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

EPIGRAMS. (Book 2)

The second BOOK. (Book 2)

To his Royal Highness, The Duke of York, Returning from our Naval Victory, Anno 65.

MOre famous and more great then ere Caesar or Alexander were! Who hath both done and outdone too, What those great Heroes coud not do. Till Empire of the Seas we get, No Victory can be compleat: For Land and Sea makes but one Ball; They had but half, thou hast it all. Great Prince, the glory of our days, And utmost bound of humane praise!

Increast in stile, we well may call Thee now the whole worlds Admiral, Whilst might Charles with Trident stands, And like some God the Sea commands. Having so gloriously o'ercome, What now remains but to come home, And fixed in our Brittish Spher, Shine a bright Constellation ther? More famous and more great than ere Caesar or Alexander were.

To his Highness Prince Rupert, on the same.

GReat and Heroick Prince, surpassing far Him who was stil'd the Thunder-bolt of War: The Belgick Lyon stands amaz'd to see A greater Lyon than it self in thee; And Zealand on, all trembling for fear, Half sinks into the Waves, and hides it there. Ne'er since the Grecians cal'd the world their own, Or Romans theirs, was greater valour known: And if there yet new worlds to conquer were, Brave Rupert were the fittest Conqueror. Greatest Example of Heroick worth, As ever yet this latter Age brought forth; As formerly the Land of Brittain was, So now the Sea's too narrow for thy praise,

And 'twill in time become the work alon Of extasie and admiration! Great and Heroick Prince, surpassing far! Him, who was stil'd the Thunder-boult of War!

To Sir K. D. in Italy, Anno 46. Recommending to him a certain Memorial.

I Must beg of you, Sir, nay what is more, ('Tis a disease so infectious to be poor) Must beg you'd beg for me; which whilst I do, What is't but even to make you beggar too? But poverty being as honourable now, As 'twas when Cincinnatus held the plough; Senators Sow'd and Reap'd, and who had been In Car of triumph fetcht the Harvest in: Whilst mightiest Peers do want, nay what is worse, Even greatest Princes live on others purse; And very Kings themselves are beggers made, No shame for any Sir, to be o'th' Trade.

To Sir Peter Collaton, On the discovery and Plantation of Carolina in America.

BOrn for the Countries good, and adding to't New Countries and Plantations to boot,

(Whilst others for themselves seem onely born Like Rats and Mice, and but to eat up Corn:) If others so much prais'd and honour'd are For bringing home some forrain Countries ware; Their praise compar'd to thine must needs be small, Bringst home the ware, the Country too, and all.

On Mary Dutchess of Richmond.

WHether a cheerful air does rise And eleuate her fairer Eyes; Or a pensive heaviness Her lovely Eye-lids does depress; Still the same becoming Grace Accompanies her Eyes and Face; Still you'd think that habit best, In which her countenance last was drest. Poor Beauties! whom a look or glance, Can sometimes make look fair by chance; Or curious dress, or artful care Can make seem fairer then they are: Give me the Eyes, give me the Face, To which no Art can add a Grace: Give me the looks, no garb, nor dress Can ever make more fair, or less.

On the Death Of Charles Lord Gerard of Bromley.

WHo alive so far had been, He almost every land had seen; And almost every thing did know A man could in this World below: At last his knowledge to improve, Is gone unto the World above, Where his knowledge is so much, And his happiness is such, 'Twould envie, and not sorrow seem In those too much shud grieve for him.

On George Duke of Albemarle.

IF others have their honours well deserv'd Who nobly have their King & Country serv'd: What Honour ever can be worthy you, Who have not onely serv'd, but sav'd them too?

To a Lady Too curious of her Dress,

ANd why Clarissa so much pains and care, To gain the reputation of fair!

When without all this care, and all this pain You have already what you strive to gain? Beauty and Truth need so small setting forth, As all you add to't, take but from its worth; And th' Sun and you, need far more art to hide Your brighter beams, then make them more e∣spy'd. All other Arts in you woud shew as poor As his shud go about to guild Gold o'er; And you'd appear as vain in it, as they Shud seek by Art to Blanch the Milkie-way. You're fair enough Clarissa, leave to those These petty arts, whose Beautie's onely Clothes; And who need powdering, patching, painting too, Or else they know their beauty'll hardly do. So politicks when Lyons skin does fail, Do use to pie••e it out with Foxes tail. But when th'ave Lyons skin enough, 'tis poor And beggerly to add a piece to't more.

To Mr. Edward Howard, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk.

IT is not Travel makes the man, 'tis true, Unless a man could Travel Sir like you; In putting off themselves, and putting on The best of every Country where they come:

Their Language, Fashions, Manners & their use, Purg'd of the dross, and stript of the abuse: Whilst you pyed Traveller, who nothing knows Of other Countries fashions, but their clothes; And learns their Language but as Parrots do, Onely perhaps a broken word or two; Goes and returns the same he went agen, By carrying still himself along with him.

On the Dutchess of Newcastles Closset.

WHat place is this? looks like some sacred Cell Where ancient Hermits formerly did dwell! And never ceast importunating Heaven, Till some great blessing unto Earth was given? Is this a Ladies Closset? 't cannot be, For nothing here of vanity we see, Nothing of curiosity, nor pride, As most of Ladies Clossets have beside. Scarcely a Glass, or Mirror in't you finde, Excepting Books the Mirrors of the minde. Nor is't a Library, but onely as she Makes each place where she comes a Library. Here she's in rapture, herein extasie, With studying high, and deep Philosophy: Here those cleer lights descend into her minde, Which by reflection in her Books you finde:

And those high Notions, and Idea's too, Which but her self, no Ladies ever knew. Whence she's the chiefest Ornament and Grace O'th' times, and of her Sex. Hayle sacred place, To which the world in after-times shall come As unto Homers Shrine, or Virgils Tomb; Honouring the Walls wherein she made aboad, The air she breath'd, & ground whereon she trod. So Fame rewards the Arts, and so agen The Arts reward all those who honour them; Whilst those in any other things do trust, Shall after death lye in forgotten dust.

To M^rs. STUART.

STuart a Royal name that springs From Race of Caledonian Kings; Whose vertuous minde, and beautious fame Adds honour to that Royal Name, What praises can I worthy finde, To celebrate thy form, and minde? The greatest power that is on Earth, Is given to Princes by their Birth, But there's no power in Earth nor Heaven, More great then what's to Beauty given, That makes not onely men relent, When unto rage and fury bent,

But Lyons tame, and Tygers milde, All fierceness from their breasts exil'd. Such wonders yet coud ne'er be done By Beauties force and power alone, Without the power and force to boot Of excellent goodness added to't. For just as Jewels we behold, More brightly shine when set in Gold: So Beauty shines far brighter yet, In vertue and in goodness set. Continue then but what you ar, So excellently good and fair; Let Princes by their birthrights sway, You'll have a power as great as they.

On her dancing in White-hall, All shining with Iewels.

SO Citharea in th' Olympick Hall, And th'rest o'th' Stars dance their Celestial Ball, As Stuart with the rest o'th' Nymphs does here, The brightest Glories of the Brittish Sphear; Who woud not think her heaven, to see her thus All shine with Starry sewels as she does? Or somewhat more then Heaven, to see her Eyes Out shine the starry Jewels of the Skies?

Onely her splendor's so exceeding bright, Th'excess confounds & blinds us with the sight; Just as the Sun that's bright to that degree, Nothing is more, nothing less seen then he. Mean time the rapid motion of the Sphers Is not so sweet and Ravishing as hers: Nor is't the harmony makes her dance, but she In dancing 'tis that makes the harmony. Next to divinest Cynthia Queen of light, Never was seen a Nymph so fair and bright! Nor ever shall, 'mong all her starry train, Though those in Heaven shud all come down again.

On her Marriage, With the Duke of Richmond.

THe fairest Nimph of all Diana's train, For whom so many sigh'd, & sigh'd in vain. She who so oft had others Captive made, And who so oft o'er others triumpht had, Is Venus Captive now her self, and led In triumph to the noble Richmonds bed. Nor is it strange to see about her fly As many Cupids as are Stars i'th' sky, As many Graces as are sands i'th' Sea, Nor yet as many Venus's as they: But to behold so many Vertues throng About a Nymph so beautiful and young.

Is strange indeed, and clearly shews she had Call'd all in counsel when the match was made; And Venus Urania onely 'twas who came Her self from Heaven to celebrate the same.

To LILLY, Drawing the Countess of Castlemains Picture.

STay daring man, and ne'r presume to draw Her Picture, till thou mayst such colours get As Zeuxis and Appelles never saw, Nor ere were known by any Painter yet:

Till from all Beauties thou extracts the Grace, And from the Sun the beams that guild the Skies, Never presume to draw her beautious face, Nor paint the radiant brightness of her Eyes.

In vain the whilst thou doest the labour take, Since none can set her forth to her desert: She who's above all Nature ere did make, Much more's above all can be made by Art.

Yet bee'nt discouraged, since whoe'er do see't, At least with admiration must confess, It has an air so admirably sweet, Much more then others, though then hers much less.

So those bold Gyants who would scale the Skie, Although they in their high attempt did fall, This comfort had, they mounted yet more high Then those who never strove to clime at all.

Comfort thee then, and think it no disgrace From that great height a little to decline, Since all must grant the Reason of it was Her too great Excellence, and no want of thine.

Somewhat to Mr. J. A. On his excellent Poem of Nothing.

OF Nothing, nothing's made, they say, but thou By what th'ast made disprov'st that say∣ing now, And prov'st thy self maker of Poems right, Coudst out of nothing bring such ones to light, Which I, (as Creatures him who does creat) Onely on Somewhat dully imitat: Mean time at least, say all they can agin it, I hope they needs must say there's somewhat in it: Or granting it as good as nothing be, The greater honour still, for it, and me.

To Mr. Henry Jermin, On their demanding why he had no higher Titles, &c.

STill noble, gallant, generous and brave, What more of Titles woud these people have? Or what can they imagine, more to express How great thou art, that woud not make thee less? He who is proud of other Titles, is Proud of a thing that's Fortunes, none of his; A thing that's but the Title-page o'th' Book, On which your Fools and Children onely look: Or garnishment of dishes, not to eat, But empty nothings to set off the meat. Thou enviest none their honours, but woudst be Sorry they shud deserve them more than thee: And 'twere in thee but vain ambition To seek by other Titles to be known, When Harry Iermins name alone, affords As great and lowd a sound as any Lords. Be still thy self then, and let others be High as they will in place, what's that to thee? Their worth is all without, but thine within, And man 'tis fills the place, but worth fills him. The Title of a worthy person's more Then all the Titles which your Clowns adore;

And there's no Office we may greater call, Then doing of good offices to all: This is thy Office, these thy Titles are, The rest take those that list, thou dost not care.

Of an unworthy Nobleman.

SEe you yond' thing, that looks as if he'd cry I am a Lord, a mile ere he comes nigh? And thinks to carry it, by being proud, Or looking high and big, and talking loud. But mark him well, you'll hardly finde enough, In the whole man, to make a Laquey of; And for his words, you'll scarcely pick from thence So much of man, as comes to common sence. Such things as he, have nothing else of worth, But place and title for to set them forth. Just like a Dwarf drest up in Gyants cloaths, Bigger he'd seem, the lesser still he shows; Or like small Statuas on huge Basis set, Their highth's but onely makes them less great.

Of a Worthy Noble man: Or, William Duke of Newcastle.

BUt now behold a Nobleman indeed, Such as w'admire in story when we read; Who does not proudly look that you shud doff Your hat, and make a reverence twelvescore of: Nor takes exceptions, if at every word You call him not his Grace, or else my Lord? But does appear a hundred times more great By his neglect of't, than by keeping state. He knows Civility and Curtesie, Are chiefest signes of true Nobility; And that which gains them truest honourers, Is their own Vertues, not their Ancesters. By which through all degrees that he has past, Of Vicount, Earl, Marquiss, and Duke at last, H'as always gain'd the general esteem Of honouring those, more than they honour'd him.

On the Lady Rockingham's Nursing her Children her self.

HOw like to Charity this Lady stands, With one Child sucking, t'other in her hands:

Whilst bounteous Nature, Mother of us all, Of her fair Breasts is not more Liberal! Those Ladies but half-Mothers are at best, Who give their Womb, whilst they deny their Breast; And none deserve that name, but such as you, Who bring their Children forth, & nurse them too. Mirror of Mothers! in whom all may see By what you are, what others ought to be, Ready like Pelicans for their young ones good, To give their very lives and vital bloud. For so, if milk be bloud, but cloath'd in white, You shew your self great Straffords daughter right Equally ready both forth' publick good, You for to give your milk, and he his bloud

To her Noble Sister, The Lady Arabella Wentworth.

TO your fair Sex, y'are best Example still, Of following good, and of declining ill: Who full as pure, and as umblemish go In this foul Worlk, as Ermins on the Snow; By never stirring foot upon the way, Without first asking what will people say? Teaching th' unwary, if they walk not clean, The fault's not in the World so much as them:

By which besides, that rare receipt y'ave got, To silence Rumour, and stop Slanders Throat. Whence you, and your Illustrious Sister are Each in their several kinds without compare; You for a matchless Virgin, she a Wife; The great examples of a vertuous life.

In one who slandred a fair and vertuous Lady.

THou enemy of all that's fair and bright, As Fowls of darkness are unto the light. Monster of Monsters! Basilisk of spight! That killst with Tongue, as t'other does with sight. Slanderer of Ladies, and of them the best, Th'ast done an act, which all men must detest! Beauty's a thing Divine, and he that woud Wrong that, woud wrong Divinity if he coud: Who takes my purse, does but as Robbers do; Who takes my Fame, robs me, and kills me too: And with his venumous Tongue, and poysonous breath, Woud if he coud, even kill us after death. But I mistake, it is no infamy, To be calumniated by such as thee: Thou rather praisest us against thy will, Like him who cur'd by chance, whom he woud kill.

" For 'tis the same thing (rightly understood) " To be disprais'd by th' bad, as prais'd by th' good.

To a Lady Too confident of her Innocence.

MAdam, that you are Innocent I know, But th' world wants innocence to think you so; That's all so vitious grown, it won't allow, That any can be fair and vertuous now. In Saturns days, perhaps it might fuffice, When to be innocent, was to be wise: But now without the Serpents wisdom too, The Innocence of the Dove will hardly do: Go get you some more powerful defence, For Vertue then, besides your Innocence: " For Innocence, but Vertue is unarm'd, " The more you trust unto't, the more y'ar harm'd.

The Ladies name in Enigma.

HEr first name somewhat of Elizium ha••, Her second is in a more mistick phrase; That colour which shews venerable age, And does i'th' morning a fair day presage: Unriddle now, and tell whose name this is, O•• forfeit a discretion if you miss.

To Mr. Bernard Howard, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk.

I Grant you Sir, I have a minde unfit For my low fortune, much too high for it: But sure you'll grant 'tis better have it so, Than for high fortune, t'have a minde too low; By that, a man is elevated to An Angels height, attain'd by onely few: By this the Noble Soul is even deprest Unto the Vulgar, almost to the Beast. I'm none of these same cringing things that stoops, Just like a Tumbler when he vaults through hoops, Or Daw or Magpy, when at first it pecks, Alternately their tails above their becks. I care not for high place, nor can I raise My self unto••t by base unworthy ways; And if wealth in as base unworthy lye, For me, let low minds stoop for't, mine's too high. Nor care I what the ignorant vulgar say, For being not of their number, nor their way: They do but talk, and can't in judgement sit, Nor lyes it in their verge to judge of it. I put my self upon the onely few, That is, the best and worthiest, such as you.

Of a happy life.

WHo e'er woud live a happy life indeed, And wholly be from care & trouble freed, Must first stand well with God, & then with Man, Must have as little buceness as he can; Must care for nothing, that he cannot have, And nothing others can deprive him of. And above all must fly ambition, To be to great Men, or to Princes known. For who lives so, no Princes smile nor frown, Can either raise him up, or cast him down; And neither hopes to rise, nor fears to fall, Does live the best and happiest life of all.

Of Clorinda's Excellence.

AS when the Sun appears, the Birds of night Make haste away, and all are put to flight: So when the bright Clorinda does appear, All wanton Lovers fly the sight of her: To whom, to talk of Love were high offence, Who's so wrapt up in every Excellence, As i'th' unfoulding of them one by one, You never shud to onely Women come.

Love is for meaner Beauties, such as theirs, In whom there nothing else but Sex appears: But as for her, who ever dares aspire Farther, then for to reverence and admire, Ixions fate to such shud be allow'd, Who steed of Iuno, but imbrac'd a cloud; And thy in Justice, onely shud invent, To punish them, Ixions punishment.

On the equal mixture of blood and water, After letting bloud of Madamoiselle de Beauvais.

Qust.OF this just mixture and equalitie, Of water & blood, what shud the rea∣son be?

Ans. The Reason's clear, forced to part with her, Each drop of bloud for grief did shed a tear.

On Cicilannas blushing When the King beheld her.

SO Roses blush, when lookt on by the Sun, As she, when by the King she's lookt upon; And so of all fair things we nothing see, More fair in Nature, than the Sun and She.

If things take name from their Original, We well her blushes, Royal ones may call; And if w'ave lost the Royal purple's stain, It in her Cheeks may well be found again. So, as 'tis signe the Sun is drawing near, When fair Aurora blushing does appear: To see her blushing when she sees him come, You'd say she were Aurora, he the Sun.

In small-Beer.

NOw pox & plague to boot on this same small- Beer, we may well the Divels Iulip call: Distill'd from Lembeck of some Lapland witch, With Northwinds- bellows blowing in her breech; Or stale of some cold Hag o'th' Marshes, who Than water never better Liquor knew: A penitential drink for none by right, But those i'th' morning, who were drunk o'er night: Sure 'twas the poyson (as the Learned think) They gave condemned Socrates to drink: Or that, the Macedonian drank, so cold, As nothing but an Asses houff coud hold. They were deceiv'd, it was not Niobes moan, But drinking small-Beer, turnd her unto stone. And 'tis that infallibly which now has made All Charity so cold, and th' World so bad.

If then Divines woud mend it, let them preach 'Gainst small-Beer onely, and no Doctrine teach; But drinking wine, and then you soon shud see, All in Religion easily woud agree. This were a Doctrine worthy of their heat And furious beating th' Pulpit till they swear.

In the Small-pox.

THou greatest enemy that Beauty has! The very Goth and Vandal of a face; On which thou mak'st as foul or fouler work, Than does thy cousen Meezles upon Pork. One of those Devils, which by power Divine, Cast out of man once, went to th'heard of Swine, And giving them the Pox, art come agen To play the Devil, as thou didst with men? To bid a Plague upon thee now, that curse Thou anticipates already, for th'art worse, Or great Pox on thee, we shud curse but ill, For thou'rt more great, in being the small-Pox still. But get thee gone, and soon too, or I know A way I'm sure will quickly make thee go; But send for Doctor—and you'll see We with a vengeance shall be rid of thee.

To Mis Davies, On her excellent dancing.

Dear Mis,

WHo woud not think to see thee dance so light, Thou wer't all air, or else all soul and spirit? Or who'd not say, to see thee onely tred, Thy feet were Feathers, others feet but lead? Athlanta well coud run, and Hermes flee, But none ere mov'd more gracefully than thee: And Cicres charm'd with wand, & Magick Lore, But none like thee ere charm'd with feet before. Thou Miracle! whom all men must admire To see thee move like air, and mount like fire! Those who woud follow thee, or come but nigh To thy perfection, must not dance, but fly.

The Patrons Lives, To the Lord of, &c.

MY Lord, if you'll attention give, I'll tell you how the Patrons live: First of all, they neither care, Nor for Clock, nor Calender.

Next they ne'r desire to know, How affairs o'th' world do go. Above all they ne'r resort To the busie Hall nor Court: Where most men do nothing else But trouble others, and themselves. All the business they look after, Onely is their sport and laughter, With a friend, and cheerful cup, Merily to dine and sup Hear good Musick, see a Play; Thus they pass the time away: And if you like our living thus, Come my Lord and live with us.

On a Hector, Beaten and draged away by the Constable.

STill to be drag'd! still to beaten thus! Hector I fear thy name is ominous; And thou for fighting didst but ill provide, To take thy name thus from the beaten side: To have Watchmen still like band of Mirmidons, Beat thee with Halbards down, and break thy boans?

And every petty Constable thou meets, Achillis-like to drag thee through the Streets? Poor Hector! when th' art beaten blind and lame, I hope thou'lt learn to take another name.

Of an Epicure.

AN Epicure is one of those, No God besides his belly knows; And that Religion best does think, Where a he findes best meat and drink. Who for his Palate and his Gust, Has quite forgot all other Lust, And hugs a bottle, as he woud A Mris, when the Wine is good. Who lays about him like a Gyant, When he findes a morsel friand; And so long has cram'd his gut, He's nothing else from head to foot. When you such an one do meet, Or in Tavern, or in Street; By his bulk you may be sure, Such an one's an Epicure.

To Misa, made Anno 52.

NOw what a Divel Misa makes, Thee with such eyes behold me still? 'Cause from thee Time thy good looks takes, Must I therefore have thy ill?

I prethy Misa don't behold Me thus, as if I were thy foe; For howsoever thou art old, I am not Time that made thee so.

So rather then to quarrel with me, As if 'twere I had done thee wrong: Go quarrel with thy age, I prithy, Whose fault 'tis thou hast liv'd so long.

Howe'er for me, thou well mayst spare Thy Anger, and thy frowns may cease: Who for thy good looks little care, Does for thy bad ones care much less.

To the same, Whilst she'd needs look fair and young.

LEt Autumns paint her wither'd leaves, And Winter dye his Snowy hair; Yet he's a Fool that not perceives They either dyed, and painted ar.

So while thou'lt needs look young again, And still seem fair unto the sight; Misa thy labour's all in vain, Like his woud wash the Ethiope white.

Who lookt well in King Iames's raign, And in King Charles's, old appeard, Will hardly now look young again, When th' Common-wealth has got a beard.

Then Misa follow my advise, And leaving off thy bootless care; Strive rather to gain hearts than eyes, And to appear more good than fair.

Good counsel to an Enemy,

NO more for shame! but let's be friends agen, And let's remember w'ar not beasts but men. Beasts out of natural instinct fight, but we Shud out of natural instinct now agree: This baiting one another, is but just Like Bear-baiting, where those who seem the most Delighted with't, nor love the Dog nor Bear, But onely th' sport to see them rend and tear Each other, and themselves who'd harm and hurt As beasts do, onely to make others sport? No more for shame then, let's be friends agen, And still remember w'are not ••••asts, but men.

The Liberty.

FRee as I was born I'll live, So shud every wiseman do; Onely Fools they are who give, Their freedoms to I know not who▪

If my weakness cannot save it, But 't must go, what ere it cost; Some more strong than I shall have it, Who can keep what I have lost?

Still some excellency shud be, More i'th' Mr. than the Slave, Which in others till I see, None my liberty shall have.

Nor is't excellency enough, Time or chance can marr or make; But't shall be more lasting stuff Shall from me my f••e••dom take.

Those to whom I'll give away, That which none too dear can buy, Shall be made of better clay, And have better souls than I.

To the Lord John Bellasis.

'TIs not to honour, but be honour'd by't, I mention you, my Lord, in what I write. Since to my Book can be no greater Fame, No•• greater honour unto me again: Then to have him, who has the Fame to be His Countries honour, thus to honour me.

To the Lady Elizabeth Gage, On her Marriage and Conversation to the C. Religon.

NEver was greater Test••mony given (Madam) how Marriages are made in Hea∣ven

Then is by yours that both Religion had, For mak••ng it, and hath religion made: So as if Marriges be holy all, We this of yours may doubly holy call, In which y'ave doubly offer'd up your vowes, Both to your heavenly, and your earthly Spouse: Whence 'tis a joyful one indeed, has made Not onely Men, but even the Angels glad; To whom it does more properly belong, Than unto us to sing your Nuptial Song. Which whilst above i'th' higher world they do, We here below congratulate them and you.

To the Lord George Barkley.

SInce as by clear experience we see, Vertue is onely true Nobility. There's none gives greater proof of it than you (My Lord) that your Nobility is true: And that 't may so continue, you provide, By adding to't true Piety beside. " For Piety is but Vertue dyed in grain, Can ne'r change colour, nor take spot or stain. Such Courtiers Heaven desires, & such Kings shud Desire too, if they'd have them great and good▪ Happy the whilst (my Lord) are such as you, Fit both for th' heavenly Court, and earthly too.

Of Friends and Foes.

TWo Painters (friend and foe) once went a∣bout To paint Antigones whose one eye was out, which t'on to shew, and t'other for to hide; That turn'd his blinde, and this his better side. Just so 'twixt Friends and Foes men are exprest, By halfs set forth, whilst they conceal the rest: None, as their Friends or Foes, depaint them woud, Being ever half so bad, or half so good.

On the Riches o'th' Barbadoes, to Mr. H. D. Esq

HOw Rich Barbadoes is of other things, We well may see by th' wealthy Trade it brings: How rich it is in men, we well may see, By binging fourth brave Drax such men as thee.

On the Marriage of the Lord Brakley, With the Lady Elizabeth Cranfield, made An. 65.

THe fairest Flower of Cranfields Race, And noblest branch of Edgerton, Accompanied with every Grace, By Hymen now are joyn'd in one.

And now the Nuptial rites are past; In passing o'er the rest was done: Let's to the Bridal Chamber haste, Where th' Bridgroom longs I'm sure to come,

Go happy Youth, and taste abed, The pleasures far Eliza yeilds; By far surpassing all that's sed, O'th' pleasures o'th' Elizian Fields.

And fair Eliza bee'nt affraid O'th' Bug-bears of a Marryed life; Those fears which haunt you now a Maid, Will vanish soon when y'are a Wife.

And in their place such joys shall leave, When once you are a Mother grown: No humane thought can ere conceive, Or ere b' exprest by humane Tongue!

On his Arara. Drowned in his return from Brasil.

THou how so like unto the Phaenix wer't In shape and plumes, and almost every par▪

That so unlike shud be your destiny, That shud by Fire, and thou by Water dye!

Consolation To Poor Porters.

TAke courage Porter, every one must bear Somewhat or other whilst they tarry here; And every one (if that be good) are free, As well as thou, o'th' Porters Company. Nor is't so base a Trade perhaps as thou Imaginst it, since if that saying be true: Great honours, are great burthens we may call The Porters Trade, the honourablest of all.

Out of Ronsard, Of a happy life.

CEluy n'est pas heureux, qu' on monstre par larue, Que le peuple cognoit, que le peuple sal••e; Mais heureux est celuy, que la Glo••re n'es point, Que ne cognoit personne, & qu' on ne cognoit point.

The same in English.

HE is not happy, they point at i'th' Streets, Whom the people does know, and salutes as it meets: But happy is he who ambition has none, Nor others to know, nor by others be known.

To certain Ladys, Who said they like not your old Wits.

LAdies, you like not your old Wits, you say, And what new ones are those you like I pray? Perhaps y'ave squeemish stomacks just like those▪ Loath vvonted fare, and'd have some new quelque chose. And 'tis the nature of Green-sickness Wits, As 'tis of your Green-sickness Appetits: To•• in the souls, t'other the bodies food, To l••ke the bad, and to mislike the good: O•• just as Heresie at first begun, With crying down the old Religion, So 'tis a kinde of Heresie in you, To cry down old Wits, and cry up the new▪ If so, Ladies, o'th' new say what you will, With your good leave, I'm for the old ones still.

Of Friends and Acquaintance.

WHo 'twixt Acquaintances and Friends does make▪ No difference, is just like him does take Each peeble-sto〈22 letters〉〈22 letters〉, of which enough are found In each High-way, for some Rich Diamond. A Friend's a Cabinet-piece, and to be sought All the World o'er, nor can too dear be bought, Whilst t'other's a cheap trivial thing, you meet, And take up when you please in every street. Believe not all who friendship then protest, But prove them first, and after chuse the best: For he who every one a friend does call, In time of need shall finde no friend at all.

The Ant.

LIttle thinkst thou poor Ant who there With so much pains in so short time▪ A grain or two to th' Cell dost bear, There's greater work i'th' world than thine▪

I'th' small Republick too at home, Where thou'rt perhaps some Majestrate; Little think'st thou, when thou dost come, There's greater in the world than that.

Nor is't such wonder now in thee, No more o'th' world, nor things dost know, That all thy minde o'th' ground shud be, And thoughts on things so poor and low.

But that man so base minde shud bear To fix it on a clot of Ground; As there no other business were, Nor greater world for to be found.

He so much of the man does want, As metamorphoz'd quite agen, Whilst thou'rt but man turn'd groveling ant, Such grovelers seem but ants turnd men.

How to bear neglects.

LEt it not trouble thee, when any woud, Put a neglect upon thee, if they coud: But minde it not, and thy neglect will be More great of them, then theirs can be of thee.

On Madam Master.

OF Madam it may well be sed, ••hat Madam's head has little Wit, When Madam's Husband is head, And Madam makes a Fool of it.

On Doctor Cornuto.

WHo so famous was of late, He was with Finger pointed at; What cannot learning do, and single state? Being marryed, he so famous grew, As he was pointed at with two, What cannot learning and a Wife now do?

On Simple.

SImple made much ado, and much offence He ••ook, for saying he scarce had common sence; Till saying he had, and very common too, Simple was pleas'd, and made no more ado.

On Marryed Ministers.

IF both i'th' Spiritual and Temporal War, Their Wives but Baggage of the Armies are;

We well may say, your Ministers who Marry, VVhilst others fight, do with the Baggage tarry.

In pravos Aulicos.

IF▪ as they say Courts are like Heaven, & Kings Like Gods, sure Cour••iers shud be holy things; Like Angels, from which state when once they fall, As Divels did, the Divel take them all.

In Invidum.

WHen ere thou seest me take delight, In any thing thou bursts with spight. And so thou dost at every thing, That does me good, or profit bring. Thou bursts with spight, to see that I Am still in noble Company; And honour I receive from them, Does make thee burst with spight agen. And if my honour, my delight, And profit, makes thee burst with spight; And all my good, does prove thy ill, I prethy burst with spight of't still.

Of an Evil Tongu'd person.

THou hast so many Tongues as Cerberus, nor Seaven-headed Hydra, scarcely coud have more: The lying, cogging, and dissembling Tongue; The spightful, rayling, and malicious one; The foul and beastly, the Satyrical; The leud, and slanderous one, and above all, The scurrilous & profane. Strange! that one shud Amongst so many Tongues have never a good!

In eundem.

WHilst I repay with handsome▪ Railerie, Thy base and ugly rayling against me: Thou call'st me foul-mouth'd for't, thy self thou means, As those in Lewkners-lane, call Ladies Queans.

In eundum.

THe same advantage, thou hast over those, Who have some Fame, whilst thou hast none ••o loose; As Gamsters have, who play o'th' Tick with one, Who has some money, whilst themselves have none.

In Inimicum.

SInce all some Enemies needs must have, I'm glad That such as thou mine Enemies are made; For as I'th' field, the worthiest are best, So out o'th' field, still the unworthiest.

In eundem.

I See thou art resolv'd in spight, To cry down every thing I write; And I'm resolv'd in spight of thee, To write so, thou asham'd shalt be, Both of thy Envy, and thy Spight, To cry down every thing I Write.

On M. Asoto, An apocryphal Captain.

IF with the Cynick we away shud fling Every unuseful, and superfluous thing, I nothing know, thou better coudst afford To fling away Asoto, than thy sword.

Of the Application Of these Epigrams.

WHilst I (on purpose not to have them known) Present in Mask and Vizard any one, And they themselves, or any else (in fine) Shall pluck it off, the fault is theirs, not mine.

On Sir Querilous Coxcomb.

THer are two sorts, with which he can't agree, All that are better, & all are worse than he: Do you secure him for the better sort, And for the worser I'll secure him for't.

On a Rich vain-glorious Miser.

THou boasts thy money, and if that be all, Thy praise, and commendations is but small; For every Cobler may with industry And pains, (in Time) boast that as well as thee: Mony's like muck, that's profitable while 'T serves for manuring of some fruitful Soyl;

But on a barren one (like thee) methinks 'Tis like a Dunghil, that lyes still and stinks.

To one Who desired him not to name him.

I Wonder why thou shudst be so asham'd, Amongst such noble persons to be nam'd! Unless thou think's thee unworthy of it? if so, Th'ast reason for't, and I'm of thy minde too.

To one Who desired him to name her.

YOu'd have me name you, & I wo••d not name Any, but onely those of better Fame: I prethy then, that we two may agree, Go bring a better Fame along with thee.

Against Covetousness.

WHilst those for wealth do sell their liberty, Call't Angling for the golden-Fish, for me; Loving my liberty as I do, I look Upon't as fishing with a Golden-hook.

And he who spends his life in getting wealth, And to increase his Store consumes himself; Does just to me as very a Fool appear, As he, sold's horse, to buy him provinder.

To one that shall be nameless▪

TO those from whom, I for reward can't look So much as comes to th' binding of my Book; Much less the printing, why shud I present It to 'um, unless 't be out of complement? And I don't like such complement•• as those, Where one gets nothing, and is sure to loose.

To the same.

I'M in great straits! for first I do believe, Shud I ask any thing, you'd nothing give; Then if I shud not, you'd ne'er think of me, What shud I do in this extremitie?

Why I write not of Love.

YOu fain woud have me writ of Love, & say, It may be chaste and vertuous, so it may: But howsoe'er vertuous and chaste it be, It yet does come so nigh unchast••••••••

And is so stiep and slippery a precipiece, One easily thence does slide and ••all to vice. Wherefore let who's list write of it for me, I'll keep me, if I can, from th' danger free.

L'Envoye To the Readers.

AUthors use to make you feasts, Books the fare, and Readers guests; Iudgement, Caterer and Wit, The Cook for the a seasoning it: All which when on the Table set, The Author who provides you meat, Does pray you heartily to fall Unto't, and says, y'are welcome all.