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inherent graces, to consider truth or vertue ; but, For such a poet, while thy daies were greene, with the trade of the world, lend their long eares
Thou wert, as chiefe of them are said t' have been. 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 las 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?
The world the temple was, the priest a king,
ON THE UNION.
If all you boast of your great art be true ;
Sure, willing poverty lives most in you.
A purging bill, now fix'd upon the doore,
Tels you it is a hot-house: so it ma',
ON A ROBBERY.
Ridway rob'd Duncote of three hundred pound, And by thy wiser temper let men know
Ridway was tane, arraign'd, condemn'd to dre; Thou art not covetous of least selfe-fame,
But, for this money was a courtier found, [ery; Made from the hazard of another's shame.
Beg'd Ridwaye's pardon: Duncote, now, deck
The courtier is become the greater thiefe.
TO ALL, TO WHOM I WRITE.
May none, whose scaiter'd names honour my boobs
For strict degrees, of rank, or title look :
And, I a poet here, no herald am.
TO MY LORD IGNORANT.
Thou call'st me poet, as a terme of shame:
But I have my revenge made, in thy name.
ON SOMETHING THAT WALKES SOME-WHERE.
Ar court I met it, in clothes brave enough,
To be a courtier; and looks grare enouzi,
To seeme a ştatesman: as I neere it caine,
It made me a great face, I ask'd the name. How, best of kings, dost thou a scepter beare! “A lord,” it cried, “ buried in flesh, and blood, How, best of poets, dost thou laurell weare ! And such from wbom let no mao bope least good, But two things rare, the Fates had in their store, For 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.
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, callid upon, White-fryers, Keeps himselfe, with halfe 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
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 think thy valure right; The taylor brings a suite home; be 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 50 to playes ;
That wish my poemes a legitimate fame, Calls for his stoole, adornes the stage: God payes. Charge thcm, 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,
XVII. Lent him a pocky whore. She hath paid him.
TO MY MEERE ENGLISH CENSURER.
When both it is the old way, and the true.
Thou saist, that cannot be: for thou hast seene
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,
ON SIR COD THE PERFUMED.
CAMDEN, most reverend bead, to whom I owe
That Cod can get no widdow, yet a knight,
TO THE SAME SIR COD.
Th' expence in odours is a most vaine sin, Man scarse can make that doubt, but thou canst Except thou couldst, sir Cod, weare them within. Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty, (teach. Which conquers all
, be once ore-come by thee.
LORD, how is Gam’ster chang'd! his baire close cut!
His neck fenc'd round with ruffe! his eyes halfe shut!
His clothes two fashions off, and poore! his 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? I 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 could; XXII.
If any Muse out-live their spight, his can;
If any friends' teares could restore, his 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! whereia Mary, the daughter of their youth:
We, sad for him, may glory, and not sin.
ON DON SURLY.
Don Surly, to aspire the glorious name
Of a great man, and to be thought the same, This grave partakes the fleshly birth.
Makes serious use of all great trade he knowes Which cover lightly, gentle earth.
He speakes to men with a Rhinocerote's nose,
H' has tympanies of businesse, in his face,
And can forget men's names, with a great grace.
Both which 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, and remaines so yet; Which is maine greatnesse. And, at his still boon Longer a krowing, 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 bar All which I meane to praise, and yet I would;
That breathes in his dog's way: and this is grest
. But leave, because I cannot as I should !
Nay more, for greatnesse sake, he will be one
Surly, use other arts, these only can
Stile thee a most great foole, but no great man
TO JOHN DONNE.
ON BANCK, THE USURER.
BANCk feeles no lamenesse of bis knottie goat,
His moneyes travaile for him, in and out: In place of cutcheons, that should decke thy herse, and though the soundest legs goe every day, Take better ornaments, my teares, and resse. He toyles to be at Hell, as soone as they.
ON SIR JOHN ROE.
TO PERSON GUILTIE.
And to conceale your ulcers, did advise, That selfe-divided Belgia did afford;
You laugh when you are touch'd, and long before What not the envie of the seas reach'd too, Any man else, you clap your hands and rore, The cold of Mosco, and fat Irish ayre,
And cry,Good! good! This quite perverts my sense, His often change of clime (though not of mind) And lyes so farre from wit, 't is impudence. What could not work; at home in his repaire Beleeve it, Guiltie, if you lose your shame,
Was his blest fate, but our hard lot to find. l'le lose my modestie, and tell your name. Which shewes, where ever death doth please t’ap
peare, Seas, serenes, swords, shot, sicknesse, all are there.
ON OLD COLT
For all night-sinnes, with other wives, unknown,
Colt, now, doth daily penance in his own.
ON MARGARET RATCLIFFE.
M ARBLE, weepe, for thou do'st cover
G rant then, no rude hand remove her.
All the gazers on the skies
Read not in faire Heaven's storie,
E xpresser truth, or truer glorie,
R are as wouder was her wit;
A nd like nectar ever flowing:
Till time, strong by her bestowing,
Conquer'd hath both life and it.
L ife whose griefe was out of fashion
In these times; few sọ have ru'd
Fate in a brother. To conclude, A prince that rules by example more than sway?
F or wit, feature, and true passion,
Earth, thou hast not such another.
GYPSEE, new baud, is turn'd physitian,
Such her quaint practice is, so it allures,
For what she gave, a whore; a baud, she cures:
ON GILES AND JONE.
Who sayes that Giles and Jone at discord be? Thou flattered'st thine, mine cannot flatter'd be.
Th’ observing neighbours no such mood can see.
By his free-will, be in Jone's company.
No more would Jone he should. Giles riseth early,
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 fees, 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
ON MUNGRIL ESQUIRE.
Of bearing them in field, he threw 'hem away:
Whose actions so themselves doe celebrate? PLAY-WRIGHT me reades, and still my verses damne, Which 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 knovne 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,
TO SIR COD.
Or fumie clysters, thy moist lungs to bake:
Arsenike would thee fit for societie make.
TO KING JAMES. Ere blacks were bought for his owne funerall, Saw all his race approach the blacker floods : UrON THE HAPPIE FALSE RUMOUR OF HIS DEATH, THE THE He meant they thither should make swift repaire,
AND TWENTIETH DAY OF MARCH, 1607. When he made bjm 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 prove, 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. 0, 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 fleshe's rage,
LII. And, if no other miserie, yet age ?
TO CENSORIOUS COURTLING. Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say
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, bat 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.
TO OLD-END GATHERER.
LONG-GATHERING Old-end, I did feare thee wise, The knight-wright's cheated then : he'll never pay. When having pilld a book, which no man buses
, Yes, now he weares his knight-hood every day.
Thou wert content the author's name to loose:
It was as if thou printed had'st an oath,
To give the world assurance thou wert both;
Thou art the father, and the witnesse too. Sir 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?
TO THE SAME.