That let them starue that shine in either kind And so the Douch would be but for the Pot. Against the fantasticall Attire that many Ladies weare now a daies Epi. 114. IF Ladies Maners with their Gaâ—ds agree Then they Seeme such they would not seeme to Bee But if they would not Bee as th' are in sight Let them not weare what makes them seeme so light Of the strange dareing of yong gallants of theâ—â— familier times Epi. 115. VErtumuus was a God the Romans seru'd That gouernd Mindes could all shapes assume Oh! if that Quality were yet reseru'd For some audacious Lads that would presume What Ladies Locks nay what Queenes Clossets shold Be left vnlockt the Wags would be so bold Of Dawlus his vnkind kindnesse Epi. 116. CRowes will not feed their yong til 9. daies old Because their vnkind colour makes theÌ„ doubt Them to be theirs which makes theÌ„ to with-hold Their helpe till Time the truth by proofe brings out If Dawlus then were witty as a Daw Hauing a Child so farre vnlike him selfe He would from him his helping-hand with-draw And let 〈◊〉 vndoubted â—ather keepe the 〈◊〉 But Nat'rall he is kinder than a Crow To keepe the Brat whose Sire he doth not know Against D. Tangus his swelling phisick Epi. 117. TAngus the Phisick-doctor loues a Whoore Better then giuing phisick to the poore He hath the arte of Bawdry better farre Than Phisick yet in both doth make and Marrâ— He makes a Maide a VVhoore so mares her quite And makes a sound man sick or dead out-right What Virgin can resist when he doth boast He can restore her Maydenhead if lost VVhich at her marriage shal be found as strict As any Giâ—les that Loue did ne're aflict When he doth promise by a phisick-feate To let the Wombe Pappes from growing great To giue her Vnguents and Complexions store To make her Beauties rare Reflexâ—ons more To keepe her Body still in healthfull state And make her mirry in despight of Fatâ— VVhich hauing VVill to promise Skill to do VVhat VVench can choose but loue please him too Tangus your Arte your Nature truly hits That helpes or hinden Loues stil-burning siâ—s But take heed Tangus how you empty still The VVombes which you with working-phisick fill Least some repentant wench which vsde you haue Say at her end you vsde her like a Knaue Then let mee thee admonish without stripes Giue no more Phisick with such Glister-pipes Of the Phisitions meanes and opportunity to be baudy Epi. 118. NO Craft like that of Phisick hath such times For baudy-matches such carnall crimes No houses are so close nor walls so strong No Prisons nor no Monastries among Which may or can the Emperick shut out Nay more he maketh iealous husbands pout For sole he must be with their Loue sicke wiues To minister what they loue as their liues Eudemus so did Phisicke Lâ—uia sicke And Vectius Valentinus did the like To Messalina So they nere do faile Of time to giue close Phisicke at the Of Leuis his Colours Epi. 119. LEuis goes al in coluors light as bright sweare And stalkes speaks bigge so that a man would That he some Peacock were at the fiâ—st sight For he more colours hath and much more deare Yet he no colour hath or small at most To keepe a Lords wife at the Bare ones cost Of Curius his courage neuer cooled Epi. 120. BY Conquest Proculus the Emperour Took of Sarmatiam Maids an hundred which In fifteene dayes and nights he did deflowre But Herâ—'les in a night did hafe as much And Theophrastus tells in India growes An Hearb so rare whereof when one hath eaten He threâ—score times and ten at once did clâ—se In the Venâ—â—â—an fight yet scapt vnbeaten Well these are Prodigies and are beleeu'd No further than their tellers credit goes But Curius sweares â—e ne're was yet depriu'd Of force for that so all his time bestowes In Venus seruice But at last some knocks He needs must haue els scapes well with a Poxe Against Glossus immoderate desire of glory Epi. 121. GLossus will doe no good without you praise him So in his goodnes stil vaine glory stayes him Like a full pierced vessell in his bent That will not run vnlesse you giue it vent Of fâ—lse Prophets 122. IF Prophets were deriu'd of profitting Then Lawyers Prophets be still Prophesying Of couetous Patrons Epi. 123. PAtrons are Latrous then by this Th' are worst of greedy People Whose Cognizance a Wolfes-head is And in his Mouth a Steeple Of Fluscus the proud Miser and his more proud and miserable wifes making their Tombe before their death Epig. 124. FLuscus his grim wife their Tomb haue made Before their death and in the Church it pight As some do make a Deaths-head and a Spade To morâ—ifie them with that mortall sight Yet These are humble made by This they make But Those do make That only for Prides sake Then how their thoughts should there entombed be Yet here liue proud and harde I hardly see Againe Epi. 125. TO make that which bereaues vaine Pride of breath Prides life in life is pride in life and death Of Caylus getting by giâ—ing ground to his enemies Epi. 126. CAylus doth thriue in giuing ground t' his foes So he in going backward foreward goes Much like a Wyer-drawer who hath the knaâ—k To draw the more the more he draweth backe How a Man more then Woman is sâ—rewd Epigram 127. A False speech Custome hath for true alow'd In calling curst Wiues sâ—rewed when in truth The Husbands of such wiues are truely shrew'd For of th' ensuing Sayings it ensuth Who gets a Wife we say he wiued is Or if apparrell hee 's apparâ—elled If Riches hee 's enritched So by this When he hath got a Shrew he is Shrewed For names of Sheepe or Shrews all woemen keep Then men are Shrew'd whose womeÌ„ ar not Sheep That which is farre fetcht and deere bâ—ught is good for Ladies Epi. 128. MY Lady calls for Wine yet ere shee drinkes She curiously demands what cost the Tun If it be said Ten-pound she from it shrinkes And mewing sayes shee 'le none But let it run Into another Bowle then bring it her And say it cost mâ—ch more shee drinks it straight And sweares it's much more delicate than deere So wine she measures by the prices weight This is a feauer of the Minde then she Should still be kept from drink so cur'de to be Of my venturing in the Lottery Epigram 129. I Long'd to venture in the Lottery An Angell but was loth to part with that Did I both long and loath yes that did I Long for a Prize yet loath to be laught at But yet I ventur'd and fot that I haue That which I had No hope my selfe to saue If what I had I haue I 'me as I was True for I am and was for this an Asse My Rimes that ran before my reason into the Lottery Epi. 130. CRownes are inestimable
there Here lies a Man that dyde a Beare On an Hermaphrodâ—te Epi. 2 HEre lies a Man and Woman too And yet wants One to make them Two On one Gwillim a common cryer of a Towne Epitaph 3. HEre lies the Common Cryer Gwillim So cryd for life till Death die still him On an Harlot call'd Meg-Mutton of Heref Epitaph 4. HEre lies Megmutton who could liue no longer To make Death a Glutton and true Mutton-monger Vpon a noted common-lyer Iack-ap Iack. Epitaph 5. HEre lies Iack-ap Iack and wot yee why A liue he still lyde anâ— dead still must lye Who in his life lyde willingly still But here in death lies against his will On the Woman that was burnt in Smithfield for killing her Master in her anger Epitaph 6. HEre good people in the Dust Truely Lieth Choller-adust Which kill'd through heate so burn'd with Dolor Then here lies truely Burned choller Vpon one borne blinde Epiâ—aph 7. HEre lies a man that ne're saâ— wo Being borne blind to feele it so Vpon Iohn of all Iohns IOhn of all Iohns here lies what than Were all Iohns honâ—r'd in this Man Yes that they were and wot yee why Cannot you tell in troth nor I. On one Wood a miser burnt by a Queane Epi. 9. REader reade and thinke thereon Hâ—re lies Wood beneath this Stone Who was harder than the higher Yet was burnt without a fier On one who built himselfe bankâ—roupt to keepe the poore on worke Epi 10. REader smile or else looke off For here lies the Peoples Scoff Who that Beggers well might do Built himsâ—lfe a Begger too On one that yeelded hiâ— Weapons in priâ—at fight the conceipt whereof after brake his heart Epi. 11. THis Stone conceales a Man almost Who by his Manhood Manhood lost On one that a Queane made to Father her Bastard begotten by his Man Epi. 12. HErâ— lâ—â—s a Man was got with Child By a Maid that him defilde Who made him when she was a Mother Father her Child got by another Vpon one Church-euill a debosh'd base Whore-hunter who dyed of the Pox. Epi. 13. HEre lies a Church tryumphant still in euill That neuer fought with sin the world nor Diuell But still with Flesh he changed friendly knocks And so to shun the Plague dyde of the Pox. On a common Drunkard Epi. 14. HEre lies a Man that ner'e saw Man For he ner'e lookt but in a Can. On an English stutting-Booke-seller who learned French to sell Bookes to French-men Epi. 15. HEre lies Sam although a Stutter Yet many a word in Print did vtter Yet had no Tonge at all to spare But one he bought to sâ—ll his Ware On Tarlton Epi. 16. HEre within this sullen Earth Lies Dick-Tarlton Lord of mirth Who in his Graue still laughing gapes Syth all Clownes since haue beâ—ne his Apes Earst he of Clownes to learne still sought But now they learne of him they taught By Art far past the Principall The Counterfet is so worth all On a rare Dyer of Silke Epi. 17. HEre lies one who lyu'd by dying Yet dyde truely till this lying On a selfe conceited Foole. Epi. 18. HEre lies a Man that was an Asse Then Is he better than he was On one who cheated his Father Epi. 19. HEre lies a Man who in a span Of life beyond his Father ran Epi. 20. HEre Iohn of Powles but hids his head For none can say good Iohn is dead On Iohn A-Stile Epi. 318. IF yee be men then stay a while And know here lyeth Iohn A Stile If yee know him not why then It s ten to one y' are honest men On Rauiliack who murdered Henry the fourth French-King 22. HEere lies Rauiliack the whole heauens vnder aboue the Earth Heau'n Earth Hels iust woÌ„der Thogh all these 3. most iustly wonder at him The thing procures more wonder that begat him For though that thing in Ill past all comparing Yet nought could ought beget so damd daring On George a Greene Pinder of Wakefield 23. HEere doth lie good George-a-Greene Nor tasted smelt felt heard or seene But yet when George at Wakefield dwelt Many did smell while him they felt On little Iohn HEere lies little Iohn not little some weene Yet now hee 's so little he cannot be seene Oâ— Billy Grime HEre lies Billy Gryme Who neuer was storer But first and last Slyme And euer a Roreâ— For though dead bee Will His Name roreth still On a Roring Boy calld Thing FIe vppo' nt it maddes me neere A stabbing Thiâ—g should stil lye heere Yet if now still lye he should not He must hang â—or stand he could not Of one Baudyman whose name and nature were one 27. IF I should tell you heere doth lye A Man perhaps you 'l say I lye But though a Beast ye proue him can Yet was at least a Baudy-man Of one R. Hand that died of the Poxe 28. NOw by this Hand I wrong him not Heere lies a Hand that dead doth rot And was to rotten ere hee dide That now he is lesse putrifide Vpon a Youngster who lay with a Maid at the Labour in vaine 29. WOuld you thinke it I thinke you would not Heere lies a youth that would but could not On a man borne dumbe 30. BEleeue it heere one dead doth lye Who in his life could neuer lye For he was dumbe then lye could nere But in his death he still lyes heere Vppon one Eleazer Death a good fellow Taylor 31. IF Death a Taylor bee why then He must prick Lice not Maids nor Men. Deaths Epitaph 32. HEere Death 's inter'd that liud by Bâ—ead Then all should liue now Death is dead On one Forgot a Pitman 34. HEere lyes but what that know I not Then Reader know it is Forgot And yet if it thou dost not know Read but That and it wil shew On a short spare man that wore alwayes an huge paire of Cloke-bag hose â—5 THat earth might dissolue the stâ—tches Heere lies rak't a paire of Breeches Nought could weare them sith they had Nought to weare them but a Shade On Iohn an Oakes Epitaph 36. HAlla my Mates here make a stand And read who lies here vnderstand It 's Iohn a Nokes the Lawiers foole Yet puts them still for Law to schoole One Ro Gose a light-headed wanton Epitaph 37. HEre lies a Sot that liu'd too loose Read soft then least yee wake the Goose. On a Sot that was held honest though such cannot bee so Epitaph 38. WOuld yee thinke it I thinke not Here doth lie an honest Sot Then let him lie still in his Graue Left this World make the Foole a Knaue On oâ—e N. Poâ— a dunkard who was stabb'd in an Ale-house Epitaph 39. REader though it's stincking stale Here lies spilt a Pot of Ale So he hath small reckning got Though he were the reckning Pot. On an idle prattler nickâ—named Words Epitaph 40. ALas that euer he was borne Here lies a Man to Nothing worme Yet is more than he was I
Ten. A hall mad Bedlams now my Braines like yours Begin to crow my Muse this Afternoone Must dance a Brawle O! looke Apollo lowres To see his Priest so subiect to the Moone Gods me how now what strange confused noise Of murmur heare I O! the Earth doth shake Powles makes her People volley-foorth her voyce Against me for their ierks Haâ—ke O! I quake S'foote what are these that pynch me Goblins A wanion on the Elues for me What now Elues Pinch you behind ye Nits to saue your selues Before me too Saint George then haue at you What Weather 's this how soddain is this Storme Whence fall these Stones that so do batter me What! from the Winds wide Mouth can they in I weigh them not a Mite so light they be or me Harke how it thunders All the world 's afire With flashes of the fury of the mad Looke looke they come beware retire retire Hold Braines this feare I feare will make you gad Apollo helpe me No Wilt leaue me thus What! not one glance of fauour in this Case Then Luna help be thou propitious Why so thou cheer'st me in this Wild-goose-chase But soft What smell is this It wounds my Braine Breath of Blaspheamers Fy is no Place free From this so banefull Ayre Can I remaine No where but lik a Plague 't will follow me O what a Hell is this A hell No no It 's better than some Scapes that more offend T' is but the bleating of some Calfe or so That feeles my Spleenes iust Ierks there 's an end Bitter zeale is lesse than Loue. FAme gathering out of her own motioÌ„ strength And liuely grown by laboure in her flight I seeke to hold yet draw her out at length With this my mirry Muse But here 's the spight To follow Mirth as maym'd she euer vses For Bolts from Dolts still cripple mirry Muses A Caueat TO bite is but a dogged part to sting Is but a Snakes Wasps Hornets or a Bees These Men do shun sith Dole or Death they bring Yet some haue oft a Medcine made of These So though I byting barke and stinging hisse Yet make of all a Medcine for thy Misse To Martiall MArtiall th' art still renownd for thy Free wit But oft reproached for thy Looser-pen Yet Wise-men longing for a merry Fit Reade thee with Praise Pleasure now and then Then I too proudly humble thinke not scorne They Wit-all call my name for thy Fames horne The BOOKE to Grauitie STerne Grauity auert thy face from me Or looke not saddly ou me for I am Too light somewhere for Eyes too sad to see And yet such lightnesse shews but Vice her shame But to reproue Vice viciously is more Amisse I feare the salu's worse than the Sore Yet Grace it selfe can hardly Wit perswade That it is sin to call a Spadâ— a Spade The BOOKE to the Reader LOok'st thou for Wit well relish'd here each Letter Yeelds fresh-Wit season'd well with Salt and Pepper Then if they last not or do proue vnsaury It 's through thy Foolry rather than my Knau'ry Againe ARt good and bad thy wit then touch me not For I doe often ierke the honest Sot Art bad and thy wit good Forbeare much more To touch mee for I lash such till they roare Or art thou good and great thy Wits extent Th'wilt loue me tho thou loathe mine Excrement But be thon good or bad for Six-pence I Will glad and grieue thee make thee laugh cry O! take my money For this Sowre-Honey Why Poets of the present times be not so well esteem'd as those of former IT 's Entry that doth make vs better deeme Of men erst breathing thaÌ„ now drawing breath So Poets that now liue we disesteeme And read them not with pleasure till their death Of the worth of wittiest Workes or Bookes RAre Bookes are Of-springs of Wits most compleate Distill'd from purest Braines refined Spirits Which thereby are consum'd then such rare merits Transcend all Patrons Guifts how euer great Mercy with Iustice. SHould I with ierkes of wit whip euery Vice That now are waÌ„dring I should make my booke Swell as it had the worst of Poysons tooke And make men swell as poison'd with the price But some I le whip the rest I le spare for some Of more Wit and lesse grace in time to come Those Liâ—es which all or none do vnderstand Do neither with Wit Art nor Iudgment stand THose Rimes are best though least of most esteem'd That like sage Platoes Suppers best do please When they diiested be how er'e mis-deem'd They be at first And so I would haue these Of My selfe and this Bable my Booke SOme lothe to be laught at for what they write But I do hold that wrong these Writings right Then iudge of these too Foolish Writings state That onely aime but to be laughed at Against Pseâ—cus the too cunning Palmister and Poet. Epigram 1. PSeâ—cus is perfect in Chirosophy That is hee 's hand-wise stealing coningly But oft he 's well laugh'd at for stealing Rimes So hee 's Hand-wise Head-foole too somtimes Vpon one named Râ— Holland who kept one Nell Cotton Epigram 2. A Light yong-man who lou'd the like yong-woman Desir'd their Things to either might be common So gaue her wheÌ„ her good wil he had gotteÌ„ A Yard of Holland for a N. -ell of Cotton Against the nobly-desended Muscus who wedded a Butchers fat Daughter Epigram 3. THe well-borne Muscus wedded hath of late A Butchers Daughter Fat for Pounds Plate Which Match is like a Pudding sith in That He puts the Bloud her Father all the Fat. Against Faber the Earelesse forger Epigram 4. FAber the Forger would himself bestow In marr'age faine and sweares he nought doth owe True for hee 's Earelesse and hyres all he weares So oweth not so much as Clothes or Eares Against Dromus the Borrowing barraine or bankroupt Discourcer Epigram 5. DRomus in talke repeates but old-said Sawes Of other Mâ—s then Discourse with-draws So like a rotten Naile he cannot bore Through rotten wood without a way before Of Leoena and her two friends Spot and Fuller Epigram 6. LEoena hath two friends that still maintain her The one hight Fuller the other called Spot Hauing a Fuller she should haue no Spot And yet the Fuller with that Spot doth staine her Then if thou canst not put away her Spot Fuller thou and thy Mill are ouer-shot Of a poore Curate that wold haue pawn'd his Bible to a rich Precisians for a Crowne Epigram 7. ACurat poore a rich Precisian praide To lend him but a Crowne but for a Day But his request precisely he denaide Then on his Bible he the same did pray But he like a precise illiberall Clowne Would take nor his nor Gods-Word for a Crown Against selfe-concâ—ited nine-bibbing Phagus Epigram 8. PHagus is wise in his owne Eyes they say Then hee 's a Foole to drinke them so away Against Gaulus the writing-country Schole-master Epigram 9.