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THE SECOND CENTURIE

Epig. 1.
To his worthy Ho: Patronesse, Catherine,
Lady
Mansell.

Thy splendent name, I doe not knowe right well,
Or blazed fame, in praise doth most excell;
But both unite, and both shall equall be,
Such is thy praise, sans partialitie.

Epig. 2.
On our vulgar Pie-Poets.
To the Readers.

An Epigram, I graunt is common grown,
Squis’d out of Coblers, Tinkers, base of Trade;
(Whereby of yore the learned well was knowne,
Whose warbling songs was not by Coopers made.)
Such sordid stuffe we should cast of in hast,
And will Sr Sutor not to passe his Last.a

a Ne Sutor ult. a crepidam

Epig. 3.
To the learned Divine Mr Francis Sydney.

Some of thy name doe brave Trill Pallas Lance;
And thou most grave her Lawrell dost advance.

Epig. 4. On the Mercilesse Niggard,
To his deere Cosin
, Edm: Basset.

The Base we see do commonly admire,
And high esteeme the Baslings of this Earth:
As Silver, Gold, Brasse, Yron, Lead, and Wire,
So that if famine fals, or pining Dearth,
Scarse will they spare, yea to themselves one crum,
Much lesse to Others, to their Doores which come.

Epig. 5.
To his lo: friend Mr M. Hopkins.

With dolefull sighes right well may we compare,
The Levit’s living par’d on either side;
By greedy Patron thence which culs his share,
And Dunstus dumbe, in learning little tri’de:
Unto the Cheese, which Banbury doth yeeld,
Which looks most poor, on both sides cleanly peeld.


Epig. 6.
The Naturalized Dutch-man.
To his kinde Comrade, and Lo: Cosin
Mr Willi-
am Hughes.

We say, one fault marres somes good qualities;
But Contrary in the right Flemming borne,
One Good ’mends all his superfluities
Of bad conditions, to be ere forlorne:
His Bibbing, Rashnes, Mercenary fight;
But worthie praise, for aserving God aright.

a A pure Protestant.

Epig. 7.
On the worldlings Avarice.
To his lo: friend
Mr Jo: Roberts, a laborious
preacher of Gods word.

The faithfull Abr’am for his Heritage
Did rest content with promise of a Land:
Whereto the faithlesse Bastards of our Age,
Words nought availe without performance-Band.
Yet see the diffrence ’twixt the Sonnes, and Sire,
He Heaven gate, base Earth they sole Desire.

Epig. 8.
Agriculture.
To his lo: friend
Jo: G.

Like Nero, many do enbowell deepe
Their Mother Earth, for White and yellow Mine:
And others do into Her concaves creepe
Like Pluto’s swart, darke coles to digge that shine.
But thou art farre more Naturall then They,
Which dost but, Rase thy Mothers face of Clay.

Epig. 9.
To one, declining under the yoke of Affliction.

What tho thy cofers be not stuffed hard
With Cæsars crosses, all of beaten gold:
And all the crosses of the Popes be bard.
Thy house; yet faint not, but be ever bold.
For thou hast had those crosses, that exceede
Farre these; which be Christs crosses, best in deed.

Epig. 10.
aBabylon Metamorphosed.
To his lo: friend
Mr Math. Bennet.

Thou boastest proud, that thou do’st rule as aQueene,
Thou art mistake, ’tis rather like a bQuene.

a Apoc. 18.7 b. Apoc. 18.9

Epig. 11.
On Sir Phill: Sidneys Arcadia.

Thy workes are worthy praise, and why I pray?
Because that none can these dispraise, I say.

Epig. 12.
To his lo: friend Mr M. Hop: for the loane of Dod,
and Cleaver on the Decalogue.

Dod with his Cleaver cleaves the stonie rocke
Of our hard harts through their laborious paine:
And plaines the way most plaine for Christ his flock,
That leads o’re hils to the celestiall plaine.
These paire of friends with thankes I send againe,
Though two in Name, in Nature yet not twaine.

Epig. 13.
On the monstrous sin of Drunkennesse

That astoicall sage did drunkennesse prescribe
A salve most sure unto a quiet minde;
Which spuing potion, most of every Tribe,
Now takes, which workes most bravely, as we finde.
It causeth vomits, doth phlebotomize,
And more, the dumbe doth caule to Rhetorize.

a Sen. de Tranquil anim.

Epig. 14.
To the hopefull, and courteous Courtier,
young
Sr Edw. Lewis.

The Court, thy Name may better, I confesse:
But not thy Nature, lesse I misse to gesse.

Epig. 15.
Worm’shead. To his approved good fr. T. Rog.

A Rocke there is, that Worm’shead ha’s to name,
Within whose Concaves, fish, and fowle do breed;
A wonder strange, which merits blazing fame,
That stones, the selfe same Rocke, and eke indeed
At the same time, the feathered bird, the fish
Should feed, and stanch their appetites at wish.

Epig. 16.
Christ, and Apollo.
To Physitians.

Both, sores of soule and bodie Christ doth cure,
Which cannot Synthius, which you say is sure
A God; and aGod, they say, can all effect,
But certs, I thinke, your God ha’s this defect.

a Mat. 19. 26.

Epig. 17.
On our curious questionists.
To his lo. fr.
Har. Johnes.

Too many are of curious Questionists,
That proud demands what God himselfe did frame,
Before a’ fram’d the World wherein consists
All Cre’tures that both Savage be, and tame.
Which cannot yet their Pater noster say,
Unlesse perhaps in Latine cleane astray.

Epig. 18.
To his lo. fr. Mr W. Awbrey, an ingenious Anagra-
mmatist, late turned a Minister.

If that the Censure of the Gabalists
Be true, which saith there lies in each mans name,
By the inversion of Hieroglyphists,
His fatall fortunes, or his blazed fame.
Which in thy name thou did’st, I thinke, out finde,
When to that sacred coat thou gav’st thy minde.

Epig. 19.
Pengwin, the eight wonder of the World.
To his Cousen
Rees Griffith,
a Peregrinator.

The universe, as we may reade, containes
But only seaven wonders, strange and rare;
The eight, to make the number ev’n, remaines,
Which, Disticke-wise, herein I will declare.
This is a Bird, that Pengwin has to name,
Which never flew, and yet was never tame.

Epig. 20.
To the courteous Gent. M. Arth. Mansell.

As thou art Arthur excellent in Name,
In Nature too, I wish thee eke the same.

Epig. 21.
The Ile of the Crosse.

I gesse, aColumbus gave that fitting name
To that same Clime, which he calls Crucis Ile;
Because there Cannibals without all shame,
Doe eate mens flesh, which they to them beguile.
Which first they fix unto a Crux to feede,
Like to an Oxe, being fat they cause to bleede.

a Ex lib Munst. Cosm.

Epig. 22.
On curious Damætas.
To his Cousen
H. Tho. studious
in the Bible.

Th’ ignorant in this our curious Age,
Or little lesse, some Asse of shallow reach,
Will seeme to prate in myst’ries deepe, and sage;
The greatest Clearkes which vex, that write, or preach
And if you tell him, adoe this thou shalt live,
’Tis nought, unlesse unto the depth you dive.

a Mat. 10

Epig. 23.
Jesus College in Oxford, speaking to
King
James.

All things, athey say, doe wish a perfect end,
I being unperfect, doe eke wish the same,
Thy Royall hand my ragged wals can mend,
And perfect that what Priscious e’ne began.
An easier taske, to joine foure corner stones
In me, then lincke in one foure Nations.

a Arist 1. Eth

Epig. 24.
Mors, Sceptra ligonibus æquat.
Alluding to the death of the most renowned
H. Fredericke, Prince of Wales.

O fatall death, can none escape thy Dart?
O gastly Ghost, must all obey thy Hest?
Must Princes, as the beggar feele thy smart?
Must great ones die, sans mercy, as the least?
Henry
was yong, therefore thou might’st him spare;
Henry
was sage, then should’st his life prolong:
Henry
was warlike, touch him how could’st dare?
Henry
was learned, death thou hast us wrong.
Mavors farewell, and learned Mercury,
Since Henry left too soone our company. 10

Epig. 25
To the most famous, and Heroike Ladie
Mary, L. Wroth.

Thy worthy husband Ladifies thee Wroth,
Pray be not so with my poore pen, to place
’Fore R the O; then justly Lady Worth
I might thee stile, worth what? hie honours Grace.

Epig. 26.
The aCanaries.

Those Iles were wont to be cal’d fortunate,
Have now their names Canaries, for the Curres
That breed therein (a Metamorphos’d state,
And strange) which thinks her blest for beastly Burres.
But Brittaines Ile should certaine more be blest,
If with mad dogs she were the lesser prest.

Epig. 27
Goddesse fortune.

Th’ unfortunate denominates his name
And fortunate also, from fortune blind:
In Polycrates, and Ulysses fame,
Her constancy unconstantly we finde.
Th’ one she ever cross’d by Sea and land,
Th’ other blest with her unblisfull hand.

Epig. 28.
Hispana, in Hispanos.

Hispana Ile, has in’t a wonder rare,
Which Serpents be without all poison strong;
And do not hurt (as astories do declare)
Th’ Inhabitants, which do dwell them among;
Which should teach those that conquer’d first the Ile,
To shun to kill, through venom’s poisned guile.

a Ex Munst. Cosm.

Epig. 29.
On Terhernes Sepulture.

Terherne thou li’est enterd within the grave,
Of a blind Monke, in those daies compted wise,
And thou a foole; a Sepulture most brave,
Which doth the idiot, and the Sage comprise.
Yet, thou a foole to greater Blisse mai’st rise,
Then the blind Monke, that was esteemed wise.

Epig. 30.
On the feminine Supremacy.

I often heard, but never read till now,
That Women-kinde the Codpeeces did weare;
But in those Iles, the men to women bow,
Which do their names of amale, and female beare.
I should therefore the woman judge to be
The vessell strongst, but bPaul denies it.

a Ex lib. Navig Aug. b 1. Cor. 7. 3.

Epig. 31.
To the right worshipfull and most courteous knight,
Sir
Lewis Mansell, of his ho: mariage.

The Porcupine, with launces sharpe, and keene,
Doth now not seeke to pearce the Fawchi’on faire:
Nor is the Fawchi’on ’gainst the Griffon seene
To fly, but joies as friends, a Royall paire.
What is the cause of this their league? thy alove,
Which doth the birds, that’s strange, to union move.

Epig. 32.
On Cottulus the unconstant Professor.

Unconstant Cottulus, which primly wast,
Preciscian-like, most curious of thy life:
But now that faction thou hast overpast,
And turn’d a Papist, seeds-man ful of strife.
I wonder, what thou thirdly wilt Professe,
Camelion-like, a Newter, as I gesse.

Epig. 33.
To his Antiquious Academian friend
Mr William Je.

The Swan, they say, doth sing before he die;
But thine, I wis, did mourne most dolefully.

Epig. 34.
On the beloved Gossips, Læna, and Larga.

Læ: Why wilt not Larga, Marry Mr Steere?
A proper man, & wise, no Meacocks Gul:
La:
I tell thee why, I hate a castred Pheere,
And rather chose my Suiter, Maister Bull.

Epig. 35.
The Picture of a Paramour.

Most pretty Love, of all our Loves, which lovest
Never to feed on one sole dainty dish;
But many more do’st taste, and often provest,
Through sweat of Body, and a lovely kisse.
Thou ever lov’st variety of cates,
Which honest Vesta, and Mæchaon hates.

Epig. 36.
To the gastly Ghost of Terherne.

Some are, which have grow’n famous by their lore,
By dint of sword, and eke by Prudencie;
But thou (Terherne) renowned wast of yore,
For a pure foole, and nat’rall foolerie.
But here’s the difference ’twixt your brinted fame.
Theirs, for their wit, and thine, of folly, came.

Epig. 37.
Coed Franke.
Of the knights of
St Denis Bathe.

I wonder why men did thee nominate
Coed Franke, in Antique Brittains copious Tongue;
Unlesse thou got’st it through the French-mans fate,
The gallian griefe, which blasted thee along.
If it be so, let fleshmen learne by thee
To shun the Pox which burn’s the very tree.

Epig. 38.
Of the lamentable Deaths, of H.3. and H.4. the
French kings, murthered by a brase
of Fryars.

If aPatriarches twaine, in Holy Writ be nam’d
b
Brethren in evill for revenging wrong;
Then may those Brase of Friars well be blam’d,
(Which burns sans Mercy, ’mongst the Hellish throng)
For doubtlesse they were brethren in ill,
Which trat’rously France Royall blood did Spill.

a Gen 49.5. b Gen 34.5

Epig. 39.
To his Sickly friend.

Store is no sore, the Proverbe verifies;
Which thou find’st false, in store of Malladies.

Epig. 40.
To Reverend vida, the filching Preacher.

Gods zeale, (most zealous vida,) Prelate grave,
Did eate thee up, while that the borrowed oyle
Of others Lampes, did furnish thee most brave,
With Budget Lore, to keepe a preaching coile.
What meanes thy silence? Sure the oile is out,
And being thrust from Moyses chaire, art Mute.

Epig. 41.
To plaine Jo: the versificator.

What kinde of Poem’s thine, I thee besech?
No wittie one, therefore a witlesse speech.

Epig. 42.
To Battus, the Catechiser.

Magister Battus of the A.B.C.
I do commend thy conscience for to teach
Thy Punies Raw, without reward, or fee;
Th’wilt serve to catechise, but ill to preach.
Whereas thou dost thy pupils teach for nought,
Right well thou mai’st, thy Lore deserv’s not ought.

Epig. 43.
On Mistresse Wag-taile.

Thy gadding head, my pretty Mysa sweet,
Did cause thy taile to be most wagging still;
Herein we see both head, and taile do meet
Thy lust ne’re satiate seeking to fulfill.
’Twas not thy Head that did thy Taile enflame,
But t’was thy Taile, that did thy Head defame.

Epig. 44.
Lex Talionis, on Rot, the Tyrant.

Proud cruell Rot, which now dost rot in grave,
That e’re wast wont to tread on poore mens necks,
And force the harmeles Gull to be a Slave,
Unto thy Threts, and eke commanding checks.
These all requite thee now with Talio’s Law,
And on thy Head doe trample without Awe.

Epig. 45.
The Cacademons Epitaph.

Heere Batcocke lies, a Cocke too Bad by kinde,
Which ever wak’t his Prentises to play
At Cardes, whereto he had a zelous minde,
For them he bore in steed of Bookes to pray.
Which being dead, a paire of Cards was found
Under his head; to play with under ground.

Epig. 46.
Socrates.

Thou Socrates the wisest Sage foretold,
That was on earth, while that on earth thou breth’st
Wast not so wise yet, for to choose that Scold,
To be thy wife; thou wisedome herein leav’st.
Unlesse it were thy patience, for to trie,
If so, our dayes yeelds thee many a fry.

Epig. 47.
To his honest kinde friend Mr Edw: Andrewes,
of the Epithit, Honest.

Honest, a word, I sweare an Adjective,
For now a daies, it little stands in steed:
But he that to the Depth of Crafts can dive,
He is the Wiseman that doth now exceed.

Epig. 48.
An Anothomie for Husbandrie.

Paterne for Husbands, Choake thou art of right,
Which dost not choake thy good seed with the Thornes
Of worldly care, to be a Miser hight,
Thy lands brings better fruit, then wild Acornes.
This shining candle of thy husbandrie,
Under a Bushell doth not hidden lie.

Epig. 49.
To the worthie and famous Earle of Not-
ingham, high Admirall of
England.

Great number doe on the firme land beare sway,
These thou excell’st, thou mak’st the Sea obay.

Epig. 50.
The Flushing fray.
To his Cousen
, Leiftenant Ie. Watkins.

The Flemmings fight is reasonable, yea;
Being areasonlesse, he’ill but or sticke, or snee.

a drunke

Epig. 51.
Omnium rerum vicissitudo est.
Master, Messenger.

Ma. What’s thy name? Messenger? for what I pray?
Me.
Tis Master kind, for your deere love, I say.
Ma.
Tush, I doe hate, detest thy lawlesse bed,
Me.
You may helpe that, if you doe me but wed.
Ma.
Fie ’tis not fit for females, for to sue;
Me.
Tut, let’s conjoine, it is the fashion new.

Epig. 52.
Amicus certus in re incerta cernitur.
To trustie
M. Gage.

Thou faithful Gage, that wast a gage indeed.
For loyaltie, and eke for service true,
(Unto that famous aPrince by God decreed
To Quell the Pope, Religion pure to shew)
In her distresse; which fewe of thine owne’ name,
To thy pure faith, themselves doe wholly frame.

a Queene Elizabeth

Epig. 53.
To faire fac’d Margaret.

What odd’s ’twixt Margarit, a precious pearle,
And Margaret, a sweet and peerelesse Girle.
No odd’s I see, for we must buy the one,
And Gratis thee, I thinke, possesse shall none.

Epig. 54.
The voluble wheele of Fortune.
To the interne friend Mounsier
Hie,
and
Mr. Low.

Lo. Thou clim’st the wheele of fortune, Mounsier Hie
And gap’st for glorie, and preferment great;
Hie.
True Mr Low, and thou as fast do’st flie,
And lowe descend’st from fortunes highest seat
Despaire not yet, if fortune, afortune be,
Shee may thy name appropriate unto me.

a Unconstant

Epig. 55.
To the worthy Gent. M. Rawley Bussie, in volving the
earthly Globe, & tossing of the Tenis ball, most expert.

Thy solace is, to volve the Orbicke ball
Of this round earth, and eke the Tenis Pile;
Th’ one in sporting, which we pastime call,
Th’ other, when thy fluent Muse do’st file.

Epig. 56.
To Mistris Lightfoot.

I Chaunc’d, as once I travail’d to o’retake
One Mistris Quick, being found’red, making mone:
I ask’d, what did her pace so halting make,
I did my foot, quoth she, hurt ’gainst a stone.
Tis nothing so, said I, kind Mistrisse Quicke,
Your griefe I take, came rather of a pricke.

Epig. 57.
Vincit qui patitur.
To his lo. fr.
Rich. Gibons, a Teacher.

If any wish his patience for to try,
Let him, but practise sole thy Ministrie.

Epig. 58.
To his fragile firtree staffe.

The Proverbe se’s, tis better for to bow
Then for to breake, a note of gentlenesse;
But thou, my prop, do’st scorne to stoope so lowe
As bend, a signe, se’st thou of basefulnesse.
But breake wilt rather (my most brittle Tree)
Yet doe not so, I prethee, under me.

Epig. 59.
On Stephen, the bloody Persecutor.

Good Gardiners doe use for to supplant
Their bad grow’n weeds, their fruitfull hearbes to save;
But, Gard’ner thou, the aflowre of Troynovant,
Did’st thinke to weed, and burie in her grave.
To heavens Reapers, far unlike wast thou,
To weed the wheat, and let the aEver grow.

a Mat. 13 28.

Epig. 60.
To the worthy Knight, Sr Ro. Wroth, of
his house call’d Durance.

Thy Durance keeps in durance none, I heare,
’Lesse be to pertake of thy abounteous cheere.

a A famous housekeeper.

Epig. 61.
On our Popish Fugitives.

They say, o’refasting doth procure a paine,
(Virtigo hight) the turning of the head:
Which true we find in malecontents most plaine,
When of preferments long they haue not sped.
And aArrius-like, which mist his Bishopprick,
Th’ill change their faith, and shewe a Popish tricke.

a Ex Euseb.

Epig. 62.
Mother B’s Translation.

Good e’n, most antique, zelous mother B,
This salutation well befits your age:
For while you live, a vestall you decree
To be, and shun the toies of Pupillage.
And as of old, on Beds you lov’d to play:
So now on Beades you wholy like to pray.

Epig. 63.
*Licentia Poetica.
To the carping Criticke.

Judge not so hard, that Poëts still doe lie,
For what they write, ’tis ’llow’d by *Libertie.

Epig. 64.
On the Popes Holinesse.

The Romish Canons shamelesly aver,
Their holy Father, God, nor man to be;
What is he then? if that, I doe not erre,
H’is no Angell, of heavens Hierarchie.
Unlesse be aHim, that puts on every Hue
For to deceave, and this, I thinke, is true.

a 2. Cor. 11. 14.

Epig. 65.
To the Paracelsian Empericke.

If all the world were like to Socrates,
That never stood in need of Phisicks hand;
How then could’st live, if this thy art should cease,
Poore Jack, in this, or any other Land?
Would’st thou then be, a grave Sr Iohn by skill?
So, sure more soules, then bodies would’st thou kill.

Epig. 66.
Of H. I. King of England, whose invenomed
braine, being dead, kill’d his owne
Physitian.

What men alive, being sick, would oft fulfill,
Thou being adead did’st thy Physitian kill.

a Ex lo Stowwe Chron.

Epig. 67.
To Mr. Monoculus, the Sagittarie.

What dire mishap befell you Mounsier Blinck?
That you have lost your most respected eie:
You tell me, tush, you shall the better winck
To hit the marke, and let the arrow flie.
I’st so? your shot, I gesse, will be farre wide,
When that you shut the other eie beside.

Epig. 68.
To Zantippa, the Scold.

What mary muffe, what mak’s thee sweet of hew
And sowre of speech, most bitter, waspish, bad?
I thinke, thou art a most detested shrew;
Or with the Ague, or burnt fever clad.
Which ever fils thy tongue most full of Gawle,
To all distastfull, but to ban, and brawle.

Epig. 69.
The Epitaph of his deerely beloved Schoole-
master, M.
W. Edwards:

Here lies the picture of pure honestie.
Here lies, the fire of many a learned Sonne,
Here lies, the zeale of Christianitie,
Here lies, the Patron of Religion.
Here lies, that man, whose life was naught to none,
Here lies, that friend, whom young and old bemone.

Epig. 70.
To Rome, with her Romish brood.

Paule asaith, a Bishop should a husband be
Of one wife, for to live a sober life;
But the great Bishop, of the high’st degree,
Will have his Bishops for to have no wife.
I wonder how from all he cuts this band?
They’are either Eunuches, or play under hand.

a 1 Tim. 2. 3.

Epig. 71.
To Gill: the fingring Lawyer,
and ambodexter.

What mak’s thee, Gill, the perfect use to have,
As well of left, as of thy right hand faire?
Thou Galen-like wilt answer very grave,
Tis o’remuch heat that doth from heart repaire.
I thinke not so, but thy poore Clients gold
Mak’s thee to be an Ambodexter bold.

Epig. 72.
A new forme of finding out Petigrees.
To Don Stolidus.

My upstart Gull, that would’st right noble be
In Royall blood (thy labour quite is vaine
In volving bookes of old Antiquitie
For thy base line, not worth thereof the paine)
B’advis’d by me, ope thou an old made Grave;
There thou thy first Genologie shalt have.

Epig. 73.
Tom of Christ Church in Oxford.
To our ceremonious Papists.

The clapping sound of Antichristian Bels,
They say, expels from them their airie Ghosts:
So, Tom thy sound which all thy mates excels,
Doth thine Oxonians cause to flie their Hoasts.
But if thy sound could sound as far as Spaine,
Their bodies Ghosts, I thinke, would them refraine.

Epig. 74.
God, and the Pope.

The sacred Scripture doth for truth record,a
That God is only of the living God,
And of the dead, he claimes to be no Lord;
But father Pope recalleth with a nod
They say the dead, from Purgatories griefe;
Th’are dead in sinne, that makes this their beleefe.

a Mat. 22 32.

Epig. 75.
To glorious Mopsa, of her
stolen feathers.

Why Mistris Noll, do’st thou Adulterate
(From others Royall lines, thy selfe to grace)
Their noble birth, and titles high of state?
That wast at first but poore, obscure and base.
If each should pluck from thy patch’t Pedegree
His feathers of, right Æsops Jay might’st be.

Epig. 76.
On Cornutus, the Monster.
To his lo: friend
Wil: Arne.

Of all wilde Birds, I loth the monstrous Batte,
Which is a bird, and eke a filthy beast;
But of tame birds, I do most deadly hate,
That’s man in shape, yet hath a Beast-like creast.
Which of these Monsters do’st abhorre the more?
I thinke the tame, that with his Hornes doth Gore.

Epig. 77.
aQuævis terra alit artem.
To Boorish Petita.

The Latine aproverbe doth for truth relate,
That ev’ry land doth Arts divine embrace:
Which every where most true I estimate,
But in Petita, ’mongst that Rusticke Race.
Which studies nought, but most the crooked Law;
And will effect no goodnes, but for Aw.

Epig. 78.
To his Cosin, Lieftenant William Watkins, of
Flushings Scituation.

Where Flushing stands, the walkers Ile, t’was well
So nam’d, for in’t walkes many a Sentinell.


Epig. 79.
On Nic: Herberts Posie, (Lle y Kymero.)
To his worthy Son
Mr Will: Herbert.

Thy (Lle y Kymero,) did well Sympathize,
(Right worthy Nichlas) with thy noble minde:
For where thou took’st, thou didst not temporize,
But all thy friends did a sure Friend thee find.
Thou wast not like the glosers of our Age,
Which disagree ’most from their Posies Sage.

Epig. 80.
To the right Reverend father, Jo: King, Bishop of
London, a most perswasive Preacher.

What tho thy hand doth not the Scepter sway,
Thy tongue doth cause full many to obey.

Epig. 81.
Tobaccho.
To his respective good friend
Mr M. Cradocke.

The major part of our Tobacchonists,
Tak’s sole the shaddow of this smoakie weed:
But thou hereof contrary often whift’s
The substance all of this prodigious Reed.
I grant the substance doth the shaddow passe
In all besides; save in this Indian Grasse.

Epig. 82.
A paire Royall of Clerkes.
To his friend
Tho: Prichard.

Three sorts there be, which Clerks be call’d by name,
The first of right is the superlative,
The Bible Clerke, that doth expound the same;
The next in Rancke is the Comparative,
The Pen and Inkorne Clerke; that bandeth men;
The third, the positive, that cries, Amen.
But prowd comparisons were odious farre,
’Twixt these same Clerkes, for their Scholaritie;
Yet my brave Scribe will make no bones to jarre,
Yea with the best, in case of felonie. 10

But poore Ding-dong will not offend his sire,
For feare to loose his small collected hire.

Epig. 83.
Of the Ambitious.
To his cosen
Jo: Vaughan of his fall from
Wormeshead.

Some fall, whose falling doth their Deaths procure,a
Thy fall was great, yet doth thy life remaine;
The ods is, they themselves to climbe inure,
And sithence, thou from climing do’st refraine.

a Wormshead

Epig. 84.
To Sir Humfrey the Recorder.

Thow Humfrey kep’st a calender most streight
Of others faults, by Word, or Deed, ere sure;
But neere I thinke, most hatefull, carelesse weight,
Kep’st true accompt of thine owne Crimes unpure.
I deeme thou could’st not, cause they did surmount
The’others slips, which thou so high didst count.

Epig. 85.
To Morus, the Baulepate.

Good Mr More, what made your pate be bawle?
You say, you were borne under Venus starre,
Whose Constellation made your haire to fall,
And eke the credit of your crowne to marre.
But, as I cast, of this your great mishap,
You lull’d were rather upon Venus lap.

Epig. 86.
Cupid, the blind God.
To his lo: friend
Mr William Williams.

Why ist that Poets stile thee but a boy?
Since that thou art a thousand yeares of age;
No marvaile, for thy adotage love, thy joy,
With childish youth doth even equipage.

a Senes bis Pueri.

Epig. 87.
To Cæcus, the painefull Preacher, of our
Dumbe Dogges.

Thou seest not, yet makest others see
Their hainous sinnes, through thy laborious paine:
When Linx-ei’d Drones, which ever idle be,
With taking paines do never one soule gaine.
Thy sight, their livings eke, I wish to thee,
So that thou wouldest then not idle be.

Epig. 88.
To his loving friend Jo: Spencer, skilfull in Arith
meticke, of Mounsier Mutilus.

Thy numbring art the plurall number loves,
And doth casheere the singular, as none:
But Mutilus, Grammarian-like stout proves
The singular; as Lapis, his sole stone.

Epig. 89.
On bibbing Belgicus.
To his cosin
Jo: Watkins, Ensigne bearer.

Flemmingo useth after every whiffe,
His kind Comrade to take fast by the hand;
He se’s, it is to shew his kindnesse rife,
But ’tis, I gesse, because he cannot stand.

Epig. 90.
On Del Lucifer.
To his friend
Mr Edw. Robinson, Cler.

What tho Superbus from the Dunghill crept,
Thy holy function scornes with open throat;
Yet be content, forgive and eke forget,
Sith Christ himselfe did dignifie thy coat.
Yet suffer Cinicke, when that he is dead,
To Hearse him, where the Cuckoe first was bred.

Epig. 91.
The Imparative Moode.
To my Lady Myso.

I wonder greatly what thy Mood should be,
Indicative? no, that doth reason shew,
But thine is madd; nor Subjunctive I see,
That should depend sole on thy husband true.
But thine, sans doubt, is the Imperative,
Which makes thee dayly with thy Mate to strive.

Epig. 92.
To the ingenious Poet, Mr William Herbert
of his booke intituled the Prophesie
of Cadwalader.

Thy Royall Prophesie doth blaze thy name,
So Poets must, if they will merit fame.

Epig. 93.
To the snarling censurer.

Reader, perhaps thou wilt my Muse dispraise
Of Barrennesse, which was a curse of yore;
It is not so, note thou her fathers daies,
A yongling, able to beget yet more.
If idle, vaine, thou deeme it, and unfit:
An idle vaine becomes a childish wit.

Epig. 94.
On Montanus, the Bibber.
To his loving friend
Mr William Thomas.

Thy Nectar, Quondam, was but whiggin small,
Alias sowrewhay, how ist that nought but wine
Thy slippery palate now doth taste at all?
That ne’re was Prest in Boreas freezing clime.
No marvaile, for thy body is so bet
With cold, which thou dost seeke with Ale to Heat.

Epig. 95.
On Simon Magus, the Roman,
To his lo. fr. and familiar,
M. J. Vaughan

God gratis gives his Grace most liberally,
But man will not without a Simons fee.
Which was the cause, as farre as I perceaue,
That caused thee sweet Oxford for to leaue.

Epig. 96.
On Luke-warme love.
To his lo. and approved good Cousen
Mr
Edw. Gamage.

Love now adaies is neither hot, nor cold,
Th’ wilt aske me then, what i’st? I say luke-warme;
Why then ’tis Bet, thou se’st, then that of old,
O, no, this warme has in’t the greater harme.

Epig. 97.
Tempus edax rerum.
To the learned Historian, his lo. friend,
Mr. W. Meyricke.

Time doth in time, they say, all things devoure,
And eke forgets each learned Mercurie,
Save the Historian, only times fresh flowre,
Which never fad’s, much lesse doth ever die.
For’t cannot be, that time can blot his name,
Which doth of time Records most antique frame.

Epig. 98.
On Judeas, the Usurer.
To his loving Cosen John Stradling.

What makes that Beggars in thy neighbourhood,
Poore silly wretches, numberlesse to swarme?
Tis not, I weene, for thy devotion good;
But rather t’is for thy purlonging harme.
Which suffer’st none to thrive that lives at hand;
But begger’st all, by purchasing their land.

Epig. 99.
To the Readers of his Epigrams.

In the Popes tongue I list not to endite:
’Cause of my rime all men should have the sight.

Epig. 100.
To the Printer, of Detractors.

The Captaine presse the Souldier to repell
The furious force of foemens cruell hand:
So do’st thou Presse some papers, that excell,
Yet must they cankred tongues of men withstand.
A wonder t’is, the tongue for the hand, right
Should warre; no force, t’is but a womans fight.

The ende of the second Centurie.

Patere aut Abstine.

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