Times curtaine dravvne, or the anatomie of vanitie VVith other choice poems, entituled; health from Helicon. By Richard Bathvvayte Oxonian.

A CONCLVSIVE EPIGRAM, ENTITVLED The Great-mans Alphabet.

Come hither Great-man that tri∣umphs to see, So many men of lower ranke to thee; That swells with honours, and e∣rects thy state, As high as if thou wer't Earths Potentate. Thou whose aspiring buildings raise thy Name, As if thou wer't Sole sonne and heyre of fame; Thou whose ambition doth on dainties feast, Ayming to be some pettie King at least; Thou whom oppression hath by wrong made great, Priding thy selfe of thy vsurped seate; Thou that doest thinke it signe of Noble bloud, Rather to ayme at great then to be good; Thou whose demerits, though thou beare a port, And canst looke big, are but of th'meanest sort. Thou whose patcht honour, take away thy land Will for an Ordinarie scarce currant stand;

Thou whose best qualities deriued be, Onely from thy command, and not from thee: Heare me (thou Worlds Atlas) and discerne What's best of honour, Greatest men may learne. I haue sought farre, and yet I cannot finde, To what set place their glorie stands confin'de: Who once were famous, and had tongues enow, To ring their Noble acts the World throw. Methinkes that Agamemnon whose renowme, Euen to the eares of sacred Powers did come, To make his fame more lasting, should not be So soone obscur'd in his posteritie; Nor that same Mirrour of the Myrmidons, Nor braue Thalestris of the Amazons; Nor Cretan Minos, Ilus, Atreus,, The Persian Cyrus, Trojane Dardanus. Yet see, where be these Heroes? Now they seeme Through tymes disgrace as if they had not beene: So short's our memorie, that if we haue Nought to preserue our honour in the graue, Saue th'tongs of men to blaze what we haue done, Scarce will our Names be heard in time to come. Yet you will say those Monuments we leaue, Will to our dying Fame true honour giue: As Marble shrines, statues of Iuory, Porphyrite Columns grauen curiously, Arches of lasting mettals, these will show What we were once: and though men would not know Our actious, yet our monuments infuse Knowledge in them, they cannot will nor chuse. Alas how weake's his fame, that do's repose His confidence in any one of those:

Soone fading is his Name, and short's his time That's shut within circumference of a shrine: Yea, frayle's his glorie fitting with his nature, Who hopes to reare his fame by such a matter. For where should we find Tombs now ouergrowne With grasse and rubbish, yea, where-fields are sowne, Vineyards are planted, as it may appeare, It is not knowne where they interred were? Some say the Caue of Minos, King of Crete, Who afterward had his Iudiciall seate In Hell, as Soueraigne vmpire, founded was On Idas Mount, where though by store of grasse And mouldred ashes, which are haled forth, By the combustiue matter of the earth: His ag'd memoriall was extinguisht clene, Yet some appearance there is to be seene, Which doth expresse that Minos Sepulcher, Vnited was with th'Tombe of Iupiter: And that faire Ida, which so fruitfull grew With euery pleasant Plant (as Poets shew) Would decke his flowry Monument with Thyme, With Bayes his Tombe, with luniper his shrine; So as no Virgin Votaresse there was, Who had that way occasion for to passe, But would (for so the Cretans did allow it) " Tender her best of adoration to it. Of such Relations we haue Subiects store, As Aiax Tombe vpon the Rhetian shore, In Oeta great Alcydes, Mytilene A place where many worthies layd haue beene, As Pythacus an auncient Sage of Grece, Alcaus, valiant Antemenydes,

Yea though a Statist subtile as a Fox, They will display thy errours with a pox; If a vaine-humorous Lording, whose creation Came vp the to-ther day along with fashion, Whose onely gracefull neate accoutrement Stands on a little broken complement; Then some will say, while ore thy graue they passe, " Here lies a Widgin-lord, a foot-cloth Asse. If an imperious Beggar that canst sute For such ones land, and put th' true owner out; Thou shalt be taxt and censur'd in thy graue, And term'd withall a base collouging slaue. If a spruce Pension-Gallant, that hast nought, (Saue a phantasticke cringe) that's worthie ought, Receiue this Brand (nor care they if thou scowle) Of a vaine-glorious, idle, formall foole. If an ambicious Greene wit, thou doe clime, Hoping to scale the seate of Ioue in time: If thou repine that any one should checke Thy soaring flight, till pride shall breake thy necke, Rest well assur'd, they will be bold to tell That Pride did Lackey thee post-hast to hell. Thus then thou seest, how great so-ere thou be, (If ill) thou subiect art to infamie; Nor can the Greatnesse of thy worth or place, Exempt thee from the censure of disgrace, For those who whilest thou liu'd durst hardly mew, (Now being dead) will giue thy crimes their due. O then let Vertue be thy monument, For it will keepe thee, when thy life is spent, In a perpetuall Memorie! for 'las What's Marble, Iron, Iuory, or Brasse

To make thee glorious in the eyes of men, Since of all those, there's scantly one 'mongst ten, Who plac't their Names in shrines, but were forgot Before the sheete they lay in was halfe rott. Yea such as these, who like the sonnes of Earth, Triumphed liuing, in their noble Birth, Boasting of their discent, yet could make knowne, Not any one good action of their owne To glory in, might well resembled be, In each respect and natiue propertie, Vnto a Lampe, which when the oyle is spent, Sends from her steeming snuffe, a noisome sent; " Liuing they shone like Lamps, at least they seem'd, (But all things are not so as they are deem'd) But dying they doe show what filthie stuffe They were made of, by sending forth their snuffe. But when true Vertue is commixt with bloud, Then Noblenesse must needes be rightly good: For bloud and vertue being ioyn'd together, Makes what agrees with one, accord with eyther. There is no Balme so precious vpon Earth, As Vertue is▪ for it preserues our worth From times mutation; no corruption can Enter the Coffin of a Vertuous man; For though the Syth of Fate haue cut him downe, Yet in his death he is farre better knowne Then in his life, because when men doe misse him, Seeing his workes they 'gin afresh to blisse him. O may thy Great-nesse (then,) who ere thou art, Be grounded first vpon a sincere heart, For that will last, when that same guilded honour Will fayle her selfe, and all that trust vpon her.

Short is our time, our sorrowes they are long, Fickle our State, our Soule-assailants strong; Weake's our defence, rude is our Discipline, Rustie our Armes, our Courage feminine: What Recluse then? Whereto may we repaire, To be secure from imminent despaire? It's not our Greatnesse, nor descent of bloud, How high so ere can doe vs any good: No; It's our goodnesse, not our greatnesse shall In that same day giue priuiledge to all, Which heauens I wish, that it might once be set On Great-mens brests, and made their Alphabet.

FINIS.