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TO WILLIAM LORD MOUNTEAGLE.
Loe, what my countrey should have done (have
An obeliske, or columne to thy name, [rais'd Or, if she would but modestly have prais'd
Thy fact, in brasse or marble writ the same) 1, that am glad of thy great chance, here doe! And proud, my worke shall out-last common
deeds, Durst thinke it great, and worthy wonder too,
But thine, for which I doo't, so much exceeds! My countrie's parents I have many knowne ;
But saver of my countrey thee alone.
How I doe love thee, Beaumont, and thy Muse,
TO FOOLE, OR KNAVE.
Tøy praise, or dispraise is to me alike;.
TO FINE LADY WOULD-BE. Poore Poet-ape, that would be thought our chiefe, Fine madam Would-be, wherfore should you feare, Whose works are eene the frippery of wit,
That love to make so well, a child to beare? From brocage is become so bold a theefe,
The world reputes you barren : but I know As we, the rob’d, leave rage, and pitie it.
Your 'pothecary, and his drug sayes no. At first he made low shifts, would pick and gleane, Is it the paine affrights ? that's soone forgot.
Buy the reversion of old playes; now growne To 'a little wealth, and credit in the scene,
Or your complexion's losse ? you have a pot,
That can restore that. Will it hurt your feature? He takes up all, makes each man's wit his owne.
To make amends, yo' are thought a wholesome And, told of this, he slights it. Tut, such crimes
creature. The sluggish gaping auditor devoures;
What should the cause be? Oh, you live at court: He markes not whose 't was first : and after-times And there's both losse of time, and losse of sport May judge it to be his, as well as ours.
In a great belly. Write, then on thy wombe; Foole, as if halfe eyes will not know a fleece From locks of wooll, or shreds from the whole peece? Of the not borne, yet buried, here's the tombe.
TO GROOME IDEOT.
Who can consider thy right courses run,
UPON THL ACCESSION OF THE TREASURERSHIP TO HIM.
Spies, you are lights in state, but of base stuffe, Nor glad, like those that have new hopes, or suites, Who, when you've burnt your selves downe to the With thy new place, bring I these early fruits snuffe,
Of love, and what the golden age did hold Stinke, and are throwne away. End faire enough. A treasure, art: condema'd in th' age of gold.
Nor glad as those, that old dependents be, That sound, and that authority with her name, To see thy father's rites new laid on thee.
As, to be rais'd by her, is onely fame. Nor glad for fashion. Nor to show a fit
Stand high, then, Howard, high in eyes of men, Of flattery to thy titles. Nor of wit.
High in thy blood, thy place, but highest then, But I am glad to see that time survive,
When, in men's wishes, so thy vertues wrought, Where merit is not sepulcher'd alive.
As all thy honours were by them first soaght: Where good men's vertues them to honours bring, And thou design'd to be the same thou art, And not to dangers. When so wise a king Before thou wert it, in each good man's heart. Contends t' have worth enjoy, from his regard, Which,by no lesse confirm'd, than thy king's choice, As her owne conscience, still, the same reward. Proves, that is God's, which was the people's voice. T'hese (noblest Cecil) labour'd in my thought, Wherein what wonder see thy name hath brought ? That whil'st I meant but thine to gratulate,
LXVIII, I've sung the greater fortunes of our state.
PLAY-WRIGHT convict of publick wrongs to men, LXV.
Takes private beatings, and begins againe.
Two kinds of valour he doth show at ones;
Active in 's braine, and passire in his bones.
TO PERTINAX COB.
TO WILLIAM ROE.
When Nature bids us leave to live, 't is late Tbings manly, and not smelling parasite.
Then to begin, my Roe. He makes a state
In life, that can employ it; and takes bold
Each best day of our life escapes us, first.
Then, since we (more than many) these truths know:
Though life be short, let us not make it so
renne'. Love honours, which of best example be,
A chamber-critick, and dost dine, and sup When they cost dearest, and are done most free.
At madame's table, where thou mak'st all wit Though every fortitude deserves applause,
Goe high, or low, as thou wilt value it, It may be much, or little, in the cause.
'T is not thy judgement breeds the prejudice, He's valiant'st, that dares fight, and not for pay;
Thy person only, Courtling, is the vice. That vertuous is, when the reward's away.
TO FINE GRAND,
What is 't, fine Grand, makes thee my friend-ship
Or take an epigramme so fearefully: [lie, Since men have left to doe praise-worthy things, Most think all praises Aatteries. But truth brings The world must know your greatnesse is my debter.
As 't were a challenge, or a borrower's letter?
In-primis, Grand, you owe me for a jest; 1 The castle and river neere where he was taken, I lent you, on meere acquaintance, at a feast.
ften, a tale or two, some fortnight after ;
ONE THAT DESIRED ME NOT TO NAME HIM, Item, a charme surrounding fearefully,
Be safe, nor feare thy selfe so good a fame, Your partie-per-pale picture, one halfe drawne
That, any way, my booke should speake thy name: In solemne cypres, the other cob-web-lawne.
For, if thou shame, ranck'd with my friends, to goe, Item, a gulling imprese for you, at tilt. Item, your mistris' anagram, i' your hilt.
l' am more asham'd to have thee thought my foe.
HORNET, thou hast thy wife drest for the stall, For which, or pay me quickly, or I'le pay you. To draw thee custome: but her selfe gets all.
TO ELIZABETH COUNTESSE OF RUTLAND.
That poets are farre rarer births than kings, WriL'st thy weigh'd judgements, Egerton, I heare, Your noblest father prov'd: like whom, before, And know thee, then, a judge, not of one yeare;
Or then, or since, about our Muses' springs, Whil'st I behold thee live with purest hands; Came not that soule exhausted so their store. That no affection in thy voyce commands; Hence was it, that the Destinies decreed That still th' art present to the better cause; (Save that most masculine issue of his braine) And no lesse wise, than skilfull in the lawes; No male unto him : who could so exceed Whilst thou art certaive to thy words, once gone,
Nature, they thought, in all, that he would faine. As is thy conscience, which is alwayes one: At which, she happily displeas’d, made you : The virgio, long-since fled from Earth, I see, On whom, if he were living now, to look, T'our times return’d, hath made her Heaven in thee. He should those rare, and absolute numbers view,
As he would burne, or better farre his book.
ON LIPPE, THE TEACHEA.
OF LIFE AND DEATH.
I CANNOT think there's that antipathy
The ports of death are sins; of life, good deeds : 'T wixt puritanes, and players, as some cry ; Through which our merit leads us to our meeds. Though Lippe, at Paul's, ranne from his text away, How wilfull blind is he then, that should stray, T'inreigh'gainst playes : what did he then but play? And hath it, in his power, to make his way!
This world death's region is, the other life's :
So to front death, as men might judge us past it.
For good men but see death, the wicked tast it.
ON LUCY COUNTESSE OF BEDFORD,
TO PROULE THE PLAGIARY.
FORBEARE to tempt me, Proule, I will not show I meant to make her faire, and free, and wise,
A line unto thee, till the world it know; Of greatest blood, and yet more good than great, or that l’ave by two good sufficient men, I meant the day-starre should not brighter rise,
To be the wealthy witnesse of my pen : Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat.
For all thou hear'st, thou swear'st thy selfe didst doo. I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet,
Thy wit lives by it, Pronle, and belly too. Hating that solemne vice of greatnesse, pride;
Which, if thou leave not soone (though I am loth) I meant each softest vertue there should meet,
I must a libell make, and cozen both.
ON CASHIERD CAPTAIN SURLY. Of Destinie, and spin ber owne free houres. Such when I meant to faine, and wish'd to see, SURLY's old whore in her new silks doth swim :
My Muse bade, Bedford write, and that was she. He cast, yet keeps her well! No, she keeps him,
TO A FRIEND.
ON ENGLISH MOUNSIEUR.
That so much skarfe of France, and bat, and fether,
And land on one, whose face durst never be
Toward the sea, farther than balfe way tree?
That he, untravell’d, should be French so much,
As French-men in his company shonld seeme Dutch? MADAME, I told you late, how I repented,
Or had his father, when he did him get, I ask'd a lord a buck, and he denied me; The French disease, with which he labours yet? And, ere I could aske yon, I was prevented : Or bung some mounsieur's picture on the wall,
For your most noble offer had supply'd me. By which his damme conceiv'd him, clothes and all! Straight went I home; and there, most like a poet, Or is it some French statue ? No: 't dóth move,
I fancied to my selfe, what wine, what wit [it, And stoope, and cringe. O then, it needs must prove I would have spent: how every Muse should know The new French-taylor's motion, monthly made,
And Phæbus-selfe should be at eating it. Daily to turne in Paul's, and helpe the trade. O madame, if your grant did thus transfer me, Make it your gift. See whither that will beare me.
TO SIR HENRY GOODYERE.
If Rome so great, and in her wisest age, Goodyere, I 'm glad, and gratefull to report,
Feard not to boast the glories of her stage, My selfe a witnesse of thy few dayés sport:
As skilfull Roscius, and grave Æsope, men, Where I both learn'd, why wise-men hawking follow, Yet crown'd with honours, as with riches, then; And why that bird was sacred to Apollo:
Who had no lesse a trumpet of their name, She doth instruct men by her gallant flight, Tban Cicero, whose every breath was fame: That they to knowledge so should toure upright, How can so great example dye in me, And never stoope, but to strike ignorance: That, Allen, I should pause to publish thee? Which if they misse, they yet should re-advance Who both their graces in thy selfe hast more To former height, and there in circle tarrie, Out-stript, than they did all that went before: Till they be sure to make the foole their quarrie. And present worth in all dost so contract, Now, in whose pleasures I have this discerned, As others speak, but only thou dost act. What would his serious actions me have learned ? Weare this renowne. 'T is just, that who did give
So many poets life, by one should live.
MY LADIE'S WOMAN.
Was dull, and long, ere she would go to man: Where, though 't be love, that to thy praise doth At last, ease, appetite, and example wan move,
The nicer thing to taste her ladie's page;
And, finding good security in his age,
Not though that haire grew browne, which once
[ber, ON CAPTAINE HAZARD THE CHEATER.
And he growne youth, was call'd to his ladie's cham
Still Mill continu’d: nay, his face growing worse, Touch'd with the sinne of false play, in his punque, And he remov'd to gent'man of the horse, Hazard a month forswore his; and grew drunke Mill was the same. Since, both his body and face Each night, to drowne his cares : but when the gaine Blown up; and he (tou unwieldy for that place) Of what she had wrought came in, and wak'd bis Hath got the steward's chaire; he will not tarry braine,
Longer a day, but with his Mill will marry. Upon th' accompt, hers grew the quicker trade. And it is hop'd, that she, like Milo, wall Since when, he's
sober againe, and all play's made. First bearing him a calfe, beare him a bull.
TO SIR JOHN RADCLIFFE.
How like a columne, Radcliffe, left alone A Romane sound, but Romane vertue weares, .For the great marke of vertue, those being gone Ilustrous Vere, or Horace; fit to be
Who did, allke with thee, thy house up-beare, Sang by a Horace, or a Muse as free;
Stand'st thou, to show the times what you all were? Which thou art to thy selfe : whose fame was won Two bravely in the battaile fell, and dy'd, In th' eye of Europe, where thy deeds were done, Upbraiding rebell's armes, and barbarous pridel: When on thy trumpet she did sound a blast, And two, that would bave falne as great, as they, Whose rellish to eternity shall last.
The Belgick fever ravished away. I leave thy acts, which should I prosequte Thou, that art all their valour, all their spirit, Thronghout, might flatt'ry seeme; and to be mute And thine own goodnesse to encrease thy merit, To any one, were envy: which would live Than whose I do not know a whiter soule, Against my grave, and tiine could not forgive. Nor could I, had I seen all Nature's roll, I speake thy other graces, not lesse shownl, Thou yet remayn'st, un-burt, in peace, or war, Norlesse in practice; but lesse mark’d, lesse known: Though not unprov'd: which shows, thy fortunes Humanity, and piety, which are
Willing to expiate the fault in thee,
[are As noble in great chiefes, as they are rare ; Wherewith, against thy blood, they' offenders be. And best become the valiant man to weare, Who more should seek men's reverence, than feare,
TO LUCY COUNTESSE OF BEDFORV,
WITH MR. DONNE'S SATYRES.
Lucy, you brightnesse of our spheare, who are Erɛ cherries ripe, and straw-berries be gone,
Life of the Muses' day, their morning starre ! Unto the cryes of London I'le adde one;
If works (not th' author's) their own grace should Ripe statesmen, ripe : they grow in every street ;
look, At sixe and twenty, ripe. You shall 'hem meet,
Whose poemes would not wish to be your book? And have 'hem yeeld no savour, but of state. Ripe are their ruffes, their cuffes, their beards, Crown with their own.
But these, desir'd by you, the maker's ends their gaite,
Rare poemes aske rare
friends. And grave as ripe, like mellow as their faces. They know the states of Christendome, not the Their un-avoided subject, fewest see:
Yet satyres, since the most of mankind be places:
For none ere tooke that pleasure in sin's sense, Yet have they seen the maps, and bought ’hem too, But, when they heard it tax’d, took more offence. And understand 'hem, as most chapmen do.
They, then, that living where the matter is bred, The counsels, projects, practises they know,
Dare for these poems, yet, both aske, and read, And what each prince doth for intelligence owe,
And like them too; must needfully, though few, And unto whom : they are the almanacks
Be of the best: and 'mongst those best are you ; For twelves yeares yet to come, what each state Lucy, you brightnesse of our spheare, who are They carry in their pockets Tacitus, [lacks. The Muses' evening, as their morning-starre. And the Gazetti, or Gallo-Belgicus: And talke reserv'd, lock'd up, and full of feare, Nay, aske you, how the day goes, in your eare. Keep a Starre-chamber sentence close twelve dayes :
TO SIR HENRY SAVILE.
If, my religion safe, I durst embrace
That stranger doctrine of Pythagoras, They all get Porta, for the sundry wayes
I should beleeve, the soule of Tacitus To write in cypher, and the severall keyes,
In thee, most weighty Savile, liv'd to us : To ope" the character. They have found the sleight And all his numbers, both of sense and sounds.
So hast thou rendred him in all his bounds, With juyce of limons, onions, pisse, to write; To breake up seales, and close 'hem. And they But when I read that speciall piece, restord, If the states make peace, how it will go
Where Nero falls, and Galba is ador'd,
(know, With England. All forbidden books they get.
To thine owne proper I ascribe then more; And of the powder-plot, they will talke yet.
And gratulate the breach, I griev'd before : At naming the French king, their heads they shake, Which Fate (it seemes) caus’d in the historie, And at the pope, and Spaine slight faces make.
Only to boast thy merit in supply. Or 'gainst the bishops, for the brethren, raile,
O, would'st thou adde like hand to all the rest! Much like those brethren; thinking to prevaile
Or, better wurke! were thy glad countrey blest, With ignorance on us, as they have done
To have her storie woven in thy tbred;
Minervae's loome was never richer spred.
1 In Ireland,