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THE DREAME.

AX

EPISTLE TO SIR EDWARD SACKVILE,

NOW EARLE OF DORSET.

OR scorne, or pittie on me take,
I must the true relation make,

I am undone to night;
Love in a subtile dreame disguis'd,

Hath both my heart and me surpriz'd, Whom never yet he durst attempt t'awake ; Nor will he tell me for wbose sake

He did me the delight,

Or spight,
But leaves me to inquire,
In all my wild desire

Of sleepe againe; who was his aid,

And sleepe so guiltie and afraid, As since he dares not come within my sight.

AN

EPITAPH ON MASTER VINCENT CORBET.

I have my pietie too, which could
It vent it selfe, but as it would,

Would say as much, as both have done

Before me here, the friend and sonne ; For I both lost a friend and father, Of him whose bones this grave doth gather ;

Deare Vincent Corbet, who so long

Had wrestled with diseases strong, That though they did possess each limbe, Yet he broke them, e're they could him,

With the just canon of his life,

A life that knew nor noise, nor strife ;
But was by sweetning so his will,
All order, and disposure, still

His mind as pure, and neatly kept,

As were his nourceries; and swept
So of uncleannesse, or offence,
That never came ill odour thence: .

And adde his actions unto these,

They were as specious as his trees.
Tis true, he could not reprehend
His very manners, tanght t'amend,

They were so even, grave, and holy ;

No stubbornnesse so stiffe, nor folly
To licence ever was so light,
As twice to trespasse in his sight,

His lookes would so correct it, when

It chid the vice, yet uot the men.
Much from him I professe I wonne,
And more, and more, I should have done,

But that I understood him scant,

Now I conceive him by my want,
And pray who shall my sorrowes read,
That they for me their teares will shed ;

For truly, since he left to be,
I feele, I'm rather dead than he ?

If Sackvile, all that have the power to doe
Great and good turns, as wel could time them too,
And knew their how, and where: we should have then
Lesse list of proud, hard, or ingratefull men.
For benefits are aw'd with the same mind
As they are done, and such returnes they find :
You then, whose will not only, but desire
To'succour my necessities tooke fire,
Not at my prayers, but your sense; which laid
The way to meet what others would upbraid;
And in the act did so my blush prevent,
As I did feele it done, as soone as meant :
You cannot doubt, but I who freely know
This good from you, as freely will it owe;
And though my fortune humble me, to take
The smallest courtesies with thankes, I make
Yet choyce from whom I take them; and would

shame
To have such doe me good, I durst not name :
They are the noblest benefits, and sinke
Deepest in man, of which when he doth thinke,
The memorie delights bim more, from whom
Then what he hath receiv'd, Gifts stinke from some,
They are so long a comming, and so hard ;
Where any deed is forc't, the grace is mard.

Can I owe thankes, for courtesies receiv'd Against his will that does 'hem? that hath weav'd Excuses, or delayes ? or done 'hem scant, That they have more opprest me, then my want? Or if he did it not to succour me, But by meere chance for interest? or to free Himselfe of farther trouble, or the weight Of pressure, like one taken in a streight? All this corrupts the thankes, lesse hath he wonne, That puts it in his debt-booke e're 't be done ; Or that doth sound a trumpet, and doth call His groomes to witnesse; or else lets it fall In that proud manner: as a good so gain'd, Must make me sad for what I have obtain'd. [face,

No! gifts and thankes should have one cheerefull So each, that's done, and tane, becomes a brace. He neither gives, or does, that doth delay A benefit, or that doth throw't away, No more then he doth thanke, that will receive Nought but in corners; and is loath to leave, Lest ayre, or print, but flies it: such men would Run from the conscience of it if they could.

As I have seene some infants of the sword Well knowne, and practiz'd borrowers on their word, Give thankes by stealth, and whispering in the eare, For what they straight would to the world forsweare; And speaking worst of those from whom they went But then fist fill'd, to put me off the sent. Now dam'mee, sir, if you shall not command My sword ('tis but a poore sword understand) As farre as any poore sword i' the land : Then turning unto him is next at hand, Damns whom he damn'd too, is the veriest gull, H’as feathers, and will serve a man to pull.

Are they not worthy to be answer'd so, That to such natures let their full hands flow, And seeke not wants to succour: but inquire, Like money-brokers, after names, and bire

Hh

Reader, whose life, and name, did e're become

An epitaph, deserv'd a tombe:
Nor wants it here through penurie, or sloth,

Who makes the one, so't be first makes both.

VOL. V.

Their bounties forth to him that last was made, In time 'twill be a beape; this is not true
Or stands to be'n commission o' the blade? Alone in money, but in manners too.
Still, still the hunters of false fame apply

Yet we must more then move still, or goe on, Theirthoughts and meanes to making loude the cry; We must accomplish; 'tis the last key-stone But one is bitten by the dog he fed,

That makes the arch, the rest that there were put And hurt, seeks cure; the surgeon bids take bread, Are nothing till that comes to bind and shut. And spunge-like with it dry up the blood quite, Then stands it a triumphall marke! then men Then give it to the hound that did him bite: Observe the strength, the height, the why, and when, Pardon, sayes he, that were a way to see

It was erected; and still walking under All the towne-curs take each their snatch at me. Meet some new matter to looke up and wonder! . O, is it so ? knowes he so much ? and will

Such notes are vertuous men! they live as fast Feed those, at whom the table points at still? As they are high; are rooted and will last. I not deny it, but to helpe the need

They need no stilts, nor rise upon their toes, Of any, is a great and generous deed:

As if they would belie their stature, those Yea, of th' ingratefull: and lie forth must tell Are dwarfes of bononr, and have neither weight Many a pound and piece will place one well; Nor fashion; if they chance aspire to height, But these men ever want : their very trade "Tis like light canes, that first rise big and brave, Is borrowing; that but stopt, they doe invade Shoot forth in smooth and comely spaces; have All as their prize, turne pyrats here at land, But few and fair divisions : but being got Ha’their Bermudas, and their Streights i' th’Strand; Aloft, grow lesse and streightned, full of knot, Man out of their boates th' Temple, and not shil And last, goe out in nothing: you that see Now, but command; make tribute what was gift; Their difference, cannot choose which you will be. And it is paid 'hem with a trembling zeale You know (without my flatt'ring you) too much And superstition, I dare scarce reveale

Por me to be your indice. Keep you such, If it were cleare, but being so in cloud

That I may love your person (as I doe) Carryed and wrapt, I only am aloud

Without your gift, though I can rate that too, My wonder! why? the taking a clownes purse, By thanking thus the courtesie to life, Or robbing the poore market-folkes, should nurse Which you will bury, but therein, the strife Such a religious horroar in the brests

May grow so great to be example, when Of our towne gallantry! or why there rests (As their true rule or lesson) either men, Such worship due to kicking of a punck!

Donnors or donnees, to their practise shall Or swaggering with the watch, or drawer drunke; Find you to reckon nothing, me owe all. Or feats of darknesse acted in mid-sun, And told of with more licence then th' were done! Sure there is misterie in it, I not know That men such reverence to such actions show! And almost deifie the authors ! make Lowd sacrifice of drinke, for their health-sake; Reare suppers in their names! and spend whole nights EPISTLE TO MASTER JOIN SELDEN. Unto their praise, in certaine swearing rites: Cannot a man be reck'ned in the state

I KNOW to whom I write here, I am sure, Of valour, but at this idolatrous rate?

Though I am short, I cannot be obscure: I thought that fortitude had beene a meane Lesse shall I for the art or dressing care, 'Twixt feare and rashnesse: not a lust obscene, Truth and the Graces best when naked are. Or appetite of offending, but a skill

Your booke, my Selden, I have read, and much Or science of a discerning good and ill.

Was trusted, that you thought ny judgement such And you, sir, know it well, to whom I write, To aske it: though in most of workes it be That with these mixtures we put out her light; A pennance, where a man may not be free, Her ends are honestie, and publike good!

Rather then office, when it doth or may And where they want, she is not understood. Chance that the friend's affection proves allay No more are these of us, then let them goe, Unto the censure. Yours all need doth flie I have the lyst of mine owne faults to know, Of this so vitious humanitie, Looke to and cure; he's not a man hath none, Then wbich there is not unto studie a more But like to be that every day mends one,

Perpitious enemie. We see before And feeles it; else he tarries by the beast.

A many of bookes, even good judgements wound Can I discerne how shadowes are decreast, Themselves throngh favouring what is there not Or growne, by height or lownesse of the sunne? But I on yours farre otherwise shall doe, (found : And can 1 lesse of substance? when I runne, Not flie the crime, but the suspition too: Ride, saile, am coach’d, know I how farre I have gone, Though I confesse (as every Muse hath err'd, And my minds motion not? or have 1 none: And mine not least) I have too oft preferrid (much, No! he must feele and know, that will advance; Men, past their termes, and prais'd some pames too Men have been great, but never good by chance, But 'twas with purpose to have made them such, Or on the sudden. It were strange that he Since being deceiv'd, I tumne a sbarper eye Who was this morning such a one, should be Upon my selfe, and aske to whom? and why? Sydney e'er night? or that did goe to bed And what I write? and vexe it many dayes Coriat, should rise the most sufficient head Before men get a verse, much lesse a praise; Of Christendome? And neither of these know, So that my reader is assur'd, I now Were the rack offer'd them, how they came so; Meane what I speake, and still will keepe that row. 'Tis by degrees that men arrive at glad

Stand forth my object, then, you that have beenie Profit; in ought each day some little adde, Ever at home, yet have all countries seene :

AN

And like a compasse, keeping one foot still It is a call to keepe the spirits alive,
Upon your center, doe your circle fill

That gaspe for action, and would yet revive
Of generall knowledge; watch'd mey, manners too, Man's buried honour, in his sleepie life:
Heard what times past have said, seene what ours doe: Quickning dead nature, to her noblest strife.
Which grace shall I make love to first? your skill, All other acts of worldlings are but toyle
Or faith in things? or is't your wealth and will In dreames, begun in hope, and end in spoile.
To instruct and teach? or your unweary'd paine Looke on th' ambitious man, and see him nurse,
Of gathering ? bountie in pouring out againe? His unjust hopes, with praises begg'd, or (worse)
What fables have you vext! what truth redeem'd! Bought flatteries, the issue of his purse,
Antiquities search'd ! opinions dis-esteem'd! Till he become both their, and his owne curse!
Impostures branded! and authorities urg'd,

Looke on the false and cunning man, that loves Whatblots and errours, have you watch'd and purg'd No person, nor is lov’d; what wayes he proves Records and authors of! how rectified

To gaine upon his belly; and at last Times, manners, customes ! innovations spide ! Crush'd in the snakie brakes, that he had past! Sought out the fountaines, sources, creekes, paths, See, the grave, sower, and supercilious sir And noted the beginnings and decayes! (wayes, In outward face, but inward, light as furre, Where is that nominall marke, or reall rite,

Or feathers, lay his fortune out to show, Forme, act, or ensigne, that hath scap'd your sight? Till envie wound, or maime it at a blow! How are traditions there examin'd! how

See him that's call’d, and thought the happiest man, Conjectures retriev'd ! and a storie now

Honour'd at once, and envi’d (if it can And then of times (besides the bare conduct Be honour is so mixt) by such as would, Of what it tells us) weav'd in to instruct.

For all their spight, be like him if they could: I wonder'd at the richnesse, but am lost,

No part or corner man can looke upon, To see the workmanship so 'xceed the cost ! But there are objects bid him to be gode To marke the excellent seas’ning of your stile ! As farre as he can flie, or follow day, And manly elocution, not one while

Rather then here so bogg'd in vices stas: With horrour rough, then rioting with wit! The whole world here leaven'd with madnesse swells; But to the subject still the colours fit,

And being a thing blowne out of nought, rebells In sharpnesse of all search, wisdome of choise, Against his Maker; high alone with weeds, Newnesse of sense, antiquitie of voice !

Aud impious ranknesse of all sects and seeds: I yeeld, 1 yeeld, the matter of your praise Not to be checkt, or frighted now with fate, Flowes in upon me, and I cannot raise

But more licentious made, and desperate! A banke against it. Nothing but the round Our delicacies are growne capitall, Large claspe of nature, such a wit can bound. And even our sports are dangers! what we call Monarch in letters ! 'mongst the titles showne

Friendship is now mask'd hatred! justice fled, Of others honours, thus, enjoy thy owne.

And shamefastnesse together! all lawes dead I first salute thee so; and gratulate

That kept man living ! pleasures only sought! With that thy stile, thy keeping of thy state;

Honour and honestie, as poore things thought In offering this thy worke to no great name, (same, As they are made! pride and stiffe clownage mixt That would, perhaps, have prais’d, and thank'd thé To make up greatnesse! and man's whole good fix'd But nought beyond. He thou hast given it to, In bravery, in gluttony, or coyne, Thy learned chamber-fellow, knowes to doe All which he makes the servants of the groine, It true respects. He will not only love,

Thither it flowes: how much did Stallion spend Embrace, and cherish ; but he can approve To have his court-bred-lillie there commend And estimate thy paines; as having wrought

His lace and starch; and fall upon her back In the same mines of knowledge; and thence brought In admiration, stretch'd upon the rack Humanitie enough to be a friend,

Of lust, to his rich suit, and title, lord ? And strength to be a champion, and defend 1, that's a charme and halfe! she must afford Thy gift 'gainst envie. O how I doe count That all respect; she must lie downe: pay more Among my commings in, and see it mount, 'Tis there civilitie to be a whore; The graine of your two friendships! Hayward and He's one of blood, and fashion and with these Selden! two names that so much understand! The bravery makes, she can no honour leese: On whom I could take up, and ne're abuse To do't with cloth, or stuffes, lust's name might merit; The credit, what would furnish a tenth Mose! With velvet, plush, and tissues, it is spirit. But here's no time, nor place, my wealth to te!),

O, these so ignorant monsters! light, as proud, You both are modest. So am I. Farewell.

Who can bebold their manners, and not clowd-
Like upon them lighteu? If nature could
Not make a verse; anger or laughter would,
To see 'hem aye discoursing with their glasse,
How they may make some one that day an asse,
Planting their purles,and curles spread forth like net,

And every dressing for a pitfall set
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND,

To catch the flesh in, and to pound a

Be at their visits, see 'hem squemish, sick, TO PERSWADE HIM TO THE WARRES. Ready to cast, at one, whose band sits ill,

And then leape mad on a neat pickardill; Wake, friend, from forth thy lethargie: the drum As if a brize were gotten i' their tayle, Beats brave, and loude in Europe, and bids come And firke, and jerkc, and for the coach-man raile, All that dare rowse: or are not loth to quit And jealous of each other, yet thinke long Their vitious ease, and be u'rewhelm'd with it. To be abroad chanting some baudie song,

AN

And langh, and measure thighes, then squeake, | In this, and like, an itch of vanitie, spring, itch,

That scratching now's our best felicitie? Doc all the tricks of a saut lady bitch;

Well, let it goe. Yet this is better, then For t’ other pound of sweet-meats, be shall feele To lose the formes, and dignities of men, That payes, or what he will. The dame is steele: To flatter my good lord, and cry his boule For these with her young companie she'll enter, Runs sweetly, as it had his lordship's soule: Whore Pittes, or Wright, or Modet would not venter, Although perhaps it has, what's that to me, And comes by these degrees, the stile tinherit That may stand by, and hold my peace? will he Of woman of fashion, and a lady of spirit: When I am hoarse, with praising his each cast, Nor is the title question’d with our proud,

Give me but that againe, that I must wast Great, brave, and fashion'd folke, these are allow'd: In sugar candide, or in butter'd beere, Adulteries now, are not so hid, or strange,

for the recovery of my voyce? No, there They 're growne commoditie upon exchange; Pardon his lordship. Flattry's growne so cheape He that will follow but another's wife,

With him, for he is followed with that heape Is lov'd, though he let out his owne for life: That watch, and catch, at what they may applaud, The husband now's call'd churlish, or a poore As a poore single flatterer, without band Nature, that will not let his wife be a whore; Is vothing, such scarce meat and drinke ke'le give, Or use all arts, or haunt all companies

But he that's both, and slave to both, shall live, That may corrupt her, even in his eyes.

And be below'd, while the whores last. O times ! The brother trades a sister; and the friend Friend, flie from hence; and let these kindled rimes Lives to thé lord, but to the ladie's end.

Light thee from Hell on Earth: where fatterers, Lesse must not be thought on then mistresse: or

spies, If it be thought, kild like her embrions ; for, Informers, masters both of arts and lies, Whom no great mistresse hath as yet infam'd, Lewd slanderers, soft whisperers, that let blood A fellow of course letcherie is nam’d,

The life, and fame-vaynes (yet not understood The servant of the serving-woman in scorne, Of the poore sufferers) where the envious, proud, Ne're eame to taste the plenteous mariage-horne. Ambitious, factious, superstitious, lowd

Thus they doe talke. And are these objects fit Boasters, and perjur'd, with the infinite more For man to spend his money on? his wit? Prevaricators swarme: of which the store, Histime? health? soule? will he for these goe throw (Because th' are every where amongst man-kind Those thousands on his back, shall after blow Spread through the world) is easier farre to fiud, His body to the Counters, or the Fleete?

Then once to number, or bring forth to hand, Is it for these that fine man meets the street Though thou wert muster-master of the land. Coach'd, or on foot-cloth, thrice chang'd every day, Goe quit 'hem all. And take along with thee, To teach each suit, be has the ready way

Thy true friend's wishes, Colby, which shall be, From Hide-Parke to the stage, where at the last That thine be just, and honest, that thy deeds His deare and borrow'd bravery he must cast ? Not wound thy conscience, when thy body bleeds ; When not his combes, bis curling-irons, his glasse, That thou dost all things more for truth, then glory, Sweet bags, sweet powders, norsweet words will passe And never but for doing wrong be sory; For lesse securitie? 0 - for these

That by commanding first thy selfe, thou mak'st Is it that man pulls on himselfe disease ?

Thy person fit for any charge thou tak’st; Surfet ? and quarrell? driukes the tother health ? That fortune never make thee to complaine, Or by damnation voids it? or by stealth ? But what she gives, thou dar'st give her againe ; What furie of late is crept into our feasts? That whatsoever face thy fate puts on, What honour given to the drunkennest guests? Thou shrinke or start not, but be alwayes one; What reputation to beare one glasse more? That thou thinke nothing great, but what is good, When oft the bearer is borne out of dore ?

And from that thought strive to be understood. This hath our ill-us'd freedome, and soft peace So, 'live or dead, thou wilt preserve a fame Brought on us, and will every houre increase; Still pretious, with the odour of thy name. Our vices, doe not tarry in a place,

And last, blaspheme not; we did never heare But being in motion still (or rather in race) Man thought the valianter,'cause he durst sweare, Tilt one upon another, and now beare

No more, then we should thinke a lord bad had This way, now that, as if their number were More honour in him, 'cause we'ave knowne him mad: More then themselves, or then our lives could take, These take, and now goe seeke thy peace in warre, But both fell prest under the load they make. Who falls for love of God, shall rise a starre.

I'le bid thee looke no more, but fee, flee friend,
This precipice, and rocks that have no end,
Or side, but threatens ruine. The whole day
Is not enough now, but the nights to play:
And whilst our states, strength, boủy, and mind we

waste;
Goe make our selves the usurers at a cast.

EPITAPH ON MASTER PHILIP GRAY. He that no more for age, cramps, palsies, can Now use the bones, we see doth hire a man

Reader stay, To take the box up for him ; and pursues

And if I had no more to say,
The dice with glassen eyes, to the glad views

But here doth lie till the last day,
Of what be throwes : like letchers growne content All that is left of Philip Gray.
To be beholders, when their powers are spent.

It might thy patience richly pay:
Can we not leave this woi me? or will we not? For, if such men as he could die,
Is that the truer excuse? or have we got

What suretie of life bare thou, and I.

AN

You blush, but doe not: friends are either none, EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.

(Though they may number bodyes) or but one.

l'le therefore aske no more, but bid you love; They are not, sir, worst owers, that doe pay

And so, that either may example prove Debts when they can: good men may breake their Unto the other ; and live patternes, how day;

Others, in time, may love, as we doe now. And yet the noble nature never grudge,

Slip no occasion ; as tiine stands not still, 'T is then a crime, when the usurer is judge :

know no beautie, nor no youth that will. And he is not in friendship. Nothing there

To use the present, then, is not abuse, Is done for gaine: if 't be, 't is not sincere.

You have a husband is the just excuse Nor should i at this time protested be,

Of all that can be done him; such a one But that some greater names have broke with me,

As would make shift, to make himselfe alone And their words too, where I but breake my band :' That which we can; who both in you, his wife, I adde that (but) because I understand

His issue, and all circumstance of life That as the lesser breach: for he that takes

As in his place, because he would not varie,
Simply my band, his trust in me forsakes,

Is constant to be extraordinarie.
And lookes unto the forfeit. If you be
Now so much friend, as you would trust in me,
Venter a longer time, and willingly :
All is not barren land, doth fallow lie.

A SATYRICALL SHRUB.
Some grounds are made the richer, for the rest;
And I will bring a crup, if not the best.

A woman's friendship! God, whom I trust in,
Forgive me this one foolish deadly sin,
Amongst my many other, that I may

No more, I am sorry for so fond cause, say
AN ELEGIE.

At fifty yeares, almost, to value it,

That ne're was knowne to last above a fit, Can beantie, that did prompt me first to write,

Or have the least of good, but what it must Now threaten, with those meanes sbe did invite:

Put on for fashion, aod take up on trust ; Did her perfections call me on to gaze!

Knew I all this afore? had I perceiv'd, Then like, then love; and now would they amaze! That their whole life was wickednesse, though weard Or was she gracious a-farre off? but neere

Of many colours; outward, fresh from spots, A terrour? or is all this but my feare?

But their whole inside full of ends, and knots ? 'That as the water makes things, put in 't, streight, Were such as I will now relate, or worse.

Knew 1, that all their dialogues, and discourse, Crooked appeare; so that doth my conceipt: I can helpe that with boldnesse ; and love sware, And fortune once, t' assist the spirits that dare.

(Here, something is wanting.)
But which shall lead me on both these are blind:
Such guides men use not, who their way would find,
Except the way be errour to those ends :
And then the best are still, the blindest friends! Knew I this woman ? yes; and you doe see,
Oh how a lover may mistake! to thinke,

How penitent I am, or I should be.
Or love, or fortnne blind, when they but winke Doe not you aske to know her, she is worse
To see men ftare: or else for truth, and state, Then all ingredients made into one curse,
Because they would free justice imitate,

And that pour'd out upon man-kind, can be !
Vaile their owne eyes, and would impartially Thinke but the sin of all her sex, 't is she !
Be brought by us to meet our destinie.

I could forgive ber being proud ! a whore ! If it be thus; come love, and fortune goe,

Perjur’d! and painted ! if she were no more, l'le lead you on; or if my fate will so,

But she is such, as she might, yet forestall That I must send one first, my choyce assignes, The Devill; and be the damning of us all. Love to my heart, and fortune to my lines,

AN ELEGIE.

LITTLE SHRUB GROWING BY, By those bright eyes, at whose immortall fires

Aske not to know this man. If Fame should speake Love lights his torches to inflame desires;

His name in any mettall, it would breake. By that faire stand, your forehead, whence he bends

Two letters were enough the plague to teare His double bow, and round his arrowes sends;

Out of his grave, and poyson every eare. By that tall grove, your haire, whose globy rings

A parcell of court-durt, a heape, and masse He flying curles, and crispeth with his wings;

Of all vice hurld together, there he was,
By those pure bathes your either cheeke discloses, Proud, false, and trecherous, vindictive, all
Where he doth steepe himselfe in milke and roses; That thought can adde, unthankfull, the lay-stall
And lastly by your lips, the banke of kisses,

Of putrid flesh alive! of blood, the sinke!
Where men at once may plant, and gather blisses : And so I leave to stirre him, lest he stinke.
Tell me (my lov'd friend) doe you love or no?
bo well, as I may tell in verse 't is so?

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