498

inherent graces, to consider truth or vertue; but, with the trade of the world, lend their long eares against men they love not: and hold their deare mountebank, or iester, in farre better condition than all the study, or studiers of humanity? for such I would rather know them by their visards, still, than they should publish their faces, at their perill, in my theater, where Cato, if he lived, might enter without scandall.

Fr will be look'd for, Book, when some but see
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-
Become a petulant thing, hurle inke, and wit [all,
As mad-men stones: not caring whom they hit.
Deceive their malice, who could wish it so.
And by thy wiser temper let men know
Thou art not covetous of least selfe-fame,
Made from the hazard of another's shame.

Much lesse, with lewd, prophane, and beastly phrase,
To catch the world's loose laughter, or vaine gaze.
He that departs with his own honesty
For vulgar praise, doth it too dearely buy.

III.

TO MY BOOK-SELLER.

THOU, that mak'st gaine thy end, and wisely well,
Call'st a book good, or bad, as it doth sell,
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;
Not offer'd, as it made sute to be bought;
Nor have my title-leafe on posts, or walls,
Or in cleft-sticks, advanced to make calls
For termers, or some clerck-like serving-man,
Who scarce can spell th' hard names: whose knight

V.

ON THE UNION.

VI.

TO ALCHYMISTS.

If all you boast of your great art be true; Sure, willing poverty lives most in you.

VII.

ON THE NEW HOT-HOUSE.

WHERE lately harbourd many a famous whore,
A purging bill, now fix'd upon the doore,
Tels you it is a hot-house: so it ma',
And still be a whore-house. Th' are synonyma.

VIII.

ON A ROBBERY.

RIDWAY rob'd Duncote of three hundred pound,
Ridway was tane, arraign'd, condemn'd to dye;
But, for this money was a courtier found, [crye;
Beg'd Ridwaye's pardon: Duncote, now, doth
Rob'd both of money, and the law's reliefe;
The courtier is become the greater thiefe.

IX.

TO ALL, TO WHOM I WRITE.

MAY none, whose scatter'd names honour my book,
For strict degrees, of rank, or title look:
'T is 'gainst the manners of an epigram:
And, I a poet here, no herald am.

X.

TO MY LORD IGNORANT.

THOU call'st me poet, as a terme of shame : But I have my revenge made, in thy name.

XI.

ON SOMETHING THAT WALKES SOME-WHERE.

AT court I met it, in clothes brave enough,
To be a courtier; and looks grave enough,
To seeme a statesman: as I neere it caine,
It made me a great face, I ask'd the name.
"A lord," it cried, " buried in flesh, and blood,
And such from whom let no man hope least good,
For I will do none: and as little ill,

For I will dare none." Good lord, walk dead still.

XIL

ON LIEUTENANT SHIFT.

SHIFT, here, in towne, not meanest among squires,

That haunt Pickt-hatch, Mersh-Lambeth, and White-fryers,

payes.

Keeps himselfe, with halfe a man, and defrayes
The charge of that state with this charme, God payes.
By that one spell he lives, eats, drinks, arrayes
Himselfe his whole revenue is, god payes.
The quarter day is come; the hostesse sayes,
She must have money: he returnes, God payes.
The taylor brings a suite home; he it 'ssayes,
Looks o're the bill, likes it: and says, God
He steales to ordinaries; there he playes
At dice his borrow'd money: which, God payes.
Then takes up fresh commodities, for dayes;
Signes to new bonds, forfeits: and cries, God payes.
That lost, he keeps his chamber, reades essayes,
Takes physick, teares the papers: still God payes.
Or else by water goes, and so to playes;
Calls for his stoole, adornes the stage: God payes.
To every cause he meets, this voice he brayes:
His only answer is to all, God payes.
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,
Lent him a pocky whore. She hath paid him.

XIII.

TO DOCTOR EMPIRICK.

WHEN men a dangerous disease did scape,
Of old, they gave a cock to Esculape;
Let me give two: that doubly am got free,
From my disease's danger, and from thee.

XVI.

TO BRAINE-HARDY.

HARDY, thy braine is valiant, 't is confest;
Thou more, that with it every day dar'st jest
Thy selfe into fresh braules: when, call'd upon,
Scarce thy week's swearing brings thee off, of one.
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,
Make good what thou dar'st do in all the rest.
Keep thy selfe there, and think thy valure right;
He that dares damne himselfe, dares more than fight.

XVII.

TO THE LEARNED CRITICK.

May others feare, flye, and traduce thy name,
As guilty men do magistrates: glad I,
That wish my poemes a legitimate fame,

Charge them, for crown, to thy sole censure hye.
And but a spring of bayes given by thee,
Shall out-live garlands stolne from the chast tree.

XVIII.

TO MY MEERE ENGLISH CENSURER.

Yet,

To thee, my way in epigrammes seemes new,
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.
As theirs did with thee, mine might credit get:
If thou 'ldst but use thy faith, as thou didst then,
When thou wert wont t' admire, not censure men.
Pr'y thee beleeve still, and not judge so fast,
Thy faith is all the knowledge that thou hast.

XIV.

TO WILLIAM CAMDEN.

CAMDEN, most reverend head, to whom I owe
All that I am in arts, all that I know.
(How nothing's that?) to whom my countrey owes
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.
What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in things!
What sight in searching the most antique springs!
What weight, and what authority in thy speech!
Man scarse can make that doubt, but thou canst
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.

XIX.

ON SIR COD THE PERFUMED.

THAT Cod can get no widdow, yet a knight,
I sente the cause: he wooes with an ill sprite.

XX.

TO THE SAME SIR COD.

TH' expence in odours is a most vaine sin,
Except thou couldst, sir Cod, weare them within.

DONNE, the delight of Phoebus, and each Muse,
Who, to thy one, all other braines refuse;
Whose every work, of thy most early wit,
Came forth example, and remaines so yet:
Longer a knowing, than most wits do live;
And which no affection praise enough can give!
To it, thy language, letters, arts, best life,
Which might with halfe mankind maintaine a strife;
All which I meane to praise, and yet I would;
But leave, because I cannot as I should!

XXIV.

TO THE PARLIAMENT.

THERE'S reason good, that you good laws should

make:

Men's manners ne're were viler, for your sake.

XXV.

ON SIR VOLUPTUOUS BEAST.

WHILE Beast instructs his faire and innocent wife
In the past pleasures of his sensuall life,
Telling the motions of each petticote,

And how his Ganimede mov'd, and how his goate,
And now, her (hourely) her own cucqueane makes,
In varied shapes, which for his lust she takes:
What doth he else, but say, "Leave to be chaste,
Just wife, and, to change me, make woman's haste."

XXVI.

ON THE SAME BEAST.

THAN his chast wife, though Beast now know no more, He 'adulters still: his thoughts lye with a whore.

If any sword could save from Fates, Roe's could;
If any Muse out-live their spight, his can;
If any friends' teares could restore, his would;
If any pious life ere lifted man

To Heaven, his hath: O happy state! wherein
We, sad for him, may glory, and not sin.

XXVIII.

ON DON SURLY.

Dox Surly, to aspire the glorious name
Of a great man, and to be thought the same,
Makes serious use of all great trade he knowes.
He speakes to men with a Rhinocerote's nose,
Which he thinks great; and so reades verses, too:
And that is done, as he saw great men doe.
H' has tympanies of businesse, in his face,
And can forget men's names, with a great grace.
He will both argue, and discourse in oathes,
Both which are great. And laugh at ill made
cloathes;

That's greater, yet: to crie his owne up neat.
He doth, at meales, alone, his pheasant eat,
Which is maine greatnesse. And, at his still boord,
He drinks to no man: that's, too, like a lord.
He keeps another's wife, which is a spice
Of solemne greatnesse. And he dares, at dice,
Blaspheme God greatly. Or some poore hinde beat,
That breathes in his dog's way: and this is great.
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.

XXIX.

TO SIR ANNUAL TILTER.

TILTER, the most may' admire thee, though not I:
And thou, right guiltlesse, may'st plead to it, why?
For thy late sharpe device. I say 't is fit
All braines, at times of triumph, should runne wit.
For then, our water-conduits doe runne wine;
But that's put in, thou'lt say. Why, so is thine,

XXX. Y

TO PERSON GUILTIE.

GUILTIE, be wise; and though thou know'st the crimes

Be thine, I tax, yet doe not owne my rimes:
'T were madnesse in thee, to betray thy fame,
And person to the world; ere I thy name.

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 t' appeare,

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

XXXIII.

TO THE SAME.

I'LE not offend thee with a vaine teare more, Glad-mention'd Roe: thou art but gone before, Whither the world must follow. And I, now, Breathe to expect my when, and make my how. Which if most gracious Heaven grant like thine, Who wets my grave, can be no friend of mine.

XXXIV. X

OF DEATH.

He that feares death, or mournes it, in the just, Shewes of the resurrection little trust.

XXXV.

TO KING JAMES.

WHO would not be thy subject, James, t' obay
A prince that rules by example more than sway?
Whose manners draw more than thy powers con-
straine.

And in this short time of thy happiest raigne,
Hast purg'd thy realmes, as we have now no cause
Left us of feare, but first our crimes, then lawes.
Like aydes 'gainst treasons who hath found before?
And then in them, how could we know God more?
First thou preserved wert, our king to be,
And since, the whole land was preserv'd for thee.

XXXVI.

TO THE GHOST OF MARTIAL.

MARTIAL, thou gav'st farre nobler Epigrammes
To thy Domitian, than I can my James:
But in my royall subject I passe thee,
Thou flattered'st thine, mine cannot flatter'd be.

XXXVII.

ON CHEV'RIL THE LAWYER.

No cause, nor client fat, will Chev'ril leese,
But as they come, on both sides he takes fees,
And pleaseth both. For while he melts his grease
For this: that winnes, for whom he holds his peace.

XXXVIII.

TO PERSON GUILTIE.

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,
I'le lose my modestie, and tell your name.

XXXIX. ON OLD COLT.

For all night-sinnes, with other wives, unknown, Colt, now, doth daily penance in his own.

XL.

ON MARGARET RATCLIFFE.

M ARBLE, Weepe, for thou do'st cover
A dead beautie under-neath thee,
Rich as nature could bequeath thee:
Grant then, no rude hand remove her.
All the gazers on the skies

Read not in faire Heaven's storie,
Expresser truth, or truer glorie,
Than they might in her bright eyes.

R are as wonder was her wit;
And like nectar ever flowing:
Till time, strong by her bestowing,
Conquer'd hath both life and it.
Life whose griefe was out of fashion
In these times; few so have ru'd
Fate in a brother. To conclude,
F or wit, feature, and true passion,
Earth, thou hast not such another.

XLI.

ON GYPSEE.

GYPSEE, new baud, is turn'd physitian,
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.

XLII. X

ON GILES AND JONE.

WHO sayes that Giles and Jone at discord be?
Th' observing 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.

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.
And so is Jone. Oft-times when Giles doth finde
Harsh fights at home, Giles wisheth he were blind,
All this doth Jone. Or that his long-yearn'd life
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.
In all affections she concurreth still.

If, now, with man and wife, to will and nill
The selfe-same things, a note of concord be:
I know no couple better can agree!

XLVIII.

ON MUNGRIL ESQUIRE.

His bought armes Mung' not lik'd; for his first day Of bearing them in field, he threw 'hem away: And hath no honour lost, our due'llists say.

XLIII.

TO ROBERT EARLE OF SALISBURIE.

WHAT need hast thou of me? or of my Muse?
Whose actions so themselves doe celebrate?
Which should thy countrye's love to speake refuse,
Her foes enough would fame thee in their hate.
"Tofore, great men were glad of poets: now,

I, not the worst, am covetous of thee.
Yet dare not to my thought least hope allow
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
From servile flatterie (common poets' shame)
As thou stand'st cleare of the necessitie.

XLIV.

ON CHUFFE, BANKS THE USURER'S KINSMAN.

CHUFFE, lately rich in name, in chattels, goods, And rich in issue to inherit all,

Ere blacks were bought for his owne funerall, Saw all his race approach the blacker floods : He meant they thither should make swift repaire, When he made him exectutor, might be heire.

XLV.

ON MY FIRST SONNE.

FAREWELL, thou child of my right hand, and joy;
My sinne was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy,
Seven yeares thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,
Exacted by thy fate on the just day.

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 fleshe's rage,
And, if no other miserie, yet age?

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

For whose sake, hence-forth, all his vowes be such, As what he loves may never like too much.

XLVI.

TO SIR LUCKLESSE WOO-ALL.

Is this the sir, who, some waste wife to winne,
A knight-hood bought, to goe a wooing in?
'Tis Lucklesse he, that tooke up one on band
To pay at's day of marriage. By my hand
The knight-wright's cheated then: he'll never pay.
Yes, now he weares his knight-hood every day.

XLVII. TO THE SAME.

SIR Lucklesse, troth, for luck's sake passe by one: He that wooes every widdow, will get none.

UPON THE HAPPIE FALSE RUMOUR OF HIS DEATH, THE TWO
AND TWENTIETH day of March, 1607.

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 terrour prove,
And farre beneath least pause of such a king,
Yet give thy jealous subjects leave to doubt:

Who this thy scape from rumour gratulate,
No lesse than if from perill; and devout,

Doe beg thy care unto thy after-state.
For we, that have our eyes still in our eares,
Looke not upon thy dangers, but our feares.

LII.

TO CENSORIOUS COURTLING. COURTLING, I rather thou should'st utterly Dispraise my work, than praise it frostily: When I am read, thou fain'st a weak applause, As if thou wert my friend, but lack'dst a cause. This but thy judgement fooles: the other way Would both thy folly and thy spite betray.

LIII.

TO OLD-END GATHERER.

LONG-GATHERING Old-end, I did feare thee wise,
When having pill'd a book, which no man buyes,
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,
To give the world assurance thou wert both;
And that, as puritanes at baptisme doe,
Thou art the father, and the witnesse too.
For, but thy selfe, where, out of motly, 's he
Could save that line to dedicate to thee ?