wool And finde the haire so course in euery place As makes a wood-cocke proue himselfe a Gull That hath no better braines within his scull Then to bestow his time in idle trifles With penning notes to fil the world with nifles For God sake let vs then our follies leaue And not lay open-one anothers ill But in our conscience learne for to conceiue How heedlesse wit may be abus'd by will And haue a care so well to vse our skill We may be loued for our learned lines Where gracious spirits Poets make Diuines And for my selfe I meane the Ice to breake Vnto the passage of that Paradice VVhere rauisht Grace may of that Glory speake VVhere mercy liues and comfort neuer dyes And the best praise of any Poet lies Or at the least if any went before Follow that line and loue the world no more What right bred wits will haue to doe with blind men Especially blind beggers and their boyes They that haue iudgement how indeed to find men VVil think such younkers but hobberdie-hoyes That ply their wits vnto such paltrie toyes Or els to shew that he hath learn'd in part To rob the blindeman of his beggers art If it be so and meane to keepe a Schoole To bring vp boyes vnto the beggers crafte To take a thresholde for his cushen-stoole To knaue a crust and drinke a sorry draft Let him goe sleepe when he hath soundly quaft And shrugge himselfe vnder some sorry tree And 'mong the beggers master begger be But then me thinkes he should set out his table All ye that seeke to haue your children taught To play the begger how he may be able VVhen that his eye-sight groweth old or naught Aske for the man that hath the Cony caught And dwelleth where the matter is not great And you shall haue them boorded without meate But t is no matter men that haue a name Neede make no table they are knowen so well And the blinde Begger hath so great a fame As of his trickes can euery high-way tell And since for begging he doth beare the bell Let him keepe Schoole and learne of him that will The stocks wil kindly fit him for his skill But for I doubt some men of good profession Will take exceptions at my table-writing To honest mindes I make my hearts confession My soule is free from vertuous spirits spighting Not one of them is in my thoughts endighting I rather wish God blesse them and their Arts And let the blindmen play the Beggers parts For all good Poets will cry out vpon him That falles to blindenes and to beggery And in his wits be so farre woe-begon him That in an humour of base trumpery The world may see in idle foolery A Ballad-maker would haue bene a Poet But hat he knew not in what point to shew it Thus will the world be descanting on writers When they shall read their ouer-rude descriptions And say that spirits which are growen such spighters Shuld better learned be in loues prescriptions Then goe about so with their circumscriptions That wits of worth that know their foolery Doe call it Pot-rie and not Poetrie And what haue we to doe with pilgrimage To walke bare witted to S. Dunces well A Grammer Scholer but of ten yeeres age That scarse hath learn'd his Latine lines to spell VVill soone by heart a better story tell And say such Poets as their wits so tosse Make all their walkes by little witttam crosse For let the world imagine what it list And idle wits deceiue themselues with toyes Those hammering heads that breed but Had I wist Are all to farre from those assured ioyes VVhere heauenly comfort kils al earths annoyes No no t is onely Vnitie and Peace That makes all blessings prosper and encrease Oh Poets turne the humour of your braines Vnto some heauenly Muse or meditation And let your spirits there imploy your paines VVhere neuer weary needs no recreation VVhile God doth blesse each gracious cogitation For proud comparisons are alwayes odious But humble Muses musicke is melodious Then learne to sing and leaue to learne to braule It is vnfitting to a fine conceit From vertues care to vaine effects to fall VVhere carelesse words doe carry little weight VVhile fancie angles but with follies baite VVhich hanging but a Gudgin on the hooke May sigh to see what idle paines he tooke No no let fancie weane her selfe from folly And heauenly prayers grace our Poetrie Let vs not loue the thought that is not holy Nor bend our mindes to blinde mens beggerie But let vs thinke it our soules misery That all our Muses doe not ioyne in one To make a Quire to sing to God alone Eor could our spirits all agree together In the true ground of vertues humble grace To sing of heauen and of the high-way thither And of the ioyes in that most ioyfull place Where Angels armes the blessed soules embrace Then God himselfe would blesse our soules enditing And al the world would loue a Poets writing FINIS
NO VVhippinge nor trippinge but a kinde friendly Snippinge Imprinted at London for Iohn Browne Iohn Deane 1601. ¶ TO ALL GRATIOVS Vertuous Courteous Honest Learned and gentle spirits that are truely poeticall not too fantasticall that will patiently read indifferently censure and honestly speake of the labours of those wits that meane nothing but well the writer hereof wisheth all contentment that a good conditiō may desire MY good friendes if such yee be if not God blesse me from yee for the world is so full of wickednesse that a man can meete with little goodnesse Maye it please you to vnderstand that it was my happe of late passing through Paules Church yarde to looke vpon certaine pieces of Poetrye where I found that it greeues me to speake of one writer so straungely inueigh against another that many shallow wits stoode and laught at their follies Now findinge their labours so toucht with ill tearms as befitted not the learned to lay open I thought good hauing little to doe to write vnto all such writers as take pleasure to see their wits plaie with the world that they will henceforth before they fall to worke haue in minde this good prouerbe Play with mee but hurt me not and iest with me but disgrace me not Least that the world this iest do kindly smother Why should one foole be angry with an other Now for my selfe I proteste that humor of Charitie that I wish to finde at all their handes that see and will reprooue my folly for I am none of the seauen wise men and for the eight I knowe not where to seeke him Beare with me then if out of the principles of a painted cloth I haue pickt out matter to mooue impatience And if there be any thing out of that poore library that may take place in any of your good likings I will honour your good spirits for your kinde acceptations But in any wise what ere you think giue me no word of cōmendation least too glad of such a mischaunce I trust the better to my euill fortune Well in earnest I will entreat all good schollers to beare with my lacke of learning and wise men with my lacke of witte and my creditors with my lacke of mony Which though it haue nothing to doe in this Treatise yet entreaty sometime doeth well with honest mindes which I wish and hope of in them yea and all the world that I shall haue to doe withall Leauing therefore the patient to their Paradice and the displeased to their better patience in my loue to all schollers but chiefly to those that in the ioy of their studies make vertue their heauen I Rest Your friend as I finde cause No whippe T IS strange to see the humors of these daies How first the Satyre bites at imperfectiōs The Epigrammist in his quips displaies A wicked course in shadowes of corrections The Humorist hee strictly makes collections Of loth'd behauiours both in youthe and age And makes them plaie their parts vpon a stage An other Madcappe in a merry fit For lacke of witte did cast his cappe at sinne And for his labour was well tould of it For too much playing on that merry pinne For that all fishes are not of one finne And they that are of cholerick complections Loue not too plain to reade their imperfection Now comes another with a new founde vaine And onely falls to reprehensions Who in a kind of scoffing chiding straine Bringes out I knowe not what in his inuentions But I will ghesse the best of his intencions Hee would that all were well and so would I. Fooles shuld not too much shew their foolery And would to God it had ben so in deed The Satyres teeth had neuer bitten so The Epigrammist had not had a seede Of wicked weedes among his herbes to sowe Nor one mans humor did not others showe Nor Madcap had not showen his madness such And that the whipper had not ierkt so much For they whose eyes into the world doe looke And canuasse euery crotchet of conceite Whose wary wittes can hardly be mistooke Who neuer feede their fancies with deceite Finde this the fruict of euery idle sleight To shew how enuy doeth her venom spit Or lacke of wealth doeth sell a little wit And while they tumble in their tubbes of coine Laugh at their wittes that tunne so far awry In learning how to giue the foole the foine Mistake the warde wound them selues thereby While only wealth doth laugh at beggery For rowling stones will neuer gather mosse And raunging wittes doe often liue by losse The Preachers charge is but to chide for sinne While Poets steppes are short of such a state And who an others office enters in May hope of loue but shal be sure of hate 'T is not a time offences to relate Contentions sooner will begin then end And one may sooner lose then keepe a friend And he that writes vnwary of his wordes May haue an ill construction of the sense For fortune euer not the right affordes Where will doeth gouerne ouer patience Who doeth not finde it by experience That points and letters often times misread Endaunger oft the harmelesse writers head Good writers then if any such yee be In verse or prose take well that I doe write I wish yee all what ere yee heare or see Haste not your wits to bring it vnto light Lest ere you weet you doe repent your spight Your friendes ill courses neuer doe disclose And make your pens no swords to hurt your foes Spend not your thoughts in spilling of your wits Nor spoile your eies in spying of offences For howsoeuer you excuse your fittes They carry shreud suspect of ill pretences And when you seeke to make your best defences How euer priuate friends will poorly purse ye If one doe blesse yee fiue to one will curse ye Some one will say you are too busie pated An other saies the foole is idle headed An other saies such rakehells would be rated An other see how will to wit is wedded An other sure the man is poorely stedded Hee writ for coine he knew nor car'd not what But yet take heede we must not like of that Meane while perhaps he sits within his Cell And sighes to heare how many descant on him And for a litle must his labour sell While such as haue the pence do preie vpon him And he poore soule in want thus wo begon him Curseth the time that euer he was borne To vse his will to make his wit a scorne For let him bragge and braue it as he list The Poets is a poore profession And oftentimes doeth fall on had I wist When conscience makes of inwarde crimes confession And sorrow makes the spirites intercession For mercies pardon to that time misspent Which was the soule for better seruice lent Yet will I say that some oh all too fewe Doe bend their humors to diuine desires Those I confesse doe in their verses shew What
vertue Grace into those soules inspires That are inflamed with the heauenly fires Such a good Poet good if any bee Onely in God would God that I were hee As for those fansies fictions or such fables That show in losse of time abuse of wit That neuer look't into those holy Tables Where doeth the grace of reasons glory sit And wisedome findes what is for vertue fit What ere they figure in their dark constructions They doe but little good in their instructions No poets no I write to yee in loue Let not the world haue cause to laugh at vs Let vs our mindes from such ill meanes remoue As makes good spirits for to fall out thus Let vs our causes with more care discusse Not bite nor claw nor scoffe nor check nor chide But eche mend one and ware the fall of pride Know'st thou a foole then let him leaue his folly Or be so stil and with his humour passe What hath thy wit to do with trolly lolly Must euery wise man ride vpon an Asse Take heede thou mak'st not him a looking glasse Wherein the world may too apparant see By blazing him to finde the foole in thee Hast thou espied a knaue care not to know him Lest that thy knowledge get thee little good Or if you know him doe not seeke to show him Lest that your head be fear'd to fit his hoode Such sense were better neuer vnderstoode Better to see a knaue and not to see Then to be thought a knaue as well as hee Know you a villaine let him finde his matche And show not you a Matche a villaines skill A foolish dogge at euery Curre doeth snatch Wordes haue no grace in eloquence of ill There is no wrestling with a wicked will Let passe the villaine with his villany Make thou thy match with better company Haue you acquaintance with some wicked quean Giue her good words and do not blaze her faults Looke in thy soule if it be not vncleane And knowe that Sathan all the world assaultes Iacob himselfe before the Aungell haultes Sighe for her sinne but doe not call her whore But learne of Christ to bid her sinne no more Know you a drunkeard loath his drunkennesse But doe not laie it open to his foes Least in describing his vngodlinesse You take your selfe too soundly by the nose Who hurts himselfe doth giue vnkindely blowes Winke at each faulte wish it were amended And thinke it well that 's with repentance ended Knowe you a wencher let his wenche alone Winke at his fault age will make him leaue it And though he doe not tell not Iohn of Ioane For feare that ether you may misconceaue it Or tone be hurt when tother doth perceiue it Or while you seeke to make their folly knowne It be a meane to lay abroad your owne Knowe you a Miser let him be so still And let his spirites with his metall melt Let him alone to die in his owne ill And feede not you on that which he hath felt Be not you girded in so vile a belt Rather praie for him then so raile vpon him That all the world may lay their curses on him Knowe you a Spendthrift secreatly aduise him But tell not all the worlde of his expence For if such kinde of warning you deuise him Your course maie happe to fall on such offence As may be put off with an ill defence For many a man that hath his wits asquint Would frowne to see his folly put in print Know you a Gamester let him play his game But seeke not you to cheat him of his coyne Nor to the world doe idly tell his name Whose heedlesse fancie doeth with folly ioyne That cannot see who doeth his wealth purloine Least when you name the chance that lost his stake He light on you make your noddle ake Know you a Plotter studdy not his Plots But leaue the busie to their businesse Least while you winde your wits into such knots You doe too late repent your foolishnesse And while you write of such vngodlinesse Finde ere the lines of halfe your rules be red To write of knaues doth bring a foole to bed Know you a Swaggerer let him walke along Trouble him not in either word or deed He is not borne to put vp open wrong Where euery man may of his humour read Be silent then good Poet and take heede What euer faults you in his folly see You doe not talke of such a man as he If that a great one haue a great defect Let not your thought once touch at such a thing Vnto Superious euer haue respect A Begger must not looke vpon a King Take heede I say is a most blessed thing Least if you run to farre in such a fit A foole may happe to hang for lacke of wit Learne English Prouerbs haue them wel by heart And count them often on your fingers ends Doe not your secrets to the world impart Beware your foes doe not abuse your friends Take heed of flatterers as of hellish fiends Eate vp your meat make cleane all your platters And meddle not with any princes matters Reade what is written on the painted cloth Doe no man wrong be good vnto the poore Beware the Mouse the Maggot and the Moth And euer haue an eye vnto the doore Trust not a foole a villaine not a whore Goe neat not gaie and spend but as you spare And turne the Colte to pasture with the Mare Be not a churle nor yet exceed in cheere Hold fast thine owne pay truely what thou owest Sell not too cheape and doe not buy to deare Tell but to few what secret ere thou knowest And take good heed to whom what thou shewest Loue God thy self thy wife thy childrē friend Neighbour and seruant and so make an end Beleeue no newes till they be nine dayes old Nor thē too much although the print approue thē Mistake not drosse for perfect Indian gold Nor make friends gods but as you finde them loue them And as you know them keepe thē or remooue thē Beware of beauty and affect no slutte And ware the wonne before ye cracke the nut Be neither proude nor enuious nor vnchaste Least al too late repentance ouer-take you And take good heede howe you your wealth doe waste Least fooles doe scoffe you your friends forsake you And thē the begger by the shulders shake you Giue vnto all that aske not askers all And take heed how you clime for fear you fall Doe well be true backe-bite no man be iust The Ducke the Drake the Owle do teach you so Speake what you thinke but no more then you must Least vnawares you make your friend your fo Be warie sayes the Crane bee wise the Crowe Be gentle humble courteous meeke milde And you shall be your mothers blessed childe Be loyall sayes the Lyon for your life Be firme and constant sayes the Elephant The Doue bids you be louing to your wife Be carefull sayes
the Partridge painefull the Ant Take heede sayes Rainarde of the Sycophant Be wakefull sayes the Cocke Witty the Conny And sayes the Dog looke well vnto your mome Haue all the weeke a penne behinde your eare And weare your sword on Sundayes t is enough Be not too venturous not too full of feare Nor stand too much vpon a double ruffe Eor feare a falling band giue you the cuffe Know well your horse before you fall to ride And bid God blesse the Bride-groom his Bride Be merry sayes the Cuckow lusty the Frog Nimble the Snaile the Mag-pye prouident Be thrifty sayes the Buzzard cleanly the Hogge Honest the Bull the Pigeon resident The Popingeaie doth bid you to be silent Be valiant sayes the Horse simple the Asse A better Dictionary neuer was Be gracious sayes the Kite gentle the waspe Be liberall the Moile sober the Hare Swift sayes the Tortoise vertuous the Ape Pittifull the Woolfe mannerly the Mare Thankefull the Eagle bountifull the Stare Trusty the Iack-daw faithfull sayes the Hearne What better lessons then the Birdes doe learne No further runne then you may turne againe And let not will be guider of your wit What needes a plaister where there is no paine Physicke is onely for the crazed fit Who is in health hath not to doe with it Take heede of lying lippes a swearing tongue For they are odious both in old and young Hast thou a wit and knowest thou canst do wel Vse it vnto some worke of worth in deede For t is no wit to teach a foole to spell Nothing but foole when he is learn'd to reed Better to teach him Christs crosse be his speed And how the holy Ghost may better guide him Then with conceites of iests for to deride him It is a course of little charitie To find out faults and fall vpon them so And t is a wit of singularitie That perfect wisedom doth but little show Which thinks it giues the foole the ouer-throw And might haue bene farre better exercised Then in the folly that it hath suprized T is womens iest to wrangle for a word And what thinke women then of wrangling men Let such fond quarrels be put vnder boord As doe but spring out of an idle penne Oh trouble not the fowle within the fenne The fame of learning neuer was worse grac't Then where one foole an other hath defac't But art thou learned looke into thy booke And thou shalt find thy fancy is abus'd Which hath thy hope of happy prayse mistooke And done a fault that cannot be excus'd For Wisedome neuer such an humour vs'd To shoote at shame the aime was to farre off To beat downe sinne to ierke it with a scoffe Hawkes hoods bels are not for Scholers study They haue no argument for wo ho ho Their spirits should not think on things so muddy Where Duckes lie dibbling in the lakes below But on the grounds where sweeter graces grow And though a fault be scused with a iest A iest is but a folly at the best Let all good Scbollers winde their wits away From such ill following of their idle wils Least when they see their faults another day They doe repent them of their little skils Where lacke of Grace a wittie spirit spils For drinke is poison that is drunke in quaffing And wit but folly that sets fooles a laughing Beleeue me t is a kind of sport to some That loue no wit because of ignorance When waries begin to strike a wodden drum When vertuous spirits fall at variance About the treading of a Moris-dance But what more spight can be to a good wit Then see a foole to stand and laugh at it But who will laugh so quickly as the foole Although he know not well at what indeede But who hath liu'd in any learned Schoole Would leaue a line for any asse to reede Except alas he were constrain'd for neede As many are God knowes the more the pitty That were they wealthy would be far more witty Sigh then for such to see their sory cases That must such treasure for such trash go sell And doe not fall to grieue them with disgraces That in their sowles doe so with sorrow dwell As in their hearts is more than halfe a hell To beat their braines but for a little gaines And or be curst or scoft at for their paines But if there be some nimble witted Sir That loues to play with euery one he sees And hath a sport to make a stinking stir With buzzing verses like to Humble Bees I wish such pride were plucked on his knees To make him know t were better to be quiet Then with his wits to runne so farre at riot But for my selfe I know not any such Because perhaps I haue not read their writings Or els I doubt they are too deepe a tuch For the short reach of my poore thoughts inditings That could not roue at their conceipts delightings How ere it be I know I doe not know them And therefore care not who do ouerthrow them But for my selfe what euer I haue writ And for poore Mad-cap I dare sweare as much In all the compasse of a little wit It meant no one particular to touch But for one should not at another grutch As the clouds thickend and the raine did fall He cast his Cap at sinne in generall Indeed t is true he cast his Cap at sinne And would to God that all the world did so Then doe I hope our spirits should begin Our wit and senses better to bestow Then one to seeke another ouer-throw But pardon him for what is past before And he hath done for capping any more And for my selfe good brother by your leaue I will not now dispute an Argument Of what I would nor what I could conceiue Nor what may be discretions detriment In shewing of a wittie excrement But I will wish all Scholers should be friends And Poets not to brawle for puddings ends I am not worthy to be heard to speake Emong the wise what they should haue to doe But if there liue a wit that be too weake Aduised care to bring his will vnto Oh with good words let me his spirit wooe That he will now but onely studie pro Let nos be nobis and the contra goe So shall our Muses sweetest musique make When gratious spirits doe agree in one And euery foole may not example take At our vnnaturall dissention Let euery Asse goe by himselfe alone And let vs seeme as though we knewe them not Since no more good is by them to be got Tell not a Souldier of his bloodie sword Not yet the Sailer of his life at sea Nor tell the Courtier of his knife aboord Nor tel the Lawier of his gaineful plea Nor tell the louer of his little flea Let them alone and trouble none of them A secret hum is better then a hem If you will needes be merry with your wits Take heede of names and figuring of natures
And tell how neere the goose the gander sits Of Hob and Sib and of such silly creatures Of Croydon sanguine and of home made features But skorne them not for they are honest people Although perhaps theyneuer saw Paules steeple But if you could you should doe better much To bend your studie to a better end And neither one nor other seeme to tuch But in such sorte as may beseeme a friend And doe no more your spirits idly spend Withierking biting skoffing and such humors As fill the world too full of wicked rumors Bring in no Verses for Authorities As in presenti and leaue out the R T is fit for Babes in their minorities Emong their formes to fall at such a iarre Necke verses are for theeues but at the Barre God blesse vs man from euer comming there A gulitie heart can scarcely reade for feare Bacchus and Ceres were the Gods below And there shall be and neuer come aboue And Claret wine will quicken wit I trowe By the Redde Crosse I sweare it is to proue But what should Scholers wine and sugar moue To bring in so Appollo and virorum When wise men smile at horum harum horum But pardon me if that I speake false Latine For lacke of learning I no scholer am My masters gowne deserues no face of Satine I neuer to degree of Master came But where smal learning might attaine the same And for a verse in Latine let me see Alas they haue too many feete for mee But let me loue that language yet of olde For Ergos sake that many a time deluded My troobled harte that knewe not what to holde Should be vpon the consequence concluded While many a Placet for his place entruded Vntill the Bell bad breake vp schoole and then Sufficient made a world of propre men And I among them not the least contented To see both Maior and the Minor cease Full many a time my hastie will repented When I haue wisht a Placet hold his peace Whose Sophystrie would so my feare increase That to be short my learning was so little As I may write my Title in a tittle Looke not therefore for arguments of Arte But from the painted cloth vpon the wall What I haue learn'd I kindely doe imparte Hoping to purchase no ill will at all Because so rudely to my worke I fall Such weakenesse my poore wits are come vnto That beasts birds must teach me what to do My Librarie is but experience The Authors Men that in my notes I finde My notes the natures of such difference As may descry each other in their kinde Where if my wit and senses be not blinde I doe perceiue in too much ill desarte Pride in a Scholer makes a foole by Arte. Blame me not then if that I iudge amisse The Sunne and Moone are my Astronomie When you beholde where all my cunning is Charge not simplicitie with villany It were enough to breede an Agony In many a man but truely not in me That make no care what ere your censure be If it be good I thanke you for good will If contrarie so contrarie come to you If it be well I can not take it ill If otherwise the like good may it doe you If kindely then as kindly let me wooe you To leaue such ierkings least they smart too sore Loue me as I doe you I aske no more But yet me thinkes I see you smile at mee As though my Rules were scarcely worth the reading And that a silly painted cloath should be The Librarie of all my learnings breeding And that my wits had need of too much weeding Oh what a burthen must my patience cary The Alehouse is the Asses Dictionary But for the Alehouse and the Painted Cloth If ought I finde there that be worth the noting Laying aside the filthy dronken froth What good I see I will not skippe the coating A good Redde Herring may be worth the bloting Better a good wit in an Alehouse sit Then finde an Alehouse in an idle wit So much in honour of my homely booke Wherein the Birds and beasts so wisely speake And so much for the notes from them I tooke To helpe such wits as will hath made too weake Into the bounds of blessed thoughts to breake Now for the natures of those notes you see What cause you haue to thinke amisse of me I will not meddle with Quae Maribus The Propria will trouble me too much Nor yet Qui mihi Discipulus Except I knew my mastership were such As somewhat might a gratious Scholer tuch No I will let the Latine lines alone And speake a few more English and be gone Let all good wits if any good there be Leaue trussing and vntrussing of their points And heare thus much although not learne of me The spirits that the Oyle of Grace annoyntes Will keepe their senses in those sacred ioynts That each true-learned Christian-harted brother Will be vnwilling to offend another And so would I for if in truthe I knewe Although it were full much against my will I should offend but any one of you That might conceiue iust cause to wish me ill I would throwe downe my Inke break my quill Ere I would write one word to such an ende As might but gaine a foe or lose a friende In kindenesse then let me entreate you this If that your leasure serue you looke it ouer And what you finde that you may take amisse Let my confession of small learning couer Let euery Poet be each others louer Let vs note follies and be warned by them But not in writing to the world descry them It is a plot among pernicious braines To breede a brawle twixt better natur'd wits By soothing sinne with humour of disdaines Vntill they fall into some raging fits Wherein the fruite but of Repentance sits But let them listen to those tongues that list Let vs not labour for a Had I wist For some will say that Arte is ill bestow'd On him that knowes not how to vse it well And he sometime may finde his wits beshrow'd That reades his lesson ere he learne to spell Marke but the truthe the painted cloath doth tell Who laies to much vpon his wits at once May happe to prooue an Ideot for the nonce Sound a mans minde before you shew his meaning For feare repentance come an houre too late Barre nor the beggers from their merry gleaning Except the Land-lord bid you keepe the gate And where you may haue loue hunt not for hate Let Poets drinke of Helicons faire fountaine But bring no Mice out of a swelling mountaine Let Noddies go to cuffes for bloudie noses Let vs but laugh to see their lack of reason Leaue them their weedes and let vs gather Roses And reap our wheat while they do pick on peason Let vs hate lies ingratitude and treason And with our friends in fond conceipts to striue And we shall be the blessed'st men aliue If that a minde be