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And with the vulgar doth it not obtaine

0, I prophane ! though most of women be The name of cruell weather, storme, and raine ? The common monster, love shall except thee, Be not affected with these markes too much My dearest love, how ever jealousie, Of crueltie, lest they doe make you such.

With circumstance might urge the contrarie. But view the mildnesse of your Maker's state,

Sooner I'le thinke the Sunne would cease to cheare As I the penitent's here emulate:

The teeming Earth, and that forget to beare; He, when he sees a sorrow such as this,

Sooner that rivers would run back, or Thames Streight puts off all his anger, and doth kisse

With ribs of ice in June would bind his streames : The contrite soule, who hath no thought to win Or Nature, by whose strength the world indures, Upon the hope to hars another sin

Would change her course, before you alter yours: Forgiven him; and in that lyne stand I,

But, O, that trecherous breast, to whom weake you Rather then once displease you more, to die,

Did trust our counsells, and we both may rue, To suffer tortures, scorne, and infamie,

Having his falshood found too late! 'twas he What fooles, and all their parasites can apply ;

That made me cast you guiltie, and you me. The wit of ale, and genius of the malt

Whilst he, black wretch, betray'd each simple word Can pumpe for; or a libell without salt

We spake, unto the comming of a third ! Produce; though threatning with a coale, or chalke Curst may he be that so our love hath slaine, On every wall, and sung where e're I walke. And wander wretched on the Earth, as Cain. I number these as being of the choro

Wretched as he, and not deserve least pittie; Of contumelie, and urge a good man more In plaguing him let miserie be wittie; Then sword, or fire, or what is of the race

Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye, To carry noble danger in the face:

Till he be noysome as his infamie; There is not any punishment, or paine,

May he without remorse deny God thrice, A man should die from, as he would disdaine. And not be trusted more on bis soule's price; Then, mistris, here, here let your rigour end,

And after all selfe-torment, when he dyes, And let your mercie make me asham'd t' offend. May wolves teare out his beart, vultures his eyes, I will no more abuse my vowes to you,

Swyne eat his bowels, and his falser tongue, Then I will studie falshood, to be true.

That utter'd all, be to some raven fung; O, that you could but by dissection see

And let his carrion corse be a longer feast How much you are the better part of me; To the king's dogs, then any other beast. How all my fibres by your spirit doe move, Now I have curst, let us our love receive; And that there is no life in me, but love.

In me the flame was never more alive. Yon would be then most confident, that tho' I could begin againe to court and praise, Publike affaires command me now to goe

And in that pleasure lengthen the short dayes Out of your eyes, and be awhile away;

Of my life's lease; like painters that doe take Absence, or distance, shall not breed decay. Delight, not in made workes, but whilst they make. Your forme shines here, here, fixed in my heart; I could renew those times, when first I saw I may dilate my selfe, but not depart.

Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law Others by common stars their coarses run,

To like what you lik’d, and at masques, or playes, When I see you, then I doe see my sun,

Commend the selfe-same actors, the same wayes;
Till then 't is all but darknesse, that I have; Aske how you did, and often with intent
Rather then want your light, I wish a grave. Of being officious, grow impertinent;

All which were such lost pastimes, as in these
Love was as subtly catch'd as a disease.
But, being got, it is a treasure, sweet,

Which to defend, is harder then to get;

And ought not be prophan'd on either part,

For though 'tis got by chance, 'tis kept by art.
To make the doubt cleare, that no woman's true,
Was it my fate to prove it full in you?
Thought I but one had breath'd the purer ayre,
And must she needs be false, because she's faire?
Is it your beautie's marke, or of your youth,

Or your perfection, not to studie truth?
Or thinke you Heaven is deafe? or hath no eyes? | Taat love's a bitter sweet, I ne're conceive
Or those it has, winke at your perjuries ?

Till the sower minute comes of taking leave,
Are vowes so cheape with women or the matter And then I taste it. But as men drinke up
Whereof they are made, that they are writ in water, In haste the bottome of a med'cin'd cup,
And blowne away with wind ? or doth their breath, And take some sirrup after; so doe I,
Both hot and cold at once, threat life and death? To put all relish from my memorie
Who could have thought so many accents sweet Of parting, drowne it in the hope to meet
Tun'd to our words, so many sighes should meet Shortly againe, and make our absence sweet.
Blowne from our hearts, so many oathes and teares This makes me, mistris, that sometime hy stealth
Sprinkled among, all sweeter by our feares, Under another name, I take your health;
And the devine impression of stolne kisses, And turne the ceremonies of those nights
That seald the rest, could now prove emptie blisses? I give, or owe my friends, into your rites,
Did you draw bonds to forfeit? signe, to breake? But ever without blazon, or least shade
Or must we read you quite from what you speake, Of vowes so sacred, and in silence made;
And find the truth out the wrong way? or must For though love thrive, and may grow up with cheare,
He first desire you false, would wish you just? And free societie, he's born else-where,

And must be bred, so lo conceale his birth, Who shall forbid me then in rithme to be
As neither wine doe rack it out, or mirth.

As light and active as the youngest be
Yet should the lover still be ayrie and light That from the Muses' fountaines doth indorse
In all his actions, rarified to spright:

His lynes, and hourely sits the poet's horse. Not like a Midas shut up in himselfe,

Put on iny ivy garland, let me see And turning all he toucheth into pelfe,

Who frownes, who jealous is, who taxeth me. Keepe in reserv'd in his dark-lanterne face, Fathers, and husbands, I doe claime a right As if that ex'lent dulnesse were love's grace;

In all that is call'd lovely: take my sight No, mistris, no, the open merrie man

Sooner then my affection from the faire. Moves like a sprightly river, and yet can

No face, no hand, proportion, line, or ayre Keepe secret in his channels what he breedes, Of beautie, but the Muse batb interest in : 'Bove all your standing waters, choak’d with weedes. There is not worne that lace, purle, knot or pin, They looke at best like creame-bowles, and you soone But is the poët's matter : and he must, Shall find their depth: they 're sounded with a When he is furious, love, although not lost. spoone.

But then content, your daughters and your wives They may say grace, and for Love's chaplaines passe; (If they be faire and worth it) have their lives But the grave lover ever was an asse;

Made longer by our praises : or, if not, Is fix'd upon one leg, and dares not come

Wish you had fowle ones, and deformed got; Out with the other, for he's still at home;

Curst in their cradles, or there chang'd by elves, Like the dull wearied crane that (come on land)

So to be sure you doe enjoy your selves. Doth while he keepes his watch, betray his stand: Yet keepe those up in sackcloth too, or lether, Where he that knowes will like a lapwing flie

Por silke will draw some sneaking songster thither. Farre from the nest, and so himselfe belie

It is a ryming age and verses swarme To others, as he will deserve the trust

At every stall: the cittie cap's a charme. Due to that one, that doth believe him just.

But I who live, and have liy'd twentie yeare And such your servant is, who vowes to keepe

Where I may handle silke, as free, and neere, The jewell of your name, as close as sleepe

As any mercer, or the whale-bone man Can lock the sense up, or the heart a thought, That quilts those bodice I have leave to span ; And never be by time, or folly brought,

Have eaten with the beauties, and the wits, Weaknesse of braine, or any charme of wine, And braveries of court, and felt their fits The sinne of boast, or other countermine,

Of love, and hate; and came so nigh to know (Made to blow up love's secrets) to discover

Whether their faces were their owue, or no: That article, may not become our lover :

It is not likely I should now looke downe Which in assurance to your brest I tell,

Upon a velvet petticote, or a gowne,
If I had writ no word, but, deare, farewell. Whose like I'ave knowne the taylor's wife put ou

To doe her husband's rites in, e're 'twere gone
Home to the customer: his letcherie

Being, the best clothes still to preoccupie.

Put a coach-mare in tissue, must I horse

Her presently? or leape thy wife of force, SINCE goe, and I must bid farewell,

When by thy sordid bountie she hath on Heare, mistris, your departing servant tell

A gowne of that, was the caparison ? What it is like: and doe not thinke they can

So I might dote upon thy chaires and stooles Be idle words, though of a parting man;

That are like cloath'd. Must I be of those fooles It is as if à night should shade noone-day,

Of race accompted, that no passion have Or that the Sun was here, but forc't away; But when thy wife (as thou conceiv'st) is brave? And we were left under that hemisphere

Then ope thy wardrobe, thinke methat poore groome Where we must feele it darke for halfe a yeare.

That from the foot-man, when he was become What fate is this, to change men's dayes and houres, | An officer there, did make most solemne love To shift their seasons, and destroy their powers !

To ev'ry petticote he brush'd, and glove Alas I ha’ lost my heat, my blood, my prime,

He did lay up, and would adore the shoe, Winter is come a quarter e're his time;

Or slipper was left off, and kisse it too, My health will leave me ; and when you depart,

Court every hanging gowne, and after that, How shall I doè, sweet mistris, for my heart?

Lift up some one, and doe, I tell not what. You would restore it? no, that's worth a feare,

Thou didst tell me, and wert o're-joy'd to peepe As if it were not worthy to be there:

In at a hole, and see these actions creepe (prose, O, keepe it still; for it bad rather be

From the poore wretch, which though he play'd in Your sacrifice, then here remaine with me.

He would have done in verse, with any of those And so I spare it, come what can become

Wrung on the withers by lord Love's despight, Of me, I'le softly tread upon my tombe ;

Had he had the facultie to reade, and write! Or like a ghost walke silent amongst men,

Such songsters there are store of; witnesse he Till I may see both it and you agen.,

That chanc'd the lace laid on a smock to see,
And straight-way spent a sonnet; with that other
That (in pure madrigall) unto his mother

Commended the French hood and scarlet gowne

The lady mayresse pass'd in through the towne, Let me be what I am, as Virgil cold,

Unto the Spittle sermon. O, what strange As Horace fat, or as Anacreon old;

Varietie of silkes were on th’ Exchange! No poet's verses yet did ever move,

Or in Moore-fields! this other night, sings one; Whose readers did not thinke he was in love. Another answers, 'Lasse those silkes are none,

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In smiling L'envoye, as he would deride

Thou mightst have had me perish piece by piece, Any comparison had with his Cheap-side.

To light tobacco, or save roasted geese, And vouches both the pageant, and the day, Sindge capons, or poore pigges, dropping their eyes ; When not the shops, but windowes doe display Condemn'd me to the ovens with the pies; The stuffes, the velvets, plushes, fringes, lace, And so, have kept me dying a whole age, And all the originall riots of the place:

Not ravish'd all hence in a minute's rage. Let the poore fooles enjoy their follies, love But that 's a marke, whereof thy rites doe boast, A goat in velvet; or some block could more To make consumption, ever where thou go'st; Under that cover; an old mid-wive's hat!

Had I fore-knowne of this thy least desire Or a close-stvole so cas'd; or any fat

T' have held a triumph, or a feast of fire, Bowd in a velvet scabberd ! I envy

Especially in paper; that that steame
None of their pleasures! nor will ask thee, why Had tickled your large nosthrill: many a reame
Thou 'rt jealous of thy wife's, or daughter's case : To redeeme mine, I had sent in enough, (stuffe.
More then of either's inanners, wit, or face! Thou should'st have cry'd, and all beene proper

The Talmud, and the Alcoran had come,
With pieces of the legend; the whole summe

Oferrapt knight-hood, with the dames, and dwarfes; AN EXECRATION UPON VULCAN. The charmed boates, and the enchanted wharfes,

The Tristrams, Lanc'lots, Turpins, and the Peers, And why to me this, thou lame lord of fire, All the madde Rolands, and sweet Oliveers; What had I done that might call on thine ire? To Merlin's marvailes, and his Caball's losse, Or urge thy greedie same, thus to devoure

With the chimæra of the Rosie-crosse, So many my yeares-labours in an houre?

Their seales, their characters, hermetique rings, I ne're attempted, Vulcan, 'gainst thy life; Their jemme of riches, and bright stone, that brings Nor made least line of love to thy loose wife ; Invisibilitie, and strength, and tongues ; Or in remembrance of thy afront, and scorne, The art of kindling the true coale by luugs; With clownes, and tradesmen, kept thee, clos’d in With Nicholas Pasquill's Meddle with your match, horne.

And the strong lines, that so the time doe catch, 'Twas Jupiter that hurl'd thee headlong downe, Or captaine Pamplet's horse and foot, that sallie And Mars that gave thee a lanthorne for a crowne: Upon th’ Exchange, still out of Pope's-head-alley. Was it because thou wert of old denied

The weekly Corrants, with Paul's Seale; and all By Jove to have Minerva for thy bride,

Th’admir'd discourses of the prophet Ball: That since thou tak'st all envious care and paine, These, had'st thou pleas'd either to dine or sup, To ruine any issue of the braine?

Had made a meale for Vulcan to lick up.
Had I wrote treason there, or heresie,

But in my deske, what was there to accite
Imposture, witchcraft, charmes, or blasphemie, So ravenous, and vast an appetite?
I had deserv’d then thy consuming lookes, I dare not say a body, but some parts
Perhaps, to have beene burned with my bookes. There were of search, and mastry in the arts.
But, on thy malice, tell me, didst thou spie All the old Venusine, in poëtrie,
Any, least loose, or scurrile paper lie

And lighted by the Stagerite, could spie, Conceal’d, or kept there, that was fit to be, Was there mad English: with the grammar too, By thy owne vote, a sacrifice to thee?

To teach some that, their nurses could not doe, Did I there wound the honours of the crowne ? The puritie of language; and among Or taxe the glories of the church, and gowne? The rest, my journey into Scotland song, Itch to defame the state or brand the times? With all th' adventures; three bookes not afraid And my selfe most, in some selfe-boasting rimes? To speake the fate of the Sicilian maid If none of these, then why this fire? or find To our owne ladyes; and in storie there A cause before; or leave me one behind.

Of our fift Henry, eight of his nine yeare; Had I compil'd from Amadis de Gaule,

Wherein was oyle, beside the succour spent, Th’Esplandians, Arthurs, Palmerins, and all Which noble Carew, Cotton, Selden lent: The learned librarie of Don Quixote;

And twice-twelve years stor'd up humanitie,
And so some goodlier monster had begot,

With humble gleanings in divinitie,
Or spun out riddles, and weav'd fiftie tomes After the fathers, and those wiser guides
Of logogriphes, and curious palindromes,

Whom faction had not drawne to studie sides. Or pump'd for those hard trifles anagrams,

How in these ruines Vulcan, thou dost lurke, Or etcostichs, or those finer flammes

All soote, and embers! odious, as thy worke! Of egges, and halberds, cradles, and a herse, I now begin to doubt, if ever grace, A paire of scisars, and a combe in verse;

Or goddesse, could be patient of thy face. Acrostichs, and telestichs, on jumpe names, Thou woo Minerva ! or to wit aspire ! Tbou then hadst had some colour for thy flames, 'Cause thou canst halt with us in arts, and fire! On such my serious follies : but, thou ’lt say,

Sonne of the wind! for so thy mother, gone There were soine pieces of as base allay,

With lust, conceiv'd thee; father thou hadst none. And as false stampe there ; parcels of a play, When thou wert born, and that thou look'st at best, Fitter to see the fire-light, then the day;

She durst not kisse, but flung thee from her brest. Adulterate moneys, such as might not goe:

And so did Jove, who pe're meant thee his cup : Thou should’st have stay'd, till publike fame said so. No mar'le the clownes of Lemnos tooke thee up; She is the judge, thou executioner;

For none but smiths would have made thee a god. Or if thou needs would'st trench upon her power, Some alchimist there may be yet, or odde Thou mightst bave yet enjoy'd thy crueltie Squire of the squibs, against the pageant day, With some more thrift, and more varietie : May to thy name a Vulcanale say;

your fill.


And for it lose his eyes with gun-powder,

Pox on your flameship, Vulcan; if it be
As th' other may his braines with quicksilver. To all as fatall as 't hath beene to me,
Well-fare the wise-men yet, on the Banckside, And to Paul's stceple; which was upto us
My friends, the watermen! they could provide 'Bove all your fire-workes had at Ephesus,
Against thy furie, when, to serve their needs, Or Alexandria; and though a divine
They made a Vulcan of a sheafe of reedes,

Losse, remaines yet, as unrepair'd as mine.
Whom they durst handle in their holy-day coates, Would you had kept your forge at Ætna still,
And safely trust to dresse, not burne their boates. And there made swords, bills, glaves, and armes
But, O those reeds! thy meere disdaine of them,
Made thee beget that cruell stratagem, (pranck) Maintain'd the trade at Bilbo; or else-where;
(Which, some are pleas’d to stile but thy madde Strooke in at Millan with the cutlers there;
Against the Globe, the glory of the Banke: Or stay'd but where the fryar and you first met,
Which, though it were the fort of the whole parish, Who from the Devil's arse did guns beget,
Planck'd with a ditch, and forc'd out of a marish, Or fixt in the Low-Countreys, where you might
I saw with two poore chambers taken in [beene! On both sides doe your mischiefes with delight;
And raz'd; e're thought could urge, this might have Blow up, and ruine, myne, and countermyne,
See the world's ruines! nothing but the piles Make your petards, and granats, all your fine
Left! and wit since to cover it with tiles.

Engines of murder, and receive the praise The brethren, they streight nois'd it out for newes, of massacring man-kind so many wayes. 'Twas verily some relique of the stewes;.

We aske your absence here, we all love peace, And this a sparkle of that fire let loose

And pray the fruites thereof, and the increase; That was lock'd up in the Winchestrian goose, So doth the king, and most of the king's men Bred on the Banck in time of poperie,

That have good places: therefore once agen, When Venus there maintain'd her misterie.

Pox on thee Vulcan, thy Pandora's pox, But others fell, with that conceipt, by the eares,

And all the evils that flew out her box And cry'd, it was a threatning to the beares; Light on thee: or if those plagues will not doo, And that accursed ground, the Paris-Garden: Thy wive's pox on thee, and B. B-'s too. Nay, sigh'd a sister, 't was the nun, Kate Arden Kindled the fire: but, then did one returne, No foole would his owne harvest spoile, or burne! If that were so, thou rather would’st advance The place, that was thy wive's inheritance.

SPEACH ACCORDING TO HORACE. O no, cry'd all. Fortune, for being a whore, Scap'd not his justice any jot the more:

Why yet, my noble hearts, they cannot say, He burnt that idoll of the revels too:

But we have powder still for the king's day, Nay, let White-Hall with revels have to doe, And ord'nance too : so much as from the tower Though but in daunces, it shall know his power; T' have wak'd, if sleeping, Spaine's ambassadour, There was a judgement showa too in an houre. Old Æsope Gundomar: the French can tell, He is true Vulcan still! he did not spare

For they did see it the last tilting well, Troy, though it were so much his Venus' care. That we have trumpets, armour, and great horse, Foole, wilt thou let that in example come? Lances, and men, and some a breaking force. Did not she save from thence, to build a Rome? They saw too store of feathers, and more may, And what hast thou done in these pettie spights, If they stay here but till Saint George's day. More then advanc'd the houses, and their rites? All ensignes of a warre, are not yet dead, I will not argue thee, from those of guilt,

Nor markes of wealth so from our nation Aled, For they were burnt, but to be better built. But they may see gold-chaines, and pearle worne "T is true, that in thy wish they were destroy'd,

then, Which thou hast only vented, not enjoy'd.

Lent by the London dames, to the lords men; So would'st th' have run upon the Rolls by stealth, Withall, the dirtie paines those citizens take And didst invade part of the common-wealth, To see the pride at court, their wives doe make: In those records, which, were all chronicles gone, And the returne those thankfull courtiers yeeld Will be remembred by six clerkes, to one.

To have their husbands drawne forth to the field, But say all six, good men, what answer yee? And comming home, to tell what acts were done Lyes there no writ, out of the Chancerie

Under the auspice of young Swynnerton, Against this Vulcan? no injunction?

What a strong fort old Pimblicoe had beene! No order? no decree? though we be gone

How it held out! how (last) 't was taken in! At common-law, me thinkes in his despight Well, I say thrive, thrive brave artillerie yard, A court of equitie should doe us right.

Thou seed-plot of the warre, that hast not spar'd But to confine him to the brew-houses,

Powder, or paper, to bring up the youth The glasse-house, dye-fats, and their fornaces; Of London, in the militarie truth, To live in sea-coale, and goe forth in smoake; These ten yeares day; as all may sweare that looke Or lest that vapour might the citie choake, But on thy practise, and the posture booke: Condemne him to the brick-kills, or some hill- He that but saw thy curious captaines drill, Foot (out in Sussex) to an iron mill;

Would thinke no more of Vlushing, or the Brill: Or in small fagots have him blaze about

But give them over to the common eare, Vile tavernes, and the drunkards pisse him out; For that unnecessarie charge they were. Or in the bell-man's lapthorne, like a spie,

Well did thy craftie clerke, and knight, sir Hugh, Burne to a snuffe, and then stinke out, and die: Supplant bold Panton and brought there to view I could invent a sentence, yet were worse;

Translated Ælian's tactickes to be read, But I'le conclude all in a civill curse.

And the Greeke discipline (with the moderne) shed

So, in that ground, as soone it grew to be

The cittie-question, whether Tilly, or he,

Were now the greater captaine? for they saw
The Berghen siege, and taking in Breda,

What I am not, and what I faine would be,
So acted to the life, as Maurice might,

Whilst I informe my selfe, I would teach thee, And Spinola have blushed at the sight.

My gentle Arthur; that it might be said O happie art! and wise epitome

One lesson we have both learn'd, and well read; Of bearing armes ! most civill soldierie !

I neither am, nor art thou one of those Thou canst draw forth thy forces, and fight drie That hearkens to a jack's pulse, when it goes. The battells of thy aldermanitie;

Nor ever trusted to that friendship yet Without the hazard of a drop of blood:

Was issue of the taverne, or the spit : More then the surfets in thee that day stood. Much lesse a name would we bring up, or nurse, Goe on, increast in vertue and in fame,

That could but claime a kindred from the purse. And keepe the glorie of the English name

Those are poore ties depend on those false ends, Up among nations. In the stead of bold

"T is vertue alone, or nothing, that knits friends : Beauchamps, and Nevills, Cliffords, Audleys old;

And as within your office, you doe take Insert thy Hodges, and those newer men,

No piece of money, but you know, or make As Stiles, Dike, Ditchfield, Millar, Crips, and Fen:

Inquirie of the worth : so must we doe, That keepe the warre, though now 't be growne

First weigh a friend, then touch, and trie him too: more tame,

For there are many slips, and counterfeits. Alive yet, in the noise, and still the same,

Deceit is fruitfull. Men have masques and nets, And could (if our great men would let their sonnes But these with wearing will themselves unfold: Come to their schooles) show 'hem the use of guns; They cannot last. No lie grew ever old. And there instruct the noble English heires

Turne him, and see his threds: looke, if he be Io politique, and militar affaires;

Friend to himselfe, that would be friend to thee. But he that sbould perswade, to have this done

For that is first requir'd, a man be his owne: For education of our lordings, soone

But he that 's too much that, is friend of none. Should he heare of billow, wind, and storme,

Then rest, and a friend's value understand
From the tempestuous grandlings, who 'll informe

It is a richer purchase then of land.
Us, in our bearing, that are thus, and thus,
Borne, bred, allied ? what 's he dare tutor us?
Are we by booke-wormes to be awde? must we

Live by their scale, that dare doe nothing free ?
Why are we rich, or great, except to show

All licence in our lives? what need we know?

WHEN HE WAS LORD CHIEFE IUSTICE OF ENGLAND. More then to praise a dog? or horse? or speakc

He that should search all glories of the gowne, The hawking language? or our day to breake With citizens ? let clownes and tradesmen breed

And steps of all rais'd servants of the crowne, Their sonnes to studie arts, the lawes, the creed:

He could not find then thee, of all that store, We will beleeve like men of our owne ranke,

Whom fortune aided lesse, or vertue more, In so much land a yeare, or such a banke,

Such, Coke, were thy beginnings, when thy good That turnes us so much moneys, at which rate

In others' evill best was understood: [aide, Our ancestors impos'd on prince and state.

When, being the stranger's helpe, the poore man's Let poore nobilitie be vertuous: we,

Thy just defences made th’ oppressor afraid. Descended in a rope of titles, be

Such was thy processe, when integritie, From Guy, or Bevis, Arthur, or from whom

And skill in thee, now grew authoritie; The heraid will. Our blood is now become

That clients strove, in question of the lawes, Past any need of vertue. Let them care,

More for thy patronage, then for their cause, That in the cradle of their gentrie are,

And that thy strong and manly eloquence : To serve the state by councels, and by armes :

Stood up thy nation's fame, her crowne's defence; We neither love the troubles, nor the harmes.

And now such is thy stand, while thou dost deale What love you then? your wbore? what study?

Desired justice to the publique weale Carriage, and dressing. There is up of late (gaite, Like Solon's selfe; explat'st the knottie lawes The academie, where the gallants meet

With endlesse labours, whilst thy learning drawes' What, to make legs? yes, and to smell most sweet, No lesse of praise, then readers in all kinds All that they doe at playes. O, but first here

Of worthiest knowledge, that can take men's minds. They learne and studie; and then practise there.

Such is thy all; that (as I súng before) But why are all these irons i'the fire

None fortune aided lesse, or vertue more. Of severall makings? helps, helps, t'attire

Or if chance must to each man that doth rise His lordship. That is for his band, his haire

Needs lend an aide, to thine she had her eyes. This, and that box his beautie to repaire; This other for his eye-browes: hence, away, I may no longer on these pictures stay,

AN EPISTLE These carkasses of honour: taylors' blocks,

Cover'd with tissue, whose prosperitie mocks
The fate of things: whilst totterd vertue holds
Her broken armes up, to their emptie moulds.

Men that are safe, and sure, in all they doc,
Care not what trials they are put unto;

They meet the fire, the test, as martyrs would ; 1 Waller.

And though opinion stampe them dot, are gold.


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