keep thee that thou wert wont to keep For thy revenews and thy penny rents Are all forestall'd by Cittizens extents Then as I said good unthrift let it be Thou once kept house now let the house keep thee To a great Lord that upbraided his Servant with Poverty YOur Lordship did object upon a time My poverty against me as a crime You blamed me that I borrowed had of those Who to your knowledge were my greatest foes It had been nobly done Sir to relieve me Rather then with my wants and Foes to grieve me But in distress give me a foe that lends Before a thousand faithless fruitless friends To his reconciled Enemy YOu were my enemy so went the cry But your late actions hath given that the ly You are my freind profest nay you have sworne it And but I know it reall I should scorne it Let all back-biters then henceforth be Mute Freinds by their workes are knowne as trees by fruit He that shall speak me faire and loves me not Calls for the reckoning up but payes no shot Give me the man that smoothly steals away Uses few words but leaves me nought to pay Let those that envie this our frendship know That I much more to you then them do owe For you have paid my scores so used me better Then such as scorn'd me 'cause I was a debter Thus by your actions I shall ever prize you Who calls you then my foe I swear belies you Upon a Fool that was angry at his evil Fortune GRaccus at fortune rayls and oft imparts Unto his private friends some evil chance Still wondering that a man of his deserts That fickle whore so slowly should advance Indeed since fortune favours fools so much All wonder may that thy ill fortune 's such Vpon a Fellow that fear'd he should run mad for his Mistresse RAlph is love sick and thinks he shall run mad And loose his wits a thing Ralph never had Take comfort man if that be all thou fearest A groat will pay the loss when wits at dearest Vpon a Highway Thief DIck had two words that did maintain him ever The one was stand the other was deliver But Dick's in Newgate and I fear will never Be blest again with that sweet word deliver Of one that was burnt in the Hand THat fellow there as simply as he stands Hath all the law by rote at 's fingers ends Nay answers one he hath it in his hands For at last Sessions had he not found friends He had been hang'd if out he have not bit it The law 's there to be read as Deverax writ it Vpon a Ladies Tailor turnd out of service having been long her Favourite WHat Monsieur Nit my Ladies Taylor here That she maintain'd for trimming her old gear I heard why you were out of favour put A sour Nitships yard she found was lately cut Then blame her not she had just cause of Ire A childe once burnt you know will fear the fier Then she that hath so oftentimes been served Hath in her old age cause to be afeard Vpon his unkinde Kinred IN kinsman friend of old was comprehended Give me one friend and hang up all my kindred A Gardner and his Wife A Gardners wife that long had barren been Her husband one night thus did make his mone Sure wife quoth he 't is for some deadly sin That this our work 'mongst all the rest alone Is fruitless here 's labor but no increasing Husband quoth she this ground doth want much dressing With that the man a far fetcht sigh sent forth And swore it had more dressing then t was worth A peremptory Gold-smiths Wife A Goldsmiths wife most boldly oft required Of her good man a hundred pound in gold For what use to know humbly he desired For my pleasure quoth she strait down t was tould Take it said he my onely dearest Dear And thus she serves him twice or thrice a year Though he do oft thus for her pleasure pay Yet that he is a Wittall who can say A Courteous Chambermaid DOll often did protest and deeply too Her sought for Maydenhead she would not loose At last her Ladies Son did Doll pursue And wood so well she could not him refuse How now quoth he how can you salve your Vow Why that 's not lost quoth she that 's given to you To one that entreated the Author to write some Verses to a Book that he had going to the Press I Was intreated by a scambling Knight Something in praise of his new book to write I that am ready at each Suiters whistle As others did provided an Epistle But 'cause I did not prayse his work enough He left it out which I took much in snuff But let it pass it hath given me a schoolling I 'l henceforth sooth up woodcocks in their fooling The Author upon his Epigrams MY Epigrams by hundreds I send forth And give them too for nought that 's just their worth If in mouths of gift horses few men look Vouchsafe but so much justice to this book For rather then I 'le sell paper and Inck I'lâ— be a night man though the office stinck To the truly Honourable and antiently Noble Benefactor the Lord Dunkelly Vicecount Tunbridg Vpon the Authors obligations to him An Epigram I Am your Lordships debtor yet who looks I fear will scarcely finde me in your books My name I doe suspect is clearly lost And I for want of payment out am crost Yet my ambition 's still great Lord to mount High in your books I mean of good account In other books where ere I find my name I wish their libraries were all in flame A tradesmans book is worse to me by far Then the black book where psalms of mercie are To read is not enough my life to save Iudgment or satisfaction they must have Their books condemn me yours would me acquit Let me be blotted there in yours fair writ Their great accounts my greatest sorrow is The greater your account the more my bliss Then know your honour cannot please me better Then write me down at large your thankfull debtor To the most deservedly beloved and honoured the the Lady Viscountess Tunbridge Madam WHere should I place your honour if not heer Since 't is as all men know your proper sphear You doe not in your orb so sweetly move Wanting his presence you so dearly love Therefore my judgment humbly thought it meet To place you thus together in one sheet And may those powers that govern death and fate So ty so binde and so conglutinate The holy bonds that hold you now together That neither may lament the loss of either May death and time and fate want power to force Either a separation or devorce Betwixt you and let every new year bring To both your bloods to both your loves a spring May you grow old in nothing but in seeing Your Childrens Childrens Children still in being My orisons are done and Madam now I
POEMS OR EPIGRAMS SATYRS ELEGIES SONGS and SONNETS Upon several Persons and Occasions By No body must know whom to be had every body knowes where and for any body knowes what LONDON Printed for Henry Brome at the Gun in Ivie-Lane 1658. TO THE READER THese Poems were given me neer sixteen years since by a Friend of the Authors with a desire they might be printed but I conceived the Age then too squeemish to endure the freedom which the Authour useth and therefore I hitherto smother'd them but being desirous they should not perish and the world be deprived of so much clean Wit and Fancy I have adventured to expose them to thy view if they do arride thy Pallat I am glad I gave the occasion if not I shall not send thee a Challenge All that I shall say is that I have read them with delight â— finde that the Author writes not pedantically buâ— like a Gentleman and if thou art a Gentleman of thy own making thou wilt not mislike it Farewell To the Great in Worth and Merit as in Honour and Title the Lady happily Marchioness of Winchester humbly these A New-years Gift MADAM COuld I but dive into the Oceans Breast Or climbe those Rocks that with the clouds contest If I could sayl unto the Persian shore Or rob the wealthy Indies of their Oare Your private walks and Arbours I would pave With orient Pearl and you should Diamonds have Such as might dimn the glory of the Sunne And make old Nature think her self undone With Persian Carpets I would deck your Rooms And gold should be but offerings for your grooms But I the diving Dolphin cannot ride Nor yet the high eye-daz'ling rock bestride I cannot swim unto the Persian shoar Nor rob the spatious Indies of their Oar Yet Madam rather then I would appear With empty hand to welcome in this Year Or with the Countrie Maid to shew my loves Bring Capons Hens or Orange stuck with cloves I have my Paper-office search't and there Finding some sheets that never tainted were With unclean hands lines that ne'er saw the Sun Nor yet been breath'd upon since they were done Of them I chose with cuâ—iosity Such as I thought might take your Ear or Eye Plain dealing Madam some a Jewel call If you esteem it so your Honour shall Finde it like swelling grapes like fruitful Vine Under each leaf hanging on every line Each Satyr wears it in his hayrie Ear And in each Epigram it will appear Your wonted favour grant then and I live Richer then those that thousands have to give I. E. To the Censorious Reader I do desire the snarle and do thy worst Who at thy mercie stands is most accurst I write to please my Friends and bouldly vow Neither thy venom'd Tongue nor bended Brow Shall force me to a Recantation I know thy trade thy Occupation Is to find fault find them good Sir and take them They are your own 't is you not I that make them Belch out thy poison then and vent thy gall I have an Antidote within 'gainst all Besides here is a Charm if you but look Upon the Frontire peece of this poor Book A Ladies name a name that vertue hath Enough to make this Book become a Bath And give each line a healing power by which Each critick may be cur'd of his salt itch This makes me here with confidence protest I fear not thee nor any such wilde beast To the Courteous Reader I Kiss your hands and would be glad to meet Such Friends in every leaf 'twixt every sheet I wish that every dish and all the Sallets That 's set before you may delight your pallets Therefore I sent to Florence for my oyl My Olives grew on that Italian soyl The Oranges and Lemons Spanish speak And if the Vineger be dead or weak Then blame the Time and people that will carp At any thing though wholsome if but sharp Woodcocks here are as good as ever flew Widgeons and gulls that certainly are new Heer 's fowle of every sort save only one And that 's foul faults of them I hope here 's none Sit down then curteous Reader and fall too For know the feast was only made for you Sit and be frollike whilst I humbly wait Expecting how you relish each conceit And if you rise well pleas'd my noble Friends I then am rich as having all in ends To his Book GO forth my little wanton go and play But on my Blessing see thou do'st not stray Beyond those bounds to which I have confin'd thee For if in Pauls Church yard I chance to find thee Nay if within the City walls thou come I wish thou may'st be instantly struck dumb Or if with Prentices thou do converse Pray Heavens their Masters Counters prove thy herse There with their dam'd account books lie for ever And may I hear or see thee thenceforth never The old Exchange I doe forbid thee too Lest thou shouldst meet in hasty crowds a crew Either a Grain too light or too too grave Compos'd of too much fool or too much knave The Inns of Court are safe none there will scare thee But from the Inns of Chancery I bar thee There Under-sheriffs Sollicitors and such Will make a Battery of every touch Benchers and Barristers pass by for those To wit are Neuters neither friends nor foes If to the Royal Court a Courtier bear thee Avoid the knavish Pages lest they swear thee And force the so the Author to bewray With Grooms and Chamber-maids forbear to play Gentlemen-Ushers and the quarter-wayters Though just unto their King they may be traitors To me or thee with Pentioner or Querrie Be free and bold they can be bold and merrie For they good Fellowes are and can dispense With wit that fights but in its own defence The new great Lords avoid and if thou can For every Lord is not a Noble man Shun Countesses as much as thou art able She may b' a Countess that 's not honorable For Senators know they are sharp-edg'd tools Not too be jested with there are Court fools Who cog and ly but still their Coxcombs have A cursed sent of the most dangerous knave A Clergie man that wears a little ruff And keeps his hand untainted with a cuff Who wears no Spanish leather Boot or Shooe Or any other fashion that is new Lest it from France or Spain or Rome should come To such a silenc't Brother be thou dumbe Say not God save him lest he say he 's able To save himself and damn the prophane rabble The only friends to whom I would commend thee Are only those to whom I humbly send thee Kisse their fair hands and at their noble feet Stand and do pennance in a paper sheet From them alone thy absolution crave Since they alone have power to kill or save J. E. To the jealous Reader WHo findes an Epigram like cloaths in fitness Of him 't was made his Conscience is my witness And yet I wonder
Would invite this my humble verse Some weeping eyes to wait upon this Herse But when I view who 't is that lodges here I know not then from whom to beg a tear To Ladies if I should this sute prefer So good this Ladie was all envyed her Such as had beauty whilst they stood alone If once compar'd with her they then had none Those spangle vertues that they gloried in To her Test brought prov'd then but gilded sin She was the Lyllie of the Field the rest But Daâ—ies Primrose Cowslips at the best This blazing star all others thus our shining Inferiour lights grow great by her declining Since Ladies then are better'd by her death To beg their tears were but to wast my breath Should I to vertuous men my self adress And crave some sighs from them they would confess That if a thought of her but crost their way Even in the Temple they no more could pray The fire of love their sparkes of Zeal put forth And they no text could studie but her worth The thickskind Boar that at high noon defies The scorching Sun was melted by her eyes The stiff-neckt Puritane doth not allow His god a knee yet to this Saint would bowe Her granest Chaplins in the midst of grace Stood often mute till gazing on her face They fâ—oâ— her Cheeks as from two well pend books Found graces store and read them in her looks And thus all men Idolatrie commit Some with her feature others with her wit All good men then how deer soe er'e they lov'd her Are glad e'n for their souls sake death remov'd her Shall I rub natures sores and once again From tender Parents eyes press drops of rain That were a Crime that would beget a storie To mourn for her they know is crown'd with glory But they religious are and will repent The sighs and groans and teares already spent For being married thus before they die To Ioyes Long liv'd as is eternitie Part of her hapiness they shall destroy That weep for her unless they weep for Ioye Should I awake her Lord and from his eyes Requier teares by way of sacrifice That were a Crueltie her gentle soul Would sharply in his sleeps and dreams controule For if the Saints our actions doe discover To weep for her would show he did not love her For being Crown'd with bliss 't were most unjust To wish her here again to dwell with dust What Ioy what honour can there be like this She that was once his wife an Angell is A piece of his own flesh with her is gone As in his right to take possession Of these eternall Ioyes long since decreed To godly Parents and their righteous seed Nor was high heaven content to grace him so But knowing nature apt to over throw Foundations that by faith are weakly laid This goodly Fabrick must not be decay'd By flow pac't time nor did those powers please To ruine it by surfeits or disease Sure common messengers were thought too mean This was a Temple pure and chast and clean And must not cancel'd be the Common way Or sink like houses built of Lyme and clay She was a Diamond and a Diamond must Be found to cut her er'e she fall to dust A Diamond of the self same Rock or none The Flesh of her own Flesh bone of her bone And this must cut and pollish either other The mother fit the Child the Child the mother For Gods own wearing O now tell me where A husband can find room to place a tear Or Parents ground whereon to drop a grone Happie unhappie Lady is their none Hath cause to mourn or to lament thy death Yes blessed soul more then doe yet draw breath Children unborne and ages yet to come Shal bring their offerings to thy honour'd Tombe Pilgrimes from furthest parts shall here arrive To kiss the earth thoâ— trod'st on being alive Chast virgins widows wives shall every spring Branches of Palme and Laurell hither bring And round about thy Sepulcher shall kneell And vent in sighs what their sad hearts do feel Infants shall to thy Infant every hower Offer a garland or at least a Flower And then the elder shall the Yonger tell That they must never hear a passing Bell But they must drop a tear in memorie Of those two blessed souls whose bones there lye And as each year that day shall bring about On which the Tyrant death those lights put out They must invent a curse and that curse lay So heavie that it prove a dismall day A day on which no work shall be begun No fruit be planted nor a seed be sow'n No traveller that conscience makes of â—in Shall dare a Journey on that day begin And if a Yew that day bring forth a Lamb Let it be Fatall to the sillie dam Let not a dove that day a dove disclose Nor hunts-man find a Fawn fal'n from his does Let Midwives only on that day be blest With what they seldom get sweet sleep sweet rest For on that day that dismall day the earth Lost all her pride by an untimely birth And this poor Isle was utterly undone And rob'd of such a mother such a Son As doting nature with her palsie fist Shall never frame again nor fates untwist Such gentle stuff so soft so debonayr As was this Child nor mother half so fair As was the lovely mould in which t was cast For never waâ—â—here womb so pure so chast Noâ— shall mankind so much as hope to see The world inricht with fruit from such a tree A â—â—iâ—d that saw the world and fell a Crying As if to live with us were worse then dying A mother wisely apprehending too One Phenix to one world was onely due And thus as by consent they both retire And both to ashes burn in their own fire Is it a sea that overwhelms each eye Or is it some black cloud that masks the skie Or is the Sun eclipst or hath the day Clapt on her swiftest wings and fled away And left me thus as if this subject might Be best pursude in solitarie night Or whence proceeds those mists that thus involves me â—as there dropt a tear and that resolves me 〈◊〉 heart surcharg'd with grief seeks ease and tries How sorrow may be vented by the eyes The blots of Inck that from my pen do fall Like hired mourners at a Funerall No power have to move the Lookers on To speaking actions of compassion Let others then sad Epitaphs invent And paste them up about thy moniment Let such whose sorrows are not great as mine With golden verses beautifie thy Shrine Whilst my poor muse contents it self that she Vents sighes not words unto thy memorie Nor canst thou want blest Soul an Elogie I see one writ in every Readers eye Rest then in peace the world to dust shall turne When tears are wanting to keep moyst thy urne In Praetorem WHen I behold thee proudly to advance Behinde thy sword and Cap of Maintenance