University of Virginia Library

CERTAIN DIVINE EPIGRAMS

To certain worthy persons, approved Friends, and neer relations, to whom the Authour presented some of his Books.

To his most honoured father Master DAVIS Minister of the Gospel in Hereford-Shire.

Sir,

If you vouchsafe (in love) to read each line,
You'll say with me the work's your own not mine;
For what I say, or write I cannot own:
What I have reapt, is that wch you have sown,
But yet (I must confesse) our Authour more
Was principall herein, whom I adore
To wit, the Lord of heav'n, who gives to all
And upbraideth none, whether great, or small.
He's Father of us both, our gifts, and parts
Wherfore to him let's both bequeath our harts.
But Sir: the sum that once I borrow'd of you
I cannot half discharge, though all be due,
But please a little while to beare with mee,
I'le pay you all, and set my

My word,

surety free,
But what was this sum money? no 'twas better,
O! then, I doubt, I shall be still your debter:
Except for all, you will accept one part,
Which I will pay (in love) with all my hart,
And what you say is truly due behinde:
I'le still be paying too, 'tis th'honest minde.

To his dear Mother Mistris DAVIS.

None can expresse the great, yet joyfull pain
A Mother undergoes a son to gain.
Yet since the Lord hath made my wife a mother,
I can the care, though not the pain discover.
What care have I! that those who bear my name
May be instructed well, yours was the same
For me, which was to me much hid, not known
Till now of late I had some of my own.
Now I know your pains, your cares, and your fears,
Your earnest late, and early pray'rs, and tears.
As I now handle, dandle on my knee
My son, and my daughter, so you did mee.
But oh! there's much to mine as yet not done,
Which is perform'd by you to me, your sonne

To my Father in Law Thomas Rider Gentleman, and his loving Consort my Mother in Law.

My very few spare minutes I have spent,
In studying of some pledge, or argument
To prove my thankfulness unto you both,
For that you freely did bequeath betroth
Your loves to me, thus cleer, thus plain set down,
Giving your daughter for my wife, my crown:
To sign your love to me, you did bestow
On me, the issue of your bodies, lo
To signe my love to you I'm not behinde,
I give you here the issue of my minde.
If any more remain to you from me,
I cannot brook a debtor still to be.
Be sure of this, if God doth not with-hold,
I'le pay you all in better coine than gold.

To his dear Wife Abigail Davis.

LOVE,

Let not thy love from anc'ent truths decline;
Hate thou falshood: love truly truths divine.
Let not the love of earthly Authors make
Thee love a truth, love truth for its own sake.
None will slight cord'als, though a foe do send
Them, nor poys'n take though from a bosome friend.
Let nothing here be doubtful unto you,
Not that th'Author, but th'patrō speaks it true.
Convince gain-sayers with the patrons words,
They're fitter weapons for this end than swords.
If thou asswage the rage of some that rail,
Against this truth, thou dost like Abigail
Preserve thy husband, and what doth belong
To him, from danger, violence and wrong.
Accept of this, as I accepted thee,
In love esteem it, as a gift from mee,

To the reverend, faithfull and profitable Minister of the Gospell: Mr. Rawlinson, of the Parish of Lambeth Pastor.

I know you will not slight truth, 'cause compact
In Verse, I did it truly to contract
Much matter in few words, in little space,
And Sir, to sing a Psalm is no disgrace,
The stile's the recreat'on of my youth,
If you but please to call the matter truth,
No man I dare presume will then contend
With it, that's double-prais'd, that you cōmend.
In contemplation of this paradox
I seem'd to see destructive shelve's, and rocks,
My soul was in a strait, could see no light,
Scyll' on my left

Hand.

. Charibais on my right,
Which to eschew I fixed both mine eyes
On th'fixed star of Scripture-verities,
And so I was directed, guided far,
From either danger by the foresaid star;
And your conduct, which I must needs confess
Hath been a happy instrument t'repress
In me those wandrings from the perfect way
Of truth, where unregen'rate man doth stray.
But now this point I do relie upon
Although by some 'tis heterocliton.
Sir, from your mouth proceedeth strength to quell,
Deprav'd, rebell'ous nature, sin and hell,
You're valiant, victorious in your

Your Ministry.

war;
And yet come off, free both frō wound, or scar,
The profit reapt from you (with thanks) I name.
I part from you, more knowing than I came,
As fear, and joy into the Arke the Dove
Did bring, so you bring law, then Gospel-love
Into our souls: first Law, that souls may fear
Justice; then love in Christ: all which indeare

To his approved good friend the learned and experienced, Master John Hinton, Physician.

O! How neer the brink; ô! how neer was I
To danger: to death: ô! how neer to die,
Yet preserv'd from falling in, yet I live,
Oh! let me praise the God of life and give
Him hearty thanks, for this his providence
To me: such love I cannot recompence,
Or satisfie; but yet I'le strive to pay
In humble thankfulness, in this my day
Some smal returns, I will confess
His love is infinite, and I will blesse
His name: the occas'on was only hence,
That 'tis not long ago I had a sense
Of rich mercies, I say, it is not long,
Since he pitied me, for which this Song,
Or Psalm I made, to sing eternall praise
To God, who from the gates of death did raise
His servant, yet grat'tude I read is due
(As th'instrument of God) from me to you.
When Nabals wife did pacifie, asswage
King Davids passion, anger, fury, rage;

1 Sam. 25. 22, 23.

He blest the God of Israel that sent
Her so to meet him, and thereby prevent
His evill purpose; but he did not rest,
Untill likewise her counsell he had blest:
Yea happy, blest be thou also, saith he,
Who hast this day from sin prevented me;
So noble friend, my Doctor, first must I
Expresse unto my God, and then imply
Unto you this word of thanks, Blessed twice
Thus: blest be God, and you, and your advice.
The first I call the cause efficient,
The second is your self, the Instrument
Of my present health, and late recov'ry
By your Cordials, and Phlebotomie.
Now pray accept of this, as 'tis a token
Of humble thankfulnesse, for what is spoken,
I'le say but this, your skill deserves your fame,
The sick you heal, or cure: the mad you tame.

To his Countrey the fruitfull County of Hereford in Wales.

I know in double

Woolf.

letters you excell,

4 W W W W. in Hereford-Shire.

O that you had not double hearts as well.
You exceed in Water, Wooll, Wheat, and Wood,
And some esteem these things their chiefest good:
But such that count those earthly springs and pools
Summū bonum, my patron cals thē fools.

Water and fire good servants, bad masters.

Water is a servant good, as a fire
Is, but snch masters, none that's wise desire.
As fire the highest tower can burn down,
So flouds of water, the high'st hils can drown,
And what's

Wool proves

Wooll? but sheeps clothing, an hyp'crite;
Which but cast off, would prove a woolf, to bite.
Add f to wooll it will be Woolf thus plain,
Take f away, 'twill seem a sheep a gain.
And what is

Wood signifies mad.

Wood? but the concrete of ire,
'Tis combustible fuell for a fire.
And what is Wheat? 'tis true of all the rest,
If any one be better, 'tis the best:

Of Wheat is made bread, yet bread perishing food.

But though the bread of this we eat to nourish
Our bodies, yet pray know, 'tis food that perish.
Now do not boast, nor set your hearts upon
The best of these, they're corrupt each one,
For your water esteem the gospels wel or spring,
For that glad tidings to your souls it bring.
For your word 'steem the same, which is a

The Word of God a tree.

tree
Where truth doth grow, from a painfull Bee
An earnest, frequent, praying

An earnest man is a Bee.

man, derive
Most sweet and wholesome cord'als t'keep a live
In time of scarcity, in time of want;
But O! here food doth grow, therefore not scant.
Be no more wood, be meek, be loving, kinde,
Cut down your wood, and plant a sober minde.
And for your plenty of that grain of wheat,
Over-value not the same I entreat,
But freely give to poor distressed ones,
That have no land to plant for rock, or stones,
And value you the foresaid truth to feed
Upon Gods Word, the true immortall

1 Pet. 1. 23. Christs righteousnesse better than Wooll.

seed,
And for your wool, be sure your selvs you dress
In that white robe of Christ his righteousness.
Let Christs Gospel, his righteousnes, his blood;
Be your all, your Water, Wooll, Wheat, and Wood;
Countrey; this little book I dedicate
To you, because I heare, I heare of late
False teachers are abroad, to you crept down,
To smooth, to flatter, smile, and not to frown;
Saying all are sav'd, which to the weaker sort
Seem's pleasant, & some sinners thank thē for't.
But have a care (my friends) it is more sweet
Than sound, or wholsom; therefore do not greet
Them so with congees, thanks; for 'tis not true
As holy Scripture here declares to you,
My friends; if any come to you, and bring
With them not this true doctrine, but shal sing
Contradicting notes, bid them not

2 John 10, 11

God speed,
Lest you partake of others evill deed.

To his respected Uncle John Davis of The Greenway in Hereford-Shire.

Sir, to requite the many courtesies
I have receiv'd from you, my Muse denies
As impossible, yet you see she hates
Ingratitude, for that she dedicates
This Book to her relations and friends,
As so many cred'tors to make amends
In part for all their loves without delayes,
Knowing that he owes most that nothing payes.
I hope you will accept from me this mite,
For that although 'tis smal, 'tis weight, not light,
And having tri'd, you are like Persia's

Artaxtrxes.

King,
Who much would give, & take the smallest thing.

To his respected Friend Master John Wood.

Sir, be pleased to give a friendly look
On these my lines coucht in this little book,
I hope they'll answer th'name of orthodox,
The arguments for proof are sound as rocks,
Howsoever see them prov'd scan each line,
If one prove strong, 'tis Gods; if weak', tis mine.
Till this were out, my Muse could finde no rest,
Of all, you love the godly learned best.

To his Honoured Friend, Mr. Abraham Taylor, Merchant of the City of LONDON.

SIR,

I know right well, untruths you cannot brook,
Behold, they're here condemn'd within this book.
Here's truth triumphing, errour much asham'd,
To shew her self because of most men blam'd.
The old receiv'd undoubted verity,
Here I maintain 'gainst dead quick heresie,
Answering all objections which some make
Against the truth (for nought but fash'ons sake.)
I have read th'eloquence of Cicero,
I could have writ in Latin, but why so?
All in England know not the Latin tongue,
But I could wish that all both old and young
Would learn the originals, first the Greek,
And then the sacred Hebrew Language seek;
Their worths, I cannot speak, I must admire:
O! that our youth would both these tongues acquire.

To his respected Friend, Master Thomas Churchman, of London Citizen.

Sir, of my lines be pleas'd to take a view;
If any thing in them shall pleasure you,
It's yours; howsoever reject it not;
For it is truth, it self was clean from spot.
I must confesse my Muse, doth want a stile,
To speak truths worth or praise, but stay a while:
'Twill praise it self; yet thus 'tis worth receiving,
But errour condemn'd is scarce worth reprieving.

To his much esteemed Friend and Cousin-german, John Davis of The Greenway in Hereford-Shire.

Here is truth & errour, the first maintained,
The last before the right'ous Judg arraigned.
I hope thou hast this will within thy brest,
Of trying all thou read'st, to keep the best,
And not to take things carelesly on trust,
As if all thou readest were true and just:
Stir up, stir up in thee, that noble minde,
Like to the Bereans, who searcht to finde,
If things were so or no in holy Writ;
See if it hath true Scripture stampt on it,
'Tis currant coine; if otherwise, 'tis base
Metall, receive it not on any case.
The pains of touching only here is thine,
The pleasure of composing hath been mine.

To his Brother in Law, William Gardiner of Whitchurch in Hereford-Shire.

The world hath mill'ons of obst'cles to let,
An honest man from paying of his debt:
But Love's a debt which surely might be paid
By all, without demand, and not delaid.
Love is a sum (me thinks) might soon be got,
He's a dishonest man that payes it not;
Yet in this age so many do dis-joyn;
Love seems as scarce as any other coyne,
But the debt's due, by Scripture 'tis attested,
Who denies to pay't will surely be arrested.
Now let you and I ere the

Death.

Serjeant come,
Of all we owe be sure to pay this sum.

To his Brother in Law Thomas Roberts at the Were-end in Hereford-Shire.

Brother I know you well, the truth you love,
Which is the cause that principally move
My Muse to send, to write, to tell to thee,
That errour is condemn'd, and truth set free
In these my lines; you will avouch it true,
If you will take an hour to read them through.
An Id'a of Philosophie to mee
Thou gav'st; lo, here's Divinity for thee.

To his Brother Robert Davis, Barber-Chirurgeon of the City of London.

If thou canst set a Song to Instrument,
Take pains with this, it wil be time wel spent.
And though it may not disagree, but suite
With either Violl, Harpsecall or Lute;
Yet let it not be only set to such,
But tune thy heart hereto, and it will much
Delight thy sp'rits: what? though it doth not like
The eares of carnall men, who only strike,
And harp upon that Instrument call'd Base.
O! sing (with heart) Gods praises in thy place.
Bad matter ne're so truly plaid, is wrong,
Whatever others croke, sing thou this Song.

To his Brother Samuel Davis, Cordwainer in the Town of Monmouth in Wales.

Read here the recreat'on of thy brother,
What gifts thou hast be sure thou dost not smother,
With this proviso, start not out of size:
A word doth prove enough unto the wise.

To the Captious READER.

I see some men do daily take and feed,
On such an herb, that I account a

Tobacco.

weed:
And at Feasts, that

Oysters.

dish doth please my app'tite,
Which others cannot love, but vainly slight:
Wherefore I here provide at this my Feast,
Rather what's good, than pleasing to each guest,
So if some palats cannot well relish
This my sound meat, my good and wholesome dish:
The fault now is not mine, it only lights
On their unsound, and queamish appetites:
If some Criticks like not my good intentions,
The fault redounds on their ill apprehensions.