CERTAIN VERSES WRITTEN By severall of the Authors Friends; TO BE RE-PRINTED WITH THE Second Edition OF GONDIBERT.

LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1653.

Certain Verses written by several of the Authors Friends, to be re­printed with the second Edition of GONDIBERT.

Upon the PREFACE.

ROom for the best of Poets heroick,
If you'l believe two Wits and a Stoick;
Down go the Iliads, down go the AEneidos,
All must give place to the Gondiberteiados.
For to Homer and Virgil he has a just Pique,
Because one [...]s writ in Latin, the other in Greek:
Besides an old grudge (our Critics they say so)
With Ovid, because his Sirname was Naso.
[Page 4] If Fiction the fame of a Poet thus raises,
What Poets are you that have writ his praises?
But we justly quarrel at this our defeat,
You give us a stomach, he gives us no meat.
A Preface to no Book, a Porch to no house:
Here is the Mountain but where is the Mouse?
But, oh, America must breed up the Brat,
From whence 'twill return a West- Indy Rat.
For Will to Virginia is gone from among us,
With thirty two Slaves, to plant Mundungus.

Vpon the Prefaece of GONDIBERT.

Mar. Epig.
Lasciva est nobis Pagina vita proba est.
AS Martial's life was grave and sad,
Wanting the mirth his Verses had:
Even so, this our long Preface shows,
What ere we want, our Book has nose.


AFter so many sad mis-haps,
Of drinking, riming, and of claps,
I pitty most thy last relaps.
That having past the Soldiers pains,
The States-mens Arts, the Seamens gains.
With Gondibert to break thy brains.
And so incessantly to ply it,
To sacrifice thy sleep, thy diet,
Thy businesse; and what's more, our quiet.
And all this stir to make a story,
Not much superior to John Dory,
Which thus in brief I lay before ye.
All in the land of Lombardie,
A Wight there was of Knights degree,
Sir Gondibert y [...]leap'd was he.
`This Gondibert (as says our Author)
Got the good will of the Kings daughter,
A shame it seems, the Divel ought her.
So thus succeeded his Disaster,
Being sure of the Daughter of his Master,
He chang'd his[?] Princess for a Playster.
Of person he was not ungratious,
Grave in Debate, in Fight audacious;
But in his Ale most pervicatious.
And this was cause of his sad Fate,
For in a Drunken-street Debate
One night, he got a broken Pate.
Then being Cur'd, he would not tarry,
But needs this simpling girl would marry
Of Astragon the Apothecary.
To make the thing yet more Romancie,
Both wise and rich you may him fancie;
Yet he in both came short of Plancy.
And for the Damsel, he did wooe so,
To say the truth, she was but so-so,
Not much unlike her of Toboso.
Her beauty, though 'twas not exceeding,
Yet what in Face and shape was needing,
She made it up in Parts and Breeding.
Though all the Science she was rich in,
Both of the Dairy and the Kitchin:
Yet she had knowledge more bewitching.
For she had learn'd her Fathers skill,
Both of th'Alimbick and the Still,
The Purge, the Potion, and the Pill.
But her chief Talent was a Glister,
And such a hand to administer,
As on the Breech hath made no blister.
So well she handled Gondibert,
That though she did not hurt that part,
She made a blister on his heart.
Into the Garden of her Father:
Garden, said I; or Back-side rather,
One night she went a Rose to gather.
The Knight he was not far behind,
Full soon he had her in the wind;
(For Love can smell, though he be blind.)
Her businesse she had finish'd scarcely,
When on a gentle bed of Parsly
Desunt [...].
Full fair & soft he made her Arse-ly.

Vpon the continuation of GONDIBERT.

THy Verses feet to run so fast,
And thine alas in fetters plac't;
I alwayes thought, and now I see't,
Thy brain's less itable then thy feet.
This, 'tis, to be severe to us,
For naming Gods and Pegasus[?].
Could'st thou but such a horse have shap't,
Thou hadst with gallant Massie scap't,
Or couldst thou but frame Gyges Ring,
Long since (poor Will) th' hadst been a Wing,
Thou liest not there for any plot,
But 'cause a Poet thou art not.
Nor kenst thou Daphne how thy rimes should rage
And lift the Poet ore the walled stage:
'Tis not a Moat can have the fate or power,
To hold the Muses, nor great Caesars Tower,
Homer and Virgil both thy back-friends have
The priviledge to break out of their grave,
And they that slight them must not hope to thrive
But lie confin'd and buried alive.
Nor think it strange thou art not spar'd,
But cast into a Goale unheard,
Those antient Bards no better sped,
Condemn'd by thee though never read:
Naso made Dedalus the Seas to cross,
Though the rash Icarus were at a loss.
[Page 9] But this our Anti-Naso's Muse doth flutter,
Like stubble-goose that scarce gets ore the gutter.
These colours that thev nere may faile,
Were laid in Sack and Northdown Ale.

The Author upon himself.

I Am old Davenant with my Fustian quill,
Though skill I have not.
I must be writing still
On Gondibert,
That is not worth a fart.
Waller and Cowly, 'tis true, have prais'd my book,
But how untruly
All they that read may look;
Nor can old Hobbs
Defend me from dry bobbs.
Then no more I'le dabble, nor pump fancy dry,
To compose a Fable,
Shall make Will Crofts to cry,
Oh gentle Knight,
Thou writ'st to them that shite.

A Letter sent to the good Knight.

THou hast not been thus long neglected,
But we thy four best friends expected,
Ere this time thou hadst stood corrected.
But since that Planet govenes still,
That rules thy tedious Fustian Quill
'Gainst Nature and the Muses will.
When by thy friend's advice and care,
'Twas hop'd in time thou wouldst despaire
To give ten pounds to write it faire.
Lest thou to all the world wouldst shew it,
We thought it fit to let thee know it,
Thou art a damn'd insipid Poet.

Vpon Fighting WILL

THe King knights Will for fighting on his side,
Yet when Will comes for fighting to be try'd,
There is not one in all the Armies can
Say they ere felt, or saw this fighting man.
[Page 11] Strange that the Knight should not be known i'th Field,
A Face well charg'd tho nothing in his Shield.
Sure fighting Will like Basilisk did ride
Among the Troops, and all that saw Will dy'd,
Else how could Will for fighting be a Knight,
And none alive that ever saw Will fight.

In pugnacem Daphnem.

Pugnacem Daphnem Rex ordine donat Equestri,
Sed quod pugnasset cum foret ille reus,
Arma virum (que) serum se vel sensisse rogatus,
Vel vidisse quidem Miles utrin (que) negat.
Tantum equitis mirer campos latuisse per omnes,
Insignem vultu Parma sit alba licet,
Scilicet aspectu victor Basiliscus obibat
Agm [...]na sub monstro quae periere novo.
Pugnando haud aliter referet calcaria Daphnis,
Cui pugnae testis nemo superstes erat.

Ad eundem.

De titulo ablato non recte Daphni querêris
Facti in te causum Daphni Senatus habet.
Jwe d [...]cus perdis, si vitam ure tueris,
Testis abest culpae, testis honoris abest.

In Daphnen Causedicum.

IT being prov'd that fighting Will nere fought,
The Judges straight for other treasons fought.
On that, point-blank two witnesses did swear,
Such, and such words from his mouth they did hear.
In answer to which by a speech Will shows,
Alas, that his words are drawn through his nose,
Through his nose it was the witnesses cry'd,
But Will has none, so again they ly'd.
Thus with a lost nose the fame he bears,
To have won both his enemies ears,
And now by his Poetry sure Will knows
How to turn those ears again into nose.

The Poet is angry being censured by One he knowes not.

DAphne, in scorn, not knows me. In all shows
More know Jack Puddin, than Jack Puddin knows.

Titulus compitis Londini cum licentia imponendus.
A Letter sent out of the Countrey.

Monstrū hic horrendum nomine Dapb­ [...] nuperrime captum in Insulas Bar­badas contendentem visui Anglorum [...] natum, uti ex scriptis placet inter Hel­vetios, valde enim de rebus istorum gestis, (quorum ne p [...]li pendimus) animo aestuat; Londini propugnaculo à Parliamento Anglae incarceratus, non quidem inter [...], sed ferociorum animalium domic [...] in lucrum Domini Backster manct; Philosophorum non­nulli de forma quaerentes, nihil nisi illum non ess [...] Elephantem ausi sunt affirmari Ille [...] Proboscis deest, sed per nasum trahit, & ta­men proh Deorum miracula) nasum non habet. sed quasi per minima formina nasu­tum, Ballenae instar, [...]vomit, vomit, quid ni illum Cetum esse ex elogio Germant cujusdam Le­viatham satis constat.

Vpon the Author.

DEnham come help me to laugh at old Daph,
Whose fancies are higher than Chaff,
He abuses
All our Muses,
And would it not make a man laugh till he burst,
That he would be thought of all Poets the first,
That is of all Rimers the worst?
Daphne wert thou not content
For to vent
Thy fancies without our consent,
But hadst the face
In thy Preface
To laugh at all those that had written before,
When we thy best friends to the number of four
Advis'd thee to scribble no more.

Canto 2.

RAis'd by a Prince of Lombard blood,
D. of [...]
An antick fabrick long hath stood
Of Podian flint, and Parian free-stone
Mingled as you shall see stone,
A part whereof height Cripples Region,
Contains of half men a whole Legion,
Who still have been from ancient lore
For three swift Centuries and more
Friends to the Debtors and the Drinkers,
And foes unto the Smiths and Clinkers.
When in the Churchyard or the Ally,
Occasion serves them, forth they sally,
Both horse and foot; but now I wrong'um,
There's neither horse nor foot among'um
But those that are for horse accounted,
Are on tall woodden Engines mounted,
On which in Lombard Autors notion,
They abuse the Property of Motion.
But for the foot'tis more improper,
For they move not on foot, but crupper,
And having neither leg nor stump,
Advance themselves on hand and rump.
A stand they make. A stand d'ye cal't?
The word, of Art is, make a halt.
Then steps forth a Grave Eastern Cripple,
One that could fight, and talk, and tipple,
[Page 16] Brave friends, quoth he, Power is a liquor,
Makes hands more bold, and wit more quicker,
It is a tree whose boughs and branches
Serve us instead of legs and hanches,
It is a Hill to whose command,
Men walk by Sea and sail by Land.
But what's our power unless we know it?
And knowledge what? unless we show it.
Behold the Knight who late did marry
The daughter of our pothecary,
Hurried to durance like a stinkard,
By Oswald Smith, and Borgia Clinkard,
And him like to a civil sheep,
In Gaole (Nice Statesmens Pound) they'l keep.
This said, you might have seen (for such is
The force of eloquence) their crutches
Ind [...]'d with diligence in th'eys and noses
Of such as had them, flames and rose [...]
Their Nerves of Wyer new heat makes limber,
And rage ev n animates their timber.
Then as a pack of Regian Hounds
Pursuing ore the [...] grounds
A Tuscan Stag, if in the wind
A flock of Brescian sheep they find,
Calabrian Swine, or Pagan Goats,
In blou [...] they bath their Cannon throats,
And in the trembling entrails hasten
Their well experien [...]'d teeth to fasten,
With such Croaetion rage the stout
Grave Cripples did the Bailiffs rout.
[Page 17] Thus rescuing Gondibert they save him,
Then to a Berkshire Coachman gave him.
The Bailiffs being sled, or dead all,
The Knight pulls out an antique meadal,
On the reverse whereof was graved,
Cross and Harp.
Th' a [...]liance betwixt Christ and David.
Quoth he of rescu'd Knighthood carry
This just reward, broach of Canary,
Or Belgian Brande wine the Vessel
Wherewith the Argonauts of Tesel,
When Mars and Neptune them engages,
Inflame their flegmatick courages.
He safe return'd here joy and mirth a­
bounded 'twixt Astragon and Birtha.
Thus leave we them in humour jolly:
Free from old Roman Melancholy.

Thus far in the Authors own words, Now a little in his own way.

1. Sunk near his evening Region was the Sun,
(But though the Sun can near be said to sink,
Yet when his beams from our dull eyes are run,
He of the Oceans moysture seems to drink.)
(And though the Ocean be as far remote
From him as we, yet such is the false light,
Or mortal eye, that though for truth we kn [...]w't,
We yet believe our own deceiving sight.)
(Nor without cause) for what our eyes behold
Unto our sence most evident hath been:
But still we doubt of things by others told,
(For Faith's the evident of things not seen.)
2. When Gondibert and Birtha went to bed,
(For it the Custome was of Lombard Brides,
That on the day when they were married,
They never slept till Sol his visage hides.)
(For though bright Sol doth never close his eyes,
When he resignes our hemisphere to night,
Bold Ethnicks, say, that he with Thetis lyes.
And make him but alay adulterous light.)
3. The Posts were of abstersive Ebony,
(Though no abstersiveness in Posts we find,
In powder tane (the learned not deny)
It cleanses choler, and in pills, breaks wind.)
(So when a Sword is forg'd of solid Steel,
It serves for nothing but to cut and wound,
But when to powder turn'd, shy virgins feel
It cures green-sickness, & the spleen makes sound.)
4. The Curtains in well-shadowed colours wrought,
(For though old Astragon his child had bred
To his own trade, yet something she was taught
By her Nice Mother (who was gravely dead)
(His limbeck though the sooty Chymist broke
As she past by (when out th'Elixar flew)
And (though) as a grave modern Author spoke
The power of Potion, Purge and Pill, she knew.)
(Yet something had she gain'd of female lore,
Though much she was in med'cinal science skild,
She and th'experienc'd maid had samplers store,
And could the needle or the distaff weild.)
5. The sheets so nicely fine, none could have thought
Them spun from course Batavian Freisters toyls,
But by the fingers of Arachne wrought,
From the most subtile of the Silkwormes spoyles.
There Birtha lay, but when the Knt. drew nigh,
She seem'd to fly from what she long'd t'enjoy,
Orna her self was not than she more shie,
Gartha more nice, nor Rodalind more coy.
But when great Natures office was unseal'd
A womans womb
Then through Loves limbeck his elixar flew
Motion & heat, things stiff as if congeal'd,
Dissolv'd to Amber suds, and Rainbow dew.

On his Incomparable Incomprehensible Poem GONDIBERT.

CHear up small Wits; now you shall crowned
Daphne himself is turn'd into a tree.
(Nor think it strange, for our great Author can be;
Clap stones to Hirmigil, and make her Man:)
Go gather sprigs, nor can you strip him bare;
For all the ancient Wreaths sall to his share.
Poor Homer's eyes by his unshaded light
Again put out, who bids the world Good-night,
And is as much eclips'd by one more blind,
As is his by our new Hectors out-shin'd:
Virgil, thou hast no Wit, and Naso is
More short of Will, than is Will's Nose of his;
Can silence T [...]o, and the Fairy- Queen,
Thou all by Will unread, and most unseen.
Nor shall we ere hear more of great Tom-I humb,
For Gondibert and Oswald strike all dumb.
Thus then secur'd, thy Babe shall not miscarry,
Since all do bow to Fames Fine Secretary.
So have I heard the great Leviathan,
Let me speak true, and not bely a man,
Reign in the Deep and with tyrannick Power
Both Costick Codd, and squallid Sprats devour.

An Essay in Explanation of Mr. Hobbs, where he tells the Author, The Vertues you distribute there among so many Noble persons, represent the Image but of one Mans Vertue to my Fancy, which is your own,


OF all Ill Poets by their Lumber known,
Who nere Fame's favor wore, yet sought them long,
Sir Daphne gives precedency to none,
And breeds most business for abstersive Song.
From untaught Childhood, to mistaking Man,
An ill-performing Agent to the Stage;
With Albovin in Lumbar he began,
With Gondibert in Lumber ends his rage.
Rime was his studied Art; Rime which was bad;
Rime meant for charms to keep th'devil in aw;
Rime which with Fustian lin'd, & Nonsense clad,
More needful is, than Finger, Shirt or Straw.
To conquer Reason, Nature's common gift,
Fein'd Art, sophisticated Rime devis'd,
While those who cannot their weak judgements list
To discern sense, and with hard words sur­pris'd.
Yet Laws of Verse rescue but doubtfully
From one ill Poet all good Poets fame;
Till against Rime, the wise Rimes help apply,
Which soberly tells Will he is to blame.


CLose-stools thus made by Astragon we have,
That will both singer, drugs, & paper save;
On stool of Ebony, O Reader sit,
Or else poor Gondibert will be beshit:
For things abstersive will avail,
As well to purge, as wipe the Tail.

The Poets Hot Coc [...]les.

THus Poets passing time away,
Like Children at Hot cockles play;
All strike by turn, and Will is strook,
(And he lies down that writes a Book.)
Have at thee Will, for now I come,
Spread thy hand faire upon thy Bomb,
For thy much insolence, bold Bard,
And little sense I strike thus hard.
Whose hand was that? 'twas Jaspar Mayne;
Nay there you're out, lie down again.
With Gondibert, Preface and all
See where the Doctor comes to maul
The Authors hand, 't will make him reel;
No, Will lies still and does not feel;
That Book's so light, 'tis all one whether
You strike with that, or with a Feather:
But room for one new come to Town,
That strikes so hard he'll knock him down:
The hand he knows since it the place
Has toucht more tender then his face.
Important Sheriff, now thou ly'st down
We'll kiss thy Hands, and Clap our own.

Preface, page 25. That his writings are adapted to an easie musical Singer, which the Reader may judge by these following Verses.

OSwald, Paradin, Rolalind, Hugo, Hubert, Aribert,
Hurgonil, Astolpho, Borgia, Goliha, [...].
Croatian, Lumbards, Hums, Vasco, Darg [...], Orna,
Astragon, Hermogild, ulsinor, O [...]go, Thula,

Epithetes that will serve for any Substantives either in this part or the next.

NIce, Wise, Important, Eager, Grave, Busy. Recorded
[...]. Abs [...]ive, [...]le Roman, Experienc'd.

Upon the Authors writing [...] name (as in the Title of his Bock) D'avenant.

AS severall Cities made thier claim
Of [...]omers birth to have the same;
So after ages will not want
Towns claiming to be Avena [...]t.
Great doubt there is, where now it lies,
Whether in Lombard or the Skies.
Some say by Avenant no place is meant,
And that this Lombard is without descent;
And as by Bilke men mean ther's nothing there,
So com from Avenant, means from No. where.
Thus Will in [...] D' Avenant to grace
Has made a No ch in's [...] like that in's face,
[...] it we [...] the Autho [...] of Harrigo,
Had styl'd himself D'aphne D' Avenantigo.

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