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inherent graces, to consider truth or vertue ; but, for such a poet, while tby daies were greene, with the trade of the world, lend their long eares Thou wert, as chiefe of them are said t' have bea. against men they love not; and hold their deare and such a prince thou art we daily see,

As chiefe of those still promise they will be. mountebank, or iester, in farre better condition whom should my Muse then flye to, but the base than all the study, or studiers of humanity? for Of kings for grace; of poets for my test? such I would rather know them by their visards, still, than they should publish their faces, at their

V. perill, in my theater, where Cato, if he lived, might enter without scandall.

When was there contract better driven by Fate? Your lordship's

Or celebrated with more truth of state?
most faithfull honorer,

The world the temple was, the priest a king,
The spoused paire two realmes, the sea the rioz,

ON THE UNION.

BEN, JONSON.

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TO MY BOOK.

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II.

Where lately harbourd many a famous whore,
A purging bill, novy fix'd upon the doore,

Tels you it is a hot-house: so it ma',
It will be look'd for, Book, when some but see And still be a whore-bouse. Th' are synonyms.
Thy title, Epigrammes, and nam'd of me,
Thou should'st be bold, licentious, full of gall,
Wormewood, and sulphure, sharp, and tooth'd with-

VIII.
Become a petulant thing, hurle inke, and wit (all,

ON A ROBBERY.
As mad-men stones : not caring whom they hit.
Deceive their malice, who could wish it so.

Ridway rob'd Duncote of three hundred pound, And by thy wiser temper let men know

Ridway was tane, arraign'd, condemnd to drej Thou art not covetous of least selfe-fame,

But, for this money was a courtier found, [cry Made from the hazard of another's shame.

Beg'd Ridwaye's pardon: Duncote, now, die
Much lesse, with lewd, prophane, and beastly phrase, Rob’d both of money, and the law's reliefe ;
To catch the world's loose laughter, or vaine gaze.

The courtier is become the greater thiefe.
He that departs with his own honesty
For vulgar praise, doth it too dearely buy.

IX.

TO ALL, TO WHOM I WRITE.
III.

May none, whose scaiter'd names honour my books
TO MY BOOK-SELLER.

For strict degrees, of rank, or title look:
Thou, that mak'st gaine thy end, and wisely well, 'T is 'gainst the manners of an epigram :
Call'st a book good, or bad, as it doth sell,
a

And, I a poet here, no herald am.
Use mine so too: I give thee leave. But crave,
For the luck's sake, it thus much favour have,
To lie upon thy stall, till it be sought;

X.
Not offer'd, as it made sute to be bought;
Nor have my title-leafe on posts, or walls,

TO MY LORD IGNORANT.
Or in cleft-sticks, advanced to make calls

Trou call'st me poet, as a terme of shame:
For termers, or some clerck-like serving-man, But I have my revenge made, in thy name.
Who scarce can spell th' hard names: whose knight

Jesse can.
If, without these vile arts, it will not sell,

XI.
Send it to Bucklers-bury, there 't will well.

ON SOMETHING THAT WALKES SOME-WHERE.

Ar court I met it, in clothes brave enough,
IV.
To be a courtier; and looks grare enougil

,
TO KING JAMES.

To seeme a statesman: as I neere it caine, How, best of kings, dost thou a scepter beare!

It made me a great face, I ask'd the name,

« A lord,” it cried, “ buried in flesh, and blood, How, best of poets, dost thou laurell weare! But two things rare, the Fates bad in their store,

And such from whom let no man bope least good,

Por I will do none: and as little ill, And gave thee both, to show they could no more. For I will dare none." Good lord, walk dead still.

a

XII.

XVI.
ON LIEUTENANT SHIFT.

TO BRAINE-HARDY.
Saft, here, in towne, not meanest among squires,

HARDY, thy braine is valiant, 't is confest; That haunt Pickt-batch, Mersh-Lambeth, and Thou more, that with it every day dar’st jest

Thy selfe into fresh braules: when, call'd upon, White-fryers, Keeps himselfe, with balfe a man, and defrayes

Scarce thy week's swearing brings thee off, of one. The charge of that state with this charme, God payes. Some hundred quarrels, yet dost thou fight none;

So, in short time, th' art in arrerage growne
By that one spell he lives, eats, drinks, arrayes.
Himselfe : his whole revenue is, god payés.

Nor need'st thou: for those few, by oath releast, The quarter day is come; the hostesse sayes,

Make good what thou dar'st do in all the rest. She must have money: he returnes, God payes.

Keep thy selfe there, and thiuk thy valure right; The taylor brings a suite home; he it’ssayes,

He thatdares damne himselfe, dares more than fight. Looks o're the bill, likes it: and says, God payes. He steales to ordinaries; there he playes At dice his borrow'd money: which, God payes.

XVII. Then takes up fresh commodities, for dayes;

TO THE LEARNED CRITICK. Sigues to new bonds, forfeits: and cries, God payes. That lost, he keeps his chamber, reades essayes, May others feare, flye, and traduce thy name, Takes physick, teares the papers: still God payes. As guilty men do magistrates: glad I, Or else by water goes, and so to playes;

That wish my poemes a legitimate fame, Calls for his stoole, adornes the stage: God payes. Charge them, for crown, to thy sole censure hye. To every cause he meets, this voice he brayes : And but a spring of bayes given by thee, His only answer is to all, God payes.

Shall out-live garlands stolne from the chast tree. Not his poore cocatrice but he betrayes Thus: and for his letchery, scores, God payes. But see! th’old baud hath servd him in his trim,

XVIII. Lent him a pocky whore. She hath paid him.

TO MY MEERE ENGLISH CENSURER.
To thee, my way in epigrammes seemes new,

When both it is the old way, and the true.
XIII.

Thou saist, that cannot be: for thou hast seene
TO DOCTOR EMPIRICK.

Davis, and Weever, and the best have beene,

And mine come nothing like. I hope so. Yet, WHEN men a dangerous disease did scape,

As theirs did with thee, mine might credit get : Of old, they gave a cock to Æsculape;

If thou ’ldst but use thy faith, as thou didst then, Let me give two: that doubly am got free, When thou wert wont t'admire, not censure men. From my disease's danger, and from thee.

Pr'y thee beleeve still, and not judge so fast,
Tby faith is all the knowledge that thou hast.

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XIV.

XLX.
TO WILLIAM CAMDEN.

ON SIR COD THE PERFUMED.
CAMDEN, most reverend head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, all that I know.

That Cod can get no widdow, yet a knight,
(How nothing's that?) to whom my countrey owes I sente the cause : he wooes with an ill sprite.
The great renowne, and name wherewith she goes.
Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave,
More high, more holy, that she more would crave.

XX.
What name, what skill,what faith bast thou in things!
What sight in searching the most antiqne springs !

TO THE SAME SIR COD.,
What weight, and what authority in thy speech !
Man scarse can make that doubt, but thou canst Except thou couldst, sir Cod, weare them within.

TH' expence in odours is a most vaine sin,
Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty, [teach.
Which conquers all

, be once ore-come by thee.
Many of thine this better could, than I,
But for their powers, accept my piety.

XXI.
ON REFORMED GAM'STER.

Lord, how is Gam’ster chang'd! his baire close cut!
XV.

His neck fenc'd round with ruffe! his eyes halfeshut!

His clothes two fashions off, and poore! bis sword ON COURT-WORME.

Forbidd' his side! and nothing, but the word All men are wormes: but this no man. In silke Quick in his lips ! who hath this wonder wrought? T was brought to court first wrapt, and white as the late tane bastinado. So I thought. Where, afterwards, it grew a butter-Aye: (milke; What severall ways men to their calling have ! Which was a cater-piller. So 't will dye. The bodie's stripes, I see, the soule may save.

If any sword could save from Fates, Roe's coult; XXII.

If any Muse out-live their spight, his can;

If any friends' teares could restore, bis would; ON MY FIRST DAUGHTER.

If any pious life ere lifted man Here lies to each ber parents' ruth,

To Heaven, his hath: O happy state! wbereia Mary, the daughter of their youth:

We, sad for him, may glory, and not sin.
Yet, all Heaven's gifts being Heaven's due,
It makes the father lesse to rue.
At sixe month's end, she parted hence

XXVIII.
With safety of her innocence;
Whose soule Heaven's queen (whose name she beares)

ON DON SURLY.
In comfort of her mother's teares,
Hath plac'd amongst her virgin-traine :

Don Surly, to aspire the glorious name
Where, while that sever'd doth remaine,

Of a great man, and to be thought the same, This grave partakes the fleshly birth.

Makes serious use of all great trade he knows Which cover lightly, gentle earth.

He speakes to men with a Rhinocerote's nose,
Which he thinks great; and so reades verses, too:
Aud that is done, as he saw great men doe.

H' has tympanies of businesse, in his face,
XXIII.

And can forget men's names, with a great grace.
TO JOHN DONNE.

He will both argue, and discourse in oathes,

Both wbich are great. And laugh at ill made Donne, the delight of Phæbus, and each Muse,

cloathes ; Who, to thy one, all other braines refuse; That's greater, yet: to crie bis owne up neat. Whose every work, of thy most early wit,

He doth, at meales, alone, his pheasant eat, Came forth example, aud remaines so yet; Which is maine greatnesse. And, at his still booming Longer a knowing, than most wits do live; He drinks to no man: that's, too, like a lord. And whicb no affection praise enough can give ! He keeps another's wife, which is a spice To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life,

Of solemne greatnesse. And he dares, at dice Which might with halfe mankind maintaine a strife; Blaspbeme God greatly. Or some poore hinde bizi All which I meane to praise, and yet I would; That breathes in his dog's way: and this is gret. But leave, because I cannot as I should !

Nay more,

for greatnesse sake, he will be one May heare my Epigrammes, but like of none. Surly, use other arts, these only can

Stile thee a most great foole, but no great man XXIV.

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ON BANCK, THE USURER.
XXVII.
ON SIR JOHN ROE.

BANCĘ feeles no lamenesse of bis knottie gout,

His moneyes travaile for him, in and out: Ty piace of scutcheons, that should decke thy herse, and though the soundest legs goe every day, Take beiter ornaments, my teares, and ressc. He toyles to be at Hell, as soone as they.

XXXVIII.

TO PERSON GUILTIE.

XXXII.

ON SIR JOHN ROE.
What two brave perills of the private sword

Could not effect, nor all the Furies doe,
That selfe-divided Belgia did afford;

What not the envie of the seas reach'd too, The cold of Mosco, and fat Irish ayre,

His often change of clime (though not of mind) What could not work; at home in his repaire

Was his blest fate, but our hard lot to find. Which shewes, where ever death doth please tap

peare, Seas, serenes, swords, shot, sicknesse, all are there.

Guiltie, because I bade you late be wise,
And to conceale your ulcers, did advise,
You laugh when you are touch'd, and long before
Any man else, you clap your hands and rore,
And cry, Good! good! This quite perverts my sense,
And lyes so farre from wit, 't is impudence.
Beleeve it, Guiltie, if you lose your shame,
l'le lose my modestie, and tell your name.

XXXIX.

ON OLD COLT

XXXIII.

For all night-sinnes, with other wives, unknown, TO THE SAME.

Colt, now, doth daily penance in his own.
l'le not offend thee with a vaine teare more,
Glad-mentioa'd Roe: thon art but gone before,

XL.
Whither the world must follow. And I, now,
Breathe to expect my when, and make my how.

ON MARGARET RATCLIFFE.
Which if most gracious Heaven grant like thine,
Who wets my grave, can be no friend of mine.

M ARBLE, weepe, for thou do'st cover
A dead beautie under-neath thee,
Rich as nature could bequeath thee:

G rant then, no rude hand remove her.
XXXIV.

All the gazers on the skies
OF DEATH.

Read not in faire Heaven's storie,

E xpresser truth, or truer glorie,
He that feares death, or mournes it, in the just, Than they might in her bright eyes.
Shewes of the resurrection little trust.

R are as wouder was her wit;

A nd like nectar ever flowing:
XXXV.

Till time, strong by her bestowing,

Conquer'd hath both life and it.
TO KING JAMES.

L ife whose griefe was out of fashion

In these times; few so have ru'd Who would not be thy subject, James, tobay

ř ate in a brother. To conclude, A prince that rules by example more than sway?

F or wit, feature, and true passion,
Whose manners draw more than thy powers con-

E arth, thou hast not such another.
straine.
And in this short time of thy happiest raigne,
Hast porg'd thy realmes, as we have now no cause

XLI.
Left us of feare, but first our crimes, then lawes.
Like aydes 'gainst treasons who hath found before?

ON GYPSEE.
And then in them, bow could we know God more?
First thou preserved wert, our king to be,

GYPSEE, new baud, is turn'd physitian,
And since, the whole land was preserv'd for thee. And gets more gold than all the colledge can:

Such her quaint practice is, so it allures,

For what she gave, a whore; a baud, she cures:
XXXVI.
TO THE GHOST OF MARTIAL.

XLII.
MARTIAL, thou gav'st farre nobler Epigrammes

OŃ GILES AND ŠONE.
To thy Domitian, than I can my James :
But in my royall subject I passe thee,

Who sayes that Giles and Jone at discord be?
Thou flattered'st thine, mine cannot flatter'd be.

Th’ obsérving neighbours no such mood can see.
Indeed, poore Giles repents he married ever.
But that his Jone doth too. And Giles would never,

By his free-will, be in Jone's company.
XXXVII.

No more would Jone he should. Giles riseth early,
ON CHEV'RIL THE LAWYER.

And having got him out of doores is glad.

The like is Jone. But turning home is sad. No cause, nor client fat, will Chev'ril leese, And so is Jone. Oft-times when Giles doth finde But as they come, on both sides he takes fées, Harsh fights at home, Giles wisheth he were blind, And pleaseth both. For while he melts his grease All this doth Jone. Or that his long-yearn'd life For this : that winnes, for whom he holds his peace. Where quite out-spun. The like wish hath his wife.

The children, that he keepes, Giles sweares are none
Of his begetting. And so sweares his Jone.

XLVIII.
In all affections she concurreth still.

ON MUNGRIL ESQUIRE.
If, now, with man and wife, to will and nill
The selfe-same things, a note of concord be: His bought armes Mung' not lik'd; for his first day
I know no couple better can agree!

Of bearing them in field, he threw 'hem away:
And hath no honour lost, our due'llists say.

TO SIR COD.

XLIII.

XLIX.
TO ROBERT EARLE OF SALISBURIE.

TO PLAY-WRIGHT.
What need bast thou of me? or of my Muse?

Whose actions so themselves doe celebrate? PLAY-WRIGHT me reades, and still my verses damne, Wbich should thy countrye's love to speake refuse, He sayes, I want the tongue of epigrammes ;

Her foes enough would fame thee in their hate. I have no salt: no bawdrie he doth meane; "Tofore, great men were glad of poets : now, For wittie, in his language, is obscene. 1, not the worst, am covetous of thee.

Play-wright, I loath to bave thy manners knowne Yet dare not to my thought least hope allow In my chast booke: professe them in thine owne.

Of adding to thy fame; thine may to me,
When in my book men reade but Cecil's name,
And what I writ thereof finde farre, and free

L.
From servile flatterie (common poets' shame)
As thou stand'st cleare of the necessitie.

Leave, Cod, tabacco-like, burnt gummes to take,

Or fumie clysters, thy moist lungs to bake:
XLIV.

Arsenike would thee fit for societie make.
ON CHUFFE, BANKS THE USURER'S KINSMAN.
CHUFFE, lately rich in name, in chattels, goods,

LI,
And rich in issue to inherit all,

TO KING JAMES.
Ere blacks were bought for his owne funerall,
Saw all his race approach the blacker floods :

UPON THE HAPPIE FALSE RUMOUR OF HIS DEATH, THE TWO He meant they thither should make swift repaire,

AND TWENTIETH DAY OF MARCH, 1607. When he made bim exectutor, might be heire.

That we thy losse might know, and thou our love,

Great Heav'n did well, to give ill fame free wing;

Which though it did but panick terroar prore, XLV.

And farre beneath least pause of such a king, ON MY FIRST SONNE,

Yet give thy jealous subjects leave to doubt:

Who this thy scape from rumour gratulate, FAREWELL, thou child of my right hand, and joy; No lesse than if from perill; and devout, My sione was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy, Doe beg thy care unto thy after-state. Seven yeares thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay, For we, that have our eyes still in our eares, Exacted by thy fate on the just day.

Looke not upon thy dangers, but our feares. O, could I lose all father, now.

For why,
Will man lament the state he should envie ?
To have so soone scap'd world's, and feshe's rage,

LII.
And, if no other miserie, yet age ?

TO CENSORIOUS COURTLING.
Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say here doth lye
Ben. Jonson his best piece of poetrie.

COURTLING, I rather thou should'st utterly
For whose sake, hence-forth, all his vowes be such, Dispraise my work, than praise it frostily:
As what he loves may never like too much. When I am read, thou fajn'st a weak applause,

As if thou wert my friend, but lack’dst a cause.

This but thy judgement fooles: the other way XLVI.

Would both thy folly and thy spite betray.
TO SIR LUCKLESSE WOO-ALL.

LIII.
Is this the sir, who, some waste wife to winne,
A knight-hood bought, to goe a wooing in?

TO OLD-END GATHERER.
"T is Lucklesse he, that tooke up one on band
To pay at's day of marriage. By my hand LONG-GATHERING Old-end, I did feare thee wise,
The knight-wright's cheated then: he'll never pay.

When having pill'd a book, which no man buges, Yes, now he weares his knight-hood every day.

Thou wert content the author's name to loose:
But when (in place) thou didst the patron's choose,

It was as if thou printed had'st an oath,
XLVII.

To give the world assurance thou wert both;

And that, as puritanes at baptisme doe,
TO THE SAME.

Thou art the father, and the witnesse too. Str Lucklesse, troth, for luck's sake passe by one: For, but thy selfe, where, out of motly, 's he He that wooes every widdow, will get none. Could save that line to dedicate to thee?

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