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.

[illustration]

A Farewell to Folly.

FArewell, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles; Farewell, ye honor'd rag••, ye christall bubles; Fame's but a hollow Eccho; Gold, poor clay; Honour, the darling, but of one short day; Beauties chief Idoll, but a damask skin; State, but a golden Prison to live in, And torture free-born minds; imbroydred trains, But goodly Pageant••? proudly swelling vains, And blood alal'd to greatnesse, is but loane, Inherited, not purchast, not our owne. Fame, Riches, Honour, Beauty, State, Trains, Birth▪ Are but the fading blessings of the Earth, I would be rich, but see man too unkinde; Digs in the bowels of the richest Mine.

I would be great, but yet the Sun doth still Levell his beams against the rising hill. I would be faire, but see the Champion proud, The worlds faire eye, oft setting in a cloud. I would be wise, but that the Fox I see Suspected guilty, when the Fox is free. I would be poor, but see the humble grasse Trampled upon, by each unworthy asse. Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd if poor; Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envide more. Would the world then, adopt me for her heire; Would beauties Queen, entitle me the faire; Fame, speak me honours Minion; and could I With Indian-Angels, and a speaking eye, Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumbe, As well as blind and lame, and give a tongue To stones by Epitaphs; be call'd great Master; In the loose lines of every Poetaster; Could I be more, then any man that lives; Great, Wise, Rich, Faire, all in superlatives: Yet I these favours, would more free resigne, Then ever fortune would have had them mine. I count one minute of my holy leasure, Beyond the mirth of all this earthly pleasure. Welcom pure thoughts, welcom ye carelee groves; These are my guests; this is the Court age loves. The winged people of the skies shall sing Me Anthems, by my sellers gentle spring.

Divinity shall be my Looking-glasse, Wherein I will adore sweet vertues face. Here dwels no heartlesse loves, no pale-fac't fears, No short joyes purchast with eternall tears. Here will I sit and sigh my hot youths folly; And learn to affect an holy Melancholy: And if contentment be a stranger, then Ile ne'r look for it but in heaven agen.