The good vvife: or, A rare one amongst women VVhereto is annexed an exquisite discourse of epitaphs: including the choisest thereof, ancient or moderne. Musophilus.

A good VVife, Or A rare one amongst Women.

DOwne by a vale a pleasant shade there was, By which a silent siluer streamling past, Where I retir'd and sate me on the grasse, Whilest my deiected eye with sleepe lockt fast, Presented thousand obiects where I was; 'Mongst which a grauer Module then the rest Appear'd to me, and made it thus exprest.

A graue olde man of reuerend aspect, Whose yeeres imported somthing that was good, In sable habit, shewing his neglect "Of earthly Fortunes, as an obiect stood, To caution me (me thought) of that respect Which I should haue, and euer ought to haue Of my times Mansion, Frailty, and my Graue.

A Sithe, an houre-glasse and a waterpot, A fatall Deaths-head, Shrowding-sheete and Bere, An vrne of mouldred ashes, which were got From some darke charnell house as 't did appeare, Where on was writ, This is our frailties lot, This's all we shall possesse of all our store, This beggers haue, and Princes haue no more.

These were the reliks which this old mā brought Which oft he mou'd and brandish'd ouer me, And still by teares he seem'd as if he sought To caution me of my mortalitie, But 'las his teares still drown'd his speech me thought, Till he at last by force did silence breake, And to me sleeping thus began to speake:

Good rest my Sonne, yet (Sonne) retire from rest, And heare thy Father, pray thee then awake, For though I me deade, yet is my loue exprest Euen in my death; then for thy Fathers sake, Lay vp these last instructions in thy brest, Which with obseruance if thou keepe, they may Cheere thee both heere, and in the latter day.

Thou knowest my Sonne, though thou wert last in birth, Thou wert not least in my affection too, Witnesse my care of thee, while I on earth, Soiorned there in that same vale of woe; Yea, I may say, euen in my comforts dearth, When grieues and sorrowes did enuiron me, Which frustrate hopes supplied their hope in thee.

Nor could I thinke so many a widdows praier, Orphanes well wishes, and the poore-mans vow, Would turne my fruit of hope into despaire, Since vowes, praiers, wishes, did distinctly show Their loue to me for my deuoutest care, Which from my heart I euer aimed at, To right their wrongs, and setle their estate. 〈1 page missing〉〈1 page missing〉

O let my hopes then now in my decease, Confirme my Blessing which I gaue to thee; So shall thy Soule enioy that soueraigne peace Which was prepar'd 'fore all eternitie, For such as made a prosperous encrease In euery vertuous action, which Ile show Succinctly to thee in a word or two.

First then my Sonne, because I finde thee here In th'Ile Foolonia, where so many come, VVhose names & Natures with the Ile cohere, I must by way aduertise thee of some VVho (in disguise) not as themselues appeare Earths polititians, who'l not stand to staine Their soules pure lustre for a little gaine.

These can dispēce with faith, & wil profes What they least thinke: to guild their guile they'l swear: Yet be their oathes shrowdes to licentiousnesse, (Which thogh they seem a faire pretēce to beare,) Take but their vizard off, they're nothing lesse, Then what they did protest: Beware of them, For these be dangerous Hollow harted men.

Yet these be fooles, though they be politike, In that they aime more at a priuate good, A sensuall pleasure, honour, or such like, Then at that supreame end, which vnderstood, VVould their conceits to admiration strike; For weak's their iudgement, and ele••tion rash, That poize souls treasure lesse thē worlds trash.

Next vnto these, be such as doe aspire Aboue their pitch, and with ambitious wings So are far aboue their sphere: these do desire Nought more then to be popular, which brings A timelesse merited end, for they conspire Their owne subuersion: for few euer haue Ambition sene graye-headed to her graue.

These reach at Scepters but do ofttimes fall Below their Center, and though they do make Their owne opinions Axioms, and will call Nought good, but what themselues do vndertake Yet by a publiqe verdit, when they shall Conuicted bee, then they'le confesse & say, Non (thogh more seemin-gwise,) more fools thē they.

Next these be Prodigals, who spend their time Like Circes chanted guests: these are but men Onely in forme, for th' part which is diuine, Remaines obscure and darker shines in them Then a small star cloath'd in a cloud doth shine. These men we well may formal shadowes call, For saue meere shadowes, these are nought at all.

Aleynous mates, such as were borne to bee But not to liue, pageants that goe and moue, And weare good cloath's, yet view thē inwardly, They are but Trunks at best, or Apes, that loue Or make a shew of loue, whose ends we see, When they haue run on shelfe their whole estate Their Brothell greeting's changd into a grate.

And are not these vaine fooles, that make a losse Of credit, bodie, state, to yeeld delight For one poor moment? ô when they shall tosse Those leaue of their account where appetite Made them insensate and that weeping crosse, Which their profuser follies brought them to, They'le style themselues then Fooles in folio.

Next be these staines of honour, which defile Those Temples which ought to be dedicate To an Ethereall power: These though they'ue stile Of women are nought lesse, for why they hate What best beseemes that sex: & hence this Ile Deriues her Name (and aptly doth it take,) When th'stronger sexe is ruled by the weake.

These are those lures of death which drawe men on Vnto perdition; These are they that show Like Flowers in May, but they are withered soon (Euen with one breth, for painting (if you blow) Makes the Complexion to be quite vndone: Vnhappie she that when she sees one breath Dissolues her varnish, will not think on death.

Of these my sonne no more will I relate Then what I haue: now meane I to descend To teach thee somthing for thy own estate And how thou maist be to thy selfe a friend With a good Conscience, which to violate Were worst of euills: and to forme thy life Better, I'le tell thee how to chuse a wife.

Chuse thou thy wife (my Sonne) nor faire nor foule, Nor gay nor sluttish; silent, yet knowes when And where it's fit to speak, one whose chaste soule Shews modestie in blushes, and will len No eare to light affections, but can coole Heate of desire (for such desires may bee In purest loue) by her enioying thee.

Chuse a fixt eye, for wandring lookes display A wauering disposition; let her cheeke Be without art: Chuse me a bashfull nay Before a quick assent; for such as seeke Husbands, for feare they should too long time stay, Resemble those who know their ware is worst, And therefore mean to sell't to whō comes first.

Chuse one that's so discreet knows when to spare, VVhen to expresse herselfe in bountie, so As neither niggard-nature may haue share In her, nor lauishnes, when shees'd bestow What Reputation claimes, which speciall care Imports a soueraigne complement or end To such, know when & where to spare or spend.

Chuse thee no gadder (for a wife should bee In this respect (I'me sure) like to a Snaile,) VVho (hous-wifelike) still in her house we see; For if her care or prouidence do faile, Her howse-affaires will go disorderlie, And hardlie can that VVife endure to stay In her owne house, whose minde's another way.

Chuse thee no liquorish Gossip, whose delight Is how to please her taste, for seldome can One that's exposed to her appetite Conforme her to the state of any man, VVhich to an honest minde would be a spite, That when thou wish's thy wife a competent Fitting her ranke, she will not be content.

Chuse thee no coy precisian, she is too smooth To proue sincere, in simpringst looks we finde Oft most deceit, for these (as th'water doth Seeme calmest where thei're deepest) let thy minde Be so prepar'd, as thou wilt euer loath Such formalists, She-doctors, who haue sought To teach far more then euer they were taught.

Chuse thee no wanton that will prostitute Her soule for sensuall pleasure, there attends Nought vpon such, but blasting of repute, Horrid diseases, miserable ends, With which their vicious liues doe euer sute, And worst of worsts, that issue which is got Of Such, may seeme thine owne, but it is not.

Chuse thee no VVife that is selfe-singular She'le be her owne instructresse, and in that Shee (through presumption) will be bold to erre, Hating reproofe, which will orethrow thy state, Beware (my Sonne) thou shalt be tide to her, Which seruitude (though it be too to common) Disualues man that's subiect to a woman.

Chuse one for vertue (though a Portion's good) Yet deare's the Portion if thy wife be ill: Ranke not in mariage with too high a blood Lest with her birth she chance to twitt thee still, Equalitie hath euer firmest stoode, Where if descent of different order be It's seldome sene that th'parties do agree.

Chuse one that's wise, yet to herselfe not so, Louing to all, familiar to few Inwardly faire, though meane in outward show, Seldom conuersing in a publique vew; Nor yong nor old, but has of yeares enow To know vvhat huswife meanes, & such an one As may supplie thy place whē th'art from home.

Chuse one that like a Bosome-friend can keepe Th'imparting of a secret, yet before Thou dost commit to her matters more deepe And consequent, thy iudgement should explore And sound her disposition, so mai'st reape What thou expectst: for if thou find a power Apt to conceale, make her thy counsellour.

Chuse one whose Spirit's ready to receaue Impression of remorce for others grieues, For such, best tempered natures euer haue (And kind is she that others vvoes relieues) Let her be open-hand'd to such as craue If they be needie, for thou neuer heard Almes (in charitie) lose her reward.

Chuse one whose Education is more good Then curious, whose life's more approu'd Then noted, chuse one vvhose Parentall blood Makes claime to vertue and is more belou'd For her more choicer parts, then to be wo'ed To an vnchaster motion, being inclin'd To prize her bodies Beautie by her mind.

Chuse one vvhose knowing Parents can augment Their daughters portion by a firme aduise, One who will measure her's by thy content, Whose spotlesse thoghts be vvritten in her eyes, Whose Brest is thine clos'd in one Continent, Who know's yet seemes as if she did not know, Inwardly good vvithout an outward show.

Chuse one who can play Mother, ere she haue The name of Mother, one that hates nought more Then not to learne, one that imprints her graue Still in her memory, addes to thy store With an aduised providence, nor doth craue More of internall knowledg then to try Her selfe on earth, and study how to die.

Chuse one who makes it greatest of her feare T'incurre suspicion, that esteemes her name Before a world of Treasure, that can beare Affliction with indifference, and thinks shame A Matrons comliest habit, one that's deare In her Creators sight, and feares to do Ought that thy selfe will not assent vnto.

Chuse one who doth desire to make each day Her lifes Ephemeris, summing in th' euening tide VVith what respect she past her howres away; Chuse one that doates not on the name of Bride VVith a new fangle itching, but will stay To reason what it meanes, and is afraid (In modest shame) to loose the stile of Maid.

Chuse one who's qualifide better in minde Then Bodie: yet if she affect the straine Of harmelesse chamber-musique, let her finde Thy minde in consort with her, (for thogh vaine) Yet 'tis an easie vanitie, and vnkinde Mightst thou be deemd to bar her that delight, Which may be shown euen in an Angels sight.

Chuse one whose count'nance promiseth respect Vnto her honour: one that spends the morne In praying, not in painting, whose neglect Is in out-landish fashions, and doth scorne To fancie that which lightnesse doth affect: One whose liues pattern rests as vncontrold, And makes her Youth by imitation old.

Chuse one whose house hath no affinitie With follie, lust, ambition, selfe-conceit, Prophanenesse, discord, prodigalitie, Schisme, Superstition, violence, deceit, Op••ression, s••rfets, damned vsurie, For where these raigne (my Son) we seldome see Descent of state vnto the third degree.

Chuse one whō thou canst loue, not for constraint Of fortune or of friends, for what are these That thou by them shouldst measure thy content? No, No, in mariage thou thy selfe must please, Or euery day will be an argument Of thy succeeding sorrow, then be wise, Carue for thy selfe, yet heare thy friends aduise.

Chuse one whose free election can admit None saue thy selfe that she can dearely loue, Yet so discreet as she can silence it Till th'time her Parents shall her choice approue, (For that implies her modestie and wit) Where rash assents whens'euer they doe come, Are euer seene to bring Repentance home.

Chuse one whose Conscience and religion meet In one set concord with thee, for it's this That cements minds together, and makes sweet Th' vnseasonedst passions, giuing way to blisse And future glory, where the peacefull seat Of two distinct mindes now reduc'd to one, Shews equall temper both in mirth and mone.

Chuse amongst these thou canst not Chuse amisse, For here's a full variety of such Will fit thy mind as thou thy self wouldst wish, Yet (Sonne) attempt not with vnhalowed tutch To taint their honour with a wanton kisse, For that is but inducement vnto sin, Sith Kisses be the keieslet Treason in.

Therefore chuse one, and that but only one, One that may make two Bodies one-vnite, One that is essence-lesse if left alone VVithout her second; One whose sole delight Is vanisht when her second soule is gone: One that renewes her comfort in her make, And ioyes in her affliction for his sake.

Yet know (my son) when thou this wife dost chuse, And (after sute) art master of thy choise, It's fit thou should this louely mirror vse VVith that respect as she may hence reioice To haue a mate so rightly generouse. As with a Wiues-choise therefore I begun, Il'e shew what by a Husband should be don.

He may command, yet should not tyrannize, Shew himselfe head, yet not to make his wife His foot, esteeme her as his only prize, (All other Blanks) hate all intestine strife (Saue strife in loue,) he should not exercise The patience of his wife, for one may wrong Silence too much, and force her haue a tongue.

He may expresse his loue with modestie, Yet neuer coll and kisse in open place, For I should deeme such loue hypocrisie Or some such thing, if I were in her case; And better is loue showne in priuacie Then 'fore the eies of men, for they will skan Fondnesse or indiscretion in the man.

He may be free in loue, for shee's his owne, Yet such a loue as is exempt from staine Of an insatiate lust: he should not frowne T'expresse his aw too much, his best of gaine Should be to make her vertues riper growne; He should dispence with lighter faults, not vex Himselfe for trifles, shee's the weaker sex:

He may restraine her, but t'is not so good, Restraint giues women greater appetite; He may doe much, but who would wrong his blood, His flesh, himself? he may curb her delight, But who knows not whē women's most with stood Their wil's most forward & their wits most neere thē, And wil be frolike thogh their husbāds heare thē?

He may haue care, but carking it is worse, He may be getting, yet he should not scrape; He should not slaue himselfe vnto his purse, But freely vse it for his credit sake: He shold not wean his wife from ought by force, But by perswasion: for deprau'd's her will, That's only forc'd by violence from ill.

He may part stakes, or all, but it were better To ioine in purse as they doe ioine in care, Where each to other may remaine a debter, For where the man doth limit th'Wife a share, Oft turnes the Wife to be her husbands cheater, Which to preuent (if hee'le be sure of her) In stake, state, store, make her his Treasurer.

He may be Iealous; but't implies suspect That he misdoubts what he himself hath bene, Or that he's troubled with som weake defect His VVife perceaues, thogh to the world vnseene And that from hence proceedeth her neglect Of honour to his Bed: which (sure) would show Basenes in him, and force her to doe soe.

He may picke cause and matter of offence (But that would much degenerate from man) He may heare such, as would sowe difference Twixt their vnited loues; but if he scan And rightly weigh mans natiue excellence, He will conclude with this, that there is no man So base, to vrge offence against a woman.

He may be busie where h'as nought to doe, And intermedle in his wiues affayres, But fit it is not that he should doe soe For in employments ech haue distinct shares, Nor she to his, nor he to hers should goe: For so the Breeches she might seeme to weare, And he a Coate-queanes name as rightlie beare.

He may thinke well on's wife, yet not commend (For he doth praise himself, doth praise his wife): He should in life prepare him for his end And mould his end by forming of his life: He should repose no trust in anie friend In or without him, saue in the firme defence Of a resolu'd and spotlesse Conscience.

Lastly he may (for it is in his power) Now in his Exit, when he turnes to earth To make his wife his sole Executour And by that meanes to begger all his birth, But I should rather limit her a dower Which might her ranke and order well befit, For then so soone she will not him forget.

These are the Cautions (Sonne) I'd haue thee keep, Which well obseru'd wil crowne thy happy state, Folding thy dull eyes in a cherefull sleepe, Blessing thy fortune with a vertuous Mate; Storing thy states content with such a heape Of peacefull Treasure, as thou there shalt finde Enough of wealth in thy contented minde.

Awake thee then, dull sleepe preuents thy Choice, Here comes she whom thy fancy may approue, Awake I say, and in thy Fate reioice That thou hast met with such a modest Loue: Come come, if thou in Reasons Scale wilt poize Thy selfe with her, thou wilt not curious be But take good Fortune while it's offerd thee

Awake, I vade: I wak'd, he vanished, Where casting my amased eyes aside Sent from the Recluse of a troubled head, A modest bashfull virgin me espide, Whom I approachd, being emboldened By th'Apparition which assur'd no lesse Vnto my hopes then honour and successe.

This Virgins name Simpliciana hight, Daughter vnto Zelocto the precise, Who had me once before discarded quite, Because my weaker fortunes did not rise To the hight of her expectance, yet that night (So feruent is affection) did that Maide Trace me along to make her Loue displaide.

Shame curb'd her tongue, yet fancy bad her speak, While I suppli'd her silence with my speach, And thus her passion for her selfe did break, Whilst shee stood by and seconded the breach With a teare-trickling eye and blushing cheeke, Where thus I woo'd my selfe, yet in her name, Shewing her loue, yet shadowing her shame.

Sir I doe loue you (thus I did begin) I pray you make your selfe your Orator, And so I did, yet taxe me not of sin Or lightnesse, vnfain'd loue omits no houre Though't be distemper'd, but will let him in Whom shee affecteth, for when all's' asleepe, Loues eies are said continuall watch to keepe.

I haue a Mother Sir (and then she smil'd) For well shee knew what I intend'd to speake, Whom to obey i'me bound because her child, Yet Reason tels me when we husbands seeke, The stile of Parents is in part exil'd, For we (by virgine-losse) lose our first name, And as our husband's stil'd, wee're stil'd the same.

What then though Riches please anothers eye, My reason tels me there is something more To consummate true ioy, then can relye On outward fortunes, therefore once I swore, And I will keepe my vow religiously, If e're I wed (as halfe resolu'd I am) It shall not be the substance but the Man.

Yea, though I were oppos'd on either side, (My Father heere, my chiding Mother there) Yet neither of their humors should deuide My deerest Soule from her orbiculer, For I doe know, though that my Mother chide, My Father fret, and both stand chasing o're me, I did but that themselues haue done before me.

With that she broke her speech, with, S^r. quoth she You wooe well for your selfe, but I approue What you haue spoke shall be confirm'd by me, Nor shall my silent passion shrowd my loue, For as thy shadow I will follow thee; Where I assenting to what both had said, Kist and clapt hands, & so the match was made.

Now if you like our Match, giue vs our due And bid your selues vnto our Nuptiall day, Our best of welcome shall attend on you, Yea, th' Bride herselfe (all nicenesse lay'd away) Will meet you with a frollique game-some crue, Where to your choice contents, & Loues among, Wee'le be as merry as the day is long.

But if (through some dogg'd humour) you'le not come, The Bride-groome saies, A Gods-name stay at home.

The Authors choice.

FAire may shee be, but not opinion'd so, For that opinion euer lackies pride; Louing to all, yet so as Man may know She can reserue the proper name of Bride, For weake is that Fort and easie is't to win That makes a Breach for all to enter in.

I'de haue her face and blush to be her owne, For th'Blush which Art makes is adulterate, Splene may she haue, yet wise to kepe it downe, Passion, yet Reason too to moderate: Comely not gaudy: she & none but shee Wears the best cloathes that wears to her degree.

To his 5 equally-affectionate Sisters all vertuous content.

TO you that are the chiefest of my care, Tyes of my loue and figures of my life, Send I this Character, where ech may share Her equall portion in my rare-good Wife, And be the Same, which I'me resolu'd you are: So shall your Husbands say (I doubt it not.) The Sisters liues prou'd what their Brother wrot.

Yours iointly as his owne, MVSOPHILVS

Ʋpon the Married Life.

HAppy state, yet'las how few Thinke them happy in their choice, When they shun whom they did sue, And in loath'd delights reioice; Loath'd though lou'd, since they are growne To loue others, loath their owne?

But who marries to impart Selfe and substance to his wife, Ioining with his hand his hart, Onely gaines this blisse of life, Yea to him is solely giuen To thinke Earth a kinde of Heauen.

Happy then or haplesse most, For of all, this hath no meane, Losing least or euer lost, Being still in her extreame; Good if vs'd; abused, ill, Onely well where there's one will.

Vpon the single Life.

THis by times-distempers fed, Feeles vertigo in his head, Euer wooing, neuer sped; Lou'd he liues, if loathed, dead, So as nought but doubts and feares, Buz like hornets in his eares.

Care he needs not, yet's his care More in that he needeth lesse, Ayming to haue one may share With him in his bale and blesse; Gad he would yet knowes not where, Wandring Starre-like heere and there.

Care who loues then, let him liue Single; whereas such neede lesse, As themselues to marriage giue, For these want what they possesse: Care whereof breedes now and then Broken sleepes in many men.

Thus choice breeds care, He only may reioice, Who ha's shak't hands with care and ta'ne his choice.