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.

To thy lover
Deer, discover
That sweet blush of thine tha•• shameth
(When those Roses
It discloses)
All the flowers that Nature nameth

In free Ayre,
Flow thy Haire;

That no more Summers best dresses,
Be beholden
For their Golden
Locks to Phaebus flaming Tresses.

O deliver
Love his Quiver,
From thy Eyes he shoots his Arrowes,
Where Apollo
Cannot follow:
Feathered with his Mothers Sparrows.

O envy not
(That we dye not)
Those deer lips whose door encloses
All the Graces
In their place••,
Brother Pearles, and sister Roses.

From these treasures
Of ripe pleasures
One bright smile to clear the weather.
Earth and Heaven
Thus made even,
Both will be good friends together.

The aire does wooe thee,
Winds cling to thee,

Might a word once flye from out thee;
Storm and thunder
Would fit under,
And keep silence round about thee.

But if natures
Common Creatures,
So deer glories dare not borrow;
Yet thy beauty
Owes a duty,
To my loving lingring sorrow.

When my dying
Life is flying;
Those sweet Aires that often slew me;
Shall revive me,
Or reprive me,
And to many deaths renew me.