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.

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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.

Why should I wrong my judgement so,
As for to love where I doe know
There is no hold for to be taken?

For what her wish thirsts after most,
If once of it her heart can boast,
Straight by her folly 'tis forsaken.

Thus whilst I still pursue in vaine,
Me thinks I turn a child again,
And of my shadow am a chasing.

For all her favours are to me
Like appari••ions which I see,
But never can come near th'••bracing.

Oft had I wish'd that there had been
Some Almanack whereby to have seen
When love with her had been in season.

But I perceive there is no art
Can find the Epact of the heart,
That loves by chance, and not by reason.

Yet will I not for this despaire,
For time her humor may prepare
To grace him who is now neglected.

And what unto my constancy
Shee now denies: one day may be
From her instancy expected.