is not strange She was a woman therefore pleasd to change And now shee s dead some woman doth remain For still she hopes once to be chang'd again 117. On Brawne Here Brawne the quondam begger lyes Who counted by his tale Full sixscore winters in his life Such vertue is in Ale Ale was his meat Ale was his drink Ale did him long reprive And could he still have drunk his Ale He had been still alive 118. On a Candle Here lyes I wot a little star That did belong to Iupiter Which from him Prometheus stole And with it a fire-coale Or this is that I mean to handle Here doth lye a farthing Candle That was lov'd well having its light But loosing that now bids good night 119. On M. R. Who soonest dies lives long enough Our life is but a blast or puffe I did resist and strive with death But soon he put me out of breath He of my life thought to bereave me But I did yield onely to breath me O'r him I shall in triumph sing Thy conquest Grave where is thy sting 120. On a Child Here she lies a prtty bud Lately made of flesh and blood Who as soon fell fast asleep As her little eyes did peep Give her strewings but not stir The earth that lightly covers her 121. On an Inne-keeper It is not I that dye I do but leave an Inn Where harboun'd was with me all filthy kind of sin It is not I that dye I doe but now begin Into etenall â—oy by faith to enter in Why weep you then my friends my parents and my kin Lament ye when I loose but weep not when I win 122. On a Cobler Come hither read my gentle friend And here behold a Coblers end Longer in length his life had gone But that he had no Last so long O mighty Death whose dart can kill The man that made him souls at wilâ— 123. On M. Aire Under this stone of Marble faire Lies th'body ' ntomb'd of Gervase Aire He dy'd not of an â—gue-fit Nor surfeited of too much wit Me thinks this was a wondrous death That Aire should dye for want of breath 124. On Mr. Rice M. Who can doubt Rice to what eternall place Thy soul is fled that did but know thy face Whose body was so light it might have gone To heaven without a resurrection Indeed thou wert all type thy limbs were signes Thy Arteries but Mathematick lines As if two soules had made the compound good Which both should live by faith none by blood 125. On Thomas Iones Here for the nonce Came Thomas Ionce In St. Iileses Church to lye None welch before None Welshman more Till Shon Clerk dye I le tole the bell I le ring his knell He dyed well He 's saved from Hell And so farewell Tom Ionce 126. On a young man Surpriz'd by grief and sicknesse here I lye Stopt in my middle age and soon made dead Yet doe not grudge at God if soon thou dye But know he trebles favours on thy head Who for thy morning work equals thy pay With those that have endur'd the heat oth'day 127. On the two Littletons that were drowned at Oxford 1636. Here lye we Reader canst thou not admire Who both at once by water dy'd and fire For whilst our bodies perish'd in the deep Our soules in love burnt so we fell asleep Let this be then our Epitaph Here lyes Two yet but one one for the other dyes 128. On a Butler That death should thus from hence our Butler catch Into my mind it cannot quickly sink Sure death came thirsty to the buttry-hatch When he that busi'd was deny'd him drink Tut 't was not so 't is like he gave him liquor And death made drunk him made away the quicker Yet let not others grive too much in mind the Butler's gone the keys are left behind 129. On M. Cook To God his Country and the poor he had A zealous soule free heart and lib'rall mind His wife his Children and his kindred sad Lack of his love his care and kindnesse find Yet are their sorrows asswag'd with the thought He hath attain'd the happinesse he sought 130. On a Porter At length by works of wondrous fate Here lyes the Porter of Winchester-gate If gone to heav'n as much I feare He can be but a Porter there He fear'd not hell so much â—or's sin As for th'great rapping and oft coming in 131. Vpon one who dyed in Prison Reader I liv'd enquire no more Left a spy enter in at doore Such are the times a dead man dare Not trust nor credit common aire But dye and lye Entombed here By me I 'l whisper in thine ear Such things as onely dust to dust And without witnesse may entrust 132. On Waddam Colledge Butler Mans life is like a new-tunn'd Cask they say The formost draught is oft times cast away Such are our younger years the following still Are more and more inclining unto ill Such is our manhood untill age at length Doth sowre its sweetnes doth stop its strength Then death prescribing to each thing its bounds Takes what is lefâ— and turns it all to grounds 133. On a Horse Here lies a Horse who dyed but To make his Master go on foot A miracle should it be so The dead to make the lame to go Yet Fate would have it that the same Should make him goe that made him lame 134. On an old Man a Residenciary Tread Sirs as lightly as you can Upon the grave of this old man Twice forty bating but one yeare And thrice three weeks he lived here Whom gentle fate translated hence To a more happy Residence Yet Reader let me tell thee this Which from his Ghost a promise is If here ye will some few tears shed He 'l never haunt ye now he 's dead 135. On a Maid Here she lyes in Bed spice Faire as Eve in Paradise For her beauty it was such Poets co'd not praise too much Virgins come and in a Ring Her supreamest Requium sing Then depart but see ye tread Lightly lightly ore the dead 136. On Husband and Wife To these whom Death againe did wed This Grave 's the second Marriage-Bed For though the hand of Fate could force Twixt soule and body a Divorce It could not sever Man and wife Because they both liv'd but one life Peace good Reader doe not weep Peace the Lovers are asleep They sweet Turtles folded lye In the last knot that love could tye Let them sleep let them sleep on Till this stormy night be gone And th' eternall morrow dawne Then the Curtaines will be drawne And they waken with that light Whose day shall never sleep in night 137. On Aretyne Here biting Aretyne lyes buried With gall more bitter never man was fed The living nor the dead to carp he spar'd Nor yet for any King or Caesar car'd Onely on God to raile he had forgot His answer was indeed I know him not 138. On William Coale
dead wife for mine alive 449. Meum Tuum Megge lets her husband boast of rule and riches But she rules all the roast and wears the breeches 450. Deaths trade Death is a Fisherman the world we see His Fish-pond is and we the Fishes be He sometimes Angler-like doth with us play And slily takes us one by one away Diseases are the murthering-books which he Doth catch us with the bait mortality Which we poor silly fish devour til strook At last too late we feel the bitter hook At other times he brings his net and then At once sweeps up whole Cities ful of men Drawing up thousands at a draught and saves Onely some few to make the others graves His Net some raging pestilence now he Is not so kind as other Fishers be For if they take one of the smaller â—rye They throw him in again he shall not dye But death is sure to kill all he can get And all is Fish with him that comes to Net 451. Oâ— Bice Bice laughs when no man speakâ— and doth protest It is his own breech there that breakâ— the jest 452. Valiant in drinke Who onely in his Cups will â—ight is like A clock that must be oil'd wel ere it strike 453. Master and Scholler A Pedant ask'd a Puny ripe and bold In an hard frost the Latine word for cold I 'l tell you out of hand quoth he for lo I have it at my fingers ends you know 454. Gasters great belly Gaster did seem to me to want his eyes For he could neither see his legs nor thighs But yet it was not so he had his sight Onely his belly hanged in his light 455. Drunken Dick. When Dick for want of drunken mates grows sick Then with himself to work goes faithfull Dick. The buttery dore t'himself he shutteth close That done then goes the pot straight wayes to 's nose A health quoth noble Dick each hogs-head than Must seeming pledge this honest faithfull man But straight from kindnes Dick to humors grows And then to th'barrels he his valour shows Throwing about the cups the pots the glasses And rails at the tuns calling them drunken asses Ne'r ceasing this same faithfull coyl to keep Till under th'hogshead Dick fals fast asleep 456. In Sextinum A pretty block Sextinus names his Hat So much the fitter for his head by that 457. Sine sanguine Ralph challeng'd Robin time and place appointed Their Parents heard on 't O how they lamented But good luck was they soon were freed of fear The one ne'r meant the other came not there 458. On humane Bodies Our bodies are like shooes which off we cast Physick their Cobler is and death the Last 459. On Trencherman Tom shifts the Trenchers yet he never can Endure that luke-warm name of Servingman Serve or not serve let Tom doe what he can He is a serving who 's a Trencher-man 460. A Toothlesse-pratler Nature the teeth doth as an hedge ordain The nimble frisking tongue for to contain No marvel then since that the hedge is out If Fuscus tongue walketh so fast about 461. A musicall Lady A Lady fairer far then fortunate In dancing thus o'r-shot her self of late The Musick not in tune pleasd not her mind For which he with the Fidlers fault did find Fidlers quoth she your Fiddles tune for shame But as she was a speaking of the same To mend the consort let she did a F. Whereas the fidling knaves thus did her greet Madam your pipe 's in tune it plays most sweet Strike up qd they but then the knaves did smile And as you pâ—pâ— wee 'l dance another while At which away the blushing Lady flings But as she goes her former notes she sings 462. In Laurettam Lauretta is laid o'r how I 'l not say And yet I think two manner of wayes I may Doubly laid o'r videlicet her face Laid o'r with colours and her coat with lace 463. On Macer You call my verses toy's th' are so 't is true Yet they are better then ought comes from you 464. Briskap the Gallant Though thou hast little judgement in thy head More than to dresse thee drink and goe to bed Yet may'st thou take the wall th' way shalt lead Sith Logick wills that simple things precede 465. Necessity hath no Law Florus did beat his Cook and 'gan to sweaee Because his meat was rotten roasted there Peace good Sir quoth the Cook Need hath no Law 'T is rotten roasted 'cause 't was rotten raw 466. In Carientium Garentius might have wedded where he woo'd But he was poor his means was nothing good 'T was but for lack of living that he lost her For why no penny now no Pater noster 467. On Harpax Harpax gave to the poor all by his will Because his heir should not faign'd tears distill 468. To a Barber Tonsorius onely lives by cutting haire And yet he brags that Kings to him sit bare Me thinks he should not brag and boast of it For he must stand to beggars while they sit 469. Vpon Grandâ—orto The morrow after just Saint Georges day Grandâ—orto piteous drunk sate in a ditch His hands by 's side his gelding stray'd away His scarlet hose and doublet very rich With mud and mire all beastly raid and by His feather with his close-stool-hat did ly We ask'd the reason of his sitting there Zounds 'cause I am King Solomon quoth he And in my Throne then for the Love we beare Replyed my selfe unto your Majesty Wee 'l pull you out henceforth wish your grace Would speak your Proverbs in a warmer place 470. The Fencer and Physick Doctor Lie thus the Fencer cryes thus must you guard Thus must you slip thus point thus pass thus ward And if you kill him Sir this trick learn then With this same trick you may kill many men A Doctor standing by cryes Fencing fool Both you he to me may come to school Thou dost but prate my deeds shall show my skil Where thou hurt'st one an hundred I doe kill 471. In Lusiam Lusia who scorns all others imitations Cannot abide to be out-gone in fashions She sayes she cannot have a hat or ruffe A gown a peticoat a band or cuffe But that these Citizens whom she doth hate Will get into 't at ne'r so dear a rate But Lusia now doth such a fashion wear Whose hair is curl'd and costs her som what dear That there 's no Citizen what e'r she be Can be transform'd so like an Owl as she 472. Kisses Give the food that satisfies a Guest Kisses are but dry banquets to a feast 473. A Civilian A lusty old grown-grave gray-headed Sire Stole to a wench to quench his lusts desire She ask'd him what profession he might be I am a Civil Lawyer Girle quoth he A Civil Lawyer Sir you make me muse Your talk 's too broad for Civil men to use If Civil Lawyers are such bawdy men Oh what quoth she are other Lawyers then 474. Rainaldo and
proud For my sake next though little be not loud 177. On a French Fencer that challenged Church an English Fencer The fencing Gaules in pride and gallant vaunt Challeng'd the English at the Fencing skill The Fencer Church or the Church Militant His errors still reprov'd and knock'd him still But sith our Church him disciplin'd so sore He rank Recusant comes to Church no more 178. On Gella Gella is light and like a Candle wasteth Even to the snuffe that stinketh more it lasteth 179. On I. Lipsius who bequeathed his Gown to the V. Mary A dying Latinist of great renown Unto the Virgin Mary gave his Gown And was not this false Latine so to joyn With female gender the case masculine 180. On two striving together Two falling out into a ditch they fell Their falling out was ill but in was well 181. A Lawyers Will. A Lawyer being sick and extream ill Was moved by his friends to make his wil Which soon he did gave all the wealth he had To frantick persons lunatick and mad And to his friends this reason did reveale That they might see with equity hee 'd deal From mad mens hands I did my wealth receive Therefore that wealth to mad mens hands I leave 182. Youth and Age. Age is deformed Youth unkind We scorn their bodies they our mind 183. Somnus decipiens Dod sweetly dreamt this other night had found In gold and silver ne'r an hundred pound But waking felt he was with Fleas sore bitten And further smelt he had his shirt be 184. To a Shoomaker What boots it thee to follow such a trade That 's alwayes under foot and underlaid 185. Death The lives of men seem in two seas to swim Death comes to young folks and old go to him 186. Quos ergo c. Rufus in rage the Pots flings down the stairs And threats to pull the Drawer by the ears For giving such attendance Slave sayes he Where 's thine observance Ha! must such as we Be no more waited on Goe bring to pay And keep my Rapier till I come this way 187. A disparity Children fondly blab truth and fools their brothers Women have learn'd more wisdome of their Mothers 188. To Maledict Thou speakest ill not to give men their dues But speakest ill because thou canst not chuse 189. On Newter Ned. Newter convict of publick wrongs to men Takes private beatings and begins agen Two kinds of valour he doth shew at once Active in 's brains and passive in his bones 190. Interpone tuis c. Not mirth nor care alone but inter-wreath'd Care gets mirths stomach mirth makes care long breath'd 191. Ignotus sibi Fastidius finds it Nimis ultra posse How to distinguish of Teipsum nosce I doe not marvell much it should be so For why the Coxcomb will himselfe not know 192. On Craw. Craw cracks in Sirrop and do's stinking say Who can hold that my friends that will away 193. Pot Poet. Poet and pot differ but in a letter Which makes the Poet love the pot the better 194. Content Content is all we aim at with our store If that be had with little what needs more 195. Fast and Loose Paphus was marry'd all in hast And now to rack doth run So knitting of himself too fast He hath himselfe undone 196. Tortus Tortus accus'd to lye to fawn to flatter Said he but set a good face on the matter Then sure he borrow'd it for 't is well known Tortus ne're wore a good face of his own 197. On Raspe Raspe playes at Nine-holes and 't is known he getâ— Many a Teaster by his game and betâ— But of his gettings there 's but little signe When one hole wasts more then he gets by nine 198. Impar impares odit Sotus hates wise men for himselfe is none And fools he hates because himself is one 199. Similis doctrina libello Croesus of all things loveth not to buy So many Books of such diversity Your Almanack sayes he yeelds all the sence Of time 's past profit and experience 200. On Tullus Tullus who was a Taylor by profession Is late turn'd Lawyer and of large possession So who before did cut but Countrey freeze Now cuts the Countrey in excessive fees 201. Vt parta perdita Marcellus proves a man of double means First rais'd by drunkards then undone by queans 202. On Iack and Iill Since Iack and Iill both wicked be It seems a wonder unto me That they no better doe agree 203. On Women Woman 's the centre and the lines be men The circles love how doe they differ then Circles draw many lines into the center But love gives leave to onely one to enter 204. On Womans love A womans love is like a Syrian flow'r That buds and spreads and withers in an hour 205. On Cooke a Cuckold A young Cook marry'd upon Sunday last And he grew old e'r Tuesday night was past 206. Nomine non re Grace I confesse it hath a comely face Good hand and foot as answerable to it But what 's all this except she had more grace Oh you will say 't is want that makes her do it True want of grace indeed the more her shame Gracelesse by Nature onely Grace by Name 207. A Mounsieur Naso vero le Naso let none drink in his glasse but hee Think you 't is pride 't is courtesie 208. A Butcher marrying a Tanners daughter A fitter match then this could not have bin For now the flesh is married to the skin 209. A Widow He which for 's wife a widow doth obtain Doth like to those that buy clothes in Long-lane One Coat 's not fit another's too too old Their faults I know not but th' are manifold 110. On a Farmer Knighted In my conceit Sir Iohn you were to blame To make a quiet good-wife a mad-dame 211. On Pallas and Bacchus Birth Pallas the off-spring of Ioves brain Bacchus out of his thigh was ta'en He breaks his brain that learning wins When he that 's drunk breaks but his shinâ— 212. On an old man doting upon a young Wench A rich old man loving a fair young Lasse Out of his breeches his spectacles drew Wherewith he writ a note how rich he was All which quoth he sweet heart I 'l give to you Excuse me Sir quoth she for all your riches I 'l marry none that wears his eyes in 's breeches 213. On a Welshman The way to make a Welshman think on blisse And daily say his prayers on his knees Is to perswade him that most certain 't is The Moon is made of nothing but green Cheese Then he 'l desire of Iove no greater boon Then to be plac'd in Heaven to eat the Moon 214. On Lungs Lungs as some say ne'r sets him down to eat But that his breath doth fly-blow all his meat 215. Ad Quintum Thy lawfull wife fair Lelia needs must be For she was forc'd by law to marry thee 216. As many dayes in the year so many
Kit Fowleâ— Was held an honest man though no good Bowler 44. On Dorothy Rich. Here resteth young Doll Rich that dainty drab Who troubled long with itch dy'd of the scab 45. On Ralph Ralph bids adue to pleasures good or ill But tels you true 't is much against his will 46. On Walter Moone Here lies Wat Moone that great Tobacconist Who dy'd too soon for lack of had I wist 47. On Iohn Cooling a Player-foole Death hath too soon remov'd from us Io. Cooling That was so well belov'd and liv'd by fooling 48. On a Welshman Who living least espy'd his life should leese By meer Metheglin dy'd and tosted Cheese 49. On Io. Long. Here sleep I. Long who liv'd till New-yearâ—-tide Full fourscore strong but then fell sick and dy'd 50. On Stephen Spooner Death hath time borrow'd of our neighbour Spooner Whose wife much sorrow'd that he di'd no sooner 51. On a Lawyer God works wonders now and than Here lyes a Lawyer dy'd an honest man 52. On a Waterman Here sleepâ— Will Slater why by deathâ— command Hath left the water to possesse the land 53. On Sir Francis Drake England his heart his Corps the waters have And that which raisd his fame became his grave 54. On a Gallant Who cloth of Tissue wore here flat doth lye Having no issue more than that in 's thigh 55. On Iohn Garret Gone is Iohn Garret who to all mens thinking For love to Claret kill'd himself with drinking 56. On notable Ned. Cause of the good nought must be said but good 'T is well for Ned that nought he understood 57. On a Taylour who dyed of the stitch Here lies a Taylour in this ditch Who liv'd and dyed by the stitch 58. On a travelling Beggar Here lies a Vagrant person whom our laws Of late grown strict denied passage 'cause He wandring thus therefore return he must From whence at first he hither came to dust 59. On a Mason So long the Mason wrought on others wals That his own house of clay to ruine fals No wonder spitefull death wrought his annoy He us'd to build and death seeks to destroy 60. On a Schoolmaster The Grammar School a long time taught I have Yet all my skill could not Decline the grave But yet I hope it one day will be shown In no Case save the Ablative alone 61. On Prince Henry I have no vein in Verse but if I could Distill on every word a Pearl I would Our sorrows pearls drop not from pens but eyes Whilst other Muses write mine onely cryes 62. On the death of Mr. Newcomin of Clare-hall in Cambridge Weep ye Clarenses weep all about For New-com-in is new gone out Weep not Clarenses weep not aâ— all He 's gone but from Clare to Trinity-Hal 63. On Hobson the Carrier Hobson what 's out of sight is out of mind Is gone and left his Letters here behind He that with so much paper us'd to meet Is now alas content to take one sheet 64. Another He that such carriage store was wont to have Is carried now himselfe unto his grave O strange he that in life ne'r made but one Six Carriers makes now he is dead and gone 65. Another Here Hobson lyes prest with a heavy load Who now is gone the old and common road The waggon he so lov'd so lov'd to ride That he was drawing on whilst that he dy'd 66. Another Hobson's not dead but Charls the Northern Swain Hath sent for him to draw his lightsome wain 67. On a Footman This nimble Footman ran away from death And here he rested being out of breath Here death him over-took made him his slave And sent him on an arrand to the grave 68. Iustus Lipsius Some have high mountains of Parian stone And some in brasse carve their inscription Some have their Tombs of costly marbles rear'd But in our tears onely are they interr'd 69. On a Child Like Birds of prey Death snatche away This harmlesse Dove Whose soule so pure Is now secure In heaven above 70. On a rich Gentleman Of woods and plains and hills and vales Of fields of meads of parks and pales Of all I had this I possesse I need no more I have no lesse 71. On a Child That flesh is grasse Its grace a flower Read ere you passe Whom worms devoure 72. On a Lock-smith A zealous Lock-smith dy'd of late Who by this time 's at heaven gate The reason why he will not knock Is 'cause he means to pick the lock 73. On a Collier Here lies the Collier Ienkin Dashes By whom death nothing gain'd he swore For living he was dust and ashes And being dead he is no more 74. On Dick Pinner Here lyes Dick Pinner O ungentle death Why didst thou rob Dick Pinner of his breath For living he by scraping of a pin Made better dust than thou hast made of him 75. On a Sack-sucker Good Reader blesse thee be assur'd The spirit of Sack lyes here immur'd Who havock't all he could come by For Sack and here quite sack'd doth ly 76. On a Child Into this world as stranger to an Inne This Child came Guest-wise where when it had bin A while and found nought worthy of his stay He onely broke his fast and went away 77. On a Candle Here lyes the Chandlers chiefest joy Here lyes the Schollers pale-fac'd boy Having nought else but skin and bone Dy'd of a deep Consumption 78. On T. H. the Pannier-man of the Temple Here lyes Tom Hacket this Marble under Who often made the Cloysters thunder He had a horn and when he blew iâ— Call'd many a Cuckold that never knew it 79. On a young Infant The life of Man Is but a span The common saying is But death did pinch His to an inch Ere he could say what 's this Yet he hath gain'd not lost thereby Changing time for eternity 80. On Mr. Calfes death Heaven of his soul take charge for he Of all his dayes liv'd but the halfe Who might have grown to be an Oxe But dyed as you see a Calfe 81. On Bolus If gentlenesse could tame the Fates or wit Delude them Bolus had not dyed yet But one that death o'r-rules in judgement sits And sayes our sins are stronger then our wits 82. On a Clowne Softly tread this earth upon For here lyes our Corydon Who through care to save his sheep Watch'd too much Oh let him sleep 83. On a Child As carefull Nurses on their beds doe lay Their babes which would too long the wantons play So to prevent my youths ensuing crimes Nature my Nurse laid me to bed betimeâ— 85. On a Musitian Be not offended at our sad complaint You Quire of Angels that have gain'd a Saint Where all perfection met in skill and voyce We mourne our losse but yet commend your choyce 85. On a Gardener Could he forget his death that every houre Was emblem'd to it by the fading flowre Should he not mind his end yes sure he must That
an Alehouse-keeper at Coaton near Cambridge Doth William Coale lye here henceforth be stale Be strong and laugh on us thou Coaten Ale Living indeed he with his violent hand Never left grasping thee while he could stand But death at last hath with his fiery flashes Burnt up the Coale and turn'd it into ashes 139. On one Andrew Leigh who was vext with a shrewd wife Here lies Leigh who vext with a shrewd wife To gain his quiet parted with his life But see the spight she that had alwayes crost Him living dyes and means to hunt his Ghost But she may faile for Andrew out of doubt Will cause his brother Peter shut her out 140. In quendam Stay mortall stay remove not from this Tomb Before thou hast consider'd well thy doome My bow stands ready bent and couldst iâ— see Mine arrow 's drawn to th' head and aims at thee Prepare yet wandring Ghost take home this line The grave that next is open'd may be thine 141. On a vertuous youth Reader let a stone thee tell That in this body there did dwell A'soule as heavenly rich and good As e'r could live in flesh and blood And therefore heav'n that held it deare Did let it stay the lesse while here Whose Corps here sacred ashes makes Thus heav'n and earth have parted stakes 142. On a Cock-master Farewell stout Hot-spur now the battel 's done In which th' art foil'd and death hath overcome Having o'r-match'd thy strength that made thee stoop Shee quickly forc'd thee on the pit to droop From whence thou arâ— not able rise or stir For death is now become the vanquisher 143. On a Mathematician Loâ— in small closure of this earthly bed Rests he that heavens vast motions measured Who having known both of the Land and sky More than fam'd Archimede or Ptolomy Would further presse and like a Palmer went With Iacobs staffe beyond the Firmament 144. On a Taylour Iack Snip the Taylor 's dead 't is now too late To brawl or wrangle with the cruel fate Yet sure 't was hardly done to clip his thred Before he gave them leave in his own bed He dy'd at forty just poor shred of base Mortality who pities not his case Of a whole ell of cloth he would not take Above a nail at most for conscience sake But of his span of life I dare to say Death stole not much lesse than one halfe away And Coward-like just when he was not well With his own bodkin pitifull to tell He board a hole through him that all his men And Prentices could not stitch up agen 143. On his Mistris Death Unjustly we complain of Fate For shortning our unhappy dayes When death doth nothing but translate And print us in a better phrase Yet who can chuse but weep Not I That beauty of such excellence And more vertue than could dye By deaths rude hand is vanish'd hence Sleep blest creature in thine urn My sighs my tears shall not awake thee I but stay untill my turn And then O then I 'l overtake thee 146. On Hobson the Carrier If Constellations which in heaven are fixt Give life by influence to bodies mixt And every sign peculiar right doth claime Of that to which it propagates a name Then I conjure Charles the great Northern star Whistled up Hobson for to drive his Car. He is not dead but left his mansion here Has left the Bull and flitted to the Beare Me thinks I see how Charons fingers itches But he 's deceiv'd he cannot have his riches 147. Another on Hobson Whom seek ye firs Old Hobson â—ie upon Your tardinesse the Carrier is gon Why stare you so nay you deserve to faile Alas here 's nought but his old rotten maile He went a good-while since no question store Are glad who vext he would not goe before And some are griev'd hee 's gone so soon away The Lord knows why he did no longer stay How could he please you all I 'm sure of this He linger'd soundly howsoe'r you misse But gone he is nor was he surely well At his departure as mischance befell For he is gone in such unwonted kind As ne'r before his goods all left behind 148. Old Hobsons Epitaph Here Hobson lies among his many betters A man unlearned yet a man of Letters His carriage was well known oft hath he gone In Embassy 'twixt father and the sonne There 's few in Cambridge to his praise be it spoken But may remember him by some good Token From whence he rid to London day by day Till death benighting him he lost his way His Team was of the best nor would he have Been mir'd in any way but in the grave Nor is 't a wonder that he thus is gon Since all men know he long was drawing on Thus rest in peace thou everlasting Swain And supreme Waggoner next Charles his wain 149. Vpon Iohn Crop who dyed by taking a vomit Mans life 's a game at Tables and he may Mend his bad fortune by his wiser play Death playes against us each disease and sore Are blots if hit the danger is the more To lose the game but an old stander by Binds up the blots and cures the malady And so prolongs the game Iohn Crop was he Death in a rage did challenge for to see His play the dice are thrown when first he drinks Casts makes a blot death hits him with a Sinquâ—â— He casts again but all in vain for death By th'after game did win the prize his breath What though his skill was good his luck was bad For never mortall man worse casting had But did not death play false to win from such As he no doubt he bare a man too much 150. An honest Epitaph Here lyes an honest man Reader if thou seek more Thou art not so thy selfe for honesty is store Of Commendations and it is more praise To dye an honest man then full of dayes 151. On a Cobler Here lyes an honest Cobler whom curst Fate Perceiving near worn out would needs translate 'T was a good thrifty soul and time hath bin He would well liquor'd wade through thick and thin But now he 's gone 't is all that can be said Honest Iohn Cobler is here under-laid 152. On a proud man Good Reader know that commest nigh Here lies he low that look'd so high Both poor and nak'd that was gay-cloath'd Of all forsak'd who others loath'd He once thought all envy'd his worth Nor great nor small now grudge his turf The heavenly Cope was his ambition Three Cubits scope is his fruition He was above all God above him He did not love all nor God love him He that him taught first to aspire Now hath him caught and payes his hire 153. On an irefull and angry man Here lyes a Fury hight Sir Ire That bred earn'd immortal fire He 'gan to wrangle from the womb And was a wrangler to his Tomb. A peevish and a foolish elfe Foe to his God his Saints
his self He hated men men did not love him No evill but his own might move him He was and was earths load and care He is and is hells brand and share 154. On Iohn Dawson Butler Dawson the Butler's dead although I think Poets were nere insusd with single drink I le spend a farthing Muse a watery Verse Will serve the turn to cast upon his Herse If any cannot weep among us here Take off his cup and so squeze out a teare Weep O ye barrels let your drippings fall In trickling streams make wast more prodigall Then when our beer was good that Iohn may float To Stix in beer and lift up Charrons boat With wholsome waves and as the Conduits ran VVith Claret at the Coronation So let your channels flow with single Tiff For Iohn I hope is crown'd take off your whiff Ye men of Rosemary and drink up all Remembring 't is a Butlers Funerall Had he been Master of good duble beer My life for his Iohn Dawson had been here 155. On Turn-Coat Passenger Stay Reade Walke Here Lyeth ANDREW TURNCOAT WHO WAS NEITHER SLAVE NOR SOULDIER NOR PHYSITIAN NOR FENCER NOR COBLER NOR FILCHER NOR LAWYER NOR USURER BUT ALL WHO LIVED NEITHER IN CITY NOR COUNTRY NOR AT HOME NOR ABROAD NOR AT SEA NOR AT LAND NOR HERE NOR ELSEWHERE BUT EVERY WHERE WHO DIED NEITHER OF HUNGER NOR POYSON NOR HATCHET NOR HALTER NOR DOGGE NOR DISEASE BUT OF ALL TOGETHER 1.1 H. BEING NEITHER HIS DEBTOR NOR HEIRE NOR KINSMAN NOR FRIEND NOR NEIGHBOUR BUT ALL IN HIS MEMORY HAVE ERECTED THIS NEITHER MONUMENT NOR TOMB NOR SEPULCHER BUT ALL WISHING NEITHER EVIL NOR WEL NEITHER TO THEE NOR TO ME NOR HIM BUT ALL UNTO ALL. 156. On a Dyer Though death the Dyer colour-lesse hath made Yet he dies pale and will not leave his trade But being dead the means yet doth not lack To dye his friends cloth into mourning black Some sure foresaw his death for they of late Usd to exclaim upon his dying Fate And weak and faint he seem'd oft times t' have been For to change colours often he was seen Yet there no matter was so foul but he Would set a colour on it handsomely Death him no unexpected stroke could give That learnt to dye since he began to live He shall yet prove what he before had try'd And shall once more live after he hath dy'd 157. On a disagreeing Couple Hic jacet ille qui centies mille Did scold with his Wife Cum illo jacet illa quae communis in villa Did quiâ—tance his life His name was Nick the which was sick And that very male Her name was Nan who loved well a man So Gentlemen vale 158. On a Foot-boy that dyed with overmuch running Base Tyrant death thus to assail one tir'd Who scarce his latest breath being left expir'd And being too too cruell thus to stay So swift a course at length ran quite away But pretty boy be sure it was not death That left behind thy body out of breath Thy soul and body running in a race Thy soul held out thy body tir'd apace Thy soul gained and left that lump of clay To rest it selfe untill the latter day 159. On a Scrivener Here to a period is the Scrivener come This is the last sheet his full point this Tomb. Of all aspersionsâ— excuse him not 'T is known he liv'd not without many a blot Yet he no ill example shew'd to any But rather gave good Copies unto many â—e in good Letters hath alwayes been bred And hath writ more then many men have read He rulers had at his command by Law And though he could not hang yet he could draw He far more bond-men had and made then any A dash alone of his pen ruin'd many That not without good reason we might call His Letters great or little Capitall Yet is the Scriveners fate as sure as just When he hath all done then he falls to dust 160. On Mr. P. Gray Reader stay And if I had no more to say But here doth lye till the last day All that is left of Philip Gray It might thy patience richly pay For if such men as he could dye What surety of life have thou and I 161. On a Chandler How might his dayes end that made weeks or he That could make light here laid in darknesse be Yet since his weeks were spent how could he chuse But be depriv'd of light and his trade lose Yet dead the Chandler is and sleeps in peace No wonder long since melted was his greace It seems that he did evill for day-light He hated and did rather wish the night Yet came his works to light and were like gold Prov'd in the fire but could not tryall hold His candle had an end and deaths black night Is an extinguisher of all his light 162. On a Smith Farewell stout Iron-side not all thine Art Could make a shield against deaths envious Dart. Without a fault no man his life doth passe For to his Vice the Smith addicted was He oft as Choler is increast by fire Was in a fume and much inclin'd to ire He had so long been usd to forge that he Was with a black-coal markt for forgery But he for witnesse needed not to care Who but a Black-smith was though ne'r so fair And opportunities he needed not That knew to strike then when their'n was hot As the door-Nailes he made hee 's now as dead He them and death him hath knockt on the head 163. On a man drown'd in the Snow Within a fleece of silent waters drown'd Before my death was known a grave I found The which exil'd my life from her sweet home For grief straight froze it selfe into a tombe One element my angry Fate thought meet To be my death grave tomb and winding sheet Phaebus himself an Epitaph had writ But blotting many ere he thought one fit He wrote untill my grave and tomb were gone And 't was an Epitaph that I had none For every one that passed by that way Without a sculture read that there I lay Here now the second time untomb'd I lye And thus much have the best of Destiny Corruption from which onely one was free Devour'd my grave but did not feed on me My first grave took me from the race of men My last shall give me back to life agen 164. On Doctor Hackets wifâ— Drop mournfull eyes your pearly trickling tears Flow streams of sadnesse down the spangled sphears Fall like the tumbling Cataracts of Nile Make deaf the world with cryes let not a smile Appear let not an eye be seen to sleep Nor slumber onely let them serve to weep Her dear lamented death who in her life Was a religious loyall loving wife Of Children tender to an husband kind Th' undoubted symtomes of a vertuous mind Which makes her glorious 'bove the highest pole Where Angels sing sweet Requiums to her soule She liv'd a none-such did a none-such dye
Ne'r none-such here her Corps interred lye 165. On a beautifull Virgin In this Marble buri'd lyes Beauty may inrich the Skyes And adde light to Phaebus eyes Sweeter then Aurora's aire When she paints the Lilies faire And gilds Cowslips with her haire Chafter then the Virgin spring Ere her blossomes she doth bring Or cause Philomel to sing If such goodnesse live 'mongst men Bring me it I know then She is come from heaven agen But if not ye standers by Cherish me and say that I Am the next design'd to dy 166. An ancient Epitaph on Martin Mar-Prelate The Welshman is hanged Who at our Kirk flanged And at her state banged And breaded are his Bukes And though he be hanged Yet he is not wranged The Devill has him fanged In his kruked klukes 167. Vpon Hodge Pue's Father Oh cruell death that stopâ— the view Of Thoms Parishioner good-man Pue Who lived alwayes in good order Untill that death stopt his Recorder Which was betwixt Easter and Pentecost In the year of the great frost At New-Market then was the King When as the Bells did merrily ring The Minister preached the day before Unto his Highnesse and no more Returning home said prayers and Buried the man as I understand 168. On our prime English Poet Geffery Chaucer an ancient Epitaph My Master Chaucer with his fresh Comedies Is dead alas chiefe Poet of Britaine That whilome made full piteous Tragedies The fault also of Princes did complaine As he that was of making Soveraigne Whom all this Land should of right preferre Sith of our Language he was the Load-sterre 169. On Mr. Edâ— Spencer the famous Poet. At Delphos shrine one did a doubt propound Which by the Oracle must be released Whether of Poets were the best renown'd Those that survive or they that are deceased The Gods made answer by divine suggestion While Spencer is alive it is no question 170. On Iohn Owen Well had these words been added to thy herse What e'r thou spak'st like Ovid was a verse 171. On Michael Drayton buryed in Westminster Doe pious Marble let thy Readers know What they and what their Children ow To Draytons sacred name whose dust We recommend unto thy trust Protect his memory preserve his story And a lasting Monument of his glory And when thy ruines shall disclaime To be the Treasury of his name His name which cannot fade shall be An everlasting Monument to thee 172. On Mr. Beaumont He that hath such acutenesse and such wit As well may ask six lives to manage it He that hath writ so well that no man dare Deny it for the best let him beware Beaumont is dead by whose sole death appears Wit 's a disease consumes men in few years 173. On William Shakespeare Renowned Spencer lye a thought more nigh To learned Chaucer and rare Beaumont lye A little nearer Spencer to make room For Shakespeare in your threefold fourfold tomb To lodge all four in one bed make a shift Untill Dooms-day for hardly will a fifth Betwixt this day and that by Fates be slain For whom your curtains may be drawn again If your precedency in death doe bar A fourth place in your sacred Sepulcher Under this sacred Marble of thine owne Sleep rare Tragoedian Shakespeare sleep â—lone Thy unmolested peace in an unshared cave Possesse as Lord not Tenant of thy grave That knto us and others it may be Honour hereafter to be laid by thee 174. On Ben Iohnson Here lyes Iohnson with the rest Of the Poets but the best Reader wo'dst thou more have known Ask his story not this stone That will speak what this can't tell Of his glory So farewell 175. Another on Ben I. The Muses fairest light in no dark time The wonder of a learned Age the line That none can passe the most proportion'd wit To Nature the best Judge of what was fit The deepest plainest highest clearest pen The voyce most Eccho'd by consenting men The soul which answer'd best to all well said By others and which most requitall made Tun'd to the highest key of ancient Rome Returning all her musick with her owne In whom with nature study claim'd a part And yet who to himself ow'd all his Art Here lyes Ben Iohnson every age will look With sorrow here with wonder on his Book 176. On Mr. Francis Quarles To them that understand themselves so well As what not who lies here to ask I 'l tell What I conceive envy dare not deny Far both from falshood and from flattery Here drawn to land by death doth lye A Vessell fitter for the skye Then Iasons Argo though to Greece They say it brought the Golden Fleece The skillfull Pilot steer'd it so Hither and thither to and fro Through all the Seas of Poetry Whether they far or near doe lye And fraught it so with all the wealth Of wit and learning not by stealth Or Piracy but purchase got That this whole lower world could not Richer Commodities or more Afford to adde unto his store To heaven then with an intent Of new discoveries he went And left his Vessell here to rest Till his return shall make it blest The bill of Lading he that looks To know may find it in his Books 177. On Doctor Donnes death He that would write an Epitaph for thee And doe it well must first begin to be Such as thou wert for none can truly know Thy worth thy life but he that hath liv'd so He must have wit to spare and to hurle down Enough to keep the Gallants of the Town He must have learning plenty both the Laws Civill and Common to judge any Cause Divinity great store above the rest None of the worst edition but the best He must have language travall all the Arts Judgement to use or else he wants thy parts He must have friends the highest able to do Such as Maecenas and Augustus too He must have such a sicknesse such a death Or else his vain descriptions come beneath Who then shall write an Epitaph for thee He must be dead first let alone for me 176. On Doctor Whaly What is the young Apollo grown of late Conscious his tender years are nothing fit To rule the now large Heliconian Sâ—ate Without a sage Competitor in it And therefore senâ— death who might Whaly bring To be a Guardian to this stripling King Sure so it is but if we thought it might Be worse then this namely that th' Gods for spight To earth had ta'n him hence wee 'd weep amain Wee 'd weep a Phlegethon an Ocean Which might without the help of Charous Oares Ferry his soule to the Elysian shoares 179. On Doctor Bambrigg Were but this Marble vocall there Such an Elogium would appear As might though truth did dictate move Distrust in either faith or love As ample knowledge as could rest Inshrined in a Mortals breast Which ne'rethelesse did open lye Uncovered by humility A heart which piety had chose To be her Altar whence arose Such
smoaking Sacrifices that We here can onely wonder at A honey tongue that could dispence Torrents of sacred Eloquence That 't is no wonder if this stone Because it cannot speak doth groan For could Mortality assent These ashes would prove eloquent 180. On Sir Walter Rawleigh at his Execution Great heart who taught thee so to dye Death yielding thee the victory Where took'st thou leave of life if there How couldst thou be so freed from fear But sure thou dyest and quiâ—'st the state Of flesh and blood before the Fate Else what a miracle were wrought To triumph both in flesh and thought I saw in every stander by Pale death life onely in thine eye Th' example that thou left'st was then We look for when thou dy'st agen Farewell truth shall thy story say We dy'd thou onely liv'dst that day 181. On Sir Horatio Palavozeene Here lies Sir Horatio Palavozeene Who rob'd the Pope to pay the Queene And was a thief A thief thou ly'st For why he rob'd but Antichrist Him death with his beesome swept from Babram Into the bosome of old Abraham But then came Hercules with his Club And struck him down to Belzebub 182. On Sir Francis Drake drowned Where Drake first found there last he lost his fame And for Tomb left nothing but his name His body 's bury'd under some greaâ— wave The Sea that was his glory is his grave Of him no man true Epitaph can make For who can say Here lies Sir Francis Drake 183. Sir Ph. Sidney on himselfe It is not I that dye I do but leave an Inn Where harbour'd was with me all filthy sin It is not I that dye I doe but now begin Into etenall joy by faith to enter in Why mourn you then my Parents Friends and Kin Lament you when I lose not when I win 184. On Sir Walâ—er Rawleigh If spight be pleasd when as her object 's dead Or malice pleasd when it hath bruisd the head Or envy pleasd when it hath what it would Then all are pleasd for Rawleighs blood is cold Which were it warm and active would o'rcome And strike the two first blind the other dumbe 185. On Sir Philip Sidney Reader within this ground Sir Philip Sidney lyes Nor is it sir that more I should acquaint Left superstition rise And men adore A Lover Scholler Souldier and a Saint 186. On a Learned Nobleman He that can read a sigh and spell a tear Pronounce amazement or accent will fear Or get all grief by heart he onely he Is fit to write or read thy Elegie Unvalued Lord that wert so hard a text Read in one age and understood i'th'next 187. On the Tombs in Westminster Mortality behold and feare What a change of flesh is here Think how many Royall bones Sleep within these heaps of Stones Here they lye had Realms and Lands Who now want strength to stir their hands Where from their Pulpits seal'd with dust They preach in greatnesse is no trust Here 's an acre sown indeed With the richest royal'st seed That the earth did e'r suck in Since the first man dy'd for sin Here the bones of birth have cry'd Though Gods they were as men they dy'd Here are Sands ignoble things Dropt from the ruin'd sides of Kings Here 's a world of Pomp and State Buried in dust once dead by fate 188. On Queen Elizabeth Kings Queens Mens Virgins eyes See where the mirrour lyes In whom her friends have seen A Kings state in a Queen In whom her foes survai'd A Mans heart in a Maid Whom lest Men for her Piety Should grow to think some Deity Heaven hence by death did summon Her to shew that she was Woman 189. On Queen Anne who dyed in March was kept all Aprill and buried in May. March with his winds hath struck a Cedar tall And weeping Aprill mourns the Cedars fall And May intends her month no flowres shall bring Since she must lose the flow'r of all the Spring Thy March his winds have caused Aprill show'rs And yet sad May must lose his flow'r of flow'rs 190 On Prince Henry Reader wonder think it none Though I speak and am a stone Here is shriâ—'d Coelestialll dust And I keep it but in trust Should I not my treasure tell Wonder then you might as well How this Stone could chuse but break If it had not learn'd to speak Hence amaz'd and ask not me Whose these sacred ashes be Purposely it is conceal'd For alasse were that reveal'd All that read would by and by Melt themselves to tears and dy 191. On King Iames his death We justly when a meaner subject dyes Begin his Epitaph with Here he lyes But when a King whose memory remains Triumphant over death with here he reignes Now he is dead to whom the world imputes Deservedly eternall Attributes For shall we think his glory can decease That 's honour'd with the stile The King of Peace Whose happy union of Great Britanny Calls him the blessed King of Unity And in whose Royall Title it ensu'th Defender of the Faith and King of Truth These girt thy brows with an immortal Crown Great Iames turn thy Tomb into a Throne 192. On the King of Sweden The world expects Swede's monumentall stone Should equall the Philosophers each groane Should breath a golden vein and every verse Sould draw Elixar from his fatall Herse No fitter subject where strong lines should meet Than such a noble Center could the feet Of able Verse but trace his Victories Where all 's transcendent who out parallel'd Pluiarchs selected Heroes and is held The tenth of Worthies who hath over-acted Great German-Comment and contracted Hâ— expeditions by preventing aw He often overcame before he saw And what of his great Son Iove us'd to say He alwayes either found or made his way Such was his personall and single fight As if that death it self had ra'n her flight Into brave Swedensâ—cabbard â—cabbard when he drew Death with that steel inevitably flew His Camp a Church wherein the Gen'ralls life Was the best Sermon and the onely strife Amongst his was to repeat it bended knee Was his prime posture and his enemy Found this most prevalent his discipline Impartiall and exact it did out-shine Those Antique Martiall Grecian Roman lamps From which most of the worlds succeeding Camps Have had their borrow'd light this this was he All this and more yet even all this can dye Death surely ventur'd on the Swede to try If heav'n were subject to mortality And shot his soule to Heav'n as if that she Could if not kill unthrone a Deity Both Death 's deceiv'd 't is in another sense That Heaven is said to suffer violence No ir'n Chain-shot but 't is the golden chaine Of Vertue and the Graces are the maine That doe unhinge the everlasting Gates All which like yoked undivided maâ—es Were lin'd in Sweden where then were â—nchain'd Like Orthodoxall Volumes nothing feign'd Though fairly bound his story is not dipt In oyle but in his