Fortune's Tennis-ball: 
A warning to all that are Nursers of Pride,  
For Justice is known to be eagle-eyed;  
Those that will climb must look to have a fall,  
For Fortune will pat down her Tennis-ball:  
Let no man frown, for i'll have all know it,  
This wicked age must have a biting Poet.   
OR, A Proviso for all those that are elevated, to take heed of falling, for Fortune spites more the mighty than the poor: According to the Poet: 
Qui cadit in terram non babet unde cadit.   
Printed Anno Dom. 1640.   

On the Frontispiece.  
SEe for the Frontispiece here a Cedar tree,  
Whereon sits Fortune in her majesty.  
Those that presume t'aspire unto its top,  
She slily gives the highest branch a lop,  
And topsy-turvy they come tumbling down,  
As dazzled with the brightness of her crown.  
You that look on the root, pray look no higher  
Than its true Motto, Cease too high t'aspire.   

Pride will have a fall.  
The downfall of Pride, and aspiring wits,  
Painted at full in their ague fits.  

PRide that aspiring girl, whose soaring mind  
Flies swifter than the air or Eastern wind,  
Hath got a downfall, when she thought to fly,  
Time held her tresses, pulled her back, her eye  
Which still was fixed upon the highest spheere,  
Is, taught now to look lower, and her ear  
Set to a lower key, her lofty front  
Must be new christened in afflictions font.  
Our Noblemen, methinks, I now espy  
Like splendent stars fixed on our azure sky:  
Where each man studies to outshine the rest,  
And he most proud that can be counted best.  
Yet know ye stars, who bespankle our sky,  
Know that the Sun is still the world's eye,  
From him you shall receive your lustre, and  
Must pay't again when he shall it demand;  
Our King, I mean, who is this lands eye  
Of Government by true epitome:  
The moon oft-times doth strive t' eclipse the sun,  
As overgiddie stars of late have done,  
I read how Phaeton Don Phoebus' son,  
That he might know from what race he was sprung,  
Swelling with pride, desired his father grant  
This one boon to him, who thus himself did vaunt,  
That he might guide his father's horses and,  
Have his bright chariot at his own command;  
Which thing was granted caused the world burn,  
And threw the child to his untimely urn,  
'Tis no expedient for a vulgar eye,  
To stare upon superior majesty,  
Nor can you great ones, though you're crept so high,  
Say you can rule the bright translucent sky:  
No god can thunder but the mighty Jove,  
Yet all are gods as well as he above;  
Therefore be wise, and cease to high t' aspire  
lest you do burn in Phaetontike fire,  
Let Soll's bays alone, I mean the crown,  
Those that soar high are aptest to fall down,  
Have you not seen the lofty Cedar fall,  
When shrubs fast rooted stand within the vale,  
'Tis not your riches, nor your pomp of state,  
Honours nor strength, nor can powers mitricate  
Secure you here on earth, fate will overthrow,  
When blastering storms of fortune begin to blow  
Cesar and Pompey in their golden prime.  
Whose arms did thunder terror in their time  
Wear quelled by fate, pride nought availed there then,  
Their graves were digged on earth amongst other men,  
Ye kinglike eagles which on this Cedar top  
Do perch, pray look how soon man's life doth stop,  
'Tis as soon here and yet 'tis sooner done,  
Than the hot summer's rain, or winter's sun.  
Set fast your footing lest you catch a fall  
We hope to rise at honour's trumpets call.  
I've seen our Bishops on the wings of hope  
Flying with swiftness to the reverend pope  
Thinking to cloak all with their fallacies,  
Which had no credence from our watchful eyes;  
First Metrapollitan, could not a mitre  
Suffice your little pate would you be whiter  
Than La●vne can make you, you strive to pull down  
Religion here to gain the Triple crown:  
and how you bend and bow to th' altar placed  
In an old corner which is ●oward the east,  
And how you cringe and creep when ye shall hear  
The name of Jesus touch your reverend ear.  
Displace the Levite who shall ●eed his flock  
Twice on a sabbath from the common stock.  
Beware, repent, for now the Scottish club,  
Hath drove the into England's powdering tube:  
Scholiers are bound to curse thy aspiring mind,  
Nor here, nor there they can no comfort find,  
But they are merciful, and still will pray  
That great Jove would be pleased to send a day  
That they might hear you preach on tower hill,  
Which thing they hope will rid thee from all ill.  
If the low keel of a great ship shall fail,  
What' Is't the better for a brave top sail,  
Or if the root of a fair tree doth rot,  
How can we well believe the tree doth not,  
The root of this our kingdom rotten found:  
But yet I hope the kingdom is still sound,  
The Land the root which was made rotten quite  
For some there were through weakness of their sight.  
Can't view its splendour, the kingdoms still sick  
Being troubled with the subtle politic,  
Better some members perish then the whole  
Body should languish in continual thrall;  
Our Judges are corrupt, they should dispense  
The Law according to each man's offence  
Which they wrest other ways, pride bids them rise  
And mount above the bright bespangled skies,  
But judgement pulls them down and they shall find  
What dangers hap to the aspiring mind,  
Hear this proud courtier, whose aspiring brains  
Are never fed but with strong Ela strains,  
Refrain to soar aloft, lest that you fall  
With pride's projectors to eternal thrall;  
Seek not to stop petitioners who sue  
To right old wrongs, for 'tis your scarlet crew  
That's banished, which for bribes, or hope of gain  
You'll gain the devil, and stop justice reign.  
Next leave your swearing, you strive to invent  
New oaths, and make them but a compliment,  
God's name is bare of honour in our hearing  
And quite worn out by our blasphemous swearing,  
It's taken in vain by jesters every day,  
Unless that actors swear, it is no play:  
An execrable vice when you shall die  
Yourselves in sins vault, and crucify  
Our Saviour, hourly make his wounds bleed fresh,  
And thrust sharp pricking spears into his flesh.  
Leave off for shame lest judgement over take you,  
For when that comes your pride must needs forsake (you)  
O how you'll cringe and prate if a great Pear  
Shall deign to lend the audience of his care,  
Or how officious will you seem to be  
If you shall but espy his Majesty,  
Superiors you adore, like Persians  
You'll worship the bright sun, not country Pan's.  
Inferiors shall not gain that curtesey  
As once to wag your hat, or bend your knee,  
But near me Squashers, let me tell you plain,  
If you use those things my pen shall complain,  
Let pride persuade what she can I know,  
If Fortune once shall kick you down below  
We shall espy you, your supposed sky  
Will prove at length but a mere timpany:  
Your moon will wain, your hour's of pride will waste  
Then what will come to those who'd Janus' faced.  
Gentiles refrain the sharking cards and dice,  
harken to counsel and hear sound advice,  
What pride doth bid you spend, give to the poor,  
Let hospitality fatten at your door,  
So shall you rise when prides associates fall,  
Who yield themselves as fortune's Tennis-ball.  
Expect a while, and you shall quickly see  
The derivation of their pedigree.   

If any one of this proud troop should die  
Then who should write their epitaphs but I.   

An epitaph on a noble man.  
Here lies the Cedar who aspired so tall,  
That Jove took notice of, and caused him fall.   

On a gentleman.  
Here lies the very tympany of pride,  
Which made him break at length, and so he died.   

On our great Bishop. W. L. A. B. C.  
If any stranger shall ask who lies here,  
Let this new tomb this for inscription bear.  
Paint Pope and devil, make the stranger laugh;  
Mix his own shame, and there's his epitaph.   

On a judge.  
He that judged many is condemned now,  
Because 'twas proved by law he broke his vow;  
Pride was his goddess, he thought still t'aspire,  
But sure his grave is ne'er a whit the higher.   

On a Courtier.  
He that took many bribes thought to bribe death,  
But death dealt cunningly, took bribe, and breath.   
FINIS.