The Gentlemans verses before he Killed himselfe.
HAst Night unto thy Center, are thy winges
Rul'd by the course of dull clockt plum∣metings?
Wit restor'd in several select poems not formerly publish't.
About this Item
- Title
- Wit restor'd in several select poems not formerly publish't.
- Author
- Mennes, John, Sir, 1599-1671.
- Publication
- London :: Printed for R. Pollard, N. Brooks, and T. Dring, and are to be sold at the Old Exchange, and in Fleetstreet,
- 1658.
- 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
- Humorous poetry.
- Burlesques.
- Link to this Item
-
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A52015.0001.001
- Cite this Item
-
"Wit restor'd in several select poems not formerly publish't." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A52015.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 21, 2025.
Pages
Page 94
If so, mount on my thoughts, & wee'le exceed
All time that's past t'gain midnight with ou•…•… speed
The day more favourable hasted on
And by its death sent mee instruction
To make thy darknesse tombe my life, let then
Thy wonted houres seize on the eyes of men
Make them imagine by their sleepe, what I
Must truly act, let each starr veyle his Eye
With masques of mourninge clowdes: me∣thinkes the owles
Prodigious summons strike me, and she houles
My Epicedium, with whose tragick quill
Ile pencill in this map my haplesse ill.
Caus'd first by her, whose fowle apostacy
In love for ever brand her; and when I
Am dead, deare paper (my minds heire) convey
This epitaph unto her veiwe, and pray
Her to inscribe it on my tombe.
Here lyes
One murthered by a womans perjuryes
Who from the time, she scorn'd him, scorn'd to live
No rivall shall him of his death deprive.