Parnassus biceps. Or Severall choice pieces of poetry, composed by the best wits that were in both the universities before their dissolution. With an epistle in the behalfe of those now doubly secluded and sequestred Members, by one who himselfe is none.

A Parodox on the praise of a painted face.

NOt kiss? by Jove I must and make impression As long as Cupid dares to hold his Session Upon thy flesh and blood, our kisses shall Out minute time, and without number fall. Doe not I know these balls of blushing red That on thy cheeks thus amorously are spred; Thy snowy neck, those veins upon thy brow Which with their azure crinkling sweetly bow, Are from art borrowed, and no more thine own Then chains that on St. Georges day are shown Are proper to the wearer? yet for this I Idoll thee, and beg a courteous kisse.

The Fucus and Cerusse which on thy face The cunning hand doth lay to add more grace, Deceive me with such pleasing fraud, that I Find in thy art wh••t can in nature lie: Much like a Painter which upon some wall On which the cadent Sun-beams use to fall, Paints with such art a guilded butterfly, That silly maids with slow-made fingers try To catch it, and then blush at their mistake, Yet of this painted fly much reckoning make. Such is our state, since what we look upon Is nought but colour and proportion: Give me a face that is as full of lies As Gipsies or your cunning Lotteries; That is more false and more sophisticate Then are your reliques, or a man of state: Yet such being glazed by the slight of art Gaine admiration, and win many a heart. Put case there be a difference in the mould, Yet may thy Venus be more brisk and bold. —for oftentimes we see Rich Candy wines in wooden bowles to be. The odoriferous Civet doth not lye Within the Muscats nose, or eare, or eye, But in a baser place: for prudent nature In drawing up the various forms and stature, Gives from the curious shop of her large treasure To faire parts comelinesse, to baser pleasure. The fairest flower that in the spring doth grow Is not so much for use, as for a show.

As Lillies, Hyacinths, the gorgeous birth Of all pied flowers which diaper the earth, Please more with their discolourd purple traine Then wholesom potherbs which for use remaine. Should I a golden speckled Serpent kisse Because the colour which he wears is his? A perphum'd cordovant who would not wear, Because its sent is borrowed other where? The cloths and vestiments which grace us all Are not our own but adventitiall. Time rifles natures beauty, but sly art Repaires by cunning each decaied part, Fills here a wrinkle, and there purles a veine; And with a cunning hand runs ore againe The breaches dented by the pen of time, And makes deformity to be no crime▪ So when great men are grip'd by sicknesse: hand, Illustrious phisick pregnantly doth stand To patch up foule diseases, and doth strive To keep their tottering carkases alive. Beauty a candle is, with every puffe Blown out, leaves nothing but a stinking snuffe To fill our nostrils with: thus boldly think The purest candle yields the foulest stink: As the pure food, and daintiest nutriment, Yields the most strong and hottest excrement. Why hang we then on things so apt to vary, So fleeting, brittle, and so temporary, That agues, coughs, the toothach, or cathar, Slight touches of diseases spoil and mar.

But when that age their beauty doth displace, And plows up furrows in their once smooth face; Then they become forsaken and do show Like stately Abbies destroyed long ago. Love grant me then a reparable face, That whilst there colours are can want no grace: Pygmalions painted statue I could love, If it were warme, and soft, or could but move.