found So easie passage thence to sallie out And leave her so lov'd seat to range about Th' Elesian groves My souls best part adieu I 'l bathe thy wound in tears though wounded too Drie eies forbear this urn oh come not neer To read this Epitaph without a tear Spirit of Wit and Valour here doth lie Doubly entomb'd i' th' Readers heart and eie Upon the lingring death of the Virtuous Mrs L. H. DEath I not blame thy subtiltie In cutting off this Happy Shee Ne'r didst thou yet in thy black list enroul So fair a soul Thy Envie snatcht her hence lest wee By her example taught should be Immortaliz'd by virtue and live stil Against thy wil For hadst thou spar'd her yet awhile And not prevented by this wile Our grand design thou'adst lost thy sting and wee Not feared thee Coward thou didst by slow degrees Upon her Vital spirits ceaze Els had shee summon'd pow'r enough to stand Thy armed hand Subtile and envious Coward thus Thou 'ast spoiled Nature robbed us Yet I not blame thee thou'adst no other way To get thy prey Upon the Death of the truly valiant Sir Bevil Grenvil slain SEE where in Western clouds our Sun is set Whilst those thick groves of Pikes of him beset To guard his Valour trembled all and shoke With Aspen fear soon as this stately Oke Was cleft with fatal thunder every head Droops like pearl'd Violets now Grenvil's dead Wee need no Gods of Egypt to exhale Salt rivers from our eies and force us waile His sorrowed absence no sowre peele or Rue To damp our looks to Pharisaick hue From Grenvil's Herse each cheek is watered And scorns to wear a smile now he is dead Did I not view Heav'ns great unarmed bow I might suspect Deucalion would o'r-flow The drenched world again and in his name Erect a new eternal Ark of Fame What sudden inundation else could thus As in a second deluge bury us Alive and waft us by a quick return To shades what fire but that of his bright urne Could melt each Muse to liquified verse And thus dissolve in Elegiack tears What Ocean but his Virtues could have drunk So many flouds from weeping eies or sunk So many drowning hearts at whose sad fall A deep groan'd Diapason drowneth all And blends at once our Harmonie Oh I could curse that Planet that did reign At thy first birth and e'r since smiling shine Til this unluckie hour it frown'd on thee Prompting our Stars to bode us miserie For if our hopeful cause should gasping lie I 'de swear it languisht since she saw thee die Upon the unfortunate death of the truly gallant and noble Gent. Ed. Sackvil Esquire THy pow'r pale envious death I now defie Thy rage is spent in this one Tragedie Thou 'ast purloin'd our chief wealth and in one hour Rob'd Honours Garland of its choisest flow'r Now do thy worst thy life-depriving dart Can no more Conquest bring nor deeper smart Oft his tri'd Valour in the open field Dar'd thee where since thou couldst not make him yield Now by a weak and clandestine surprize Thou smit'st him unawares by cowardize Yet went he arm'd against that fatal blow Which sin did print upon his flesh not you Then be not proud of this thy spoil since he Did wish to more then you could make him die For now he lives fam'd to posteritie Both for his Virtues and his Loyaltie The gallant spirit of whose youthful heat Doth with his urnes clear oyle perpetuate VVe weep not then because he dy'd but thus The strange chance doth strange wonder claim in us Hee that but newly chang'd his mortal life In sacred wedlock with a happy VVife Is forc'd by th' ignorant malice of worse men To change it for a happ'er once agen Hee whose rich Virtues gain'd each man his friend That knew them both to his untimely end Thus brought by foes if any he could have Hath with his precious corps enricht the grave Hee Hee is gone and nought but sorrow left To mind us of the good we are bereft For 't is not onely Hee we all are dead As when the Sun sets flow'rs seem withered Nor doth his Fam'ly onely lose a stem The Kingdome suffers in the losse of him More I should say but sullen griefe denies I 'l sigh and vent the rest with weeping eies Elegie Upon the death of that thrice valiant Lord the Lord Bernard Stewart slain in the fight neer VVest-Chester BOast not proud death of this thy Victorie In killing him who thus resolv'd to die Hadst thou a life to lose I would on thee Revenge his too too early Destinie But Coward thou nor spirit hast nor heat Els thou wouldst neer ha' smit so brave so great A Person that on thy dread Tragick stage Fought on thy side and in that bloodie rage To thy black shades so many breathlesse sent Perhaps thou feardst his highborn furie meant With fierce assault thy conqu'ring selfe disarm Sans fear of death he fought so at which alar'm Lest he thy territories should invade And so usurp thy pow'r thou wast afraid So ' 'caus thy jealous fear would admit none A Rival in thy Empire thou so soon Didst cut him off Happy unhappy he Right noble born and dying here doth lie Whose single Death-despising Valour made His greatest enemie Death it selfe afraid On the Death of that most famous Musician Mr VV. Lawes slain in this unhappy Civil Warr SUch is the strange Antipathie between The Wolfe and sheep that a Drum with Wolves skin Headed and beat the partchment bottome breaks And soundless to the stick no answer makes So the Wolfe 's by the * Lambstrings break so * dumb Is th'other when you sound a Wolves-skin'd Drum By Wolves our Orpheus thus oppos'd was slain His Lyres offended strings thus crackt in twain At their harsh foes approach and rang his knell Such untun'd souls who discord lov'd too well Knew not the Heav'n of Musicks harmonie And who not love't dull or il-natur'd be But more enraged grew Else like those Wild beasts Amphion tam'd they wou'd ha' rose Inspir'd with love and kist those hands whose aires Ravisht the birds and taught the heav'nly Spheres To move in pleasing consort But e'r sin ' Our Lawes expir'd this Common-wealth hath bin Quite out of tune Could his surviving laies Yet ' swage our Genius as Pythagoras VVith his soft accents and sweet streins subdu'd And well appeas'd a mad-brain'd multitude I 'de swear they were Divine whose pow'rful breath Could Eccho his rare concords after death And in Loves Symphonie unite each part This had been done by Lawes his hand and Art Had he but liv'd e'r now Melpomene Mourn then for earth hath lost her harmonie EPIGRAMS The first Book By Robert Heath Esquire Quam nihil hoc aliud vel malé praestat agam. LONDON Printed for HUMPHRY MOSELEY and are to be sold at his Sho at the signe of the Princes Arms in S. Pauls Church-yard 1650. To
Midst a fair Lillie bed Or set in Pearl like a bright Rubie shows This little spot of red Art could not die a Crimson half so good As this was made by th' tincture of her bloud The cunning Leech knew that the richest bloud In azure veins did lie Choosing thy young soft tender flesh for food Resolv'd thus to feed high Thus being Nectar-fill'd and swell'd with pride He thinks he 's now to you by bloud alli'd O how I envy thee smal creature and Ev'n wish thy shape on me That so I might but kisse that sacred hand That giveth life to thee That which I hardly now can cover'd kisse Then I might naked touch and tast my blisse And though for drawing so much guiltles bloud Thou wel deserv'st to die With a gold chain about thy neck I wu'd Have thee kept daintilie As Scaliger's was in a box and shown As Stella's gentle Fairie up and down On the taking of an Amethist ring from off Clarastella's finger as she was sleeping THou sacred stone whose native heat preservs Man as he was created rational Infuse thy virtues through my Optick nervs Thus while thy temp'rance I behold I shal In stupid draughts my health and reason ne'r enthral Rubies that most resemble flames are so Devoid of heat no fire can warm them wine Thus though this cheerful stone resembles too Scorns yet to stoop to Bacchus reeling Vine Or let his Oppium prey upon his sprite divine Thou more enchanted than was Gyges ring Keep then my souls eys ope while others lie Steept or transform'd in wild Lyoeus sing Io's to madness yet do thou let me Unseen but to my self approach this Deitie How 't blushes for me at the guilt of this High sacrilege Yet though from her I got This virtue sleeping she not plundred is Fair Stella wears a better Antidote Both for and 'gainst the falling sickness wot you wat Loves Expiration BY custom who so bold as he That cannot see Yet I by sad experience find My love 's most modest when mine eles are blind Why should my coward tongue else fear to tel My she Physician I 'm not wel Whose only art Can cure the passion of the heart Why dost thou show such crueltie Young Boy on me Wast not enough to wound my heart Then to add blindness to my former smart But make me speechless that I cann't complain Thus hopeless to be wel again What punishment Is grief that cannot find a vent Ah Cupid if thou wilt that I For her must die Let me but tel her first 't was she She only that did cause my maladie Assist my tongue with so much courage I May tel her 't is for her I die Perhaps my grief May thus discharg'd find some relief On a Christal Watch presented to Clarastella THou careful Steward of my precious time I now transmit thee to a hand sublime And heav'nly that wil guide thy measures wel See that to her thou truth dost alwaies tel When she lies down to rest then Watch to chuse Let thy soft motion quiet sleep infuse But when she waking turns her in her bed Then be thou nimbly busie 'bout her head Put her in mind of me and to her say Though she lies stil yet the time poasts away Charge her not lose it then but to her show When it is time to love then let her know That as thou so I restless watch her and My watchful thoughts a guard about her stand Stand at that happy hour I find her kind Then let thy speedy wings no motion find Go only fast when she retards in love Then poast to short the time then nimble prove True Emblem of my love this Watch I send Which to your careful keeping I commend The ballance like my heart when that beats slow Then fast doth my disorderd passions show The string that holds al is from Cupids bow If that should break alas it would not go The Christal case that keeps it is mine eie Through which you may the sev'ral motions spie The Wheels are my affections which wil stand If you not move them with your gentle hand Oh when it slowly goes then raise it higher That from thy touch it may new life acquire 'T is in your power to make it by a trick Go fast or slow by turning of the nick Let it not once go down Watches you know With little rest they oft forget to go Love like the Sun should ever active be Which when 't declins it riseth instantly Of Love and Liking TO like or not to like doth lie In the election of a curious eio But should I only what I see approve This were but liking and not love Or t' would be general as Boys At the first sight long for their glorious toys Which they embrace til fresh varietie Shews fairer objects to the eie Go Muse and let my Stella know I like her person wel but tel her too I love her soul with mine and thus I find When out of sight she 's in my mind Dialogue between Sylvio and Mirtillo Syl. TEl me if ever you did feel The pow'r of Cupids fatal steel Why the young Tyrant ads disdein Thus to compleat a true loves pain Why faithful Lovers seldom prove Belov'd again of those they love Myrt Oh 't is because true Lovers are Too servil fond and Women care For things though good if easie lest The dear and hard to get please best For should we them but less adore They 'd punish less and love us more Syl. But when the Amorist doth find His love rebukt by some unkind Repulse why doth he yet admire And with sick hopes stil feed desire Himself afflicting thus in vain With hopes of what he cann't obtein Myrt Ah Sylvio Love is a disease That doth o' th' vital spirits ceaze Whose dregs time only must expel Hunger in sick folks doth foretel Deaths sad approach so lovesick men When that 's a dying rave agen Syl. Why doth he not then strugling trie Or to shake off this Lethargie Or as some peevish sick men use Deny'd what they would have refuse All comfort and with like disdein Since She despises hate again Myrt True lov 's not like an Ague fit That doth of cold and heat admit 'T is a quotidian feaver that With constant heat doth thirst create That with its warmth doth make each day Summer and knows no Month but May Repent not then thy wel plac't love though she With the like coyness slight its modestie For who asks doubting lest he should obtein Instructs his Mistress to a coy disdein To Clarastella Loves Constancie 'T Is no terrestrial fire Doth with such heat my brest inspire For then your beauties Sun Had lookt it to pale ashes long agon 'T is a Promethean flame Bright as the Orbs from whence it came So heav'nly and divine Immortal too that feeds this heart of mine Think not fair Stella then That I can be inconstant when That love can never die That
just scales alike but because they Now blind with bribes are grown so weak of sight They 'l sooner feel a cause then see it right Of Love Sonnets WHy love so often theams each writers pen Is this 't is spreading Love o'rcomes all men Which sicknes though most would hide frō their friends Like Agues yet 't wil work at th' fingers ends To Sir Gregorie Nonsense WHen you to little purpose much do talk Repeating stil the same thing and I baulk Your weaker argument to avoid delay Angry you 'd have me hear you out you say I' have heard thee out too long where you ha' bin Wide from the purpose now le ts hear thee in To spend-fast a Gamster THe famous Lers of Belestat that flows And for four months doth ebb each hower shows What tides thy wavering fortune bears whilst you By play wax rich and wain as often too But Spend-fast this hath a full Sea to feed It 's thirstie current when it stands in need You han't an Ocean of wealth I think When all your bags grow drie to make them drink To the Ingenious Reader REader be wise and don't abuse the Poet Say not his wit is old stole or I know it If nought worth praise you here shal find or see Be silent then Hee 'l do as much for thee On Sullen Sullen wil eat no meat but peevishly Replies I care not nor I will not I Troth I commend his abstinence 't is great When having such a stomack hee 'l not eat To Pistor WHen Pistors bread is found too light 't is sent To the poor Prisoners for his punishment I not approve 't 't is Charity mistane Pistor youar ' stil an errant Knave in graine On a fruitful Merchants wife A Merchant newly married went to Sea Returning after three years voyage he Found his wife busied midst her children two And with a third as big as she could goe She to prevent a storme said husband you By Sea and I by land have travail'd too To a painted Whore AS rotten worms do breed in gilded books So thrives thy carkas under painted looks Who reads thy sou I shal find that too within In every line and letter black with sin To Brisk BRisk when thou r't drunk then in thy own conceit Thou r't Valiant Wise Great Honest Rich Discreet Infus'd at once so many qualities Oh Virtuous sack from whence all these arise Troth Brisk be alwaies drunk for wel I know When you are sober you are nothing so To Jeffry the Kings dwarfe SMal Sir me thinks in your lesse self I see Exprest the lesser worlds Epitomie You may write man i th' abstract so you are Though printed in a smaller Character The pocket volume hath as much within 't As the broad Folio in a larger print And is more useful too Though low you seem Yet you'ar both great and high in mens esteem Your soul 's as large as others so 's your mind To greatness Virtue 's not like strength confin'd To Overwise BEfore a feast is crackt he laughs and swears Good before oh apprehensive ears That do like lightning thus prevent the stroke And conceive thunder e'r the cloud is broke On Mounsieur Finedress SR. do but marke yon crisped Sir you meet How like a Pageant he doth stalk the street See how his perfum'd head is powderd o'r Twu'd stink else for it wanted salt before On Philautus PHilautus with himself is much in love Doth his own actions ever best approve Nay his own picture he doth look upon 'Cause 't is like him with admiration How wel may he be said and truly too To court a shadow he himself is so To Gripe GRipe to me all when he is dead wil give Wil part with nothing whilst he is alive What thanks is that to gape for dead mens shoos To give them only when you cannot chuse Give now 't is left then 'gainst your wil I know It is twice giv'n what living we bestow He leavs a good name who givs whilst he livs And only carries with him what he givs On Lurch the match-contriver LUrch th' old match-maker with his hunting nose All the young Heirs both Male and Female knows In town or Country widows too or men Once married he can help to wed agen Saves them the labour too of wooing whilst He bids the bans and sends them to the Priest For further copulation thus doth Lurch Prey on each party that he brings to Church But oh how oft this marriage-Pimp is curst 'Fore I 'd grow rich thus I 'd be hanged first To the Reader REader my Muse thinks not as beggars do Boldly with importunitie to wooe A farthing worth of praise no her desire Is only passing that you 'd look on her She proudly says on alms she scorns to live And as good as you bring she back wil give On Proud PRoud swels like Boreas with face red as fire And keeps a blustring stir in fuming ire So Rubies do resemble flames and yet Are neither hot or capable of heat Since ther 's no fire can warm them So art thou As cold with inward fear as hot in show 'T is but false fire thy seeming Passion givs Then thine there 's not a tamer spirit livs To his dear friend H. N. WIth what strange Philtrum's thou didst charm the wine Whose powr'ful influence made our souls combine And melt into our loving cups or how First thou didst win me to thee I not know Wast 'cause thou 'rt pleasant thinkst thou with discreet And harmless mirth setting an edge to wit Or 'cause thou 'rt liberal courteous and free The friend and Genius of the companie Was 't for thy person wealth or valour I So lov'd thee or was 't only sympathie Was 't this or altogether made me doate Upon thee first no sure nor this nor that I can no certain cause assign thee why But this I love thee without reason I. To Gripe and Holdclose GRipe sais Rags cloaths are lousie but Holdclose Sais they 'r so poor they are not worth a louce Though your phrase differ thus agree you may Give him fresh cloaths hee l shift his lice away To Gallus WHat 's in three bellies in one day wu'dst know 'T is the new egge thou eatst each morning to Thy breakfast first 't was in the hens and then In thine at night 't is in thy hen's agen On Bib. BIbs in a feaver alwaies hot and drie Yet I ne'r saw him sick the reason why Lifes liquor sack he drinks whose healthful sp'rit Expels both sickness death and fear of it Oh never dying juyce of th' pow'rful vine Thou makst men like thy Immortal self divine Of Loving Husbands WE observe each loving Husband when the wife Is labouring by a strange reciproque strife Doth sympathizing sicken and 't may be In Law their one and in Divinity On Luscus LUscus is never wel but changing stil And though he loose by th' bargain change he wil No marle he 's grown so
first touch to gilded baits and he Not able to disgest them forc't to die Then of slain Pelops Ivory shoulder how Io by jove was turn'd into a cow Of th' Minotaur's born of Pasiphe And of Leucothee turn'd into a tree Of frankincense or of Tiresias Who sometimes man and sometimes woman was Then of Minerva born of Jupiters brain Or by his wife how Hercules was slain With Nessus poison'd shirt or of the maid Turn'd to a spider how she first was said To invent spinning these he did conclude With many more you may ofttimes allude Unto your purpose where each fiction By allegoricall allusion Becomes your own and thereby also you Are both Historian and Poet too Troth I wil tel thee why I did omit Such fabulous phansies first because I writ Not only to be read but understood And next 'cause lies down not with all for food The finest web is by the spider spun He 's poor that borrows his invention On Mounsieur Congee A Proper handsome courtly man indeed And wel set out with cloaths can for a need Discourse with legs and quarter congies and Talk half an howr with help of foot and hand But when I viewd this Mounsieur clean throughout I found that he was only man without On Gripe GRipe to himself talks of the sums he lent And of the debts he ows but to prevent Others from borrowing more away you Iew Dost think I 'd ask of such a knave as you Besides if I of thee to day should borrow I know th' whole town should hear of it to morrow To Harsh MUsick that once could move each rock and tree Not a whit moves thee Harsh or pleaseth thee Thy inharmonious soul how wilt thou bring To Heav'n where Angels nothing else but sing A Hellish sure and untun'd soul hath he That is not rapt with musicks extasie Knowst not what evil spirits it expels It cur'd afflicted Saul and nothing else It doth inspire the soul and heighten it Tho' hadst better lose thy ears than once be bit By a Tarantula whose deadly wound Is only healed by soft musicks sound To Cupid His Armes blazoned LUna he bears in a cross Saturn plain A flaming heart transfixed Sol thus slain In the wounds orifice it bleeds Mars from whence Bloudie drops flow and under the pretence For Motto this inscribed more is Sanat Amor vulnus armoris Thy Arms do speak thee Noble Cruel too Else thou wouldst ne'r so many hearts undo How much thou dost degenerate I find For thy fair Goddesse Mother was more kind On proud Mrs. Minx PRide takes no cold yet Pride oft takes a fal Both which are true in this our finical Proud Mrs. Minx fair Madams waiting maid For though she went like her spruce Dame arraid In her cast gowns bare all the neck and breast Down to the shoulders and sometimes the rest Yet took no cold pride and lust kept her warm Though she went stript up above half the arm Yet did the pride of this She-goat at last Catch a shrewd fal for by a stumbling cast I' th' Lobby room her heels flew 'bove her head And so she broke her elboe 'gainst the bed Yet though she fel her belly riss what else Pride naturally when 't is at lowest swels On three Knights without spurs SIr Iohn in 's spurs no rowels had because There was no need his horse twice roweld was Sir George but one spur wore for if one side Will go to'ther wil follow he reply'd I askt Sir Lancelot why no spurs he wore Because saies he a free horse needs no spur If spurs shew Knights and Horsemen then I fear Mongst them was neither Knight or Chivalier On Copernicus his opinion who thought the earth went round IN vain did Drake with pains the Earth sail round Here 's one could do it easier on the ground On Doctour Love-Self LOve-Self when th' Plague in London reigned sore Grown rich himself shuts up and wu'd no more When most his help was wanted it seems then Hee 'd not his patients keep as married men Must keep their wives in Sickness and in Health Such is the fearful cowardize of wealth Though thou with th' Plague would'st nothing ha' to do A Plaguy cunning Doctour yet wer 't thou To my smal friend with a great beard THy face and self are smal but large thy beard Lop't off thy wood wil hide thee I 'm afferd To Ignorant Zoile ZOile I am told you pish and pough when e'r You any do my lines commending hear Pish on 'cause you stil in the wrong place pish Aspersing most the best as I could wish To the Reader IT is enough but if you think too much Then Reader say you saw me not for such As I for writing what is bad will you By others be for reading counted too SATYRS SATYR 1. The Argument Several phantastick Humors here Of Sea-sick minds described are Wedded to spend their time in vain Whence th' Authour woos them to refrein OH men oh manners what a medly 's this When each mans mind more than face diff'rent is For by forms only we distinguisht be One from another but alas to see We varie from our selves each day in mind Nor know we in our selvs our selvs to find Sure had Erasmus liv'd til now he wu'd Without an Oedipus ne'r have understood The riddles of this dark phantastick age Where each Ape alters with the scaene the stage Had I thy razour Actius to dissect These Gordian knotty humours men affect I 'd sharp my pen and after steep it all In wormwood vinegar and Stygian gal. Lend me thy whip Alecto that I may Scourge the prepost'rous times as Boys at play Do whip their eggshels yet don't I wel know Whether my anger they deserve or no But rather pittie whether rather I Should with scorn laugh at them or for them crie Ev'n Heraclitus spleen would tickled be To view Welch bobbie and Garlick eat or see A French grenovillio fricas with young mice And mushroms mixt or the low-dutch device Of roasted sprats and Herrings or th' Irish Tough bonyclabber or that German dish Of pickled snails and tender Grashoppers Or the Jews Locusts with their Elder ears As much as see an Asse eat thistles who Would not admire that every Country so Should vary phansies and thus strangely affect A nouvell diet with their Dialect But stomacks like our minds are sickly too Both are best pleas'd with quelquechoses vain so new So have I seen a travaild Squire discourse On several sawces spin out second course With a picktooth in 's mouth and chafindish To stew his raw roast fowl and codled fish Til we had lost our stomacks and new got Learn'd in the art of eating was he not Yet this at home most galls my patience To see so humorous a difference Of more phantastick giddy minds that draw Like Mules and Oxen each another way Here 's one writes more than some good Scholars read And quoats more Authours than