The nipping and snipping of abuses: or The woolgathering of vvitte With the Muses Taylor, brought from Parnassus by land, with a paire of oares wherein are aboue a hundred seuerall garments of diuers fashions, made by nature, without the helpe of art, and a proclamation from hell in the Deuils name, concerning the propogation, and excessiue vse of tobacco. By Iohn Taylor.

The nipping and snipping of abuses: or The woolgathering of vvitte With the Muses Taylor, brought from Parnassus by land, with a paire of oares wherein are aboue a hundred seuerall garments of diuers fashions, made by nature, without the helpe of art, and a proclamation from hell in the Deuils name, concerning the propogation, and excessiue vse of tobacco. By Iohn Taylor.

Table of contents

Title page

To the Sacred Maiesty of King IAMES.

A Skeltonicall salutation to those that know how to read, and not marre the sense with hacking or mis-construction.

To the Author and his booke.

To the superlatiue Water-Poet Iohn Taylor.

To the Castalian Water-writer, Splende & dignoscar.

Praecomium Iohannis Taylor.

To his honest friend Iohn Taylor, Poeta Nascitur.

To my friend by land and by water Iohn Taylor.

To the Muses Taylor, or the Pegafian Sculler.

To his friend Iohn Taylor.

To my good friend and fellow, Iohn Taylor.

To the Pegasian Taylor.

To the humidious Poet, and my very friend Iohn Taylor.

In Laudem Authoris.

To his friend Iohn Taylor.

To his deere friend Master Iohn Taylor.

To the Water-Poet, Iohn Taylor.

To honest Iack Taylor.

To his louing friend Iohn Taylor.

To my friend Iohn Taylor.

Tho: Bretnor in commendation of the Author.

To my honest friend Iohn Taylor.

To him I loue, yet neuer knew.

In Landem Authoris.

To my friend Iohn Taylor.

To my kind friend IOHN TAILOR.

Againe,

To my true friend Iohn Tailor

The Authors thanks to all those that haue written in his Commendations.

To all in generall on whose names I haue Anagrammatized.

The Authors description of a Poet and Poesie, with an Apollogie in defence of Naturall English Poetrie.

To the Kings most excellent Maiestie. Anagramma. Iames Stuart MUSES TARY AY.

To the high and mighty Prince, Charles Stuart. Anagramma Cals true hearts.

To Anna Queene of Great Britaine.

These lines are to be read, the same backeward as they are forward.

Loues laborinth, with the description of the seuen Plannets.

Sonnet.

Plutoes Proclamation concerning his Infernall pleasure for the Propagation of Tobacco

Certaine verses written in the Barbarian tongue, dropt out of a Negroes pocket, which I thought good to insert, because they tend to the honour of Tobaco.

To the Right Hon: Lord. WILLIAM Earle of Pembrooke. WILLIAM HERBET Annagrama. my Heart will beare.

Satyre.

To the Right honourable Iohn, Lord Viscount Haddington, Iohn Ramsey Anagramma I AYM HONERS.

To the Honourable Kinght, Sir Dauid Moraye. Anagramma You are admir'd.

To King IAMES. Anagramma Iames Stuart Arm att Iesus. Vpon the Powder Treason the fifth of Nouember.

To the Noble Gentleman Mr. Iohn Moraye Gentleman of his Maiesties Honourable Bedchamber. Anagramma I ayme Honour.

Twelue Sonnets vpon the Sunnes entring into the 12. Celestiall Signes.

The 10. of March, the Sunne enters into Aries, or the signe of the Ram March 10. Aries.

To the Noble Gentleman and my approued good friend Sr. Iames Moray Knight. Iames Muraye Anagramma I am Aye Sure.

The 11. of Aprill he comes into Taurus, or the Signe of the Bull. Taurus.

To the Right worshipfull the Recorder of London, and Serieant to the Kings Majesties: Sir HENRY MONTAGVE Anagramma Gouerneth Many.

The 12. of May the Sunne enters into Gemini, or the Twinnes. Gemini, May.

To my approued good friend Mr. Robert Branthwayte. Anagramma. You Bere a heart true bent.

The 12. of Iune the Sunne enters into Cancer or the Crabbe. Cancer. Iune.

To my especiall friend Master SAMVELL CALVERTA. Anagramma. Vertue Calmes All.

The thirteenth of Iuly the sunne enters into Leo, or the Lion. Leo, Iuly.

To the Right worshipfull Sir Iohn Swinarton, late Lord Maior of London. IOHN SVVIN'ARTONE. Anagramma. Waites in honnour.

The foureteenth of August the sunne enters into Virgo. Or the Virgin. Virgo. August.

To the worthy Gentleman Master SAMVEL DANIEL. Anagramma. Iesu Amend all.

The thirteenth of September the sunne enters into Libra, Or the Ballance. Libra. September.

To the diuine Poet and my worthy friend Mr. IOSHVAH SYLLVESTER. Anagramma. Thuss he serus loyaly.

The foureteenth of October the sunne enters into Scorpio. Scorpio. October.

To the Noble Gentleman, and my much honoured friend, Robert Caluert Esquire, of Mount Caluert in Ireland.

The eleuenth of Nouember, the sunne enters into Sagittarius, Or the Archer. Sagittarius; Nouember.

To the honourable Gentleman Master William Ramsaye, one his of Maiesties Bed-chamber. WILLIAM RAMSAYE. Anagramma. I am allwayes mery.

The eleuenth of December, the sunne enters into Capricorne, Or the Goate. Capricornus. December.

To the Noble Gentleman my especiall good friends Sir William Moray, Lord of Aberca•ny. WILLIAM MORAY. Anagramma. I Amm Royal Wil.

The tenth of Ianuary the sunne enters into Aquarius, Or the signe of the Waterbearer. Aquarius. Ianuary.

To the Noble Gentleman Master Robert Haye, one of the Gentlemen of his Maiesties honourable bed-chamber.

The ninth of February, the sunne enters into Pisces, Or the signe of the two fishes. Pisces. February.

To the Honourable Sir Thomas Ridgewaye Knight Barronet, Treasurer at Warres in Ireland, &c. Thomas Ridgewaye. Anagramma. God Arms thy waie. Againe, Age is made worthy.

Certaine Sonnets made in the forme of AEquiuoques: on the destruction of Troy.

§

To the noble Gentleman Sir Oliuer Saint-Iohn. Anagramma Harts Ioyn in loue.

§

To the noble Gentleman, Sir EDVVARD BLAINEYE Knight, Gouernor of Monnaahan in the North of Ireland. EDVVARD BLAYNEY Anagramma Liue and Abide euer.

§

To the worthy Gentleman, Sir HENRY FOLIOT Gouernour of Balishannon in the North of Ireland. HENRYE FOLIOTT. Anagramma. Honor Fitt lie.

§

To the Right worshipfull and worthy Gentleman, Sir Simon Weaston of Litchfield in the County of Stafford Knight. SIMON WESTON. Anagramma Mowntes Sion.

§

To the truely vertuous Ladie, MARIE WESTON wife to Sir Simon Weston Knight. MARIE WESTON. Anagramma. I Won Me a Rest.

Certaine Sonnets: variously composed vpon diuers subiects.

Sonnet. 1. True Nobilitie.

To the Noble Gentleman, Sir ROBERT RIDGEVVAY Knight, son and Heire to Sir Thomas Ridgeway Knight Barronet. ROBERT RIDGEVVAYE. Anagramma. I Regard, obey vertu.

§

To the worthy and vertuous Ladie, the Lady Elizabeth Ridgeway, wife to Sir Rob. Ridgewaye. ELIZABETH RIDGEVVAYE. Anagramma. I byde, Agree with Zeal.

Sonnet. 2. Enuy and Honour.

To the noble Knight, Sir Francis Willoughby, sonne and heire to Sir Perciuall Willoughby, Knight of Wollerton in the County of Nottinghame. FRANCIS WILLOVGHBYE. Anagramma. Lou Wil Banishe Greif.

Sonnet. 3. Beauties luster.

To the Vertuous Lady, and wife to Sir Francis Willoughby Knight. CASSANDRAE WILLOVGHBYE. Anagramma. Wish Grace Aboue All ends.

Sonnet. 4. Hope and Despaire.

To the Right worshipfull Master George Caluert Esquire, one of the Clarkes of his Maiesties priuy Connsell. GEORG CALVERT. Anagramma. Grace got rule.

Sonnet. 5. Three blinde Commanders.

To the worthy Gentleman Captaine Arthur Basset in Ireland. ARTHVR BASSET. Anagramma. Be as tru harts.

Sonnet. 6. Another of the praise of musicke.

To the worshipfull Master Francis Ansleye of Dublinne in Ireland Esquire. FRANCIS ANSLEYE. Anagramma. Lifes Cares Vaynn.

Sonnet. 7. The Map of Misery.

To the Right worshipfull and worthy Gentleman Master Henry Cooley of Carbye in the County of Kiluare, in Ireland.

To the Noble and vertuous Lady, the Lady Cecillia Ridgeway, wife to the honourable Knight Sir Thomas Ridgeway Knight Barronet.

Sonnet. 8. In praise of musicke.

To the worthy Gentleman, and my very good friend, Master Iohn Blencowe, of Greies Inne. Anagramma. Noble in ech wo.

A Cataplasmicall Satyre, composed and compacted of sundry simples, as salt, vinegar, wormewood, and a little gall, very profitable to cure the imposlumes of vice.

To the right Worshipfull and my euer good friend, Sr. ROVVLAND COSTON Knight.

To my very good Friends Master Alexander Glouer, Mr. Iohn Rowdon, and Mr. Iohn Burges.

To Mistresse Rose. Anagramma SORE.

To my approued good friend Mr. ROBARTE CVDDNER. Anagramma: Record and be tru.

A nest of Epigrams.

Fortune. 1.

Epigram 2. Loue.

Epigram 3. Death.

Epigram 4. Fame.

Epigram 5. Time.

Epigram. 6. Kame, kathee.

Epigram 7. Solus.

Epigram 8. Selfe conceit.

Epigram 9. A couple.

Epigram 10. Bacchus and Apollo.

Epigram 11. Of translation.

Epigram 12. Natures counterfeite.

Epigram 13. The deuill take bribery.

Epigram 14. The deuill is a knaue.

Epigram 15. Kissing goes by fauour.

Epigram 16. Deere, no Venison.

Epigram 17. Euerything is pretty when it is little.

Epigram 18. •••e•ne somewhat.

Epigram 19. Faith without workes.

Epigram 20. Partiallity.

Epigram 21. A keeper of honesty.

Epigram 22. All's one, but on's not all.

Epigram 23. Mistresse fine bones.

Epigram 24. A supposed Construction.

Epigram 25. Death is a Iuggler.

Epigram 26. Mistresse Grace onely by name.

Epigram 27. Prudence.

Epigram 28. Mercy.

Epigram 29. Faith.

Epigram 30. Vpon my selfe.

Epigram 31. A Rope for Parrat.

Epigram 32 Constants.

Epigram 33 Vpon the burning of the Globe.

Epigram 34. Late Repentance.

Epigram 35. Not so strange as true.

Epigram 36. A Wordmonger.

Epigram 37. Plaine dunstable.

Epigram 38. Reason.

Epigram 39. Out of the pan into the fire.

Epigram 40. A Poets similitude.

Epigram 41. Macanas Epitaph.

§

An Apologie for Watermen. Dedicated to Master Richard WARNER the Master of his Maiesties Barge, and to the rest of the Masters and Assistants of the Companie.

My unwilling farewell to POETRIE.

Epilogue to those that knowes what they haue read, and how to censure.

§

§

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THE NIPPING OR SNIPPING OF ABVSES:

OR The woolgathering of Witte.

With The Muses Taylor, brought from Parnassus by land, with a paire of Oares

Wherein Are aboue a hundred seuerall Garments of diuers fashions, made by Nature, without the helpe of Art, and A Proclamation from Hell in the Deuils name, concerning the propogation, and excessiue vse of Tobacco.

By IOHN TAYLOR.

Iudge not, befere thou all doest ouer-looke, And then if Nothing please thee, burne the Booke.

LONDON. Printed by Ed: Griffin for Nathaniel Butter, and are to be sold at the signe of the Pide-Bull neere Saint Austens-gate. 1614.

To the Sacred Maiesty of King IAMES.

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To thee I dare not Dedicate my booke,

Yet humbly, high my low inuention Ames,

That with thy Gracious view (dread royal IAMES)

Thou wilt bee pleas'd my lines to ouer-looke.

A candle lights, when Phoebus hath forsooke

To guilde the day with vniuersall flames:

And glim'ring glances of the humed Thames

Aspects, and obiects to the sight haue strooke.

So mighty Soueraigne, and most Learned King,

When sweete Arions Harpe, Amphions Lute,

Are silent sleeping in their Cases mute:

Vouchsafe to heare thy Scullers Muse to singe;

And let Pans Pipe, obtaine a little grace,

When Great Appolloes Harpe is out of place.

Your Maiesties Humble Seruant, and onely water Poet.

IOHN TAYLOR.

A Skeltonicall salutation to those that know how to read, and not marre the sense with hacking or mis-construction.

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THou true vnderstander, my inuention doth wander with the quill of a Gander, to shield me from slander, to thy good protection, I yeeld in subiection, my poore imperfection, with friendly correction, and as thou dost like me, or stroake me or strike me, Reproue me or proue mee, or mooue me, or loue me, or quite me, or spight me, friend me, or mend mee, or else not offend me: If in ought that is written thy humors are bitten, seem not to espy it, and none will descry it. But if thou dost kick, the spurre sure will prick, and if thou doe fling, the waspe then will sting. My verses are made, to ride euery Iade, but they are forbidden, of Iades to be ridden, they shall not be snaffeled, nor braued nor bafflled, weart thou George with thy Naggon, that fought'st with the dragon, or were you great Pōpey, my verse should be thumpe ye, if you like a Iauel against me dare cauill. I doe not entend, it as now to commend it, or yet to defend it. But to thee I doe send it, to like it, or mend it, and when thou hast end it, applaud it or rend it. My wits I could bristle, for a better Epistle, but yet at this time, this Skeltonicall Rime, I send to thy veiw, because it is new, So Reader adue.

I thine, if thou mine,

IOHN TAYLOR.

To the Author and his booke.

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To the superlatiue Water-Poet Iohn Taylor.

NO Water-man, or Sculler art thou none,

Nor need thou euer taste of Hellicon:

They all mistake thee Iacke, full well I know,

Thy Heau'n bred braine could neuer stoope so low:

For vnto mee, thou plainely doest appeare

The lofty Plannet of the watry Spheare:

So that Apollo he himselfe can tell,

Thy influence giues water to his well.

Thy true friend

Ia: Moraye.

To the Castalian Water-writer, Splende & dignoscar.

A Diall set vpon an eminent place,

If clouds doe interuall Appolloes face:

Is but a figur'd shape: whereby we knowe

No article of Time, which it doth owe:

Vnto our expectations, yet we see

The tractes by which Times should distinguish'd bee:

In paralelled punctual, ciphered lines,

Which by a shadow, when the faire sunne shines,

Explaines the houres: So if the Sonne of men

Thy Glorious Patron, deeme to blesse thy pen

With his faire light, Thy Muse so young so faire,

(So wel proportion'd in conceites so rare:

And Naturall straines, and stile, and eu'ry part,

That Nature therein doth exceed all Art,)

Will then as with Enthusiasme inspir'd

Print legends by the world to be admir'd.

Thine

Iames Ratray.

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Praecomium Iohannis Taylor.

WHat elementall sperms, begot a sparke

Of such conceited influence: bearing the marke

Of such digestion, in his well knit rimes,

As if that Maro rebaptized our times,

With well proportion'd iudgement? this thy note,

Distinction knowes not from a grauer cote.

Oh where are you, stil'd by the happie names

Of loues sole heires: sleepes your immortall flames,

In their originall dulnesse see a good?

Borne in the veine of farre inferiour blood.

Taylor, I haue tooke measure of thy paines,

Discharge my bill with loue, and there's my gaines.

Thine in the best of friendship.

Robert Anton.

To his honest friend Iohn Taylor, Poeta Nascitur.

I Oft (with other men) haue wondred why

Horace should write an Art of Poetry:

Since all men know, a Poets borne a Poet,

And no man's borne an Artist: all men know it:

And knowing this, I wonder who should scorne

A Poet without Art, that so was borne.

Who thinks thy name, or watry education,

Is to thy verses any derogation,

Is far deceiu'd in both, for all men kno,

Taylors are makers, Poets all are so.

Nor i'st thy education thee abuses.

T'as brought thee vp a Taylor for the Muses.

I could Apollogize, but thou hast don't

If Poets borne haue glory, thou hast won't:

[Page]Thou hast describ'd the seuerall signes of Heauen,

Wherein the sunnes whole Progresse is made euen.

Thy Epigrams; and Anagrams of late

Are Philomels sweet notes, let Parrats prate.

I dare compare thy Genius with some men

That vaunt in Tempe's well t' haue dipt their pen:

For (truly) they do falsly steale translations,

And speake in our tongue things of other Nations.

Thy Oares and Sculls hath far out row'd their fames

For thou hast row'd from Hellicon, to Thames.

Let them vpbraide thee with a Scullers name,

And with that title thinke t' obscure thy fame:

They cannot Iack for Marriners at seas

Take paines, whilst passengers do sit at ease.

Thy owne true labour tugs thy verse a shore,

Though fooles in each mans boate will haue an Oare.

Thine, whether thou wilt or no.

Sa: Iones.

To my friend by land and by water Iohn Taylor.

THese leaues kind Iohn are not to wrap vp drams,

That doe containe thy witty Epigrams,

Let worser Poems serue for such abuse,

Whilst thine shal be referude for better vse.

And let each Critick cauill what he can,

Tis rarely written of a Water-man.

Thy friend assured

Rob: Branthwaite.

To the Muses Taylor, or the Pegafian Sculler.

ONe Enuy saies th' art meerely naturall,

Another when it doth on fome Art fall:

[Page]In reading thee, beleeues it not thine owne,

Neither detracts thee, for the gift is knowne

Thats cald a Poets, to come with his birth,

But if this Enuy could make lesse thy worth,

The second ads to it, by confessing art

In that we know thine: Thus where euery part

Of Enuy is examind tis the end,

Of all that doe dispraise thee to commend.

Thy hearty friend.

Sa: Cal.

To his friend Iohn Taylor.

YOu that read Taylors verse, commend the same,

If you haue wit, or else subscribe your Name.

Thy friend

I. P. Musophily.

To my good friend and fellow, Iohn Taylor.

ON land, thy water workes, with more praise floates

Then Standgate castle, or Thames flaming boates:

More fitter for the presse (puld from thy oare)

Then many which may brag of learning store.

If Coriat, or his Crew thy worth doe blemmish

The care is taken all, Incumbe Remis.

Hold on thy way, though others first shall plie me,

Th'art my first man, though last I chance to spy thee.

Thy true friend

Cornwallis Blague.

To the Pegasian Taylor.

LOe heere the Tayler of Parnassus spring

Whose offall shreads, doe proue quaint well made verses,

Whose pen dismist; straite doth the bottles bring:

From Bacchus fuming pipes, to fill Tower Teirces.

Who Sculd the Muses brauely or'e the flood,

And since that time hath for a Poet stood.

Thine

Edmund Blague.

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To the humidious Poet, and my very friend Iohn Taylor.

THe Poets old, (with much head breaking paine)

Did learne of others to compose a verse,

But Iohn, thy studdy, neuer broke thy braine:

Yet canst in meeter many Acts rehearse.

And when thy hand doth tug the heauy oare,

Thou canst speake verses, neuer spoke before.

Nought comes amisse, for now thou tak'st delight

In bitter Satyres to explaine thy minde:

Then tragicke like, describst a bloody fight,

And straight all mery art to mirth inclinde:

Of all thou makst a harmony sometimes

To please the inclination of the times.

Then spight of each calumnions critticks coller,

No Sculler euer came so neere a scholler.

Thine as thou wouldest wish,

Samuel King.

In Laudem Authoris.

WEll mightst thou wonder Taylor that I praise

Thy home bred Muse, since in these crittick daies

It is a Maxim, that who er'e is knowne,

To giue to others worth, leaues himselfe none:

Did not I see how much adultrous art

Paints out the face of poesie for the mart:

Of outside stages; who can from's loose pen,

Shake inke at whores, and country gentlemen:

Can make a souldier vtter treason, curse,

And Ladies whine, speake as new come from nurse.

Who can with this, and an opinion'd fame,

A hungry pention purchase, weares the Name

Of Poet; when his idle pate hath nought

To speake his art, but that tis deerely bought.

[Page](And yet cheape too) should we but weigh the paine,

And selfe felt guilt, of his translating veine.

When I on both looke, by Apollo's fire

I laugh at him, and thee I doe admire.

Thou ow'st thine owne begettings, which by thee

Are made, not fashiond, such should Poets be.

Such were the antient Bards, and Druids songs

Who vsed their owne language, their owne tongues:

Where Nature, vnto me seemes Art to passe

As much as Diamonds doe a painted glasse:

For if who best translates a Poet were

We might haue more then one borne in a yeere.

And I haue liu'd an age, and nere saw two,

So much vnbought, vnborow'd, yet could show

As I haue read from thee, what wouldst thou more

Ther's many weares the Bayes, deserues thy oare.

Thy friend

Robert Daborne.

To his friend Iohn Taylor.

GOe friend, let loase thy lines, and measure out

The length and breadth of vice, it was a doubt:

Thou only wert for a mans Taylor sit,

When thou didst through thy measures, wast thy wit

On wit-lesse Coriat, but from henceforth

The Lawrell Synod shall allow thy worth:

With more addicions, for all may see

Thou likewise maist a womans Taylor bee.

Thou canst with Satyres their streight bodies wring,

And loose their skirts againe with sonnetting,

Goe on, and from me take a kinde, good speed,

With this prouiso vnto those shall read.

Let there no Botcher that yet wants his trade

Dive to finde fault with that a Taylor made.

Will: Rowley.

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To his deere friend Master Iohn Taylor.

ME thinkes I see the Sculler in his boate,

With goodly motion glide along faire Thames,

And with a charming and bewrehing noate,

So sweet delightfull tunes and ditties frames:

As greatest Lordings and the nicest Dames,

That with attentiue care, did heare thy layes

Of force should yeeld due merit to thy praise.

Worth to all Water-men, straine forth thy voice

To proue so pleasing in the worlds proud eye,

As eyes, and eares, and hearts may all reioyce:

To see, heare, muse, vpon the melodie.

In contemplation of thy harmony,

Let Thames faire banckes thy worth and praises ring

While I thy worth, and praise, beyond seasing

Tho. Gent.

To the Water-Poet, Iohn Taylor.

HOnest Iohn Taylor though I know't no grace,

To thee, or me, for writing in this place,

Yet know I that the multitudes of friends

Will thee protect, from vile malignant mindes:

The rather cause what euer thou hast showes

Is no one mans inuention but thine owne.

Malitious minded men will thee despraise;

Enuy debases all, her selfe to raise.

Then rest content, whilst to thy greater fame,

Both Art, and Nature shrine to raise thy name.

Thine euer as thou knowest

R: Cadner.

To honest Iack Taylor.

FRiend Taylor, thou hast here this glory won,

Tha'st made a coate Vrania may put on.

I doe applau'd thy quick ingenious spirit,

And may thy fortune counteruaile thy merit:

[Page]Which if it doe (thy worth I will not flatter,

Thou neuer more shalt toyle vpon the water.

Thine as the rest of thy friends

William Bubb.

To his louing friend Iohn Taylor.

BEloued friends; words mend not much the matter,

Nor morre the market of thy nat'rall wit:

They are but Pyes, and like to Pyes doe chatter

That fault thy acte, and so would bemish it.

For what is Arte but imitation

Ty'de vnto rules, as such and such haue taught?

And what those rules, but approbation

Of that which Nature first, in others wrought?

From Nature then it was they tooke their light,

The Proto-Poets all, and sung their Rhymes:

And why shall we deny our age like right

When Nature is the same with former Tynees?

No, no, but since she sendeth forth faire rayes

In thy borne-Muse, weare thou with all her Bayes.

Fr: Conniers.

To my friend Iohn Taylor.

IF Homers verse (in Greeke) did merrit praise,

If Naso in the Lattin won the Bayes,

If Maro mongst the Romanes did exell,

If Tasso in the Tuscan tongue wrote well,

Then Taylor I conclude that thou hast don

In English, what immortall Baies hath won.

Thy friend

Iohn Tap.

Tho: Bretnor in commendation of the Author.

THat none are Artists but Academiques,

Twere vaine to thinke and idle to maintaine:

Sith Nature's free and tide to no such trickes:

As fostred are among the learned traine:

[Page]The homely Pesant and the country Kerne

Haue often better wits then those that learne.

And for thy selfe there is no Poet writes

With words, or figures more adornd with Art.

Thy lines are stuffed with learned Epithites:

Such sweet conceits thy pleasing Muse doth dart,

That thou seemest wrapt into the highest ayres,

When thou but speakest of celestiall Spheares.

Then cease not Taylor, garments more to shape,

Of this proiection or diuiner matter,

Lets haue another suite of finest drape:

And bury not thy talent in the water.

That element's cold, but thou art all on fire:

Go on, go on, and we will still admire.

Thine

Tho: Bretnor.

To my honest friend Iohn Taylor.

THy Taylors sheares foule vices wings hath clipt,

The seames of impious dealings are vnript:

So Art-like thou these captoius times hast quipt,

As if in Hellicon thy pen were dipt,

All those who gainst thy worth are Enuious lipt,

Thy sharpe Satyrick Muse hath nipt and snipt:

And to conclude thy'nuention is not chipt,

Or stolne or borowd, begd, or basely gript.

Then Taylor thy conceits are truely sowde,

And Sculler (on my word) it was well rowde.

Thine to my best power

Enoch Lynde.

To him I loue, yet neuer knew.

TO praise thee without knowledge, were dispraise:

I know thy Wit: in that, thy selfe I raise.

[Page]Thy ful fetcht-strokes so wafts me o're the Strand,

Of deepe Conceit; as bids me vnderstands,

That neuer Taylor shapt (for such small price)

A Robe so couert, which uncouers Vice.

Thy true friend

Iohn Handson..

In Landem Authoris.

MOst commonly one Taylor will dispraise,

Anothers workmanship, enuying alwaies

At him thats better then himselfe reputed,

Though he himselfe be but a botcher bruted:

So might it well be said of me (my friend)

Should I not to thy worke some few lines lend,

Which to make probable this sentence tendeth,

Who not commends, he surely discommendeth:

In my illiterate censure these thy rimes,

Deserue applause euen in these worst of times:

When wit is onely worthy held in those,

On whom smooth flattery vaine praise bestowes.

But I not minding with thy worth to flatter,

Doe know thy wit to good too toyle by water.

Rob: Taylor.

To my friend Iohn Taylor.

THis worke of thine, thou hast compilde so well,

It merits better wits thy worth to tell.

Thine

Maximilian Waad.

To my kind friend IOHN TAILOR.

FYe Momus cryes, what franticke fit hath firde.

The Pelting Sculler thus to play the Poet,

As if he were with Homers spirit inspir'de.

Cease Critticke, cease, and I will let thee know it.

The honest Sculler seeking for a fare,

Did meete the Muses in an eu'ning late:

[Page]And finding them dispos'd to take the ayre;

Such sollace gaue them with his Rusticke prate,

As there in guerdon of his homebred sport,

It was decreed by all the Sisters nine

He should receive (since other meanes was short)

A brimfull bowle of Heliconian Wine.

Since when from him, such sweet conceits doth flow,

As merits all the praise thou canst bestow.

Againe,

IOhn Taylor heere I gladly would commend thee,

And wish my note exceeded Ela's straine,

Or that my Verse could equali Virgils vaine,

Which might from Momus carping brood defend thee.

Yet as I can I will this Reader tell,

I know no Sculler euer writ so well.

Thy friend,

Richard Leigh.

To my true friend Iohn Tailor

AMongst the best that Britaine now doth beare,

Grac'd by Apollo, and the Nimphs diuine,

Swolne with the Raptures of their great Ingine,

I thinke that fewe, or none, to thee comes neere.

They want the tru-true tutch stone of the eare,

Besides thy makings all are meerely thine,

Thou stealst no Chore, not Scene, nor page, nor line,

If they doe so, their workes can witnesse beare.

Then iustly Iacke, I doe thee most esteeme,

Nor art thou alwaies ignorant of Art,

For Nature, so in thee doth play her part,

As prodigall, not lib'rall shee doth seeme.

Whilest thou her Champion, to thy greater grace

Mak'st Art to Nature euen in Art giue place.

Thine as I liue,

Iohn Moraye.

[Page]

The Authors thanks to all those that haue written in his Commendations.

RIght worthy, and my welbeloued friends,

My loue and seruice shall be all your debters:

A Beggers thankes is all the best Amends,

And in that paiment you shall all be getters.

For words are cheape, and this my Booke affoords

Your owne, with double intrest words for words.

Yours,

I. T.

To all in generall on whose names I haue Anagrammatized.

MAiesticke Sol whose eye Eclipsing Raies,

Shine with admired splendor or'e this land:

And all you Mercuries, of Mars his band,

Whose words and swords your temples crownes with baies.

Your pardons grant me if I haue transgrest,

If you forgiue, Ile deale with all the rest.

Euer at Command in all humble seruice,

Iohn Tailor

The Authors description of a Poet and Poesie, with an Apollogie in defence of Naturall English Poetrie.

[Page]

SHall Beggers diue into the Acts of Kings?

Shall Nature speake of supernat'rall things,

Shall Egles flights atempted be by Gnatts?

Shall mighty Whales be portraied out by Sprate:

These things I know vnpossible to be,

And it is as vnpossible for me.

That am a begger in these Kingly acts,

Which from the Heau'ns true Poetry extracts.

A supernat'rall foole, by Nature I

That neuer knew this high borne mystery,

A worthlesse gnat, I know my selfe more weake,

Yet of the Princely Egle dare to speake:

A silly sprat the Ocean seekes to sound,

To seeke this Whale, though seeking he be drown'd:

Then to proceed: a Poets Art I know,

Is not compact of earthly things below:

Nor is of any base substantiall mettle,

That in the worlds rotundity doth settle:

But tis immortall, and it hath proceeding,

From whence diuinest soules haue all their breeding.

It is a blessing heau'n hath sent to men,

By men it is diuulged with their pen:

And by that propogation it is knowne,

And ouer all the world disperst and throwne:

[Page]In verball elocution so refinde,

That it to Vertue animates mans mindes

The blessed singer of blest Israel,

In this rare Art, he rarely did exell,

He sweetely Poetyz'd in Heau'nly verses,

Such lines which aye eternity rehearses:

What Reuerend rate, and glorious great esteeme,

Augustus Caesar did a Poet deeme:

Admired Virgils life doth plainely show

That all the world a Poets worth may know:

But leauing Israels King, and Romane Caesar,

Let's seeke in England, English Poets treasure,

Sir Phillip Sidney, his times Mars and Muse,

That word, and sword so worthily could vse,

That spight of death his Glory liu's, alwaies

For Conquests, and for Poesie crown'd with bayes:

What famous men liu's in this age of ours

As if the Sisters nine had left their bowres,

With more post hast then expeditious wings

They here haue found the Helliconian springs.

We of our mighty Monarch IAMES may boast,

Who in this heau'nly Art exceeds the most:

Where men may see the Muses wisdome well,

When such a Glorious house they chose to dwell:

The Preacher whose instructions doth afford

The soules deere food, the euerliuing word:

If Poets skill be banisht from his braine,

His preaching (sometimes) will be but too plaine:

Twixt Poetry and best Diuinity

There is such neere, and deere affinity.

As t'were propinquity of brothers blood,

That without tone, the other's not so good:

The man that takes in hand braue verse to write,

And in Diuinity hath no insight,

He may perhaps make smoothe, and Art-like Rimes,

To please the humors of these idle times:

[Page]But name of Poet he shal neuer merrit,

Thogh writing them he waste his very spirit:

They therefore much mistake that seeme to say,

How euery one that writes a paltry play:

A sottish Sonnet in the praise of loue,

A song or iegge, that fooles to laughter mooue,

In praise or dispraise, in defame or fame,

Deserues the honour of a Poets name:

I further say, and further will maintaine

That he that hath true Po'sie in his braine,

Will not profane so high and heau'nly skill,

To glory, or be prow'd of writing ill:

But if his Muse do stoope to such deiection,

Tis but to shew the world her sinnes infection:

A Poets ire sometimes may be inflam'd:

To make foule Vices brazen face asham'd.

And then his Epigrames and Satirs whip

Will make basegald vnruly Iades to skip:

In frost they say tis good, bad blood be nipt,

And I haue seene Abuses whipt and stript,

In such rare fashion, that the wincing age,

Hath kick'd and flung, with vncontrouled rage.

Oh worthy Withers I shall loue thee euer,

And often maist thou doe thy best indeuer,

That still thy workes and thee may liue togither

Contending with thy name, and neuer wither.

But further to proceed in my pretence

Of Natr'all English Poetries defence:

For Lawreat Sidney, and our gracious Iames,

Haue plunged bin in Arts admired streames:

And all the learned Poets of our daies,

Haue Arts great ayde to winne still liuing bayes.

All whom I do confesse such worthy men,

That I vnworthy am with inke and pen

To carie after them. But since my haps

Haue bin so happy as to get some scaps:

[Page]By Nature giu'n me from the Muses table,

Ile put them to the best vse I am able:

I haue read Tasso, Virgill, Homer, Ouid,

Iosephus, Plutark, whence I haue aproued,

And found such obseruations as are fit,

With plenitude to fraught a barren wit.

And let a man of any nation be,

These Authors reading, makes his iudgement see

Some rules that may his ignorance refine,

And such predominance it hath with mine.

No bladder blowne ambition puff's my Muse,

An English Poets writings to excuse:

Nor that I any rule of art condem,

Which is Dame Natures ornamentall Iem:

But these poore lines I wrote (my wits best pelfe)

Defending that which can defend it selfe.

Know then vnnat'ral English Mungril Monster,

Thy wandring iudgement doth too much misconster:

When thou affirm'st thy Natiue Contry-man,

To make true verse no art or knowledge can:

Cease, cease to do this glorious kingdome wrong,

To make her speech inferiour to each tongue:

Show not thy selfe more bruitish then a beast,

Base is that bird that files her homeborne neast:

In what strange tongue did Virgils Muse commerce?

What language wast that Ouid wrote his verse?

Thou sayst t'was Latin, why I say so too,

In no tongue else they any thing could doo:

They Nat'rally did learne it from their mother,

And must speake Lattin, that could speake no other:

The Grecian blinded Bard did much compile,

And neuer vsde no foreigne far-fetcht stile:

But as he was a Greeke, his verse was Greeke,

In other tongues (alas) he was to seeke,

Du Bartas heauenly all admired Muse,

No vnknowne Language euer vs'de to vse:

[Page]But as he was a Frenchman, so his lines

In natitue French with fame most glorious shines.

And in the English tongue tis fitly stated,

By siluer-tongued Siluester translated.

So well, so wisely, and so rarely done,

That he by it immortall fame hath wonne.

Then as Great Maro, and renowned Naso,

Braue Homer, Petrarke, sweete Italian Tasso:

And numbers more, past numbring to be numberd,

Whose rare inuentions neuer were incumberd,

With our outlandish chip chop gibrish gabling,

To fill mens eares with vnacquainted babling:

Why may not then an Englishman. I pray,

In his owne language write as erst did they,

Yet must we suit our phrases to their shapes,

And in their imitations be their Apes.

Whilst Muses haunt the fruitfull forked hill,

The world shall reuerence their vnmatched skill.

And for inuention, fiction, method, measure,

From them must Poets seeke to seeke that treasure.

But yet I thinke a man may vse that tongue

His Country vses, and doe them no wrong.

Then I whose Artlesse studies are but weake,

Who neuer could, nor will but English speake,

Do heere maintaine, if words be rightly plac'd,

A Poets skill, with no tongue more is grac'd.

It runnes so smooth, so sweetly it doth flow,

From it such heauenly harmony doth grow,

That it the vnderstanders senses moues

With admiration, to expresse their loues.

No Musicke vnder heauen is more diuine,

Then is a well-writte, and a well-read line.

But when a witlesse selfe conceited Rooke,

A good inuention dares to ouerlooke:

How pitteous then mans best of wit is martyr'd,

In barbrous manner totter'd torne and quarter'd.

[Page]So mingle mangled, and so hack't and hewd,

So seuraily be scuruide and bemewde.

Then this detracting dutty dunghill drudge,

Although he vnderstand not, yet will iudge.

Thus famous Poesie must abide the doome

Of euery muddy minded raskall Groome.

Thus rarest Artists are continuall stung

By euery prating, stinking lumpe of dung.

For what cause then should I so much repine,

When best of writers that ere wrote a line

Are subiect to the censure of the worst,

Who will their follies vent, or else they burst.

I haue at idle times some Pamphlets writ,

(The fruitlesse issue of a nat'rall witte)

And cause I am no Scholler, some enuy me,

With foule and false calumnious words belie me:

With brazen fronts, and flinty hard beleefe

Affirming or suspecting me a theefe:

And that my sterrile Muse so drie is milch'd,

That what I write, is borrow'd, beg'd, or filch,d.

Because my name is Tailor, they suppose

My best inuentions all from stealing growes:

As though there were no difference to be made

Betwixt the name of Tailor, and the Trade.

Of all strange weapons, I haue least of skill

To mannage or to wield a Tailors bill.

I cannot Item it for silke and facing,

For cutting, edging, stiffning, and for lacing:

For bumbast, stitching, binding, and for buckram,

For cotton, baies, for canuas and for lockram.

All these I know, but know not how to vse them,

Let trading Taylors therefore still abuse them.

My skil's as good to write, to sweat, or row,

As any Tailors is to steale or sowe.

In ende, my pulsiue braine no Art affoords,

To mint, or stampe, or forge new coined words.

[Page]But all my tongue can speake, or pen can write

Was spoke and writ before I could endite.

Yet let me be of my best hopes bereft,

If what I euer writ I got by thest:

Or by base symony, or bribes, or guifts

Or begd, or borrowd it by sharking shifts.

I know I neuer any thing haue done,

But what may from a weake inuention runne.

Giue me the man whose wit will vndertake

A substance of a shadow for to make:

Of nothing something, (with Arts great aide)

With Nature onely all his Muse arraide.

That solid matter from his braine can squees,

Whilst some Iame Artists wits are drawne to'th leeze.

By teaching Parrots prate and prattle can,

And taught an Ape will imitate a man:

And Banks his horse shew'd tricks, taught with much labor

So did the hare that plaid vpon the tabor.

Shall man, I pray, so witlesse be besotted?

Shall men (like beasts) no wisdome be allotted,

(Without great studie) with instinct of Nature,

Why then were man the worst and basest creature?

But men are made the other creatures Kings,

Because superiour wisdome from them springs.

And therefore Momus vnto thee againe

That dost suspect the issue of my braine

Are but my bastards, now my Muse doth flie,

And in thy throat giues thy suspect the lie.

And to the triall dares thee when thou dar'st

Accounting thee a coward if thou spar'st.

I haue a little wit, and braine, and spleane,

And gall, and memory, and mirth and teene,

And passions, and affections of the minde,

As other Mortals vse to be enclinde.

And hauing all this, wherefore should men doubt

My wit should be so Cripled with the Gout,

[Page]That it must haue assistance to compile,

Like a lame dogge, that's limping ore a stile.

No, no, thou Zoylus, thou detracting else,

Though thou art insufficient in thy selfe:

And hast thy wit and studies in reuersion,

Cast not on me that scandalous aspersion.

I hate such belladmongring riming slaues,

Such iygging rascals, such audacious knaues.

The bane of learning, the abuse of Arts,

The scumme of Naturs worst defectiue parts:

The scorne of schollers, poison of rewards,

Regardlesse vassalles of true worths regard,

The shame of time the canker of desarts,

The dearth of liberall and heroicke harts.

That like so many bandogs snatle and snatch,

And all's their owne they can from others ca [...]th.

That licke the scraps of Schollers wits (like dogges)

(A Prouerb old) draffs good enough for hogges.

Purloining, line by line, and peece by peece,

And from each place they read, will filch a fleece.

Me thinks my Muse should peecemeale teare these roages

More base and vile then tatter'd Irish broages.

Clawkissing raskals, flattering Parasites,

Sworne vices vassalles, vertues opposites.

Tis you dambde curres haue murderd liberall minds,

And made best Poets worse esteem'd then hindes.

But wherefore doe I take a Schollers part,

That haue no grounds or Axioms of Art:

That am in Poesie an artlesse creature,

That haue no learning but the booke of Nature:

No Academicall Poetike straines,

But homespunne medley of my mottley braines.

The reason I a Schollers wants bewaile,

And why against base litter'd whelps I raile,

Is this, that they long time should time bestow

In painefull study, secret Arts to know,

[Page]And after liue in want, contempt and scorne,

By euery dunghill peasant ouerborne.

Abus'd, rejected, doggedly disgrac'd,

Despised ragged, lowsie, and out fac'd:

Whilest Bagpipe-poets stuf with others winde,

Are grac'd for wit, they haue from them purloinde.

Now in mine owne defence once more Ile say,

Their too rash iudgements to much runnes astray,

That, cause my name is Tailor I doe theeue it,

I hope their wisdomes will no more beleeue it.

Nor let my want of learning be the cause,

I should be bitten with blacke enuies iawes:

For whosoere by nature is not a Poet

By rules of Art he neuer well can show it.

Ther'is many a wealthy heire long time at Schoole,

Doth spend much study, and comes home a foole.

A Poet needes must be a Poet borne,

Or else his Art procures his greater scorne.

For why? if Art alone made men excell,

Me thinkes Tom Coriat should write exlent well:

But he was borne be like in some crosse yeere,

When learning was good cheape, but wit was deare.

Then to conclude, as I before began,

Though nought by Schollership or Art I can

Yet (if my stocke by nature were more bare)

I scorne to vtter stolne or borrowed ware:

And therefore Reader now I tell thee plaine,

If thou incredilous dost still remaine.

If yea or nay these reasons doe perswade thee,

I leaue thee and thy faith to him that made thee.

To the Kings most excellent Maiestie.
Anagramma. Iames Stuart MUSES TARY AY.

[Page]

GReat Soueraigne as thy sacred Royall breast

Is by the Muses whole and sole possest:

So doe I know, Rich, precious, peerelesse Iem,

In witting vnto thee, I write to them.

The Muses tarry at thy name, why so?

Because they haue no further for to goe.

To the high and mighty Prince, Charles Stuart.
Anagramma Cals true hearts.

BRaue Prince, thy Name, thy fame, thy selfe and all,

With loue and seruice, all true hearts doth call:

So Roially indude with Princely parts,

Thy Reall vertues alwaies, cals true heart,

To Anna Queene of Great Britaine.

THese backward, and these forward lines I send

To your right Royall, high Maiesticke hand:

And like the guilty prisoner I attend

Your censure, wherein blisse or bale doth stand.

If I condemned be, I cannot grudge,

For neuer Poet had a iuster Iudge.

These lines are to be read, the same backeward as they are forward.

Deer Maddam Reed

Deem if I meed.

Loues laborinth, with the description of the seuen Plannets.

[Page]

I Trauel'd through a wildernesse of late,

A shadie, darke vnhaunted desart groue:

Whereas a wretch explain'd his piteous state,

Whose mones the Tygers vnto Ruthe would moue:

Yet though he was a man cast downe by Fate:

Full manly with his miseries he stroue,

And dar'd false Fortune, to her vtmost worst,

And er'e he meant to bend, would brauely burst.

Yet swelling griefe, so much or'e charg'd his heart,

In scalding sighs, he needs must vent his woe,

Where groanes, and teares, and sighs all beare a part:

As partners in their masters ouerthroe:

Yet spight of griefe, he laught to scorne his smart,

And midst his deapth of care, demean'd him so,

As if sweet concord, bore the greatest sway,

And snarling discord was inforc'd t'obay.

Thou Saint (quoth he) I whilome did adore,

Thinke not thy youthfull feature still can last,

In winters age, thou shalt in vaine deplore

That thou on me such coy disdaine didst cast:

Then, then remember old said sawes of yore:

Time was, Time is, but then thy Time is past.

And in the end, thy bitter torments be,

Because that causelesse, thou torment [...] me.

Oh you immortall, high Imperious powres,

Haue you in your resistlesse [...]es decreed

To blast with spight and scorne my pleasant hou'res:

[Page]To starue my hopes, and my dispaire to feed,

Once more let me attaine those sunshine showers:

Whereby my withered ioyes, againe may breed.

If Gods no comfort to my cares apply,

My comfort is, I know the way to die.

With wits destracted here I make my will,

I do bequeath to Saturne, all my sadnesse,

When Mellancholy first my heart did fill

My sences turne from sobernesse to madnesse:

Since Saturne, thou wast Author of my ill,

To giue me griefe, and take away my gladnesse.

Malignant Plannet, what thou gau'st to me

I giue againe, as good a guift to thee.

I doe surrender back to thundring Ioue,

All state, which earst my glory did adorne:

My frothy pompe, and my ambitious loue:

To thee false Iupiter I backe returne,

All Iouiall thoghts that first my heart did mooue,

In thy Maiestick braine was bred and borne:

Which by thy inspiration, caus'd my wrack,

And therefore vnto thee, I giue it backe.

To Mars I giue my rough robustious rage,

My anger, fury, and my scarlet wrath:

Man-slaughtring murder is thy onely page,

Which to thy bloudy guidance I bequeath.

Thy seruants all, from death should haue their wage,

For they are executioners for death,

Great Mars, all furie, wrath, and rage of mine

I freely offer to thy Goarye shrine.

All seeing Sol, thy bright reflecting eye

Did first with Poets Art inspire my braines:

Tis thou that me so much didst dignifie,

[Page]To rap my soule with sweet Poetike straines,

And vnto thee againe before I die

I giue againe, a Poets gainelesse gaines.

Though wit and art are blessings most diuine

Yet here, their iemmes, amongst a heard of swine.

To thee false goddesse, loues adultrous Queene

My most inconstant thoughts I do surrender:

For thou alone, alone hast euer beene

True louers bane, yet seemest loues defender,

And were thy bastard blind, as fooles do weene:

So right he had not split my heart so tender.

Fond Vulcans bride, thou turnest my ioy to paine

Which vnto thee I render backe againe.

To Mercury, I giue my sharking shifts,

My two fold false equiuocating tricks:

All cunning sleights, and close deceiuing drifts:

Which to decitfull wrong my humour pricks:

All my Buzeaka's, my Decoyes, and lifts:

No birdlime henceforth to my fingers sticks.

My thoughts, my words, my actions, that are bad

To thee I giue, for them from thee I had.

And last, and low'st of all these Plannets seuen

My wau'ring thoughts, I giue to Luna' es guiding:

My sencelesse braines, of wit and sence bereauen

My stedfast change, and my most certaine sliding.

All various alterations vnder heauen

All that is mine, ore mouing, or abyding,

My woes, my ioyes, my mourning, and my mirth

I giue to thee, from whence they had their birth.

Thus he against the higher powers contends

And threats, and bans, and beats his care crazd breast,

The birds harmonious musicke to him lends

[Page]Which addes no rest, vnto his restlesse rest:

Yea eu'ry thing in louing sort attends:

All senceable, and sencelesse doe their best.

With helplesse helpes do helpe to mone his mone

And her he loues, Remaines vnkind alone.

At last he rose from out the place he lay,

And frantikely ran woodlie through the wood:

The scratching brambles, in his wailes waie

Intreats him stay, but in a harebraind mood

He fled, till weary he at last did stay,

To rest him, where a ragged rock there stood,

With resolution to despaire and die

Whilst Eccho to his mones, did thus replie.

Eccho.

May humane mischiefes be compar'd with mine? mine.

Thine babling Eccho, would thy tongue told true: rue.

I rue that I alone must weepe and pine pine.

I pine for her, from whom my cares ensue. sue.

I sue, I serue a marble hearted faire ayre.

And ayre is all the fruit of fruitlesse loue: loue.

Lou's hope is past, then welcome black despaire despaire.

Shall there despaire my causelesse curse remoue moue.

Oh whither shall I moue, to ioy or paine paine.

Must paine be my reward for paine for aye aye.

Aye must my torment feed her scornfull veine vaine.

To ease my griefe, will she say yea or nay, nay.

Nay, then from loue and all his lawes I flie flie.

I flie, I search, I seeke the way to die. die.

Thus brabling gainst all things he heares or sees

Impatient as his froward fortunes wrongs.

No sensu'all obiect with his sence agrees.

All pleasures his displeasure more prolongs:

At length he carues vpon the thick bark'd trees

These vnder written sad lamenting songs.

[Page]And as my weake inuention vnderstood

His farewell thus, was grau'd vpon the wood.

Sonnet.

LIke a decrepit wretch, deform'd and lame

My verse approaches to my dearest Dame

Whose dire disdaine, makes my laments her game,

Whose scornfull eies addes fuell to my flame.

But whether shee, or I, are most too blame

I for attempting to exalt her fame

With fruitlesse Sonnets; which my wit did frame:

Or shee whose peircing lookes my heart ore' came.

Her feature can both men and monsters tame

The gods, and fiends, adore and dread her name,

Whose matchlesse forme doth Citherea shame,

Whose cruell heart remaineth still the same.

And in a word, I striue against the streame

My state' is to low, and hers is too supreame.

Then since so scornefull is her high disdaine.

Since all my loue is but bestow'd in vaine,

Curbe fancie then, with true discretions Reine,

Let reason cure my tor-tormenting paine.

Suppose I should at last, my suit attaine,

And then sit downe and count my losing gaine:

My haruest would be tares in sheed of graine.

Then ile no longer vexe my vexed braine

To seeke her loue, who ioyes when I complaine:

No longer I, loues vassell will remaine,

Ile be no more of Cupids witlesse traine,

Whose partiall blindnesse hath so many slaine.

Proud Dame, whose breast my loue didst earst refraine

Despight loues lawes Ile be no more thy swaine.

Thus like a man, whose answere [...] [...]erest him,

I found him mad with loue, and so I left him.

Plutoes Proclamation concerning his Infernall pleasure for the Propagation of Tobacco

[Page]

TRue Newes and strange my Muse intends to write,

From horrid concaues of eternall night:

Whereas a damned Parliment of Deuils,

Enacted lawes to fill the world with euils.

Blacke Pluto sundry proclamations sends

Through Barathrum, and summons all the fiends,

To know how they on earth had spent their times,

And how they had beclog'd the world with crimes.

First spake an ancient Deuill ycleaped Pride,

Who said he wandred had, both farre and wide,

Dispersing his Ambitious poisnous bane,

As farre as Luna doth both waxe or wane.

Next summond was, a rakehell furgound curre,

Cal'd Auarice, (whose rotten haulking murre)

Was like to choake him ere he could declare

How he had soules possest with monies care.

That so they fill their Coffers to the brim,

All's one, let sweet saluation sinke or swimme.

The third that to the Parlament came in

Was murder, all inroab'de in scarlet sinne,

Who told great Limboes monarch he had done

Such deeds, as thousand soules to hell hath wonne.

The fourth that entred to this damned Iurie,

Was sweet sinne Leachery, a smugfac'd furie:

Said that the world should his great paines approue,

Where vniuersall lust is counted loue.

[Page]

The fift was an ilshap'd decrepit Crone

Cald Enuy, all consum'd to skinne and bone:

And shee declar'd what labour he had spent

To Honours, and to Vertues detriment.

Then sixt, did Burst-gut Gluttony appeere,

Whose sole delight is all in belly cheere:

Who told how he mens greedy mindes did serue

To cram their bodies, whilst their soules did sterue.

The seuenth was Sloth, an vgly lothsome wretch,

Who being cald, did gape, and yawne, and stretch:

I haue (quoth he) done as your highnesse wil'd,

I all the world with Idlenesse haue fil'd,

In lazie Creatures members I doe lurke,

That thousands will be hang'd, before the'ile worke.

Then Pluto said, these ills, you haue done well,

In propagation of our kingdome, Hell:

But yet ther's one thing which I will effect,

Which too long hath been buried with neglect;

And this it is, in Rich America,

In India, and blacke Barbaria.

Whereas the peoples superstion show

Thei're mine, because no other God they know,

In those misguided lands I caus'de to breed

A foule contagious, stinking Manbane weed:

Which they (poore fooles) with diligence doe gather

To sacrifice to me that am their Father:

Where euery one a Furies shape assumes,

Befog'd and clouded with my hel-hatch'd fumes.

But these blacke Nations that adore my name,

Ile leaue in pleasure: and my mischiefes frame

Gainst those who by the name of Christians goe,

Whose Author was my finall ouerthrowe.

[Page]And therefore straight diuulge our great commands,

That presently throughout all Christian lands,

Tobacco be disperst, that they may be

As Moores and Pagans are, all like to me.

That from the Palace to the paltry nooke,

Like hell in Imitation all may looke.

In vice let Christians, passe both Iewes and Turks,

And let them outpasse Christians in good works.

Let euery Cobbler with his durty fist,

Take pride to be a blacke Tobaconist:

Let Idiot Coxcombes, sweate tis ex'lent geare,

And with a whiffe their reputations reare.

Let euery Idle adle-pated gull

With stinking sweet Tobacco stuffe his skull.

Let Don fantasticke smoake his vastie gorge.

Let rich and poore, let honest men and knaues,

Be smoak'd and stunke vnto their timelesse graues.

Thus is our last irreuocable will,

Which though it dam not man, I know twill kill.

And therefore straite, to euery Christian Nation

Diuulge, and publish, this our Proclamation.

A Proclamation or approbation, from the King of execration, to euery Nation, for Tobacoes propagation.

WHereas wee haue been credibly Informed (by our true and neuer failing Intelligencers, as the soules of Vsurers, Broakers, Knights of the Post, Panders, Baudes, & such like, our welbeloued sons and daughters, by gracelesse adoption) that the Hearbe, (alias weede) ycleaped Tobaco, (alias) Trinidado, alias, Petun, alias, Necocianū, (a long time hath beene in continuall vse and motion, amongst the Sunburnt, tanskind [Page] Indians, Barbarians and the rest of our black guard inhabiting in America; which hath beene greatly to our contentment to see our execrable seruants on the earth, to come so neere our infernall Tartarian sulphorous contagious stinke, with their terestriall imitations: wee therefore with the full consent of our three Estates, namely our Lords spiritual of our owne synagogue, as twelue Turkish Muftyes 66. Popes & sundry other Cardinals &c. Prelates our foure trustie friends. Besides our Temporall Lords, as Heliogabalus, Nero, Sardanapalus, with many more, and our Comminalty or vassals, whereof the chiefe, wee hold to be Guido Faux, Francis Rauillae, and all such as were Naturalized into the line of Iudas or Achitophell. Wee with these estates afore said doe (by the Authority of this present Parliament) straightly charge and command that all deuils, demydeuills, feinds, furies, hagges, witches, ghosts, goblins, spirits, elues, fayries, or any other subiect or subiects, to our infernall monarchy, by what name or title soeuer they bee called, that they and euery of them doe forthwith vpon the sight hereof, dispearse themselues amongst the Christians (the vtter enemies of our mightie Monarchy) and there by inspirations of witchcrafts, spels, exorcismes, coniurations, incantations, or any other of our Magicall deuises, doe their best endeauors to possesse them with the loue of Tobaco, make old men doate ouer it, and yong men admire it, make the rich smoake away their wealth in it, make the laborer in one houre in the Eauening puffe away his whole daies worke, let the decaied banquerupt bee alwaies my trustie factor to divulge it, be they neuer so base let them bee acounted Noble that vse it, and be they neuer so noble, let them be thought base that refuse it: let Play-houses, Drinking-schooles, Tauerns, Alehouses, Bawdy-houses, be continuallie haunted with the contaminous vapours of it, nay (if it be possible) bring it into their Churches, and there choake vp their Preachers, (my only and my hatefull enemies.)

And whereas the Indians, and other farre remored barbarous Nations were the first that vsed it, wee do streightly further charge and command, that you and euery of you, doe disswade them from the excessiue vse of it, and let those Nations that are [Page] our continuall opposites in manners and Religion be fullie possest with an immoderate desire of it like Horsleeches, the more they drinke the more let them thirst, let it bee a trade to practise the whiffe, the snuffe, the gulpe, the euaporating or retention. Doe this withall expedition as you expect the fruition, of our fatherly execrable Malleuolent mallediction.

Giuen at our Palace at Gehenna &c.

THis Proclamation was no sooner doon,

But thousand furies to and fro did runne,

T' acomplish what their Master Pluto spoke

And fully fill the world with stinke and smoake:

And now the man thats o'ne of feeling rest,

By reason of his age whose teeth hath left

The vasty Cauerne of his mumping cud,

Must haue Tobaco to reuiue his blood:

The glistring Gallant, or the gallant Gull.

The ieering pander, and the hackney Trull.

The Roysting Rascall, and the swearing Slaue,

The Hostler, Tapster, all in generall craue

To be a foggy, misty, smoaky iury

Vpon this vpstart newfound Indian fury.

Great Captaine Gracelesse, stormes, protests, and sweares,

Heele haue the rascall Poet by the eares,

And beat him, as a man would beate a dogge,

That dares once speake against this precious fogge.

It is the iewel that he most respects

It is the gemme of ioy his heart affects:

It is the thing his soule doth most adore,

To liue and loue Tobaco, and a whore:

Hee'le cram his braines with fumes of Indian grasse,

And grow as fat with't as an English Asse.

Some say Tobaco will mens dayes prolong,

To whom I answer, they are in the wrong.

[Page]And sure my conscience giues me not the lie

I thinke twill make men rotten ere they die.

Old Adam liu'd nine hundred thirty yeere,

Yet nere dranke none, as I could read or heare:

And some men now liues ninety yeeres and past,

Who neuer dranke Tobaco, first nor last.

Then since at first it came, from faithlesse Moores

(And since tis now more common far then whores)

I see no reason any Christian Nation

Should follow them, in deuilish imitation:

So farewell pipe, and pudding, snuffe and smoake

My Muse thinks fit to leaue, before she choake:

Certaine verses written in the Barbarian tongue, dropt out of a Negroes pocket, which I thought good to insert, because they tend to the honour of Tobaco.

VAprosh fogh stinkquash flauorumques fie fominoshte

Spitterspawlimon, loathersō hem halkish spewriboshte

Mistrum fog smoakrash, choakerumques olifa trish trash

Dam durticum belchum, contagioshte vomitroshe:

Whifferum, puffe gulpum, allisnuff huff fleaminon odish,

Rewmito contaminosh diabollish dungish odorish:

To the Right Hon: Lord. WILLIAM Earle of Pembrooke. WILLIAM HERBET Annagrama. my Heart will beare.

RIght Noble Lord, whose breast doth beare a heart

Which is a Patron vnto Armes and Art:

In spight of Enuy, still thy fame shines cleere

For none but honour'd thoughts thy heart will beare.

Satyre.

[Page]

WHen I but think, the daies we wander in,

How most part of the world do liue by sinne:

How finely Sathan shewed his cunning skill,

That one man gets his goods, from others ill.

Doth not the Lawiers liue like mighty Lords,

On braules, on iarres, contentions and discords,

When if men (as they should) would but agree,

A Tearme would scarcely yeeld a Lawyers fee?

Let vsurers bragge of conscience what they can,

They liue like deuils, vpon the bane of man:

The racking land-lord gets his ill got store,

By rayling rents, which make his tennants poore:

Clap shoulder serieants get the deuill and all

By begg'ring and by bringing men in thrall.

Like gentlemen, the Iaylors spend their liues

By keeping men in fetters, bonds and gyues:

The vintner and the vict'lar get most gaines

From dayly drunkards, and distemperd braines:

From whence do Iustice Clerks get most they haue,

But from the whore, the theife, the bawd, the knaue?

In what consists the hangmans greatest hope

But hope of great imployment for the rope?

The very blew-coate beadles get their trash,

By whips and rods, and the fine firking lash.

But leauing these, note but how Corporations

From others vices, get their reputations:

The vpstart veluet silken fatten gull,

His owne purse empts to fill the Mercers full:

When for his birth, or wit more fit agrees,

A breech of leather, and a coate of freese.

The Taylor is a gentleman transform'd

For his inuenting fashions new deform'd,

And those that make the Verdingales and bodies,

[Page]Get most the haue from idle witlesse nodies.

The Tires, the Periwigs, and the Rebatoes,

Are made t'adorne Ilshap'd Inamoratoes.

Yea all the world is falne to such a madnesse,

That each man gets his goods from others badnesse.

The Chirurgian and Phisitian get their stockes,

From Goutes, from Feauers, Botches, Piles, and Pockes:

With others paine, they most of all are pleas'd,

And best are eas'd: when others are diseas'd.

As Sextons liue by deade, and not by quicke,

So they liue with the sound, but by the sicke.

Thus each man liues by other mens amisse,

And one mans meat, anothers poison is.

To the Right honourable Iohn, Lord Viscount Haddington, Iohn Ramsey
Anagramma I AYM HONERS.

THrice worthy Lord, whose vertues doe proclaime,

How Honors noble marke is still thy Aym,

To attaine the which thou holdst thy hand so steedy.

That thy deesrts haue wonne the prize already.

To the Honourable Kinght, Sir Dauid Moraye.
Anagramma You are admir'd.

WIth wisdome and with vertue so inspir'd,

That spite of Enuies teeth, you are Admir'd.

To King IAMES.
Anagramma Iames Stuart Arm att Iesus.
Vpon the Powder Treason the fifth of Nouember.

[Page]

THis day old Demon, and the damned Crew,

Our King and Kingdome in the ayre had tost:

But that our God their diuellish practise crost,

And on their treacherous heads the mischiefe threw.

No Pagan, Tartar, Turke or faithlesse Iew,

Or hels blacke Monarch with his hatefull host:

Since first amongst them Treason was ingrost,

No plot like that from their inuention flew.

But when they thought powderblast, a breath

Should all this Iland into totters teare:

Th'Almighties mercy freed vs from that feare,

And paid the Traitors with infamous death.

For which, let King, and all true Subiects sing

Continuall praise vnto Heau'ns gracious King.

To the Noble Gentleman Mr. Iohn Moraye Gentleman of his Maiesties Honourable Bedchamber.
Anagramma I ayme Honour.

[Page]

INdustrious Loialty doth daily tell

Thou Aymest at honor, and thou leuel'st well,

And with thy trustie seruice shoot'st so right,

That in the ende thou sure wilt hit the white.

Twelue Sonnets vpon the Sunnes entring into the 12. Celestiall Signes.

The 10. of March, the Sunne enters into Aries, or the signe of the Ram March 10. Aries.

DIurnall Titans all reuiuing Carre,

Through all the heaucus his progresse now he takes:

And now his glistering Raies he doth vnbarre,

And what his absence mard, his presence makes:

Now he beginnes dame Tellus face to parch,

With blustring Boreas and with Eurus breath,

Thicke clouds of dust in March, through ayre doth march

And Plants dead seeming Re-reuiues from death.

Now at the heauy-headed horned Ram,

AEous, AEthon, Phlegon, and Pyrois,

On sweet Ambrosya sweetly feede and cram,

And drinking Nectars gods carowsing iuice,

Thus yeerely, one and thirty daies at least,

In Aries, Titan daines to be a guest.

[Page]

To the Noble Gentleman and my approued good friend Sr. Iames Moray Knight. Iames Muraye
Anagramma I am Aye Sure.

THe worst of fortune thou canst well endure,

Thy Anagram includes, thu Aye art sure.

The 11. of Aprill he comes into Taurus, or the Signe of the Bull. Taurus.

HIperion Now's remou'd vnto the Bull,

And seemes all hid in Mists and watry bowres:

Till woolsacke seeming cloudes are bursting full,

And then he glides the Aire with golden showres.

He shines, he hides, he smiles and then he lowers,

Now glorious glowing, and straight darkned dim:

He's now obscur'd and now his beames out-powres,

As skies are cleare, or thicketwixt vs and him.

Thus all the Aprill, at bopecpe he plaies,

Incircling daily the Rotundious spheare.

And at the Bull he hides his glistring raies,

Till ayre is purgde of clowdes, and skies are cleare.

Then he the head-strong Taurus soone forsakes,

And to his Summer progresse haste he makes.

[Page]

To the Right worshipfull the Recorder of London, and Serieant to the Kings Majesties: Sir HENRY MONTAGVE
Anagramma Gouerneth Many.

AMongst a Million there is hardly Any,

That like your selfe so well doth gouerne Many.

The 12. of May the Sunne enters into Gemini, or the Twinnes. Gemini, May.

NOw bright fac'd Sminthus, with faire Flora meetes,

Adorning her with Natures best attire:

Trees, plants, hearbes, flowres, and odoriferous sweets,

With Birds all chaunting in their fethered quire.

Now countrie Tom and Tyb haue their desire,

And rowle and tumble freely on the grasse,

The Milke-maide gets a greene gowne for her hire,

And all in sport the time away doe passe.

The bird, the beast, the lusty Iad, the lasse

Doe sing, doe friske, doe clip, doe coll, doe kisse:

Not thinking how the time must be, or was,

But making pleasant vfe of time as tis.

Till Sminthus leaues his lodging at the twinnes,

And to a hotter race his course beginnes.

[Page]

To my approued good friend Mr. Robert Branthwayte.
Anagramma. You Bere a heart true bent.

LEt fortune smile or frowne you are content,

At all Assaies you beare a heart true bent.

The 12. of Iune the Sunne enters into Cancer or the Crabbe. Cancer. Iune.

OF Fall the Innes where Sol doth vse to lie,

With crabbed Cancer none may make compare:

It is the highest in the lofty skie,

All other signes to it Inferiour are.

When Sol is once ascended and come there,

He scaldes and scorches with his heau'nly heate:

Makes fields of grasse, and flowry medowes bare,

And though the Idleworke not yet they sweate.

Thus like an all-commanding Lord he swaies,

High mounted in his chiefe solstician pride:

For when in Cancer he immures his raies,

Vnto the height his glories amplifide.

And when he goes from thence, he doth beginne

By shorter Iournies to attaine his Inne.

[Page]

To my especiall friend Master SAMVELL CALVERTA.
Anagramma. Vertue Calmes All.

THe flesh, the world, the deuill, and all entice,

Yet still thy honest vertue calmes all vice.

The thirteenth of Iuly the sunne enters into Leo, or the Lion. Leo, Iuly.

THe worlds eye daz'ler in his fiery race,

Doth at the Lion lodge his vntam'd steeds:

And now the ripening yeere begins apace

To show Dame Tellus, procreatiue seeds.

For as from man, mans generation breeds,

So by manuring of our Grandam Earth,

Are brought forth fruits, and flowers, and hearbs, & weeds

To shield ingratefull man from pining dearth.

The dogged dogge daies now with heate doth swealt,

And now's the season, of th'vnseasn'd ayre:

When burning feauers make the patient melt,

Whose heate the Doctors hardly can repaire:

For why these currish daies are fatall still,

And where they chance to byte, they vse to kill.

[Page]

To the Right worshipfull Sir Iohn Swinarton, late Lord Maior of London. IOHN SVVIN'ARTONE.
Anagramma. Waites in honnour.

THe man that Nobly serues, with wisdomes skill

And good direction, waites in honour still.

The foureteenth of August the sunne enters into Virgo. Or the Virgin. Virgo. August.

VNhappy Phaetons, splendidious Sire

Left amorous bussing beauteous Glim [...]ns lippes,

And all inspir'd with Loues celestiall fires

His Globe surrounding steeds a maine he whips:

And to the Virgin Virgo downe doth glide,

Where for she entertain'd him to his pleasure.

He his Exchequer coffers opens wide,

And fills the world with haruests wisht for treasure:

Now country hindes vnto their tooles betake

The forke, the rake, the sithe, the hooke, the cart,

And all a generall expedition make,

Till Nature be left naked by their art.

At last the Virgin when these things are done,

Till that time twelue mouth leaues her loue the sunne.

[Page]

To the worthy Gentleman Master SAMVEL DANIEL.
Anagramma. Iesu Amend all.

HOw euer my poore lines are vnderstood

Yet I am sure thy Anagram is good.

The thirteenth of September the sunne enters into Libra, Or the Ballance. Libra. September.

THe Great all-seeing burning eye of day,

In Libraes Ballance restlesse comes to rest,

Where equally his way hee seemes to way:

And day, and night with equall houres are drest:

By these iust soales, true iustice is exprest,

Which doth to times and places render right

Where wealth insults not, nor the poore opprest,

But all's eu'n poyzed, like the day and night.

And now this lampe of light doth here alight

Making this Signe, his Equinoctiall Inne,

Whilst fruitfull trees are ouer-laden quite:

(Too great a gracious guerdon for mans sinne)

And as in March he gan to doe vs grace,

So to th' Antipodes he now gins shew her face.

[Page]

To the diuine Poet and my worthy friend Mr. IOSHVAH SYLLVESTER.
Anagramma. Thuss he serus loyaly.

THUs he serues loialy, in place of trust,

And therefore well deserues a master iust.

The foureteenth of October the sunne enters into Scorpio. Scorpio. October.

ILlustrious Phaebus now declines amaine,

His golden head within the Scorpion dwels,

Now boystrous blasts of winde, and showres of raine

Of raging winters nigh approch foretells

From trees sharpe Autumne, all the leaes expells

For Phaebus now hath left his pleasant Innes,

Now Marchants Bacchus blood, both buye and sells

And Michalls Tearme, lawes haruest now beginnes

Where many losers are, and few that winnes:

For law may well be cal'd contentions whip,

When for a scratch, a cuffe, for points or pins:

Will witlesse gets his neighbour on the hippe.

Then tone the tother vnto law will vrge,

And vp they come to giue their purse a purge.

[Page]

To the Noble Gentleman, and my much honoured friend, Robert Caluert Esquire, of Mount Caluert in Ireland.

HAd I as many seu'rall mouthes as fame,

I could not euer honour thy good Name:

Did Maroe's Muse my weake inuention mooue,

I should want Art t' expresse ingaged loue.

Yet hope perswades me, as these lines you reed

You'le take my good endeauour for a deed:

Although I know to write I am vnfit

In Words, in Muse, in Methode, and in Wit.

The eleuenth of Nouember, the sunne enters into Sagittarius, Or the Archer. Sagittarius; Nouember.

THus Luna's brother lower doth descend,

And at the Archer rests his radient waine,

Now winters bitter blasting storms contend

T' assault our hemispheare, with might and maine.

The fields and trees disrobed all againe,

Stark naked strip'd of hearbs, of flowres, of fruits,

And now the Lord, the Lowne, the Sir, the Swaine

Against the freeze, of freeze make winter suites.

Now chirping birds are all turn'd tonguelesse mutes,

And Sheapheard swaines to sheephouse driues their sheep.

Hot controuersies now are in disputes

At Westminster, where such a coyle they keepe;

Where man, doth man within the law be tosse,

Till some go crosselesse home by woodcocks crosse.

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To the honourable Gentleman Master William Ramsaye, one his of Maiesties Bed-chamber. WILLIAM RAMSAYE.
Anagramma. I am allwayes mery.

YOur Name doth with your Anagram agree,

And Heau'ns confirme my wish acomplisht be,

That you in Noble Actions ner'e be weary,

But as your Name Includes be Alwayes mery.

The eleuenth of December, the sunne enters into Capricorne, Or the Goate. Capricornus. December.

APollo hath atain'd his lowest seate,

And now the shortnesse of his race is such,

That though his Glory for a time be great:

He giues his sister Cynthia twice as much.

Now is the welcomst time of all the yeere,

Now die the oxen and the fatted hogs,

Now mery Christmas fills the world with cheere,

And chimnies smoake with burning logge, on logs.

He thats a mizer all the yeere beside

Will reuell now, and for no cost will spare,

A pox hang sorrow, let the world goe slide:

Lets eate and drinke, and cast away all care.

Thus when Apollo's at the horned Goate,

He makes all Christendom with mirth to floate.

[Page]

To the Noble Gentleman my especiall good friends Sir William Moray, Lord of Aberca [...]ny. WILLIAM MORAY.
Anagramma. I Amm Royal Wil.

LEt all the world to changing be enclinde,

Yet you will allwaies beare A Royall minde.

The tenth of Ianuary the sunne enters into Aquarius, Or the signe of the Waterbearer. Aquarius. Ianuary.

THe Glorious Great Extinguisher of Night

Immures his bright translucent golden head,

And from his Radient seeme he doth alight.

To rest his steeds in cold Aquarius bed.

Now hory frost, hath Tellus sate or'espread,

And chilling numnesse whets the shauing ayre,

All vegitable creatures now seeme dead

Like curelesse cures past and repast repaire:

Frigidius Ianus two-fold frozen face

Turnes moist Aquarius into congeal'd yce:

Though by the fires warme side the pot haue place:

Of winters wrath it needs must know the price.

At last daies burning torch, againe takes horse,

And into wetter weather makes his course.

[Page]

To the Noble Gentleman Master Robert Haye, one of the Gentlemen of his Maiesties honourable bed-chamber.

RIght worthy Sir, if ought that I haue writ

Were worth your reading, twere some signe of wit.

I haue a few friends, and amongst the rest

You being one, the best will iudge the best.

The ninth of February, the sunne enters into Pisces, Or the signe of the two fishes. Pisces. February.

NOw snow, and raine, and hayle, and slauering fleete,

(The Delphean God hath suckt from sea and land.

With exhalations) on the earth they greet:

Powr'd downe by Iris liberall hand,

If foule fac'd February keepe [...] touch.

He makes the toyling Plowmans prouerbe right;

By night, by day, by little and by much,

It fils the ditch, with either blacke or white

And as the hard co [...]ed butting Ram

At setting forth was Tytans dayntiest dish:

So to conclude his feasting with a messe of fish.

And long in Pisces he doth not remaine,

But leaues the fish, and fals to flesh againe.

[Page]

To the Honourable Sir Thomas Ridgewaye Knight Barronet, Treasurer at Warres in Ireland, &c. Thomas Ridgewaye. Anagramma. God Arms thy waie. Againe, Age is made worthy.

THough sinne and Hell worke mortals to betraie,

Yet gainst their mallice still, God Armes thy waie.

when life and lands, and all away must fade,

By Noble actions, Age is worthy made.

Certaine Sonnets made in the forme of AEquiuoques: on the destruction of Troy.

§

WHen Hellen was for Priams sonne a mate.

From Greece bereaft, by Paris and his Band:

Which caus'd the Greekes, the Trojan mindes amate,

Some curs'd the boy; and other some they band

The strumpet Queene, which brought the burning brand,

That Illion firde, and wrack'd old Priams Race:

And on their Names long liuing shame did brand,

(For headstrong lust runnes an vnbounded Race.)

This beauteous peece, whose features radient blase,

Made Menelaus horne-mad warre to wage:

And set all Troy in a combustious blase,

Whose ten yeeres triumphes scarse was worth their wage.

For all their Conquests, and their battring Rams,

Their leaders, most return'd, with heads like Rams.

[Page]

To the noble Gentleman Sir Oliuer Saint-Iohn.
Anagramma Harts Ioyn in loue.

THy loyall seruice to thy King, doth prooue,

That to thy Countrey thy Hart Ioyns in loue.

§

WIth raging madnesse and with fury fell,

Great Diomed, and Aiax left their Tents,

And in the throat of death, to blowes they fell,

To make more worke for plaisters, and for tents.

With blood imbruing all the Phrigian Clime,

Whilest men like Autumne leaues drop dying downe:

Where some through blood, and wounds to honor clime

And some their mangled lims bestrowes the downe:

Whilest Paris, with his Hellen in his Armes

Imbraces her about the wastfull waste:

Saw many a Gallant Knight in burnisht Armes,

Who from their Tents made haste to make more waste:

Who to their Tents did nere returne againe,

Thus warres makes gaine a losse, and losse a gaine.

[Page]

To the noble Gentleman, Sir EDVVARD BLAINEYE Knight, Gouernor of Monnaahan in the North of Ireland. EDVVARD BLAYNEY
Anagramma Liue and Abide euer.

THy trustie seruice hath so oft beene tride,

For which thy fame, liue euer and Abide.

§

HAd Priams Queene in Cradle slaine her Sonne

The lust full Paris (haplesse boy) I meane:

Then Illions Towers might still haue brau'd the Sunne:

His death to saue their liues had beene the meane.

Vnlucky lucke, when, Iuno, Venus, Pallas

Did craue his censure vpon Ida Mount:

Whence sprung the cause that Troy and Priams Pallace

Were burnt, which earst the skies did seeme to mount.

Had he beene drownd, or strangled with a corde,

He had not rob'd Oenon of her heart:

Or had he di'de, ere Hellen did accord

With him, to h [...]d her husband like a Harte.

But Troy it is thy fate, this knaue and Baggage,

Confounds thy state, and fires thy bagge, and baggage.

[Page]

To the worthy Gentleman, Sir HENRY FOLIOT Gouernour of Balishannon in the North of Ireland. HENRYE FOLIOTT.
Anagramma. Honor Fitt lie.

THy Honor Fitlie to thy worth is fit,

It Honors thee, and thou dost honor it.

§

TRoyes fruitfull Queene did many Children bare,

So braue, heroike, and so slout a Crew:

Who all in noble actions did accrue,

When age had made their Parents balde and bare,

They made their daintlesse courage to appeare,

Amidst the throngs of danger and debate:

Where wars remorselesse stroake kil'd many a Peere,

Whilest swords, not words, their counsels did debate:

But bloud on bloud, their furie could not sate,

For fierce Achilles did braue Hector gore:

To guerdon which, the Graecian in his gore

Did wallow, whilest the Troians laughing sate.

Thus did Achilles bid the world adiewe

For Hectors death, Reuenge did claime a due.

[Page]

To the Right worshipfull and worthy Gentleman, Sir Simon Weaston of Litchfield in the County of Stafford Knight. SIMON WESTON.
Anagramma Mowntes Sion.

MOwnts Sion figures that surmounting place,

Where vertue's Mownt vnto the throne of grace.

§

TEn weary yeeres these bloody broyles did last,

Vntill the Greeks had form'd a woodden steed:

Which they on Priam would bestow at last,

(When force preuailes not, falshood stands in steed.)

False Simon (who so well could forge a lie,

Whose traitrous eies shead many a treach'rous teare)

Knew well that in the horses wombe did lie

The wolues that Troy did all in peeces teare.

Polyxena, Achilles deere bought deere

Was hew'de in gobbets on her louers graue:

King, Queene, and Troy, for Hellen paid too deere,

All felt the Graecian Rage, both yong and graue.

To Kings, and Commons, death's alike, all one,

Except AEneas who escap'd alone.

[Page]

To the truely vertuous Ladie, MARIE WESTON wife to Sir Simon Weston Knight. MARIE WESTON.
Anagramma. I Won Me a Rest.

WHere true borne worth's Innated in the breast,

There alwaies goodnesse winnes Eternall rest.

Certaine Sonnets: variously composed vpon diuers subiects.

Sonnet. 1. True Nobilitie.

GReat is the glory of the Noble minde

Where life and death, are equall in respect:

If fates be good or bad, vnkinde or kinde,

Not proud in freedome, nor in thrall deiect;

With courage scorning fortunes worst effect,

And spitting in foule Enuies cankred face.

True honor thus doth baser thoughts subiect

Esteeming life a slaue, that serues disgrace.

Foule abiect thoughts, become the minde that's base,

That deemes there is no better life then this,

Or after death doth feare a worser place,

Where guilt is paid the guerdon of Amisse.

But let swolne enuy swell vntill shee burst,

The Noble minde defies her to her worst.

[Page]

To the Noble Gentleman, Sir ROBERT RIDGEVVAY Knight, son and Heire to Sir Thomas Ridgeway Knight Barronet. ROBERT RIDGEVVAYE.
Anagramma. I Regard, obey vertu.

THough Thousands vainely passe their time away,

Time I Regard, and Vertue I obey.

§

LO thus the burden of Adultrous guilt,

I showring vengeance, Troy and Troians saw:

No Age, no sexe, no beauty, Gold or guilt

Withstood, foretold Cassandraes saced saw.

Shee often said, false Hellens beauties blast

Should be the cause the mighty Graecian pow're,

Their names, and fames, with infamy should blast,

And how the Gods on them would vengeance pow're.

But poore Cassandra, prophesied in vaine,

She clam'rous cries, (as t'were) to sencelesse Rockes.

The youths of Troy, in merry scornfull veine.

Securely slept, whilst lust the cradle rockes.

Till bloudy burning Indignation came,

And all their mirth with mourning ouercame.

[Page]

To the worthy and vertuous Ladie, the Lady Elizabeth Ridgeway, wife to Sir Rob. Ridgewaye. ELIZABETH RIDGEVVAYE.
Anagramma. I byde, Agree with Zeal.

THe Subiects of th' Almighties Common-weale,

They all in one Abide, Agree with zeale.

Sonnet. 2. Enuy and Honour.

COuld Enuy die, if Honour were deceast,

She could not liue, for Honour's Enuies foode:

Shee liues by sucking of the Noble blood,

And scales the lofty top of Fames high Creast.

Base thoughts compacted in the Abiect breast,

The Meager Monster doth nor harme, nor good:

But like the wane, or waxe, of ebbe or flood,

Shee shunnes as what her gorge doth most detest;

Where heau'n bred honour in the Noble minde,

From out the Cauerns of the breast proceeds:

There helborne Enuie shewes her hellish kinde,

And Vulturlike upon their actions feedes,

But heeres the ode, that Honours tree shall groe,

When Enuies rotten stumpe shall burne in woe.

[Page]

To the noble Knight, Sir Francis Willoughby, sonne and heire to Sir Perciuall Willoughby, Knight of Wollerton in the County of Nottinghame. FRANCIS WILLOVGHBYE.
Anagramma. Lou Wil Banishe Greif.

SAd sorrow may assault men, like a thiefe,

But spight of Enuy (loue will Banish Greife.)

Sonnet. 3. Beauties luster.

DEw drinking Phaebus hid his golden head,

Balm-breathing Zepherus lay close immur'd:

The silly Lambs and Kyds, lay all as dead

Skies, earth and seas, all solace had abiur'd.

Poore men, and beasts, to toylesome taskes inur'd

In drooping manner spent the drowsie day:

All but the Owle, whose safety night assur'd,

She gladly cuts the ayre with whooting lay.

When loe the blossom of my blooming May

From out her Cooche maiestickly doth rise:

Then Tytan doth his radient beames display.

And clouds are vanisht from the vaulty skies.

Sweete Zephirs gales reuiueth beasts and men,

Madg Howlet scuds vnto her neast agen.

[Page]

To the Vertuous Lady, and wife to Sir Francis Willoughby Knight. CASSANDRAE WILLOVGHBYE.
Anagramma. Wish Grace Aboue All ends.

THe power of Heauen to me such fauour sends

That I wish Grace Aboue all other ends.

Sonnet. 4. Hope and Despaire.

DOmestick broyles my tortur'd heart inuades

Twixt wau'ring Hope, and desp'rate black Despaire:

To prosecute my sute the one perswades,

The other frustrates all my hopes with cares

Hope sets me on, infer's shee's fayrest faire,

How deire disdaine doth dwell in fowlest Cels,

And fell dispaire, calls beauty Enuies heire:

Which torments me more then ten thousand hels.

Loe thus my former hope, despaire expels

Mid'st which extreames whats best for me to doe:

In open armes, despaire gainst me rebels,

Hope traytor-like giues free consent thereto.

And till these traytors twaine consume my city

I restlesse rest, to rest vpon her pitty.

[Page]

To the Right worshipfull Master George Caluert Esquire, one of the Clarkes of his Maiesties priuy Connsell. GEORG CALVERT.
Anagramma. Grace got rule.

VVIt, Wisdome, Learning, Vertue, all agree

That in thy breast their Mansiion house shall be.

Sonnet. 5. Three blinde Commanders.

BLinde fortune, sightlesse loue, and eyelesse death

Like Great Triumue'rs swayes this earthly roome,

Mans actions, affections, and very breath:

Are in subiection to their fatall doome.

Ther's nothing past, or present, or to come

That in their purblinde power is not comprizd,

From crowne, to cart, from cradle to the toome

All are by them defamde, or eternizde:

Why should we then esteeme this doating life

(Thats in the guideance of such blind-fold rule)

Whose chiefest peace, is a continuall strife

Whose gawdy pompes the pack, and man the Mule,

Which liues long day, he beares, as he is able,

Til deaths blacke night, doth make the graue his stable?

[Page]

To the worthy Gentleman Captaine Arthur Basset in Ireland. ARTHVR BASSET.
Anagramma. Be as tru harts.

TRu vertue mixt with valour, Arms with Arts

And all Innate in thee, be as tru harts.

Sonnet. 6. Another of the praise of musicke.

TWas Musick fetch'd Euridice from hell,

And rap'd grim Pluto with harmonious straines:

Renowned Orpheus did with Musick quell

The fiends, and ease the tortur'd of their paines.

The Dolphin did account it wondrous gaines

To heare Arion play as he did ride:

Gods, feinds, fish, fowles, and sheapherds on the plaines

Melodious Musick still hath magnifide:

And antient records plainely doe decide,

How braue Orlando Palatine of France,

When he was raging mad for Meadors bride

Sweet Musicke cur'd his crazed wits mischance.

For Musicks onely fit for Heau'ns high quire,

Which though men cannot praise enough, admire.

[Page]

To the worshipfull Master Francis Ansleye of Dublinne in Ireland Esquire. FRANCIS ANSLEYE.
Anagramma. Lifes Cares Vaynn.

HE that to Life Eternall will Attaine

Must euer here esteeme, this, Lifes Cares Vainn.

Sonnet. 7. The Map of Misery.

LIke to the stone thats cast in deepest waue,

That rests not till the bottom it hath sound,

So I (a wretch) inthrald in sorrowes caue,

With woe and desperations fetters bound:

The captiue slaue imprison'd vnder ground

Doom'b, there by fates t' expire his wofull daies:

With care orewhelm'd, with griefe and sorrow drownd,

Makes mournefull monings, and lamenting layes,

Accusing, and accursing fortunes playes,

Whose wither'd Autume leauelesse leaues his tree,

And banning death for his to long delayes,

Remaines the onely poore despised hee.

If such a one as this, the world confine,

His mischiefes are a sport, compard with mine.

[Page]

To the Right worshipfull and worthy Gentleman Master Henry Cooley of Carbye in the County of Kiluare, in Ireland.

RIght worthy Sir, I pray the powers aboue,

To make thy fortunes equall to my loue.

To the Noble and vertuous Lady, the Lady Cecillia Ridgeway, wife to the honourable Knight Sir Thomas Ridgeway Knight Barronet.

MOre happy, and more worthy scarce is any

Wife to a worthy mother vnto many:

Whose actions shewes, they from a stock did spring,

Which taught them serue their heauen and earthly King.

Sonnet. 8. In praise of musicke.

NO Poet crownd with euerliuing bayes

(Though Art like floods should from his knowledge flowe)

He could not write enough in Musicks prayse:

To which both man and Angels loue doe owe

If my bare knowledge ten times more did know,

And had ingrost all art from Pernas hill:

If all the Muses should their skils bestow

On me to amplifie my barren skill:

I might attempt in shew of my good wil,

In Musicks praise some idle lines to write:

But wanting iudgement and my accent ill,

I still should be vnworthy to indite.

And run my wit on ground, like ship on shealfe

For Musicks praise consisteth in it selfe.

[Page]

To the worthy Gentleman, and my very good friend, Master Iohn Blencowe, of Greies Inne. Anagramma. Noble in ech wo.

LEt fortune when she dares but proue thy foe,

In spight of fate, th' art Noble in ech woe.

A Cataplasmicall Satyre, composed and compacted of sundry simples, as salt, vinegar, wormewood, and a little gall, very profitable to cure the imposlumes of vice.

A Sauage rough haird Satyre, needs no guide,

Wher's no way, from the way he cannot slide:

Then haue amongst you, through the brakes and bries,

From those who to the Ceders top aspires

Vnto the lowest shrub, or branch of broome,

That hath his breeding from earths teeming woombe.

And now I talke of broome, of shrubs and ceadars

Me thinkes a world of trees are now my leaders:

To prosecute this trauel of my pen,

And make comparison twixt trees and men,

The Ceadars, and the high cloud kissing Pynes,

Fecundious oliues, and the crooked Vynes:

The Elme, the Ashe, the Oake, the Masty Beeche,

The Peare, the Aple, and the rug gownd Peache:

And many more, for it would tedious be

To name each fruitfull and vnfruitfull tree.

[Page]But to proceed, to show how men, and trees

In birth, in breed, in life, and death agrees:

In their beginnings they haue all one birth,

Both haue their naturall being from the earth,

And heauens high hand, (where he doth please to blesse

Makes trees, or men, or fruitfull, or fruitlesse.

In sundry vses trees doe serue mans turne

To build, t' adorne, to feed, or else to burne.

Thus is mans state in al degrees like theirs,

Some are got vp to th' top of honours stayres,

Securely sleeping on opinions pillow,

Yet as vnfruitfull, as the fruitlesse willow.

And fill vp roomes, (like worthlesse trees in woods)

Whose goodnesse all consists in ill got goods:

He like the Cedar makes a goodly show,

But no good fruite will from his greatnesse grow

Vntill he die, and from his goods depart,

And then giues all away, despight his heart.

Then must his friends, with mourning cloth be clad

With insides merry, and with outsides sad:

What though by daily grinding of the poore

By bribry and extortion got his store:

Yet at his death he gownes some foure score men,

And tis no doubt he was a good man then?

Though in his life he thousands hath vndone

To make wealth to his cursed coffers run:

If at his buriall groats a peece be giuen,

Ile warrant you his soules in hell, or heauen:

And for this doale perhaps the beggers striues

That in the throng seuenteene doe lose their liues:

Let no man tax me here with writing lies

For what is writ I saw with mine owne eyes.

Thus men like barren trees are feld and lopt,

And in the fire to burne are quickly popt:

Some man perhaps whilst he on earth doth liue,

Part of his vaine superfluous wealth will giue:

[Page]To build of Almshouses some twelue or tenne,

Or more or lesse, to harbour aged men:

Yet this may nothing be to that proportion,

Of wealth which he hath gotten by extortion.

What ist for man (his greedy minde to serue)

To be the cause that thousands die and sterue:

And in the ende, like a vaine glorious theefe,

Will giue some ten or twelue a poore reliefe?

Like robbers on the way, that take a purse,

And giue the poore a mite to scape Gods curse.

But know this thou, whose goods are badly gotten,

When thou art in thy graue consum'd and rotten,

Thine heire (perhaps) will feast with his sweet punke,

And Dice, and Drabe, and euery day be drunke,

Carowsing Indian Trinidado smoke,

Whilest thou with Sulphurous flames art like to choake.

Se, se yond gallant in the Cloke-bagge breech,

He's nothing but a trunke cram'd full of speech:

He'le sweare as if gainst heauen he warres would wage,

And meant to plucke downe Phaebus in his rage:

When let a man but try him, hee's all oathes,

And odious lies, wrapt in vnpaid for cloathes.

And this Lad is a Roaring boy forsooth.

An exlent morsell for the hangmans tooth.

He carelesly consumes his golden pelfe,

In getting which his Father damnde himselfe.

Whose soule, (perhaps) in quenchlesse fire doth broile,

Whilest on the earth his sonne keepes leuell coile.

Tis strang to Church what numbers dayly flocke

To drinke the spring of the eternall Rocke:

The great soule sauing, Sathan slaying word,

Gainst sinne, death, hell, th' alconquering sacred sword,

Where high Iehouahs Trumpeters sound forth

From East to West, from South vnto the North:

(For through all lands their Embasseyes are borne,

And neuer doth againe in vaine returne:)

[Page]Which either is of life to life the sauor,

Or death to death, exilde from Gods sweet fauour:

Which blisse or bane their's many daily heares,

Who leaue their hearts at home, and bring their eares,

And least their reckelesse heads, the word should smother,

As soone as't enters t'one, it's out at tother.

For let a Preacher preach vntill he sweats,

Denouncing heau'ns great wrath in thundring threats

Gainst sinne and sinners: Gainst high hearted pride,

Gainst murder which hath oft for vengeance cride,

Or enuie, leachery, Auarice, or swearing,

Or any other vice theyle giue the hearing,

And say the Preacher wondrous paines did take,

And did a very learned Sermon make:

But what good Reformation hence proceeds,

Are Mountaine words, and little Mole hill deedes.

Tell Vsrers they are banisht from Gods hill,

Yet they'le continue in extortion still.

Tell the proud Courtier, that he is but earth,

He'le o're the poore insult and bragge of birth.

Expostulate the great Almighties Ire,

And tell the murdrer, hell shall be his hire,

Yet e're hele pocket vp the least disgrace,

His en'mies guts shall be his Rapiers case.

Tell daily drunkards hell shall be their lot,

Thei'le knocke and call to haue the tother pot.

Tell Panders, Bawdes, knaues, and adulteous whores

How they in hell must pay their cursed scores.

Tell Mizer chuffes who charity do banish,

How they from heau'n, eternally must vanish.

Tell all in gen'rall of their liues amisse,

And tell them that hels bottomlesse Abysse

Must be their portions if they not repent,

Till true repentance heau'ns iust wrath preuent.

Yet when the Preacher all he can hath told,

Soules vnto sinne are daily bought and sold.

[Page]The Mizer with his leachery of Chinke,

On earth will giue his dropsie soule to drinke,

And though the word beat on his Anuile heart,

From Vsury and Extortion he'le not part,

The piebald Gallant to the Church will come

To heare his soules saluations totall summe.

Yet his high pride is in such hauty dotage,

Forgets he's sprung from a poore country Cotage.

The murdrer heares how reprobated Caine

Was curst of God, that had his brother slaine,

Yet when he's from the Church, forgets it all,

And stabs a man for taking of the wall.

Should I through all mens seu'rall actions runne,

I know my businesse neuer would be done.

The rich man hates the poore man, and the poore

Doth euuie gainst the rich man for his store.

Thus is the blest soules euerliuing bread,

In bounteous measure all the earth or'espread:

Some on the high way fall and takes no roote,

But is of no esteeme trode vnder foote:

Some falles on stones, and some alights on thornes,

Deuour'd with fowles, or choak'd with scoffs or scornes.

Some little portion falles in fruitfull ground,

Th'encrease of which is to be seldome found.

For let men waigh their good deedes with their bad,

For thousand ils, one good will scarse be had.

And yet no doubt but God in store doth keepe

His neere deere children, his best flocke of sheepe.

For though vnto the world they are not knowne,

Yet tis sufficient God doth know his owne.

For though Elias thought himselfe was all

That had not offered sacrifice to Ball:

Iehouah answer'd him, seuen thousand more,

In Israel, did this Idol not Adore.

But who so much in this vile life are hated,

As those which to saluation are created.

[Page]For let a man resraine to drabe or dice,

Out fie vpon him then, he's too precise.

Let him forbeare to lie, to sweare, or banne,

O hang him rascall, he's a Puritan.

And sure I thinke the Deuill by that false name

Hath added thousands soules vnto his flame.

Some man ere he'le be cal'd a Puritan

Will turne a damned Machiauilian,

A Libertine, Papist, or else what not,

To keepe his name from so impure a blot.

I speake not this regarding their estate,

Who from our Church themselues doe seperate,

For good indifferent Ceremonius rites,

And gainst our Churches gouernment backbites.

Nor doe I praise the louing Sisters loue,

Who often makes the Brethren's spirits moue,

And if twere lawfull (they would gladly kno)

To dresse their meate the Sabbath day or no.

And wherefore now the Churchmen of these daies,

Ride too and fro, to preach so many waies,

When Christ to his Apostles gaue in charge

That they should seeke and teach all nations large,

The way, that in his Lawes they might abide,

Christ bade them goe, he bade them not to ride.

These Idle questionists, these scismatickes,

I hold no better then ranke heretikes:

But this I thinke not well, when honest hearts

Shall haue this impure name without desarts.

How then can my comparing be gainstood,

For men are like to trees, some bad, some good.

But tarry Satyre, thou too fast dost trot,

There is one thing more I had almost forgot,

And this is it, of Alehouses, and Innes,

Wine Merchants, Vintners, Brewers, who much winnes

By others losing, I say more or lesse

Who saile of hufcap lick or doe professe,

[Page]Should neuer be to any office cald.

Or in no place of Iustice be instalde:

The reason is they gaine by mens excesse

Of deuilish quafting and damb'd drunkennesse.

For why, should men be moderate in their drinke.

Much Beere, and bottle Ale should stand and stinke:

And Mounseir Claret, and sweet Signeor Sacke

Would sowre and turne vnto the Merchants wracke?

The Vintners then within their sellers deepe

Such coniuring at midnight would not keepe.

This swinish sinne hath man of sense bereauen,

To bandy balles of blasphemy gainst heauen.

It is the way, the dore, the porch, the gate,

All other vices enter in thereat.

A drunken man in rage will stab his brother,

He'le Cuckold his owne father, whoore his mother,

Reuile and curse, sweare, and speake dangerous treason,

And when he's sober, hangs for't by the weason.

How then should men a reformation giue,

To mend those crimes, that by those Crimes doe liue.

The Patriarke Noah first did plant the Vine,

And first did feele the powerfull force of wine.

And righteous Lot, by wine depriu'd of wit,

Foule Incest with his daughter did commit.

And Holophernes drunken lay in bed

Whilst strong faith'd, weake arm'd Iudith cut of's head.

Great Alexander out his Fauchion drewe

And being drunke, his best friend Clitus slew.

If euery haire vpon the heads of men

Were quils, and euery quill were made a pen:

Were Earth to paper turn'd; and Seas to Inke

And all the world were writers, yet I thinke,

They could not write the mischifes done by drinke.

And such a custome men hath tane therein,

That to be drunke, is scarse accounted sinne,

[Page]But houest recreariue meriment

The time is term'd that is in tipling spent.

A Marchants ship is richly fraught, ariues

And for thanksgiuing that so wel he thriues,

He makes a feast, and store of money spends,

Inuites his kinsfolke, creditors, and friends:

Where stormes, and Rocks, and Pirates, are forgot,

And triumphes made to Bacchus, and the Pot.

A Rich mans wife's deliuered of a boy,

And all the houshold must be drunk for ioy.

The prisoner that's condemn'd to die and hang,

And by reprieue hath scap'd that bitter pang,

Will presently his old acquaintance call,

And ere he giues God thankes to drinking fall.

Why drunkards common are, as lies, or stealing,

And sober men are scarce, like honest dealing.

When men doe meet, the second word that's spoke,

Is where's good liquour, and a pipe of smoake.

The labouring man that for his hire doth serue,

Let Landlord tarry, wife and children sterue

With not a bit of bread within the house,

Yet he'le sit on the Alebench and carows.

Thus like an Inundation drinke doth drowne

The Rich, the Poore, the Courtier, and the Clowne.

Since then to be a drunkard, is to be

The sincke of Incest, and Sodomitry,

Of Treason, swearing, fighting, beg'ry, murder,

And diuers more, I then will goe no furder:

But heere my Satyrs stinging whip ile waste

In lashing dropsie drunkards out of taste.

How then can it be possible that such

Who sell Wine, Beere, or Ale, doe gaine so much,

Should punish drunkards, as the Law commands,

In whose vaine spending, their most gaining stands.

It were all one as if a Mercer did

To weare Silke, Veluet, Cloth of Gold forbid.

[Page]And Victlers may as wisely punish those

From whom their daily drinks, great gettings growes.

I would haue all old drunkards to consent

To put a Bill vp to the Parlament:

That those by quaffing that haue spent their wealth,

Consum'd their times, their memory, their health,

And by excessiue spending now are bare,

That Merchants, Brewers, Vintners, should prepare

Some Hospitals to keepe them in their age,

And cloath, and feed them, from fierce famines rage,

For euery one whose hard vnlucky lots,

Hath beene to be vndone by empting pots,

I hold it fit that those the pots that filde,

Should contribute those Almeshouses to builde.

Yet one obiection would this bill debarre,

Too many drunkards there already are;

And rather then this law would bate their store,

I feare'twould make them twise as many more.

For why, to drinke most men would be too bold,

Because they would haue pentions being old.

And men (of purpose to this vice would fall,

To be true beads-men to this hospitall.

Then let it be as it already is,

But yet I hold it not to be amisse)

Those Drinkesellers, from office to exclude

And so for that my Satyr doth conclude.

I could rippe vp a Catologue of things,

Which thousand thousands to damnation flings,

But all my paines at last would be but idle.

It is not man, can mens Affections bridle.

Sinne cannot be put downe with inke and paper,

No more then Sol is lightned with a Taper.

To the right Worshipfull and my euer good friend, Sr. ROVVLAND COSTON Knight.

[Page]

TO Read, to like, to laugh, I send you this,

Desiring pardon where their's ought amisse.

When Graner matters trouble not your head,

With former fauour let my lines be read.

To my very good Friends Master Alexander Glouer, Mr. Iohn Rowdon, and Mr. Iohn Burges.

THough Rich Pecunia (that all states commands)

In Numbers numberlesse runs through your hands:

Yet this I know, it neuer moues the minde

From goodnesse, that to goodnesse is inclinde.

And though it makes most men dishonest proue,

It cannot make your honest mindes remoue.

Then as your kindnesse vnto me assures

Your loue, so I remaine for euer yours.

To Mistresse Rose. Anagramma SORE.

SOund Rose, though Sore thy Anagram doth meane,

Mistake it not, it meanes no sore vncleane:

But it Alludes vnto the lofty skie

In which thy vertue shall both Sore and slye.

To my approued good friend Mr. ROBARTE CVDDNER.
Anagramma: Record and be tru.

[Page]

MY thoughts Record, and their account is true,

I scarce haue better friends aliue then you.

A nest of Epigrams.

Fortune. 1.

TIs Fortunes glory to keepe Poets poore,

And cram weake witted Idiots with her store:

And tis concluded in the wisest schooles

The blinded drab, shall euer fauour fooles.

Epigram 2. Loue.

LOue is a dying life, a liuing death.

A vapor, shadow, buble, and a breath:

An idle bable, and a paltry toy,

Whose greatest Patron is a blinded boy:

But pardon loue, my iudgement is vniust,

For what I spake of loue, I meant of lust.

Epigram 3. Death.

THose that scape fortune, and th' extreames of loue,

Vnto their longest homes, by death are droue:

[Page]Where Caesars, Kaesars, Subiects, Abiects must

Be all alike, consum'd to durt and dust:

Death endeth all our cares, or cares encreace

It sends vs vnto lasting paine, or peace.

Epigram 4. Fame.

WHē Fortune, Loue & Death their tasks haue doon

Fame makes our liues through many ages run:

For be our liuing actions, good or ill

Fame keepes a record of our doings still,

By Fame Great Iulius Caesar euer liues;

And Fame, infamous life to Nero giues.

Epigram 5. Time.

ALL making, marring, neuer turning Time

To all that is, is period, and is prime:

Time weares out Fortune, Loue, and Death and Fame

And makes the world forget ther proper name.

Ther's nothing that so long on earth can last,

But in conclusion Time will lay it wast.

Epigram. 6. Kame, kathee.

MY Muse hath vow'd, reuenge shall haue her swindge

To catch a Parrot in the Woodcocks sprindge.

Epigram 7. Solus.

THe land yeelds many Poets, were I gone

The water sure (I durst be sworne) had none.

[Page]

Epigram 8. Selfe conceit.

SOme Poets are, whose high pitch lofty straines

Are past the reach of euery vulgar wight:

To vnderstand which twill amaze weake braines,

So mysticall, sophisticall they write:

No maruell others vnderstand them not,

For they scarce vnderstand themselues, I wot,

Epigram 9. A couple.

ONe read my booke, and said it wanted wit,

I wonder if he meant himselfe, or it:

Or both: if both, two fooles were met I troe

That wanted wit, and euery foole doth soe.

Epigram 10. Bacchus and Apollo.

THe thigh-borne bastard of the thrundring Ioue

(When mens inuentions, are of wit most hollow)

He with his spitefull iuice their sprites doth moue,

Vnto t' harmonious musicke of Apollo:

And in a word, I would haue al men know it,

He must drinke wine, that meanes to be a Poet.

Epigram 11. Of translation.

I Vnderstand or know no foraigne tongue,

But their translations I doe much admire:

Much art, much paines, much study doth belong,

And (at the least) regard should be their hyre.

But yet I would the French had held togither

And kept their pox, and not translate them hither.

[Page]

Epigram 12. Natures counterfeite.

WHen Adam was in Paradice first plac'd,

And with the rule of mortal things was grac'd,

Then roses, pinkes and fragrant gilliflowers,

Adornd and deck'd forth Edens blessed bowres:

But now each Gill weares flowres, each Punck hath pinks,

And roses garnish Gallants shooes me thinkes:

When rugged Winter, robs fairy Floraes treasure,

Puncks can haue pinks and roses at their pleasure.

Epigram 13. The deuill take bribery.

A Man atach't for murdring of a man

Vnto the for-man of his lury sent,

Two score angels, begging what he can,

He would his conscience straine, law to preuent:

That his offences Iudge, might iudge no further

But make man slaughter of his wilfull murther:

The verduict was manslaughter to the Iudge,

The Iudge demanded how it could be so?

The for-man said his conscience much did grudge:

But forty angels did perswade him no,

Well quoth the Iudge this case shall murther be,

If halfe those angels, not appeare to me.

Thus when the law men to confusion driues,

The godlesse angels will preserue their liues.

Epigram 14. The deuill is a knaue.

I Shell dislikes the surplusse and the cope,

And calls them idle vestments of the Pope:

[Page]And mistresse Maude would goe to Church full faine

But that the corner cap makes her refraine:

And Madam Idle is offended deepe,

The Preacher speakes so lowde, she cannot sleepe:

Loe thus the deuill sowes contentious seed,

Whence sects, and schismes, and heresies doo breed.

Epigram 15. Kissing goes by fauour.

BEmbus the Burgomaster liues in paine

With the Sciatica, and the Cathar.

Rich Grundo of the dropsie doth complaine,

And with the Gowte these mizers troubled are.

If Tinkers, Coblers, Botchers be infected

With Bembus Lamenesse, or with Grundoes Gowte:

Like pocky fellowes they must be reiected,

And as infectious rascalls be kept out,

And not come neere where holesome people flocks,

Thus rich mens sicknesses, are poore mens pocks.

Epigram 16. Deere, no Venison.

PRecilla alwaies cals her husband Deere,

Belike she bought him at too deere a rate,

Or else to make the case more plaine appeere,

Like to a Deere she hath adorn'd his pate;

If it be so god Vulcan send her luck

That she may liue to make her Deere a Buck.

Epigram 17. Euerything is pretty when it is little.

THere is a saying old, (but not so witty)

That when a thing is little, it is pritty:

[Page]This doating age of ours it finely fits

Where many men thought wise, haue pretty wies.

Epigram 18. [...]e [...]ne somewhat.

ONe ask'd me, what my Melancholy meanes,

I answer'd twas because I wanted meanes:

He ask'd what I did by my answere meane,

I told him still my meanes were too too meane.

He offer'd me to lend me pounds a score,

I answer'd him I was to much in score.

He finding me in this crosse answ'ring vaine,

Left me in want to wish for wealth in vaine.

Epigram 19. Faith without workes.

AMmongst the pure reformed Amsterdamers,

(Those faithfull friday feasting capon crammers)

Onely in them (they say) true faith doth lurke:

But tis a lazy faith, twill doe no worke.

O should it worke, ther's many thousand feares,

T'would set the world together by the eares.

Epigram 20. Partiallity.

STrato the Gallant reeles alongst the streete,

His adle head's too heauy for his feete:

What though he sweare and swagger spurne and kick,

Yet men will say the Gentleman is sick?

And that twere good to learne where he doth dwell,

And helpe him home because he is not well.

Strait staggers by a Porter, or a Carman

As bumsie as a fox'd flapdragon German:

[Page]And though the Gentlemans disease and theirs,

Are parted onely with a paire of sheares:

Yet they are drunken knaues and must to'th stocks,

And there endure a world of flouts and mocks.

Thus when braue Strato's wits with wine are shrunk,

The same disease wil make a begger drunk.

Epigram 21. A keeper of honesty.

DEliro should of honesty be full,

And store of wisdome surely is within him.

What though he dally with a painted trull:

And she to folly daily seemes to win him,

Yet in him sure is honesty good store,

He vtters but his knauerie with a whore?

For he that spends too free, shall surely want,

Whilst he that spares will liue in wealthy state:

So wit and honesty, with such are scant,

Who part with it at euery idle rate:

But men must needs haue honesty and wit,

That like Deliro neuer vtter it.

Epigram 22. All's one, but on's not all.

TO wonder and admire is all one thing,

If as Sinonymies the words be tooke,

But if a double meaning from them spring:

For double sence your Iudgement then must looke.

As once a man all soild with durt and mire

Fell downe, and wonder'd not, but did admire.

[Page]

Epigram 23. Mistresse fine bones.

FIne Rarnell wonderfully likes her choyce

In hauing got a husband so compleat,

Whose shape and minde doth wholy her reioyce:

At bed, board, and abroad, he's alwaies neate:

Neate can he talke, and feed, and neatly tread,

Neate are his feete, but most neat is his head.

Epigram 24. A supposed Construction.

MAry and Mare, Anagramatiz'd

The one is Armye, and the other Arme

In both their names is danger Moraliz'd

And both alike, doth sometimes good, or harme

Mare's the sea and Mare's Arme's a riuer

And Marye's Armye's all for whatl'ye giue her.

Epigram 25. Death is a Iuggler.

A Rich man sicke would needs goe make his will

And in the same he doth command and will

One hundred pound vnto his man cald Will,

Because he alwaies seru'd him with good will:

But al these wills, did prooue to Will but vaine,

His master liues and hath his health againe.

Epigram 26. Mistresse Grace onely by name.

GRace gracelesse, why art thou vngratious Grace,

Why dost thou run so lewdely in the race?

[Page]The cause wherefore thy goodnesse is so scant

Is cause, what most thou hast, thou most dost want.

Epigram 27. Prudence.

TIs strange that Prudence should be wild and rude,

Whose very name doth Modesty include:

The reason is, for ought that I can see,

Her name and nature doth not well agree.

Epigram 28. Mercy.

MY Mercie hates me, what's the cause I pray,

Tis cause I haue no money, shee doth say.

O cruell Mercy now I plainely see

Without a see no mercy comes from thee.

Yet in conclusion, euery idle gull

Perceiues Mercy is vnmercifull.

Epigram 29. Faith.

O Faith thou alwaies vnbeleeuing art,

Faith in thy name, and faithlesse in thy hart.

Thou credidst all, but what is true and good,

In vertue rude, in vice well vnderstood.

Epigram 30. Vpon my selfe.

MY selfe I liken to an vntun'de Viol,

For Like a Viol I am in a Case;

And who so of my fortunes makes a triall

Shall (like to me) be strung and tuned base.

[Page]And Treables Troubles he shall neuer want,

But heres the Periode of my mischiefes All,

Thogh Base and Trebles, fortune did me grant

And Meanes, but yet alas they are too small.

Yet to make vp the Munck & I must looke

The Tenor in the cursed Counter booke.

Epigram 31. A Rope for Parrat.

WHy doth the Parrat cry a Rope, a rope,

Because he's cagde in prison out of hope.

Why doth the Parrat call a Boate, a Boate?

It is the humor of his idle note.

O prety Pall, take heede, beware the Cat,

(Let Watermen alone, no more of that.)

Since I so idly heard the Parrat talke,

In his owne language, I say, walke knaue walke.

Epigram 32 Constants.

INconstant Constants albewitching feature,

Hath made faire Constance an inconstant Creature,

Her Godmother was very much to blame,

To giue Inconstancy a constant name.

But was a woman nam'de her so contrary,

And womens tongues and hearts doe euer varie.

Epigram 33 Vpon the burning of the Globe.

ASpiring Phaeton with pride inspirde,

Misguiding Phaebus Carre, the world the firde:

But Ouid did with fiction serue his turne,

And I in action sawe the Globe to burne.

[Page]

Epigram 34. Late Repentance.

A Greedy wretch did on the Scriptures looke,

And found recorded in that Sacred booke,

How such a man with God should sure preuaile

Who clad the naked, and visit those in Iaile.

And then he found how he had long mistak'd,

And oftentimes had made the cloathed nak'd:

In steed of visiting th'opprest in mones,

He had consum'd them to the very bones.

Yet one day he at leasure would Repent,

But sudden death Repentance did preuent.

Epigram 35. Not so strange as true.

THe stately Stagge when he his hornes hath shedde,

In sullen sadnesse he deplores his losse:

But when a wife cornutes her husbands head,

His gaines in hornes he holdes an extreame Crosse.

The Stagge by loasing doth his losse complaine,

The man by gaining doth lament his gaine.

Thus whether hornes be either lost or found,

They both the loser and the winner wounde.

Epigram 36. A Wordmonger.

MAns Vnderstanding's so obnubilate,

That when thereon I doe excogitate,

Intrinsicall and querimonious paines,

Doth puluerise the concaue of my braines,

That I could wish man were vnfabricate,

His faults he doth so much exaggerate.

[Page]

Epigram 37. Plaine dunstable.

YOur words passe my capatchity, good zur,

But ich to proue neede neuer to goe vur:

Cha knowne men liue in honest exclamation,

Who now God wot, liues in a worser fashion.

The poor man grumbles at the rich mans store,

And rich men daily doe expresse the poore.

Epigram 38. Reason.

KNowest thou a Traitor, plotting damned Treason,

Reueale him, tis both loialty and Reason.

Knowest thou a thiefe will steale at any season,

To shunne his company thou hast good reason,

Seest thou a villaine hang vp by the weason,

He hangs by reason, that he wanted reason.

Good men are scarse, and honest men are geason,

To loue them therefore tis both right and reason,

Mere I could say, but all's not worth two peason,

And therefore to conclude I hold it reason.

[Page]

Epigram 39. Out of the pan into the fire.

TOm sencelesse, to the death doth hate a play:

But yet heele play the drunkard euery day,

He railes at plaies, and yet doth ten times worse,

He'le dice, he'le bowle, he'le whore, he'le sweare, he'le curse,

When for one two pence (if this humor please)

He might go see a play, and scape all these:

But tis mans vse in these pestiferous times

To hate the least, and loue the greatest crimes.

Epigram 40. A Poets similitude.

A Poet Rightly may be tearmed fit

An abstract, or Epitomy of wit:

Or like a Lute that others pleasures breed,

Is fret and strung, their curious eares to feed,

That scornefully distast it, yet tis knowne

It makes the hearers sport, but in selfe none.

A Poet's like a taper, burnt by night

That wasts it selfe, in giuing others light.

A Poet's the most foole beneath the skies,

He spends his wits in making Idiots wise,

Who when they should their thankefulnesse returne

They pay him with disdaine, contempt and scorne.

A Puritan is like, a Poets purse,

For both do hate the crosse (what crosse is worse?)

[Page]

Epigram 41. Macanas Epitaph.

HEere lies the Steward of the Poets God,

Who whilst on earth his loued life abod,

Apollo's Daughters, and the heires of Ioue

His memorable bounty did approue:

His life, was life to Poets, and his Death

Bereau'd the Muses of celestiall breath.

Had Phoebus fir'd him from the lofty skies,

That Phaenix like another might arise

From our his odoriff'rus sacred embers,

Whose lou'd liues losse, poore Poetry remembers.

§

§

This line is the same backward, as it is forward, and I will giue any man fiue shillings a peece for as many as they can make in English.

Lewd did I liue and euil I did dwel.

An Apologie for Watermen.
Dedicated to Master Richard WARNER the Master of his Maiesties Barge, and to the rest of the Masters and Assistants of the Companie.

[Page]

SVch imputations, and such daily wrongs

Are laid on Watermen, by Enuious tongues.

To cleare the which, if I should silent be

T'were basenesse, and stupidity in me.

Nor doe I purpose now with inke and pen,

To write of them, as they are watermen,

But this I speake, defending their vocation

From slanders false, and idle imputation.

Yet should I onely of the men but speake

I could the top of Enuies Coxcombe breake.

For I would haue all men to vnderstand

A Waterman's a man by Sea or Land.

And on the land and sea, can seruice do

To serue his King, as well as other two:

He'le guard his Country both on seas and shore

And what (a Gods name) can a man doe more.

Like double men they well can play indeed

The Soldiers, and the Sailers for a need.

If they did yeerely vse to scoure the Maine,

As erst they did, in wars twixt vs and Spaine,

[Page]I then to speake, would boldly seeme to dare

One Sailer with two Soldiers should compare.

But now sweet peace their skill at Sea so duls,

That many are more sit to vse their sculs

Then for the sea, for why! the want of vse

Is Arts confusion, and best skils abuse.

And not to be too partiall in my words,

I thinke no Company more knaues affoords:

And this must be the reason, because farre

Aboue all Companies their numbers are:

And where the multitude of men most is,

By consequence there must be most amisse.

And sure of honest men it hath as many,

As any other Company hath any.

Though not of wealth they haue super fluous store,

Contents is a Kingdome, and they seeke no more.

Of Mercers, Grocers, Drapers, men shall finde

Men that to loose babauiour are inclinde.

Of Goldsmiths, Silkemen, Clothworkers, and Skinners,

When they are at the best they all are sinners.

And drunken rascalles are of euery Trade,

Should I name all, I or'e the bootes should wade?

If Watermen be onely knaues alone,

Let all that's faultlesse cast at them a stone.

Some may reply to my Apology:

How they in plying are vnmannerly,

And one from tother, hale, and pul, and teare,

And raise, and braule, and curse, and banne, and sweare.

In this ile not defend them with excuses,

I alwaies did, and doe hate those abuses.

The honest vse, of this true trade I sing,

And not the abuses that from thence doe spring.

And sure no Company hath Lawes more strict,

Then Watermen, which weekely they inflict

Vpon offenders, who are made pay duely

Their fines, or prison'd, cause they plide vnruly.

[Page]They keepe no shops, nor sell deceitfull wares,

But like to Pilgrims trauell for their fares,

And they must aske the question where they goe.

If men will goe by water yea or no

Which being spoke aright, the fault's not such,

But any Tradesman (sure) will doe as much.

The Mercer as ye passe along the way

Will aske what d'e lacke, come neere I pray.

The Draper whose warme ware doth clad the backe,

Will be so bolde as aske ye what d'e lacke.

The Goldsmith midst his siluer and his gold

To aske you, what d'e lacke he will be bold.

Through Birchin lane, who euer often goes,

Saies, Watermen are honest men to those,

And if your Coate be torne, before you goe,

Of euery rent, with rending thei'le make two.

This being granted, as none can deny,

Most Trades aswell as Watermen doe plye,

If in their plying they doe chance to iarre,

They doe but like the Lawyers at the Barre.

Who plead as if they meant by the'ares to fall,

And when the Court doth rise, to friendship fall.

So Watermen, that for a fare contends

The fare once gone, the Watermen are friends.

And this I know, and therefore dare maintaine,

That he that truely labours and takes paine,

May with a better Conscience sleepe in bed,

Then he that is with ill got thousands sped.

So well I like it, and such loue I owe

Vnto it, that Ile fall againe to Rowe:

Twill keepe my health from falling to decay,

Get money, and chase Idlenesse away.

I'm sure it for Antiqnity hath stood,

Since the worlds drowning vniuersall flood,

And howsoeuer now it rise or fall.

The Boate in Noahs Del [...]

[Page]And though our wits, be like our purses bare,

With any Company we'le make compare

To write a Verse, prouided that they be

No better skild in Schollership then we.

And then come one, come thousands, nay, come all,

And for a wager wele to Versing fall.

My unwilling farewell to POETRIE.

ADue thou two topt Clowde surmounting Mount,

Adue thou sacred sweet Pegasean fount,

Adue you rarest Sisters, three times three,

Take all in generall this farewell of mee.

Full low (alas) lies good Mecaenas head,

And Bounty from the mizer world is fled.

I find the Thames can yeeld me more (by proofe)

Then can the Well made with the Horses hoose:

Then since tis so that Poets must be poore

(For any thing I know) Ile verse no more,

And therefore to Conclude, let all men know

Ile cease to write, and fall againe to Rome.

Epilogue to those that knowes what they haue read, and how to censure.

[Page]

TO you whose eares and eyes haue heard and seene

This little pamphlet, an [...] an iudge betweene

That which is good, or tol'rable, or ill,

If I with Artlesse Nature wanting skill

Haue writ but ought, that may your thoughts content.

My Muse hath then accomplisht her intent.

Your fauors can preserue me, but your frownes

My poore inuentions in obliuion drownes.

With tollerable friendship let me craue

You will not seeke to spill, what you may saue.

But for the wrimouth'd Crittick that hath read

That mewes, and puh's and shakes h [...]inelesse head:

And saies my education or my sta [...]

Doth make my verse esteem'd at lower rate,

To such a one this answere I doe send

And bid him mend before he discommend,

His Enuy vnto me, will fauours prooue,

The hatred of a foole breeds wise mens loue.

My Muse is iocund that her labors merits

To be malign'd and scornd by Enuious spirits:

Thus humbly I cra [...]e [...]rd [...]the best,

Which being gaind, Sir reuerence for the rest.

FINIS.

Information about this book

Title statement

The nipping and snipping of abuses: or The woolgathering of vvitte With the Muses Taylor, brought from Parnassus by land, with a paire of oares wherein are aboue a hundred seuerall garments of diuers fashions, made by nature, without the helpe of art, and a proclamation from hell in the Deuils name, concerning the propogation, and excessiue vse of tobacco. By Iohn Taylor.

Taylor, John, 1580-1653.

Edition statement

1614

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Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2003-01 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A13479

ID [STC]

STC 23779

ID [STC]

ESTC S118233

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99853441

ID [PROQUEST]

99853441

ID [VID]

18824

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Early English books online.

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(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A13479)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 18824)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1036:17)

Source

— The nipping and snipping of abuses: or The woolgathering of vvitte With the Muses Taylor, brought from Parnassus by land, with a paire of oares wherein are aboue a hundred seuerall garments of diuers fashions, made by nature, without the helpe of art, and a proclamation from hell in the Deuils name, concerning the propogation, and excessiue vse of tobacco. By Iohn Taylor., Taylor, John, 1580-1653..

Extent

[96] p.

Printed by Ed: Griffin for Nathaniel Butter, and are to be sold at the signe of the Pide-Bull neere Saint Austens-gate,. London :: 1614.. (In verse.) (Signatures: [par.]⁴ A-L⁴.) (Reproduction of the original in the Henry E. Huntington Library and Art Gallery.) (L3 mutilated.)

Creation

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