work remaines one part is past And here my Ship rides having Anchor cast 707. On Bearill Bearill because his wife is somewhat ill Uncertain in her health indifferent still He turns her out of doors without reply Wondring at which I askt the reason why In sicknesse and in health sayes he I 'm bound Onely to keep her either weak or sound But now shee 's neither he replies you 'l see Shee 'l quickly now or mend or end sayes he 708. On Bib. Wisdome doth teach us silence now Bib is With drink made speechlesse is he not then wise 709. On Silly Silly by chance did loose his Diary Of wit which he had got in company No marvel he now so mute and pensive sits How can he choose since he hath lost his wits 710. Ad sesquipidales poetastros Hence Brauron's God to Tauriminion And you Levaltoring Corybantâ— be gon Fly thundering Bronsterops to Hippocrene And Mauros to Nymph-nursing Mytelene Grisly Megaera's neâ—romantique spell Depart to black nights Acherontick cell Avaunt transformed Epidaurian Unto th'Antipod Isles of Trabroban Away Cyllenius plumy-pinnion'd God With thy peace making wand snakecharming rod And all the rest not daring look upon Vranus blood-born brood and fell Typhon Chimera's victor great Bellerophon Thou vanquisher of Spanish Geryon Stout Asdruball Sicilian Lord of yore Thou that destroy'dst the Caledonian bore Couragious conqueror of Cretes Minotaure Thou pride of Mermeno's cloudy Semitaure Perseus whose marble stone transforming shield Enforc'd the Whale Andromeda to yeeld You Argonautes that scour'd Syndromades And passd the quick-sands of Symplegades Help Demogorgon King of heaven and earth Chaos Lucina at Litigiums birth The world with child looks for delivery Of Canibals or Poetophagy A devilish brood from Ericthonius From Iphidemia Nox and Erebus Chide Pegasus for op'ning Helicon And Poets damn Pyry-Phlegeton Or make this monstrous birth abortive be Or else I will shake hands with Poetry Nihil sic nisi Carmina desunt Marmora Maeonii vincunt menumenta libelli Vivitur ingenio caetera mortis erunt The Muses works stone-Monumenâ—â— outlast 'T is wit keeps life all else Death will down cast EPITAPHS 1. On a Lyer GOod passenger here lyes one here That living did lye every where 2. On a Dyer He lives with God none can deny That while he liv'd to th' world did dy 3. On a Iugler Death came to see thy tricks and cut in twain Thy threed why didst not make it whole again 4. On Mr. Fish Worm's bait for Fish but here is a great change Fish bait for worms is not that very strange 5. On a Child A child and dead alas how could it come Surely thy thread of life was but a thrumme 6. On Mr. Do. Do is my name and here I lye My Grammar tels me Do fit Di. 7. On Taylor a Serjeant kill'd by a Horse A Taylour is a Theef a Sergeant is worse Who here lies dead god-a-massy Horse 8. On Mr. Thomas Best With happy starres he sure is blest Where â—'ere he goes that stil is Best 9. On Robin Round Robin's gone and this grave doth inclose The pudding of his doublet and his hose 10. On Bell the Tinker Bell though thou dy'dst decrepâ—t lame forlorn Thou was 't a man of Mettle I 'l be sworn 11. On proud Tygeras Proud and foolish so it comes to passe He liv'd a Tyger and he dy'd an Asse 12. On Iohn Cofferer Here lyes Iohn Cofferer and takes his rest Now he hath chang'd a Coffer for a Chest. 13. On blind and deaf Dick Freeman Here lyes Dick Freeman That could not hear nor see man 14. On a Miller Death without warning was as bold as brief When he kil'd two in one Miller and Thief 15. On a Lady Here lyes one dead under this marble stone Who when she liv'd lay under more than one 16. On a Wrestler Death to the Wrestler gave a pretty fall Tript up his heels and took no hold at all 17. On Iohn Death Here 's Death interred that liv'd by bread Then all should live now Death is dead 18. On an Infant The reeling world turn'd Poet made a Play I came to see 's dislik'd it went my way 19. On a little but very ingenuous youth Grim Death perceiving He had far out ran The elder youthâ— mistook him for a man 20. On a Lady dying quickly after her Husband He first deceased she a little try'd To live without him lik'd it not and dy'd 21. On Mr. Stone Jerusalems curse is not fulfill'd in me For here a stone upon a stone you see 22. On Mr. Strange Here lies one Strange no Pagan Turk nor Jew It 's strange but not so strange as it is true 23. A Forts Epitaph Reader it was born and cry'd Crack'd so smelt so and so dy'd 24. On Mr. Anguish a scholler Some doe for anguish weep for anger I That ignorance should live and art should dye 25. On a lovely young youth From thy quick death conclude we must The fairest flowers are gather'd first 26. On Mr. Thomas Aâ—len No Epitaphs need make the just man fam'd The good are prais'd when they are onely nam'd 27. On a Lady Finis and Bonum are converted so That every good thing to an end must go 28. On a pious Benefactor The Poor the World the Heavens and the Grave His Alms his Praise his Soule and Body have 29. On a Poet in Prison Though I in prison here doe lye My Muse shall live altho I dye 30. On a poor Poet. Here lies the Poet buried in the night Whose purse men know it was exceeding light 31. A man and his wife Viator siste ecce miraculum Vir uxor hic non ligitunt 32. On a Pauls-walker Defessus sum ambulando 33. On a Scrivener May all men by these presents testifie A lurching Scrivener here fast bound doth lye 34. On one that cheated his Father Here lies a man who in a span Of life beyond his Father ran 35. On a Cut-purse Death hath that Cut-purse seiz'd on at Alhallows Who by good hap hath so escap'd the Gallows 36. On a young great wit Great wits are dangerous for then It seems they seldome come to men 37. On an Vsurer That all those goods and riches scrap'd together Should with himself depart knows not whither 38. On a Captain Who late in wars did dread no foes in field Now free of scars his life in peace doth yeeld 39. On a Potter He that on clay his chiefest trust repos'd Is now in clay in stead of dust repos'd 40. On a Merchant Who from accounts and reckningâ— ne'r could rest At length hath summ'd up his Quietus est 41. On a young man newly maried dyed The world and thou art quickly gone about That but now enâ—ring in art entred out 42. On Iohn Friend How ere he fail'd in 's life 't is like Iack Friend Was no mans foe but 's own and there 's an end 43. On Christopher Fowler Let all say what they can ' â—is known
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
still was conversant 'mongst beds of dust 86. On a Drunkard Bibax the Drunkard while he liv'd would say The more I drink the more methinks I may But see how death hath prov'd his saying just For he hath drunk himselfe as dry as dust 87. On a Child Tread softly passenger for here doth lye A dainty Jewell of sweet Infancy A harmlesse babe that onely came and cry'd In baptism to be wash'd from sin and dy'd 88. Another In this marble Casket lyes A matchlesse Jewell of rich priâ—e Whom nature in the worlds disdain But shew'd and put it up again 89. On Mr. Sands Who would live in others breath Fame deceives the dead mans trust When our names doe change by death Sands I was and now am dust 90. On Mr. Goad Go adde this Verse to Goad's herse For Goad is gone but whither Goad himselfe is gone to God 'T was deaths Goad drove him thither 91. On Monday Hallowed be the Sabbath And farewell all worldly pelf The week begins on Tuesday For Munday hath hang'd himself 92. On a Child Here a pretty Baby lyes Sung asleep with Lullabies Pray be silent and not stir Th' easie earth that covers her 93. On a Matron Here lies a wife was chast a mother blest A modest Matron all these in one chest Sarah unto her Mate Mary to God Martha to men whilst here she had aboad 94. In Latine thus Vxor casta Parens felix Matrona pudica Sara viro mundo Martha Maria Deo 95. On a Souldier When I was young in Wars I shed my blood Both for my King and for my Countries good In elder years my care was chief to be Souldier to him that shed his blood for me 96. On Mr. Dumbelow that dyed of the winde Collicke Dead is Dick Dumbelow Would you the reason know Could his tail have but spoken His stout heart had not broken 97. On Mr. Kitchins death Kitchin lyes here for so his name I found I see Death keeps his Kitchin under ground And the poor worms that flesh of late did eat Devour their Kitchin now for want of meat 98. On Isabella a Curtezan He who would write an Epitaph Whereby to make fair Is'bell laugh Must get upon her and write well Here underneath lies Isabell. 99. On a vertuous wife In brief to speak thy praise let this suffice Thou wert a wife most loving modest wise Of children carefull to thy neighbours kind A worthy Mistresse and of liberall mind 100. On Mr. Christopher Lawson Death did not kill unjustly this good man But death in death by death did shew his power His pious deeds and thoughts to heaven fore-ran There to prepare his soule a blessed bower 101. On a Welshman Here lyes puryed under these stones Shon ap Williams ap Shinkyn ap Shones Her was porn in Whales her was kill'd in France Her went to Cot by a very mis-shance La ye now 102. On Mr. Carter burnt by the great powder-mischance in Finsbury Here lies an honest Carter yet no clown Unladen of his cares his end the Crown Vanish'd from hence even in a cloud of smoke A blown-up Citizen and yet not broke 103. On a Lady dying in Childbed Born at the first to bring another forth She leavâ— the world to leave the world her worth Thus Phoenix-like as she was born to bleed Dying her selfe renews it in her seed 104. On a Faulconer Death with her talonâ— having seiz'd this prey After a tedious flight trusâ—'d him away We mark'd him here he fell whence he shall rise At call till then unretriv'd here he lyes 105. On Ioan Truman who had an issue in her legge Here lyes crafty Ioan deny it who can Who liv'd a false maid and dy'd a Truman And this trick she had to make up her cunning Whilst one leg stood still the other was running 106. On a youth Now thou hast heaven for merit but 't is strange Morality should envy at thy change God thought us unfit for such as thee And made thee consort of eternity We grieve not then that thou to heaven art taken But that thou hast thy friends so soon forsaken 107. On Prince Henry Did he dye young O no it could not be For I know few that liv'd so long as he Till God and all men lov'd him then behold The man that lives so long must needs be old 108. On borne before his time Greiv'd at the world and times this early Bloom Look'd round and sigh'd and stole into his Tomb His fall was like his Birth too quick this Rose Made hast to spread and the same hast to close Here lyes his dust but his best Tomb's fled hence For Marble cannot last like Innocence 109. On a very fat man Under this pebble stone Here fast sleepeth one And that is not two Yet was without doubt Far bigger about Then both I and you His kidneys encreast So much that his wast Was hooped all round But his girdle death cuts And down fell his guts ' Bouts heels to the ground 110. On Iohn Newter Reader Iohn Newter who erst plaid The Jack on both sides here is laid Who like the herb Iohn indifferent Was not for King or Parliament Yet fast and loose he could not play With death he took him at a Bay What side his soule hath taken now God or Devil we hardly know But this is certain since he dy'd He hath been mist of neither side 111. On Hocas Pocas Here Hocas lyes with his tricks and his knocks Whom death hath made sure as his Juglers box Who many hath cozen'd by his leiger-demain Iâ— presto convey'd and here underlain Thus Hocas he 's here and here he is not While death plaid the Hocas and brought him to th'pot 112. On a Child of two years old being born and dying in July Here is laid a Iuly flowre With surviving tears bedew'd Not despairing of that houre When her spring shall be renew'd Ere she had her summer seen She was gather'd fresh green 113. On a Cobler Death at a Coblers door oft made a stand And alwayes found him on the mending hand At last came death in very foul weather And ript the sole from the upper leather Death put a trick upon him and what was 't The Cobler call'd for 's Awle death brought his last 114. On a young Gentlewoman Nature in this small volume was about To perfect what in woman was left out Yet carefull least a piece so well begun Should want preservatives when she had done Ere she could finish what she undertook Threw dust upon it and shut up the Book 115. On a Scholler Forbear Friend t'unclaspe this book Only in the forefront look For in it have errours bin Which made the Author call it in Yet know this 't shall have more worth At the second coming forth 116. On a young Woman The body which within this earth is laid Twice six weeks knew a wife a Saint a maid Fair maid chast wife pure Saint yet 't
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
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
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
own true Manuscript It is enough to name him surely we Have got that Romans doting Lethargy And may our names forget if so we can Forget the name of Sweden renown'd man Thou hadst no sooner made the Worthies ten But Heaven did claim the tenth jealous that men Would Idolize thee but their Instrument Thus thy Meridian prov'd thy Occident Had longer dayes been granted by the Fates Rome had heard this Hanniball at her gates Farewell thou Austrian scourge Thou modern wonder Strange rain hath followed Thy last clap of thunder A shower of tears And yet for ought we know The Horn that 's left May blow down Iericho 163. To Death Death art thou mad or having lost thine eyes Now throw'st thy dart at wild uncertainties Which hits those men who hadst thou eyes or sense Would challenge from thee mild obedience Their prudent looks gilt with Divinity Thy trembling hand would cast thy dart away And grant the wearied Bells a holy day And thou griev'd for thy former cruelty Wouldst to the world proclaim a Jubilee But thou art blind and deaf yet one or two At most me thinks had been enow To satisfie thy bloody Tyranny But thou wouldst fain rob poor mortality Of all true worth that men might be as base As thou art and the Devils of thy race Art thou Coward grown why didst not dart Thy spight at lusty youth whose valiant heart Would scorn thy fond Alarums and would slâ—ght Thy mighty malice and thy puny might This had bin fair enough but thou goest further That had been but man-slaughter this is murther To kill those rich-soul'd men who sweetly doe Whisper unto their willing souls to goe But knowledge of thy weaknesse makes thee wise Thou seek'st not triumphs now but sacrifice Thy malice fools thee too thou hop'st they 'd griev Because they should be forc'd behind to leave Their honour'd worth but fond fool they be Now crown'd and cloath'd with immortality Nor shalâ— thou kill their fames here we will raise A Monument to them shall out-last dayes Nor shall decay untill the Trumpets call The world to see thy long-wish'd Funerall Till then sleep blest soules freed from hopes and fears Whilst we do write your Epitaphs in tears FANCIES AND Fantasticks Time that all things doth inheritt Renders each desert his meritt Youth with youth is best combined Each one with his like is twined Bewty should have bewteous meaning Ever that hope easeth playning Doe so and to love be turning El's each ♡ it will be burning Learne to love leave denying Endles knotts let fates be tying Such a face so fine a feature Kindest fairest sweetest creature Never yet was found but loving O then let my plaints be moving I love not with vowes contesting Faith is faith without protesting Aenigma AS often as I please it changeth forme It is no Coward though it doe no harme 'T is never hurt nor ever doth it seed 'T is nothing worth yet nothing doth it need Swiftly it runs yet never maketh sound And once being lost again 't is never found 'T is a fit Servant for a Gentleman And a true pattern for a Serving-man 'T is born a Gyant lives a Dwarfe and nigh Unto its death a Gyant doth it dye Another on the six Cases No. Nanta was nominated for a W. Gen. For she that had been Genitive before Da. Notice hereof was to the Iustice given Acc. Who her accu'sd that she had loosly liven Voc. But she cry'd mercy and her fault up ript Abl. And so was ta'n away and soundly whipt Her Case was ill yet will the question be Being thus declin'd in what a Case was she If V 2 I as I 2 V am true V I must lye and Thoughts c Searching c Valued may B Love may B Truth never ties Too A foole yy If have part And V bb Y 'ave 1.2 many then I. C. And R not worth Write QQ I 'le not yours VV A Riddle A begger once exceeding poore A penny pray'd me give him And deeply vow'd ne'r to ask more And I ne'r more to give him Next day he begg'd again I gave Yet both of us our Oaths did save Another There was a man bespake a thing Which when the owner home did bring He that made it did refuse it He that bought it would not use it He that hath it doth not know Whether he hath it yea or no. Another One evening as cold as cold might be With Frost and Snow and pinching weather Companions about three times three Lay close all in a bed together Yet one after other they took heat And dy'd that night all in a sweat THIS is love and worth commending Still beginning never ending Like a wilie net insnaring In a round shuts up all squaring In and out whose everie angle More and more doth still intangle Keeps a measure still in moving And is never light but lovinge Twyning armes exchanging kisses Each partaking others blisses Laughing weepinge still togeather Blisse in one is myrth in either Never breaking ever bending This is love worth commending A doubtfull meaning The Faeminine kind is counted ill And is I swear The contrary No man can find That hurt they will But every where Doe show pity To no kind heart They will be curst To all true friends They will be trusty In no part They work the worst With tongue and mind But honesty They doe detest Inconstancy They doe embrace Honest intent They like least Lewd fantasie In every case Are penitent At no season Doing amisse To it truly Contrary To all reason Subject and meek To no body Malicious To friend or foe Or gentle sort They be never Doing amisse In weale and woe Of like report They be ever Be sure of this The Faeminine kind Shall have my heart Nothing at all False they will be In word and mind To suffer smart And ever shall Believe you me 2 A goe That doth That 's rul'd by 1. whose sayes no I 'le try ere trust ward left my Find slight regard The a whilst I 2 Lovers That gazed me There was nor nor loathsome That might disturb or break delight Nor nor in that same road And yet to me they seem'd affright Then favour them I told True love cannot be bold These may be read two or three wayes Your face Your tongue your wit so faire so smooth so sharp first drew then mov'd then knit mine eye mine eare my heart Mine eye Mine eare My heart thus drawn thus mov'd thus knit â—ffects hangs on yeelds to Your face Your tongue your wit These may be read backward or forward Joy Mirth Triumphs I doe defie Destroy me Death fain would I dye Forlorn am I love is exil'd Scorn smiles thereat hope is beguild Men banish'd blisse in woe must dwell Then Joy Mirth Triumphs all farewell TRUE love is a pretious pleasure Rich delight unvalu'd treasure Two firme Heartes in one ♡ meeting Grasping hand in hand ne'r fleeting Wreathlike like a maze entwineing