University of Virginia Library

The second Book.

1. To the Fellow-Commoners of Trinity Colledge in Cambridge.

Gentlemen, in my youth I spent some years
Within your walls; but few, it plain appears
By this poor Book, which I an offering make
Unto you, for your recreations sake:
Not that I do presume that you may finde
Anything in it worth your eyes, or minde;
But that the view of these slight toyes may raise
You to accomplish works deserving praise.
When you have laugh'd enough at these, pray take
(Each of you) Pen in hand, and better make:
Which would a noble emulation prove,
And (from our rank) an Obloquie remove.

2. To the Reader.

Reader, (because I would escape the fury
Of all thy Tribe, the grand, and petty Jury
That sit on Books, and Wits) I do profess
Although this Book be small, the Wit in't's less.
Having thus censur'd it, I need not fear
What others say, or wish them to forbear.
Why should you read it therefore, you exclaime?
Because y'ave bought it read it o're for shame.

13. To Mr. Tho. Harper a Printer.

You Printers, and the Stationers do raise
Unto your selves a fame, if not a praise:
For be the Authour what he will, you give
Stamps of your Names on's Book, and with him live.
But if Errata's you prevent, you raise
Not onely to your selves a Fame, but praise.

4. Of Virgil.

Wherefore should Virgil wrong the Carthage Queen?
Was it through Ignorance, or out of spleen?
If he unwittingly eclips'd her Glory,
The ablest Poet was unskil'd in Story:
If he through malice tax'd her with such guilt,
It was 'cause she Romes dreaded rivall built.
But he might think (though her he did debase)
To be in his Lines any thing was Grace.

5. To Mr. Bryan Cokaine.

Cousin, I hope each Star when you was born,
Did Heaven with a benign aspect adorn:
And every glistering jewel of the sky
Dispense their Good to your Nativity.
You being sweet-condition'd, having mov'd
All men to honour you (so well belov'd)
Nobly descended, bred to all the Arts
That give a man renown for worthy parts;
To a great fortune heir, and a brave seat,
(For what then Rushton can be held more sweet!)
Married to a fine Lady, the first day
Of her youths spring (whose ripe and flourishing May
Of Beauty, still is years to come; yet she
Handsome as fancy can think woman t'be)
Inheritrix unto a grand estate,
(And yet her excellent vertues far more great)
We needs must guess the Heavens your friend, and know
(Y'ave so much Land upon't) the earth is so.

6. To Mrs. Elizabeth Cokaine, his Lady.

Hail Maid, and wife! But (Cousin) I wish you
Had chang'd that name (were older) for a new.
But this is not enough without another:
I wish you quickly too an happy Mother.
Rushton and Roster both expect you shood
Unite them strictlier by so great a good:
Cokaines and Trenthams then their joys will tell;
So till a Christning come (Cousin) Farewell.

7. To my honest kinsman Mr. John Cokaine.

When at your Pigeon-house we meet sometime
(Though bawling Puritans call it a Crime)
And pleasant hours from serious thoughts do steal
With a fine little glass, and temperate Ale,
Talk of Sir [OMITTED] Cokaine, and how near
He was alli'd to Will the Conquerer,
Liv'd in his reign at Henningham Castle, and
That lately there his Bow and Arrows did stand,
That there his Sword and Buckler hung, and that
(If they have scap'd these Times) th'are all there yet;
Some fall asleep because healths are but few,
And care not for such Tales though ne're so true.
So as (through too much drink) we see sleep come
On others, it for too little falls on some.

8. To Dulcinea.

Dulcinea (it seems) bears me a grutch
Cause of my Love to her I talk so much.
To love, and have no vent at all, would break
An heart, therefore give Lovers leave to speak.
But be appeas'd (fair Maid) for I'le be sworn
I love thee vertuous, vicious thee should scorn.

9. To Sir Robert Brett.

Sir, that your Lady Cousin-german is
Unto my wife (and yet I boast of this)
Is not my amplest glory; I rejoyce
That to the world your friendship I may voice.

10. To Mr. George Porter.

Whether in one that I affect above
Others, I honour should or friendship love,
Is now become my doubt; but soon I shall
(By contemplating you) o'recome it all.
What is anothers Honour unto me,
If our affections want a Sympathie?
And how can any friendship have a stamp
Of worth upon it, that doth Honour want?
Honour and friendship should Concomitants be,
And (in as near relation) should agree,
As Light doth with the Sun; for Honour doth
Keep friendship from all flawes; they both seem both,
The grand example of your excellent parts
(The wonder, and delight of noble hearts)
Honour and friendship (to their splendid height)
Do in all great and generous souls unite.
Malice it self no stain can tax you with,
But that unto me you your friendship give:
And (Sir) I am so proud on't, that I must
Unto your mighty merit be unjust;
(In this let envy censure how it will)
Pray honour me with your fair friendship still.

11. To Mr. Richard Grey of Adderston, my worthy kinsman.

Sir, you Platonicks do defend too much,
And I guess talking so may make you such:
Yet 'tis not in your nature, I suppose;
For something you may love besides their clothes,
Their conversation, and their vertues in
The tender female Sexe: but you have been
So long a champion for Platonick love,
That you conceit it a disgrace to move
From your aerial tenents; pray you leave
This argument, and all their hopes deceive,
That gape after your wealth when you are gone;
Marry a wife, and leave it to your own.
But (if your humour you resolve shall last)
Make me your heir, and all my trouble's past.

12. An Epitaph on my Noble Cousin Mr. Edward Reppington, who deceased about the 24th year of his age, and lies buried in Tamworth.

Stay, whosoe're thou art that passest by,
And notice take who here entomb'd doth ly:
For Edward Reppington (the hopes, and heir)
Of Ammington and Adderston lies here.
He was a Gentleman of so much worth,
That he hath left few equals on the earth;
As early Fruit for Princes got, even so
(Being ripe for Heaven) he hence so young did go,
The Reppingtons, and Seabrights should rejoyce
For giving being to such ex'lencies;
Although (through Natures weakness) they yet mourn
That's mortal part is faln into his Urne:
They that would be belov'd as he, must grow
In vertue as in years; think on't, and go.

13. Of Men.

How rude is mankind grown! savager far
And more inhumane then the brute beasts are!
When our first great Grandsire enjoy'd the joys,
The walks, and Groves of glorious Paradise,
When in the State of Innocense he stood,
(That little while he was completely good)
And ere his beauteous Mate was made, He then
Was King of beasts, and not a King of men.

14. To Robert Shotwall of Ashbourne.

Robin, thy Ale, and company are both
So good, that I to leave thee oft am loth.
But yet thy Bill for Boots and Shoes forgi'me;
And then (I'le promise) you shall oftner see me.
For then to spend I should have so much more
Which should be yours; So I would quit my score.

15. Of Rome.

Rome! once the conquer'd worlds great Head, and yet
The Queen of Cities, and deserving it,
Thy ruines are more glorious to behold
Than our new Palaces glittring with gold
And richest Tapistry: thy Statues broke,
Thy Amphitheatres half faln, the stroke
Of Time upon thy Obelisques, and
Decayes of Emperours; Termes do command
A reverence from our eyes; Each step in thee
Puts us in minde of some Antiquitie.
Triumphant Arches (though half buried) show
Which way victorious Cæsars once did go.
This was the earths Metropolis; In it
Historians, Oratours, and Poets met
From all the Provinces; and herein they
Wore many a day and many a night away
In frolick Banquets, made Suburra own
More joyes then on Olympus e're were known.
But various plenty of delicious Wine
Completes thy Praise, and makes an end of mine.

16. Of Womens Clothes.

The gentle female Sexe that doth affect
Liberty so, doth liberty neglect:
For (for the fashions sake) they are content
Their clothes should be their strict Imprisonment.

13. Of Cupid.

Beauty is but opinion of the Liker;
And Cupid's no good archer, but a striker.
His rage he strangly doth employ, and parts
(At random carelesly) with all his darts;
And all these mischiefs, and these miseries
We do impute unto his want of eyes:
But we may bless our fates that he is blind;
Else war (for beauty) would destroy mankind.

18. Of Galla.

Galla hath still her maidenhead; And why?
She is unhandsome, and her price too high.
Yet she would fain be rid of it; but none
Will pay so dear, therefore 'tis still her own.
So (although her desires be thus unjust)
Her covetousness doth overpoise her lust.

19. Of Bettina.

Ever to love a Lass so fair as she
Loseth no judgment, but doth settle me
In an opinion, that I would have no
Zeal in affection, but for her, to show.
All men admire her much who ever yet
Beheld her face: And shall I wrong my wit
Expresly to declare I like her not,
To whom I owe as much as I have got?
Have I my Sences? I can try no way
But by approving her; my eyes survey
All Objects, but like none like her; my ears
Receive no Musick like her voice: her tears
Compose the purest Nectar: her soft touch
Lends torn Prometheus ease; and body such
A perfume doth evaporate, that she
Yields choicer sweets then in Arabia be.

20. To the same.

Although, Bettina, I profess'd deep Love
Unto you, in the Epigram above,
Mine was no wanton flame; though I admir'd
Your beauties, I fruition ne're desir'd.
All your discourse was of such pretty stuff,
That I (methoughts) could never hear enough:
Your conversation did my motive prove;
So mine a friendship was, and not a Love.

21. Of the River Cham.

Why crooked Chams dull streams so slowly move,
It is, cause it with Cambridge is in love?
Poor river! thy Amours as vain decline,
For water Schollars care not for, but wine.

22. To my ingenuous Friend Mr. Alexander Brome on his Essay to translate Lucretius.

I know a Lady that hath been about
The same designe, but she must needes give out:
Your Poet strikes too boldly home sometimes,
In geniall things, t'appear in womens rhimes,
The task is masculine, and he that can
Translate Lucretius, is an able man,
And such are you; whose rich poetick vein,
And general Learning perfectly can plain,
And smooth your Authors roughnesses, and give
Him such a robe of English as will live,
Out-wear, and all such works exceed, and prove
This Nations wonder, and this nations Love.
Therefore proceed, (my friend) and soon erect
This Pyramid of our best Dialect.

23. To my dear Cousin-Germans Mrs. Anne, Mrs. Elizabeth, Mrs. Phillipia, and Mrs. Dorothie Stanhope, Sisters.

Lincolne was, London is, and York shall be
The most renowned City of the three,
Is an old saying: but I now must tell
Limby (near Nottingham) doth all excel:
Where live four Stanhopes of the female Sex,
Who (to produce them equals) would perplex
The Land; to which (for all things highly good)
They the best pattern may be understood.
My sweet, fair Cousins! all the worlds four parts
(By Imitation of your rare deserts)
May grow in vertue; you a mirrour be,
Where what they should be womankind may see.

24. To my Uncle (in law) Mr. Richard Sutton.

When you and I meet Master Bancroft, we
Envy no mirth of any Company:
We all love cordially; his Wit and Sack
Make us enjoy our selves and nothing lack.
We Covetousness despise and, cares let fly
In Spanish smoke, and consecrate to joy
The hours we spend; and when Sol leaves the skies
Drink our next merry meeting, and so rise.

25. Of Ashborn.

Ashborn (where many years our Cokaines name
Hath been (as Cambden tells us) of some fame)
Though in the Peak thou stand'st, thy fertile ground
(That like a Lover doth embrace thee round)
The Medows needes not envy, which the Thames
Saluteth (in his passage) with his streames.
The banks of Dove we think we do abuse,
If unto those compar'd, of York-shire Ouse.
Our fruitful soil we do prefer to that
Which holy Dee so long hath murmur'd at,
For not affording him a speedier way
To pay his waves to the Verginian Sea.
Severnes and Trent's it envies not and thence
We do conclude yields none preeminence.
If I commend too much, 'tis not a skill
I would profess, but onely my good will:
Yet other praises I (to this) could joyn;
If Betty Sheepy would draw better wine.

22. To Mrs. Elizabeth Sheepy of Ashbourne.

Betty, your wine is good: and yet we know
You may get better; which we pray you do.
Our Countrey-wits would then leave clubbing groats,
In Darby-Ale, and chang their penny-Pots
Into fine Venice-glasses (sparkling full)
Of generous Sack, and be more bountiful.
Your Talbot then would rore, and Poets sing
That there did run the true Castalian spring.
Your husband honest Tom (that's sick) it would
Recover soon, and make him live t'be old.
Get therefore (Betty) the best wine you may:
And we will style you our Mnemosyne.

23. To my dear Cousin Germans Mrs Stanhope, and Mrs. Isabella Hutchinson; Sisters.

Let others praise Nottingham for the Site,
The River Trent, and prospects of delight,
Mortimers Cave, and (now) the ruine sad
Of one of the best Castles England had:
I say that you two are the chiefest grace
(By living there) that doth adorn the place.

24. To Mr. John Young, of the Bear in Powlesworth.

Though Puritans on in their grumblings go,
Be merry Master Young, whil'st you are so.
What though their sensless zeal bark at your Bear?
If the Bandogs venture to come so near,
Keep such strong drink shall take them by the Crown,
And pluck the hypocrites of Piety down.
Making them do homage unto your sign,
And think it (though an Image 'tis) divine.

29. Of Men and Women.

Whilst Monuments of Brass and Marble stand,
Whilst Ships do grace the Seas, and Cities Land,
And Men do walk upon the Terrene Ball;
So sure (undoubtedly) will women fall.
Yet let not this the females onely taxe,
Men fall on them that fall upon their backs.

32. To Mr. Ralph Rawson lately fellow of Brasen Nose Colledge.

Though I of Cambridge was, and far above
Your Mother Oxford did my Cambridge love;
I those affections (for your sake) remove;
And (above Cambridge) now do Oxford love:
But I recant that change, and say where e're
You live, that a third Academie's there.
You conquer humane passions, and enshrine
All vertues that the Schooles did e're define;
And to such height master all learned Arts,
That I know none your equal for all Parts:
Therefore what place soever you shall please
To grace with your abode on Lands or Seas,
(Although in frozen Thule) I far above
My Cambridge, and your Oxford shall it love.

31. To my most honoured Cousin the Lady Mary Fitzherbert of Tissington.

Madam, the Peak is famous far and near
For a great many wonders that are there;
Pooles-Hole, the Devils Elden-hole, the well
That ebbes and flowes, make Darbyshire excel.
The sandy hill that ever falls away
And yet (in bulk) doth suffer no decay:
And Buxtons Baith (though in a village town)
Abroad our County give a fair renown.
These and the like do far and near invite
Strangers, and natives to delight their sight.
But these are Grotts, Waters, and Hills, and such
As we have one that doth exceed them much:
Your beauties, and your many vertues speak
You the chief Wonder that doth grace the Peak.

32. Of Naples.

Naples the Romans old Parthenope,
(Built under Hills, upon the Midland-Sea)
Thou to Compania (most delicious Part
Of Italy) the primest Glory art.
The Princes, Dukes, the Counts and Barons that
(In great abundance) there do make their seat,
And flourish in all joyes this Life can grant
To humane kind, others I leave to vaunt:
Above all things that honour't I preferre
The all renowned Virgils Sepulchre;
And think that Virgil dead gives more renown,
Then all those Lords alive, unto that Town.

33. Of Wakes, and May-Poles.

The Zelots here are grown so ignorant,
That they mistake Wakes for some ancient Saint,
They else would keep that Feast; For though they all
Would be cal'd Saints here, none in heaven they call:
Besides they May-Poles hate with all their Soul,
I think, because a Cardinal was a Pole.

34. An Epitaph on Mr. Will. Davenport, a Cousin-German of my wifes, who dyed at Henbury his own house in Cheshire, and lies buried by his wife at Dubridge in Darby-shire; he being aged about 29.

Here William Davenport lies, and (Stranger) know
That he was high in worth that lies so low.
He had a noble soul, and liberal mind,
A generous courage, and behaviour kind;
Sir Thomas Milwards daughter was his wife,
Whom he surviv'd, and led a widowers life.
Our age was proud of him, though (in his prime
Of years) Death gave a Period to his time:
He left two Daughters, and a spotless fame,
VVhich evermore shall wait vpon his Name.

35. To Iustice Would be.

That you are vext their Wakes your neighbours keep,
They guess it is, because you want your sleep:
I therefore wish that you your sleep would take,
That they (without offence) might keep their Wake.

36. To Mrs Elizabeth Spencer.

Hail beauteous Virgin! you whose glorious hair
Justly with Ariadne's may compare:
VVhose eyes are Globes of purest fire, whence flashes
Th'enamour'd Nation soon would burn to ashes,
Did not your mighty modesty delight
(VVith their fair lids, and veils) to cloud their sight.
Your features are such wonders, they can finde
No Parallels throughout all VVomankinde.
How fine your hands are! And how sweetly they
Command the Lutes delicious Harmony!
Your Figure with your Form so right agrees,
That you are Natures exquisitest Piece.
Pretty ones we your feet must guess to be,
That roots are unto such a graceful Tree;
Whose leaves your clothes are & conceal such things
As would in Queens raise envy, Flames in Kings.
Your own affection cause of fruit must prove,
VVhich yet none of our sex could ever move.
You are all fair without, and sure within
Your fairer soul's a glorious Cherubin:
He of mankind will lead the happiest life,
Whom you shall honour to become his wife.

37. Of Pope Urban the Eight.

When I in Rome made some abode, I oft
Urban the Eight beheld, and often laught
To think how here our Zelots bawld him down,
And Preach'd him for the whore of Babylon;
He seem'd a gallant Prince, and they that look,
May find him a fine Poet by his book.
Though bawds have sometimes beards; none sure did see
A Woman ere have such a beard as he.
But they were more mistaken in their speeches,
Tho, virtuous women may, whores wear no breeches:
Besides, no wencher would bestow a doit
To lye with such an whore a winters night.

38. To those Preachers.

My friends, I wish you would forbear your running
After this whore; and henceforth show your cunning
(Leaving this subject, to no purpose vext)
To follow in the lieu of it your text.

39. To Parissus.

Sir, I conceive that you are in the List
Of those that think the Pope is Antichrist:
Could you get one of them with child, alone
It should be you that made the true Pope Ioan.

40. To the Popes.

Princes you are, have Dukedomes, two, or three;
I wish you would give one of them to me:
But that were to rob Peter to give Paul,
Or rather to rob both of them for Saul:
For I a Lay-man am, and (which is worse)
I think a Poet, by my empty purse.

41. To my wife on the birth of her daughter Isabella.

I in this second Daughter wish you joy,
Yet should have had more, had it been a Boy.
Girles are (by far) more chargeable; And (when
Boyes are grown up) less care will serve for Men.
You say a Nun you mean her: such another
(I think) you do intend as was her mother.
But whether she live Maid, or prove a wife,
I wish her a long, healthful, happy life.
So I do leave you with your new Delight,
Till you and I do meet again at Night.

42. Of our Ladie of Loretto.

I have been at Loretto, and did there
See the fam'd House, which I'le not argue here;
Do onely wish (when I from Earth remove)
That I may see where she abides above.

43. An Epitaph on Mr. Thomas Pilkington, one of the Queens Musicians, who dyed at Wolverhampton about the 35 year of his age, and lies there buried.

Musicks prime Master of our Land, this stone
Covers; For here lies matchless Pilkington:
He was the soul of Musick, did contain
All sorts of it in his harmonious brain.
A strange malignant Fever set a strife
Between his soul and body; ceas'd his Life.
So with his soul the soul of Musick fled,
Leaving that Science fainting, though not dead.
Though oft his work was playing, it was such,
As all Musicians cannot do so much
With all their works. In brief, the richest Part,
The best Epitome of all that Art
And choisest Musick (that ere ravish'd ear)
(Put out of tune by death) lie buried here.

44. To Zoilus.

Zoilus reports never a line I write
Deserves t'appear before a wisemans sight:
Zoilus, at this I nothing do repine;
But say (thou being a Fool) th'are sit for thine.

45. An Epitaph on my dear sister Mrs. Lettice Armstrong, who deceased about the 43 of her age, and of Mrs. Lucy Cokain, who dyed about the 34 of hers, and lye both buried at Ashborn.

Lettice and Lucy here (two sisters) lye,
So constant to each others company,
Death could not part them long; for four years space
Reduc'd them both to this Sepulchral place.
There was no difference 'twixt them all their Life,
Save one liv'd single, th'other was a Wife.
They both were virtuous; left this world behind
In hope the Glories of the next to finde.
Their Coffins lye so very close, it doth
Appear, as if one Grave contain'd them both:
As their loves did unite them; so the stone
That both of them doth cover, is but one:
And (more to shew their mutual hearts) it hath
For both (upon it) but one Epitaph.

46. To my Cousin Mr. Thomas Cokaine of Manciter.

You boast your Manciter was once a Town
(When here the Romans govern'd) of Renown:
That Aderston from Ruines of it grew
To be so spacious, and so fair of view.
I yield unto your Truthes, and adde one more,
Aderston drink makes Manciter so poor.

47. Upon the Marriage of Mr. Edward Tilsly, and Mrs. Anne Fleetwood.

So all your fears are past; you both are sped,
And have no trouble but to go to bed:
Where (what young married couples love the best)
I wish you a good night with little rest.

48. Of Vesuvius.

I on the top have of Vesuvius been,
There laid me down upon my breast, and seen
Into the mighty Rupture, whence the smoke
Proceeds, that often seems the skies to choke:
Torre de Griego din'd at, which I found
(With that Hills scalding streams) much burnt and drown'd.
As with (their quarries) Hills build Cities, so
They (with their vomits) them may overthrow,

49. Of George Buchanon.

Buchanons oathes at Murries service were;
What he would say audacious George would swear.
Poets would lye I've heard, but never one
That would forswear himself but Buchanon;
Yet he a famous Poet was: what though?
Serpents may lurk in flowers of fairest show.

50. To Mrs. Anne Adams, my mothers Cosin-german

Whilst you the generous Trentham's name enjoy'd,
And knew not what it was to be a Bride;
You in delicious Brussels wore away
Most of your virgin-years beyond the Sea,
There you did thinke to lead a single life;
But thanks to Iohn that won you to his wife.
Who (when you did return to England) found
The way to fix you on your native ground:
For you together live, as if heaven meant
To make you (though not richest) most content.

51. To my highly honoured Cousin-German, Mr. Arthur Sanhope, son to the Earl of Chesterfield.

I do rejoyce at the respect you bear
To Bretby, by your choice of living there:
My Lord so great a house kept, that by none
(Of all our Noblemen) he was out-gone:
And you so neatly and gentilely live,
That all that know you Commendations give.
If my Lord Stanhope comes, and you remove,
May you be follow'd by all good mens love;
That (wheresoere you live) there may be seen
No change, but alteration of the Scene.

52. To Mris. Elizabeth Kendall, my wives Niece.

Twycross I cannot choose but envy, where
Such ravishing Musick is, and I not there.
You, and your sister Frank Pegge every day
So rarely sing, that wondring Queens would stay
(To listen to your Layes) from any sport,
And prize (that while) your house above a Court.

53. To Mr. Humphrey Mosley, and Mr. Humphrey Robinson.

In the large book of Playes you late did print
(In Beaumonts and in Fletchers name) why in't
Did you not justice? give to each his due?
For Beaumont (of those many) writ in few:
And Massinger in other few; the Main
Being sole Issues of sweet Fletchers brain.
But how came I (you ask) so much to know?
Fletchers chief bosome-friend inform'd me so.
Ith'next impression therefore justice do,
And print their old ones in one volume too:
For Beaumonts works, & Fletchers should come forth
With all the right belonging to their worth.

54. To my much honoured Cousin Sir Francis Burdet Baronet.

The honest Poet, Michael Drayton, I
Must ever honour for your Amity,
He brought us first acquainted; which good turn
Made me to fix an Elegie on's urn:
Else I might well have spar'd my humble stuffe;
His own sweet Muse renowning him enough.
In Warwick-shire your house and mine stand neer,
I therefore wish we both were setled there;
So we might often meet, and I (thereby)
Your excel'nt conversation oft enjoy:
What good should you get by it? truly none:
The profit would acrue to me alone.

55. To Mrs. Anne Gregson of Ashburn.

Y'are good, and great, and had you had some itch
For wealth, and married God be here, had been rich:
But money you contemn'd (it doth appear)
Content to live a widdow by good Beer.

56. To my sweet Cousin Mrs. Isabella Milward.

Your noble father Sir Iohn Zouch (when you
Was very young) occasion'd you to view
Virginia, took you thither, where some years
You spent, till you had moistned with your tears
His and your eldest sister Katharine's Tombe,
Interr'd so far from Codnor their old home.
After so sad a loss you thought it time
To return back unto your native clime,
Where your (by all men honour'd) husband found,
A richer Prize then all the spacious ground
Known by Vesputius surname ere did give;
And may you long together happy live.

57. An Epitaph on King Arthur.

Arthur our Worthy, whose grandname in war
Shall evermore load Fames triumphant Car,
This Marble covers; nobler dust then those
For whom the Pyramids of Egypt rose.
Had but his life reacht out to his intent,
Queen Artemisia's wondrous Monument
Had been his Sepulchre, and not his tombe;
His merits would have rose to such a summe.
Nothing but treason foul could periodize
The Progress in his Saxon victories:
And Glassenbury Abbey loudly boasts
That it contains the Terrour of their Hoasts.

58. An Epitaph on Henry the fourth of France,

Forbear thy rude approch, bold Passenger:
Henry the Great, the fourth of France lies here.
His claim unto that Crown he knew so right,
That he for it unarm'd did often fight.
The sword of Mars, Minerva's Lance, and Gun
Of Mulciber fear never made him shun.
Cover'd with fire and bullets by his Foes,
He wore them not as Terrours, but his clothes.
What Spain, France, and the League could not command
With their united force, a murtherers hand
Did perpetrate: Ravillac struck him from
The top of all his Glories to his Tombe.
As the bright Sun (throughout our Hemisphere)
His course being finished) sets full and clear,
And the next morn again doth beauteous rise,
And with his beams decks both the earth and skies:
So he (after a life triumphant led)
Did bid the world adieu, and here lies dead:
And when the last day comes (return'd from dust)
Shall glorious rise, and live among the Just.

59. Of Fame.

Fame's a strange Good, and a strange Evil, that
Doth often give too much, and oft detract;
And sometimes justice doth, and hits the Mean,
Avoiding each extravagant Extream.
Let us precisely to our duties stick,
And Fames worst malice shal not wound to th'quick:
Or if it gives us that which is above
Our merits, why such flatteries should we love?
Doth Fame the virtuous right? 'tis well. We shall
Else each have's due after his funeral.

60. An Epitaph on Mr. Ralph Fitzherbert who dyed at Ashby de la Zouch about the 22 year of his age, and lies there buried.

Cornet Fitzherbert (who in many a Fight
Lord Loughboroughs Colours bore in the Kings right)
Lies here inter'd: His skill in Musick gone,
And his good parts all cover'd with this stone.
He was too brave to find an Enemy
To kill him; and therefore in's bed did dye.
Yet was he young and virtuous: but alas!
On youth and virtue death no pity has.
Learn therefore (Reader) that no humane state
Is safe; and alwayes live prepar'd for Fate.

61. Of Death.

Once born the best must dye: why (therefore) then
Should Death inflict such terror on us men?
Faint-hearted souls they are that fear to run
The common Path which there's no hope to shun.
A Life to Heaven and Earth in justice led,
Will give us leave to live in no such Dread;
They that so pass their dayes, the world shall find
That they a fair Report do leave behind:
When those that otherwise do wast their Times,
Shall fill Posterities mouthes with their foul crimes.

62. To Mris. Katharin Pegge my wives eldest sister.

Although this age is against Crosses set,
I cannot quit me of my Crosses yet:
But welcome any Cross that comes, we say;
It may be for our goods another day.
So let us ever to the Powers divine
Our selves, and what belongs to us resign:
That no Prosperity may be allow'd
So to exalt our mindes to make us proud;
And no Adversity deject us so,
But patiently we may it undergo.
Then let our Crosses go, or Crosses come,
Whilest we can say, the will of Haaven be done.

63. Of Cambridge and Oxford.

Cambridge one doth commend, Oxford another,
And would have one prefer'd above the other.
VVhen they are best term'd equals: And no other
Such Foreign Place comes near the one or th'other.
This my opinion is: who would an other,
May leave to trouble me, and ask another.

64. To Mrs. Elizabeth Nevil, my wives youngest sister.

If you at Westow-Lodge do live, I there
Do often wish my self to be so near
My mother Cambridge: If at Holt you live
In Leicestershire, I there my self would give
The Pleasures of that gallant Seat, whose site
Affords fine Prospects various in delight.
Or if you live at Cressing Temple, then
Thither my wish transporteth me agen;
Colchester Oysters and Sea-fish invite
Thither ofttimes my longing appetite:
But pardon me these vanities: above
All these, I your sweet conversation love,
And your good husbands noble Company:
Those things I talk'd of, but would these enjoy.

65. To Parson Dulman.

Your zealous Ignorance doth oft dispraise
Our Poets whatsoever that write Playes:
So small a pittance you of learning have,
Their worst of Playes doth all your works outbrave;
And I your zealous ignorance dispraise,
Telling you fam'd Nick Machiavil writ Playes.
But you to write a Play think an offence,
Is it not worse to preach so much nonsence?

66. To Master Francis Shalcross, and Mrs. Julia Boteler my Niece, on their wedding night.

To bed (fair bride) your happy groom
(Full of desire) doth long to come,
Now lye down by her in a trice;
Your Genial bed's a Paradise.
Though she's to lose, you are to get,
Her Zone unti'd unriddles it:
You need not any sweet forbear,
Both moving in your proper sphere.
I need not wish you joy; you have
What Heaven can give, or Lovers crave:
But truely wish (unto this height)
It may last both your lives. Good night.

67. To Captain Mouther.

I've been importun'd by some friends to tell
How I approve your verses; I say well:
Nor dare I otherwise that understand
You have a desperate Courage, heavy hand,
And a long sword. Those few that do not matter
The trifle cal'd their lives, may scorn to flatter:
And so do I, swearing that you write Works
Will please the Christians, and amaze the Turkes.

69. To Mr. Clement Fisher of Wincott.

Shakspeare your Wincot-Ale hath much renownd,
That fo'xd a Beggar so (by chance was found
Sleeping) that there needed not many a word
To make him to believe he was a Lord:
But you affirm (and in it seem most eager)
'Twill make a Lord as drunk as any Beggar.
Bid Norton brew such Ale as Shakspeare fancies
Did put Kit Sly into such Lordly trances:
And let us meet there (for a fit of Gladness)
And drink our selves merry in sober sadness:

70. To Astrologers.

Your Industry to you the art hath given
To have great knowledge in th'outside of heaven:
Beware lest you abuse that Art, and sin,
And therefore never visit it within.

[71] An Epitaph on Mrs. Brigit Allibond, who dyed at Chenye about the eighteenth year of her age, and lies there buried.

Here Brigit Allibond doth buried lye;
Whose too much love occasioned her to dye.
Insatiate thirst of gold! Her Servants friends
Sent him to travel, and workt' both their ends;
There he deceas'd: which sad news thrust the Dart
Of death through both her ears into her heart:
So Love chang'd Darts with Death, Love too unkind
To kill the body with the wound oth'mind.
Virgins should mourn her loss; And (by her) men
May see how Maids belov'd can love agen.

72. An Epitaph on Lycisca, who forc'd her husband to counterfeit his Religion.

Here lyes Lycisca, that was full of Evil;
And (therefore to be fear'd) gone to the Devil.
Now (seeing he and she have set all even)
Her Husband may walk in the Rode to Heaven.

73. To Mrs. Francis Pegge, my wifes Neece.

You once did think to be a Nun, but now
I hope you will forbeae that sacred vow;
And if you will be making vows) pray take
An husband, and an holy vow him make:
So whether you become a Nun, or wife,
(Under a vow) you may lead out your life.

74. To Mr. Gilbert Knyveton, and Mr. Thomas Knyueton my wifes Brothers.

Pray take an house, and so continue on
The hospitality you have begun:
For of such means none handsomer did live,
Or to their friends more generous welcome give.
Though you from Bradley are remov'd, make known
To noble minds each Country is their own.

75. To my sister Mrs. Katharine Weston.

We were two brothers, and five sisters; now
They are all dead, alas! save I, and you:
All that Affection that among us was,
Let us therefore on one another place:
So we (for Brothers, and for sisters love)
An Emulation shall in others move.

76. To my Cousin Mr. John Milward.

Of women some are foul, and some are fair,
Some virtuous are, and others are as bad:
Some go in poor apparel, others rare,
Some melancholy are, and others glad:
Some are at their prime, others decaying are,
Some are reserv'd, and others to be had:
Some timorous are, any thing others dare,
Some dull and mop'd, and others blith, and mad:
Some humorous are, others of freakes beware,
Some love to keep their homes, others to gad:
Some high in virtues do themselves declare,
Others are overwhelm'd in vices sad.
Ovid would take of all to please his sences:
Give me a glass of Sack, and choose you wenches.

77. An Epitaph on Mr. Peter Allibond, Fellow of Lincolne Colledge in Oxford.

Here buried lies within this hallowd ground,
Oxfords prime glory, Peter Allibond:
His Learning Lincolne Colledge hath renown'd,
And few the road to his high Parts have found.
Death in his Proctorship gave him his wound,
And (thereby) hindred him to go his Round;
And here hath laid him in a sleep so drown'd,
Not to awake but by th'last trumpets sound:
From hence then to arise, and to be crown'd
(We hope) with joyes, where all joyes do abound.

78. To my Niece Mrs. Isabella Boteler.

Your sister Iulia's married well, and so
(Sweet Niece) I wish you were dispos'd of too.
You the greensickness languish in, and sure
For that an husband is the proper'st cure.
What tho child-bearing pains on women drawes?
Sweet-meats (by th'Proverb) should have sowre sauce.

79. To Mr. Andrew Whitehall.

You make a Violl speak: your nimble hand,
That instrument seems onely to command.
How meanly many play! strike so amiss,
That (at their want of skill) the strings do hiss:
Like resty horses they false steps do make,
And the vext strings with very shame to shake.
VVell tun'd that would agree, they wrong so far,
Their artless violence doth make them jar.
So they but scrape, abuse the strings, and stick;
How dull the quickest are to you more quick!
Some few with their soft hands may please; but you
Please not alone, but raise amazement too.
Your fingers on the neck, and hand on Bow,
The motions of the Intellect out-go.
Such is your playing: But if you would write,
How much you Works all mankind would delight!

80. An Epitaph on my Father Mr. Tho. Cokain, who deceased in London, about the [OMITTED] of his age, and lyes buryed in St. Giles's Church in the Fields.

Stay Passenger, and read under this stone,
Here Thomas Cokain lyes, Sir Edwards son.
Mapleton gave him birth; but far from home
At London he deceas'd, and this his Tombe
Too mean a Monument for his great worth;
But virtue never findes reward on earth.
He was his families Heir; but (transitory
Knowing all terrene wealth) chang'd his for glory,
And here his body soft repose doth take
Till him the Angels Trumpets shall awake.

81. Of Cats.

Two Cats fell out, and one an other slew;
May all Cats so to one another do:
Yet I can them endure, would be their friend,
But that they company so oft offend.

82. Of the English, Spanish, and French.

The Spaniards love the English, they them hate;
The English love the French, and they hate them;
A strange capriciousness of humane Fate,
VVhole Nations should affect whom them contemn!
Despised Lovers need not to complain,
Seeing tis known whole kingdomes love in vain.

83. Of the Low Dutch.

The Belgians hate all but themselves; wherefore
Because no nation else can them endure.
What should the reason be of such an hate?
For aid receiv'd they have been so ingrate.

84. To Isabel Manifold of the Black Swan in Ashburn

Heark Isbel Parker! Isbel Hood! But hold,
These names might serve were hers not Manifold
Pray answer, were your husband in the grave,
Soon after would not you another have?
If other women divers men should use,
They would disgrace their names for such abuse:
But (without blushes) you may hear it told,
That you (of Men) have lain with Manifold.

85. To the same.

As great a wonder as black Swans some guess,
So strange a thing an honest Hostess is.
It is believ'd that there no black Swans are,
But you are, and are honest, so more rare.

86. An Epitaph on my most honoured kinsman Ferenando Earl of Huntington, who deceased at his house in Donnington Park about the 48 year of [illeg.] age, and lyes buried at Ashby de la Zouch.

Here Ferdinando Earl of Huntington
Doth lye inter'd under this Marble-stone;
VVhich will weep drops of dew, if we refrain
To shed our tears; yet weeping is in vain.
Nor sighes nor tears will call him from his urn;
Our griefs then let's to imitation turn.
Let's emulate his worthy Parts (for such
His Qualities were) and we shall merit much:
For each man may report that passeth by,
Courtesie and good Nature here doth lie.

87. To Henry Right of the Cock in Poulesworth.

Harry, what ere thou dost (by day or night)
(Though it be never so amiss) th'art Right:
Though some for doing wrong taxe thee in spight,
Contemn their malice; for th'art known t'be Right.
Let thy Guests sober go to bed, not fight,
And all thy reckonings be as thou art, Right:
And lead an upright life, that thou mayst light
On Heaven at last, and here thou t'be most Right.

88. Of high-spirited women.

Neither do husbands heed, nor Heaven above
(For the mostpart) high-spirited women love
Are they in errour? through their ignorance,
And self-opinion they prove seldom Saints.
And husbands who are tide unto such wives,
Usually live with them unquiet lives.
To wed meek women men are most inclin'd,
And Heaven it self affects the humble mind.

89. In thalamis Regina tuis hac nocte jacerem,
Si verum hoc esset, Pauper ubique jacet.

Queen, in your chamber I should lye to night,
If a poor man lyes every where, were right.

To Sir Robert Hilliard.

Who made this Distich it is fit I tell,
Which I have English'd but indifferent well;
I think Tom Randolph: Pardon what's amiss
In my translation for my gift of his;
Whom you and I so well did love and know,
When Cambridge (for his wit) extol'd him so.

90. To my honoured Cousin Mr. Basill Fitzhetbert of Norbury, and his Lady.

Basill Fitzherbert did Iane Cotton wed,
And she hath blest him with a Sonne and Heire;
A Couple fortunate i'th Genial bed,
And in all other things an happy pair.
This is my judgement of your worths, and you
(By all your actions) confirme it true.

91. To my noble Cousin Mr. Charls Cotton the younger.

D'Avila, Bentivoglio, Guicciardine,
And Machiavil. the subtile Florentine,
(In their Originals) I have read through,
Thanks to your Library, and unto you;
The prime Historians of late times; at least
In the Italian Tongue allow'd the best.
When you have more such books, I pray vouchsafe
Me their perusal. Il'e return them safe:
Yet (for the courtesie) the recompense
That I can make you will be onely thanks.
But you are noble-soul'd, and had much rather
Bestow a benefit, then receive a favour.

92. To the same.

Your Basford house you have adorned much;
And Bently hopes it shortly shall be such:
Think on't; and set but Bentley in repair,
To both those Basfords you will show y'are Heir.

93. To my honoured friend Mr. Samuel Roper.

Make Darbyshire by your most able Pen,
Allow you her obliging'st Countrey-man;
From dust and dark oblivion raise her Glories,
And (from old Records) publish all her stories.
So you (with Mr. Dugdale) shall remain
Your Countreys honour; other Countreys stain.

94. To Mrs Mary Cokain my eldest daughter.

Because I fear my fate is not so good,
To give you such a portion as I wou'd:
Your Education I intend shall prove
Some satisfaction to you of my love.
Musick and Dancing I would have you taught,
And all the skil that is by needles wrought:
All sorts of houswifery that should be done,
(From your own chamber) to the meanest Room:
And (to give full perfection) to walk even
(Whilst here you live) in the right road to Heaven.

95. To the right honourable the Lord Winfield Cromwell Earle of Arglass, my noble kinsman.

My Lord, a share y'ave given me in a Grove:
But how shall I requite so great a Love?
If ever I (in any of my land)
Should Gold or silver find, you shall command:
I hope to get much money by your Lead,
If store of ore God Plutus there hath hid:
But should I gain no riches from your ground,
Yet I may boast that there your love I found.

96. To my worthy friend Mr. Henry Turville.

Most of these are too long and naught, tis true;
I wish them faultless both for me and you:
For I your candour would provoke, not blame,
And (to my self) acquire some little Fame.

97. Of Cupid and Marriage.

Cupid is careless and doth shoot at random,
Strikes a young man, and oftentimes a Grandam:
Yet neither he Physician is, or Surgeon,
To cure the wounds his senseless Darts do urge on,
Either by any med'cines, or Incision:
The nuptial bed is Surgeon and Physician.

97. To Parson Nameless.

When you do preach of Mountain Ararat,
And how Noahs floating Ark first staid thereat;
Though your loud voice doth fill the sacred house,
Your Sermon bigge with mountains drops a Mouse.

99. To my honoured Cousin Mr. Charls Cotton Iunior.

Donne, Suckling, Randolph, Drayton, Massinger,
Habbington, Sandy's, May, my Acquaintance were:
Iohnson, Chapman, and Holland I have seen,
And with them too should have acquainted been.
What needs this Catalogue? Th'are dead and gone
And to me you are all of them in one.

100. To Mr. John Adams, my Cousin.

When we at Pembletous in Roster meet,
Time that before went slow flyes very fleet;
The reason is, an easie thing to think,
A knot of Jovial Blades, and mighty Drink.

101. Of a Roome in [OMITTED] cal'd the Minerva.

Approch not you dull souls, that durt and muck
Do grovell in; follow your sordid luck:
Athens no Fame had for mechanick Arts,
But by those generous spirits of nobler Parts.
They that are Wits, and love the Wits, may come,
Converse and tipple in this jovial Room;
Pallas admits none else: For know, the Owle,
Her sacred Bird will (at their entrance) howl.
Herein the Grecian Sages do converse,
And here the Poets their high lines reherse.
Here Tully and Demosthenes doe plead,
And Plato here and Aristotle's read:
For this the Epitome of Athens is,
And teaches all the Liberal sciences.
Such is the companies discourse: Then hence
All earthen-minded Brats of ignorance;
And welcome the ingenious to this spring
That makes the Orator write, and Poet sing;
To the Philosopher new truths discovers,
And courage gives to the faint-hearted Lovers.
To those lets drink (Conversion from their Crime)
That over Ale and Beere can spend their time,
That on their Errours they may may turn their back,
And in Minerva's Fane here tipple Sack:
For Ale and Beer breed Flegm, engender Pains;
But rich Canarie elevates the Brains.

102. To my honoured Friend Mr. Cassevilan Burton.

When will you do your self so great a right
To let your English Martial view the light?
You will oblige this Nation by your pains,
Those 'specially to whom the Latin's strange.
And he (in the Elysian shades) will smile
To heare he speakes the language of this Isle.

103. Of Cardinal Bellarmine.

Of all the writers of the Roman Part,
Bellarmine, thou the most confuted art:
How happens thy ill Fortune, that we call
Thy confutation, if we drink up all?

104. Of Cornelius Gallus.

A Poet and a Traytour is such news,
Mercuries and Diurnals do not use.
Gallus a Traitour; Gallows a Reward:
But sure Augustus did not prove so hard.
He put him to a nobler death we hope;
Poets should live by linesn, ot dye by'th rope.

105. To Banellus.

Welcome (good Sir) to truth, and welcome to
The way to Heaven which you directly go:
May we your stedfast footsteps follow even,
And (tis no doubt) we shall arrive at Heaven.

106. To Mr. Henry Longville.

Marvel not (Friend) that oftentimes I write
As if in drinking I did take delight:
I (at my best) am ill enough, and hate
To make my self a Beast at any rate.
Of Mirth and companie I sometimes think;
The cause that now and then I write of drink.

107. Of Catullus, Tibullus, and Propertius.

The ancient Epigrammatist Catullus,
Propertius, and the amorous Tibullus,
Are often bound together: whats the reason?
They all were merry Blades at every season;
Whilst they did live they often were together:
And now th'are dead th'are bound up so in Leather.

108. To my Son Mr. Thomas Cokaine.

Let others glory in their Hawks and Hounds,
Their golden heaps, and Circuit of their Grounds,
Their gallant Breed of Horses, and their meat,
Drest so, that Heliogabalus would eat;
Their Mistresses (whose Beauties would inflame
Unknown Lands Salvages, and make them tame)
Themselves, and them so richly dres'd, that you
The Heavens (without a Cloud) would think in view:
Give me a study of good Books, and I
Envy to none their hugg'd Felicity.

109. To Mr. Daniel Millescent.

Momus doth carp that I do write so few
Lines on this Theme, and sayes th'are not enow:
I to a hundred thousand write tis true,
And worth so many (for your worths) are you.

110. To Mr. Robert Creitton Dr. of Divinity, formerly Oratour and Greek Professour of the University of Cambridge.

Among the many friends that I do name,
Neglected I do mention you, 'twere shame.
You were my Tutour; and tis fit I show
The world a Part of the Respects I owe:
Let this poor trifle be an atome of it,
Although to my disgrace and your no profit.
Expect from your learn'd Pupils Works of Art;
I can present you but a grateful heart.

111. Of high-spirited women.

Histories of all ages do declare
High-spirited women noble things have done:
One shall serve mention'd in particular,
And she the brave Ioenian Amazon.
Bonduca long the Romans force withstood,
And seal'd her love t'her Countrey with her blood.

112. To Momus.

Momus doth grumble; Prethee spare me not:
Th'excception's just thou hast against me got.
I writ Catullus, and the other two,
Were all of them Contemporaries, tis true:
Valerius ere they flourish'd dy'd, I know it;
Poets may feign, in that hold me a Poet:
With truth of History I was too bold,
As men tye knots on Ropes to make them hold.

113. To Mr. Edmond Ravenhill.

How in your company I do delight!
A Pleasure to my ears, as well as sight
When on the Harpsecals your sister Win
Doth play, and you upon the Violin;
I with that musick am affected much,
She plays so well, and eke your Art is such.
Hast t'us, and when (with playing) you are weary;
A Bottle of rich sack shall make us merry.

114. To Anne Hill.

Nan Hill, th'art good and great: Think it not better
To grow up to a Mountain, and be greater:
With marriage therefore do not be beguil'd;
Y'are made a Mountain if y'are got with child.
But marry (Nan Hill) if you should grow wanton,
Rather then to be worse become a Mountain.

115. To my honoured kinsman Mr. Edward Darcy.

Repair your house at Newhall, and hast down,
And leave the noise of this expenceful Town:
You here deprive your self of many a good
To be enjoy'd by Countrey-solitude.
Pretend not want of Companie; For I
Will waite upon you oft, that live thereby.
You may reply you better would; I grant it:
Keep a good house there, and you need not want it.

116. An Epitaph on Mr. Gilbert Knyveston, my wives Brother, who deceased in London about the 38 year of his age, and lies buried at St. Giles in the fields.

Stay Passenger, forbear thy hast,
And read whom Death herein hath plac't:
For Gilbert Knyveston here doth lye,
A shaking of mortality.
All Ethicks he his practice made,
On Christian foundation laid.
His Life was noble, and his Death
A rich soul did to heaven bequeath:
His loss we therefore should not mourn,
But (for our selves) to sadness turn;
Lament that we do want so much
Of those great worthes that made him such.
Let's study him, and imitate so,
That we may prove like him: Now go.

117. Of amorous Courtship.

Men do solicite Women, they contemne,
(If they are bashful) to importune them:
Man was made first, and therefore should begin;
Do Women? They 'gainst Modesty do sin.

118. Of Katherine Boer.

A Catholick German knit his angry brow,
And cal'd Frier Martin Luthers wife a Sow:
But such his Passion was it did run ore,
She could not be a Sow that was a Boar.

119. Of Puritans.

Against Saints Fasts the Puritans do bawl:
And why? To th'Flesh they are addicted all.

120. To my brother in law Mr. William Nevil.

Dear Cambridgeshire, leave off to boast
Thy University so crost:
And Cambridgeshire, forbear to vaunt
Of Ely, fam'd for many a Saint;
And Westow-lodge henceforth let be
The primest glory that's in thee;
Where plenty, neatness, and a right
Well-govern'd house yield full delight;
VVherein you and your Lady give
Example how the good should live.

121. To Mrs. Alice Nevill, his sister.

Y'are virtuous, young, and handsome; and I dare
VVith Sydneyes Queen of Corinth you compare.
Between you I no difference can write;
But she was slighted, you your servants slight,
You may relent, and I do hope you will:
If prayers prevail not, Cupid use thy skill.

122. To Mrs. An & Mrs. Mildred Nevil his daughters:

Henceforth our English youth may cease to glory
In famous Sydneys celebrated story:
For you two sisters shortly must incite
Some matchless pen your happy lives to write;
That unto all this land it may be known,
Pamela and Philoclea are out-gone.

123. To Paulinus.

Marry in Lent! tis strange; and yet no treason
You say, although unusual that season:
Marriage is not, but the solemnization
Forbidden then, and y'ave a dispensation.
The Church hath favour'd you; shew it your duty,
And prize 't henceforth above your Ladies beauty.

124. To my honoured friend Major William Warner.

Playes, Eclogues, Songs, a Satyre I have writ,
A remedy for those 'ith amorous fit,
Love Elegies, and Funeral Elegies,
Letters of things of divers qualities,
Encomiastick Lines to works of some,
A Masque, and an Epithalamium,
Two Books of Epigrams: All which I mean
Shall (in this volume) come upon the Scene;
Some divine Poems, which (when first I came
To Cambridge) I writ there, I need not name;
Of Dianea neither my Translation,
Omitted here as of another fashion.
For heavens sake name no more you say, I cloy you:
I do obey you; Therefore (friend) God b'wy you.

125. Of this Book.

This little Work I've done, which time may wast;
Or Ioves displeasure into darkness cast:
But I will hope the best, and that it may
Last (after I am ashes) many a day.