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

THE FOURTH BOOK OF EPIGRAMS. (Book 4)

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.