of apple braine spice Will follow the Lancasheire dice Harke how the chime of Pluâ—…oes pispot cracks To see the rainbowes wheele gâ—…nne made of flax On Oxford Schollers going to Woodstock to heare Dr. Corbet preach before the King THe King and the Court Desirous of sport At woodstock six dayes did lye Thither came the Doctors With their velvet sleev'd Proctors And the rest of the learned frie. Some faces did shine More withale then with wine So that each man there was thought And judged by theire hue As it was then true They were better fed then taught A number beside With their wenches did ride For Schollers you know are kind And riding before Leand back evermore To kisse their wenches behind A number on foot Without cloak or boot And yet to the Court they wou'd Which was for to show How farr they wou'd go To doe his Majesty good The reverend Deane With his ruff starched clean Did preach before the King A Ring there was spide In his band-string tyde Was not this a pritty thing The Ring without doubt Was the thing put him out So oft hee forgot what was next That all that were there Did thinke and dare sweare Hee handled it more then his Text. Horat. 34. Carm. od 10. ad Ligurium T Is true proud boy thy beauty may presume Thank Venus for 't but when thy cheekes shall plume When manly downe shall shade thy Childish pride And when thy locks which dangle on each side Of thy white shoulders shall no more remain When thy vermilion cheeks which do disdain The glorious colour of the purple rose Begin to fade and Ligarinas loose His lovely face being rudely stuck with haires Hard hearted boy then wilt thou say with teares When looking for thy faire self in a glass Thou findest another there Ah me alas What do I now perceive why had not I These thoughts when I was lovely smooth or why To these my thoughts which I now entertaine Doe not my Cheeks grow flik young again To his Mistris I 'le tell you whence the rose did first grow red And whence the lillie whitenesse borrowed You blush't and then the rose with red was dight The lillie kist your hands and so came white Before that time the rose was but a staine The lillie nought but palenesse did containe You have the native colour these they die And onely flourish in your livery Upon a Cobler COme hither read my gentle freind And here behold a Coblers End Long in length his life had gone But that he had no Last so long O mighty death whose darts can kill The man that made him soules at will On the death of the Lord Treasurer IMmodest death that would not once confer Dispose or part with our Lord Treasurer Had he beene thee or of thy fatall tribe He would have spar'd thy life and tane a bribe He that so often had with gold and wit Perverted law and allmost conjur'd it He that could lengthen causes and was able To starve a suitor at the councill-table At last not having Evidence to show Was faine perforce to take a deadly blow The lover's Melancholy HEnce hence all you vaine delights As short as are the nights Wherin you spend your folly Ther 's nought in this life sweet If men were wise to â—…ee't But only melancholly Wellcome folded armes and fixed eyes A fight that peaâ—…cing mortifies A look that 's fastened to the ground A tongue chain'd up without a sound Fountaines-heades and pathless groves Places which pale passion loves Moone-light walkes when all the fowles Are warmely hous'd save Bats and owls A midnight knell a parting groane These are the sounds wee feed upon Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley Ther 's nothing truly sweet but melancholly The answer by Dr. Stroad REturne my joyes and hither bring A tounge not made to speake but sing A joll ye splene an inward feast A causelesse laugh without a jest A face which gladnesse doth annoint An arme for joy flung out of joynt A spritefull gate that leaves no print And make a â—…eather of a flint A heart that 's lighter then the ayre An eye still dancing in its sphere Strong which mirth nothing shall controul A body nimbler then a soul Free wandring thoughts not tied to muse Which thinking all things nothing chuse Which ere wee see them come are gone These life it selfe doth feed upon Then take no care but only to be jolly To be more wretched then we must is folly A Blush STay hasty blood where canst thou seek So blest a place as in her cheek How can'st thou from the place retire VVhere beauty doth command desire But if thou canst not stay then show Downe to her painting papps below Flow like a deluge from her breast VVhere Venus Swannes have built their nest And so take glory to disteine The azure of each swelling vaine Thence run thou boyling through each part Till thou hast warm'd her frozen heart But if from love she would retire Then martyr her with gentle fire And having search't each secret place Fly back againe into her face VVhere blessed live in changing those VVhite lillyes to a Ruddy rose To his Mistris Last when I saw thee thou didst sweetly play The gentle theife and stolst my heart away Render't again or else give me thine owne In change for two for thee when I have none Too many are else I must say Thou art A sweet facd creature with a double heart On Christ-church windowe and Magdâ—…len Colledge wall YEe men of Galilee why gaze yee so On Mandlins necessary print as though T 'had bin enough for that pure virgin's sonne That was incarnate dyed rose to have done Those heavenly acts that ransom'd al from hell And yet no visible effigies tell The eye the manner how Ye misconceive VVho think these sacred mysteryes must leave Impression onely in the soul how then Shall those that bear more shape than mind of men Unlesse their outward sense informe them know VVhat accidents their Saviour long ago Sustain'd each wise man sees 't is not the fate Of every ideot to be literate And who can then forbid ye Lay to look And read those things without or line or book Besides if modestye may judge what i st But a supply to each Evangelist Long may the learned study peace and scratch Before the forme of th' mainger or the cratch Wherein Babe Christ was layd be understood Each bungling joyner now may ken what wood The stall was made of where the long eared steed And his associate Oxe did stand and feed Each practis'd oastler knowes their meat can say There is their provender this is their hay Yee now may learne the naked shepherds hew The stripling boy and him it 'h cap of blew As perfectly as it had seene the clownes Each day a sunning on the jewish downes 'T is strange the dogg's not there perhapps the Curr VVas left behind for feare of
noise or stirre But veiw the venerable face whereon The horne and candle cast reflection Observe it well if ere you chance to meet In paradise you 'le know 't as soon as see 't T is reverent Iosephs portraiture see how The very image seemes to cringe and bow Marke well his beard his eyes his nose if ought Be mist t is yours and not the painters fault Then lead your eyes unto the beauteous one Who nere knew man yet mother to a sonne Doth not her face more fully speake her heart And joy than text or comment can impart But oh how little like her selfe when shee VVhose upcast downe cast lookes behold the tree That fatall tree whereon the Lord of breath Expos'd himselfe to th'tyranny of death VVas ever sorow so set forth and yet To make the quire of heavinesse compleat The lov'd disciple bears his part and so Doth that brave lasse that clips the Crosse below Consult allauthors English Greek Lattin You nere saw truer greife or finer sattin Foule fall the bird whose undiscerning mute Presumes to turpifye so rich a suite T' was very strange they durst so boldly greeve When those untutor'd hacksters of the Shreeve Close by sat armed Cap-a-pee with speares And swords and glittering helmets or'e their eares Bestriding fiery steeds so markt so made Bucephalu's himselfe was but a jade Compar'd to these why who would be but vext To see such palâ—…ryes here and none it 'h text Next let your eyes and thoughts be fixt upon The sad-sad story of the passion See how from side from feet from hands as yet The crimson blood trills down you 'l sweare t were wet Were Thomas here himselfe he would not linger But sooner trust his eyes then erst his finger Mark how death 's sable cloud doth over-spread His lips his cheeks his eyes his sacred head Behold death drawn to th' life as if that hee Thus wrackt and stretch't upon th' accursed tree Had been of purpose nayld to th' crosse to try The Painters cunning hand more than to dye He left him dead but t was not in the power Of grave or hell to keep him there one houre Beyond his own determination Three dayes are past and Ionah's type is done He walkes and in full glory leaps from tombe As Lazarus from th' earths insatiate wombe But not to dye againe meane while the guard Who vigilantly slept soon as they heard Deaths prisoner and their's so strangely rise Start up with frighted hearts and gastly eyes They stare and muse and sweare the heardsmen talke Strange things but nere till now saw dead men walke Do but take notice how the rascalls look As if some prodigie had thunderstrook The villaines hearts or some strange power had showne Medufae's head and turnd them all to stone Sure small perswasion would have made the Elves For feare of further paines to hang themselves And blame them not the Lord was now calcin'd Bright as the Sun his body so refin'd That not the sawcinesse of mortall eye Could stare upon such lustre and not dye His glorifi'd humanity can stay No more on earth heaven calls he must away Yet ere he part hee 'le take his leave th'eleven Attend and see him ravisht into heaven Their eyes untill an interposing cloud Did interdict accesse of sight and shrowd His godlike countenance from mortall ken Still waite upon th' ascending Lord but when Distance had snat cht him from their view they lift Their hands to th' skie as if they made some shift To draw him down againe such was their love Theiâ—…e scarse assent to his ascent above Where once more note the text supplyed which tells Th'Apostles were spectators and none else But count by th' pole you 'l find th' eleven increast Their troops amount to five or sixe at least Were Luke alive hee 'd thank the painters wit Who saw his oversight and mended it Let 's yeeld to reason then let him that lists Dispute the number of th' Evangelists If Judgement ever please this thing to lift Or Greenbury or none must be the fift I've done bur first I le pray hayle holy cloth And live in spight of rottennesse or moth Nor time nor vermine ere shall dare to be Corruptors of so much Divinitie But men of Galilee why do ye gaze On that which may delight but not amaze That 's left for us let any wise man bend His eyes towards our orientall end Hee'â—…e blesse himselfe indeed grow wise withall Approaching take the window for a wall And then conclude that Wadehams perspective Nor Lincolnes stately types can long survive They 'le break for envie spight of wise to find Us to transcend themselves so farre behind But I le not prayse our own 't is far more fit To leave the talke to some fine Maud'lin wit Who may enroule in some well languishâ—…t staine As we their walls so they our lights againe Only I feare they will least we surpasse Pull down their hall to build up Eastern glass An Elegie WHy faire vow-breaker have thy sinnes thought fit That I be curst example of thy wit As well as scornes bad womn have not I Deserv'd as much as quiet misery Be wise and trouble not my suffering fit For every sin I have repentance yet Except for loving thee do not thou presse My easie madnesse to a wickednesse As high as that least I be driven so As far from heaven as thou art which I know Is not thy ayme for thou hast sin'd to be In place as in affection farre from me Am I thy freind or kinsman have I ought That is familiar with thee bettring thought A dreame and some few letters too yet lye Neglected records of my injury I know no itch my silent sorrowes moves To begg a bridall kisse or paire of gloves These are the lighter dutyes which they seek Whose sleepe is sound constant as the week Is in her nights who never met the chaunce Of love amisse but in a dreameing traunce And wak't to gladnesse t' is not so with me My night and day are twins in misery These spend-thrift eyes have beene prepar'd with feares To keep a solemne revelling in teares Hadst thou beene silent I had known the shame Of that dayes union by my greife not fame Priva'te as sorrowes lodging had I dwelt Follow'd with my dispaire and never felt Anger except for livinge hadst thou bin Content with my undoinge 'T is a sinn My love cannot forgive there to upbraid Awret chednesse which thou thy selfe hast made Heaven knowes I sufferd and I sufferd so That by me t was as infallible to know How passive man is fate knew not a curse Except thy new contempt to make mee worse And that thou gav'st when I so low was brought I knew not if I liv'd but yet I thought And counted sighs and teares as if to scann The aire and water would make up a man Hadst thou not broake the peace of my decay Ere this I thinke â—…'de wept
say Lock it then if you please you keep the key On a Welch-man's devotion THe way to make a Welch-man thirst for 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 nought else nor greater boon Then plac'd in heaven to feed upon the Moon On a Maid's Legge FAir Betty us'd to tuck her coats up high That men her foot and leg might soon espy Thou hast a pretty legg saith one fair Duck. Yea two saith she or else I have ill luck They 're two indeed they 're twins I think quoth he They are and yet they are not Sir said she They 're birth was both at once I dare be sworn And yet between them both a man was born To his Sister LOving sister every line Of your last Letter was so fine With the best mettall that the grain Of Scriveners pin-dust had been vain The touch of gold did sure instill Some vertue more than did your quill And since you write no cleanly hand Your tokens make me understand Mine eyes have here a remedy Whereby to read more easily I do but jest Your love alone Is my interpretation My words I will recall and swear I know your hand is wondrous fair On the death of Hobson the Cambridge-Carrier HEre Hobson lies amongst his many betters A man not learned yet of many Letters The Schollers well can justifie as much Who have receiv'd them from his pregnant pouch His carriage is well known oft hath he gone An Embassie 'twixt father and the son In Cambridge few in good time be it spoken But will remember him by some good token From thence to London rode he day by day Till death benighting him he lost his way Nor wonder is it that he thus is gone Since most men know he long was drawing on His Team was of the best nor could he have Them mir'd in any ground but in the grave And there he sticks indeed still like to stand Untill some Angell lend his helping hand So rests in peace the ever toiling Swain And supream Waggoner next Charls his wain Another on the same HEre lieth one who did most truely prove That he could never die whilst he could move So hung his destiny never to rot Whilst he could but jogg on and keep his trot Made of Sphear mettall never to decay Untill his resolution made of stay Time numbers motion yet without a crime 'Gainst old truth motion numbered out his time And like some Engine mov'd with wheeles and weight His principles once ceas'd he ended streight Rest that gives all men life gave him his death And too much breathing put him out of breath For had his doings lasted as they were He had been an immortall Carrier Another HEre lies old Hobson Death hath his desire And here alasse hath left him in the mire Or else the waies being foul twenty to one He 's here stuck in a slough and overthrown 'T was such a shifter that if truth were known Death was half glad that he had got him down For he hath any time this ten years full Dog'dd him 'twixt Cambridge and the London-Bull And surely death could never have prevail'd Had not his weekly course of carriage fail'd But lately finding him so long at home And thinking now his journey's end was come And that he had tane up his latest Inne Death in the likenesse of a Chamberlin Shew'd him his room where he must lodge that night Pull'd off his boots and took away the light If any ask for him it shall be sed Hobson has supt and newly gon to bed Fr. Clark Porter of St. Johns To the President HElp Silvanus help god Pan To shew my love to this kinde man Who out of 's love and nature good Hath well encreas'd my store of wood And whilest he the same peruses Wood-Nymphs help instead of Muses Oh thou that sitst at St. Iohns helm I humbly thank thee for my Elme Or if it chance an Oak to prove With heart of Oak I thank your love This Tree to leave all Ovid's fables Shall be the Tree of Predicables Or if you like not that opinion The kindred Tree of great Iustinian Thus finer Wits may run upon 't But I do mean to make fire on 't By which I 'le sit and sing in spight of wealth And drink in Lambs-wool to your Worship's health An Epitaph HEre underneath this stone doth lie That worthy Knight brave Sir Iohn Drie At whose funerall there was no weeping He dy'd before Christmas to save house-keeping A Wife A Lusty young Wife that of late was sped With all the pleasures of a marriage-bed Oft a grave Doctor ask'd whether's more right For Venus sports the morning or the night The good old man reply'd as he thought meet The morn's more wholsom but the night more sweet Nay then said she since we have time and leasure We 'l to 't each morn for health each night for pleasure The constant man HE that with frownes is not dejected Nor with soothing smiles erected Nor at the baits of pleasure biteth He whom no thoughts nor crosse affrighteth But center to himself controleth Change and fortune when she rouleth Who when the silent night begins Makes even reckoning with his sinns Who not deferreth till to morrow To wipe out his black scores of sorrow Who sets hell-pains at six and seven And feareth not the fall of heaven But 's full resolv'd without denyall To yield his life to any tryall Making his death his meditation And longing for his transmigration This is the constant man who never From himself nor God doth sever To his Mistris COme let 's hug and kisse each other Sacrificing to Love's mother These are duties which she loves More then thousand milky Doves Fresh bleeding on her altars We Will not use our piety In such slaughters Cruelty Is no devotion nor can I Believe that she can pleasure take In blood unlesse for Mars his sake No Let us to Cythera's Queen Burn for sacrifice our green And tender youth with those divine Flames which thine eyes begot of mine And lest the while our zeal catch cold In warm embraces we 'l enfold Each other to produce a heat Thus pleasing her we pleasure get Then let 's kisse and hugg each other Sacrificing to Lov 's mother Swearing IN elder times an antient custom was In weighty matters to swear by the Masse And when the Mass was down as all men note Then swore they by the crosse of the grey Groat And when the crosse was likewise held in scorn Then faith and troth was all the oath was sworn But when they had out-worn both faith and troth Then Dam my soul became a common oath So custom kept decorum in gradation Mass cross faith troth out-sworn then came damnation On a good Legg and Foot IF Hercules tall stature might be guess'd But by his thumb the Index of the
give or take Or to repeat the former vow Wee did each other make Say thou cam'st to complain But not of love nor her But on my fortune being faine Thus absent to conferre When thou hast offer'd this Perhaps then for thy payne She will inpart to thee a kisse And read the ore againe Perhaps when form my sake Her lipps have made thee blest That so embalmd â—…hee she will make Thy grave within her brest Oh never then desire To rise from such a roome Who would not leave his life t' aspire In death to such a tombe And in these joyes excesse Melt languish faint and dye For might I have so good accesse To her ev'n so would I. An Epitaph upon Hurry the Taylor WIthin this tombe is honest Hurry layd Who in good fashion liv'd good fashion dy'd T' is strange that death so soon cut off his thread Som say his end not full done he was dead But here the knot is and I thus it scann He took a yard whose due was but a spann How erâ—… hee 's happy and I know full well He 's now in heaven since here he had his hell Scylla toothlesse SCylla is toouthlesse yet when she was young She had both tooth enough and too much tongue What should I now of toothlesse Scylla say But that her tongue hath worne her teeth away AVicar AN honest Vicar riding by the way Not knowing better how to spend the day Did sing unto himself Genevaes psalmes A blind man hearing him straight askt an almes To whom quoth he with coine I cannot part But god bless thee good man with all my heart O said the man the greater is my losse When such as you do blesse without a crosse On a Ribband THis silken wreath that circles-in my arms Is but an emblem of your mystick charmes Wherewith the magick of your beauty binds My Captive soule and round about it winds Time may weare out these soft weak bands but those Strong chaines of brasse fate shall not discompose This holy relique may preserve my wrist But my whole frame by th' other doth subsist To that my prayers and sacrifice to this I only pay a superstitious kisse This but the idoll that the deity Religion there is due here ceremony That I receive by faith this but in trust Here I may â—…ender duty therâ—… I must This other like a layman I may bear But I become loves preist when that I weare This moves like ayre that as the center stands That knot your vertue â—…yes this but your hands That nature fram'd but this is made by art This makes my arme your prisoner that my heart To a Gentlewoman desiring a copie of Verses FAire Madam cast those Diamonds away What need their torchlight in so bright a day These show within your beauties glorious noon No more than spangles fixed in the moon Such jewells then the truest lustre beare When they hang dangling in an Aethiop's eare But placed neere a beauty that 's so bright Like starres in day-time they are lost from sight In this you do your sex a great abuse These are not pretious stemmes for womens use Nature to men hath better jewells sent Which serve for active use not ornament Then let us make exchange since that those be Fitter for you and these more fit for me On Dr. Corbett's Marriage COme all yee Muses and rejoyce At our Apolloes happy choice Phoebus has conquer'd Cupids charme Fair Daphne fâ—…yes into his arme If Daphne be a tree then marke Apollo is become the barke If Daphne be a branch of bay He weares her for a crowne to day O happy bridegrome which dost wed Thy selfe unto a virgins bed Let thy love burne with hot desire She lâ—…kes no oyle to feed the fire You know not poore Pigmaleons lot Nor have you a meere idoll got You no Ixion you no proud Iuno makes imbrace a cloud Looke how pure Dianaes skin Appeares as it is shadow'd in A crystall streame or looke what grace Shines in fair Venus lovely face Whilst She Adonis courts and woes Such beautyes yea and more than those Sparkle in her see but her soul And you will judge those beautyes foul Her rarest beautye is within She 's fairest where she is not seen Now her perfection's character You have approv'd and chosen her Oh precious she at this wedding The jewell weares the marriage ring Her understanding's deep like the Venetian Duke you wedd the sea A sea deep bottomelesse profound And which none but your selfe may sound Blind Cupid shot not this love-dart Your reason chose and not your heart You knew her little and when her Apron was but a muckender VVhen that same Corrall which doth deck Her lippes she wore about her neck You courted her you woed her not Out of a window shee was got And borne your wife it may be se'd Her cradle was her marriadge bed The ring too was layd up for it Untill her finger was growne fit You once gave her to play withall A babie and I hope you shall This day your auncient guift renew So she will do the same for you In Virgin wax imprint upon Her brest your owne impression You may there is no treason in 't Coine sterling now you have a mint You now are stronger than before Your side hath in it on ribb more Before she was a kin to me Only in soul and amity But now wee are since shee your bride In soul and bodye both allyde T' is this hath made me lesse to doe And I in one can honour two This match a riddle may be styld Two mothers now have but on child Yet need we not a Salomon Each mother here enjoyes her owne Many there are I know have try'd To make her their owne lovely bride But it is Alexanders lot To cut in twaine the Gordian knot Claudia to prove that she was chast Tyed but a girdle to her wast And drew a ship to Rome by land But now the world may understand Here is a Claudia to faire bride Thy spotlesse innocence is tryed None but thy girdle could have led Our Corbet to a marriage bed Come all ye muses and rejoyce At this your nursling's happy choyce Come Flora straw the bridemayds bed And with a garden crowne her head Or if thy flowers be to seek Come gather roses at her cheek Come Hymen light thy torches let Thy bed with tapers be beset And if there be no fire by Come light thy taper at her eye In that bright eye there dwells a starre And wisemen by it guided are In those delicious eyes there be Two little balls of ivory How happy is he then that may With these two dainty balls goe play Let not a teare drop from that eye Unlesse for very joy to cry O let your joy continue may A whole age be your wedding day O happy virgin it is true That your deare spouse embraceth you Then you from heaven are not farre But sure in Abrahams