Recreation for ingenious head-peeces, or, A pleasant grove for their wits to walk in of epigrams 700, epitaphs 200, fancies a number, fantasticks abundance : with their addition, multiplication, and division.
About this Item
- Title
- Recreation for ingenious head-peeces, or, A pleasant grove for their wits to walk in of epigrams 700, epitaphs 200, fancies a number, fantasticks abundance : with their addition, multiplication, and division.
- Author
- Mennes, John, Sir, 1599-1671.
- Publication
- London :: Printed by M. Simmons ...,
- 1654.
- 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.
- Epigrams.
- Epitaphs.
- Link to this Item
-
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A50616.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"Recreation for ingenious head-peeces, or, A pleasant grove for their wits to walk in of epigrams 700, epitaphs 200, fancies a number, fantasticks abundance : with their addition, multiplication, and division." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A50616.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed June 17, 2024.
Pages
Page [unnumbered]
Let us be mad a while: come here thou Squire
Of Pints and Pottles, pile us up a fire:
Then bring some sack up, quick you Canniball,
Some cleanly sack to wash our brains withall:
There is I am sure, no other Thespian spring,
No other Helicon to bathe us in.
Troul then your sack about boyes, never faile,
Commending dull men to their stands of Ale.
Tinkers wind off whole pottles in a breath,
I hate such puddle Coxcombs worse than death;
But we true bra•••• of Bacchus, as our use is,
With lusty Wines will sacrifice to th'Muses.