Page [unnumbered]
Enter the Taberer.
[illustration]
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 8, 2024.
Pages
I, but all will not doe,
Without a passe or two,
From him that pipes and Tabers the Tattoo.
He's a man that can tell 'em,
Such a Jigge from his vellam;
With his Whistle & his Club,
And his brac't halfe Tub,
That I think there ne're came before ye,
Though the Mothes lodged in't,
Or in Manuscript or print,
Such a pitifull parchment story.
He that hammers like a Tinker
Kettle Musick is a stinker,
Our Taberer bids him heark it;
Though he thrash till he sweats,
And out the bottome beats
Of his two Dosser Drums to the Market