University of Virginia Library

EPIGRAMS

The first Book.

1. To the Right Honourable Philip Earl of Chesterfield, Baron of Shelford, &c. My Uncle.

My Lord, you are my Patron; and I'le tell
The reason why, then judge if I do well:
None of these Epigrams are worth a rush;
And naughty Wine doth need a gallant bush.

2. To the Reader.

Though (Generous Reader) now and then I write
Verses that justly may appear too light:
Yet on my word (and you may credit me)
In jest I make them for varietie;
And do protest to all censorious men;
They flow not from my heart, but from my Pen.

3. To Chloris.

What a beginning is, you fain would know,
And it therefore unto you thus I show:
You are exceeding naught; be good, and so
Of a beginning you example show.

4. To Mr. William Turner.

School-fellows when we (Friend) together were,
The verses that I writ you lov'd to hear:
Soon as I can I will requite the same;
In the mean while receive this Epigram.
But this is nothing you reply: In troth,
And your applauses then were little worth.

5. To my Cousin germane Mrs. Olive Cotton.

Suspicion, Grief, Disdain: Fame, Beauty, Truth,
Wrongeth, consumes begets: keeps, wounds, indueth
Friendship, life, hatred: deeds, the mind, the best.
You want the first three, and enjoy the rest:
Suspicion hate, shun grief, abhor disdain,
Love fame, keep beauty, and in truth remain.

6. To my worthy Friend Mr. Harbert Aston.

When we at Chenie School together were,
I knew you often to abuse a Boy,
Whom, when he did to you for pity cry,
You beat the more; but good Sir! Do you hear!
Is not this true, when he to you did mone
Did he not then lament unto Aston?

7. Of my self, when I was motion'd to a Judges Daughter.

I hate to lacquey humours, and detest
Some things as vile, though others think them best.
I must not lose my freedom for a face
I cannot dote on; nor refrain that place
Nor company I like; think Poets poor,
Of Captains too prejudicately, endure
No sight of Wine, judge Playes unlawful be;
A fraudulent shadow men can onely see.
Hypocrisie I do abhor; and woo'd
My Life should be chearful as well as good.
I know I have spies on me, but I slight
Their vigilancie, and dare take my delight.
I may obtain another Mistress, know
No such constraints for her, nor undergo
Censure for things I should do: I prefer
My liberty, and friends much above her:
Not that I do dislike that beauty; so
I should erre foully from a truth I know.

8. Of my staying Supper with my Cousin Mrs. Olive Cotton.

If that the Seas were gentle, there would be
No violent Tides, waters would run as free
When they mix with the Ocean, as at first
When out of their original rocks they burst,
If that the winds were quiet, and would stay
Enclos'd in rocks under their Sovereigns sway;
The frighted Lilly would as firmly grow
As the great'st-bodied Beach, and never bow.
If that wise Fate had not appointed what
Our lives should aim to either this or that;
Rebellious man would make his will his rule
To live by, and his Soul his body's fool.
I meant not to have stai'd: but must relate,
Ladies do what they please like Seas, Winds, Fate.

9. An Epitaph on my younger Brother Mr. Thomas Cokaine, who died at Bath about the 18th year of his age, and lyes there Buried.

Passenger stay, and (though thou art
Of Flint) weep e're thou dost depart:
For underneath this stone lies he
Who was Heavens Epitome.
Mourn, if thy Friend, that he did take
His slight so soon, and thee forsake:
Or (if a stranger to his worth)
That he unknown to thee went forth.
What old men are so long about,
He learn't to do e're he went out;
The Art of dying well: And so
May all by him. Now thou mai'st go.

10. To Mr. John Honyman.

On hopefull youth, and let thy happy strain
Redeem the Glory of the Stage again:
Lessen the Loss of Shakespeares death by thy
Successful Pen, and fortunate phantasie.
He did not onely write but act; And so
Thou dost not onely act, but writest too:
Between you there no difference appears
But what may be made up with equal years.
This is my Suffrage, and I scorn my Pen
Should crown the heads of undeserving men.

11. Of Love.

Heroick Cæsar that did overcome
So many Nations, triumphed in Rome,
Was by a Lady's eye captived so
That amorously he did both court and woe;
And never quiet was till he enjoy'd
Fair Cleopatra her young brothers bride:
Illustrious Anthony did leave the Care
To be Romes Emperour, and forsook the War,
Left all his Souldiers in a doubtful Fight,
And on the Seas pursued his fled delight.
Since such great mindes by Love enthralled be,
Wherefore, alas! wonders the world if we?
May married couples lawfully enjoy
The Sweetes of Love till they themselves do cloy,
And must the rest their censures undergo
For the same thing which they so often do?
We must not have fruition where we woo'd,
But onely there where we do know 'tis good.
A circumstance doth make a thing unjust:
For th'chastest Love is but a Lawful Lust.

12. To young Maides, translated out the 3. lib. De Arte Amandi.

Think often on old Age, and it's decayes,
And so you will not lose your flourishing dayes.
Whil'st you enjoy fit years, young wenches, play:
For years like speedy waters steal away.
Past streams will never be cal'd back again:
Nor will an hour return, though spent in vain.
Use youth, for it quickly away doth pass,
And time to come's not as the former was.
Thus far the Roman Poet. But alas
That book the cause of his exilement was:
And (if you follow the advise h'ath given)
'Twil work you a worse banishment from Heaven.

13. To Plautia.

Away (fond thing) tempt me no more;
I'le not be won with all thy store.
I can behold thy golden hair,
And for the owner nothing care:
Thy Starry eyes can look upon,
And be mine own when I have done:
Thy cherry ruby lips can kiss,
And for fruition never wish:
Can view the Garden of thy cheeks,
And slight the roses there as leeks:
Can hear thee sing with all thine Art,
Without enthralling of mine heart:
My Liberty thou canst not wrong
With all the Magick of thy tongue:
Thy warm Snow-breasts and I can see,
And neither sigh nor wish for thee:
Behold thy feet, which we do bless
For bearing so much happiness;
Yet they at all should not destroy
My strong preserved Liberty:
Could see thee naked as at first
Our Parents were when both uncur'st;
And with my busie searching eyes
View strictly thy hid rarities;
Yet after such a free survey,
From thee no Lover go away.
For thou art false, and wilt be so,
I else no other fair would wo.
Away therefore, tempt me no more,
I'le not be won with all thy store.

14. Of my Mistress, written at Venice.

I thought when I was far remov'd,
My Mistress I should not have lov'd;
But having seen another Fair
(As in all Cities Beauties are)
My former passions should forget,
And here a new affection set.
But Venice, though fam'd every where
For matchless Ladies; cannot bear
My thoughts from her whom I unkind
(Though she the cause) have left behind.
Had she not been a cruel One,
But lov'd, I then had stai'd at home:
And be she far more harsher then
Tigers half starv'd, or salvage men;
Abroad she shall not kill me, I
In my own Countrey will go die;
And vow some true friend to engrave
Upon my Stone this Epitaph:
Here lies the Man, whose faith him slew;
Who still had liv'd if been untrue.

15. To Mrs. Mary Coke, an Acrostick.

16. To my Uncle Sir John Stanhope, an Acrostick.

17. Of my Mistress.

I love a Lass, whose eyes are Stars Divine;
Whose teeth are pearls set in a ruby line;
Whose mouth's a sacred spell, and doth encharm
Her coldest hearers hearts, and makes them warm;
Whose hairs are curls of God, and can compel
The God of Love himself to love her well.
But be she cruel; would here eyes were not
Such Heavenly Stars, that they might be forgot;
Would her teeth were not pearls, but far from fair,
That I for them at all might nothing care;
Would her mouth were an homely one, and all
Her hair would change the curious hew, or fall:
For if my Mistress force me to despair,
I cannot choose but wish she were not fair.

18. To my Cousin Mr. Charles Cotton, an Acrostick.

19. To my very good Friend and Cousin Mr. Roger King.

I love, and so do you; but know you whom?
Faith that same party best that first doth come:
And my love is as constant as her stay;
Why should I love her when she goes away?
If you are of the same mind, we are then
Two constant Lovers though not constant men.
We both are still in love, but fix not; for
We the new Object evermore preferr:
And that affection surely is most wise
That comes not from the heart, but from the eyes.

20. To Thalia.

Weep out thine eyes (Thalia!) why are they
Unmelted yet into an Inland-Sea?
Drown all thy slanderers with them; such as dare
Affirm thee guilty, and thy name not fair:
Or rather scorn their Ignorance that frame
Unworthy Calumnies against thy Name.
Mnemosyne, thou mother of the maides,
And you sweet Sisters that in Ascra shades
(Retired from the troubles of the Earth)
To many a lasting verse give fortunate birth;
Do'st not offend you that the Comick Muse
Should suffer such affronts, and high abuse?
Because that I frequent the thronged Stage,
I'm censur'd by the malice of this Age
Of Levity; but I despise the frowns
Of rigid Cato's, and the hiss of Clowns.
Illiterate Fools may please their gluttonous tast
At dinner with some Epicure-Lord, and wast
Their precious dayes in riot; whil'st I feed
Mine ears with all the wit these Times do breed.
Sing loud, Thalia! Noble Souls will love
To see thy Servants in their Socks to move:
And may their ends be Tragical that hate
The harmless mirth thy Comedies create.
I do profess I'm one that do admire
Each word refin'd in true Poetick fire:
And do approve of natural action, where
Fables seem as true passages they were:
And love our Theatres of worth, where we
May thee in all thy several dresses see.

21. An Epitaph on my dear Cousin German Mrs. Elizabeth Stanhope, who died at Elveston about the 20th year of her age, and lies there buried.

Here lies a Virgin, and (in stead
Of losing of her Maiden-head;
For she should soon have been a wife)
Bereaved of a noble Life:
Stanhopes lament, and Ratcliffes mourn
Before her sad untimely Urne.
But such a sorrow is too slight
For cause of so extreme a weight;
Droop Elveston, and Darbyshire,
No Green, but black perpetual wear:
May April showers to Heavens tears turning,
Make all May-flowers spring up in mourning.
Weep all that ever knew her, or
Rather all that have heard of her.
For trivial Deaths let's mourning wear
Of black, for her of cloth of hair:
Or let us senseless clothes despise,
And show our sadness in our eyes.
Let's melt our hearts though they be stones,
And weep our eyes to Diamonds.
Which (being touch'd by deaths cold hand)
Congeal'd may on her Marble stand.
Any discourse let us detest;
For sighs and grones express us best.
But who is this that we in such
A sorrow must lament so much?
Elizabeth Stanhope; now you know,
Go mourn until you die for wo.

22. An Epitaph on my dear sister the Lady Boteler, who deceased about the 34th year of her Age.

Here lies the Lady Boteler, who ran through
Two States of Life, and both of them so true
And just were known to all that knew her, that
Her, her survivers all may imitate.
The Virgin, and the matrimonial life
She blest with her example: And so rise
Her memory doth flourish, that it can
Not die, while there on earth lives one good man.
Cokaine her own name was: Elveston gave
Her Life, Tutburie death, Ashbourn a Grave.

33. To Lesbia.

I thank you (Lesbia) for your lips, and smiles,
Your pretty courtship, and your amorous Wiles.
Her breath was sweet as Venus bower of bliss,
Her joyes uncounterfeit, and not remiss;
Her skin was smooth as calmest summers day,
And warm as are the temperate Noons in May:
Her mind was willing, and her body laid
In th'truest Garbe to tempt who durst invade.
There wanted nothing to complete our joyes,
Had not the house been liable to spies;
For I do value more a Ladies fame,
Then satisfaction of my highest flame.
Thus much in jest, now to speak truth is time;
I'm glad we parted, and escap'd the Crime.

24. An Epitaph on a great sleeper.

Here lies a great Sleeper, as every body knows,
Whose Soul would not care if his body ne're rose.
The business of life he hated, and chose
To die for his ease for his better repose;
And 'tis believ'd when the last trump doth wake him,
Had the Devil a bed, he would pray him to take him.

25. An Epitaph on a great Wencher.

Here lies a great Wencher, and dead I dare swear,
For were he alive an whore would be here.

26. To my honoured Friend Mr. Marmaduke Wyvel.

Sir, I have ever honour'd you, and do
Owe all fair service I can pay to you:
But (Friend) I owe you more then this, yet shall
(With all the speed that may be) absolve all.

27. An Epitaph on Mrs. M. H.

Here lies a body whose soul went hence
Fuller of Glory then Innocence:
What her life wanted to make high
Her worth, she wrought when she did die:
And now when all her fight is done,
Her Foes must say that she hath won.
Let her faults perish with her breath,
And none think of her life, but death.

28. To Mr. Nathaniel Hazard and his Wife, on their Marriage.

Blest Pair Goodnight! The Prologue now is done:
Your wooing's past, and both of you are won.
The sweets of Love remain, the Play's behinde,
To yield delight to a long longing minde.
May all fair fortune crown your happy Lives,
You out-love husbands, and she out-love wives.
May every night and day, and day and night;
And hour and minute be to you delight.
May all my wishes prosper, and may you
Never repent y'are one, and wish you two:
And (for your Epilogue) when you return
To earth, may all that know you for you mourn.

29. To Corinna.

Why (excellent Corinna) do you throw
Your gold away for durt to lay on snow?
For so, compar'd unto your whiter skin,
The Linen is you veil your body in:
For like a Diamond taken from a rock
You would appear unclouded of your smock.

30. Of Lycoris.

Beauty and Honour are great names; and they
Here and hereafter differ many a way.
Beauty half Age destroyes; and none can be
Enamour'd on the fair'st Anatome.
Immaculate Honour easily disperses
All Cloudes that hover o're Heroes Heirses.
Beauty triumpheth over humane kind,
And mighty Love enthrones in every mind.
Honour disdains base Actions, and would have
A noble life to be our Epitaph.
The fair Lycoris doth desire a long
And flourishing Spring of beauty, ever young;
Her many years to wear away in mirth,
And Heavens epitome to have on earth:
Her dayes in musick, and in feasts; and nights
(Between her lovers Armes) in soft delights;
But with so cunning Carriage to enjoy
This momentary false felicity,
As to deceive the curious world, that for't
She every where may have a fair report:
And that (when she enters the Grave's descent)
Honour may fix upon her Monument.

31. Of Mary a Chambermaid.

Mary a Chambermaid, a brown-eyde Lass
Complain'd that she all day in labour was;
I laugh'd at her simplicity, and said,
Surely at Night then you'l be brought to bed.

32. Of Katherine, a Kitchen-wench.

Katherine a Kitchen-wench merrily said
That lame men were the best to please a maid:
I ask'd her why? She wittily repli'd,
They that have Legs defective love to ride.

33. Of the Infamie of his Mistress. Tibull. Lib. 4.

Of falshood Fame my Mistress doth accuse:
Would I were deaf, and could not hear the newes.
This is not forged without my unease:
Why dost thou vex me? cruel Rumour, peace.

34. To Apollo, Ausonius Gallus.

Phœbus thy Bow and Arrows hide; for she
Thy weapons fears, but doth not fly from thee.

35. To my Cousin Mr. Charles Cotton.

Pardon my boldness (Cousin) that defames
Your name among my trivial Epigrams:
Yet I before have sometimes us'd you thus;
For in my Eclogues you are Tityrus.

36. Of Chaucer.

Our good old Chaucer some despise: and why?
Because say they he writeth barbarously.
Blame him not (Ignorants) but your selves, that do
Not at these years your native language know.

37. Of Edmond Spencer.

Our Spencer was a Prodigie of wit,
Who hath the Fairy Queen so stately writ:
Yield Grecian Poets to his Nobler Style;
And ancient Rome submit unto our I'le.
You modern wits of all the four-fold earth (worth)
(Whom Princes have made Laureates for your
Give our great Spencer place, who hath out-song
Phœbus himself with all his Learned Throng.

38. To my Noble Cousin Colonel Ralph Sneyde.

When the last spring I came to Keel, and found
Old Hospitality on English Ground,
I wonder'd: and (Great Sydney) did prefer
My Sneyde superiour to thy Kalander.
All things are neat, and Jovial Plenty keepes
Continual Festivals by years, not weekes:
He good decai'd House-keeping doth revive,
And doth preserve our English Fame alive.
So liv'd our worthy Ancestours, and so
May you till you the oldest Man may grow
Within the Land; and ripe for heaven go hence,
Bemon'd as far as known. Poets th'expence
Of time and paper both may save that day,
The Poor your lasting'st epitaph will say.

39. Of Farmo.

Farmo one afternoon was drunk extreamly,
Wherein he curs'd, and swore, & ly'd, not meanly.
One ask'd him whence (when he had's wits again)
So many vices did proceed, so vain?
Marry (quoth he) as I do truly think,
They came not from my heart, but from my drink.

40. Of Ovids Banishment.

The secret cause of Ovids sad mischance
Was seeing or being seen in dalliance.
They that dare act that vice should choose their time,
And not add scandal also to the crime.

41. To Mr. Thomas Bancroft.

Sir, in your Epigrams you did me grace
T'allow me 'mong your many Friends a Place:
T'express my gratitude (if Time will be
After my death so courteous to me,
As to vouchsafe some few years to my name)
Freely enjoy with me my utmost Fame.

42. To the Lady Elizabeth Darcy, my Cousin German.

Madam, the greatest Ladies of past Times
Kind Influences upon Poets rhimes
Have from their gracious eyes bestow'd, and made
Them Heaven with their Inventions to invade.
As the Pelignan Poet honour'd by
The supreme Princess of sweet Italy,
Who singing her (under Corinna's Name)
Fill'd the whole Roman Empire with her Fame;
Which having spread from his immortal verse,
Is now renown'd through all the Universe.
And (Madam) you will do your self no wrong
T'encourage a good Poet in his Song;
And to your mercy you no Injury do,
If you forgive this toy I've sent to you.

43. To my worthy Friend Colonel Edward Stamford.

Great-soul'd Achilles was a noble Friend;
Hector for valour every where renown'd;
Thousands the bounteous Cæsar did commend;
Antonius the best natur'd man was found.
What need I search for more in Rome or Greece?
You (in you) have the vertues of all these.

44. To my Cousin German Mrs. Cordelia Harryes.

When as in Cornwall at Powlmaggon, I
Enjoy'd that sweet retired Companie.
Methought that house afforded all the bliss
Poets can feign there in Elysium is.
My Lord and Lady (blest in wedlock) led
Their dayes in as much quiet as in bed
They spent their Nights; fit couple t'entertain
Hermes and Jove, walk't they on earth again:
And their House to be made a Temple, where
Concor'd and peace triumphed all the year.
But old Philemon and his reverened wife
Led a most poor though a contented Life.
My Lord Mohun liv'd in a plenteous wise,
Able to feast the wandring Deities.
You and your Sisters Graces seem'd to grace
Your Parents firm Affection, and the Place.
So live the blest, and best: and so may I,
While you a more transcendent Life enjoy.

45. To Lydia.

You boast that you are beautiful, and wear
A several rich Gown every week i'th'year;
That every day new Servants you do win:
But yet no vertue have to glory in.
One of less beauty and less bravery, and
Servantless, sooner should my heart command.
Beauty will fade, and ruines leave behind;
Give me the lasting beauty of the mind.
Servants and clothes are the Enammel oft
Of bodies too luxurious and soft.
Leave vaunting (Lydia) therefore till you can
Speak one true vertue, and I'le hear you then.

46. Of a Room in an Ale-house that we call the Apollo.

This Room with Mirth and jests we hallow
Unto the Deity of Apollo:
And (although here we do want Wine
To consecrate before his Shrine,
To absent Friends) we do prevail
In plenteous Pots of mighty Ale:
Such as it seemes great Dis did love,
Who Ceres daughter from above
Did steal; such drink as will constrain
Ceas'd Oracles to speak again;
And noble Spirits will infuse
Into the poor'st and humblest Muse:
And Men in all the humours dress
Of Ovids Metamorphosis.
An Ant by drinking this is grown
To be a lusty Mirmydon:
The rustick Numa it will bring
From Plow, and make him Rome's great King:
Desire in coldest bosomes move,
Quickning Pygmalion's marble Love:
Against Troy's Conquerours combine,
And turn the victours into Swine.
Then welcome all that hate the Folly
Of Solitary Melancholy,
Love mirth and jests, and mean to hallow
This Room unto the great Apollo.

47. Of Delia.

Talking with Delia I did perceive
A natural Perfume in her fragrant breath;
And could not choose but gather many a kiss
From her sweet lips, Portcullisies of bliss.
Like a Chamelion I could live, and spare
All other things to feed upon that air.

48. Ca. Germanici Augusti Epigramma de Puero Thracensi.

A Thracian Boy on frozen Hebrus plai'd,
Till with his weight a breach i'th Ice he made,
Which from his body cut his tender head,
The rest being by the Waters swallowed.
His Mother sigh'd (bestowing 't in an Urne)
That I brought forth for waters, this to burn.

49. Of Cajus Germanicus Augustus.

Germanicus was Drusus Son, o'th high
And the illustrious Claudian Family;
An eminent Poet; to whom Ovid sent
His Roman Kalander from Banishment.
His Cousin Agrippina was his Wife,
By whom he many children had. His life
(At thirty four years age in Antioch)
Tiberius (by poyson) from him took.
Of all his many Poems nothing came
Unto our Times, but that one Epigram.

50. To my very good Friend Mr. Francis Lenton.

Sir, many years ago when you and I
Frequently kept together company
With Master Lightwood, and my Noble Brother
Sir Andrew Knyveton, and some few such other;
Tom Lightwood made each following Anagram
(Which I illustrated) upon your name,
While (at the Fleece in Covent Garden) we
Drank roundly Sack in Rosen Cans, and free.
There all was done in jest, and so was took:
Pray laugh at them again now in this book.

51. Francis Lenton Poet. Anagram. Fil-pot Rosen Canne.

Filpot! What Pot? A Rosen Canne:
Who shall? Frank Lenton shall, that man.
But must he then turn Tapster? No,
But fill for him he drinks unto.
He (like a small Wit) scorns to put
My Friends health in a little Cup,
But (like a Generous valiant man)
His smal'st health drinks in a whole Can:
But Poets Drink is surely Wine;
No Ale-house trash makes men Divine.
Why then Filpot, and Rosen Can,
Except he be a Malt-drink-man?
He's nothing less; Glasses being small,
In Cans he doth drink Sack to all.
His Anagram is true, and so
His sack doth him true Poet show:
He therefore is a Gallant man,
And owneth Filpot Rosen Can.

52. Francis Lenton. Anagram. Nann Colts fire.

Nann Colts Fire, That is Love: For Love's a Flame;
But sure Nann Colt then is some curious Dame.
It may be not: For he may carry perhaps
Nann Colts fire in his Breeches, have her claps.
Then Nann Colt is unsound, and likely he,
Why should he fresher then his Mistress be?
Nann Colts fire once did burn his heart: but lo!
It now hath setled in a place below.
I thought that Poets Wits should be of fire,
And not their bodies; that flames did aspire.
Art thou burnt Frank? Be not dejected; so
Many a Quart of Wine hath been you know,
And yet the better for't; and so mai'st thou
By leaving her upon a solemn vow.
But thou may'st be her fire another way,
The Man that doth her heart and passions sway:
A goodly fortune, to express desire,
To have thy brains distil'd by Nann Colts fire!

53. To the World, of Nan Colt.

If there be Lady that this Name doth own,
Or (of inferiour condition)
A Woman in the world; world! witness bear
We did not mean (by this) to injure her:
We knew none such, he found it in his name,
And (thus much said) I hope w'are free from blame.

54. To Mr. Francis Lenton, refusing wine.

Dost thou endeavour (Franke) to leave thy drink
That made thee such high raptures write & think?
Or art a weary of the Muses? for
What els could make thee Phœbus Sack abhor?
It is our grief, our mourning, and thy shame,
That the Queenes Poet, and a man of name,
Should drive Apollo from his breast with a
Fine glass of six shillings, or a dish of Whey.
Redress our sorrows, and return again
To wine, and make thy head like Charles his wain.

55. Francis Lenton. Anagram. Not Nel; Cis, Fran.

Not Nel, for she is fair and sound and sweet;
But Cis, for she's as common as a street.
Why should a Poet that can drink base drink,
After a Lady that's deserving think?
Or why should you, because your Characters
Are good, expect a Mistress like the Stars?
Because your Anagrams are rich to you,
Would you a Mistress rich in beauty too?
Not Nel; Cis (Fran) is thine, and use her well,
That's make her tympanous belly rightly swell.
Blame not thy fortune but thine eyes; or sure
Some dark nights sport behind, or 'gainst a dore.
What though she be decai'd like wither'd rose?
She is no ancienter then her best clothes.
You'l say this Anagram is naught: but shew
Your reason, for we all do know it true.
However 'tis unfortunate, you'l say:
For Poets Loves should be as bright as day.
It is your name (good Fran) doth tell she's foul,
And makes the world acquainted with her soul.
But you will ask, why may not Cis be fair,
And Nel the homely One beneath compare?
This will not help you Fran: for Nel is known
Famous for beauty, witness Sparta Town:
And Cis is yet, and hath been ever since,
A common name for every Kitchen-wench.
You must be patient therefore, and may thank
Your name for this fine beast; Not Nel, Cis (Frank.)

56. To my very good Friend M. Thomas Lightwood.

Sir, that I do expose these trifles to
The world, which we (in jest) writ long ago,
Pray pardon me: for (I am sure) I do
A greater wrong unto my selfe then you.
After so many troubles, they remain
Once more to make us laugh at them again.

57. To my noble Cousin Mr. William Milward.

When I have wanted company sometimes,
I've made my self merry with writing rhimes;
And I do hope that reading them you will
Laugh too, and pardon what you finde too ill:
For worth your approbation here is nought;
My whole book being a continual fault.

58. To my worthy Friends the two Colonel William Bales.

So lov'd the two Alcides as you two:
So did Attrides and Pæantius do.
In the same steps that Noblest friends have mov'd,
And with as firm a love as they have lov'd,
You hand in hand have walk'd, and work'd as high
And glorious Actions of Amity,
Striving each others affection to out-go:
Yet (from your Spheres of Honour) look'd below
On me, and me into your friendship took;
Who here have link'd you (with me) in my book:
And that fair Fortune that your hearts inclines,
Grant us a life immortal in my lines.

59. To my dear Cousin Mr. Robert Milward.

Whil'st you retir'd at Alsop in the Dale,
With Poets and Philosophers converse;
And o're Voluminous Law-books do prevail,
And those hours you from study steal, desperse
Into your Oeconomical Affairs,
You mixe much pleasure with some easie cares.

60. To my noble Friend, Mr. Marmaduke Wivel.

After so many in the English tongue,
Whose happy Muses, Epigrams have sung,
I have too boldly done, and writ in vain
To get repute by following that strain.
When I bethink me that great Johnson (he
Who all the ancient wit of Italy
And learned Greece (by his industrious Pen)
Transplanted hath for his own Countreymen,
And made our English tongue so swell, that now
We scarce an equal unto it allow)
Writ Epigrams, I tremble, and (instead
Of praise) beseech a pardon when I'm read.

61. To my honoured kinsman Mr. Henry Kendal the younger.

Your Grand-Mother was hospitable, did
Invite me often to her house, and bid
Me hearty welcome; And I hope to prove
The like effects hereafter of your love.
Poets of old were Prophets held; and I
For once will venture on a Prophesy:
You shall at Smithsby flourish, gain the Hearts
Of all your Countrey by your worthy Parts.

62. To Maides.

Soft Virgins, you whose tender hearts are prone
To yield unto your own destruction,
Resist all vicious flames, and you will find
The Glories of an undefiled mind;
Preserve your bodies as a Magazin
That doth contain the richest Treasure in;
For Diamonds, Pearls, and Stones of highest price
Heaven lov'd virginity mainly out-vies:
Patavine Chastity enjoying more
Content, then Acts of a

A prime street in Old Rome.

Suburran Whore.
'Tis mean to yield submission unto Sense,
When virtue hopes so great a Recompence.

63. To the truly Noble Sir Arthur Gorges.

Those worthy Romans that scorn'd humble things,
Created, and obliged after-Kings,
Amidst their thoughts of highest honour, ne're
Conceiv'd Imaginations 'bove your sphere.
The Babylonian Euphrates may
For ever run, and Tybris never stay;
The plenteous Rhine continually speed on,
And Danubie, each to it's Ocean,
And not out-go your fair and high repute,
Which doth amaze the world, and strikes me mute.

94. To Sir Andrew Knyveton my wives brother.

Wonder not why among so many of
My Epigrams, I do no oftner scoff,
And taunt at men, observing when they halt,
And tax them smartly after for their fault.
I know that Epigrams should either be
Satyres reduc'd to an Epitome;
Or els in choicest Language should invite
(Being what you please) the Readers with delight.
Troth! I in scoffes but little do prevail,
Which is the cause that I no oftner rail:
And have for Eloquence but what you see;
And therefore all my friends must pardon me.

65. To my Cousins Germans Mr. Cromwell, Mr. Byron, Mr. Ratcliff, and M. Alexander Stanhope.

The worlds four Parts, and all the various Seas
And Rivers that embrace them thousand wayes,
Perfect the Globe terrestrial, set it fix't
Equal the circumvolving Heaven betwixt:
So you four (joyning in a Sympathie
Of an unmach'd, fraternal Amitie,
Sought to for noble Soules, by all that can
Understand Honour, or a Generous man)
Are courted on all sides, and truly do
Love them reciprocally that love you;
So that your friends and you do justly stand
The Centre of fair Friendship in the Land.

66. To my Cousin Mr. Charles Cotton the young.

In how few years have you rais'd up an high
Column of Learning by your Industry,
More glorious then those Pyramids, that Old
Canopus view'd, or Cair doth yet behold!
Your noble Father (that for able Parts
Hath won an high Opinion in all hearts)
May like the elder Scaliger look down
With admiration on his worthy Son.
Proceed fair plant of Ex'lencies, and grow
So high, to shadow all that are below.

67. To my honest Kinsman Sir John Reppington.

I pray you (Sir) impale your Woods, that we
In them the hunting of the Buck may see:
By which good deed you will be sure to please
The Naiades, and Hamadryades;
Honouring the woods and brooks that grace those grounds,
And raise a stately Eccho by your Houndes,
T'invite Diana to your Groves; that she
A partner in your rural sports may be:
Or peirce the beauteous Goddess Venus ear,
And bring her down from her celestial sphere
To be spectatress of your game; brought thence
To guard some young Adonis from Offence.
By making you a park all this is done,
A pleasant Grace unto your Amington.

68. To my Brother in Law Colonel Will. Nevil.

[illeg.] old luxurious Romans vaunts did make
Of gustful Oysters took in Lucrine Lake:
Your Essex better hath, and such perchance
As tempted Cæsar first to pass from France.
How did those ancient Worthies captive all
The humbled world unto their Capitol!
Yet from it's highest Towers could not survey
So rich a Countrey as (from Holt) you may.
The noble Brutus, vertuous Portia,
Luckless Antonius, chast Octavia,
Soul-fix'd Paulina to her murther'd Lord
(The learned Seneca) such worthes afford
As have astonish'd Ages; yet your best
Of wives may justly with them all contest.
You then enjoying a full Fortune, and
The delicacies may eat of Sea and land;
Your dayes spend at a house of so fair site,
And (with a so deserving wife) each night:
Consider (since that you possess all this)
If y'are not happy, who the Devil is?

69. An Epitaph on a Penitent Bawde.

Here lies a good woman (to speak but the truth)
Who liv'd by her Tail all the days of her youth:
And when she was old, and none could endure her,
Stuck still to the Flesh, and became a Procurer:
Yet was at her death so full of Remorses,
That she cri'd a peccavi for all her lewd courses.

70. An Epitaph on an old Bawde.

Here lies an old Bawde whom the grave should have gotten
Fourty years since, for then she was rotten:
Now here she doth lie for all People to piss on,
(For fear of Doomes-day) in a stinking Condition.
But enough of this business; for well we may think
The more we stir in it the more it will stink.

71. To my Cousin Mr. William Milward.

Whil'st you at Chilcote live, and I at Pooley,
Let's every Week meet one another duly;
Talk of our long Acquaintance, and the strange
Things that have hapned since this mighty change:
And drink a Glass of honest Countrey-Ale
To all our absent Friends at every Tale.

72. Don Quixot. Quarta parte, Cap. 33.

---

172

Englished. Of Women.

73. Of a Servant-Maid.

A servant maid in Winter washing clothes
Upon the banks where pleasant Arnus flowes,
A passenger espi'd her, and did say
I wish (sweet heart) you had a warmer day.
She look'd upon him in a pretty snuff,
And then repli'd; Sir, here I've fire enough,
Laying her hands you may guess where. He smil'd
To hear her answer come so quick, and wild:
And (pulling out his weapon) said (fair Wench)
Light me this Candle then e're I go hence.

74. The Boyes Opinions.

A few untoward Boyes hapning together,
Started a Question t'be resolved whether;
And from the youngest put it to the oldest,
What part about a Woman was the coldest.
The first a knee did say (in his Opinion)
Was the cold'st place of any female Minion.
The next recovering from some thought he stuck at,
Said he conceiv'd it needs must be her buttock,
By feeling cold (but he was but a Noddy)
When she takes up her clothes to ease her body.
The third then spake (with very earnest urging)
The breasts he did imagine of a virgin.
Maid, or no maid, the fourth cri'd, 'tis no matter,
The cold'st place sure lies between wind & water.
After the Question thus being vext and hammer'd,
Oh! sigh'd a Lover (lately grown enamour'd)
(Who ever speaks the truth may be the boldest)
Of a coy Ladies parts her heart's the coldest.
I (quoth the sixth) from all of you do vary,
And am of an Opinion quite contrary:
For with a Woman I lay late, and found her
Warm every where to th'purpose (Pox confound her)
They all laugh'd, saying, he might thank his riot,
And they gues'd him a Clap by his strict diet.
My Hostess heard them, (grunting on her Palet)
And swore, an old Woman as any Sallet
Was cold & wholesome: And (to clear this riddle)
She to him call'd; Son! you may come and fiddle:
But he seem'd bashful, and refus'd the Grannum;
Swearing, what Lust is in these beasts to dam u'm?

75. Of a Sawyer.

One cleaving Billets for a Courtezan,
(Viewing her beauty) was a wounded man:
He sigh'd, and mus'd, and did his work neglect;
So that she came and him for Loytering check't.
He standing more amaz'd; she said, speak (friend)
What dost thou aile? Why dost not make an end?
Recovering from's astonishment, he thought
That faint hearts never fair Atchievement wrought:
And (Mistress) said, A great desire I have
To lie with you: She answered him, peace (knave)
I scorn so base a Clown. For all this he
Pli'd her, and at the last they both agree:
A Crown of Gold he was to give her: so
She pluckt her Clothes her favour to bestow,
And with her white hand clapt her whiter Thigh,
Saying's this flesh fit for a Sawyer? Fye!
He hearing this look't on his Gold again,
And said, is't fit to give this to a Quean?
And so the Goodman chanced to recover,
(Saving his mony) and went home no Lover.

76. Of a Gentleman of Venice, and his Mistress.

A Gentleman of Venice (as the most
Of them themselves do put unto that cost)
Kept a fair Mistress, and did every day
(In solace) weare with her some hours away.
Coming one Afternoon (with an Intent
To spend some time in amorous blandishment)
He found her undispos'd, and newly laid
Groning, and sick, and cover'd on her Bed.
He (seeing this) sigh'd sadly (Love) I fear,
I'm now but troublesome in staying here;
An other time I'le visit you. Pray stay,
Quoth she: Introth you shall not go away;
Come sit down by me: Heark you (Servant) I
Am ner'e so sick, but on my back can ly.

77. To my especial Friend Mr. Henry Thimbleby.

Platonick Love must needs a Friendship be,
Or els Platonick Love's a Gullery:
Love is (as Johnson in's New Inne hath prov'd)
Desire of union with the belov'd:
And cannot onely be a gazing at;
But a strong Appetite t'incorporate.
Why do you praise a Ladies Beauties so,
And (in a silence) let her vertues go?
Leave trifling; for we gather (by your suit)
Your marriage shortly will your words confute.

78. The Florentine Dutchess, and her Woman Dwarfe.

A great Duchess of Florence some years since
Had a She-Dwarfe of quick Intelligence,
And a surpassing beauty; whom (above
Her other Servants) she did highly love.
Nanna, I bear thee such good will (she said)
That I've a great desire to have thee wed
One of thy Size, but handsome as might be;
Because I Children fain would have of thee.
Madam (she answer'd I) have sometimes been
Within your Cellar, and your vessels seen;
And (which did me with a strange pleasure strike)
The great and least had bunge-holes all alike.

79. To my honoured Friend Sir William Persal.

Sir, you are every where belov'd, and should
I say admir'd, my words a truth woo'd hold.
You master all the Arts, and can discourse
Of any science from the very Source
To the full growth of it: From Pole to Pole
Nature hath made you Doctor of her whole.
What others have grown old about and gray,
You have acquir'd by a more gentile way:
For what they an Herculean Labour make,
To you is but a soft Symposiack.
Your quick, all-apprehending brain is such,
It dictates wonders; which are prov'd as much.
Let not this (Sir) seem flattery, and offend:
I write but what I think; And so I end.

80. A Design of an Epick Poem.

81. To my vertuous fair Cousin the Lady Trentham.

Madam, I dare not blame this Age, nor call
Any vice in it Epidemical:
You are immaculate, and of so high
A vertue, that you awe Impiety.
Your Heart is a pure Heaven, where nothing is
Admitted that can be conceiv'd amiss.
The Poets Flight of vertues I contemn,
And patient flow Astrea's after them:
You are their Sphere of happiness, and do
Entertain all the Goddesses in you.

82. To the Same.

You bear that holy Martyrs name that did
Die for her chastity, Saint Winnifrid,
An honour here you do her; and when you
Shall meet in Heaven, she will return your due:
You there will the precedent Saint appear,
And she your name eternally then bear.

83. To my old Friend Mr. Rob. Grosvenor.

Sir, we have heard of Slanders of that height,
As if to Paradise they directed right:
When (out, alas!) it is a foul offence
Any way to traduce an Innocence.
Those Crimes that are by some on others thrown
Guiltlesly, they do make those faults their own:
And the just Judge their punishment will give
Due to the sins that they have slander'd with.
Besides, his Soul he within vengeance bounds,
That with a truth a reputation wounds:
Your Friend and mine so much abus'd doth fall
Under the First, and not the last at all.
To talk of things commonly known and true,
No mulct from Heaven will unto us accrue.
But sure he of a blest Condition is
That hates of any one to speak amiss:
That hath a merciful and candid thought,
And thinks all good, rather then any naught.
Heaven by a spotless life is won, and by
The patient bearing of an Infamy.

84. To my honest Cousins Mr. Robert Milward, and Mr. Roger King.

You best of Friends, and my best Friends, that me
Have many years grace'd with your Amity;
My lines you honour with your worthy Names,
(A lasting Glory to my Epigrams:)
As Princes Stamps upon base metals do
Make them prove currant, and of value too.

85. To Sir Francis Boteler, my brother in law, from Ashbourn.

How Christmas steals upon us, as in fear
To be oppos'd by the bold Presbyter!
And how you part from us against this Time,
As if you thought to meet it here a Crime!
But oh inevitable business! when
Old Christmas we meant to have trick'd agen,
In's long neglected usual Ornaments,
You have prevented it by going hence:
So your Departure we accuse to be
Guilty (by chance) of an Impietie;
Tom Hurt, Will Taylour, and my self shall mourn,
Till you recover our joy by your return.

86. To the right Honourable Henry Lord Hastings Baron of Loughborough.

My Lord, when in my youth I (for some while)
Did leave the pleasures of our native Isle,
And travel'd France and Italy, I spent
(Methought) my Time in a most high content;
And was so far from longing to return,
That I when I was sent for home did mourn.
And doubtless you are pleas'd, who now enjoy
A Calme after a storme of jeopardy.
Homer his Iliads might have writ of you;
And (as our fear prompts) his Odysses too.
But we will hope the best, and that you may
(As er'st Ulysses to his Ithaca)
Return to England (all those tumults past)
And finde it crown'd with happy dayes at last;
Be reconcil'd to every own, and know
(Among so many Friends) no single foe.

87. To my Noble Cousin Mr. Henry Hastings of Branston.

Sir, since our first acquaintance, ever through
Our Friendship with the Noble Loughborough,
What tumults have we seen, and dangers past,
Such as in graves have many thousands cast!
And yet we live (thanks to the Powers Divine)
And love, I thank your Friendship gracing mine.
I needes must say such troubles disagree
Both with my Genius as well as me.
Though Poets often sing of Wars, and with
A mighty verse an Eccho seem to give
To the shrill Trumpet, or the loudest Gun
That thunder rores, and spreads destruction;
Yet in a sweet retreat from care and noise,
They draw those lines that make those Sympathies;
And though I am no Poet, I confess
I am enamour'd much of Quietness.

88. To the right honourable Charles Lord Cokaine, Viscount Cullen.

My Lord, you have an honest Heart, and known
To be of a most sweet Condition;
A Grace unto our Family and Name,
And every where of a most candid Fame:
This is a truth; but lest you should suppose
(If I proceed) I flatter'd, here I close.

89. An Epitaph on my worthy Cousin German Colonel Michael Stanhope slain at Willoughbie-Fight, and lyes buried in the Church there.

Here Michael Stanhope lies, who fought, and dy'd,
When prosp'rous fortune left the Regal side:
He of a dauntless minde by all was known,
And of a Noble disposition:
Yet his conditions, and his valiant Heart
Could not prevail with Death to stay his Dart;
For here he lies, and doth (by's Fall) express,
Great Courages do often want Success.

90. An Epitaph on my dear Cousin German Mrs. Olive Cotton.

Passenger stay, and notice take of her
Whom this Sepulchral marble doth inter:
For Sir John Stanhope's Daughter, and his Heir
By his first wife, a Be[illeg.]for'd lies here.
Her Husband of a Noble house was, one
Every where for his worthes belov'd, and known.
One onely Son she left; whom we presage
A grace t'his family, and to our age.
She was too good to live, and young to die,
Yet stay'd not to dispute with destinie;
But (soon as she receiv'd the summons given)
Sent her fair Soul to wait on God in Heaven.
Here, what was mortal of her turns to dust,
To rise a Glorious Body with the just.
Now thou may'st go: But take along with thee
(To guide thy Life and Death) her Memory.

91. To my Cousin German Mr. John Stanhope of Elveston.

When in an Epigram I did salute
Your other brothers, and of you was mute,
The reason was because I did not know
Whether that then you were alive or no.
Your safety I congratulate, and wish
You a long Life of as long happiness.
This Tribute of my Love to you I give,
Under the Honour of your Name to live.

92. Of Cæsar and Cleopatra.

Great Cæsars vaunt is known to all, who said,
That he did come, look't on, and conquered:
But when to Egypt he did come from Rome,
And saw the Queen, he then was overcome:
But (to prove rather he was not beguil'd)
Her he o'recame; for he got her with childe.

93. An Epitaph on my most honour'd Kinsman Colonel Ralph Sneyd, who dy'd in the Isle of Man about the 40th year of his Age.

Here lyes a body that gave Lodging to
A Soul as noble as the world did know;
It was well-organ'd, handsome, manly, and
Of equal structure to the best o'th Land:
Yet was unworthy of the Soul was given,
And therefore dy'd cause that fled back to Heaven,
Here Colonel Ralph Sneyd doth lie; In brief
The joy of mankind living, now the grief.

94. Of Slander.

To speak too well of thousands safer is
Then of one single Person once amiss;
Happy is he therefore whose wary tongue
Wisely refrains to do another wrong.

95. To Elveston a Town in Darbyshire.

Dear Elveston, that art a grace
Unto the Shire where I was born;
And Elveston, that art the Place
Where first I did salute the Morn;
The noble Stanhopes are thy praise,
Whom thou afford'st a birth, and Urne:
And may they flourish there always
Till th'world to Chaos doth return.

96. Of Venice, Translated out of Sannazarius. Englished.

In Adriatick Waters Neptune saw
Venice, that layes on the whole Sea a Law:
Object Tarpejan Towers, Jove, whil'st thou wilt,
He said, and walls by thy Mars Off-spring built,
Prefer'st thou Tyber! view both towns, and th'ods,
And thou wilt yield men that made, this the Gods.

97. Of the Gratuity given the Poet.

The noble Senate for the fair renown
(From his immortal pen) fix'd on their town,
Crown'd (with six thousand crowns) the Poets wit;
Would I had half so for translating it.

98. Of Women.

The tree a Grace to Eden did appear,
Yet was prohibited our Parents there:
So Women as earths glories we esteem,
And yet how mch are we forbidden them!
It pleases Heaven to keep us all in awe
(To try our duties) by a rigid Law.

99. Of the same.

In Paradise a Woman caused all
The ruine of mankind by Adams fall:
What wonder then if they o'recome us here
When w'are more weak, and they perhaps as fair?

100. An Epitaph on Mr. John Fletcher, and Mr. Philip Massinger, who lie buried both in one Grave in St. Mary Overie's Church in Southwark.

In the same Grave Fletcher was buried here
Lies the Stage-Poet Philip Massinger:
Playes they did write together, were great friends,
And now one Grave includes them at their ends:
So whom on earth nothing did part, beneath
Here (in their Fames) they lie, in spight of death.

101. Of Augustus Cæsar, and Marcus Antonius.

Augustus was to Ovid too unkind,
Who him not onely banish't, but confin'd
Him; had the noble Anthony o'recome,
He might have led his life, and di'd in Rome.
But of these two great Romans this is known,
Cæsar caus'd others deaths, Marcus his own.

102. To the Lady Mary Cokaine, Viscountess Cullen.

Madam, I hear you do intend to grace
Your Rushen with your presence all this year,
You cannot honour a more noble Place,
If you resolve the Countrey for your Sphere;
And Lords and Ladies enjoy happiest dayes
When in their homes their right Orbs they appear:
So Stars do glorifie Heaven that keep their Orders,
When Comets do presage ruines and murders.

103. To the same.

Madam, I do recant what I have writ,
As favouring too much of a countrey-wit,
And I fear Clownishness: for where should your
Fair Sexe live but in London evermore?
Bright Ladies in the Countrey, we esteem
As the Sun shaded by the cloudes doth seem;
So Pearls lie hid in Shells, and Diamonds so
Upon their solitary Rocks do grow.
As Stars grace Heaven, your beauties do the town,
Which is the proper Sphere for them to own.
Hast therefore up; you here will prove a Star
Of Glory, who move there irregular.

104. An Epitaph of Colonel Ferdinand Stanhope Son to the Earl of Chesterfield, who was slain about Shelford, and lies there buried.

Here underneath this monumental Stone
Lie Honour, Youth, and Beauty all in One:
For Ferdinando Stanhope here doth rest,
Of all those Three the most unequal'd Test.
He was too handsome and too stout to be
Met face to face by any Enemy;
Therefore his foe (full for his death inclin'd)
Stole basely near, and shot him through behind.

105. To my Wives Neece Mrs. Elizabeth Pegge.

I thank my Wife for my so neer relation
Unto a mine of vertue of our nation.
To name your handsomness I do decline,
As to tell Ethiops the Sun doth shine:
You are as witty as the Lesbian Lass,
Who the tenth Muse so oft accounted was:
And chaster then the glorious Roman Dame
That kil'd her self for vicious Tarquin's shame,
Thus I could prosecute your Worths, but know
Y'had rather Heaven then men should judg you so.

106. To her Brother Mr. Tho. Pegge.

The various manners you of men have seen,
And have in divers forreign Cities been;
And after three years travel are come home
From Brussells, Paris, and more glorious Rome,
To fix you here for all your future Life;
I wish y'a vertuous, rich, young, handsome wife.

107. To my Wife.

My Mall, how we desire both to go down,
And still how business stayes us in the town!
Since Plays are silenc'd by the Presbyter,
And Wine is grown so very naught and dear;
London seems frowning like a Step-dame now,
That look'd before with so serene a Brow.
Away therefore, and let us hasten home
To our Loves pledges our dear Mall and Tom.

108. Of Hubert Wypart.

Hubert Wypart a Leigios some years since
My Servant was i'th Countrey, and from thence
Ask'd leave to go to London to be by
At a Friends death of his condemn'd to dy;
For he (he added) loves me so I know,
That he three hundred miles and more would go
To see me hang'd; we could not choose but laugh:
Hubert had leave to go; but's Friend got off.

109. To Tom Mullins.

Tom sell good Ale; and since we do thee grace
To call thy Room Apollo, and the place
With mirth and jests raise Oracles in, be sure
Thy drink have strength to make them both endure:
For it would an Impiety be of thine,
With base Ale to pollute bright Phœbus Shrine.
In lieu of Eastern perfumes we will pay
Sacrifice of Verinas every day.
Though we by mighty Liquor fall sometime,
'Tis accidental, and a generous crime;
A fate that upon strictest Friends awaites,
When those that drown themselves in brooks, Heaven hates.

110. To his Wife.

What Vulcan's wife sell Ale! Thanks Venus for't;
The Goddess though did use another Sport.
Bess, since thou likewise art a Black-smiths wife,
Imitate somewhat the Cyprian Queen in life.
But thou art old, and honest: therefore get
A young Wench to fill drink that may be fit.
But thou too much of vertue hast; therefore
Sell Noble Sack, and we will ask no more.

111. An Epitaph on Mr. Isaac Coe who died about the 40th year of his Age.

Here Master Isaack Coe of Lincolns-Inn,
A Glory to that house, and to his kin,
Doth buried lie; which Loss we needs must mourn,
And pay our tears as Tribute to his Urne:
But how can we call this his Sepulchre,
Whom all his Friends do in their hearts inter?

112. To Zoilus.

Zoilus, thou say'st my Epigrams are worse
Then any that thy Censurer did curse:
Zoilus, I am of thy Opinion too;
And therefore (pray thee) make no more adoo.

113. Of Lupa.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten
Have lain with Lupa, and all lusty Men,
Such as their Boasts of strength in each place tell.
Yet none of them could make her Belly swell.
But Lupa vaunts of this; that she doth hate
Her Belly should confirm what Men do prate.
A slanderous tongue oft Innocence traduces;
But when the Belly tells, farewell Excuses.

114. Of Cloe.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,
Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen Men
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen more
Cloe hath tempted to make her an whore.
Count how many she hath wish'd she had lain under,
And you will find it come t'a pretty number.
Yet none of them have ever known her bed;
For Cloe still retains her Maidenhead.
Sure she's unhansome then! No; she's a Lass
As beautiful as ever Hellen was.
She is observed by so wary spies,
That hitherto she could not play her Prize:
But twenty t'one e'relong she'd find a time
To cheat their eyes, and perpetrate her Crime.

115. Of the Thames.

Some gallant Rivers do neglected run,
And have no viewers but the constant Sun,
The solitary Moon, and Beasts that by
Their hollow banks do feed themselves to die:
Whil'st upon Thames, the Glory of our Isle,
Fair Towns, and Palaces, and Castles smile:
But above all London (that doth embrace
Those sprightly streams) affords the chiefest grace.
'Tis well it is so big; or else this Town
(Would in the Beer that's drunk) soon quaff it down.

116. To my fellow Travellour Mr. Maurice La Meir, alias Ardenville.

How many Cities have we seen, together?
But now I wish we might seen one another.

117. To Porphyrius.

Porphyrius! that is enough to tell,
He that doth all things ill doth nothing well.
An Epigram's is too short for such a matter,
His faults but touch'd at brief deserve a Satyre;
And is as an expert Archer hits the white,
So on the Black his Poet needes must light.

118. His Mistress.

She is his own, and he is happy much,
Because besides himself none doth her touch:
But 'tis not for respect to him, or her;
For she's so foul all men do her abhor.
She constant is to him against her minde,
And he t'her, 'cause he can no other find.

119. Their Marriage.

A wedding solemniz'd, because none els
Would court them to divide them from themselves:
And it is fit they should be married, when
None els will have that Woman, or Woman Man.
The beasts are coupled; and 'twill be no wonder,
If like beasts they agree, or part asunder.

120. An Epitaph on Mr. Humphry Cumberford who died in Tamworth about the 34th year of his age, and lyes there buried.

Here Master Humphry Cumberford doth ly,
Who was a Man of truth, and honesty,
A Lady Knighted him (to his good fate)
Whose Honour so scap'd nulling by the State.
Belov'd he was by all of every sort,
From Bess of Bow-Mill to the very Court.
He dy'd a maid, or (if he did do ill)
'Twas not his Nature, but against his will.
But let him rest in peace; and may we all
Wish, we may die as well when death doth call.

121. To Clarinda.

That Lent is sweet, devout Clarinda sayes,
And why? she feeds on sweet-meats most those days.
But pardon me that thus traduce your merit;
You keep the flesh low to advance the Spirit.

122. To my Book.

Go trivial Book, and when thou art abroad
Be humble where thou find'st a kind abode.
If at thy errours any smile, give way,
It is not handsome in thee to gainsay.
They gave some money for thee; and 'tis fit
That (for their money) they some laughter get.

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.

The third Book.

1. To the Gentry of Darbyshire.

Gentlemen, and my Countrey men! pray look
With courteous eyes upon this trivial Book:
For I present it to you, that it may
Show my respects to you another day.
Why to the Lords I write not you enquire:
I should not be so bold, though I desire.
But (to avoid prolixity of words)
Gentlemen they are, though you are not Lords.

2. To the Readers.

Two Books of Epigrams I've writ before,
Yet (Gentle Readers) I present you more:
Behold the third here offer'd you; but what
It will prove, good or bad, I know not yet.
May it likewise obtain your candor; els
Henceforth (for me) write Epigrams yourselves.

3. To the Right Honourable Philip Earl of Chesterfield, Baron of Shelford, &c.

Philip the second! Earl of Chesterfield!
I a request have, and I hope you'l yield:
Yet I (in modesty) long time have stuck
From making it; And 'tis but for a Buck:
Bestow one on me, and on this good reason,
I will not ask again till the next season.

4. An Epitaph on Elizabeth the Lady Reppington, who deceased at Ammington, about the 50. year of of her age, and lies buried at Tamworth.

Here underneath this Monumental Stone
Elizabeth the Lady Reppington
Doth lye inter'd: And therefore whosoere
Thou art that passest by, awhile forbear
Thy hast, and read, and weep; for he's unjust
Unto the merits of her precious dust,
That doth not drop his Tears in showers; for she
Is worthy of eternal Memory,
Worthy of storms of sighes, Thunder of Grones,
To mourn her loss with due afflictions.
The sea-bright family that gave her birth,
Hath gain'd thereby a glory on the earth.
Happy her husband in so good a wife!
Happy her children to receive a life
From such a Magazine of worthes as she!
A fair example for Posterity.
To name her virtues, is to name them all;
She was their Centre, she their pure White-hall,
Their Court, their Palace, where heaven did rejoyce
To see such Cherubims without a vice.
She was their Paradise, and her bright soul
The Diety that did command the whole.
But O! there is another heaven, else sure
Her soul had never left a place so pure.
Earth is not the reward for virtue. Look
Upwards, that's towards her, she is a Book,
A Directory for thy life; which read,
And practiced, thou wilt be so prais'd when dead.

[5]. An Epitaph on my honoured Cousin Mr. John Reppington, who deceased at Ammington about the 25 year of his age, and lies buried at Tamworth.

Here lies Iohn Reppington, that came to be
(By Edwards death) Heir of his Family:
As t'him his elder brother did give room,
So he t'his younger, witness by this tomb.
He a few weeks after his mother di'd,
And of the same (new term'd) disease beside;
So he a most obsequious son was found,
That waited on his mother under ground.
He was good natur'd, bore an honest mind,
Belov'd by all men, and to all men kind:
And had no foe but death, who (too severe)
Hath cast an Heir so young and hopeful here.

6. To Mr. Charles Hutchinson my Cousin German.

Cousin, I long to see you married well,
And long (at Rawslison) to see you dwell.
Then I should oft wait on you, make some stay;
It being (from Pooly t'Ashburn) in the way.
So I should make your house mine Inne; what tho?
W'are friends, and neer a kin: Pray be mine so.

7. To Mr. Francis Fitzherbert of Lincolnes Inne, my kinsman.

To love, and not to love; it is all one
If you do let the Fair belov'd alone:
And to love once, unless you do love ever,
Is a slight toy, and was an earnest never.
Therefore (to shew you true affection have)
Your Mistrisse wed, and love her to the grave.

8. To Mr. Will. Stanhope the younger my Cousin German.

Why do you live so long a Batchelor?
Is it cause you the femall sex abhor?
Or do you fear women are troublesome,
And therefore loth into their yoke to come?
If such opinions do your minde enthrall,
Marry a wife, and she'l confute them all.

9. Of Quintilla.

Quintilla talkes too much, and why is it?
Because Quintilla hath but little wit:
And at each thing she speakes, she doth laugh after;
A Fool is known by an excess of laughter.

10. To my mother Mrs Anne Cokain.

Let none our Ashbourn discommend henceforth;
Your Gardens shew it is a place of worth.
What delicate Sparagus you have growing there,
And in how great abundance every year?
What gallant Apricocks, and Peaches brave,
And what delicious Nectorins you have?
What Mellons that grow ripe without those Glasses
That are laid over them in other Places?
What Grapes you there have growing? and what wine
(Pleasant to tast) you made last vintage time?
Plant Vines; & (when of Grapes you have got store)
Make wine enough, and I will ask no more:
Then Mr. Bancroft (in high lines) shall tell
The world, your cellar's Aganippe's Well.