Naps upon Parnassus. A sleepy muse nipt and pincht, though not awakened such voluntary and jovial copies of verses, as were lately receiv'd from some of the wits of the universities, in a frolick, dedicated to Gondibert's mistress by Captain Jones and others. Whereunto is added from demonstration of the authors prosaick excellency's, his epistle to one of the universities, with the answer; together with two satyrical characters of his own, of a temporizer, and an antiquary, with marginal notes by a friend to the reader. Vide Jones his legend, drink sack and gunpowder, and so fall to't.

The second Part in the Authours Language,

Being a Verse Panegyrick in Praise of the Author's transcendently delicious, Poeticall dainties, in∣clos'd in the * 1.1 Wicker-Basket of his Critique Poems.

SIR.

IN that small inch of time I stole, to look On th'abstruse Depths of Your Mysterious Book; Heav'ns bless mine eye-sight! what strains did I see? What Steropegeretick Poetry! What Hieroglyphick words? what Riddles? all In Letters more then Cabalisticall. Perhaps our fingers may Your Verses scan, But all our Noddles understand them can No more, then read that Dung-fork't Pot-hook's Hand, Which in Queens Colledge Library doth stand. The cutting Hanger of your Wit I can't see, For that same Scabberd that conceals yours Fancy▪ Thus a black velvet Casket hides a Jewel, And a dark Wood-house wholesome winter fuel; Thus John Tredeskin starves our greedy eyes, By boxing up his new found Rarities. Thus were Philosophers content to be Renown'd, and famous in Obscurity.

We fear Actaeons horns dare not look on, When you do * 1.2 scowr your skin in Helicon. We cannot (Lynceus-like) see through the wall Of your strong mortred Poems, nor can all The small shot of our Brains make one hole in The Bulwark of your Book, that Fort to win. Open your meanings Door: ô do not lock it! Undoe the Buttons of your smaller Pocket; And charitably spend those Angels there; Let them enrich, and actuate our Sphere: Take off our Bongraces, and shine upon us, Though your resplendent Beams should chance to O were your verses stol'n, that so we might (tan us.) Hope in good time to see them come to light! But felt I not a strange Poetick heat Glowing therein (which reading makes me sweat) Vulcan should take 'um, and I'de not exempt 'um, Because they be things.—Quibus lumen ademptum. I thought to have commended something there, But all exceeds my commendations far: I hope some Wit, when he your honour hears, Will praise your Mothers Eyes Turpentine tears: For my part, I can but stand still, and stare, And cry O wondrous! strange! profound! and rare! Vast wits must fathom you, better then thus; You merit more then all they:—As for us, The Beetles of our Rhymes shall drive full fast in The wedges of your worth to everlastin. * 1.3

Notes

• * 1.1

  You may read it▪ Wodden▪
• * 1.2

  But, when he does so, he verifies the Pro∣verb, viz. Aethopem lavat.
• * 1.3

  [g] Au∣fertur in fine, per Apocopen