Pleasant dialogues and dramma's, selected out of Lucian, Erasmus, Textor, Ovid, &c. With sundry emblems extracted from the most elegant Iacobus Catsius. As also certaine elegies, epitaphs, and epithalamions or nuptiall songs; anagrams and acrosticks; with divers speeches (upon severall occasions) spoken to their most excellent Majesties, King Charles, and Queene Mary. With other fancies translated from Beza, Bucanan, and sundry Italian poets. By Thomas Heywood

Epig. ex THEOD. BEZA.

1. To his Library having beene sometime absent thence.

Salvete incolumes mei Libelli, Meae deliciae, mei lepores, &c.

HAyle to my bookes safe and in sight. You, all my mirth; my choice delight. My Cicero and Plinies both, All haile to you; whom I was loath To leave one minut: Cato, Columel, My Varro, Livy, all are well. Hayle to my Plautus, Terence too, And Ovid say, how dost thou doe? My Fabius, my Propertius, And those not least belov'd of us, Greeke Authors, exquisite all o're, And whom I should have nam'd before, Because of their Cothurnat straine, And Homer then, whom not in vaine, The people stil'd great: next I see My Aristotle, hayle to thee Plato, Tymaus, and the rest Of you who cannot be exprest In a phaleucik number; all, Hayle to my Bookes in generall Againe, and thrice, againe all hayle,

And may my prayer thus far prevaile, O you my best lov'd bookes I pray, (For I have beene sixe dayes away) My absence yee will not distaste, But with this love I left you last You will receive me, which I vow, Was fervent and sincere to you, And if you grant this small request, I further unto you protest, Henceforth from you Ile be away No weeke, no weeke said I? no day, No day? no houre shall loose my care, No minutes space that I can spare.

2. Of Erasmus, pictured but from the girdle upwards.

Ingens ingentem, quem personat orbis, Erasmum, Haec tibi dimidium picta tabella refert, &c.

This painted table to thy view, But halfe Erasmus lends. Of great Erasmus, whose loud fame Through the great world extends, But why not his whole portraiture? Cease Reader to complaine, He was so great that the vast earth His fame cannot containe.

3. Of Lucrece.

Si fuit ille tibi Lucretia, gratus adulter, Immerito merita praemia morte petis, &c.

If to thy bed the adulterer welcome came, O Lucrece, then thy death deserves no fame. If force were offred, give true reason why, Being cleare thyselfe thou for his fault wouldst dye? Therefore in vaine thou seekst thy fame to cherish, Since mad thou fal'st, or for thy sinne dost perish.

4. Vpon the Venetian History written by Petrus Bembus.

Clarae urbi Venetum, Debes natalia Bembe, vrbs eadem clara est munere Bembe tuo.

O Bembus Venice in thy birth is fam'd, And in thy worth the Cities worth proclaim'd, Thou happy in that Citty, and agen, It happy to have thee a Citizen; Yet thou O Bembus by thy learned booke, Gav'st back more to it, than from it thou tooke. What thou receiv'st, was mortall, and must dy; What thou returnst, shall live eternally.

5. Of Helionora the French Queene.

Nil Helena vidit Phoebus formosius una, Te regina nihil pulchrius orbis habet.

Then Hellen Phoebus could no rarer view, Nor all the world a fairer yeeld than you. Both beautifull! yet you in this excell; She brocht dissention, discord you expell.

6. Of Iohannes Secundus an excellent Poet of the Hage in Holland.

Excelsum seu condis opus magnique Maronis, luminibus offerre studes, &c.

If an high worke thou undertak'st; to rise In Virgils straine, and looke out with his eyes; Or if light Elegies art pleas'd to sing, Such as from Ovids veyne were knowne to spring; If to the ly'r of Pindarus thou fit Thy various notes, to make him blush at it; If thou make Belbulus his browes contort, To see how he in Epigrams can sport; These foure thou shalt excell: even thou alone Secundus, who art second unto none.

7. Against Philenus who carpt at Erasmus.

Erasmus ille, quo fatentur plurimi, Nihil fuisse nec futurum doctius, &c.

Erasmus whom as many say,

None shall or hath beene to this day More learned: yet to thee thou gull, Most stupid he appeares and dull, And what aspersions thou canst frame To calumnise his noble name, By thee or others are collected, In hope to make him disrespected. Barke still Philenus with the rest, Since 'tis apparant to the best, That learn'd Erasmus much more knew, Than is unknowne to all of you.

8. To Lodovick Masurus of his verses made of the fall of Babylon.

Dum Masuri rudiore tonas Babylona ruentem, Cantata est quanta Troja nec ipsa tuba, &c.

Whilst Masurus thou with a lowder tongue Soundst Babels fall, then ever Troyes was song, Thou hast given cause Homer should thee envie, Or Maro (greater) that thou writ'st so hye, Yet Masurus one error may be found In thy brave worke for all its stentors sound, That in so great a verse thy fame pursuing Thou buildst for ever what thou striv'st to ruin.

9. Vpon three the most excellent Divines of France then living.

Gallica mirata est Calvinum ecclesia nuper quo nemo docuit doctius, &c.

The Church of France, late Calvin did admire, Then whom no one more learn'd could teach. Turellus, who to thunder did aspire, Then whom none could more strongly preach. The Honey tongud Viretus, He who still Nothing save sweetnes doth deliver. France, thou by these maist sav'd be if thou will, Or else be lost for ever.

10. A comparison betwixt Poets and Monkes.

Accipe Francisco cur componamus Homerum, Et Monachos, credo vatibus esse pares, &c.

Receive, why the Franciscan I compare To Homer: and thinke Monkes and Poets are Both like. Francis (we read of old) was blind, And so was Homer, as we written find; He of his eyes, the other in his mind. A begger Francis was, Homer was poore, And both sung Hymnes at every rich mans dore. The vast world both their rapsodies admires, From the one's Poets, from the others Friers. Poets at first in remote woods did dwell, The Monkes at first chus'd out the Cave and Cell. The Woods forsooke, the Monkes themselves betake Vnto the Townes, and Poets then forsake The Groves to live in Cities: Night and day The Poet sings, and so the Monke doth bray, And in their musick both alike delight. The Muse the wanton Poet doth accite, To have his Cinthia, and the shaven Frier Not one alone, but many doth desire. With water if the Poet chance to meet In stead of Wine, his verse comes off unsweet. And if unto the Monke you water bring When he would drinke, he will but sadly sing. The Poet when his Harpe's about him tyde, His pleasant notes most sweetly will divide: And so the Monke too will sound nothing dull, When as the Flagon at his girdle's full. Th' one in an Atheists fury doth exclaime, Th' other an Enthean rapture doth inflame, And still the Thvrsian favor he doth weare, As th' other crosses doth about him beare. The victor Poets Mirtles and Bayes renowne, And the Monkes honour is his shaven crowne.