A collection of the choicest epigrams and characters of Richard Flecknoe being rather a new work, then [sic] a new impression of the old.

A COLLECTION Of the choicest EPIGRAMS AND CHARACTERS OF Richard Flecknoe.

Being rather a New Work, then a New Impression of the Old.

Printed for the Author. 1673.

THE PREFACE.

BEfore I give over writing, I have endeavored to set the last hand to these Epigrams and Characters, especially the Epigrams since they contain the Praises and Elogiums of divers Noble Persons, whom I much honor, and desire that all the World should do the same. But being made at several times, on several occasions, I knew not how to range them, onely I ima∣gined, as in a Chaplet of Flowers, it im∣ported not much, which Flowers were pla∣ced the first, so all together made a delight∣ful variety: They are little things, that launch not into the depth of Poetry, but keep onely along the shore, and to expect the force and grandeur in them of an E∣pick or Heroick Poem, were to expect the strength of a Ship of War, or bulk of a huge Carrack in a Yatcht or Pleasure Boat,

mean time they are more pleasant and de∣lightful. Since, in short Journeys we come always fresh, in long, always tired and weary to our Journeys end.

And so much for these Epigrams, which I aptly couple with the Characters, since these are onely Epigrams in Prose, as the others are onely Characters in Verse; and con∣sequently, All that is said of the one, may be said of the other, excepting what shall be said of the Characters hereafter.

THE POURTRAIT OF HIS MAJESTY, Made a little before HIS Happy Restauration.

KIngs like the Sun in their full Majesties, Are too resplendant bright for subjects eies; But when ecclips'd, then every one can see Without that splendor, what their persons be. In which conjuncture, whosoe'er has seen This Sun of ours, may well affirm of Him, His Person's such, as He for that alone (His Birth away) deserves the Royal Throne. Such Majesty there's in it, and such Grace, Both awing and delighting in His Face; Without those Kingly Robes adorn the Throne, He shews more King, than those who have them on. His Stature's tall, and of the comeliest make, His Vizage oval, His Hair thick and black; In ample Curls on's Shoulders falling down, Adorning more His Head, than any Crown. His Eyes are lively, full of flame and sprit, And of that colour most delights the sight.

Royal and largely Featur'd all the rest, Shewing the largness of H••s Royal Brest. Then for His Exercise's, He in all The noblest Gallants, and most Martial, Even the most exc lent so far excels, He's King in them, as He's in all things else; And who'd be absolute in every thing, As well as Birth and Power, shou'd be a King: Nor shall you e'er in any person find, A greater strength of Body, nor of Mind; Which with long travel H'as improved so, He know's what ere befits a Prince to know. Not learn'd o'th' dead, but of the World and Men, Those Living Authors, and H'as studied them; So as each Nations Wisdom He does know, And each one's Language to express it too. Whence He compar'd to other Princes, sit Dully at home, and nothing know but it; Seems just like some huge Gallion does come, From farthest Indies, richly laden home; Compar'd to some poor Hoy or Bylander, Who never farther than their own Coasts were, And never none to Fortune more did ow, Than to Misfortune He for being so. For Moral Vertues then, H'as every one In their full height and exaltation. Justice not clouded with Severity, Nor Temperance, with sower Austerity. And ne'er in none more Courage was, nor more Wisdom and Prudence with less vanity, nor

With lesser Artifice, th••n or's Passions He Commands so absolutely and Sov'raignly; As shews Him King over Himself, as well As other Men, nor does He less excell, In Civil Vertues, which adorn no less, The Royal Throne, as Mildness, Gentleness, Obligingness and Debonarity, With such a winning affability, He more does conquer with a gentle word, Than ever any conquer••d by the Sword. Mean time He is so chearful and so gay, None from His presence e'er went sad away; Nor yet cou'd all His troubles, nor His cares, Render Him less gay and chearful, which declares His Mind's above them all, and H'as within Him, somewhat higher than His being King. Just like the highest Region of the Air, Where never Storms nor Tempests can repair. For Your more noble Courtly Vertues then, In which Kings too shou'd excel other Men; As far as Courts do other Houses, He Appears in every one to excellency. Dances so admirably, as your Eye As well as Ears are charm'd with Harmony; Knows Musick, Poetry, Gallantry, and Wit, And none knows better how to judge of it. And as He is a King 'mong Courtiers, so 'Mong Ladies he's both King and Courtier too. How happy are His Subjects then, t'have one For King, Heaven seems to have chosen Him alone

To make them happy? One, they need but pray, That as H'as born Adversity, He may But bear Prosperity as well, and then As still H'as been, He'll be the best of Men. One finally, in whom y'united find, Besides His Birth, His Person, and His Mind. All that which found in others one by one, Raise them to heighth of Admiration. The Wise, the Valiant, the Majestical, The Mild, the Gallant, and the King in all. More glorious are His sufferings then, and more Injurious Fortune, persecutes Him for His Royal Birth alone, who had He been Born private Man, deserves to be a King. Such is her ignorant blindness does not know His eminent worth, whom she disfavors so. Who'd find, if she had eyes, and cou'd but see, None e'er deserv'd her favor more than He.

To His Majesty.

VOuchsafe Great Sire, on these to cast your sight, Made cheifly for Your Majesties de∣light, By him has cast off all Ambition Long since, but of delighting you alone; Counting it highest honor can befall, To delight Him, who's the delight of all.

R* Watson*

PROEMIƲM OF EPIGRAMS.

WHat Airs in point of Musick are the same In point of Writing is your Epigram, For short and sprightly, and both these and those When th'ear expects it always come to th' clo••e. 'Tis but few lines, but those like Gold well try'd Out of the dross of many lines beside, And says not much, but i'th' Laconick way, Comprises much, i'th' little it does say. In every kind, be th' writing what it will, 'Tis that most takes, and most delights you still, And adds to all the rest, no less a Grace, Then Wit to Sence, or Beauty to the Face. Poets can't write, nor Orators declame, But all their Wit, is cheifly Epigram; And both in Verse, and Prose, and every thing, Your Eprig••am is writing for a King.

Of the difficulty of making them now a days.

BUt Times and Wits are so refin'd of late, Old Epigrams are wholly out of date; Nor is't so easie making new, as 'twas •…•…n former times in our Forefathers day••. Then, so th'ad only Rhime and Sence to boot, A little gingle on the words wou'd do't. But now they must have wit and sharpn••ss too, Or else your Sence and Rhime will h••rdly do. •…•…hen, when they heard a Clench or Quibble spoke, They'd claw you for't, as if some jest were broke; •…•…ut when they hear such Toys and Trifles sed, •…•…our Wits are ready now to break your head. •…•…o goes the World, nor must we think it strange, •…•…hat with the Times, our Epigrams should change. Tis so you see in fashion of our Cloaths, •…•…nd why not of our Wits, as well as those?

In Detractorem.

〈…〉〈…〉 See thou art resolv'd in spight, To cry down every thing I write; •…•…nd I'm resolv'd in spight of thee •…•…o write so, thou asham'd shalt be •…•…f thy poor Envy, and thy spight, 〈…〉〈…〉 crying down every thing I write.

Of Wits.

WIt's like Hawks are for the sport, Some are long wing'd, some are short; The one does flie so high a flight, They often soar quite out of sight; The other far the fitter, for ye Keep them close unto the Quarry; Nor too low, nor yet too high, Of this latter sort am I.

To the Readers.

AƲthors use to make you Feasts. Books the Fare, and Readers Guests; Judgment Caterer, and Wit The Cook to dress and Season it. And when 'tis on the Table set, The Author who provides them Meat, Prayes his Guests unto't to fall, And says th'are kindly welcome all.

EPIGRAMS

To his Royal Highness JAMES Duke of YORK, On his return from our Naval Victory. Anno 1665.

GReater and Famouser than e'er Caesar or Alexander were, Who has both done, and outdone too, What those great Heroes cou'd not do. Till Empire of the Seas we get, No Victory can be compleat For Land and Sea make but one Ball, They had but half, you have it all. Great Prince, the Glory of our days, And utmost bound of humane praise! Increast in stile, we well may call You now, the whole Worlds Admiral, Whilst mighty Charles with Trident stands, And like some God the Sea commands,

Having so gloriously o'ercome, What now remains but to come home; And fixed in our British Sphere, Shine a bright Constellation there, With greatest pow'r o'th' Watry Main, Next unto that of Charles's Wain.

To his Highness Prince Rupert on the same.

GReat and Heroick Prince, surpassing far Him who was stil'd The Thunderbolt of War, The Belgick Lion stands amaz'd to see, A greater Lion than it self in thee; And Zealand one, all trembling for fe••r, Half sinks into the Waves, to hide it there. Ne'er since the Grecians cal'd the World their own, Or Romans, theirs was greater valor known. And if there yet new Worlds to conquer were, Brave Rupert were the fittest Conquerer. Greatest example of Heroick worth, As ever yet this later age brought forth, As formerly the Land of Britain was, So now the Sea's too narrow for thy praise. And 'twill in time become the work alone Of Extasie and Admiration.

On the Death of Her Royal Highness HENRIETTA Dutchess of ORLEANCE.

THis life of ours is like a Garden, where The fairest Flow'rs always first gather'd are, The whilst they leave more common ones like Weeds, To wither on their stalks and fall to Seeds. And ne'er than this was fairer flower known, Where th'Rose and Lilly both are joyn'd in one. In which conjuncture does together meet, All that was heavenly fair, and heavenly sweet. Hereafter then as 'tis your Florists guize New names, for rarest Flowers to devise, And more for the perpetuating their fames, To call them by some Royal Persons names. Those that are sweetest, fairest ones of all, We Henrietta's by her name may call.

On the Death of the Duke of Glocester.

HIgh born and great, as any Prince on Earth, With Mind as great and high as was his Birth. Wise 'bove his years, valiant above a Man, And had he liv'd to end as he began,

The World wou'd for him scarce have any Room, So mighty and so great he had become. Mean time his life, just like th' Arabian wind, Did so much fragrant sweetness leave behind, The World was fill'd with Odor of his Name, Ev'n when h'was gone, from whom the sweetness came. Who's now so dull, when this they hear but sed, Who do's not know the Duke of Gloc'sters dead? The gallants Person Nature ever made, And hopefull'st Prince as England ever had! Let all who trust this World now, learn by this, What all their worldly hope and greatness is.

On the Duke of Monmouth's going into France, An. 1669.

WE to the French as much in Court did yield, As they to us did formerly i'th' Field, Till Monmouth went and overcame them more I'th' Court, than e'er we did i'th' Field before. How fatal to the French is Monmouth's name, They shou'd be twice thus conquer'd by the same. By Valor first in War, and now no less A second time, by Gallantry in Peace.

On the Dutchess of Monmouth's happy Child-birth.

NOw thanks to Heaven, what we have wisht for long, And long have pray'd for, Monmouth has a Son. His Lady safe deliver'd, and with her Whole thousands are deliver'd of their fear. Who hears this joyful news, and is not glad, May they be ever deaf, and ever sad. Now ye Physicians, you, who said that she With so great danger should deliver'd be, Who'll e'er believe you more? Unless you'll say, You have no skill, and then indeed they may; Or that each Midwife has more skill than you •…•…n Child-births, then they may believe you too. Mean time we clearly see you Liars are, •…•…y these your false predictions of her. •…•…nd now to prove you greater Liars, may •…•…h' have many Children, and live many a day.

To His Highness COSMO Prince of TUSCANY; On his Travels and coming into England.

COsmo, a name that's all Cosmography, And Cart or Map, where all the World you se•…•… Seeing what you do, and being what you are, You are the onely great Cosmographer. If Princes then, like rowling Balls of Snow, By travelling the World, still greater grow. How great must you be, who were great before, And now by travelling, grow more and more? Mean time your thirst of seeing the World's grea•…•… As shou'd th'Almighty still new Worlds create; Till there were Globes enough for every Ball, O'th' Medic••ian Arms you'd see them all; Amongst the rest▪ at last y'are come to see This other World of ours, Great Brittany. Nor can you be but in your own World still, And 'mongst your Kinred Travel where you will. Neerly by Blood and Parantage allied To all the Princes of the World beside.

To Mr. Edward Howard, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk.

IT is not Travel makes the Man, 'tis true, Unless a Man could Travel, Sir▪ like you. •…•…y putting off the worst, and putting on •…•…he best of every Countrey where they come. •…•…heir Language, Manners, Fashions, and their use, •…•…urg'd from the dross, and stript from the abuse. •…•…ntil at last, in manner they become, New Men and Creatures at their coming home; Whilst your Pyed Traveller, who nothing knows Of other Countreys Fashions but their Cloaths, And speaks their Language, but as Parrots do, Onely at best a broken word or two, Goes and returns the same he went agen, •…•…y carrying England still along with him; Or else returns far worse by bringing home, •…•…he worst of every Land, where he does come.

To the Dutchess of Cleveland, on her new Accession of Titles. An. 1670.

ALthough your Graces Modesty is so great, You won't admit of your own praises yet, We well may praise you under Beauties name, And you and Beauty, Madam, are the same. To ask then, what in Beauty we can find To honor so? Is question of the blind. Since all have any Sence or Eyes may see It self alone is its own Dignity, And Monarch like does in it self comprise, All other Titles, Stiles, and Dignities. Th'are envious then at its advancement grutch, Or think it can be honor'd here too much. That might in ancient times if it had been, Have chose what Constellation 'twou'd be in. Either to have sat in Casiopea's Throne, Or to be crown'd with Ariadne's Crown. There is no honor underneath the skie, That is for Beauty too sublime and high.

On the Death of the Lady Jean Cheney.

THe softest temper, and the mildest Brest, Most apt to pardon, needing pardon least. Whose Blush was all her reprehension, Whilst none e'er heard her chide or saw her frown, All sweetness, gentleness, and mildness all, Without least anger, bitterness, or Gaul. Who scarce had any passion of her own, But was for others all compassion. To all Relations kind, but most of all She did the poor, her cheif relations call; To whom she was so liberal, as she scant Thought wealth her own, whilst any one did want. A Saint she liv'd, and like a Saint she di'd, And now is gone where onely Saints abide. Make much of her the whilst, for Heaven knows when Your Quires will ever have her like agen.

To Mr. E. W. on his excellent Poems. Poco & Bono.

'TIs not in Wits, as 'tis in Horses found, Where those who run the fastest, get most ground; Nor dost with Books, as 'tdoes with Cattle fare, Where those are counted best, who biggest are. Some swell their Volumns up, and think it brave, Like those o'th' Alps, when they such swellings have Which other men, more learned, and more wise, Do look upon, but as deformities. If writing much did make a Learned Man, Scriv'ners write more then Learned Authors can. 'Tis not how much th'ave written, but how well Makes Authors famous, and their works excell. A little and good, th' Italian wisely says, In which consists a Writers cheifest praise; And never any Author more than you, Did in their writings make that saying true.

On the Death of her Highness Beatrix, Dutchess of Lorrain.

WHen this fair Soul i'th' World below did live, She had some Angel been, you would believe: Thorough her bright Exterior there did shine, So much from her Interior of Divine, Her Vertue too, the more to blind our Sence, So wrapt her up in every Excellence; As by unfolding of them one by one, You never shou'd to onely Woman come. Yet do what Vertue, and what Beauty cou'd, By making her so exc'llent fair and good. She's dead, and we had honor of knowing her, May well write this upon her Sepulcher.

She who alive all Vertue and Beauty was, T'one in her Brest, and t'other in her Face. Now she is dead, just reason w'ave to fear, All Beauty and Vertue too, are dead with her.

To her noble Sister Madamoiselle de Beauvais, now Princess of Aremberg.

ALl the Lay-thoughts, Madam, I ever had Of your fair Sex, are now Religious made By your Converse, and I'm become by it Your Sexes honorer, and your Convers't; For just unto your Chamber all do come, As to some Temple, and from thence go home; The bad converted, and the good far more Confirm'd in goodness then they were before. Yet all so chearful, one shou'd weary be Of Heaven, as soon as of your company. Which clearly shews Religion where 'tis true, May be both chearful, and Religious too. But stay — since 'tis a theam so infinit, As we can never say enough of it. And there's an Artful silence, as there was An Artful vailing great Atrides face. 'Tis praise enough to say, That she can ne'er Be prais'd enough, and say no more of her.

Question on her Letting Blood.

Quest. Of this just mixture and equality Of water and Blood, what shou'd the reason be? Res. The reason's clear, forced to part with her, Each drop of Blood for grief did shed a tear.

To the Lady Kilmurry.

WHen I would praise you as I others do, There does occur so much to praise in you As quite confounded, when I once am in I'm forc'd to leave it off, e'er I begin. What shou'd I do then, but at last conclude As Painters when they paint a multitude; Who having some o'th' cheifest heads exprest Under them darkly, shadow all the rest. So having said y'are beauteous, vertuous, wise, Under which heads I all the rest comprise. So infinite I'm forced to give o'er, Opprest with number, and to say no more.

To the Earl of St. Albans.

My Lord,

THough we allow Fortune no Deity, Yet sure there's some such fickle thing as she That has great pow'r over th'unwiser sort, And next to Vertue can do much in Court. For since in Court y'ave stood and honored been, How many revolutions have we seen? How many strange examples have we known Of Favorites she has rais'd and overthrown? Whilst none but such as you can firmly stand, Not rais'd by Fortunes, but by Vertues hand. Live ever honor'd then, ever the same, Still more and more ennobling Jermin's name; And live a great example unto all, Who tottering stand in Court, and fear to fall. How none but those are rais'd by Vertues hand, Can either safely rise or firmly stand.

Of an unworthy Nobleman.

SEe ye yond thing that looks as he would cry I am a Lord, a mile e'er he comes nigh, And thinks to make his Lordship more compleat, By being proud, instead of being great. Behold him well, you'll hardly find enough In the whole Man, to make a Lackey of.

And for doing service to his Countrey, His Coach-horses wou'd better do't than he. Such things as he, have nothing else of worth, But Place and Title for to set them forth; Being just like Dwarfs, drest up in Giants Cloaths, Bigger he'd seem, the lesser still he shews; Or like small Statues, on huge Bases set, Their height but onely makes them shew less great.

Of a worthy Nobleman, or William Duke of Newcastle.

BUt now behold a Nobleman indeed, Such as we admire in story when we read; Who does not proudly look that we shou'd d'off Our Hats, and make a reverence twelvescore off; Nor takes exceptions, if at every word, We call him not his Grace, or else my Lord. But's rather on the Off'ring part with Men, Then the receiving courtesies from them; Well knowing how that Nobleman, but do's Degrade himself, who is discourteous. The whilst Civility and Courtesie, Is cheifest part of their Nobility. So thorough all degrees that he has past, Of Vicount, Earl, Marquess, and Duke at last, Has always gain'd the general esteem Of honoring them, more then they honor'd him.

To the Lord Henry Howard of Norfolk now Earl of Norwich, and Lord High Marshal of England, on his African Voyage.

COmmanded by your Prince, you did not say For your excuse a Lion's in the way; But by obedience, and your Honor led, Even into Africk went where they are bred. Teaching of Subjects by the hast you made, How Kings and Princes are to be obey'd. And how they obey, but slowly and too late When they demur, or else capitulate. By your example then, who e'er are sent By Kings abroad, may learn this document; How they but serve themselves, and not their Kings Who onely obey in safe and easie things, And how there's little honor to obey, When difficulty and danger is away. Let then your talking crowd say what they will, The greatest danger, greatest honor still; And that, my Lord, you went to Africk for, Let who's list, go and fetch the Golden Ore.

To the same on his Voyage and Return from Constantinople.

My Lord,

AS Merchants Trade for other riches, so You Trade for Honor wheresoe'er you go; And of that Noble Merchandise still make A brave and rich return at coming back. How rich then must the Howards be of't, who Have such brave Factors for't abroad as you? And are so honor'd for't at home, as they Without offence and vanity may say. As God first made the Light, then made the Sun A great reserve for it when he had done, So Kings make honors, and the Howards are The great reserves of't, still you find it there.

On the Duke of Albemarles, and the Earl of Sandwich's bringing in the King.

THat present and all future times may know, How much to Monk and Montague they ow. By them that great and mighty work was done O'th' Kings most happy Restauration.

A happiness so general we may cal It well, the Restauration of us all. Whilst t'one restor'd him to possession O'th' Royal Fleet, t'other o'th Royal Throne. T'one gave him full, and absolute command O'th' Sea again, as t'other did o'th' Land. For which, what Statue's had erected been In former times, what titles given to them; And with what acclamations had they said, Whilst to these Heroes they their thanks had paid. "If others have their honors well deserv'd, "Who nobly have their King and Countrey serv'd "What Honors ever can be worthy you, "Who have not onely serv'd, but sav'd them too?

To M. M. Davies. On Her excellent Dancing.

DAvies who well derives thy name from him Before the Ark did Dance as well as Sing. Who would not think to see thee dance so light, Thou wer't all Air, or else all Flame and Spright? Or who'd not say, to see thee onely tread, Thy feet were Feathers, other's feet but Lead? Atlanta well cou'd run, and Hermes flee, But none e'er mov'd more gracefully than thee.

And Circes charm'd with wan'd and Magick lore, But none like thee, e'er charm'd with Feet before. Thou miracle whom all men must admire, To see thee move like Air, and mount like Fire. Who e'er wou'd follow thee, or come but nigh To thy perfection must not dance, but flie.

On Her excellent Singing.

NOr does she onely dance, but sings withal, With voice so sweet, and so Angelical. You'd think she were some Angel, and believe The soul of Harmony in her did live; And that for motion, and for air to boot, She she were all Harmony from Head to Foot. For Musick is but moved Air, and so In-certain measure is but dancing too. Whence in her person does together meet, All that in either, is both fair and sweet. And they may talk of charming, but there's none Knows every way to charm, but she alone. But now she sings, let's peace, and say no more, For just as when we saw her dance before. We wisht our selves all eyes to see her, so, We wish our selves all ears to hear her now.

Envoy to this Book.

I Know not what the World may think of it, That I so often mend what I have writ; But this is all that they can say at worst, My second thoughts are better than my first.

The end of the First Book of Epigrams, Corrected and Amended.

THE SECOND BOOK OF EPIGRAMS, ON GEORGE The First Duke of Buckingham, to my Lord Duke His Son.

THe comliest Person, and the ablest mind, For highest trust, his Prince cou'd ever find. Or to participate his private cares, Or bear the publick weight of his affairs. All which he bore as steddy, and as even As ever Atlas did the Globe of Heaven: Like well built Arches stronger, with their weight, And well built minds, the steddier with their height. Such was the Composition and Frame, O'th' Noble, and the Gallant Buckingham. Whence, though he rose, as high or higher yet, Than ever Prince advanced Favorit,

None envied his heighth, nor wish'd his fall, ut who their Countreys ruine wisht withal.

These whilst he liv'd, your Fathers praises were, And now he's dead, are yours, my Lord, his heir. The winning carriage, and the smiling Grace Of his exterior Person, and his Face. The noble Vertues of's interior brest, And in's example you have all the rest.

On MARY Dutchess of Richmond.

WHether a chearful Air does rise, And elevate her fairer Eyes: Or a pensive heaviness, Her lovely Eyelids does depress. Still the same becoming Grace Accompanies her Eyes and Face. Still you'd think that habit best In which her count'nance last was drest. Poor Beauties! Whom a look or glance, Can sometimes make looks fair by chance. Or curious dress, or artful care, Can make seem fairer than they are. Give me the Eyes, give me the Face; To which no art can add a Grace. Give me the Looks, no Garb, nor Dress, Can ever make more fair or less.

On Mistress STUART.

STuart a Royal Name that Springs From Race of Calidonian Kings. Whose vertuous mind, and beauteous frame, Adds honor to that Royal Name. What praises can we worthy find, To celebrate thy form and mind? The greatest pow'r that is on Earth, Is given to Princes by their Birth, But there's no pow'r in Earth nor Heaven, Greater than what's to Beauty given; That, makes not onely Man relent When unto rage and fury bent, But Lions tame, and Tygers mild, All fierceness from their brests exild. Such wonders yet cou'd ne'er be done By Beauties pow'r and force alone; Without the force and pow'r to boot, Of excellent goodness added to't. For just as Jewels we behold More brightly shine when set in Gold, So Beauty shines far brighter yet, In goodness and in vertue set. Continue then but as you are, So excellently good and fair, Let Princes by their Birth-rights sway, You'll have a pow'r as great as they.

On Her Dancing in Whitehal, all shining with Jewels.

SO Citherea in th'Olympick Hall, And, th'rest o'th' Stars dance their Celestial Ball As Stuart with the rest o'th' Nimphs does here, The brightest Beauties of the British sphere. Who wou'd not think her Heaven, to see her thus All shine with starry Jewels as she does? Or somewhat heavenlier, yet to see her eyes Out-shine the starry Jewels of the skies? Onely their splender's so exceeding bright, Th'excess confounds and blinds us with the sight, Just as the Sun, who's bright to that degree, Nothing is more, nothing less seen than he. Mean time the rapid motion of the spheres, Is not more sweet, nor ravishing than hers. And 'tis not th'harmony makes her dance, but she With Dancing 'tis, that makes the harmony. Next to divinest Cynthia, Queen of Light, Never was seen a Nimph more fair nor bright, Nor ever shall 'mongst all her starry train, Though those in Heaven, shou'd all come down again.

On Her Marriage with the Duke of RICHMOND.

THe fairest Nimph of all Diana's train, For whom so many sigh'd, and sigh'd in vain. •…•…he who so oft had others captive made, •…•…nd who so oft o'er others triumpht had, •…•…s Hymens captive now herself, and led •…•…n triumph, to the noble Richmond's Bed. Nor is it strange to see about her flie •…•…s many Cupids as are Stars i'th' skie, •…•…s many Graces as are Sands i'th' Sea, Nor yet as many Venus's as they; But to behold so many Vertue's throng, About a Nymph so beautiful and young, •…•…s strange indeed, and does enough declare, That she is full, as vertuous as fair. And all those lovely graces has beside, As e'er made Bridegroom happy in a Bride.

To the truly Honorable Mr. Thomas Howard, Brother to the Earl of Carlisle.

ALthough there's many of opinion are, That Honor's onely in the Honorer, Yet we may truly say of such as you, 'Tis both i'th' Honorer, and the Honor'd too. Nay, you'd be Honorable Sir, though none In all the World, there were, but you alone. As th' Sun would still be luminous and bright, Though all the World were destitute of sight. Let others glory in the Titles then, And Honors they receive from other Men. You have no Title, by the which y'are known, Nor Honor, but what's properly your own.

On the Death of the Earl of Sandwich.

NEver was greater Sacrifice than this, Where Sea's the Temple, Fireship Altar is, And Sandwich victime offer'd up to save His Countreys honor, by a death more brave, Than ever Heroe died, though we shou'd sum All Greece e'er boasted of, or ancient Rome. O Noble Sandwich! While there's memory O'th' British Seas thy Fame shall never die;

Who 'twixt two different deaths at last wert found, •…•…n Water burnt, and in the Fier drown'd. As if to kill thee once, did not suffice Thy mighty mind, but they must kill thee twice. Or else to serve thy Countrey, thou didst choose More than one death, more than one life to loose. Let then the Fabii, Decii, Curtii, nor Meltiades's be mentioned no more, Who for to serve their Countrey chose to fall, Our Noble Sandwich has out-done them all.

To the Earl of Ossery on his going to Sea.

MOst noble Ossery, who does possess, So much of honor, and of nobleness, As were all honor, all nobility, •…•…n others lost they might be found in thee. •…•…n these our Wars at Sea, where Death does stand, With twice more force and terror than at Land, •…•…nto what danger thou thy life dost bear, The less thou fear'st, the more thy friends do fear. But when we talk of danger unto him, Who life than honor, does far less esteem, This onely's all the answer he does give, There's need to go, but there's no need to live. Go then, since nothing can be throughly done, •…•…ut where the Noble Ossery is one.

There's nothing now that England needs to fear, When York is Leader, and he follower, Who's both in Peace and War, by Land and Sea, So fit to serve his Countrey every way, As for true honor, true nobility, England had ne'er a braver Man than he.

On Welbeck the Duke of New∣castle's House, where he entertain∣ed the Last King so Royally.

WElbeck a Royal Place, where every thing Seems made for entertainment of a King; And ••very one confesses, that he ne'er, Was en••ertain'd more Royally than there. Let others wonder at thy Lords expence, And at the vastness of's magnificence. He who wou'd hazard Fortune, Life and all, To serve his Master, when his General; For me I ne'er shall wonder, that he wou'd Not spare his Purse, who wou'd not spare his Blood.

TO Sir WILLIAM DUCEY, on his Three Entertainments, of the King, Prince of Tuscany, and Prince of Denmark, all the same year. An. 1669.

DƲcey, who bravely knows to spend, When 'tis for any noble end; And never sticks at the expence, When 'tis to shew magnificence. For th'Royal entertainment that Thou gav'st unto thy Prince of late▪ The honor onely is thine own; But what's to other Princes done, The honor which to that is due, •…•…s both thine own, and others too. •…•…n that th'art but a private Man, •…•…n this a publick Person, and Thy Countrey shou'd ungrateful be, •…•…hou'd it not always honor thee. Who know'st so bravely how to spend, When 'tis for any noble end. •…•…nd never sticks at the expence, When 'tis to shew magnificence.

On his House at Charlton, nigh Greenwich, where these En∣terments were made.

NOr shalt thou Charlton uncommended go, Whilst Greenwich is by all commended so. Although thou want'st a Barkleys Pen to raise Thee to that height of Fame, which t'other has. Did Thames but at thy Feet its tribute pay, As't does to theirs, shou'dst be as Fam'd as they But yet it needs not, for thou hast by Land, As it by Water full as great command. And hast as many Neiades, as they Their Hyades, who thy commands obey. Thy Champions are as pleafant and as green, Thou seest as much, though not so much art seen. And in thy safe Retirement from the shore, Thy fame is less, but happiness the more. In fine, thy Gardens, Orchards, and thy Fields, Yield not to t'other Park, while Greenwich yields As much or more, (although a Royal Seat) To thee for height, as thou to it for great.

On the Death of Charles Lord Gerrard of Bromley.

WHo alive so far had been, He almost every Land had seen; And almost every thing did know, A man cou'd in this world below. At last his knowledge to improve, Is gone unto the World above. Where his knowledge is so much, And his happiness is such; 'Twou'd envy, and not sorrow seem In those too much, shou'd grieve for him.

To the Lady Gerrard of Bromley, on the Education of my Lord Her Son.

IF Education, Second Nature be, You doubly have oblig'd Posterity, By giving, Madam, to, my Lord, your Son, Such brave and noble Education, As gives him double Title to the Fame Of noble Gerrards, and brave Digbies name. Which while you give, and he does take so well, Who merits greatest praise, we cannot tell; But all agree there's none can better do, A Sons then he, a Mothers part than you.

To Sir K. D.

WHilst with thy mighty wit we but compare Our petty ones, me thinks they pigmies are. And thine the Giant, with whose vast discourse, Whilst we'd be meddling fain, but want the force, Thy wit comes to't, and takes it up with ease, Turns it as light, and handles as thou please. Oh how I've long'd! when I've in company been, Where I've some insolent talking Tyrant seen; Usurping all th'discourse o'th' company, Whilst none must talk, none must be heard but he; T'have some such Tyrant-Conqueror as thou Enter the Room, but onely to see how My talking; Sir, would presently be husht, And his swoln insolence like a Bladder crusht. So have I seen some chattering Pye or Jay, Fright with their noise, the lesser Foul away. Until some mighty Eagle comes in sight, When strait themselves are husht, and put to flight.

To the same, Recommending a certain Memorial to him in Italy. An. 1646.

I Must beg of you Sir, nay, what is more, 'Tis a disease so infectious to be poor.

•…•…ust beg you'd beg for me, which whilst I do, •…•…hat is't, but even to make you begger too? •…•…ut poverty being as honorable now, •…•…s 'twas when Cincinnatus held the Plough, •…•…enatots sow'd and reapt, and who had been •…•…n Carr of Triumph, fetcht the Harvest in. •…•…hen mightiest Peers do want, nay, what is worse, •…•…ven greatest Princes live on others Purse. •…•…nd very Kings themselves are Beggers made, •…•…o shame for any Sir, to be o'th' trade.

On the Dutchess of Newcastles Closset.

WHat place is this! Looks like some sacred Cell, Where holy Ermits anciently did dwell. •…•…nd never left importunating Heaven, •…•…ill some great blessing unto Earth was given? 〈…〉〈…〉 this a Ladies Closset! 'T cannot be, •…•…or nothing here of vanity we see: •…•…othing of curiosity or pride, •…•…s most of Ladies Clossets have beside. •…•…carcely a Glass or Mirror in't you find, •…•…xcepting Books, the Mirrors of the mind. •…•…or is't a Library, but just as she, •…•…akes each place where she comes a Library. •…•…ere she's in rapture, here in extasie, With studying high and deep Philosophy.

Here those clear Lights descend unto her mind, Which by Reflexion in her Books we find: And those high Notions, and Idea's too, Which but her self, no woman ever knew. Whence she's the cheifest Ornament and Grace, O'th' Age and of her Sex, Hail sacred Place, To which, the World in after time, shall come, As unto Homers Shrine, or Virgils Tomb. Honoring the Walls in which she made abode, The Air she breath'd, and Ground on which sh•…•… trode•…•… So Fame rewards the Arts, and so agen, The Arts reward all those who honor them. While those in any other Fame do trust, Shall after death lie in forgotten dust.

To the same with his Emilia.

WHen Poets wou'd a Heroinna make. Does all perfections of her Sex partake. They make her noble Fair, and vertuous too, All which perfections, Madam, are in you. Emilia then is but a feigned name, But you and she, are really the same. Or, if there's any diff'rence this is all, She's but the Copy, you the Original, Being then your Pourtraict, and your mirror too, There's none has greater right unto't, than you. Who so resembles you, we well may say; Emilia's you, and you Emilia.

To Mr. Henry Jermin, On the demand, Why he had no higher Titles.

STill Noble, Gallant, Generous, and Brave, What greater Titles would these people have? Or, what can they imagine more to express, •…•…ow great thou art, that wou'd not make thee less? He who is proud of other Titles, is •…•…roud of a thing, that's others, none of his. 〈…〉〈…〉 thing that's but the Title Page o'th' Book, On which your Fools and Children onely look. Or garnishment of dishes not to ear, •…•…ut empty nothings to set off the meat. •…•…hou enviest none their Honors, but would be, •…•…orry they shou'd deserve them more then thee. •…•…nd 'twere in thee, but vain ambition, •…•…o seek by other Titles to be known. When Henry Jermins name alone affords, •…•…s loud and high a found as any Lords. •…•…e still thy self then, and let others be, •…•…igh as they list in's place, what's that to thee? •…•…heir worth is all without them, thine within, •…•…nd whilst man fills the place, 'tis worth fills him. •…•…he Title of a worthy person's more, •…•…han all those Titles which your Clowns adore.

And there's no Office we may greater call, Than doing of good offices to all. This is thy Office, these thy Titles are. Let whose list take the rest, thou dost not care.

To James Earl of Northampton.

WHilst you your Fathers noble steps did trace, And still were found where greatest danger was. As none i'th' Wars more active was than you, So none has since more suffer'd for it too; By Plundering, Harassing, Imprisonment, And all successful Rebels cou'd invent; To punish Loyalty with, in such a time, When being Loyal was the greatest crime. All which you not with patience alone, But even with chearfulness have undergone. Wishing your dangers, loss, and suffering, Far greater yet in serving of your King. And that far from the mercenary regard Of those, did less for honor than reward. And you've the honor of't, let other men Take the reward, you do not envy them.

To Mr. Bernard Howard, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk. Seguite il Pocchi, & non li vulgare genti.

I Grant you Sir, I have a mind unfit, For my low fortune far too high for it; •…•…ut sure you'll grant 'tis better have it so, •…•…han for high fortune to have a mind too low. •…•…y that a man is elevated too, •…•…n Angels pitch, attain'd by onely few. •…•…y this, the Noble Soul is even deprest •…•…nto the vulgar, almost to the Beast. •…•…his sentence I have ta'en for Motto then, Follow the few, not vu••gar sort of men; •…•…nd care not what the ignorant vulgar say, •…•…or being not of their number, nor their way; •…•…hey do but talk, and can't in judgment sit, Nor lies it in their verge to judge of it. 〈…〉〈…〉 put my self upon the onely few, •…•…hat is the best and noblest, such as you.

To the Lord George Barkley.

IF as they say, and as we clearly see, Vertue be onely true nobility: There's none gives greater testimony than you, My Lord, that your nobility is true. And that't may so continue, you provide By adding to 't true piety beside. For Piety is but Vertue Died in Grain, Can ne'er change colour, nor take spot or stain. In which pure G••rments, who so e'er are clad, Are truly noble, truly vertuous made. Such Courtiers, Heaven desires, and such King shou'•• Desire too, if they'd have them great and good. Happy the whilst, my Lord, are such as you, F••t both for th'Earthly Court, and Heavenly too.

To LILLY, Drawing the Dutchess of Clevelands Picture.

STay daring Man, and ne'er presume to draw Her Picture, till thou maist such Colours get; As Zeuxes and Apelles never saw, Nor e'er were known by any Painter yet.

Till from all Beauties thou extracts the Crace, And from the Sun, the Beams that guild the Skies; Never presume to draw her Beauteous Face, Nor Paint the Radiant brightness of her Eyes. In vain the whilst thou dost the labor take, Since none can set her forth, to her desert. She who's above, all Nature e'er did make, Much more's above, all can be made by Art. Yet been't discourag'd, for who e'er does see't, At least, with Admiration must confess, It has an Air so charming and so sweet, Much more than others, though than hers much less. So those bold Giants, who wou'd scale the Sky, Although they in their high attempt did fall, This comfort had, they mounted yet more high Than those, who never strove to climb at all. Comfort thee then, and think it no disgrace, From so great heighth, a little to decline. Since all must grant the Reason of it was, Her too great Exc'llence, and no want of thine.

In Memory of his Noble Friend, Col. William Evers, Slain in the Battle of Marstone-Moor.

EVers, who as thou liv'dst, so thou didst die! Deserving an Eternal Memory!

Let some for th' Macedonian go about To cut Mount Athos into Statues out; Others in memory of Great Heroes, Raise huge Mausolium's and Collosose's. This for thy memory, may be enough To make't not onely Time, but Glory prove, To see thee embracing of a Kingdom stand, Like some great Cato, or some greater hand; And midst of thy embraces see it fall, Drawing to ruine with it, thee, and all. Who would not say of such a mind, 'twas fit 'T shou'd never fall, but all the World with it.

Of the Riches of the Barbado's, to Mr. Henry Drax.

HOw rich Barbadoes is in other things, We well may see by th' wealthy Trade it brings. How rich it is in Men, we well may see, By bringing forth brave Drax, such Men as thee.

On Mr. Abraham Cowley.

COwley's not dead, immortal is his Muse; Or, if he be a Phenix he's become, Who match-less in his kind, his life renews, And animates his ashes in his Tomb.

The same in French.

NOn Couley n'est pas mort, sa muse est immortelle, Ou bien si Couley est mort c'est un Phenix nouveau Qui n' ayant son pareil, soy mesme renouelle, Et suruit a sa cendre, animant son Tombeau.

The Praises of Burbadge, or an Excellent Actor. To Charles Hart.

WHo by the best and noblest of the Age, Was held the chiefest ornament o'th' Stage And Actors clearest light, in no dark time, To shew them what to follow, what decline. Who knew by Rules of the Dramatick Art, To fit his Speech and Action to his Part. And of an Excellent Orator had all In voice and gesture which we charming call; Who a delightful Proteus was, that cou'd Transform himself into what shape he wou'd. And finally did on the Stage appear. Beauty to th' Eye, and Musick to the Ear. Such Burbadge was, and such Charles Hart is now, All but the deaf and blind, must needs allow.

To Mr. John Dryden.

DRyden, the Muses darling and delight, Then whom, none ever flew so high a flight; Nor ever any's Muse, so high did sore Above th' Poets Empyrium before. Some go but to Parnassus foot, and there Creep on the Ground, as if they Reptils were: Others but Water Poets, who have gone, No farther than the Fount of Helicon; And they're but Airy ones, whose Muse soars up No higher than to Mount Parnassus top. Whilst thou with thine, dost seem t'have mounted higher, Than he who fetcht from Heaven, Celestial fire; And dost as far surpass all others, as The fier's, all other Elements does surpass.

On Mistress Jean Roberts.

Roberts, whom rather we Rob-hearts, may call, Since of our Hearts, her Beauty robs us all; And does it with such gentle force and slight, As she even robs us with her very sight. Nay, what few Beauties else cou'd ever do, Her sight not onely robs, but kills us too.

Though none so fond of life, was ever found, Who wou'd not gladly die of such a wound; Nor talk of Law to her, who is above All other Laws, but onely those of Love. Whence she's so high, and absolute become, As she gives Laws to all, but takes of none. Such priviledge Beauty has, whence we may see Less Thieves are punish'd, great ones lawless be. And mighty Conquerors, whom no Laws can touch, Do rob and kill like her, but not so much.

The End of the Second Book of EPIGRAMS Published before.

THE THIRD BOOK OF EPIGRAMS.

To a Lady who miscarried of Her First-Born Son.

IT always has a Pious Custome been, To give to Heaven First-fruits of every thing. And in this manner, Madam, y'have begun, By giving unto Heaven, your first-born son. Mean time, you may be most assur'd, that Heaven, To whom your Son, so piously y'have given, Will liberally reward you; and for one That you have given it, give you many a son. Then, Madam, cease to grieve, and to complain, If Heaven who gave him, takes him back again; Who might have longer liv'd, but ne'er cou'd die For you, nor for himself, more happily. Happy for him, has that good Fortune had, 'Stead of a Man, to be an Angel made.

Happy for you, to whom the whilst is given, 'Stead of a Son on Earth, a Son in Heaven.

To a Lady newly Married.

HAving now wholly chang'd your state of life, From that of Virgin, unto that of Wife. No wonder, Madam, at so great a change, That every thing shou'd seem t'y' new and strange, As all great changes, greater still they be, Begin with wonder, and with extasie; But end in joy, and in delight at last, When once the strangeness and the wonder's past. So those, who to the Elizian shades do come At first, are lost in admiration; Till they at last recover by degrees, And wholly all their admiration leese. Now marriage is this blest Elizian shade, Where those, who love like you, are happy made. As you'll experience now y'are thither come, And so y'are welcome to Elysium.

To a Lady, too curious of Her Dress.

ANd why Clarissa so much pains and care, To gain the reputation of fair! When without all this care, and all this pain, You have already, what you strive to gain?

Beauty and Truth need so small setting forth, All you can add to 't, takes but from their worth; And th' Sun and you, need far more art to hide, Your brighter Beams, than make them more espi'd. All other arts in you, wou'd shew as poor As his, shou'd go about to guild Gold o'er. And you'd appear as vain in it, as they Shou'd seek by art, to blanch the Milky way. Y'are fair enough Clarissa, leave to those, Those petty arts, are onely Paint and Cloaths, And those wh're of themselves so little part, They're forc'd to piece it out by help of art. So Politicks, when th' Lions skin does fail, Do use to piece it out with th' Foxes tail. But when th'ave Lions skin enough, 'tis poor And beggarly, to add a piece to't more.

To a fair and vertuous Lady, too confident of Her Innocence.

MAdam, that you are innocent I know, But men want innocence to think you so; Who're all so vicious grown, they wont allow That any can be fair and vertuous now. •…•…n Saturns days, perhaps it might suffice, When to be innocent, was to be wise: But now without the Serpents wisdom too, The inn'cence of the Dove will hardly do.

You then must get you some more sure defence For vertue now, besides your innocence; For Innocence is Vertue but unarm'd, The more you trust unto't, the more y'are harm'd,

The Ladies name in Enigma.

Her first name somewhat of Elizium has, Her second is in a more mistick phrase; That colour which shews venerable Age, And does i'th' morning a fair day presage, Unriddle now and tell, whose name it is, Or forfeit a discretion if you miss.

On two married very young.

LOve well was fained young, for then's the time As Roses are i'th' Bud, when he's in's prime. And such a Love as that, is this of theirs, Who now are married in their tender years. Now like Soft Wax, they fittest are to take, The first impressions which their love does make. And like young Plants, they'll easily bend and bow, Which older grown, they'd not so easily do. Make hast to th' Temple then, you do them wrong To let them stay unmarried so long. Marriage is but a bargain betwixt too, With giving hands, and there's no more to do; And unto those have given their hearts before The giving hands, does add but little more:

For Love and Marriage, none are under Age, Though for the Bed they're yet in pupilage: Those sweets are yet behind, which when they taste They'll soon repent, they made no greater haste.

On a Fair and Beauteous Youth.

WHat more than fair and beauteous Youth is this? Seems Natures cheifest Pride and Master-piece; When doubtful, whether Sex to make, she made One, who of either all perfections had. You'd think him young Apollo or the Sun, But that his Face has two, and th' Skies but one; Or else, that Cupid God of Love he were, Did he, like him, but Bow and Quiver bear. Who e'er he be, you well may say, that he's All that to Beauty, Beauty to others is Of Grace and Ornament, and that has more Than ever any Mortal had before. Live then fair Youth, and may the Fates still twine New threds of Life, and add them unto thine, Till thou at length Immortal maist become, As bright Latona's, or fair Venus son. Which if the Fates and Destinies deny, Thine own brave parts, and Vertues may supply.

To a fair Lady under the name of Celia.

CElia, who now are in your Beauties prime, Courted by all the gallants of the time; Who almost nothing else of Heaven do crave, Than that for wife they might fair Celia have. I'll tell you what your Beauty is, and what Y'are to expect, when come to marriage state. Beauty is just like Sweet-meats, which before Th'ave tasted of, nothing they long for more, But after once 'tis tasted and enjoy'd, Ther's nothing with the which th'are sooner cloi'd. Then married once, 'tis such a tepid thing, And's fiers become so dull and languishing, As loosing all its force i'th' married brest, 'Tis Ice to them, that's fire to all the rest. Trust not the Bodies Beauty then alone, Than which, there's nothing sooner past and gone. But if a lasting one indeed you'll find, Trust onely to the Beauty of the mind.

On a little pretty Child.

PRetty Child! In whom appears, All the Seeds above thy years, Of every Beauty, every Grace, As e'er was sown in Mind or Face! By the Bud we well may see, What the Flower in time will be; And by the Blossom may presage, What the Fruit of riper age, Never by Nature, yet was made One who more perfections had, Nor ever, though she'd ne'er so fain, Can she make the like again. Thou art Epitomy of all We pretty, fair, and sweet may call; And for the more conformity, This is th' Epitomy of thee.

To certain Ladies, who said they liked not our old Wits.

LAdies, you like not our old Wits, you say, And what new ones, are those you like I pray? Age perfects Wits, as Time does perfect Fruit, Giving a riper taste, and rellish to't.

And 'tis in such as you, a gross mistake, No difference betwixt Age and Dotage make. But 'tis the nature of Green-sickness Wits, As 'tis of your Green-sickness Appetits. T'one in the Minds, t'other the Bodies Food, To like the Bad, and to mislike the Good. Or just as Heresie at first begun By crying down the Old Religion. So 'tis perchance an Heresie in you, To cry down old wits, and cry up the new. If so, with your good leaves, say what you will. Ladies o'th' new, give me the old ones still.

To a fair Lady against Masquerading.

SUre 'twas some one, who was asham'd, and durst Not shew her face, invented Masking first: And since t'has been a common Custome made By such as those, to go in Masquerade, But such as you, and all fair things were made To shine i'th' light, and not lie hid i'th' shade. Night's dark enough, and there's more need to add New light unto't, than t'have it darker made. And y'ave a Beauty, that's so fair and bright, It is enough to make a day of night. Beauty's a Heavenly thing, and those who wou'd Hide that, wou'd hide Heaven from us, if they cou'd! Not to be guilty of that envious sin, Unmask your Mask, and let your Face be seen.

Or, if you needs will hide it, you may find A speedier way, shew it, and strike us blind. That were a nobler way for you and us, You to be hidden, and we blinded thus.

Of a fair Lady ill spoken of.

AS 'tis a Godlike disposition, To judge and speak the best of every one: So 'tis a spirit diabolical, To judge the worst, and to speak ill of all. All have their faults, and those who have the least, We shou'd account the happiest and the best. Tis the condition of Humanity, None in this World without some faults can be; And who'd have those, with none at all, must go To th'World above, there's none in this below. And what are those faults now they find with you? Of which themselves are not as guilty too. Less Beauty be a fault, and then who wou'd Not gladly be as guilty, if they cou'd? As midnight Dogs then bark against the Moon, Whilst she her bright conspicuous course goes on; So do you well, and then let them speak ill, The more their shame, the more your honor still.

Ʋpon one who slandred a fair Lady.

THou enemy of all that's fair and bright, As Fowls of darkness, are unto the light. Monster of Monsters! Basilisk of spight, That kill'st with tongue, as t'other does with sight. Sland'rer of Ladies, and of them the best, Th hast done an act, which all men must detest. Beauty's a thing divine, and those who wou'd Wrong that, wou'd wrong divinity, if they cou'd. Who takes my Purse, does but as robbers do, Who takes my Fame, robs me and kills me too; And with his venomous tongue, and poysonous breath, Does all he can to kill me after death: But I mistake, it is no calumny, To be ill spoken of by such as thee; Thou rather praisest them against thy will, As he who cur'd by chance, whom he wou'd kill; For 'tis the same thing rightly understood, To be disprais'd by th'bad, as prais'd by th'good.

To a Noble Friend of his in the Countrey.

WHilst Men and Manners here, are all so bad, As every one by example's worser made.

You're happy Sir, who in the Countrey are, And nothing see but good example there. Passing your time amongst the Countrey sports, More harmlesly than we in Towns or Courts. Who just as silly sheep, 'mong bushes stray, Whilst every bush takes part o'th' Fleece away, So ne'er abroad 'mongst company do come, But we lose somewhat still we had at home; Not onely our ease, our quiet and content, But we receive far greater detriment: Our morning thoughts are Gold, by noon th'are Lead, And all turn'd dross before we go to Bed. And every hour we worse and worser grow, Mixture of company does abase us so.

On the Noble Company at Melchbourn.

MElchborun a happy place, to whom is given This priviledge by special Grace of Heaven, As in no other place you e'er shall see More noble, nor more easie Company. Whose Lord and Lady of a Dove-like kind, Live so united with one Soul and Mind, Betwixt them never yet was other strife, But who shou'd kindest be of Man or Wife; Or with like emulation agen, Who shou'd do greater good to other men.

All Freedom, Nobleness, and Kindness he; All Sweetness, Gentleness, and Mildness she: No Weather-cocks of humor apt to change, To day familiar, and to morrow strange; But constant to their goodness, and their way, The same to morrow, as they were to day.

On a Ladies blushing, when the King looked upon her.

SO Roses blush, when look'd on by the Sun, As she, when by the King she's look'd upon. And so of all fair things, we nothing see, More fair in Nature, than the Rose and she. If things take name from their original, We well her Blushes Royal ones may call; And if we'ave lost the Royal Purples stain, It in her Cheeks may well be found again. Mean time as 'tis a sign the Sun draws near, When fair Aurora blushing does appear, To see her blushing, when the King does come, You'd say she were Aurora, he the Sun.

The Pourtract.

SUch a Statue as we call, Nor too low, nor yet too tall; And each part from head to foot, With a just proportion to't. Such a fair and beauteous face, As adds to all the rest a Grace. Hair so black and skin so white, Never was a fairer sight, And her fairer yet to make Eyes and Eye-brows too as black: Forhead smoother than the Glass, Where she sees her Beauteous Face: Cheeks, where naturally grows The Lillies, and the blushing Rose. Lips all other Lips excelling, Th'are so ruddy, and so swelling, Voice that charms you, 'tis so sweet, Made more charming by her wit. Whilst in none you e'er shall find, 〈…〉〈…〉 more fair and vertuous mind. •…•…f you'd know who this may be, Name Bellasis, it is she.

On a Famous Running Horse.

LEt F••bulous Antiquity no more Boast of the Running Horses th'had before, Here is a Horse, to whom they'd all seem lame, Who ran i'th' Isthmos or Nemaean game: Surpassing far the Horses of the Sun, So many thousand miles a day do run; Or Ginnets of the Adulasian kind, For swiftness far out-strips their fire the Wind. Whom we had prais'd before, but that there's none Had time to do it, till the race was done. But now we well without hyperbolly, May s••y, he does not seem to run but fly. Talk then no more of Pegasus, nor yet Of t'other Flying Horse or Pacolet, Whilst we have Tancred here, we well may say, We have our Flying Horse, as well as they.

To an Enemy.

FOr shame give o'er, and let's be friends agen, And still remember w'are not Beasts but Men. •…•…his baiting one another, is but just •…•…ike Bear-baiting, where those who seem the most Delighted with't, nor love the Dog nor Bear, •…•…ut onely th'savage sport they make them there: •…•…nd what Man's he, himself wou'd harm or hurt, Onely as Beasts do, to make others sport? •…•…or shame give o'er then, let's be friends agen, •…•…nd still remember w'are not Beasts, but Men.

On a little pretty Person.

SHe is pretty, and she knows it, She is witty, and she shows it; •…•…nd besides that, she's so witty, •…•…nd so little, and so pretty, •…•…h'has a hundred other parts, •…•…or to take and conquer hearts. •…•…Mongst the rest, her Air's so sprightful, •…•…nd so pleasant and delightful, With such Charms and such Attractions, •…•…n her words, and in her Actions, •…•…s who e'er does hear and see, •…•…ay there's none does charm but she.

But who have her in their arms, Say sh'has hundred other charms, And as many more Attractions, In her words, and in her actions; But for that, suffice to tell ye, 'Tis the little pretty Nelly.

The End of the Anominal Eprigrams.

THE FOURTH BOOK OF EPIGRAMS.

On his Accession to the Poetical Academy in ITALY: Ʋnder the Presidency of the Lord Duke of Buckingham.

'TIs so indeed, here's a free Mart and Faire, I now perceive, of all Poetick ware, No Tax, Gabel, nor Imposition, none On any Merchandise, but every one Brings what he please, and from the Lord o'th' place Free Pasport for it, and safe conduct has. Mean time, all sort of rich commodities, Are here instal'd to take the curious eyes. Pictures o'th' mind, so lively drawn, and like, They put down Holbeen, Titian, and Vandike.

Damasks and Tissues of Parnassus work, Surpass the Chinan, Persian, and the Turk. T'on's richer vain, and sparkling wit contends, With Gold and Jewels, either India sends. To'ther agen for softer phrase puts down, The Wool o'th' Beaver, or the Swans soft Doun: Onely as I have heard objected, there's Great want amongst the rest of such small Wares. Your Ped••ers use to bring unto a Fair, Amongst your richer, and more precious Ware: And for such petty toys, that none may lack, I'm come to fit them, with my Pedlers Pack.

Something upon an excellent Poem of Nothing.

OF nothing, nothing's made, they say, but he Disprov'd that saying, Poem, who made thee. And proves himself maker of Verses right, Cou'd out of nothing, bring such ones to light. Which I (as Creatures him who does create) Onely on somewhat dully imitate. Mean time, I hope, say all they can agin't, They needs must say, at least, there's somewhat in't. Or granting it as good, as nothing be, The greater honor still for it and me.

On Doctor Cornuto.

WHoso famous was of late, He was with th' finger pointed at; What cannot Learning do, and single state? Being married he so famous grew, As he was pointed at with two, What cannot Learning and a Wife now do?

Ʋpon one Sweating in Cornelius Tub.

WHo's this that lives so like Diogenes, For he liv'd in a Tub, and so does this? Some Anchorit perhaps who here does dwell, In solitary Tub instead of Cell? Or some Tub-Preacher, who does take such pain, To Preach 'gainst Babel, as he sweats again. Pox! Now I know 'tis one i'th' case he's in, Sweats more for's own, than Eves or Adam's sin; And's in so sweet a pickle, I suppose, He's glad himself, that he has ne'er a nose. Yet he's so far from railing against Women, And from repentance of his former sinning. He calls it still the sweet sin of the flesh, Although't be rather powder'd now, than fresh. And as for Woman says, howe'er th'ave s••rv'd him, A Woman made him, and a Woman marr'd him.

In Small-Beer.

HOw cold am I? with Drinking of this Small- Beer we may well the Devils Julip call; Distill'd from Lembeck of some Lapland Witch, With North-winds Bellows blowing in her Breech, Or stale of some cold Hag o'th'Marshes, who Than Water never better Liquor knew; A penitential drink for none, by right, But those 'th' morning, who were drunk o'er night. Sure 'twas the poyson Antiquaries think They g••ve condemned Socrates to drink: Or that the Macedonian drank so cold, As nothing but an Asses Hoeff would hold. We are deceiv'd it was not Neobe's moan, But drinking Small-Beer turn'd her unto stone. And that infa••libly, which since has made All Charity so cold, and th'World so bad. If then Divines wou d mend it, let them Preach 'Gainst Small-Beer onely, and no doctrine Teach; But Drinking Wine, and then we soon shou'd see All in Religion eas'ly would agree; There wou'd be no dispute, nor factious Brother, To rail against the State, and damn each other. This were a l••bor, worthy of their heat, And furious beating th' Pulpit till they sweat.

In the Small Pox.

'MOngst all diseases of Pandoras Box, Was none more fowl and ugly than the Pox. Not that for honors sake, the Great we call, But that more fowl and ugly one the Small. The greatest enemy that Beauty has, And very Goth and Vandal of a face. On which it makes as fowl, or fowler work, Than's Cosin-German Measles upon Pork. One of those Devils which in ancient time, Cast out of Man went to the Herd of Swine; And giving them the Pox, is come agen To play the Devil as it did with Men, To wish the Plague upon it now, that curse 'T anticipates already for 'tis worse, Or Great Pox on it, we shou'd curse but ill, For 'tis more Great, in being the Small Pox still. Since then 'tis in its self, so great a curse, There's onely one way left to make it worse. Let Doctor— undertake its cure, And with a vengeance that will do't I'm sure.

The Patrons Lives to the Lord M.

MY, Noble Lord, if you would tell How to live, and to live well. Please you but attention give, I'll tell you how the Patrons live. First of all, they never c••re, Nor for Clock, nor Calender: Next they ne'er desire to know How affairs o'th'World do go, Above all they ne'er resort, To the Busie-Hall, nor Court. Where most part do nothing else, But trouble others and themselves: All the bus'ness they look after, Onely is their sport and laughter, With a Friend, and chearful Cup, Merrily to Dine and Sup; Hear good Musick, see a Play, Thus they pass the time away. And if you like our living thus, Come, my Lord, and live with us.

Of an Epicure.

AN Epicure is one of those, No God, besides his Belly knows; And who besides his Bill of Fare, Does for no other Scripture care. Who for his Pallat, and his Gust, Has quite forgot all other Lust, And hugs a Bottle as he wou'd A Mistress, if the Wine be good. Who lays about him like a Giant, When he meets a Morsel Friand; And so long has cram'd his Gut, He's nothing else from Head to Foot. When you such an one do meer, Or in Tavern, or in Street; By his bulk you may be sure, He is a perfect Epicure.

In Pravos Aulicos.

IF as they say Courts, are like Heaven, and Kings Like Gods, sure Courtiers shou'd be holy things; Like Angels, from which state, when once they fall As Devils did, the Devil take them all.

Consolation to Porters.

COmfort poor Porter, every one must bear Their load and burthen, whilst they tarry here; And every one, be who they will, are free As well as thou o'th' Porters Company: Nor is't so base a trade perh••ps, as thou Imagin'st it, since if that saying be true, Great Honors are great Burthens, we may call The Porters trade th'honorablest one of all.

To one who spake ill of him.

THe same advantage thou hast over those, Who have some Fame, while thou hast none to lose: As Gamsters have, who play o'th' tick with one Who has some money, while themselves have none.

On Simple.

SImple made much ado, and much offence He took for saying, He scarce had common sence, Till saying He had, and very common too. Simple was pleas'd, and made no more ado.

Of Friends and Foes.

TWo Painters, Friend and Fo, once went about To draw Antigones, whose one eye was out, At half face either; t'one in friendly wise, Painted him so, you'd think h'had both his eyes; T'other o'th' contrary did paint him so, You'd doubt where he had any eyes, or no. So betwixt Friends and Foes, Men are exprest, By halfs set forth, whilst they conceal the rest. None as their Friends & Foes depaint them wou'd, Beeing ever half so bad, or half so good.

On your Cross-haters.

WHo will not be Baptised, onely because In Baptism they make the Sign o'th' Cross; And hates all Christendom in such a manner, Because they bear the Sign o'th' Cross for Banner. Who with the Cross makes as unchristian work, Where e'er he comes, as Pagan, Jew, or Turk. And cheifly h••tes the Papists, as he does For making as they do, the Sign o'th' Cross. To shew in fine, how well the Devil and he In hating of the Sign o'th' Cross agree. Seeing how every one in Swimming does Stretch forth their Arms, and makes the Sign o'th' Cross, Were he to Swim sooner than make I think The Sign o'th' Cross, he'd rather chuse to sink,

To his Horse at Grass in a Friends Park.

AFter my hearty commendations, Hoping thou hast nor Bots, nor Fashions; But art in good health, and as pleasant, As I'm at writing of this present. This is to let thee understand, I sh••ll be with thee out of hand; In the mean time, be sure thou fly All such unruly company, May lead thee over Hedge and Ditches, As they had Bryers in their Breeches, Till thou in doleful dumps be'st found Half starv'd, at last, in Countrey pound. I need not bid thee now beware Of playing Horse tricks there with Mare. For th'art by him, they call Sow-gelder. Quite marr'd for getting Hans in Kelder; And so long there is no great danger, Thou shou'dst, or Stallion prove or Ranger. 'Bove all, if Serving-man or Groom To take thee up, does flattering come. With Bridle in hand, and Oats in Sieve, Run from them fast as thou canst drive; For if they once but get that haunt, Imployment thou shalt never want.

Grey Flecknoe here, Grey Flecknoe there, Grey Flecknoe must go every where; And unto every one does back thee, At last become the common Hackney: So hoping in my absence, that Th'wilt feed so well, and grow so fat, As to recover strength and force, That I may say Gramercy Horse. •…•…arewel Good Cut, as I remember The Three and twentieth of September.

On Madam Tumbril in Burlesque Verse.

TO tell you what Dame Tumbril was, For Beauty both of Person and Face; Without any long and tedious preamble, As Poets use when they run on the ramble. Her face was good, if for goodness, at least, •…•…t goes, as in Bucklers, the broadest the best; And person fair, if for fairness it goes •…•…n such as she, as in Bullocks it does. •…•…n plain terms, without mincing the matter, She had a face as broad as a Platter, And person, such as to see it, you'd fansie Some huge Dutch Jug were come from beyond Sea. Then an Arithmetician 'twould trouble, To count her Chins, th'were so many fold double;

Which made her look lik•• a Bawd or a Widwife, Or old Madam Bennet, or Ʋrsly the Pigwife. As for the qualities of her interior; They say to the rest, are nothing inferior: I le••ve them to those, who better do know her Interior than I, and so I give over.

On your Justices of Peace's making Marriages.

NOw just as 'twas in Saturn's raign, The Golden Age is return'd again. And again Astrea amongst us is come, When every thing by Justice is done. Who now not onely in Temporal matters, But also in Spiritual looks to our waters: And Parson and Vicar, have nothing to do, Now Justice has making of Marriages too. Before, of Wedlock they made but a mock, When once th'had the trick of picking the Lock; And Marriage Bonds so slightly were tide Their running knot, wou'd easily slide. And at the worst, when ever 'twas slipt For pennance, perhaps they onely were whipt. But now there is no slipping the Halter, •…•…ut strait they are hang'd, if any do falter. •…•…o every thing does fall out right, And, that old Proverb is verifi'd by't,

That marriage and hanging both go together. When Justice shall have the ordring of either.

On Married Ministers.

IF both i'th' Spiritual and Temporal War, Their Wives but Baggages i'th' Armies are: We well may say, Your Ministers who marry Whilst others fight, do with the Baggage tarry.

In Invideum.

WHen e'er thou seest me take delight, In any thing, thou bursts with spight; And so thou dost at every thing That does me any profit bring Thou bursts with spight to see that I Am still in Noble Company, And honor I receive from them, Does make thee burst with spight agen. If then my profit, my delight, And pleasure, makes thee burst with spight: And all my good does prove thy ill, I prithee burst with spight of't still.

On Madam

OF Madam, it may well be sed, That Madam's Head has little wit; When Madam's Husband is her head, And Madam makes a fool of it.

On a Hector, Pitifully beaten and drag'd away by the Watch and Constable.

STill to be drag'd still to be beaten thus? Hector, I fear, thy name is ominous, And thou for fighting, didst but ill provide To take thy name thus from the beaten side. To have the Watch, like Band of Mirmidons, Beat thee with Halberts down, and break thy bones, And every Petty Constable thou meets Achillis-like to drag thee through the streets. Poor Hector! When th'art beaten blind and lame, I hope thou't learn to take another name.

On an Avaricious Person.

WHo wholly spends his life in getting wealth, And to increase his store, consums himself; To me does verier Fool than him appear, Who sold his Horse, to buy him Provender. Money's like Muck that's profitable, while 'Tis spred abroad, and does inrich a Soyl. But when 'tis heap'd and hoarded up, methinks 'Tis like a Dunghil that lies still and stinks.

On his dim Sight.

I Who in former times cou'd never brook, On any thing, but what was great to look. Mine eyes grown dim, this by't, at least, do get, I nothing now can see, but what is great; A hundred other benefits beside, I've gotten now by being so dimly eyed. The greatest Beauties now I mind no more, Than e'er I did the meanest ones before. And vanities of the World, I so pass by With a neglective irretorted eye. Of all its pleasures I have Ambition none, •…•…o careless, and so unconcern'd I'm grown.

Let whose list then, complain of want of sight, For me I've got so great a benefit by't. As rightly weigh d, and rightly understood, I wou'd not now see better, if I cou'd.

The End of the Fourth Book of Drolling Epigrams.

Divine and Moral EPIGRAMS, DEDICATED TO HER MAJESTY, CATHERINE OF PORTƲGAL, Queen of Great Britain, &c.

MADAM,

AS never any stranger was more ob∣liged than I, unto the King Your Majesties Father; so never any had greater desire than I, to make acknowledg∣ment of it to Your Majesty: But living in obscurity, retired from the Light of Court, and making no Figure there, I imagined it would have no Grace for such a Shaddow and Cypher as I, to present my self unto Your Majesty; and other presents I had none, but onely such as this, which by its Littleness, shews the Greatness of my desire to declare my self,

Madam,

Your Majesties In all Humility and Devotions Rich. Flecknoe.

To Her Majesty. Of the Dignity and Efficacy of Prayer.

AS by the Sun we set our Dials, so, Madam, we set our Pieties by You; Without whose light, we shou'd in darkness be, And nothing truly good, nor vertuous see. You in the Temple so assidual are, Your whole life seems but one contrived Pray'r, And every place an Oratory you make, When from the Temple Y'are returned back. Like vapors Prayers ascend, and Heaven in Rain Of Blessings, show'rs them down on us again; And if Heaven suffers violence, from whence, But onely Pray'r, proceeds this violence? O mighty Pray'r that canst such wonders do, To force both Heaven, and the Almighty too I Fools were those Giants then, since, if instead Of heaping Hills on Hills, as once they did, They had but heapt up Pray'rs on Pray'rs as fast, They might have eas'ly conquer'd Heaven at last.

On the Birth of our B. S.

AFter the glory given to God on high, Upon this day at his Nativity; If any one be curious to know, What peace it was, was given to Men below. That peace of God, infallibly it was, All mortal understanding does surpass; Onely the low and humble do obtain, Whilst by the proud and high, 'tis sought in vain. Seek then to know no farther, but be wise, This is the Mystery of Mysteries After which, none that any Reason hath Can doubt of any Mystery of Faith; That God's a Man, and's Mother Virgin is, What can be more miraculous than this?

On the Magiis following the Star.

OTher Astrologers of opinion were, That all the World was lesser than a Star; But these, it seems, believed it alone, Who strait left all the World, to follow one.

On the Circumcision of our B. S.

HOw soon, O Lord, to day didst thou begin, To shed thy precious Blood, when first was seen Spring forth the Fountain of that precious Blood, Which in thy Passion, ended in a Floud?

On the Death and Passion of our B. S.

O Blessed Lord! And wou'dst thou die For such a wretched worm as I! This of thy love's so great a proof, Angels can ne'er admire enough; And all the love by far transcends Of Parents, and of dearest Friends. To have such a benefit bestow'd, Wou'd undo any, but a God; And Love it self, make Bankrupt oo, By leaving't nothing more to do. Had any King done this for me, What wondring at it, wou'd there be! And wondring at it, now there's none, When by a God himself 'tis done. Strange blindness! Man shou'd more esteem A benefit bestow'd on him, By Earthly Kings, than what is given Unto him, by the King of Heaven!

Of Easter and Christmass.

OF Easter, a great word was said, This is the day the Lord has made. Of Christmass, yet a greater word, This is the day that made the Lord.

On these words of our B. S. O Woman, great is thy Faith!

O Lord, when shall our Faiths be praised thus, And we deserve t'have these words said of us? Others count all things possible to thee, We nothing possible, but what we see. They more to Faith, than Sence do credit give, We more our Sences, than our Faith believe: They believe all, we but believe by halfs, Their Faiths are Giants, ours but onely Dwarfs.

On these words of our B. S. Be perfect, &c.

YOu bid us to be perfect Lord, and we Conti••ue still imperfect as we be. What shou d we say, O Lord, but onely this, Give what you bid, and bid us what you please.

On these words of our B. S. I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

THou art the Way, the Truth, and Life, thou say'st, As well thou may'st. What Fool is he then wou'd forsake the Way, And go astray? What fool is he who wou'd the Truth refuse, And falshood chuse? But above all, what fool and Madman's he, Wou'd forsake thee? The onely Eternal Life, and chuse to die Eternally?

On these words of the Apostle. Nihil ex me possum facere, & omnia possum meo qui me confortat.

HAppy are those who doubly armed are, Against presumption, and against despair; By the Apostles words, who first does say that Man Without Gods help of himself nothing can. And next, that he can all things do agen, By Gods assistance, and his helping him.

The saying of a certain Holy Man.

MY God and I, can all things do said one, And if it seems too great presumption, To name himself with God, 'tis without doubt Greater, for Man to name himself without.

On our B. S. curing the Leper.

O Lord, thou know'st how most infirm I am, Blind unto Truth, and unto Vertue lame. O therefore thou who makes the Blind to see, And Lame to go; help my infirmity. I know, O Lord, thou onely needst to say, Be cur'd, as thou to th' Leper, didst to day; And thou dost know, so great's my misery, As I've a fouler Leprosie than he; For mine's not onely in the outward skin, But in the very heart and mind within. And does not onely make the Body soul, But even infects, and taints the very soul. Thou then who onely miracles canst do, O Lord, as thou cur'dst him, so cure me too.

On the Picture of a Weeping Magdalen.

ARt as well as Nature, cou'd Have made a speaking if it wou'd, As well as weeping Magdalen; But that it is the nobler way In those who truly love, they say, To suffer, and never to complain.

On the rooting out of Vice.

VIce is in Man, as Weeds in Gardens are, Which less we daily take especial care To root up as they grow, do sprout fast, We should be quite o'ergrown with them at last. More shame for us, that every Gard'ner then, Shou'd take more care to keep his Garden clean; Than we our selves, and with a hand more nice Purge it from Weeds, than we our selves from Vice.

The Harm of Procrastination.

THey say, Repentance never comes too late, But let not sinners be deceiv'd with that. How many sinners, have unto their sorrow, Lost Heaven, by putting't off, until to morrow: And Hell is full of those who sinning cry'd, To morrow still, till unawars they dyed. Don't then those Croaking-Ravens imitate, Who cry Cras, Cras, until it be too late; But leaving of this damned cry, lets say, To morrow is too late, begin to day.

On the hearing of the Word of God.

IF onely those as Scripture makes it clear, Who have the Spirit of God, Gods Word will hear, We well may doubt what spirit makes abode, In those who will not hear the Word of God. Since long Discourses they'll not hearken to, I make these short, to see what that will do.

On Sin

WHo would but think, when th'are about to sin, O'th pains that sinners for't, in Hell are in: They'd sooner chuse to burn i'th' Fire w'have here A thousand times, than in the Fire th'ave there. This, if thou do'st believe, I see not how Thou canst a sinner be, and if that thou Dost not believe it, then I do not see, How thou canst possibly a Christian be.

On the same.

THou fearst the sight of Men, when thou dost ill, Why not the sight of God, who sees thee still?

Of Death.

DEath like a Theif will come i'th'night, they say, And unawares will steal our lives away. •…•…f imports us then to stand upon our guard, •…•…or fear it come and take us unprepar'd: •…•…nd since it waits for's every where, 'tis fit We likewise every where shou'd wait for it.

On the same.

HAppy was he, who every night did go To Bed, as 'twere unto his Grave, and so Got such a habit oft at last, he did Go to his Grave, but as he went to Bed.

Of Judgment.

DEath terriblest of terriblest they call, But hear behold the terriblest of all; For none fear Death, but those who Judgment fear, Without which, t'other but a pastime were. Life's but a prison, we the pris'ners are, And Death, the Jaylor, brings us to the Bar. Where God, the Righteous Judge, to Judgment comes, And gives to every one their several dooms. Happy the whilst, who in that dreadful day, With good Hylarion may securely say, Go forth my Soul, this many, and many year, Th'hast serv'd the Lord thy God, why dost thou fear? The good and vertuo us wish for death; the bad, And vicious onely are of death afraid.

The Pleasure of doing Good.

DO good with pain, this pleasure in't you find, the pain's soon past, the good remains behind. Do ill with pleasure, this y'have for your pains, The pleasure soon is past, the ill remains.

On a Ladies Beauty suddenly decayed.

O Heavens! Is this that face that yesterday We so admir'd for Beauty, and to day 'S so chang'd, we can't perceive in all her face, Least sign that ever any Beauty was? If this the end of Mortal Beauty be, O thou Immortal, rather unto thee, That ever lasts, and never can decay; Let me my Vows, and my Devotions pay, Than such frail Idols, which while we adore To day are here, to morrow are no more.

How to bear Neglects.

LEt it not trouble thee, if any wou'd, Put a neglect upon thee, if they cou'd; But mind it not, and thy neglect will be More great of them, than theirs can be of thee.

Of a Happy Life.

WHo e'er wou'd live a happy life, indeed, And wholly be from care & trouble freed, Must first stand well with God, and then with Man, Must have as little business as he can; Must care for nothing that he cannot have, And nothing others can deprive him of: Must all his Passions in subjection bring, And o'er himself, at least, must be a King; Must nothing do, his Conscience may offend, But every day must think upon his end, Until, at last, h'has such a habit got. T' expect Death every hour, but fear it not.

On the same out of Ronsard.

CE luy n'est pas heureux qu'on monstre par la Rue, Que le peuple cognoit, que le peuple salue, Mais heureux est celuy que la gloire n'espoint, Que ne cognoit personne & qu'on ne cognoit point.

The same in English.

HE is not haypy they point at i'th' streets, Whom the people does know, and salutes when it meets: But happy is he who Ambition has none, Nor others to know, nor by others be known.

Of GOD.

IN vain we seek to know what God is since, He's a vast Circle, whose Circumference ••s no where, and his Center every where; Where e'er we seek him then, we find him there; •…•…ut what he is, he were not God, if he By Humane thought cou'd comprehended be. Go seek the Heavens above, th' Abyss below, And World about, and all these we may know, •…•…ut God, who nor beginning has, nor end, How can we know? how can we comprehend? Well then did that Philosopher of old, Who did the Ebb and Flow o'th' Sea behold; •…•…nd restlesly did seek to comprehend •…•…he reason of it, thus cry out i'th' end. •…•…ince I can't comprehend thee, thou at least Comprehend me; and I shall be at rest.

On a Fair and Vertuous Lady.

TO your fair Sex, y'are best example still Of following Vertue, and declining ill, Who never stir a foot upon the way, Without first asking, What will people say? •…•…eaching th'unwary, if they walk not clean, •…•…he fault's not in the World, so much as them,

Whilst you as pure, and as unblemish'd go, As Stars in Heaven, or Ermins on the Snow; By which great circumspection, this y'ave got To silence rumor, and stop slanders throat, That's always barking after those who do, Not walk with such great wariness as you. Continue then the Ornament and Grace, You, and your Sister of your noble Race; You for a matchless Virgin, she a Wife, The great examples of a Vertuous Life.

Of Charity.

O Charity! Thou eldest Child of Heaven, To whom th'Inheritance is chiefly given, Whilst other Vertues have no part nor share, But onely as to thee, they servants are. T'one bears the Light before thee, t'other waits Against thou com'st to open thee the Gates. Even Pray'r without thee, nothing can obtain, And whosoever hopes, does hope in vain: Nay, Faith it self, unless thou sets it forth, Is but a bootless thing, and nothing worth. Thou at the latter day, when all the World Into the flaming Furnac•• shall be hurl'd, As the Refiner several Mettles does, To try out which is pure, and which is dross Shalt just like Gold, that's in the Furnace try'd, Come out from thence, more bright and purifi'd

Whilst all the rest shall perish and expire, In smothering smoak, and in consuming fire.

On a Noble Ladies embracing a Religious Life, Eclogue-wise.

A Gentle Shepherdess, as e'er did tread Upon the Plains, whereon her Flocks were fed; Inspir'd by him, who all good thoughts inspires, Felt in her Brest, till then unfelt desires To taste Heavens pleasures, seeing Earth had none, A Soul in longing, long cou'd feed upon; But changing one, a weary of the first, She found the latter pleasure always worst. And so went still deluded in her mind, Seeking for that which she cou'd never find. This tender thought with pious care she fed, And with Religious Education bred, Giving it now an Aspiration, After that Blessed Life to feed upon; And now a Sigh, and now a Tear agen, •…•…or Sorrow she ne'er knew it until then, Avoiding carefully those Rocks and Shelves, On which so many Souls had wrack'd themselves. Those two extreams, on which so many fall To undertake too much, or nought at all: •…•…or 'tis with new-born Children of desire, •…•…s 'tis with sparks you kindle unto fire,

Starv'd with too little Fewel, 'twill not light, Opprest with too much, 'tis extinguish'd quite: And now she's all a fire, happiness be, Fair Virgin to thy best desires and thee. So great, so high, so full a happiness, As nothing can be more, that is not less; Nothing beyond, but down the Hill again, And all addition, rather loss than gain. By glad experience, maist thou find all store Of hearts contentment, thou expects and more; And learn that Magick of Religion there, Makes every thing quite contrary appear, To you, than unto us, Rich Poverty, Triumphant Sufferance; Brave Humility, Soft Hardness, greater difficulties slight, Sweet Bitterness, and heaviest Burthens Light; Ease in your Labor, Pleasure in your Pain, A Heaven on Earth, and all things else but vain.

On a Dim Sight.

HE who in former times cou'd never brook, On any thing but what was great to look: His Eyes grown Dim, this by ••t, at least, does get, He nothing now can see, but what is great. This makes him ever since his eyes were dim, Think all this World, a little darksome thing; And often unto Heaven cast up his sight, In search of greater things, and greater light:

This makes him too just like a Seeled Dove, More capable of seeing things above. And he more fit for Contemplation, is Of t'other World, the less he sees of this. Let who's list then, complain of want of sight, So great a benefit h'has gotten by't; As rightly weigh'd, and rightly understood, He wou'd not now see clearer though he cou'd.

The Resolution.

I Who in former times observ'd have been, Never to talk, but of some King or Queen; Nor in discourse ever t'have mention made, But of what such a Duke or Dutchess said; The whilst my chiefest study was to know, The best and noblest of this World below: Am now resolv'd to study in some Cell, Those of the other World to know as well. That whilst I'm known enough to those are here, I may not die unknown to those are there; And may before I die, so happy be, To leave the World, before the World leave me. In which resolves, we just like Mothers are, Who feel some pain, the whilst they children bear; But all the pain they felt, at last does turn To joy and gladness, when the Child is born.

FINIS.

ERRATA.

PAg. 16. Line 4. Read convertit for convers't.

Pag. 36. l. 7. read presence for company.

Pag. 48. ult. read self for mask.

Page 17. lines the two last.

And leave them darkly shadow'd, and hid

Under those Heads as t'other Painted did.

Characters Made at Several Times on Several Occasions.

By Richard Flecknoe.

London, Printed in the Year. 1673.

To his worthy Friend, Mr. Richard Flecknoe, UPON His Characters.

FLecknoe, thy Characters are so full of Wit And Fancy, as each word is throng'd with it; Each Lines's a Volumn, and who reads wou'd swear Whole Liberaries were in each Character: Nor Arrows in a Quiver stuck nor yet Lights in the Starry Skies are thicker set; Nor quills upon the Armed Porcupine, Than Wit and Fancy in this work of thine.

W. NEWCASTLE.

To the same, On the same Characters.

FLecknoe, who reads thy Characters will find, That they not onely entertain the Mind; But with the Mind, even every Sence has part, Being like rich Cordials to rejoyce the heart: Or moved Air, that Musick does excite, With numerous sounds to give the Ear delight; Or oderiferous Essences, that gain A gentle passage to refresh the Brain. Whilst they with such variety are drest, As every Pallat finds a Plenteous Feast. And th' sighing Lover does refuse to look On's Mistress Eyes, when he beholds thy Book.

W. NEWCASTLE.

Of these Characters.

I Have done by these Characters, as one who plucks down an old house to build a new, used some of the former Materials, and that is all. The subject of them is taken from the observations of several Natures, Humors, and Dispositions; and whilst I name no body, let no body name them∣selves, if they be wise. They differ from Pourtracts, in that they are onely Pictures of Mind, abstract∣ing from the Body, and from Essays, in that they discourse not, but give you onely the heads of things in general, and that so briefly, as every Line is a Sen∣tence, and every two a Period, to avoid all super∣fluity in Words and Matter. Mean time, I study more to contract, than to dilate; and like that Giant with his Iron Bed, cut off all that are too long, without Racking out those that are too short for it, to gain the double advantage by it, That those who like them not, may be glad they are no longer; and those who do, may be sorry they are so short.

Of a Running Head.

HE has so many wild fancies in his Brain, as he is perpetually distracted, and more wilde when joyned with the distractions of the day. His thoughts are like a swarm of Bees buzzing up and down his head, without Consistance, Coherence, and Consequence; and there is hardly any means to set∣tle them. His head is a Leaking Fountain, and would be wholly dry, but for the continual currant of his Running Thoughts: And finally, the Figures of his Mind are all broken and disjoynted, like those of agitated Water, and it is scarcely ever so calm to re∣present them perfectly; onely as you have seen colours confusedly laid, contracted into some figure by the Art of Prospective; so sometimes you may make somewhat of them in Writing, when on Paper, as in a Net he catches his flying thoughts; and then you may see they have more of Democra∣tes than Heraclitus in them, that they more laugh than cry, are more merry than sad; And finally, make sport with the World, not for any ill will, but for its good, and with those in it, for their amendment, not their shame. A pattern of all which, you have in these Characters.

Of a Bilk Courtier.

A Bilk Courtier is one who has no business at Court, but onely stands in the way of those who have; he goes thither onely, that he may say he has been there, and talks as familiarly of all that is said and done there, as if it were not onely of the Court, but Council too; at first he kept back and made one of the common croud, but after put forwards, and became ridiculous: And if I might advise him, having no parts nor qualities to make himself con∣siderable, he should rather remain in obscurity than appear in light of Court; and be a Cipher any where, rather than make no Figure there. Above all, I would councel him to hold his peace before the Prince, whose ears are too delicate for his rude Pray∣ing, who like the Ass in the Fable, seeing others fa∣miliar with his Lord, thought he might be so too. Mean time I have more wondred at the desperate boldness of such as he, who having nothing worthy hearing, dare venture on Princes Ears, than at those who having no skill in swimming, dare throw them∣selves into the sea. For my part, I look upon it as a thing beyond my depth, and follow that Italian Rule.

Il Cortegian inante al Signor tace, Ou sia presto a dir cosa che piace.

Before their Prince, let Courtiers hold their peace, Or nothing say, but onely what may please.

Of one who turns Day into Night, &c.

HE is the Antipodes of the Countrey where he lives, and with the Italian, begins his day with the first hour of night, he is worse than those who call light darkness, and darkness light, for he makes it so, and contradicts that old saying, That the day was made for Man to labor in, and the night to rest; Saying, It was meant onely by Day-Laborers. He thinks that Sentence of Solomon nothing concerning him, that all is vanity underneath the Sun; for all his is underneath the Moon; for the Suns rising serves him onely to go to Bed by; and as formerly they measured Time by Water, he measures it onely by Fire and Candlelight; he alters his Pater noster, and as others pray for their Daily he prays for his Nightly Bread, mean time he fears neither Death, nor Judgment; for Death is said to come like a Theif by night, and then he sits up and watches, and Judgment by day, and then he is a Bed and sleeps; And if they charge him for ill expence of time, he onely changes and it, change is no robbery; so as, in fine, If he have no other sins than that, there is none would have less to answer for, than he.

Of our Modern Censurers.

WE have a sort of Modern Censurers, far worse than those they censure, who would have every one better than themselves, and look so much to others faults, as they have no leisure to mind their own; who have zeal perhaps, but want discretion to govern it; and having read, That the wisdom of this world, is but folly before God, would have it a scruple to be wise; who when they talk of Religion, make others wish they had none at all, rather than be so troublesome with it as they are, and cry out, That of all Devils, those who play the Devil for Gods sake, are the worst; who finally, are as unfit to judge of the Affairs of the World, as the Blind of Colours, or Clowns of Automicks, who see the motion of the Dials hand without, but not the Wheels and Resorts by which it is moved within. These I would advise to leave judging others, till they have more judgment, and their zeal too, until they have more discretion to make better use of scruples, and be scrupulous for themselves; and first mend themselves, before they undertake to mend the World; and finally, to consider how the times, by which they take their measures are so changed, as they now a days, may well be counted Saints, who are not wholly sinners, as those who are not wholly knaves, may be counted honest men.

Of a Common Newsmonger.

HIs word is, What news! What news! And he may well be added to the Cryes of London, with that word in his Mouth; he is an excellent Embrotherer of Lies, for any ground serves him to work on; and for a need he can do it, without any ground at all. He deals more with Conjectures than Almanack Makers, and will venture the repute of a Lier twenty times, for that of a Prophet once. He wishes more for ill news, than ingrossers of Corn do for dear years, and is sorry with Caligula, when none happens in his time. He runs faster away with a Rumor, than a Pack of Hounds do with a full Scent, and warrants it for true, though it be never so great a lye for his publick news; the Gazette with some Comments of his own, are his Pourliens; and the Coffee-House, the place where he vents it af∣terwards: But for his Avisi secreti, or secret Advice, he has some other Authors who deserve to be whipt for their pains, and he too for divulging it, it be∣ing commonly the defaming some Noble Persons, taxing of the State, or Rumors tending to Sedition.

On a Dutch Frow.

SHe is cleanly in her House, though not in her ••elf, and kee••s all her Houshold-stuff so neat, as if it were rather for Ornament than use: You may assoon get her to set the House on fire, as make fire in any Room, but the Kitchin. As or her own Chimney, it is under her Coats in her Lul-pot, with which she so Bemackerels her Thighs, as you would take her for a Mermaid, Half Fish, half Flesh; by which unnatural heat she brings forth nothing but Zooterkins. She never travels without her Basket of Provant, or Stivers worth of Nuts or Shrimps, to be cracking or nibbling with on the way. Returned home she puts up all things in the Cup board, her Band, her Huke, and self too, when she goes to Bed; where betwixt want of Air and Foggines, she stinks like a Fitchock. On Worky days, she keeps the Shop, and Huswives every thing to the best; but on Holidays, the Silver Chain and Appurtenances goes on, and her best Cloaths too, or she will go to the Lumbard for it. In fine, she keeps home all day, but at night takes occasion to fetch her Husband home from the Tavern, onely to drink her self, where they sip and sip so long, till they are both Maudlin Drunk, and then they go lovingly home to Bed, and sleep like Pigs.

Of a French Lacquey.

HE is as mischievous all the year, as a London Prentice on Shrove-Tuesday, and devilish va∣liant with his Rapier on, but a poor Devil when it is off; and his Master at any time may beat him as far as Cent coups de baston amounts unto. He lies with the Dogs, and they are so often mentioned to∣gether, as they call him nothing else, and he answers to it, as to his Christian name. Whatever colour his Livery is on, he wears Mourning Linnen still and he is no shifter in that, though in every thing besides. He swears and lies naturally, but steal•…•… nothing onely all he can lay hands on; and i•…•… you lay not hands on him the sooner, runs away with it when he has done; yet for running, it i•…•… the worst quality he has: In lieu of which, he vaults up behind the Coach, with as great facility as an Ape or Tumbler behind his Master. Wha•…•… chiefly has marred his running, is his running so often to the Burdel, which so Peppers him at last as he hates Pepper ever after, and makes him so pest and give himself so often to the Devil, as he take him at his word at last; and so they go together and agree as well as Devil and Vice did in ou•…•… ancient Comedies.

Of a Dutch Waggoner.

HE converses with Beasts so much, as he is be∣come one himself, with onely this difference, that he is a Beast Paramont; and to see him mount∣ed on his Fore-horse like a Dril, you would take him for a Cart-Centaure, or Beast two stories high: He understands nothing above the elevation of his Pole, and talk of the Papists what you will, there is none speaks the Language of the Beast, but he. They were much out, who feigned a Waggoner in Heaven; when with much more reason they might have feigned one in Hell; for he is more churlish than Charon, more exacting for his fare, and his Waggon is just like Hell, where they are crouded together in perpetual pain, and he lays about him like a Fury with his Whip; onely in this he is like Phebus, or the Chariter of the day, that he always brings night with him to his journeys end. In fine, he is a very tyrant when he gets you in his Wag∣gon once, and sets as many Taxes and Impositions on his Passengers, as they on their Subjects, amongst the rest, one called Drink guelt, which he levies on the first four places: and were you forty, he pro∣mises to you all. Now whether this be a Flemish or Holland Waggoner, there lies the Riddle, onely this last looks big, and keeps more state, as one who may be one of Mine Heers the Stats in time, while the other will never be but one of the Rascal Rout.

Of a Novice of a certain Religious Order.

HE is a young Lover, and his order is his Mi∣stress, who to try his Constancy, makes a fool of him, and puts him to a hundred Probations, the more doz'd and be moaped he is, the better still; it is a sign he is right, and has a true vocation; and if he have any wit or judgment of his own, they cry out on him, and count him a very Reprobate. He hates all Women, and calls a Petticoat, Levia∣than, and a Smock, but blanching on a Hedg, A∣starosh, or the foul Devil of Fornication; he walks with his eyes as fixed in his head, as a dead Hares in a Poulterers Shop, and crumples up like a Hog-Lowse for fear of effusion: He makes as many stops as he goes, as an old Rusty Jack, and winds up himself as often to rectifie his intention. He says his Our Fathers, as devoutly as others their Our Father, and counts the Patron of his Order, the greatest Saint in Heaven. He is as lively after a Discipline, as an Ape after a whipping, and takes a Reprehension with a Deo Gratias. In fine, his Noviciat passes like a Spiritual Dream, and to∣wards the end of it he wakes, when he finds na∣ture was onely stund and not dead in him all the while.

Of a Fille Devote.

SHe has such a care of her Virginity, as she takes the wind of Men when she goes abroad, for fear of being got with child, as Spanish Gennets are, and brushes her self carefully when she comes home, ever since she understood that Man is but made of dust. She is a profest enemy of vanity, and to destroy the brood of Vice, she knocks the tentation on the head, before it is hatched; for the World, she has one foot out of it already; for the Flesh, she mortifies it so, not onely in her self, but in her hotchpot too, and gives it so strong an allay of Carrots and Turnips, as there is no danger of its Insurrection; and for the Devil, she knows his tricks so well, as that Devil must rise betimes who couzens her. She holds her Confessor, and the Pa∣•…•…ron of his Order, the greatest Saints; and salutes all the rest, even to the dog of the house, with a Beati qui Inhabitant; she goes as demeurly as a Cow in a Bongrace, and dares not cast an eye aside •…•…or fear of transgressing the Rules of Modesty. In fine, of her Faith there is no doubt, and for her good works, you may have a pattern of them when •…•…ou please, for she is the best Poynt and Lacemaker •…•…n all the Parish; of which, she gives the Tenth to •…•…he Church, the Pater has the Gleanings, and the •…•…est is reserved for her own maintenance.

Of a French Dancing Master.

A French Dancing Master or Baladin, think•…•… himself a very Paladin of France, when h•…•… comes into England once, where he has the Regi∣men of the Ladies Legs, and is the sole Pedagogue o•…•… their Feet; teaching them the French Language, a•…•… well as the French Pace, as Coupez, Passez, Le vez &c. which they understand as perfectly as English He fetches them up in their Courrant, with a he courage, as a Carter does his horses with a whip•…•… and makes as many antick postures the while, as〈…〉〈…〉 Bowler whilst his Bowl is a trundling. Mean tim•…•… he lives a merry life and a long, for they all danc•…•… after his Fiddle, and his dancing days are neve•…•… done. In fine, he is a brave fellow all the year, bu•…•… on a Ball, or grand Ballet night, without compare Now what a Devil 'tis should make us so dote o•…•… these French, I do not know, that we should thin•…•… nothing well done, but what they do? unless it b•…•… onely their being French, for which reason w•…•… may commend the Pox as well, nor will it eve•…•… be otherwise, till some such zealous Patriot as he, ris•…•… up again, who hearing them talk of the Frenc•…•… Pox, bid them call it the English, with a Po•…•… to them, saying, We had as good of our own, as th•…•… French had any.

Of a very Widow.

SHe shoots off Husbands as fast as Boys Pellets out of Pot-Guns; and one discharged, all her care is to charge again. She counts her self not so much Widowed for her Bosome as her Bed, and takes care that should be warm still, when her Hus∣band is scarcely cold. Her veil serves rather to hide her Joy, then shew her Sorrow; and she is so curious in her Mourning Dress, as if she rather courted a new Husband, than mourned for the old. Yet before company, she squeezes out a Tear or two, and makes lamentable moan, nor can she be comforted in publick; but in private, she and her woman laughs at it, and all their discourse is, Who is the properest Man, and who would make the best Husband? Mean time she never remembers her former Husband, but as a Spur unto the lat∣ter. With God be with him, he would have done this and this; and if you do not the like, is as ready to bid God be with you: Nor is there any Love lost betwixt them, for they study onely to couzen one the other, and most commonly are couzened both, she having made a conveyance of her estate before hand, and he being altogether as much behind hand with his.

Of Poetry and its abuse.

POetry was anciently stil'd the Language of the Gods, because it instructed Men in Vertue and Religion; and then Poets were in high Esteem and Reverence, until by degrees it was so pro∣faned by some, who taught nothing but Vice and Impiety, as they converted the Language of the Gods, into the Language of the Devil, and lost all the Reverence and Esteem they had be∣fore; deserving more the coertion of the Magi∣strate, and punishment of the Laws than common Poysoners; for those poyson onely the Body, but these the Soul and Mind; they onely the Inferior, but these the Superior part of Man: More shame for us the while, that the very Heathens should burn their Writings, banish their Persons, and brand their Memories with Infamy, whilst we che∣rish and applaud them as we do: Nor does it avail to alledge for their excuse the corruption of the times, since it is their parts to mend, not mar them as they do; nor to corrupt their own manners by complying with other Mens. For my part, I dare not venture so far, as that Poet in Martial did; and to conclude, should be sorry and ashamed, since the Itch of Lacivious Love is but the Scab of Poetry, that any one should justly say of me, I with my scratching, had exulcerated it.

Of a Talkative Lady.

SHe makes you wish, that either you were deaf or she were dumb; for there is no hearing her under pain of the Head-ach, and ringing in your Ears a fortnight after. She has an admirable art of Expanding Matter to such an airy thinness, as to make it nothing but words, and you would say she were a voice and nothing else; since it is onely a noise she makes, and the labor of her Tongue nor Brain; for she never considers what she says, and her Tongue moves with as great facility, as Leaves shaken by the Wind, or rather as Atomes in the Air; for it is quite unhung and depends neither on Nerve nor Imagination, but goes at random; and there is as much difference betwixt hers, and a voluble Tongue, as betwixt an excellent Vaulter, who moves by Art, and one who Artlesly pre∣cipitates himself. So as in fine, a Machin with as constant a motion as her Tongue, would be as good as a Purling Brook, or Bubbling Fountain to make you sleep; and she wants onely the faculty of talk∣ing in her sleep, to make the perpetual motion with her Tongue.

Of a Taciturnos Person.

HE is the contrary Extream, and knows as little to talk as the other, to hold her Peace. Fryer Bacons Head was a talkative one to his, and be∣twixt what he says and nothing, is little difference. The Wheels of his Tongue, like those of a Rusty Jack, want oyling, and are perpetually at a stand: He is like Pharacesiui's Picture, all Curtain; and those who think there is any thing under it, like Zeuxes, are deceived; yet we have a cer∣tain sort of Spiritual Pithagorians, with whom Silence is in Precept, and such Mutes in vene∣ration, who count dulness Wisdom, and whose Wisdom is good cheap, if it onely consists in being silent: For how can we distinguish be∣twixt Fools and their Wisemen, if either hold their peace? But since they will needs have it so, to do them a courtesie, I will believe this once, That he hath some what in him, since I could never yet see any thing come out of him.

Of an unconstant Disposition.

HEr life is a perpetual contradiction; she would, and she would not; and do such a thing, yet do not neither, is her ordinary dialect, she differs from the irresolute; in that, he is al∣ways beginning, and she never makes an end; she writes and blots out again, whilst he is delibe∣rating what to write; and the one is a resty, the other a restless pain: So you can tell what to make of the ones Negative, and how two Negatives make an Affirmative; but of her yea and nay to∣gether, you know not what to make, but onely that she knows not what to make of it her self. She never considers, nor looks to the end of things, but onely to the beginning; nor ever stands still, but is in perpetual motion. So as those who are of one mind to day, and an other to morrow, are con∣stant unto her, and Saturns Revolution compared unto the Moons. For, in fine, you know not where to have her a moment, and whosoever would hit her thoughts, must shoot flying, and flie themselves whosoever would follow her.

Of an Irresolute Person.

HE hovers in his choice like an empty Ballance, for want of Weight of Judgment, to incline him to either Scale: He begins nothing withou•…•… consideration, and when he considers once, never makes an end; so, as he, of all Creatures living would be wiser if he never considered at all. H•…•… hath some dull Demon that whispers to him still, D•…•… not, do not, as oft as he goes about to do any thing▪ and he plays at, shall I, shall I, so long till he loses the opportunity of doing it, when as he committed the fault, he repents at leisure He always dislikes the present choice of things, a•…•… Scoggan did the Tree he was to be hanged on, and is an Enemy to Resolution: For the rest, if he be scrupulous withal, though it be on the safer side o•…•… Omission, rather than Commission; and he a Nega∣tive, rather than a Possitive Sinner; his Irresolution puts him in so many doubts, as to avoid the per∣plexity he is in; his best course is, if he could resolve upon it, to live under the obedience of a Superior, and so to have every thing resolved unto his Hand.

Of a Valiant Man.

HE is onely a Man, the Rash, and Coward; but Tame and Savage Beasts. He is always the same, and drink cannot make him more, nor dan∣ger-less valiant than he is, who knows no degree beyond clear Courage. He counts boast the Co∣wards valor, unworthy a valiant Man, and is onely Coward in this, That he dares not do a dishonora∣ble action. Having signalized his valor by some brave action, he sits still, till as brave an one calls him forth again; and as formerly they used the embleme of an eye on a Princes Scepter, so they may upon his Sword, who never fights but when he sees just occasion. Onely in his Princes and Coun∣treys service, he fights with blind obedience, knowing it his part to obey, and not dispute; and it is equal honor to him, whether he lives or dies in it. In fine, he is as much Courtier in the Chamber, as Soldier in the Field; and a hundred times more esteemed by Ladies, than your Effeminate Cowards are; who whilst he defends their honors, do but dishonor them.

Of a Profess'd Coward.

HE sets up an Academy of Cowardise, and is him∣self the Principal Professor of it. He hath fo•…•… Schollars, a many Bookmen, and but for shame, a•…•… many Sword-men would follow them. He decrye•…•… Valor, and cryes up Cowardise, saying, This hath done all the good, the other all the harm in the World; that this hath peopled the World, the other unpeopled it; that the Devil invented Powder and Fire Arms first, and the invention of forging o∣ther Arms, came from Hell: That Fame and Hono•…•… were onely names invented, like Drum and Trum∣pet to make people fight; and that Soldiers, like Gla∣diators, onely fight to make others sport. Viva l•…•… Poltronerie, then says he, Et Guarda l'individuo Live Poltronerie, and take care of the Individuum and so he means to do, let King and Countrey do what they will; and let whose list die for them, h•…•… says, he sees not what good he can do when he i•…•… dead, mean time others say they see not wha•…•… good he does alive, who only lives for himsel•…•… as Vermines do: That, who prefers a dishonorable life, to an honorable death, deserves not to live at all; and that his life, at the highest rate, deserve•…•… not the hundreth part of the care he takes for it.

Of an Importunate Visitant.

HE is the onely persecutor of Ladies, and next to the Ten he is the greatest persecutor: He visits them a Mornings before they are up, and a Nights after they are a Bed; and there is no place so secret, nor time so unseasonable, but he will trouble them; no excuse of business, sickness, nor taking Physick, will serve the turn; nor that you are not within, though you your self should tell him so. He enters every where, and a Guard of Swiss, can∣not keep him out, and so haunts you as to Exercise, and cast him out, surpasses the Irish Fryers skill. Within he is their trouble, without their molesta∣tion, and every where their Disease. So as whomso∣ever could rid them of him, would soon be richer than Majern. Many remedies have been sought, but all in vain. Ill usage will not do it, the keeping handsome waiting women redoubles but the access, nor will he take warning by Marigny. Mean time, what you will more wonder at, all this trouble is without design, or hope of obtaining least favor from them, who are all as chaste as Ice, as pure as Chrystal; and they may assoon be drunk in a Chrystal Fountain, as satisfie their Lustful Thirst in their Company. All which you will more easily be∣lieve, when I shall tell you; they are the Brusse••s Ladies, whom for Honors sake I name.

Of a miserable old Gentlewoman.

HEr word is, Pitty any thing should be lost, and others is, Pitty any thing should be saved, as she saves it; for she hoards up Candles ends, scrapes up greece, and is so rich in Kitching-stuff, as she and her Cloaths are almost nothing else. Mean time, you see so much sordid thrift in her house, as would make you forswear all thriftiness; and every thing is kept in it, till it be moldy, even she her self. You enter her house with no less horror, than that the Witches keep their Sabbath in; for she sits purring like a melancholly Cat, and mumping like an old Ape, when she would shew you good countenance; and when she would regal you indeed, she fe••ches down a Bottle of Sack as everlasting as the Widdows Cruse of Oyl, that had served a Twelve Moneth all Strangers that came to the house, with a Box of Marmalad, so old and dry, as the Flies had quite given it over, in dispair of ever extracting any more sweetness out of it. At sight of which, I went away examining my self what sins I had committed deserving punishment of coming there, and fully resolved never to commit the like again.

Of a Gamestress.

SOme say she was born with Cards in her hands, others, that she will die so; but certainly it is all •…•…er life, and whether she wakes or sl••eps, she thinks •…•…f nothing ••lse. She u••derstands the langu••ge of •…•…he Game she plays at, better than the l••ngu••ge of •…•…he Coun••rey where she was born, and c••n less en∣•…•…ure a Solicism in that than this. She knows no •…•…udge but the Groom Porter, nor Law, but the Law •…•…f the Game, in which she is so perfect, as in ab∣•…•…ence of the other, they appeal to her. She loves •…•…inter more then Summer, because it affords more •…•…amesters, and Christmass more than any other •…•…me, because there is more gaming. She gives more •…•…illingly to the ••utlers than Poor-F••lks Box, and •…•…s never more Religious, than when she prays that •…•…he may win. In fine, she would play like Nero with •…•…he Town on Fire, or Archimedes when it were a •…•…acking, rather than interrupt her Game; and it 〈…〉〈…〉 all her life, and as she lives, so she hopes to die, •…•…nd go to the Gamesters Paradice, where she may •…•…ay Per omnia secula seculorum.

Of a Gallant French Monsieur.

SEe you this Gallant Hermophredit, more valiant than Man in the Field, and more Effeminate than Woman in the Chamber. To give you the descr••ption of his life, to the shame of all ou•…•… Countrey Bumpkins: He rises a Mornings, and having spent some two or three hours in adjusting himself with help of his Taylor, Barber, and Lin∣nener; he goes to the Church of Gallantry, where instead of his Prayer-Book, out goes the Tortois•…•… Co••b; the little whisper, and jolly word unto hi•…•… Mistress, supplies the place of jaculatory Prayers▪ And for one Pater Nost••r, he says Ten Miserere•…•… unto her. Then waiting on her to the Coach, and the assignation made for after dinner, he goes hom•…•… and dines; after he dresses again, till it be time to go to the Promenade or Tour a la Mode, where h•…•… salute•• with Bon meen, and has a hundred jolly ran-counters on the way; then to the Ball, where he dances with better grace than any, and utters such douceurs and delicate things, as it is a very Banque•…•… for L••dies e••rs. Thus have you his whole Dyarium or sum of his life, till he be old, if he die not i•…•… some Duel, or of some French Epidemical disease whilst he is young.

Of a meer Libertine.

SHe walks on the Brink of Precipices and never fears, and goes as far as any honest Woman may do. She admits Gallants freely, the more the merrier, and lest suspition grow up to rumor, and rumor to scandal, and never cares. She counts Fame and Honor, names onely invented to fright Women, as Bugbears Children, and should be a∣shamed to be afraid of them. She does what she pleases, and never cares what people say; Sups publickly in Taverns, goes to private assignations, and is talked of for it, she would be sorry else: Mean time, he who h••s the Coach, may carry her any where; and who treats her, may intreat any thing of her, except the last favor which she re∣serves for him, who is to marry her, if any be so mad. So passes she merrily the Spring and Summer of her age, till towards Autumn; she grows melan∣cholly, and fearfully apprehends the leading Apes in Hell, which is the best office she can expect when she comes there.

Of a Coquette, or an affected Beauty.

SHe is the common Courting-stock of the Town, and more glories in the multiplicity of her Gallants, than a Lawyer of his Clients, or Phy∣sitian of his Patients. She constitutes the point of Honor, in Beauty, and of Beauty, in being court∣ed and gallanted. She Paints so palpably, as if she rather sought colour to shew, then hide it, and used the Trowel, instead of the Pencil. She is as dex∣terous at the Fan, as a Butcher at the Fly-flap, and ever and anon the little Glass goes out, to see if her Face needs no reparation, which requires as much Patching and Plaisterings, as an old Loam Cottage that is crumbling away for age; and so in time does she. when her Beauty holding out no longer. She affects the Reputation of good, and turns Prude or Beate, or takes up in a Cloyster, and so makes Virtue of Necessity.

Of an English Inn.

AN English Inn is a House of so ancient stand∣ing, as it is ready to fall down again; and all its gallantry without consists in its Sign, and Painted Sign-Post; within it is a great Machin of four Wheels, Ostler, Cook, Tapster, and Chamberlain, with mine Host and Hostice, the main Springs that move all the rest. For its Diet I will not much commend it, because indeed it deserves no great commendations, and its attendance less; onely for the Lodging, it is a great Feather-bed, into which you Flounce over Head and Ears, when you go to Bed, and there lie drowned till morning when you rise. Of mine Hostice, I say nothing, onely if she be handsom, she makes the reckoning but the dear∣er. For mine Host, he was a jovial Companion in the days of mirth and jollity, but now stumd Wine and Religion has marred all his mirth, onely he will make shift to be half drunk every day, and on Market-days out-right, when he is wondrous kind to his guests, which he expresses in a Pint of Sack to the Master, and Double Jug to the Serving-man, all in order to the reckoning, which discharged once, as a Warning Piece, or great Piece of Artillery, there follows a whole Volly of welcomes like Small shot shrilly discharged from every side, and you are discharged too.

Of a Curious Glutton.

HE counts the Italian, the onely wise Nations for understanding the Pallet so well, and call∣ing a Wiseman Huomo di Buongusto, or Man of a good taste; he glories much in his skill in Cookery, and makes Sauces, Ragonts & intermesses himself, which you must praise whilst you eat, or he will think you have no taste at all: He knows when every Meats in season, and keeps a Calender of it, which he observes as devoutly as the Catho∣licks do their Kalender of Saints. He tells you not onely what you are to eat, but how to eat it too; and is angry if you eat not his dainties lei∣surely, and drink not his Wine as Chickens do their Water, with ever and anon lifting up their eyes to Heaven. He is of a quiet Nature and Disposition, hating all disputes, since there is no dispute of Tastes, and for disputation of Religion, so they allow but of eating and drinking, he is indifferent for any one. In fine, it is a perpetual Feast with him as long as he lives, and when he dies, he onely regrets that they have left off Funeral Feasts, else he should have the pleasure in imagination of one Feast more, even after Death, which he cannot endure to hear of, because they say there is no eating nor drink∣ing in the other World.

Of a Common Acquaintance.

HE wears out his Bosom with embracing every one, and durties his Palm with shaking them by the hand. Like a Spaniel he fawns on every one he meets, and will needs know them, whether they will, or no. If you but look on him, he smiles one you; and smile on him, and the acquaintance strait is made. He picks acquaintance out of every face he has but seen once before, and calls every one he has but seen twice, a friend. So little difference he makes betwixt friends and acquaintances, though there be as much as betwixt Diamonds and Pibble Stones; of which, you find enough in every street, whilst the other is to be sought all the world over and counted a Cabinet-Piece when he is found, but he never goes so far, who knows not the dignity of a friend, but onely your common acquaintances suffices him. For my part, I follow that Rule a making acquaintances, omnia probate, &c. to prove all, but chuse the best. For your acquaintances, it is true, are the materials, out of which friends are made, as statues out of Wood. But, Non ex omni ligno fit Mercurius.

Of a Make-bait, or Sower of Dissention.

HE is the Devils Day-Laborer▪ and sows his Tares for him, or Seeds of Dissention, by telling you this and that, such an one said of you, when you may be sure it is either wholly false, or ne∣ver wholly true; he so alters it with his reporting it. He goes a Fishing for secrets, and tells you those of others onely to hook yours out of you, baiting Men as they do Fishes, one with another. He is like your villainous Flies, which always leave sound places to light on sore; and are such venomous ones, as even to make sound places sore, with their Fly-blowing them. In fine, they would set dissen∣tion betwixt Man and Wife the first day of their marriage, and Father and Son the last day of their lives. Nor will innocence be ever safe, or conver∣sation innocent, till such as they be banished hu∣mane Society; and if I would afford them Being any where, it should be with Anisto's Discord a∣mongst mine enemies: Mean time, my Prayer is, ••od bless my Friends from them.

Of a Complimenter.

THe French give you a good Etimology of him. A Complimenter is an Accomply Men∣teur, say they, or an Accomplished Lyer; who lies with better grace and more flourish than other men, and he is well described in this Quatrain.

He is a certain cringing thing that stoups, Just like a Tumbler, when he Vaults through Hoops, Or Daw or Magpy, when at Fruit it pecks. Alternatly their Tails above their Becks.

He is the Rack of Conversation, that sets every ones joynts a stretching where he comes, and had been banished Sparta infallibly, for adding so many superfluous words unto the Dialect; it is a new Language added to that of Babel, for our greater confusion, to be understood by contraries, so whilst they say, They are glad to see you well, they would be gladder to see you hanged; and while they tell you they are your Servants, think themselves better men than you. Mean time, all the compliments of our honest Ancestors, was a hearty welcome or fare∣wel with shaking you by the hand, and open coun∣tenance, instead of the others dissembling smiles Nor will it ever be well with us, till we return to their honest simplicity again, and leave compliments to your more subtle and crafty Nations, who use them onely to deceive and couzen us.

Of a Young E••amorist.

HAving left the Scho••l and School-Boys Toys, next Toy he gets, is a Mi••••ress, whom he courts out of Ovid, or some other Latine Poet; and talks so much Phoebus and Cupid, with so many other Gods and Goddesses, as he seems some Pagan never converted to Christianity. If this do not, he whines and cries outright, and sighs like a dry Pump or Broken winded Bellows, til he be quite out of breath, whilst his Misterss laughs at him, and still becomes more coy; for it is in love, as it is in War, which declared once you are to expect nothing but hosti∣lity; and it is with Lovers, as it is with Anglers, who feed Fishes till they are caught, but caught once, feed on them. So it will be long enough ere she bite at the b••it, unless he has more to bait her with, than fine words or lamentable complaints, which make them but more ridicu••ous, and teaches Wo∣men to deny, by not knowing how to demand as they ought to do: And for my part, I am wanting in my instructions, who h••ving never been an Enamorist my self, can onely tell them they are out, but know not how to put them in.

Of a dull Countrey Gentleman.

BY the instructions of his Mother, he comes up to Town to get a Wife, hearing how many rich Citizens Daughters there are to marry; and when he is here, knows not what to say to them; for he sits nodding in company, like a person over∣watched, whence they commonly call him the Drow∣sie Esquire; and ask him any thing, and he stares upon you, and thinks you'd sell him a Bargain; nor can you ask him any thing he understands, except about his Horses, or his Mothers Cows; yet re∣turned to his Lodging, he and his Man John have many a dry Dialogue about Wiving and good Husbandry: For he is so miserable, as he ab∣hors the mention of the Park, or the Garden, or going to Plays, or the New Exchange, &c. And never gives his Mistress any thing above a Bottle of Ale, a Cheescake, or Pound of Cherries, when they are at cheapest. So, unless he be very rich, it will be long enough before he get a Wife; and if he be, a hundred to one, but some Wife or other gets him, and makes an Ass, if not an Ox of him.

Of an extream Vitious Person.

HIs mind is a Room all hung with Aretine Postures, and he is so full of the Species, as h•…•… is incapable to imagine how any man can be honest or woman chaste. He is so bravely vicious, as h•…•… would give any one a good reward to find him out 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sin he knew not, and he would be ashamed not to commit it, when he knew it once. He is so immersed in the flesh, as all spirit is suffocated in him, and h•…•… lives not but possest by some wicked spirit, that in∣cites him to all wickedness. To say nothing of his deboichery or peccadillioes, and sins of lesser note•…•… he out-goes an Atheist in unbelief; for profanenes•…•… has no parallel, and I should offend all pious ears to mention his impiety. I will say no more then, no•…•… to be thought falsly to tax the age, with producing Monsters of Men, whose Vices no Water can purge, no Fire expiate; and whose wickedness were able to call down destruction on a Nation, if it were no•…•… averted by some pious in it yet; whose vertues, though they equal not the others vices, yet with the allowance of humane frailty, help somewhat to aleviate the wight at least.

Of a School Boy.

HIs Parents may well say of him, as one did of his son unto his Wife, That she had prayed for a Boy so long, as he was like to prove one all his life; •…•…o which, much confers their breeding in these Common Shools, where they converse so much with Boys, as they are marred for our being Men. He speaks in the same tone he recites his Lesson in, and ask him any question out of it, and he looks an other way, and knows not what to answer you. He has nothing so ready as his Hat at his Fingers ends, which he twirls about in mighty agony, when he is out and scrapes you such a Leg as Jack of the Clock∣house does when he goes about to strike: of his man∣ners I say nothing, for he has none at all; nor is their hope, that he will ever learn, whose head is so dozed with beating, and breech hardned with whip∣ping, as he has neither fear nor wit, so, as had I a son I loved, I had rather send him to School to Parish Garden, to learn tricks with the Ape there, than such miching tricks they learn at School, which is not to be understood by our Grammar Schools, the Fountains of Learning, but of such Puddle ones, of which we have but too many in the Countrey.

Of one ridiculously Proud of his Estate.

HE thinks himself as great a Signior for a little Land he has, as the Grand Signior with all his Dominions; by which he shows the littleness of his mind, who can think such petty things great, whilst Alexander thought all the world too little. He counts every Lordship he has, a several Province, and alto∣gether a Kingdom, his Tenants his Subjects, and himself a very King. He esteems and admires no Qualities but Riches; when every Cobler by parci∣mony and industry, may be as rich as he. He ima∣gines a Landlord the highest Title of Honor, and looks the Clowns, his Tenants, should honor him for it, as if he were some mighty Prince. Yet for a little addition, he would be content to be first Minister of State, imagining he could govern the Countrey as well as he does his House in the Countrey, and is not a little discontented that others are not of his opinion. But however the World goes, it is his comfort he is a Mamamucho yet, which is next degree to the Grand Signior, at least; in which, whilst he glories and makes himself ridiculous, his friends are sorry, and the rest laugh at it to see him as drunk with talking of his estate, as ever any one was with drink.

Of a Modern Fanatick Sectary.

HE is bred out of the Corruption of Religion, as Maggots out of Cheese; and since our last Wars, England swarms with them. He Preaches nothing but Sedition and Infatuation, and whilst others People Heaven with their Sermons, he Peo∣ples onely Bedlam and the Common Goal. They a∣gree in nothing but their hatred to the Church, and all Civil Order and Goverment: They are more familiar with the Lord, than to stand on Ceremo∣nies with him any more, and so hate Gentlemen, they cannot endure God should be served like one. They call themselves Saints, but the Apostles, onely Paul and John, and there are more Saints amongst them, than honest men. They all pretend to inter∣preting the Scripture, and by their mis-interpreting it, justifie the prohibiting such, as they the reading it. In fine, they call themselves pure like him, who being all over durt from head to foot, boasted, that he had never a spot on him; and thank God with the Pharisee, that they are not like other men; and in that they say true, for they are worse than they.

Of a Green-Sickness Girl.

SHe is like a Mouse in a Holland-Cheese, her Diet and Lodging all the s••me; of which she eats so long, till she fulfil that old saying at last, The weakest goes to the walls: For her diet she outdoes any Minume or Carthusian, and no Nunnery would hold her; for she can eat her self out of it, and with the Estridge help, break inclosure presently. She seems Pigmalions Image half inlivened; and had Niobe been of her Complexion, she had more easily been turned into stone. She seems not of the same Clay, or Red Earth Adam was made of, but of some Whiter Mould, as Chalk or Marl, and would make good manure for a Husband-man, if any would venture on her, with such a quality, as if she hold but on, she would soon eat him out of house and home; onely a Miller might safeliest venture on her: For besides, she is white and much of his Complexion, the Boards of his Windmill are not comprised in her Bill of Fare.

Of an Eager Disputant.

HE has left off Learning, to betake himself to Controversie, and comes from breaking Pris∣cians head, to breaking yours. He thinks it brave to have his discourse composed of several pieces of Greek and Latine, when it is onely Cloathing Eloquence in Motly. He confounds himself with distinctions, and his adversary with noise, and thinks to carry it by raisi••g his voice a tone higher than his, whilst he labors more to maintain his opinion than the truth. Impatient of contradicti∣on, and contradicting every one, he grows out∣ragious at last; and from question of things, comes to question of names, and at last to the misnaming them, calling every indifferent one, Superstition, Idolatry, and Abomination; they being, in fine, such Disputants as these, who have so Rent the Church with their Disputations, and made the breach so wide, as that, which at first, like North and South, was onely separated perhaps by an In∣dividual Line, is become at last the whole Heavens distant by their undiscreet going to the extremity of either Pole.

Of one who is excellent Company.

HE is all Spiritual and his words like Lightning p••ss to the Interior, without resting in the Ext••rior. He inspires you with a secret joy and chearfulness beyond all outward mirth, and is as f••r above Laughter, as the Element of Fire above Squibs and Crack••rs. He is like the leading voice in a Quire; not all the Musick, but there is no Musick without him: And as the other makes choice of the best voices▪ so doth he of the best company, to whom he is so grateful and acceptable, as they strive more for his company, than in the days of jousting and tornament, they did for the prize. Such a Jewel they ••steem him, and so great a Treasure they have of him, who is all that they call pleasant and de∣lightful in ••onversation, there being never any dis∣puting where he is, nor passing the third reply; but all compliance without flattery, and all compliance with∣ou•• assentation; so as the nobler sort are all ravished wi h his company; the wiser delighted, and every one bet ered by it. And he, in fine, deservedly esteemed company for a King, and companion for 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Pr nce.

Of a troublesome Kindness.

HE asks you with a great deal of joy, when he meets you, Whether you be, there or no? And though you have never so great business, makes you stay till he hath asked you so often how you do, as to make you doubt at last, whether you be well, or no. He shakes you by the hand, till he hath al∣most shaked it out of joynt; and if he embrace ••ou once, and gets you but in the hug, you had as good fall into the hands of a Cornish wrestler; when he hath you at home, he is troublesome at Table with carving you, and making you eat whether you will or no, and often drinking to you, with a hun∣dred rememb••ances: But if you be si••k, he is trou∣blesomest of all, with praying you to be well, and pre∣scribing you Physick accordingly; so as you'd give as much to be rid of his visit, as you are forced to give the Physician for his. And this most common∣ly is all the thanks they get, who over do, and make you cry out at l••st, that half the kindness would suffice, as he did, whose friend helping him up on horse back, gave him such a lift, as threw him quite over on t'ot••er side.

Of your English Papist Ass.

KIng James, of famous memory, was wont to say the Papist was his Honest Ass, he might lay what load he would upon him, and he would bear it patiently; but the Presbyterian was such a skittish Jade, as he kickt and winched at least load laid on him. Certainly, if persecution be not the nighest way to Heaven, he goes the farthest way about; for every one persecutes him, and he bears the burthen of every one. Nor will they allow him the priviledge of Balaams Ass, to speak when he is beaten; but like Horace's, he must onely be patient, and shake his ears. Mean time, as one said wittily, [In the Assembly Man, p 18] They rail at Popery, when the Land is almost lost in Pres∣bytery, and cry out Fire, fire in Noahs Floud. And though the wiser know them innocent, yet the simpler sort take the poor Ass, for some terrible Mon∣ster of the See of Rome; as the Major of Hunting∣ton did a Colt for a Sturgeon. But let them say what they will of him, he is a poor honest Ass, who never failed his Master at time of need, as many of his enemies have done.

Of a Modern Casuist.

HE is your onely Conscience-Monger, and frames it wide or strait as he lists himself. He can make any thing good with a distinction, and mar it again with another. So as his solutions are just like Jugglers knots, you never know whether they be fast or loose; he leaves no Ʋsury, whilst he makes all Ʋsurers, and takes away the sins of the World; but makes more sinners, than there were before. Amongst the rest, he is so indulgent to his own Countrey Vices, as Fornication is but a Peccadlio with the Spaniard and Italian, and Drunkenness with the Dutch; and could he but make the keep∣ing Mistresses as lawful as Wives, he would have the Benediction of all our young Gallants, and Married Men. Mean time, the ignorance of what he writes, makes Men more vertuous than the reading it; for it being only a rapsady of all Vices in gene∣ral, it must needs make particular men more vicious than they were. And here I say nothing of Con∣fessors, though they differ no more than Mason and Architect; the one builds onely according to the others directions, but onely let them look to it, when they come to die, least they meet with some such ignorant Devils as that Lawyer did, who could not make him understand his fine and nice distinction for his heart; but he would needs carry him to Hell, whether he would or no.

Of a Gentleman turned Clown.

HE hath wholly forgot he was ever a Gentle∣man by living in the Countrey, and keep∣ing Clowns company, with the rest he lives so unso∣ciable a life, as he seems no more a part of the Ʋni∣verse, than a loose Stone in a Wall a part of the Building or Edifice. He is so earthly minded, as Sisera was not more nailed unto the Ground; and the highest you can screw him too, is onely some Countrey Farmer, who talks of nothing but fat∣ning Beasts, and dunging Land. He is niggardly in his house, churlish in his language, and rustick in his apparel and behavior; and is, in fine, so wholly transformed in every thing, as he indears on Clownishness it self, who formerly past for a pretty Gentleman; so as there are many things one knows not what they are good for, but if ever there were any good for nothing, it is he. Onely, as when Horses of Manage are grown old, they are onely fit to be made Stalions of, so he sits at home in the Countrey, and does nothing but get Children; the playing with whom, is all his recreation. And so I leave him with them, as unfit for any other company.

Of one who falsly stiles himself Colonel.

NOt to be Soldier, he made himself Colonel at first, and to escape fighting, hath continued so ever since. Whence he is a Superlative without Posi∣tive, and like a Hovel all Roof, without Founda∣tion. He drank formerly when he should be fight∣ing, and now talks of fighting onely in his drink; mean time his Sword can so little boast its Blood, as all its Gentility lies in the Hilt and Belt, and it derives its honor more from the Scabbard, then the Blade. But as Poor Men, when they would seem rich, put themselves to a hundred shifts, to main∣tain their reputation of wealth, so does he of valor; boasting most impudently of valiant acts he had done, when robbing and plundering was all that ever he did. Another shift he hath, is by going cloathed like a Soldier in Buff and Feather, like Aesops Crow, or the Ass in the Lions skin; out of which, when you strip him once, he becomes as contemptible, as he was formidable before. And now they have found him out, every one laughs at him, nor dares he resent it otherwise, than onely by going grumb∣ling away, and saying, He cares no more for them, then they do for him; and if so, He is the happiest Man I know of; for no Man lives more free from care than he.

Of a Nice City Dame.

SHe is one your Cockneys call a Beauty, onely be∣cause like a sick Turky, she looks a little Blew about the Gills, and is much of the colour of Flaten Milk. All the advantage she hath of a course Coun∣trey Lass is, That her Complexion is the unwhol∣somer of the two, and her Skin the apter to break forth in Scabs She is so Dowbak'd, and her Comple∣xion so raw, as those who have any mind unto her, must have the Green-sickness, or be half Cannibals at least; for her Blood is all Whey, which she clarifies with taking Physick still; whence instead of Chil∣dren, she brings forth nothing but Curds and Creem-Cheeses, which never last. She is always com∣plaining she knows not wherefore, and would fain be sick if she knew of what, giving that Physitian more who finds her a new disease, then others would those who cured them of an old. She always longs whether she be with child or no, and her cheifest longing it to be of the fashion; which she must be presently, or there starts up a new disease▪ and her Husband presently cures her of it, finding by dear experience the Mercers Book, less chargable than the Apothecaries, or the Physitian. So betwixt her being sick and well, he is never quiet with her, nor will she ever be so untill she be in the Grave.

Of a Bold Abusive Person.

HE talks madly Dash, Dash, without any fear or wit, and cares not whom he bespators, nor how he defiles himself. He is the perpetual Satyrist of the time, whence every one fears and hates him for it. His language is rather Railing than Raillery; and he is so far from his qualifying terms of making things better, as he makes every thing worse; and they who bluntly called every thing by their right names, were civil and complemental, compared to him. It is an argument of their worth, whom he speaks ill of; and of some vice or other, when he speaks well of them. He is worse than Fools and Buffoons, for they use their wits to delight others, he to displease; they to make them merry, but he to make them mad. Mean time, though their be small hope to make him better, yet those who applaud him, but make him worse; and though he be cowardly of himself, yet he may be hist on to mischeif others: Best way then is to take no notice, but discountenance him, & he would soon desist. In fine, he abuses every one with his broad jeasting till he meet at last with some as cholerick as he is abusive, who beats him for his pains, when you will see he will go grumbling away, and say, They understand not jest, when indeed it is rather he.

Of an Exceptions Person.

SHe is the Exception of her Sex, not comprehend∣ed in any general rule, nor can any particular one be given of her. She is a Sea without North Star and so full of shifting hands, as there is no sailing in it, without the Plummet still in hand. What chiefly makes her so, is her suspitious nature, apt to take exceptions at every thing: And when she begins to suspect once, she never makes an end, but like French Post-horses, when they stumble, never leave till they are down. Mean time, she will never be well whilst she has any thing lies on her heart, nor will she ever discharge her mind of it, and such are least fit for friendship; for a suspitious body, like Weapons loose in the Hilts, can never be used with any confidence; and that clear Understanding which should be with friends, can never be with her; who loses herself in the midst of her Suspitions, and her friends, by mistaking them for her enemies.

Of one of your New Reformers.

BY his demure Countenance, and demurer Pace, his short Hair, and long Beard, which he lets grow to Seed; and finally, his Cloaths nigh Quer∣po, and Voice in Faubourdon, you would take him for an Antick, and perpetual subject of Satyr and Ridiculousness; and what adds unto it, is his scru∣pulousness in Religion; for he refines upon the old, and is scandalised for their leaving so many Church∣es standing still, and so many Crosses and Cross-stiles to stumble the Brethren: But above all, the abo∣mination of abominations is, to see so many Popish Signs remaining of Popes and Bishops Heads, Miters, Cardinals Hats, and Tripple Crowns, Fryers, Nuns, Beads, Agnus Dei's, and the like, which makes London look like a very Babylon. Amongst the rest, in the late times, he pretty well began by changing the Salutation of the Angel and Blessed Virgin, into that of the Soldier and Citizen, and the Catherine Wheel into the Cat and Wheel; nor had the Cat and Fiddle escaped him, if they could but have heard it play; so as there wanted onely the Dragon to kill S. George, and Devil to tweak S. Dun∣stan by the Nose, to make the Reformation com∣pleat. With such little ridiculous things, they busie their Heads, and would make us, if they could, as ridiculous as themselves.

Of a Busie Body.

HE is too Busie a Body to have any head fo•…•… business, yet he will have a hand in every thing. Chaucer seems to have Prophesied of him long since, when he said,

A busier Man there was, And yet he seem'd more busie than he was.

He always makes it Holiday for others, and Working-day for himself, by undertaking all the business and like Aesops Fellow servants, leaves others no∣thing to do whilst he will needs do all himself. He commends Wives, Servants, and Horses to you; for which, most commonly, you wish him hanged when you have but tryed them once. He labors like a Horse for you, and then complains of weariness▪ when no body bid him, nor thanks him for his pains He boasts of those who employ him, and shews their Letters to him, for his own credit, more than theirs. Mean time, he is so greedy of business, as if he should never have enough, when the wise know that of all Surfeits, that of Business is the worst. In fine, he is so restless, as they can scarce write hic Requiescet on his Grave, and if ever any's Ghost walk after they are dead, it will be his.

Of a Tepid Timorous Christian.

HE is not so good a Christian as Nicodemus, who went to our B. S. by night, for he never goes at all, and will venture nothing for his Religion. Like lazy people, who though they lie uneasily, are loath to rise: He would fain go to Heaven, but will not take the pains; he knows enough, would he but practise half that he knows; and would have others do all, whilst he will do nothing himself. Mean time, he has as many scruples, as a Hedghog Prickles, and just like that shrinks up himself when he feels his prickly brood, and makes the de∣livery of them more painful, by avoiding of the pain; when with one brave effort he might be de∣livered of it. So he fearfully apprehends the Pa∣rable of the Fig-Trees not bearing Fruit, and ap∣plies to himself his Nausious Estate, who was nei∣ther hot nor cold, and would not die so for a World, and yet lives as does. In fine, he does nothing of a Christian, but lies in the Ditch and cryes Lord help him, without striving to help himself. So the best we can say of him, is, He is a Christian in his heart.

Of a Flatterer.

HIs Flattery or Dog-fawning, is cheifly for hi•…•… Belly, and he is one of your lowest sort of Flatterers. He is all for him who has best Wine, and fair Body and Soul, and all, even to be of the same Re∣ligion with him too, though he be especially for the Patron. He commends the Cook, shakes the Butler by the hand, and is familiar with all the rest of the Serving-men, calling one Father, the other Son, as they are of age or office in the house. Then for the Women-kind, he tells the Lady he honors her above all the Women in the World; and the Waiting-woman the like; and not so much as the Chamber-Maid, but has some sprinkling of his Flattery too. All still in order to his Belly, so passes he his time, which is onely Dinner and Supper time with him; and never dreams a nights, nor thinks a days of any other thing: So we may well say of him, His Belly is his God, and all his devotion is in serv∣ing it.

Of some who are troubled with every thing.

WHo are troubled with every thing, are like those weak and crazy stomacks; who con∣vert all the food they take into dsease, and who trouble themselves with conditionary thoughts, are like those who are sick with bare imagination, they know not how to fear moderately, but run to the extremity in every thing; and when they might make their lives easie, by taking every thing by the best handle, they make them uneasie by taking them by the worst. He who cryed, when it was fair weather, and laughed when it was foul, was but half a fool compared to them, who al∣ways cry out, whether it be fair or foul. Of such stuff as this, the ignoranter sort of people are made; who for want of knowing how much care and thought they are to bestow on things, are so prodi∣gal, as to bestow all they have on every thing; and so becoming Bankrupt at last, they make their lives miserable and irksome to them, and find when it is too late, the truest wisdom is to know how much care and thought we are to bestow on every thing.

Of a Mischievous Disposition.

HE never finds a breach, but he makes a hole of it; nor a hole in your Garment, but he tears it quite; and where he finds a loose Stone in a Wall, he never leaves till he has made a ruine of it. He had been put to death by the Antient Spartans, and would be stoned by the Turks now for his cruelty to Beasts and Birds; but all his chiefest ma∣lice is to Man. In whose way he lays stumbling blocks when he goes, to make him fall, and makes his Horse start when he rides onely to break the Riders Neck. Mean time, he is worse than those who at Hotcockles strike you behind your back, and then stand so demeurely, you would think it were not they; for those delight onely in the subtilty, but he in the malice of it. And is worse than the Gob∣lins in antient time, who would do you shreud turns out of sport and merriment; but this does it in good earnest. And finally, he is worse than the envious and malicious, for they have some motive for their envy and malice, and it is onely personal; but this thorough particular persons, strike at all humane kind in general. So as, in fine, he is not onely a Mis∣antropos a Man-hater, but a Lycantropos a Man∣woolf, and King Lucius, were he alive agen, would give more for killing him alone, than for all the Wolves together.

Of Wit.

WIt is Le point de l' Eprit, as the French cal it; or the Point of the Spirit, which with∣out it, would be dull. It is no solid food of life, but an excellent sawce or seasoning, if it be not unsea∣sonably used; it is but the outside of wisdom, and the flaying matter onely for the words, is but taking the paring, and leaving the Fruit behind. Whence jesting is but onely the sportive use thereof, and not to be used on all occasions. Mean time, though it seems to confer but little to the more serious part of life, yet to men of business it is like Musick to Devotion; which though it divert for the pre∣sent, yet makes them fitter for it afterwards. In fine, Wit like Beauty has somewhat in it of divine, and they prophane either who abuse them to vicious ends, nor acquired by Art, but by Nature and Conversation, somewhat above expression, and so voluble a thing, as it is altogether as voluble in the abstract to describe, onely in the Concret, I will tell you what a witty person is.

Of a Witty Person.

HE is the Sparkling Liquor of the company, others but Dregs and Lees, and the life and spirit of it, that else would be dull and dead. He is never dry nor pumping, but always full and flow∣ing with conceit; and when he meets with one who can but uphold aside as at Shuttlecock, you would be delighted to see how handsomely they keep it up. He is a good Man, as well as a good Compani∣on, scorning as some do, to ow their Wits unto their Vice, and so far a good fellow to take a chearful Cup or two; for Wine is a good Whetstone of Wit, so they take not so much to whet the edge of it quite away. Mean time, he counts it rather befitting a Bravo, than Gentleman to use his Wit, as hi•…•… Weapon to the offence of any, and thinks Wit in those who have not Wisdom to govern it, like a Fool on Horsback, or putting a Sword into a Madmans hands. And such as he are onely Wit•…•… indeed, whilst those whom the vulgar usually ca•…•… so, are rather out of their Wits, such as I shall de∣scribe you next.

Of one who Zanys the Good Companion.

HE is a Wit of an under Region like Jack Puddin, grosly imitating on the Lower Rope, what the other does neatly on the Higher; and is onely for the laughter of the Vulgar, whilst the wiser sort can hardly smile at him. All the Wit he has, cheifly consists in Jests broken twenty times be∣fore, or Stories worn thredbare, with often telling them, with nothing in them of his own; besides the faces which you must laugh at, or you spoil them too, and put him out of countenance: Mean time, he is never in his Element but in a Coffee-house or Tavern, the Bedlam of Wits, where Men are mad rather than merry; and there is onely noise instead of mirth; and there he triumphs with reciting Play-Scraps and singing Baudy Songs; with so many Parenthesis of Oaths between, as he can never come to the sence he would be at. In fine, he is a Buffoon rather than a Wit, and with his broad jesting, abuses men so long, till meeting with some or other as cholerick as he is abusive, they beat him for his pains when he goes muttering away, and says, They understand not Wit, when indeed it is he himself.

Of a Shreud old Catholick Gentle∣woman.

SHe goes to Confession, and leaves off all her old Shrewishness to begin a new; and after she has sufficiently thumed over her Hours and Rosary, thinks she has priviledge to be as Shrewish as ever she was before; she chides with the same zeal, as she prays, and beats her Brests at Mass, and Maids, after with the same ferver and devotion; her cheifest devotion consists in Fasting, and it is thought she hates the sin of the Flesh so much only, because she loves Fish so well. Her next devotion is making a Caudle for the Goodman, which he eats as devoutly and prays for Benefactors. In fine, she imagines no business can be done without chiding, and her prayers being onely Lipstuff, and wearing out the Tongue, you would wonder how it holds out so well; but we are never a weary of that we take pleasure in, as she does in chiding, though her Maids take so little pleasure in it; as what betwixt their leaving her, and her turning them away, you may go twice into the House, and never twice into the same House again.

Of an Honest Man.

HE is that Verus Israelita, or true Israelite, in whom there is no deceit; and you may as safely take his word, as an others Bond. He says as he thinks, and does as he says, and means well and honestly in every thing. His cheifest care is to con∣serve a good belief towards God, a good repute with his Neighbor, and a good Conscience in him∣self; and for all the World, would not do a dis∣honest action, though there were none but his own conscience to witness it. He exactly fulfils that precept of holy Scripture, To do by others, as he would others should do by him: And when there is question to do or suffer wrong, rather chuses to suffer it; mean time, he may suffer determent in his Fortune, but not in himself by it; and he had rather be a Sheep amongst the Wolves, and be in danger to be preyed upon, than prey upon others, and be a Woolf amongst Wolves. And though finally, your Knaves count him a Fool for it; yet they shall find in the end, for all their knavery, the onely Wisdom is to be an Honest Man.

Of a Rich Miser.

ALl his thoughts are on getting Wealth, and he thinks all others of his mind, like him, who hearing how Methusalem lived more than Nine hundred years, cryed out, He must needs have been a very rich man; another would have said, He must needs have been a very good, a very wiseman, &c. But he thinks all is comprised in being rich. He thinks Liberality, in place of Covetousness, one of the Seven deadly sins, and that saying but Apocri∣pha, Beatius est dare quam accipere, It is better to give, than to take, being resolved for his part, never to give any thing away. This makes him so mise∣rable, as he counts Money his very Heart-Blood, and to pluck any out of his Purse, were to pluck a Tooth from him. So as, were he as Costive in his Body, as in his Purse, Manna nor Rhubarb could never purge him, or make him soluble. To conclude, I know not whether Midas more deserved his Asses Ears, for preferring Pan's Musick to Apollo's, or Gold, to all other things: But this, I am sure, he and I shall never agree well together; for he looks to he worshipped for his wealth, and I of all other Idols, cannot adore the Golden Calf.

Of one who is never content.

HIs mind is like those sick bodies who turn them∣selves perpetually in their Beds, and find rest no where, because they always carry their unrests along with them; and if content be that which makes a happy life, he who is never contented, must needs live a most unhappy one. He dislikes e∣very thing, and it is not judgment but disease in him, nor is he curious, but fastidious. And it is like giving one drink in a Dropsie to humor him, yet you must, or he is not contented with you. Think then, how uneasie and unquiet lives they must needs live, who are to observe and humor him; a work much like making a Garment for the Moon, who changing perpetually, you must perpetually change your measures too. Which endless labor, that I may not be obliged unto, nor to follow his Wild-Goose Chase, loving mine ease and quietness as I do, I am re∣solved hereafter not to be whirled about perpe∣tually like a Weather-Cock, with every wind of his humor, though I love his person, to abstain from his company.

Of Kindness.

THe first Earl of Bristol was wont to say, Tha•…•… Kindness was a Fruit which grew no where but in England; nor had any other Language a word to express it by. And (to say nothing of Love) Civility, and Courtesie, are names derived from Court and City, and are but extrinsical denomina∣tions, friendship, and familiarity from Friends, and those of the same Family, but Kindness from those of the same Soul and Mind, and is so intrinsical a thing, as you must penetrate the very heart to find it out. It is the fire that melts hearts like Soft Wax unto one another, and the tenderest part of the Soul d••stilled into kindness, kind looks, and kind words, are but the signs of it, not the thing signified, and kindred is nothing to it, nor benefits any thing with∣out it. It is the Bond of Charity, and if that be too spiritual, of Love of Friendship, and all Humane Society

In fine, it hath its root in good nature, and produces nothing but good offices; and this we had once, when we might well say, That England was happy if it but knew its own happiness; but now we have wholly lost it, and onely retain the empty name. All other Nations having more Kindness, and agreeing better amongst themselves than we, thanks to the difference of Religion, which has wholly extirpated it Roof and Branch. But I say no more, least I should be thought too partial to other Nations, & too injurious to ours, to exprobate to it the want of it.

Of the Parliament, In answer to the Ignorant Objections of some Strangers.

THe Parliament of England (whatever others are in other Countreys) is onely in nature of an humble Friend or faithful Counsellor to His Ma∣jesty, to Counsel and Advise Him for His own and Kingdoms good, as often as He shall please to As∣semble them: Nor is this more to limit or bound His Royal Power, than the Sands or Short does that of the Ocean, but onely for its own, and others con∣servation, or more to derogate from it, than the impuissance of doing harm or evil, does from that of Almighty God; which on the contrary, is one of His most Godlike Attributes. They are deceived then, who think nothing great, but what is mon∣strous, or that to Raign Courteously, is but to Raign at others Courtesies: The King of Eng∣land is as absolute as any Monarch, nor is the Par∣liament such a Curb or Clog to Him as they ima∣gine. There are certain things which seem heavy and burthensome, as the Wings of Birds, Wheels of Chariots, and the like; which on the contrary make the burthen but the lighter and easier; and one of these things is the Parliament of England to the King; and both together composing that Harmony of Government, which renders it sweet and pleasant, both to command and to obey.

POSTSCRIPT.

THe Idea which I have framed of these Cha∣racters, is to spin them out into as fine a Thred as I can, and then weave them into a handsome stuff. Of which, I find I have faln so far short in many of them, as though it pleased the Duke of Glocester, of glorious memory, to say, Some of them were the best as ever he had read. Did I not hope to mend them in another Impression, I should be ashamd to let them pass in this. I pass then my Thoughts thorough finer and finer Sieves of first Writing, then Printing, and lastly Reprinting them before I have done with them; and after all, to think to clear them of all their faults, were to think to sweep an Earthen Floor to the last Grain of Dust. I onely then shall undertake the more obvious, and leave the rest—But I say no more, least I should be thought one of those who had rather err, and confess it afterwards, than provide before∣hand not to err at all.

FINIS.