A DESCRIPTION OF LOVE. With certaine Epigrams. Elegies. and Sonnets. AND Also Mast. IOHNSONS Answere to Master WITHERS. With the Crie of Ludgate, and the SONG of the Begger. The sixth Edition.

LONDON, Printed by M. F. for Francis Coules at the vpper end of the Old-Baily neere Newgate. 1629.

The Author to the Booke.

IT is no little Cottage that containes
Wild wandring youth, or giddy headed brains:
Their soft downe beds at home or daintie fare
Contents them not, they loue the open Ayre:
They among themselues expostul [...]ting, say,
Shall we like Snailes, liue in our shel [...] Away,
To Sea for shame, to Ship, let's goe aboord,
And see what other Countries can affoord▪
But being pincht with cold, or parcht with heat,
Ready to die with thirst, or starue for meat,
When they grow leane and lowsie, tatterd▪ torne,
When they be curbd, mockt, scoft, contemnd, forlorne,
Seeing their folly: then they sigh & cry
Oh what a happy thing it is to die!
Euen so my gadding Muse, and running braine,
Not witting what it was to passe the Maine,
In a mad humor once, or merry fit,
Would needs goe wander without feare or wit:
But being tost in the tempestuous Seas,
Hauing no friend, no comfort, rest or ease,
[Page]She vow'd if e're shee set a foote on shore,
Ne're to see Sea, or once take shipping more.
Like a drownd Mouse at last to land shee got,
And being wounded, weake, and full of shot,
Crept in a corner choosing there to lie,
(Rather then once Peepe out of doore) and die,
But yet, alas, within a yeare or twaine,
Newes came, my Muse must to the Sea againe:
Shee being full of griefe, and quite dismaid,
Flies vnto me, and cries to me for aid▪
But all in vaine for succour did she craue,
I could not helpe her: then selfe doe, selfe haue.
I told her plaine my minde, what I thought best,
To arme her selfe and goe, since shee was prest.
So to the Sea the second time shee went,
Against all wind and weather being bent.
Let Critickes crake and crow, let Roysters raile:
No storme (said she) shall make me now strike saile
A little wetting shall not make me shrinke▪
Ile hoyst vp saile, though I be sure to sinke.
Then to her tacklings did she stoutly stand
The second voyage, till shee came to land.
Good gentle Sirs, let me now beg this boone,
That she ne're passe the Seas, as she hath done:
The Seas are dangerous, and the Ocean rough,
And since that shee hath seruice done enough,
Now let her rest: seeke not her heart to breake▪
[Page]She's weather-beaten, old, and springs a leake.
The Pitcher, be it framed ne're so strong,
Comes broken home, going to water long,
Now let her rest: giue her a little breath,
Presse her no more lest shee be prest to death
But shee is bound the sixth time to the Seas;
Shee must not lie at harbour or at ease;
I cannot for my life her voyage stay:
Shee's bound, and being bound, shee must obey.
Farewell, deare Muse, I thought ere this to see
Thee wearie of the World, or that of thee.

To the Booke.

MY little ship doth on the Ocean fleet,
That euery circumspecting eye may see't▪
Now in her iourney lest she chance to faile,
L [...] Printers pray she may haue happy saile.

To the Reader.

SOme men there be that praise whats good they heare
And some there are that carpe what ere it be:
Some men in Zoilus ghost will soone appeare,
And some with Aristippus flattery,
But carpe at what you can, dispraise, back-bite,
Ile neuer hide my Poems from the light.

To the enuious Reader.

PAle faced Enuy aimes at greatest men,
And by her nature euer seekes to clime;
If it be so, surely she will not then
Looke downe so low as for to view my Rime:
But if against her nature she will see't,
Her, face to face, my verse shall dare to meet.

A Description of LOVE.

NE're toucht my lips the Heliconian Well▪
Mine eies ne're gaz'd vpon Parnassus hill,
My tongue did neuer ancient Stories tell:
My hand did neuer hold a curious quill.
Yet write I must, but if I barren be,
And shew no wit, Ile shew my industry.
Where is that mortall man that can define
The thing cald loue, which all the gods do honor?
Her greatnesse goes beyond the wit of mine,
I goe beyond my witts to thinke vpon her:
The more I thinke what this same loue should be
The lesse I doe conceiue what thing is she.
A taske most weightie doe I vndergoe▪
By vndertaking for to speake of Loue▪
Whose bare description I did neuer know,
Whose definition pose the gods aboue:
Shes deafe yet heares, shes dumb yet speaks, shes blind,
Yet Ianus like, she seeth before, behind.
Like vnto Summers grasse shees fresh and greene,
Sh'adornes the body, as the flowers the field,
She in a Begger liues, as in a Queene,
She conquers Mars, and yet to Mars shee'l yeeld;
She's white, she's red, she's yellow as the gold,
She's euer liuing, yet is neuer old.
Inuisible she is, yet her we see,
Both heauen and earth this goddesse doth inherit,
She's flesh, she's bloud, she's bone as well as wee,
Yet can she nothing doe but with a spirit,
She is a ponderous feather, witty folly,
A quicke thing slow, a merry melancholy.
Shee'l soone be angry, Shee'l be pleasd as soone,
Maliciousnesse ne'r harbours in her minde.
She's hot i'the morning, but she's cold ere noone;
She's rough, she's calm, she's hoggish yet shes kind,
Sheel sing, sheel sob, so that the curious fiction
May terme and call her, well a contradiction.
She is a restlesse rest, a feruent cold,
A wholesome poyson, she's a painfull pleasure,
Exceeding shame fast, shee's exceeding bold;
Shee's bitter hony, shee's a gainelesse treasure,
Shee's too too loose, yet too too fast a knot:
She is a hellish Heauen, what is she not?
She made Leander passe the raging Seas,
His louing Hero that he might enioy;
Faire Helean did Paris better please,
Then all his kinsfolks, or the wealth in Troy:
She's such a thing that we so much respect
That we our friends forget, our selues neglect.
Our natiue Countrey doe we quite forsake,
Our prudent parents will we disobey,
Through desart places iournies doe we make,
And so become some lurking Lions prey;
Nay more then this, down quick to hell we go▪
As Orpheus did, if loue would haue it so.
Whilst on the key-cold earth our loue doth lie,
The ground sends forth a comfortable heat,
Forgetting of her owne propriety,
The stones seemes soft whilst loue makes them her seat,
Down on the downs whilst Louers lie together
The down seems down, & euery stone a fether.
Who her enioyes, enioyes all earthly pleasure,
Who her enioyes, can feele no cold nor heat,
Who her enioyes, enioyes a world of treasure,
Who her enioyes, enioyes his drinke, his meat,
Shes hony sweet, her selfe not mixt with gall▪
Who her enioyes, enioyeth all in all.
But if the goddesse Loue should changed be,
And not perpetually abide the same;
She headlong fals into extremitie:
She takes vpon her then another name▪
Her white is blacke, her smilings changed are;
She is a fury growne which once was faire.
Her golden haires are turnd to slimy snakes,
Her eyes like fire, her touch doth poyson spit;
Most grim and dreadfully her head she shakes,
Which on her shoulders once did finely sit.
Her pretty lisping tongue, & wanton speeches,
Are turn'd to yelling, howling, and to screeches.
She whom the gods did loue to looke vpon,
Makes Pluto quiuer at her odious sight;
Who was a Mate most meete for Loue alone,
Is now become a Fiend of darksome night;
Who once was louely and in rich estate,
Is wretched, hurtfull, and is turnd to hate.
Your youthfull Youths will not so often knocke,
And beate their tender fists against the doore,
But rust and canker now consumes the locke.
For want of vse which shin'd with vse before,
She keep [...] her home, and lurking there doth lie,
In holes and corners free from company,
Speake what shee will, she may, theres none that heares:
Let her bite, back-bite, slander or reuile,
Weepe whilst shes wearie, nōe respects her teares,
We know they come but from a Crocodile;
We know her arts, her cunning, charmes & skill
Who can seeme kind to those she meanes to kil.
Then why for Rosa should I carke and care?
Why for my Rosa should I sorrow feele,
Being shees false, as much as shee is faire?
What once lay at my heart, lies at my heele:
For why, a foole I should accounted be,
To die for her that scornes to liue with me.
Farewell, my Rosa, fickle as the wind,
Yet read these verses which I make of you,
Scan them vpon your fingers, and youle find,
That euery staffe and line of these be true:
The since that you and I are now apart,
My verses feet be truer then thy heart.
Cursed be that beautie which was once my blisse,
Cursed bee those twinkling star-like eyes of thine.
Cursed be those lips which gaue me kisse for kisse,
Cursed be the tong which told me thou wert mine
Cursed be those armes which once did hold me fast
And ten times cursed be what ere thou hast.
Now to some vncouth desart will I goe,
There will I lay me downe in melancholy,
Where croaking toades lie throtling out my woe,
Or where some snakes lye hissing at my folly:
There will I lay me downe, there will I stay,
And neuer turne, vntill I turne to clay.
But soft, what slumber hath mine eyes opprest,
What idle fantasies disturbe my braines,
What is it makes me raile amidst my rest,
In slumber sweet, what makes me talke of paines?
Pardon sweet Loue, on me compassion take,
For this I dreaming or in passion spake.
The Helitropium makes no shew at night,
The proudest Peacocke hath no pleasing crie,
The glittering Sunne reserues his totall light,
Though misty clouds may keepe it from our eye:
Pardon sweet Loue, once more I pardon aske,
Faire is not foule, although she weares a maske.
He sometimes feeles the pricks that puls the Rose,
Who hony takes, may somtimes touch the sting▪
The fairest flowers may offend the nose,
D [...]th may be neere although the Swan doth sing
Ch [...]cks from such cheeks, & frowns from such a face,
Sweet loue, I like, so I may thee imbrace.
Then promise me I may enioy thy sight,
And faithfully thy word and promise keep [...],
Lest I lie tumbling all the irkesome night,
Telling the tedious minutes wanting sleepe.
For when ones loue doth stay a while away,
Each minute seemes an houre, each houre a day.
What if I walke most richly through the towne,
What if I be ador'd like Mahomet,
What if I take my rest on beds of downe,
What if I doe enioy whole Kingdoms? yet
All this is nought, vnlesse my Rosa be
In presence to behold my brauerie.
What if the best Musitians that be,
Take in their hands a seuerall instrument,
And play to me the sweetest harmony,
That euer was? yet were it no content;
The sweetest tunes seeme harsh vnto mine eare,
Vnlesse my Rosa be in place to heare.
What if my skin should be by nature sweet
Like Alexanders; what if by perfumes
Each man should smell me passing through the street,
What if my smell make sweet il-smelling roomes?
These smels, these odors little will content me,
Vnlesse my Rosa be in place to sent me.
What if my table be most richly spread
With the best [...]unkets can be made for m [...]
If Nectar be my drinke, if that my bread
Be of the purest Manche [...] made, what then?
All these delights will not my palate please,
'Lesse my Rosa be in place to taste of these.
What if the fairest Damsels in the Land
With soft silke skin and Alablaster white,
Should all at once before me naked stand
To touch: they neither please my touch or sight:
Rosa is she, like whom there is none such▪
She is my eye, eare, smell, my taste, my touch.
All the Senses.
Her voyce is pleasant musicke to the eare,
Her lookes doe like our sight exceeding well:
Feed on her lips, she is the daintiest cheare,
Mongst all perfumes she is the sweetest smell:
Our hot desire her water onely quenches,
She is the touch, the very sense of Senses.
She is the Star by which the Shipmen sayle,
She is the hatches, she wherein they rest,
She is the wind which makes the prosperous gale
She is the hauen, she which pleaseth best;
She is the Dolphin which Arion did
Preserue from danger, whilst he plaid and rid.
Then be my Pilot to direct my Ship,
Be thou the onely house where I may dwell,
Be thou the onely cup to touch my lip,
Be thou my heauen, and I shall feele no hell:
Be thou my winde, in spite of Aeolus;
My iourney then must needs be prosperous▪
Now what is Loue, or what may we it call,
Tell me, O thou that triest? I doe beseech
You see, that onely shee's the senses all;
I thinke shee's also all the parts of Speech:
To call her first a Noune, I thinke it good,
What can be felt, seene, heard, or vnderstood,
She is a Noune, and a Noune substantiue,
And by that name I may her rightly call,
Who stands her selfe, vnlesse another striue
To fling her downe, and force her for to fall:
An Adiectiue she may be also said,
Who sometime doth require anothers aid
But of Noune substantiues there are two sorts,
Some Nounes are proper, others common be,
The best of all Gramarians reports;
If it be so, yet both of these is she▪
She's proper, small, and of but slender bone,
She's doubtfull, common yet to moe then one.
A Pronoune.
She is a Pronoune, like vnto a Noune:
A Pronoune now she may be called well,
For she, what ere is done throughout the towne,
To euery one that comes, will shew and tell;
She busie is, like Poets that be versing
She doth delight in shewing and rehearsing.
A Verbe.
She's a Verbe Actiue, for if any wooe,
And aske her if she loues, she'l say, I doe;
She is a Passiue, too, for she'l sit still,
And suffer any man to haue his will:
But yet to her I ne'r will be a Suter,
She's Actiue, Passiue, but to me a Neuter.
She is a Participle too, I know,
For she hath two strings euer to her bow;
She is a Noune, a Verbe, yet sometimes neither:
She sometimes onely takes but part of either:
Foure kindes of Participles now there be;
But she is of the Pretertense with me.
An Aduerbe.
Aduerbs of diuers kinds we know there be,
An Aduerbe then of any kinde is she,
Sometime she is of place, for here and there,
Nay looke for her, you'l find her any where;
She's any Aduerbe; if you would know why,
She'l wish, she'l sweare, flatter, affirme, deny.
A Coniunction.
She's a Coniunction copulatiue, for either
As close as wax she ioyneth things together,
Or a Dis-iunctiue, for she'l stir vp strife,
(Hauing a naughty tongue) twixt man and wife:
Shee is a thing that's fit for any function,
Shee's any thing, therefore any Coniunction.
A Preposition.
She is a part of speech commonly set
Before all other parts of speeches; yet
This part of speech, we very often finde
Beyond, beside, nigh, through, about, behinde▪
She is a Preposition likewise seene,
Within, without, against, beneath, betweene.
An Interiection.
Since she is any thing, we last of all,
May rightly her an Interiection call;
Sometimes she's curst, sometimes exceeding kind,
Troubled with diuers passions of the mind;
Of maruelling, she's often, as Pape,
Sometimes of laughing too, as Ha, ha, he.
O you most braue coniuring Seminaries,
Read and attend my wofull wooing story:
Take beades, make crosses, say your Aue Maries,
And pray I may be out of Purgatorie:
For if I me not in Purgatorie here,
Ile not beleeue theres any any where.


To the courteous Reader.
THese Epigrams I made seuen yeares agoe,
Before I rime or reason scarce did know:
Condemne me not for making these, alas,
It was not I, I am not as I was.
Of a Legacie not an Ambassadour.
As twas my fortune by a wood to ride,
I saw two men, there armes behinde them tide:
The one lamenting there what did befall,
Cride I'me vndone, my wife and children all:
The other hearing him, alowd did cry,
Vndoe me then, let me no longer lie:
But to be plaine, the men which there I found,
Were both vndone indeed, yet both fast bound.
To the Barber.
To [...]sorlus onely liues by cutting haire,
And yet he brags, that Kings to him sit bare,
Me thinkes he should not brag and boast of it,
For he must stand to Beggers while they sit.
He tastes of his bitten nailes.
Philomathes once studying to indite,
Nibbled his fingers, and his nailes did bite:
By this I know not what he did intend,
Vnlesse his wit lay at his fingers end.
Of one subiect to his wife.
Noctiuagus walking in the euening sad,
Met with a Spirit; whether it was good or bad,
He did not knowe yet courage he did take,
And to the wandring spirit thus he spake;
If good thou bee'st, thou'lt hurt no silly men,
If thou beest bad, thou'st cause to loue me then,
For I thy Kinsman am, my wife's so euill,
That I am sure I married with the diuell.
Of Nature.
Nature did well in giuing poore men wit,
That fooles well monified, may pay for it.
To Lawyers.
To goe to law, I haue no maw,
Although my sute be sure;
For I shall lacke sutes to my backe,
Ere I my sute procure.
Demosthenes his imperfection.
Demosthenes both learning had and wit,
As wee may gather by the bookes hee writ:
Then blame him not hauing so much to vtter,
If that his tongue did trip, or he did stutter,
Of a Tabacconist.
If mans flesh be like swines as it is said,
The Metamorphosis is sooner made;
Then full-facd [...]nath [...] no Tabacco take,
Smoaking your corps, least bacon you doe make.
Of a drunkard.
Cinna one time most wonderfully swore,
That whilst he breathed, he would drink no more:
But since I know his meaning, for I thinke
He ment, he would not breath whilst he did drink
Of Flatterers.
Whilst on the Helitropium Sol doth shine,
Her clos'd and twisted selfe it doth untwine,
But when from her bright Phoebus takes his light
She shuts againe as scornefull to the night.
Whilst on me Phoebus sunshine shewes his face,
Each man with open armes will me imbrace.
But when the Sunne of fortune 'gins to [...]et,
They clutch their owne, hauing no more to get,
Of a proud man
Sylla would take the vpper hand of mee,
Saying he was a better man then I;
I knew my selfe his better for to be.
But yet the wall I gaue him willingly.
The wall he tooke, and take it euer shall,
For still the weakest goeth to the wall,
The vnconstancie of a woman.
A woman may be faire, and yet her minde,
Is as vnconstant as the wauering wind,
V [...]nus her selfe is faire, she shineth farre:
Yet shee's a Plane [...], and no fixed starre.
The pride of Bassa.
If it be true as ancient Authors write▪
That Blackamores do paint their Diuels white,
Then why doth Bassa bragge that shee is faire,
When such as shee most like the Diuels are:
Of the Pyhsicians of our time.
Twixt former times and ours there is great ods,
For they held men that were Physicians gods,
O what a happie age liue we in then,
That haue such gods, before that they bee men?
Poore mens happinesse.
Fortune doth fauour poore men most of all,
They hope [...]o rise: but rich men feare to fall.
To a Shoomaker.
Coriat shooes, and Shirt did neuer shift
In his last voyage, would you know his drift?
It was because he scornd, that any one
Should say, he was a shifting Companion,
To a bald man.
Caluus to combe his head doth take no care:
For why, there breedes no nits where growes no haire
Of the same man.
Haire on my head I neuer slumber shall,
Nor Caluus his, for he had none at all.
To the Fowler.
As Auceps walked with his Peece to [...]oote,
Vpon a Toad by chance he set his foote,
With that he straight-way started backe and said;
It was the fowlest Creature that was made,
But say he what he will, I thinke not so,
For he himselfe a Fowler was I know.
Of a Stammerer.
Balbus, with other men would angrie be
Because they could not speake so well as he.
For others speak but with their mouth, he know.
But Balbus speaks both through the mouth and nose.
Let no day passe without learning somewhat.
By euer learning, Solon waxed old,
For time he knew, was better farre then gold,
Fortune would giue him gold, which would decay
But fortune cannot giue him yesterday.
No truth in Wine.
Truth is in wine, but none can finde it there,
For in your Tauerne, men will lie and sweare.
Of a Painter.
Priscus is excellent in making faces,
For he his eies, his nose, his mouth displaces:
Since he hath skill in making these alone,
I wonder much he mendeth not his ovvne.
Of a forsworne maide.
Rosa being false and periur'd, once a friend
Bid me contented be, and marke her end.
But yet I care not, let my friend goe fiddle,
And let him marke her end, Ile marke her middle.
The vnconstancie of time.
Those men that trauell all the vvorld about,
Doe goe to finde the rarest fashions out,
For all the nevvest fashions that vve vveare,
We haue beyond Sea: They their fashions here;
But novv the vvorld of fashions seemeth drie,
We looke to finde them in the starry skie.
For if you looke it novv this fashion's nevv,
To vveare a starre on a Polony shoo.
Of a Flatterer.
The Dogge will euer barke before he bite,
The Theefe will bid you stand, before hee'le fight,
Each lurking beast, with some sowre visage will
Shew you a former signe of following ill:
But Marcus yet is ten times worse then these,
Whose hart is killing when his words do please.
Of a Courtier.
Man's but a worme, the wisest sort doth say,
Yet Clim the Courtier goes in fine array,
So that if man's a worme till he's deceast,
He meanes to be a Silke-worme at the least.
Of the death of Achilles.
Achilles hear [...] no wound would hurt his minde
No chance could fright, as we in storie finde:
But yet he died when he did Paris feele
Surely I thinke his heart was in his heele.
Of a Boaster.
When foolish Icarus like a bird would flie,
With waxed wings he did ascend on hie;
But when that Phoebus saw his proud intent,
Him head-long downe into the Sea he sent.
Then Icarus cried, O that I had my wish,
I would not be a bird but be a fish.
The pride of Woman.
Why women weare a Fall, I doe not know,
Vnlesse it onely be to make a show;
It's true indeed to pride they're giuen all:
And pride, the Prouerbe saies, must haue a fall.
Of one without Teeth.
To Fusca beefe and bacon's very loathsome,
Chickens and Pigions are not very toothsome;
No maruell though if then shee cannot eate,
She hath no teeth, and they are toothsome meate.
Of a stubburne Woman
My wife, while shee doth liue, her Will will take,
For when shee dying is, no Will must make;
But if she'le promise quickly for to die,
Ile grant her will, her life time willingly.
Of false accusers or backbiters.
When Codrus catches fleas, what ere he ailes,
He kills them with his teeth, not with his nailes;
Saying, that man by man might blamelesse goe,
If euery one would vse back-biters so.
Of master Leech who ranne away.
A pillar of the Church some Leech doe call,
But such as he are Caterpillars all;
He's fled to Rome, there's roome for such as hee,
We loue his roome, but not his company.
The countenance descries the minde.
If Phoebus good and bad doth see, tis signe
Bassa is bad; for she when Sol doth shine,
Doth weare a maske, least to the pearing Sunne,
Her countenance should tell what she hath done.
An answer to Momus.
Whilst I; as I was vvont, vvent neate and fine,
Momus me delicatulum did call:
This was the answere which I made to him,
Take you but halfe the word, and Ile take all.
Of the Authors education.
The Citie London to me life did giue,
And Westminster did teach me hovv to liue:
To whether place I doe most dutie ovve,
Good Readers tell mee, for I hardly knovv.
Know thy selfe, that is, be not proude.
Walking and meeting one not long agoe,
I ask'd vvho twas? he said, he did not know:
I said, I know thee. So said he, I you:
But he that knowes himselfe I neuer knew.
Trust not too much to thy beautie.
When Bassa walkes abroad, she paints her face,
And then she would be seene in euery place:
For then your Gallants who so ere they are,
Vnder a colour will account her faire.
Of a Leane man.
When first of all I Macilent did see,
An vgly spirit, I thought him for to be;
But since I know the cause he look'd so grim,
Had hardly flesh enough to couer him.
Of an Vsurer.
Griper more money got then he could spend,
By money which to others he did lend,
Say what he will, he was no gainer yet:
But he a Loser was, which so did get:
To get by cooz'ning, was his whole pretence,
By getting so, he lost his conscience.
Of the same,
Much gold you G [...]iper gather and corrade,
By lending out to vse, a damned trade;
But whilst of gold you are a Hell-u-o,
Much to the Diuell, much to Hell you owe.
Of a great gormondising belly.
Gaster did seeme to me to want his eyes,
For he could neither see his legs nor thighes;
But yet it was not so, he had his sight,
Only his belly hanged in his light.
Of a Page.
Sextus in old apparell still doth goe,
Yet all his sute is new from top to toe:
It is no maruell though, if this be true,
His masters old apparell makes him new.
Of a pratler hauing no teeth.
Nature the teeth doth as an hedge ordaine,
The nimble frisking tongue for to containe:
No maruell then since that the hedge is out,
If Fuscus tongue walketh so fast about.
Necessitie hath no law.
Florus did beate his Cooke and gan to sweare,
Because his meate was rotten rosted there:
Peace good sir, quoth the Cooke, need hath no law
Tis rotten rosted cause twas rotten raw.
Of one without eares.
Thraso vpon a pillar lost his eare,
And euer since he hid that place with haire;
Now lest thou Thraso, or his friend would be,
Cut off your lockes, that we your eares may see.
The Pouertie of Irus.
Irus vsing to lye vpon the ground,
One morning vnder him a feather found,
Haue I all night here line so hard (quoth he)
Hauing but one poore feather vnder me?
I wonder much then how they take their ease,
That night by night, lie on a bed of these.
Of an ill wife.
Priscus was weeping when his wife did die,
Yet he was then in better case then I:
I should be merry, and should thinke to thriue,
Had I but his dead wife for mine aliue.
A darke sentence or a riddle.
As Sextus once was opening of a nut,
With a sharpe knife his finger deepely cut:
What signe is this quoth he can any tell?
Tis signe quoth one, y' haue cut your finger well.
Not so saith he, for now my finger's sore;
And I am sure that it was well before.
Of the pouertie of Codrus.
Codrus did serue a multitude with meate:
Yet he himselfe had nothing for to eate:
Some men may thinke this frolick misery,
Or miserable liberality.
Vermin did feede on him when he perhaps
Did either feede on nothing or on scraps.
Of a couetous man.
Croesus is rich and gallant, faire and fat,
Codrus, thou art but poore, and what to that?
When he is dead, tell Croesus this from me:
More wormes will feed on him, then will on thee.
Of a great drinker.
Bid Gnatho heare a Sermon, then heele say,
Hee's a drie fellow that doth preach to day;
But hees a drier fellow sure, I thinke,
That ne'er has from his nose a pot of drinke.
Of the same.
Gnatho did sweare that he would drinke no more,
Flinging the beere away, cause it ran low.
Nay faith, saies one, it is a sinne to spil't,
For that is noble beere, that runs at Tilt.
Of chast Loue.
Many accuse me, cause I could doe nothing,
Many accuse me, cause I was a slow thing;
But soft my Masters, I was politicke:
For had not I beene slow, she had beene quicke.
To a Cuckold.
Cornutus calld his Wise, both Whore and Slut,
Quoth she, youl neuer leaue your brawling but;
But what quoth he? quoth she, the post or doore.
For you haue hornes to but, if Ime a whore.
An Epigram.
The Shopmen gallant goe, and spruse they are,
And giue their workmen what they list for ware;
They drink good wine, they feed vpon Anchoues
Sic vos non vobis, fertis aratra bones.
An Epigram.
Whē I in presse saw these things, not long since
I iudgd they had beene tried by the bench;
For if the Iury once had gone vpon them,
Lesse they'd bin hangd or burnd, what had come on them.
To G.F.
Since you your selfe did breake, you cunning are
Coozning your kindred thus with broken ware.
To M. P.
Sixe yeares I was a Seruant vnto thee,
Had I seru'd one yeare more I had beene free,
But since you got me once vpon the hip,
You turnd me off, before my Prentiship.
An Epigram.
Cinna loued Rosa well, thinking her pure,
And was not quiet till he made her sure,
She married yet another, but the end
Is this; she's Cinnaes wife, the others friend.
To certaine Academians.
You that so many precious houres loose,
Fall close vnto my studie, let your Muse
Thinke vpon nought but goodnes, starue, & pine,
Before an houre passe without a line.
For euen as the Riuer ebs and flowes,
This trash and earthly treasure comes and goes,
But learning lasts vntill the day of doome,
Sea cannot sinke it, nor fire it consume.
What if thy friends, thee meat nor money send?
Spend thy time well, thou hast enough to spend.
What if thou beest by chance in prison cast?
Mongst those that are in want, thou'lt find a wast.
Nay one may come, thy face that ne'r did see,
And set thee out, as one deliuer'd me.

A Loue Sonnet.

I Loued a Lasse a faire one,
As faire as e're was seene,
Shee was indeed a rare one,
Another Sheba Queene.
But foole as then I was,
I thought shee lou'd me too,
But now alas sha's left me,
Falero, lero, loo.
Her haire like gold did glister
Each eye was like a starre,
Shee did surpasse her sister,
Which past all others farre.
Shee would me honie call,
She'd ô she'd kisse me too,
But now alas sha's left me.
Falero, lero, loo.
In Summer-time to Medley
My loue and I would goe,
The boat-men there stoode readie,
My loue and I to rowe:
For Creame there would we call,
For Cakes, and for Prunes too,
But now alasse sha's left me,
Falero lero loo.
Many a merry meeting
My loue and I haue had:
She was my only sweeting,
She made my heart full glad,
The teares stood in her eies
Like to the morning dew,
But now alasse sha's left me,
Falero lero loo.
And as abroad we walked,
As Louers fashion is,
Oft we sweetly talked,
The Sun should steale a kisse:
The winde vpon her lippes
Likewise most sweetly blew
But now alas sha's left me,
Falero, lero, loo.
Her cheekes were like the Cherrie,
Her skin as white as snow,
When shee was blyth and merrie,
She Angel-like did show:
Her wast exceeding small,
The fiues did fit her shooe,
But now alasse sha's left me,
Falero, lero, loo.
In Summer time or winter
She had her hearts desire,
I still did scorne to stint her
From sugar, sacke, or fire:
The world went round about,
No cares we euer knew,
But now alasse sha's left me,
Falero, lero, loo.
As we walked home together,
At midnight through the towne,
To keepe away the weather,
O're her I'de cast my gowne:
No cold my Loue should feele,
What ere the heauens could doe,
But now alasse sh'as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.
Like Doues we would be billing,
And clip and kisse so fast,
Yet she would be vnwilling,
That I should kisse the last;
They're Iudas kisses now,
Since that they prou'd vntrue.
For now alasse sh'as left me.
Falero, lero, loo.
To Maidens vowes and swearing,
Henceforth no credit giue,
You may giue them the hearing,
But neuer them beleeue;
They are as false as faire,
Vnconstant, fraile, vntrue,
For mine alasse has left me.
Falero, lero, loo.
Twas I that paid for all things,
Twas others dranke the wine,
I cannot now recall things,
Liue but a foole to pine.
Twas I that beat the bush,
The bird to others flew,
For she alasse hath left me,
Falero, lero, loo.
If euer that Dame Nature,
For this false Louers sake,
Another pleasing creature
Like vnto her would make;
Let her remember this,
To make the other true,
For this alasse hath left me
Falero, lero, loo.
No riches now can raise me,
No want makes me despaire,
No miserie amaze me,
Nor yet for want I care:
I haue lost a world it selfe,
My earthly heauen adue,
Since shee alas hath left me.
Falero, lero loo.

To his Loue fearing a Corriuall.

THe poys'nous Spider and the lab'ring Bee,
The one and selfesame flower daily suckes;
But yet in nature much they disagree:
For poyson one, the other honie pluckes.
You are the flower (you know my meaning) he
The poys'nous Spider is, and I the Bee.
But if you like that swelling creature best,
Whose onely trap can but in snare a flie;
I'le leaue my writing, and I'le liue in rest,
Vntill another Loue can like my eie.
But, if you leauing me, me none can please,
I'le lingring liue in paine, I'le pine in ease.
I am the Bee, if thou wilt be the Hiue,
Wherein no blacke nor poys'nous moisture lies;
I'le be a painfull Bee, I'le daily striue▪
Home to returne to thee with loaden thighes:
And in the winter, when all flowers perish,
The hiue the Bee, the Bee the hiue shall cherish.
Tis not your fringe, your gloues, your bands, your lace,
Your gold, your fathers goods that I desire;
But tis your golden haire, your comely face,
Tis that, O that, that sets my heart on fire:
your hands, your heart, your loue, your comly hue,
Makes me forget me selfe, remembring you
O that I were a Hat for such a Head!
O that I were a Gloue for such a Hand!
O that I were your Sheets within your Bed!
O that I were your shoo whereon you stand!
To be your very smocke! I'de daily seeke,
So that you would not shift me once a weeke.

Another to his Loue, seeing her walke in twilight.

THe deepest waters haue the smoothest lookes,
The fairest shirt may hide the foolest skin;
[...]ad lines are often writ in gilded bookes,
View not the out-side then, but looke within:
Trie ere you trust, and if all things be true,
Locke hands in hands, and seeke not for a new.
I must confesse and will, I am but poore,
But rich I am in loue, perhaps you know:
But if you to some higher region soare,
Disdaining for to take your flight so low,
Take heed lest by some veh'mencie of weather,
You chāce to burne some, or scorch some other.
But tell me sweete, if that thy mind be set
Vpon some other man; or if you know,
What thing this Loue should be, if not as yet,
Ile teach you what a thing is loue; O no:
What thing is loue? how can you learne of me,
When first I learn'd to loue by seeing thee?
The prettie winding of thy comely head,
The decent rowling of thy liuely eye,
Thy tender Lilly hand, hath strucke me dead,
Without a touch. No what is Loue? 'Tis I,
'Tis you 'tis you, 'tis both together,
You loue, I loue, both loues, sweete loue, come hither.
I cast an eye vpon you yester-night,
But Phoebus Horses went too great a pace,
Vnwilling to afford me so much light,
Wherein I plainely might discerne your face:
In spight of Phoebus, nay in spight of you,
I'le looke, I'le loue, 'tis somewhat strange, but true

Desiring an answer from his Loue.

IF that I an vnworthy of your loue,
Let me be worthy of your answer yet,
That I may know whether I must remoue
My deare affection from you now, and set
My mind vpon my bookes, which now I feare
I spend in Loue-toyes and am ne'r the neere.
Prethee, sweet Loue, some pretty thing indite,
Let those thy pretty fingers hold a Pen;
Vpon some pretty piece of paper write,
Nature made Maidens pretty, and not men.
What Midas toucht was gold, you are so witty
That what you write, or touch, or do, tis pretty.
If you want Paper, Paper will I send you,
If you want Inke, Ile likewise send you Inke;
If that you want a Pen, a pen Ile send you,
What ere you want, if that I can but thinke
What tis, I'de freely giue it to you, so
You would but send an answere▪ I, or no:
I doe not write to thee for hope of gaines;
But onely for to gaine thy loue, for then
I prethee Rosa take a little paines;
Once more I prethee Rosa hold a Pen:
I long to heare from thee, I faine would know
An answere from thee quickly, I, or no,
If it be I, then Rosa thou art mine,
Then wil we spend our youthfull daies in pleasure
If it be No, yet Rosa am I thine:
What ere thy answer is, thou art my treasure.
If that (sweet heart) youl'd know the reason why
It is because a Majdens No, is I.

An Answer to her Answer.

SWeet Mistris Rosa, for whose onely sake
I'de run through fi [...]e and water, nay I'de make
A iourney through the dangerous vncouth places,
I'de measure all the world with weary paces
To doe you good: nay more, I'de lose my heart,
Rather then haue your little finger smart:
But when you chance to read the same, I flatter,
You then will say; but oh, it is no matter,
Mocke, flout, neglect, disdaine, spit, spite, cōtemne
I needes must loue my earthly Diadem.
I flouted others once in misery,
But other men may now well flout at me;
This is that drie and cursed punishment,
Which all the gods aboue to me haue sent
For all my faults. O see with pitty see,
Sweete Loue, thy Loue in wofull misery,
Whose eyes ne'r sleep, whose fancie still is doing,
Since that he knew what did belong to wooing:
Thou art the Cloth [...] that hath spun my thred,
By which I seeme to liue, but yet am dead.
But prethee Rosa, if thou'lt stop my breath,
Kill quicke, let me not liue a lingring death:
Pitty, pitty, pitty, pitty, pitty,
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty,
Sweete, golden, lilly, liuely, tender maide.
Looke, like, liue, loue me well, and I am made.

To his second Loue.

Twixt hope & feare, I feare (sweet loue) I liue
Thinking my heart was giuen long agoe;
Being one man ha's but one heart to giue,
How can you looke for mine, yet thinke not so?
But trye me, trust me, and sweet heart, you'l see,
I haue a heart that's onely kept for thee.
Misdoubt me not, although I lou'd before,
Misdoubt me not, but I lou'd faithfully;
Experience makes me now loue ten times more,
I haue my lesson now without booke, I:
When first I lou'd, I was a fondling foole,
Now I am a Captaine made in Cupids schoole.
You smilde on me, but if youle smile no more,
What will those men that know me now surmise
Being I was forsaken once before,
Theyle thinke me hatefull in a Maidens eyes:
Theyle thinke all hate me, or suppose indeed,
I onely came to woo, but not to speed.
O how much am I bound to Nature now,
For making thee, that dost so farre excell
Her whom I thought excell'd all others? how
Am I bound to Nature prethee tell.
The difference twixt my first loue, and you
Is this, shee's faire and false, thou faire and true.
Misdoubt me not, for by the Heauens aboue,
Thou shalt not finde me with a double tongue;
For if I am the man thou canst not loue,
I am the man that will doe thee no wrong.
For if I speake by thee but any euill,
Count me no more a Man, count me a Diuell.

Of the burning of his Letter.

LIke as the Moth about the candle flies,
Hoping to haue some comfort from the light,
Scorcheth her wings, and on a sudden lies
Panting vpon the ground, or burned quite:
So I still hoping thee sweete heart, to moue,
Consume my selfe in burning flames of loue.
Alas, alas, thy beauty shines so bright▪
It duls and dazels all that doe come nie thee,
This is the cause I neuer come, but write,
Without an Eagles eye, how dare I eye thee?
Cupid is blinde; then I in louing thee,
And looking too, should be more blind then he.
Why doe I sigh, and sob, and broyle, and burne?
Why doe I seeke to striue against the streame?
Letters, nor loue, nor lookes, thy heart can turne.
Why doe I then make loue my onely theame?
I loue, you hate; I write, but what the better?
I burne in loue, and you doe burne my letter.
Poore harmelesse verses, what did ye commit?
Hard-hearted Flora, how did they offend thee?
More verses haue I made for thee, but yet
Ile sweare thou shalt not burne the next Ile send thee
Burning's too base a death, therefore the rest,
If they deserue to die, they shall be prest.

Master Iohnsons answer to Master Withers.

SHall I wasting in despaire,
Die because a woman's faire,
Or my cheekes make pale with care,
Cause anothers Rosie are?
Be she fairer then the day,
Or the flowry Meades in May,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how faire she be?
Shall I mine affections slacke,
Cause I see a womans blacke,
Or my selfe with care cast downe,
Cause I see a woman browne?
Be she blacker then the night,
Or the blackest let in sight.
If shee be not so to me,
What care I how blacke shee be?
Shall my foolish heart be pinde,
'Cause I see a woman's kinde,
Or a well disposed nature
Ioyned in a comely feature?
Be shee kinde or meeker than
Turtle Doue or Pelican;
If shee be not so to me,
What care I how kind shee be?
Shall my foolish heart be brust,
Cause I see a woman's curst,
Or a thwarting hoggish nature
Ioyned in as bad a feature?
Be she curst or fiercer then
Brutish Beast, or sauage Men:
If shee not so to me,
What care I how curst shee be?
Shall a womans vertues make
Me to perish for her [...]ake,
Or her merits value knowne,
Make me quite forget my owne?
Be she with that goodnesse blest,
That may merit name of best:
If shee seeme not so to me,
What care I how good shee be?
Shall a womans vices make
Me her vices quite forsake,
Or her faults to me made knowne,
Make me thinke that I haue none?
Be she of the most accurst,
And deserue the name of worst:
If she be not so to me,
What care I how bad she be?
'Cause her fortunes seeme too high,
Should I play the foole and die?
He that beares a noble mind,
If not outward helpe hee find,
Thinke what with them he would do
That without them dares to woo.
And vnlesse that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?
'Cause her fortunes seeme too low,
Shall I therefore let her goe?
He that beares an humble mind,
And with riches can be kind,
Thinke how kind a heart he'd haue,
If he were some seruile slaue.
And if that same minde I see,
What care I how poore she bee?
Great, or good, or kind, or faire
I will ne'r the more despaire,
If shee loue me, then beleeue
I will die, ere she shall grieue:
If she flight me, when I woo,
I can flight and bid her go:
If she be not fit for me,
What care I for whom she bee?
Poore, or bad, or curst, or blacke,
I will ne'r the more be slacke▪
If she hate me, then beleeue,
She shall die, ere I will griue:
If she like me when I woo,
I can like and loue her too:
If that she be fit for me,
What care I what others be?

To the Reader.

IT is common custome now adayes,
For one to write vpon anothers prayse:
But I no Trumpet seeke, no sound of drums,
No man for me shall make Encomium [...]
Their Verses cannot make these Verses better,
They will not mead a staffe, a line, a letter.

The Cryes of Ludgate.

NOble King Lud, long here hast thou stood,
Not framed of wood,
But of stones;
Stones sure thou art, like our Creditors heart,
Which cares not a —
For our grones,
Within thy gates, the crie at thy grates,
Though it moues the States of this Citie:
Our calling, our bawling, or yawling it moues not
Our Creditors hearts vnto pittie:
In caps, and in Coates, with sorrowfull notes,
And tearing our throates
For reliefe,
Good Sir, we crie, with a Box hanging by,
Heer's a hundred that lie
Full of griefe.
The Gallants ride on, and ne'r think vpon
Our pittifull mone
Which we make:
But rumbling, and tumbling, and iumbling their Coaches,
The stones in the streets they doe shake.
[Page]Merchants that goe by the gate to and fro,
Their hearts at our woe,
Seeme to shake,
Thinking what crosses, what griefe, & what losses,
When their Carackes to Seas
They take.
These men are best, remorse in their brest
Doth harbour and rest
To the needie,
Th [...]y roundly, profoundly, and soundly are giuing
As if they to free them were greedie.
Others passe by, and cast vp an eie
Vpon that crie,
In disdaine,
Saying, that we all quickly would be,
If now were free, here againe.
Let them take heed, that mocke vs indeed,
'And thus at our need goe by grinning,
Tis so man, that no man, can know man his en­ding,
Though well he may know his beginning.

The Song of the Begger.

I Am a Rogue and a stout one,
A most couragious drinker,
I doe excell, 'tis knowne full well,
The Ratter, Tom, and Tinker.
Still doe I cry, good your Worship, good Sir,
Bestow one small Denire Sir,
And brauely at the bousing Ken
Ile bouse it all in Beere Sir.
If a Bung be got by the hie Law,
Then straight I doe attend them,
For if Hue and Crie doe follow, I
A wrong way soone doe send them.
Still I doe cry, &c.
Ten miles vnto a Market,
I runne to meet a Miser,
Then in a throng, I [...]ip his Bung,
And the partie ne'er the wiser.
Still doe I cry, &c.
My daintie Dals, my Doxis,
When e'er they see me lacking,
Without delay poore wretches they
Will set their Duds a packing.
Still doe I cry, &c.
pay for what I call for,
And so perforce it must be,
For as yet I can, not know the man,
Nor Oastis that will trust me.
Still I doe cry, &c.
If any giue me lodging,
A courteous Knaue they find me,
For in their bed, aliue or dead
I leaue some Lice behind me,
Still doe I cry, &c.
If a Gentrie Coe be comming,
Then straight it is our fashion,
My Legge I tie, close to my thigh,
To moue him to compassion.
Still doe I cry, &c.
My doubler sleeue hangs emptie,
And for to begge the bolder,
For meate and drinke, mine arme I shrinke
Vp close vnto my shoulder.
Still doe I cry, &c.
If a Coach I heare be rumbling
To my Crutches then I hie me.
For being lame, it is a shame▪
Such Gallants should denie me.
Still doe I cry, &c.
With a seeming bursten belly,
I looke like one halfe dead Sir,
Or else I beg with a woodden legge,
And a Night-cap on me head Sir.
Still doe I cry, &c.
In Winter time starke naked
I come into some Citie,
Then euery man that spare them can,
Will giue me clothes for pittie.
Still doe I cry, &c.
If from out the Low-countrie,
I heare a Captaines name Sir,
Then strait I swe [...]e I haue bin there;
And so in fight came lame Sir.
Still doe I cry, &c.
My Dogge in a string doth lead me,
When in the Towne I goe Sir▪
For to the blind all men are kind,
And will their Almes bestow Sir,
Sill doe I cry, &c.
With Switches sometimes stand I,
In the [...]ome of a Hill Sir,
There t [...]ose men which doe want a Switch,
Some [...]onie giue me still Sir.
Still doe I cry, &c.
Come buy, come buy a Horne-booke,
Who buyes my Pins or Needles?
In Cities I these things doe crie,
Oft times to scape the Beadles.
Still doe I cry, &c.
In Pauls Church by a Pillar;
Sometimes you see me stand Sir,
With a Writ that showes, what care and woes
I past by Sea and Land Sir.
Still doe I cry, &c.
Now blame me not for boasting,
And bragging thus alone Sir,
For my selfe I will be praysing still,
For Neighbours haue I none Sir.
Which makes me cry good your Worship, good Sir,
Bestow one small Denire Sir,
And brauely then at the Bousing Ken,
Ile bouse it all in Beere Sir.

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