Ex otio negotium. Or, Martiall his epigrams translated. With sundry poems and fancies, / by R. Fletcher.

An Epitaph on his deceased Friend.

HEre lies the ruin'd Cabinet Of a rich soul more highly set. The drosse and refuse of a minde Too glorious to be here confin'd. Earth for a while bespake his stay Only to bait and so away: So that what here he doted on Was meerly accommodation. Not that his active soul could bee At home, but in eternitie. Yet while he blest us with the rayes Of his short continued daies, Each minute had its weight of worth, Each pregnant hour some Star brought forth. So whiles he travell'd here beneath He liv'd, when others only breathe. For not a sand of time slip'd by Without its action sweet as high. So good, so peacable, so blest, Angels alone can speak the rest.

Mount Ida, or, Beauties Contest.

THree regent Goddesses they fell at odds, As they sat close in councel with the gods, Whose beauty did excel? And thence they crave A moderator of the strife to have, But least the partiall heavens could not decide The grudg, they stoop to Mortals to be try'd. Mantled in clouds then gently down they fall Upon Mount Ida to appease the brall, Where Priam's lovely Boy sporting did keep His Fathers lambes and snowy flocks of sheep, His lilly hand was soon ordain'd to bee The harmless Ʋmpire of the fond decree. To him, to him they gave the Golden Ball, O happy goddess upon whom it fall! But more unhappy Shepeard, was't not pittv Thou didst not send it at a close Committee? There, there thou hadst surpass'd what did be∣fall, Thou might'st have crowned One, yet pleased All. First then Imperious Juno did display Her coronet of glories to the Boy, And rang'd her stars up in an arched ring Of height and majesty most flourishing, Then wealth and honour at his foot did lay To be esteem'd the Lady of the day. Next Pallas that brave Heroina came, The thund'ring Queen of action, war & fame,

Dress'd in her glittering armes, wherewith she layes Worlds wast, & new ones from their dust can raise, These, these she tenders him, advanc'd to bee, With all the wreaths of wit and gall antrie. Last Venus breaks forth of her golden raies, With thousand Cupids crown'd, ten thousand Boyes, Sparkling through every quadrant of her eyes, Which made her beauty in full glory rise: Then smiling vow'd so to sublime his parts To make him the great Conquerour of hearts. Thus poor distracted Par••s all on fire Stood trembling deep in doubt what to desire, The sweet temptations pleaded hard for all, Each theatre of beauty seem'd to call For the bright prize: but he amazed hee Could not determine which, which, which was shee At last the Cyprian Girle so strook him bli••de In all the faculties of soul and minde, That he poor captiv'd wretch without delay Could not forbear his frailty to betray, But maugre honour, wisdom, all above▪ He ran & kiss'd & crown'd the Queen of Love. Pallas and Juno then in high disdain Took snuff and posted up to heaven again▪ As to a high Court of appeal, to bee Reveng'd on men for this indignitie.

'Hence then it happens that the Ball was lost ''Tis two to one but love is alwaies crost.

Ʋpon a Flye that flew into a Lady's eye, and there lay buried in a tear.

POor envious Soul! what couldst thou see ••n that bright Orb of puritie? That active globe? That twinkling sphear Of beauty to be medling there? Or didst thou foolishly mistake The glowing morn in that day-break? Or was't thy pride to mount so high Only to kisse the Sun and dye? Or didst thou think to rival all Don Phaethon and his great fall? And in a richer Sea of brine Drown Icarus again in thine? Twas bravely aim'd, and which is more Th' hast sunck the fable ore and ore. For in this single death of thee Th' hast banqurrupt all Antiquitie.

O had the fair Aegiptian Queen Thy glorious monument out seen, How had she spared what time forbids The needlesse tott'ring Pyramids! And in an emulative chafe Have begg'd thy shrine her Epitaph? Where, when her aged marble must Resigne her honour to the dust,

Thou mightst have canonized her Deceased Time's Executor?

To ripp up all the western bed Of spices where Sol layes his head, To squeeze the Phaenix and her Nest In one perfume that may write Best, Then blend the gall'rie of the skyes With her Seraglio of eyes, T' embalm a name, and raise a Tombe The miracle of all to come, Then, then compare it: Here's a Gemm A Pearl must shame and pitty them. An amber drop, distlled by The sparkling Limbeck of an eye, Shall dazle all the short essaies Of rubbish worth, and shallow praise.

We strive not then to prize that tear Since we have nought to poise it here. The world's too light. Hence, hence we cry The world, the world's not worth a Fly.