Wits recreations. Selected from the finest fancies of moderne muses
About this Item
- Title
- Wits recreations. Selected from the finest fancies of moderne muses
- Publication
- London :: Printed by R[ichard] H[odgkinson and Thomas Paine] for Humphry Blunden at the Castle in Corn-hill,
- 1640.
- Rights/Permissions
-
To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
- Subject terms
- English wit and humor -- Early works to 1800.
- Epigrams, English -- Early works to 1800.
- Epitaphs -- England -- Early works to 1800.
- Proverbs, English -- Early works to 1800.
- Link to this Item
-
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A15606.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"Wits recreations. Selected from the finest fancies of moderne muses." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A15606.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 17, 2024.
Pages
Page [unnumbered]
〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉
Page [unnumbered]
〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉
Page [unnumbered]
〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉
Page [unnumbered]
〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉
Page [unnumbered]
〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉
Page [unnumbered]
〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉
Page [unnumbered]
〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉
Page [unnumbered]
〈1 page duplicate〉〈1 page duplicate〉
Page [unnumbered]
That which exil'd my life from her sweet home,
For griefe straight froz it selfe into a tombe.
One element my angry fate thought meet
To be my death, grave, tombe, & winding-sheet,
Phaebus himselfe mine Epitaph had writ,
But blotting many e're he thought one fit;
He wrote untill my grave, and tombe were gone,
And ••twas an Epitaph that I had none;
For every one that passed by that way,
Without a sculpture read that there •• lay;
Here now the second time untomb'd I lye,
And thus much have the best of Destinie:
Corruption from which onely one was free,
Devour'd my grave but did not feede on mee:
My first grave tooke me from the ••ace of men,
My last shall give me backe to life agen.