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TO THE SAME.
For who can master those great parts like thee, He that is round within himselfe and streight,
And studie conscience, more than thou would'st fame. Although to write be lesser than to doo,
Though both be good, the latter yet is worst,
And ever is ill got without the first.
That thou hast kept thy love, encreast thy will,
Better'd thy trust to letters; that thy skill But most we need his faith (and all have you)
Hast taught thy selfe worthy thy pen to tread,
And that to write things worthy to be read :
But much it now availes, what's done, of whom :
The selfe-same deeds, as diversly they come,
From place, or fortune, are made bigh or low,
And even the praiser's judgement suffers so.
Well, though thy name lesse than our great one When I dare send my epigrammes to thee?
Thy fact is more: let truth encourage thee.
Play-Wright by chance hearing some toyes I had My title's seal'd. Those that for claps doe write,
Cry'd to my face, they were th'elixir of wit : [writ, Let pui'nees', porters', players' praise delight,
And I must now beleeve him: for to day, And till they burst, their backs, like asses, load :
Five of my jests, then stolne, past him a play. A man should seeke great glorie, and not broad.
INVITING A FRIEND TO SUPPER
To night, grave sir, both my poore house and I
Doe equally desire your company: But one more rare, and in the case so new :
Not that we think us worthy such a ghest, His cloake with orient velvet quite lin'd through;
But that your worth will dignifie our feast, (seeme, His rosie tyes and garters so ore-blowne,
With those that come; whose grace may make that
Something, wbich else, could hope for no esteeme. By his each glorious parcell to be knowne! He wont was to encounter me aloud,
It is the faire acceptance, sir, creates Where ere he met me; now he's dumbe or proud.
The entertaynement perfect: not the cates. Know you the cause? H' has neither land nor lease,
Yet shall you have, to rectifie your palate, Nor baudie stock that travells for encrease,
An olive, capers, or some better sallad Nor office in the towne, por place in court,
Ushring the mutton ; with a short-leg'd hen,
If we can get her, full of eggs, and then,
Is not to be despair'd of, for our money; (clarks, Nor did the king of Denmarke him salute,
And though fowle now be scarce, yet there are When he was here. Nor bath he got a sute,
The skie not falling, think we may have larks. Since he was gone, more than the one he weares.
I'le tell you of more, and lye, so you will come: Nor are the queene's most honor'd maids by th’eales May yet be there; and godwit
, if we can:
Of partrich, phesant, wood-cock, of which some About his forme. What then so swels each lim?
Knat, raile and ruffe too. How so ere my man
Shall reade a peece of Virgil, Tacitus,
Of which we'll speake our minds, amidst our meate;
And I'le professe no verses to repeate:
To this if ought appeare, which I not know of,
That will the pastrie, not my paper, show of.
Is a pure cup of rich Canary-wine,
And to your scene lent no lesse dignitie Which is the Mermaid's now, but shall be mine: Of birth, of match, of forme, of chastitie? Of wbich had Horace, or Anacreon tasted,
Or, more than born for the comparison Their lives, as doe their lines, till now had lasted. Of former age, or glory of our own, Tabacco, nectar, or the Thespian spring,
Where you advanced, past those times to be Are all but Luther's beere, to this I sing.
The light and marke unto posteritie? Of tbis we will sup free, but moderately,
Judge they, that can: here I have rais'd to show
If not, 'tis fit for you, some should envy.
TO MARY LADY WROTH.
Madame, had all antiquitie been lost,
All history seal'd up, and fables crost
That we had left us; nor by time, nor place,
Least mention of a nymph, a Muse, a Grace, I doe but name thee, Pembroke, and I finde But even their names were to be made a-new, It is an epigramme, on all man-kinde;
Who could not but create them all from you? Against the bad, but of, and to the good :
He, that but saw you weare the wheaten hat, Both which are ask'd, to have thee understoor.
Would call you more than Ceres, if not that: Nor could the age have mist thee, in this strife And, drest in shepherd's tyre, who would not say: Of vice, and vertue, wherein all great life You were the brigbt Oenone, Flora, or May? Almost is exercis'd : and scarce one knows, If dancing, all would cry th' Idaljan queene To which, yet, of the sides himselfe he owes. Were leading forth the Graces on the greene: They follow vertue, for reward, to day;
And, armed to the chase, so bare her bow To morrow vice, if she give better pay:
Diana' alone, so hit, and hunted so, And are so good, or bad, just at a price,
There's none so dull, that for your stile would aske, As nothing else discernes the vertue' or vice.
That saw you put on Pallas' plumed caske : But thou whose nobleesse keepes one stature still,
Or, keeping your due state, that would not cry. And one true posture, though besieg'd with ill There Juno sate, and yet no peacock by. Of what ambition, faction, pride can raise ; So are you Nature's index, and restore, Whose life, ev'n they, that envie it, must praise;
l' your selfe, all treasure lost of th' age before. That art so reverenc'd, as thy comming in, But in the view, doth interrupt their sinne; Thou must draw more: and they, that hope to see
CVJ. The common-wealth still safe, must studie thee.
TO SIR EDWARD HERBERT.
JF men get name, for some one vertue: then,
What man art tbou, that art so many men,
All-vertuous Herbert! on whose every part How well, faire crowne of your faire sex, might he, whether thy learning they would take, or wit,
Truth might spend all her voice, Fame all her art. That but the twi-light of your sprite did see, And noted for what tlesh such soules were fram’d, Thy standing upright to thy selfe, thy ends
Or valour, or thy judgement seasoning it, Know you to be a Sydney, though un-nam'd ?
Like straight, thy pietie to God, and friends: And, being nam’d, how little doth that name
Their latter praise would still the greatest be, Need any Muse's praise to give it fame?
And yet they, all together, lesse than thee.
TO CAPTAINE HUNGRY.
Doz what you come for, captaine, with your newes;
That's, sit, and eat: doe not my eares abuse. Becomes pone more than you, who need it least.
I oft looke on false coine, to know't from true:
Tell the grosse Dutch those grosser tales of yours,
How great you were with their two emperours ;
And yet are with their princes: fill them full TO SUSAN COUNTESSE OP MONTGOMERY.
Of your Moravian borse, Venetian bul). [away, Were they that nam'd you, prophets? did they see, Tell them, what parts yo' have taen, whence run Even in the dew of grace, what you would be? What states yo' have gull'd, and which yet keeps yo' Or did our times require it, to behold
Give them your services, and embassies [in pay. A new Susanna, equall to that old ?
In Ireland, Holland, Sweden ; pompous lies! Or, because some scarce think that story true, In Hungary, and Poland, Turkie too; To make those faithfull, did the Fates send you ? What at Ligorne, Rome, Florence you did doe?
And in some yeare, all these together heap'd, And that so strong and deepe, as't might be thoogtt,
Nor that his work liv'd in the hands of foes,
Thy learned hand, and true Promethean art
TO THE SAME, ON THE SAME.
Who, Edmonds, reades thy book and doth not see
What th' antique souldiers were, the nioderne be?
Wherein thou shew'st how much the latter are
Beholding to this master of the war;
More than to vary what our elders knew :
Which all, but ignorant captaines, will confesse: Your great profession; which I once did prove:
Nor to give Cæsar this, makes ours the lesse. And did not shame it with my actions then,
Yet thou, perhaps, shall meet some tongues will No more than I dare now doe with my peo.
grutch, He that not trusts me, baving vow'd thus much,
That to the world thou should'st reveale so much, But's angry for the captaine still, is such.
And thence, deprave thee, and thy work. To those
They murder him againe that envy thee.
TO A WEAKE GAMSTER IN POETRY.
With thy small stock, why art thou ventring still Thou art not one seek'st miseries with hope,
At this so subtile sport; and play'st so ill ? Wrestlest with dignities, or fain'st a scope
Think'st thou it is ineere fortune that can win?
Or thy rank sitting? that thou dar'st put in
Thy all, at all: and what so ere I do,
Art still at that, and think'st to blow me up too? And elements of honour, than the dresse;
I cannot for the stage a drama lay, To make they lent life good against the fates:
Tragick, or comick; but thou writ'st the play. And first to know thine owne state, then the state's. An epick poeme; thou hast the same end.
I leave thee there, and giving way, intend To be the same in root thou art in height; And that thy soule should give thy flesh her weight. Next morne, an ode: thou mak’st a song ere night.
I modestly quit that, and think to write,
to elegies; thou meet'st me there:
To satyres; and thou dost pursue me. Where, Whilst others toyle for titles to their tombes.
Where shall I scape thee in an epigramme? 0, (thou cry'st out) that is thy proper game. Troth, if it be, I pitty thy ill lucke;
That both for wit and sense so oft dost plucke,
And never art encounter'd, I confesse:
Nor scarce dost colour for it, which is lesse.
Prøy thee, yet save the rest; give ore in time: ON HIS CÆSAR'S COMMENTARIES OBSERVED, AND
There's no vexation, that can make thee prime.
Not Cæsar's deeds, nor all his honours wonne,
So where thou liv'st thou mak'st life understood ! So did thy vertue ’nforme, thy wit sustaine Where, what makes others great, doth keep thee That age, when thou stood'st up the master-braine: good!
Thou wert the first, mad'st merit know her strength, I think, the fate of court thy comming crav'd,
And those that lack'd it, to suspect at length, That the wit there, and manners might be sav'd : 'Twas not entayl'd on title. That some word For since, what ignorance, what pride is filed! Might be found out as good, and not my lord: And letters, and humanity in the stead !
That nature no such difference had imprest Repent thee not of thy faire precedent,
but every bravest was the best : Could make such men, and such a place repent : That blood not minds, but minds did blood adorne; Nor may'any feare, to lose of their degree, And to live great was better than great borne. Who 'in such ambition can but follow thee. These were thy knowing arts : which who doth now
Vertuously practise, must at least allow
Them in, if not from thee; or must commit
A desperate solecisme iu truth and wit,
Gut eates all day, and lechers all the night,
So all his meat he tasteth over, twice: You wonder, who this is ! and why I name And, striving so to double his delight, Him not aloud, that boasts so good a fame:
He makes himselfe a thorough-fare of vice. Naming so many, too! but, this is one,
Thus, in bis belly, can he change a sin,
Lust it comes out, that gluttony went in.
TO SIR RALPH SHELTON.
Not he that flies the court for want of clothes, Can come from Tripoly, leape stooles, and wink,
At hunting railes, having no gift in othes,
Cries out’gainst cocking, since he cannot bet,
Shuns prease, for two maine causes, poxe, and debt,
With me can merit more, than that good man, Whose name's un-welcome to tbe present eare,
Whose dice not doing well, to a pulpit ran.
No, Shelton, give me thee, canst want all these,
But dost it out of judgement, not disease; But, if it shall be question d, under-takes,
Dar'st breathe in any ayre; and with safe skill, It will deny all ; and forsweare it too:
Till thou canst find the best, choose the least ill. Not that it feares, but will not have to do With such a one. And therein keeps it's word,
That to the vulgar canst thy selfe apply,
Treading a better path, not contrary; 'Twill see it's sister naked, ere a sword.
And, in their errours' maze, thine own way know : At every meale, where it doth dine, or sup, The cloth's no sooner gone, but it gets up,
Which is to live to conscience, not to show.
He that, but living halfe his age, dyes such ; And shifting of its faces, doth play more
Makes the whole longer, than'twas given him, much, Parts than the Italian could do, with bis door. Acts old iniquity, and in the fit Of miming, gets th' opinion of a wit. Executes men in picture. By defect,
ON S. P. A CHILD OF Q. EL. CHAPPEL,
with me all you that read
This little story :
And know, for whom a teare you shed,
Death's selfe is sorry.
'Twas a child, that so did thrive
In grace and feature,
Which own'd the creature.
Yearės be numbred scarce thirteene,
One name was Elizabeth, When Fates turn'd cruell,
Th'other let it sleep with death: Yet three fili'd zodiackes had he been
Fitter, where it dyed, to tell, The stage's jewell;
Than that it liv'd at all. Parewell.
Old men so duely,
TO SIR WILLIAM UVEDALE.
Uv'DALE, thou piece of the first times, a man They have repented;
Made for what nature could, or vertue can; And have sought (to give new birth)
Both whose dimensions, lost, the world might find In bathes to steep him ;
Restored in thy body, and thy mind! But being so much too good for Earth,
Who sees a soule, in such a body set,
Might love the treasure for the cabinet.
Which (would the world not mis-call't, fiattery)
I could adore, almost t' idolatry.
TO BENJAMIN RUDYERD.
RUDYERD, as lesser dames to great ones ise,
TO THE SAME.
IF I would wish for truth, and not for show,
TO ESME LORD AUBIGNY.
Is there a hope, that man would thankfull be, If holiest friend-ship, naked to the touch,
To whom I am so bound, lov'd Aubigny? I would restore, and keep it ever such;
No, I do, therefore, call posterity I need no other arts, but study thee:
Into the debt; and reckon on her head,
How full of want, how swallow'd up, how dead
Lent timely succours, and new life begot :
So, all reward, or name, that growes to me
By her attempt, shall still be owing thee:
And than this same, I know no abler way
To thank thy benefits: which is, to pay.
TO WILLIAM ROE.
EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. H.
WOULD'st thou heare, what man can say
Ros, (and my joy to name) th'art now to go,