three Angels which vnto him came.
From the fierce flames of Nebuchadnezar
God was the three childrens Deliverer.
Ionah, whose flight Godes mandat had opposde,
In the whales belly three dayes was enclosde.
Christ, to give man a new regenerate birth,
Was three dayes in the bowels of the earth;
When he from death & hell a Victour rose,
Did three times visible himselfe disclose
To his disciples; thrice bad Peter keepe
And nourish well his flock of lambs & sheepe.
Thrice was let downe to Peter in a dreame
A sheet, with beastes, birdes, creeping things vncleane,
And he thrice bidden eat, denide consent,
Whilest three men sought him, from Cornelius sent.
The heavenly kingdome, that celestiall bower,
A leaven is, hid in three peckes of flower.
Lastly, but principallie, above all
The Diety in Persons three we call;
This Trinity it is indeed alone
Which gives this number best perfection.
Thrice happy is that man, with ioy shall see
This Perfect Number, this Thrice Glorious Three.

150

De duplici adventu Christi.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

When sinfull man in Edens garden plac'd,
By stubborne disobedience had defac'd
The true idæa of his happinesse,
And had deservde, for soe great wickednesse,
Eternall death, loe, mercy then began
To mitigate the punnishment of man.
Though earth was cursde, & man must by the sweat
Of his owne labour make it yeild him meat;
Though woman, whom the serpent had beguilde,
In paine & sorrowe must bring forth her childe;
Yet from eternall death the promisde seed
Put them in comfort that they should be freed.
To which effect the only Son of Iove,
Out of the infinitenesse of his love
To his own likenesse man, came downe from heaven,
Toke flesh vpon him, was of life bereaven,
And made full satisfaction by his death
For all their sinnes, which by a lively fayth
Lay holde vpon his meritorious Passion,
The perfect path that leads vnto salvation.
This Christes first comming was, which we doe name
A comming vnto vs in grace; to frame
Mans soule to come to him, he first began
To come him selfe in grace to sinfull man,
From a pure Virgin to take incarnation,
From impure Iewes, his patient Passion.
His first Advent yeilds a quaternall section,
His birth, his life, his death, his resurrection.
His birth was poore, that by his poverty
We might be made rich in eternity.
Borne in a cratch 'mongst beastes (yet for our gaine)
That in heavens kingdome we with saintes might raigne.
He livd despisde of man, to get vs grace
With God the Father; meekly did embrace

151

(Sole sinne excepted) each infirmity
Coincident to fraile humanity,
That he might put vs in a better state,
And in his weaknesse vs corroborate.
As he was man he yeilded vp his breath
To save vs men from an eternall death,
Which death was full of agonie & paine,
That our life purchasd, might in joy remaine.
Lastly, as God he subdued death & hell,
And rose againe from the infernall cell
Of conquerd Sathan, to prepare the way
For vs to follow him; and now this day
Sitting in maiesty at Gods right hand,
Sole Mediatour for our cause doth stand,
And till his second comming, shall doe still
To plead their cause which doe obey his will;
Which second comming shall in glory be,
And in vnvtterable maiestie.
The generall resurrection shalbe then,
And dust & wormes returne to living men.
Then shall our corruptible flesh put on
Immortalnesse & incorruption.
Then shall we see Christ comming in the cloudes,
When some will wish whole mountaines were their shroudes.
Then he the sheep from goates shall separate,
The iust & godly from the reprobate,
And sheepe have blisse; the other for their hire
Perpetuall paines & everlasting fire.
Thus shall his second powerfull comming be
The godlies ioy, the wickedes misery.
Twixt his first comming & his latter one
There wilbe found much discrepation.
First did he come in all humility,
Then shall he come in splendant royalty;

152

First to be iudgèd by the world he came,
Then shall he come as Lord to iudge the same;
In his first comming he for man did die,
In this he shall give 's lifes eternity.
May we the first advent of Christ emploie
So to our good that at the latter day,
His second comming, when he shall appeare,
Before our Iudge we may without all feare
Expect that happy sentence, “Come ye blest,
And enter into everlasting rest.”

In Momum.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Momus, that foulmouthd slave, my verse derides;
Sayes they are plaine, bald balladstuffe; besides
They want invention, poetrie, & witt,
And are farre worse then ever Bavius writt.
Dost not thou like 'em, Momus? Why I 'me glad;
That which thou likst, I 'me sure must needs be bad.
But be they soe, as worse thou canst not prove them,
I tell thee they like me, & I will love them.
As for thy scoffes, I neither doubt nor fear them,
Thou hast wrongd better, therfore I may beare them.
[End.]