Epigrams of all sorts, made at divers times on several occasions by Richard Flecknoe.

EPIGRAMS Of all sorts, Made at divers times, On several occasions.

Of EPIGRMS in general.

WHat Airs in point of Musick are, the same, In point of writing is your Epigram, Short, quick and sprightly; and both these and those When th' Ear expects it, comes unto a close. 'Tis but few lines, but those like Gold well try'd Out of the dross of many lines beside; And says not much, but all it says is good, And plain and easie to be understood.

In every kinde, be th' Writing what it will, 'Tis that most takes, and most delights you still; And does to th' rest, no less Adornment bring Then does the Stone or Iewel to the Ring. Poets can't write, nor Orators declame, But all their wit is chiefly Epigram: And both in Verse and Prose, and every thing Your Epigram is writing for a King.

Of the difficulty of making them now-a-days.

NOr is't so easie making of them, as It was of old, in our Fore-fathers days: When even the very sound of words alone, Or out-side of them us'd to pass for one. And when they heard a Clench, or Quibble spoak, They'd claw you for't, as if some Jest were broak. But now th'ar grown more curious and nice, And what was Vertue then, is counted Vice. Clenches and Quibbles now are out of date, Which they no less then Bilke and Nonsence hate: And when they hear but any of them sed, The Wits are ready strait to break your head. So goes the World, nor must we think it strange The Mode together with the Times shud change. 'Tis so, we see, in fashion of our Cloaths, And why not of our Wits as well as those?

Of several sorts of Wits.

WIts like Hawks ar for the sport; Some ar long-wing'd, some ar short: The first do fly so high a flight, They often soar quite out of sight. The second far the fitter for you, Keep them close unto the Quarry: Nor too low, nor yet too high, Of this latter sort am I.

To the Duke of MONMOUTH, On his going into France, Anno 68.

WE to the French as much in Court did yeild, As they to us did formerly i'th' Field, Till Monmouth went, and overcame them more I'th' Court than ere we did i'th' Field before. How fatal to the French is Monmouths name! They shud be twice thus Conquer'd by the same: By Valour first in War, and now no less A second Time, by Gallantry in Peace!

To the Dutchess of MONMOUTH.

Madam,

YOu being all Admirable as you are, No wonder yet I never could declare,

But by an Aspiration or two, The admiration which I had for you! Nor is 't a thing I 've rane up of report, But travelling your whole Sex over for't, I must conclude, where ever I have been, You are the worthiest yet I 've ever seen: Else 'twere my Ignorance, not your praise, had I Not first of all made full discovery: " For who know nothing, admire all they view; Who all things know, nothing admire but you. Nor can there any so injurious be Unto your worth, to think this Flattery: " 'Tis flattry to praise vice, but when we praise " Vertue, 'tis obligation each one has; And they shud rather be thought envious, who Don't praise you for't, then flatterers who do.

To a certain Great Lady, Who commanded him to wait on her; And when he came, he was made to wait for her.

Madam,

YOu did command that I shud wait on you, And that there's none more willingly shud do: But to wait for you in your outward Rooms, Among your Tradesmen, Servingmen & Grooms.

That is a thing I never yet could do, Nor ever was accustomed unto. Bid me to go, I 'll run; to run, I 'll flee; But stand and wait's impossible for me. All that is possible to be done, I 'll do; I can wait on you, but can't wait for you.

On the death of the Duke of GLOCESTER.

HIgh-born and Great, as any Prince on earth, With Minde more Great and High then was his Birth: Wise 'bove his years, Valiant above a man, Whence you perceive how early he began; Whose life was onely an Epitome, Where you in brief all gallantry might see; And active fire, like lightning did appear, That even is gone ere you can say 'tis here. One who had all those brave and noble parts, Which most gain love, & most do conquer hearts: Whence no Prince yet had ever more that griev'd When he was dead, or lov'd him when he liv'd. Who's now so dull, when this they hear but sed, That does not know the Duke of Glocester's dead? The gallantst person Nature ever made, And hopefulst Prince as ever England had. Let all admire this world now, learn by this, What all their worldly hopes and Greatness is.

On the death of the Lady Jean Cheynée.

THe softest Temper, and the mildest Breast Most apt to pardon, needing pardon least; Whose blush was all her Reprehension, Whilst none ere heard her chide, nor saw her frown: All sweetness, gentleness, and dovlike all, Without least anger, bitterness or gall; Who scarce had any passion of her own, But was for others all compassion: A Saint she liv'd, and like a Saint she dy'd, And now is gone where onely Saints abide. What will she be when she's with Angels, when She even was one whilst here she was with men? What will she be in heaven when she comes there, Whose life and manners were so heavenly here? Make much of her you Saints, for God knows when Your Quires will ever have her like agen.

The Pourtract.

SUch a Stature as they call Nor too Low, nor yet too Tall; With each part from head to foot Justly answerable to 't:

Such a Beauty, such a Face Adds to all the rest a Grace; In whose Circle does appear Thousand Cupids sporting there. Hair so black, and Skin so white, Never was a fairer sight. And her fairer yet to make, Eyes and Eye-brows too as black. Forehead smoother then the Glass In the which she sees her Face. Cheeks, where naturally grows The Lillies and the blushing Rose. Nose 'bove all so gently rises, Nothing more the sight surprizes. Lipps, all other Lipps excelling, Th' ar so ruddy and so swelling. Mouth and pretty dimpled Chin, With such pearly Teeth within, No Indian Shell did ere inclose More Oriental ones than those. Voyce that charms you 'tis so sweet, Made more charming by her Wit: And you'd think in every smile All the Graces dwelt the while. If any'd know who this may be, Name but Bellasis, it is she.

STANCES Envoyez par le Sieur de Scudery A l' Altezze de Madame la Duchess de Lorrein Avec son Grand Cyrus.

§.

CYrus passa tous les vainqueurs Ilfut l' Example des Grands Princes; Mais vous surmontez plus des Coeurs Qu'il ne surmonta des provinces.

§.

O mervileuse nouveauté O rare pouvoir de vos Charmes De faire plus par la Beauté Qu'un Heros ne fit par ses Armes.

§.

Vous voyant vaincre en un moment Le Brave qui vainquit l' Asie Chacun a de l' estonement Mandane a de la Ialousie.

§.

En fin le plus grand des Guerriers Va mettre a vos pieds sa Couronne Heureux si parmy ses Lauriers Vous prennez son Coeur qu'il vous donne.

STANCES Sent to her Highness the Dutchess of Lorrein, By the Sieur de Scudery, Together with his Grand Cyrus.

§.

CYrus a mighty Conqueror was, To whom for valour none but yeilds: But yours, his Conquests far surpass, Who win more hearts then he did fields.

§.

O strange to admiration! O wondrous power of your Charms! Your Beauty shud do more alon, Then coud a Heroe by his Arms.

§.

To see you overcome so soon Him, who all Asia overcame; Gives wonder unto every one! And jelousie unto Mandane.

§.

In fine, the best of Warriers layes His Crown down at your feet, and shall Count it his happiness, if with's bayes You but accept his heart and all.

On her Death.

WHen this fair soul in mortal flesh did live, It had some Angel been you would be∣lieve; Thorough her bright Exterior there did shine So much from her Interior of Divine. And if her Vertuous Actions you had seen, You would have thought she Vertu's self had been: Which could it but be seen by mortal Eyes, All hearts with admiration would surprize. And now all that could dye of her is dead, And that that's living unto Heaven is fled, As when some Lamp untimely does expire, The flame mounts up to th' Element of Fire. This Epitaph in memory of her, Let's onely write upon her Sepulcher.

She who alive all Vertue and Beauty was, T' on in her Breast, and tother in her Face, Now she is dead, just Reason w'ave to fear All Vertue and Beauty too ar dead with her: Whilst all the joy we had, or ere shall have, Now she is dead, lyes buried in her Grave.

To her Noble Sister, Madamoiselle de BEAUVAIS, Now Princess of Aremberg.

ALl the Lay thoughts, Madam, I ever had Of your fair Sex, ar now Religious made, Admiring you, and I'm become by it, Your Sexes Votary, and your Convertit. For just unto the Chamber all do come As to some Temple, and from thence go home; The bad converted, and the good far more Confirm'd in Goodness, then they were before: Whilst with your sight, not onely you restrain All vitious speech, but even all light and vain: And none to utter there, permission has, Or words of double sence, or doubtful phrase. Yet Vertue that's in others so severe, It from their conversation does deter, In you is so attractive and so gay, None from your presence ere went sad away. But stay my Muse, for if thou forwards tend, Thou mayst begin, but never make an end, Of such as hers, whose praise is infinite, The more you say, the less you say of it. There is an Artful silence, as there was An Artful vailing Great Atrides face:

'Tis praise enough to say that she can ne'r Be prais'd enough, and say no more of her.

Of VVelbeck, The Duke of Newcastles House, Where he entertain'd The last King so magnificently, Anno 33.

WElbeck, a Royal place where every thing Seems made for entertainment of a King, And every one confesses that he ne'er Was entertain'd more royally then there. Let others wonder at thy Lords expence, And at the vastness of 's Magnificence. He who would hazzard Fortune, Life and all, To serve his Master when his General; For me I ne'r shall wonder that he woud Not spare his purse, who woud not spare his bloud.

To Sir WILLIAM DEWCY On his three entertainments of The King, the Prince of Denmarck, And the Prince of Tuscany, All the last Summer, Anno 69.

DEwcy that bravely know'st to spend When 'tis for any noble End;

And never stickst at the Expence, When 'tis to shew Magnificence. For th' Royal entertainment, that Th'ast given unto thy Prince of late▪ The honour onely is thine owne But what's to other Princes done, The honour thou to them dost do, Is both thine own and Countries too; In that th'art but a privat man, In this a publick person, and Thy Country shud ungrateful be, Shud it not always honour thee, Who knowst so bravely how to spend When 'tis for any noble End; And never stickst at the expence, When 'tis to shew Magnificence.

On his House at Charlton nigh Greenwich. Where these entertainments were made.

WHilst Greenwich for its seat's commended so, Thou shalt not Charlton uncommended go▪ Although thou wantst a Barklays pen to raise Thee to the height of Fame which t' other has. Did Thames but at thy feet its Tribute pay, As 't does to theirs, thoudst be as fam'd as they. But yet it needs not, for thou hast by Land, As that by Water, full as great command;

And hast as many Naiades as they Their Hyades have, who thy commands obey. Thy Champions ar as pleasant and as green, Thou seest as much, though not so much art seen; And in thy safe retirement from the Shore, Thy Fame's the less, but happiness the more. In brief, thy Gardens, Orchards, and thy Fields Yeild not to t'others Park, whilst Greenwich yeilds As much, or more (although a Royal Seat)▪ To thee for height, as thou to it for Great.

On his Accession to the Poetical Academy in Italy, Anno 55. under the precedency of the Duke of Buckingham.

'TIs so indeed! here's a free Mart or Fayr, I now perceive, of all Poetick Ware; No Tax, Gabel, nor Imposition none On any Merchandise, but every one Brings what he please, and from the Lord o'th' place Free pasport, and safe conduct for it has: Mean time all store of rich Commodities Ar here install'd, to take the curious Eyes. Pictures o'th' minde, so drawn to th' life and like, They put down Titian, Holbeen and Vandike.

Damasks and Tissu's of Pernassus work Surpass the Chinean, Persian, and the Turk. T'ons richer vein, and sparkling Wit contends With Gold and Iewels, either India sends; T'other for soft and silken Phrase puts down The smoothest Sattin and the softest doun. Onely as I have heard objected, there's Amongst the rest great want of some small wares; Things which your simple people so admire, They scarce without them think a Fayr entire: And for such Bagatels that none may lack, I'am come to fit them with my Pedlers-pack.

To Sir K. D. made Anno 45.

WHilst with thy mighty Wit I but compare Our petty ones, methinks they Pigmies are; And thine the Hercules, with whose vast discourse Whilst we'd be medling fain, but want the force, Thy Wit comes to't, and presently with ease Takes't up as light, and weylds it as thou please. Oh how I've sometimes long'd, when I have been Where I some insolent prating Sir have seen, With Tyrant talk a wing the Company, Whilst none must speak, & none be heard but he; T'ave some such Tyrant-Conquerer as thou Enter the room, but onely to see how

My mighty Talker presently woud sneak At sight of thee, nor dare to look nor speak. So have I seen some chattering Pye or Iay, Fright with their noise the lesser Fowl away; Until by chance some Eagle comes in sight, When strait themselves are husht & put to flight.

To the Lady Gerard of Brunley, of the Education of my Lord her Son.

IF Education second Nature be, (Madam) you doubly oblige Posterity, By giving (as you do) my Lord your Son, Such brave and noble Education, As gives him double Title to the Fame Of noble Gerard, and brave Digbies name: Which you bestow, and he receives so well; Which merits greater praise, there's none can tell: But all agree, there's none can better do, A Sons than he, a Mothers part than you.

EPITAPH In memory of that ever-memorable Lady Anne Packington Lady Audley.

STay Reader, and if ever thou wo'dst hear A story worthy thy intentive ear, Know here lyes buryed in this Sepulcher

One who had all those excellent qualities Of noble, vertuous, beautiful, and wise, A mortal creature, cou'd immortalize.

Who after all degrees of Mother, Wife And Maid sh'ad past, and left them all at strife, Which state she most had honour'd in her life;

At last (a weary of this life below) She dy'd, and unto highest heaven did go, To honour there the State of Angels too.

To the Lord Henry Howard of Norfolk, Returning from his Asiatick voyage.

My Lord,

AS Merchants trade for other Riches, so You trade for Honour, wheresoe'er you go; And richly fraughted with it, always make A noble and brave return at coming back. What store then must the Howards have of't? who Have such brave Factors for't abroad, as you? And are so honoured for't at home, as they, Without offence of any, well may say, As God first made the Light, then made the Sun A great Reserve (as 'twere) for't, when h'ad don: So Kings make Honour, and the Howards are The great Reserves of't, you still finde it there.

To his Highness, COSMO Prince of Tuscany On his Travels.

COsmo a name that's all Cosmography, And Cart or Map wher all the world you see Seeing what you do, and being what you ar, You are the onely great Cosmographer. And if others like rowling Balls of Snow, Travelling about the world still greater grow: How great must you be, who were great before; And now by travelling still grow more & more?

To the same, On his coming into England.

COsmo whose thirst of seeing the world's so great, Shud the Creator more new worlds creat; Till there were Globes enow for every Ball I'th' Mediceian Arms, you'd see them all. Amongst the rest at last y'ar come to see This other world of ours, Great Brittany; And Princes like your self where ere they come, This priviledge have, th'ar every where at home. Others are Citizens of the world, but you Not onely Citizen, but Prince of't too;

Neerly by Birth and Parentage ally'd, To most o'th' Princes of the world beside.

To the Lady M. N. Or the fair Daughter of as fair a Mother.

WHat you'll be in Time we know By the Stock on which you grow, As by Roses we may see What in time the Buds will be: So in Flowers, and so in Trees, So in every thing that is; Like its like does still produce, As 'tis Natures constant use; Grow still then till you discover All the Beauties of your Mother: Nothing but fair and sweet can be From so sweet and fair a Tree.