Festum Voluptatis, Or the BANQUET OF PLEASURE; FURNISHED WITH MUCH Variety of Speculations, Witty, Pleasant, and Delightful.  
Containing diverse choice Love-Posies, Songs, Sonnets, Odes, Madrigals, Satyrs, Epigrams, Epitaphs and Elegies.  
For variety and pleasure the like never before published.  
Musica mentis, medicina moestus.  
By S. P. Gent.  
LONDON: Printed by E. P. for Bernard Langford, and are to be sold at the sign of the Blue Bible at Holborne-Bridge. 1639.   

TO THE WORSHIPFUL His much esteemed good Friend, Mr. RICHARD PELHAM, Esquire, S. P. Wisheth all happiness and prosperity here and hereafter.  
WORTHY SIR,  
IT may seem something strange, that so mean a Muse as mine, upon so unworthy a Subject as this, should so rudely dare to shelter itself under the protection of your Name, or intrude upon the censure of so solid a judgement as resides in your breast; considering how conversant you daily are with raptures both of a higher strain and better nature, daily proffered to your view and censure: But the persuasion of your courteous acceptation of such wild Olives as these are (as of Plants which inoculated and pruned, in time may produce more mature and delicious fruits unto her fosterers) hath emboldened me to it; and shall therefore (I hope) be the better excused (though it want much of what I wish it had) because it flies to you as a Refuge, under whose Hands it hath both security and warrant. Expect no acquaint language nor fragrant Flowers of flowing Rhetoric, but such as use to proceed from springing youth, they are the wanton fruits of idle hours, and so happily cannot yield that relish that may be expected from them But yet your ingenuity and generous disposition assures the acceptation being the first fruits of my Muses springing.) And that you cherish them, that they die not in their Bud, but (by your promptitude) may be preferred from the blast of envy, and the rot of time and oblivion. The persuasion of your liberal acceptation vouchsafed me, not only imps my Muse's wings for a higher flight in the future, but vows me to acknowledge myself now and ever  
Your Worship's most obsequiously to be commanded, SAMUEL PICK.   

To the Reader.  
GENTLE READER,  
I Must now crave thy courteous acceptation of this small worthless Treatise: this is a granted Maxim, that a slander by hath (many times) better eyes than they that play the game; there is no man that cannot err, well then may the poor endeavours of a young brain be pardoned. If thou shouldest here expect a lofty Scene, or Phrases decked with embolished speeches, I am sorry I have given thee no better content, but (indeed) I must needs tell thee, Eloquence was never any part of my Essence. Pardon, I pray thee, my presumption, and protect me from those Cavilling finde-faults that never like well of any thing they see printed, though never so well compiled: What I have here done, I have done to pleasure my friends, and thee, and not to make any profit by them; wherefore my gentle Reader accept kindly, I pray thee, of all, and be not (as hard Censurers) hasty to blast young springing Blossoms in their tender Bud; so shall I be obliged to the due observation of thy better content, and remain  
Thine at command, SAM. PICK.   

Author to his Book.  

COme hither Book take counsel, he that goes  
Into the world, meets with a world of foes.  
Thy Mother was my Muse, a gentle Dame,  
Who much adored Apollo's sacred Name;  
Then being freeborn, know that thou art going  
Into a World of wits, still fresh, still growing:  
Yet wonder not that I have got no friend  
To write in thy behalf▪ What! should I send  
Thee like a Servingman, with Letters? No,  
The World shall see thee first, and seeing know  
Whether thou merits praise: none shall have cause,  
To be condemned of folly in the applause  
Of thy harsh lines, the worst that can be thought,  
Is this, that none would write they were 〈◊〉 naught.  
Alas, poor Book! hunt not thou after praise,  
Nor dare to stretch thy hand unto the Bays  
Upon a Poet's head: let it suffice  
To thee and me, the World doth us despise.  
" 'Tis for a better Pen than mine, to say,  
" I know 'tis good, and if you liked, you may.    

POEMS.  

To TIME.  
GRave Censurer of Things, long since o'erpast,  
Of present actions, and what shall be last,  
Think't not amiss, that my unlearned quill,  
Hath spent some minutes of thee, and so ill;  
I'll thank thy present patience, and in time,  
My Muse may give thee thanks in better Rhyme.   

To the READER.  
MOst welcome guest, to thee my homely Cates,  
If any thing my barren Muse relates,  
That may the palate of thy stomach please,  
I wished Ambrosia, though a pulse or pease;  
Here is no forced, but voluntary dish,  
And should be better, had I but my wish.   

To his worthy esteemed good Friend Mr. JOHN WADLAND (son of Mr. GEORGE WADLAND of Leicester) and to his virtuous Sisters, Mrs. ANNE WADLAND, Mrs. SUSANNA, Mrs. MARTHA, and Mrs. MARY WADLAND, etc.  
WHen I forget to think on ye,  
Myself must cease myself to be,  
For sooner may my flesh dissolve,  
And humid earth my bones involve;  
Yea sooner shall the glorious Sun,  
Lose its bright lustre, and the Moon,  
Rapt in sable Clouds of Night,  
Cease to give her silver light,  
Than I forget what your desert,  
Hath lively graven in my heart.  
Yours obliged to do you service, S. P.   

To his singular good Friend Mr. THOMAS MOUSLEY.  
IF ever there were any, in whose love  
I counted myself happy, far above  
The rate of common Friends, whose verbal gloze  
More of false flattery, than true friendship shows,  
'Twas in thyself, and that thrice happy day,  
Wherein my heart did by mine eyes survey,  
Approve thy matchless worth, and give consent,  
To knit our hearts within one Ligament.  
Yours, vowed till death, S. P.   

To his affectionate good Friend, Master WILLIAM SYKES.  
SIR, unto you (in faith) I'm much indebted,  
For undeserved love from you received;  
My debt's a debt, to paid I know not how,  
The more I pay, the more still I do owe.   

To his loving Friend, Mr. BARTHOLOMEW WOLLOCKE.  
NO sooner do I think on thee, but straight  
My Muse grows frolic, and as if kind fate,  
Had to thy Name, annexed a power t'infuse  
Life in the deadest, dullest, slowest Muse,  
She than begins to revel it, and soar  
A higher pitch then ere she slew before;  
At least my thoughts suggest so, for I'm sure,  
I find my spirits nimbler, and more pure:  
My Verse flows ranker, and if this  
May argue truth in aught, than so it is.   

To his kind Friend, Master GEORGE BROOKE.  
Sigh on my worthiest Friends I now do muse,  
how should my Muse to mind you, once neglect?  
Sith you are such, then should she but abuse,  
should she not use you with all due respect.  
Yours, at command, S. P.   

To his loving Friend, Master TIMOTHY LANGLEY.  
YOur large, complete, solid sufficiency,  
Hid in the veil of your wise modesty;  
Your acquaint, neat Learning, your acute, quick wit,  
And sincere heart for great employments fit:  
But stay, I have not time here to relate  
Of your desert, what truly might be spoke;  
I will refer it till another time,  
And I myself your servant will combine.  
Your affecting Friend, S. P.   

To his dear Mistress, H. P.  
LEt but thy beauteous eye look on this Line,  
And see as in thy Glass thy beauty shine,  
Which beauty, Nature gave thee, to disgrace  
Our latter Artists, that make up a face,  
Of seeming beauty, for to blind such eyes,  
As with Pygmalion them do Idolise,  
Should I not praise, what I praiseworthy see,  
I should do wrong to Nature and to Thee;  
Yet while I speak thee fair, so short I come  
Of thy perfections, that I'm deemed by some,  
To light the burning Sun, yet from my hand,  
Receive this grain unto thy heap of sand.   

Love's Hyperboles.  

IF Love had lost his shafts, and love down threw,  
His thunderbolts, or spent his forked fire,  
They only might recovered be anew,  
From out my heart cross wounded with desire;  
Or if debate by Mars were lost a space,  
It might be found within the selfsame place.   

If Neptune's waves were all dried up and gone,  
My weeping eyes so many tears distil,  
That greater Seas might grow by them alone,  
Or if no flame were yet remaining still,  
In Vulcan's Forge, he might from out my breast,  
Make choice of such as would befit him best.   

If Aeole were deprived of his charge,  
Yet soon could I restore his winds again,  
By sobbing sighs, which forth I blow at large,  
To move her mind that pleasures in my pain.  
What man but I, could thus incline his will,  
To live in love, that hath no end of ill.    

His Mistress Eyes serve CUPID both for Darts and Fire.  

OFt have I mused the cause to find,  
Why Love in Lady's eyes doth dwell,  
I thought, because himself was blind,  
He looked that they should guide him well:  
And since his hope but seldom fails,  
For Love by Lady's eyes prevails.   

But time at last hath taught me wit,  
Although I bought my wit full dear,  
For by her eyes my heart is hit,  
Deep is the wound, though none appear,  
Their glancing beams as Darts he throws,  
And sure he hath no shafts but those.   

I mused to see their eyes so bright,  
And little thought they had been fire,  
I gazed upon them with delight,  
But that delight hath bred desire:  
What better place can Love require,  
Then that where grow both shafts and fire?    

To his Mistress, who had vowed Virginity.  
EVen as my hand, my Pen and paper lays,  
My trembling hand, my pen from paper strays,  
Lest that thine eyes which shining made me love you,  
Should frowning on my suit, bid cease to move you,  
So that I fear like one at his wit's end,  
Hoping to gain, and fearing to offend:  
But whilst like clouds tossed up and down the air,  
I wracked hang 'twixt hope and sad despair,  
Despair is beaten, vanquished from the field,  
And unto conquering hope doth yield:  
For if that nature love to beauty offers,  
And beauty shun the love that nature proffers,  
Then, either unjust beauty is too blame,  
With scorn to quench a lawful kindled flame,  
Or else unlawfully if love we must,  
And be unloved, than nature is unjust:  
Unjustly then Nature hath hearts created,  
There to love most, where most their love is hated,  
And flattering them with a faire-seeming ill,  
To poison them with beauty's sugared Pill.   

That he cannot leave to love, though commanded.  

HOw can my Love in equity be blamed,  
Still to importune though it ne'er obtain,  
Since though her face and voice will me refrain,  
Yet by her voice and face I am inflamed.  
For when (alas) her face with frowns is framed,  
To kill my Love, but to revive my pain:  
And when her voice commands, but all in vain,  
That love both leave to be, and to be named.   

Her Siren voice doth such enchantment move,  
And though she frown, even frowns so lovely make her,  
That I of force, am forced still to love,  
Since that I must, and yet cannot forsake her:  
My fruitless prayers shall cease in vain to move her,  
But my devoted heart ne'er cease to love her.    

Upon his Mistress hiding her face.  
Go wailing accents go,  
With my warm tears & scalding tears attended  
To the author of my woe,  
And humbly ask her why she is offended,  
Say, Dear why hide you so,  
From him your blessed eyes,  
Where he beholds his earthly Paradise,  
Since he hides not from you  
His heart, wherein Love's heaven you may view.   

Upon begging a Kiss.  
SOrrow slowly killeth any,  
Sudden joy soon murders any,  
Then (sweet) if you would end me,  
'Tis a fond course with lingering grief to spend me:  
For quickly to dispatch me,  
Your only way is, in your arms to catch me;  
And give me Dovelike kisses,  
For such excessive and unlooked for blisses,  
Will so much overjoy me,  
As they will strait destroy me.   

To CUPID.  
AH Cupid, I mistook thee,  
I for an Archer, and no Fencer took thee,  
But as a Fencer oft feigns blows and thrusts,  
Where he intends no harm,  
Then turns his baleful arm,  
And wounds that party which lest his foe mistrusts:  
So thou with fencing Art,  
Feigning to wound mine eyes, hast hit my heart.   

To his heart being in thraldom.  

NAy, nay, thou strivest in vain my heart,  
To mend thy miss,  
Thou hast deserved to bear this smart,  
And worse than this,  
That wouldst thyself debase,  
To serve in such a place.   

Thou thoughtst thyself too long at rest,  
Such was thy pride,  
Needs must thou seek another breast,  
wherein to bide:  
Say now what hast thou found?  
In fetters thou art bound.   

What hath thy faithful service won,  
But high disdain?  
Broke is thy thread thy fancy spun,  
Thy labour vain;  
Fallen art thou now with pain,  
And canst not raise again.   

And canst thou look for help of me  
In this distress?  
I must confess I pity thee,  
And can no less,  
But bear a while thy pain,  
For fear thou fall again.   

Learn by thy hurt to shun the fire,  
Play not with all?  
When climbing thoughts high things aspire;  
They seek their fall:  
Thou ween'st nought shone but gold,  
So wast thou blind and bold.   

Yet lie not still for this disgrace,  
But mount again,  
So that thou know the wished place  
Be worth thy pain;  
Then though thou fall and die,  
Yet never fear to fly.    

Upon his Mistress Beauty and voice.  

PAssion may my judgement blear,  
Therefore sure I will not swear;  
That others are not pleasing;  
But I speak it to my pain,  
And my life shall it maintain,  
None else yields my heart easing.   

Ladies I do think there be  
Others some as fair as she;  
Though none have fairer features,  
But my Turtle-like affection  
Since of her I made election,  
Scorns other fairest creature.   

Surely I will not deny  
But some others reach as high,  
With their sweet warbling voices;  
But since her notes charmed mine ear,  
Even the sweetest tunes I hear,  
To me seem rude harsh noises.    

Upon Visiting his Mistress by Moon light.  

THe night say all, was made for rest,  
And so say I, but not for all;  
To them the darkest nights are best,  
Which give them leave a sleep to fall,  
But I that seek my rest by light,  
Hate sleep and praise the clearest night.   

Bright was the Moon as bright as day,  
And Venus glistered in the West,  
Whose light did lead the ready way,  
That brought me to my wished rest:  
Then each of them increased their light,  
While I enjoyed her heavenly sight.   

Say, gentle Dames, what moved your mind,  
To shine so bright above your wont,  
Would Phebe fair Endymion find?  
Would Venus see Adonis hunt?  
No, no, you feared by her sight,  
To lose the praise of beauty bright.   

At last, for shame you shrunk away,  
And thought to reave the world of light:  
Then shone my Dame with brighter ray,  
Then that which comes from Phoebus' sight  
None other light but hers I praise▪  
Whose nights are clearer than the days.    

Upon a scoffing laughter given by a Gentlewoman.  

LAugh not too much perhaps you are deceived,  
All are not fools that have but simple faces,  
Mists are abroad things may be misconceived,  
Frumps and disdains are favours in disgraces:  
Now if you do not know what mean these speeches,  
Fools have long coats, & Monkeys have no breeches.   

Ti'he again, why what a grace is this,  
Laugh a man out, before he can get in?  
Fortune so cross, and favour so amiss,  
Doomsday at hand, before the world begin?  
Marry sir then; but if the weather hold,  
Beauty may laugh, and love may be a cold.   

Yet leave betimes your laughing too too much,  
Or find the Fox, and then begin the chase,  
Shut not a rat within the Sugar hutch,  
And think you have a Squirill in the place:  
But when you laugh, let this go for a jest,  
Seek not a woodcock in a Swallows nest.    

An invective against Women.  

IF Women could be fair, and yet not fond,  
Or that their love were firm, not sickle still:  
I would not wonder that they make men bound,  
By serving long to purchase their good will:  
But when I see how frail these creatures are,  
I laugh that men forget themselves so far.   

To mark the choice they make, and how they change,  
How oft from Phoebus they do change to Pan,  
Unsettled still like haggards wild they range,  
These gentle birds that fly from man to man,  
Who would nor scorn and shake them from the fist,  
And let them go fair fools which way they list?   

Yet for their sport we fawn and flatter both,  
To pass the time when nothing else can please,  
And train them to our lure by substill oath,  
Till weary of our wills ourselves we ease,  
And then we say when we their fancy trle,  
To play with fools, O what a dolt was I?    

SONNET.  
YOung men fly, when beauty darts  
Amorous glances at your hearts,  
The fixed mark gives the shooter aim,  
And Lady's looks have power to maim,  
Now 'twixt their lips, now in their eyes  
Wrapped in a kiss, or smile-love lies;  
Then fly betimes, for only they  
Conquer love that run away.   

SONNET.  
CVpid calls, O young men come,  
And bring my wanton harvest home  
When the birds most sweetly sing,  
And flowers are in their prime,  
No season but the spring,  
Is Cupid's harvest time.   

SONNET:  
INto love's field, or Garden walk,  
Where Virgins dandle on their stalk,  
Blown, and playing at fiveteene,  
And pointing to their beds,  
Come bring your sickle then,  
And reap their maiden heads.   

SONNET. To his Mistress confined.  

O Think not Phoebe 'cause a cloud,  
Doth now thy silver brightness shroud,  
My wand'ring eyes,  
Can stoop to common beauties of the sky,  
Rather be kind, and this eclipse,  
Shall neither hinder eye nor lips  
For we shall meet,  
Within our hearts, and kiss when none shall see't.   

Nor canst thou in the prison be,  
Without some loving sign of me,  
When thou dost spy,  
A Sun beam peep into the room, 'tis I:  
For I am hid within that flame,  
And thus into the Chamber came,  
To let thee see,  
n what a Martyrdom I burn for thee.   

When thou dost touch the Lute, thou mayst  
Think on my heart, on which thou play'st,  
When each sad Tone,  
Upon the strings doth show my deeper groan:  
When thou dost please they shall rebound,  
With nimble air struck to the sound,  
Of thine own voice,  
Oh think how much I tremble and rejoice.   

There's no sad picture that doth dwell  
Upon thy Arras wall, but well  
Resembles me.  
No matter though our age doth not agree:  
Love can make old as well as time,  
And he that doth but twenty clime,  
If he dare prove  
As true as I, shows four score years in Love▪    

Sonnet on his Mistress.  
THe purest piece of nature is my choice,  
tomorrow death,  
and this day's breath,  
Have certain dooms from her all charming voice,  
So beyond fair, that no glass can her flatter;  
so sweetly mild,  
that tongue defiled,  
Dare not on her, their envious stories scatter.  
The witty forms of beauty that are shed,  
In flowing streams  
From Poet's Themes,  
Like shadows, when herself are fled.  
Oh let me live in t'heaven of her bright eye,  
Great love I'll be thy constant votary.   

A Madrigal.  

COy Celia, dost thou see  
You hollow mountain tottering o'er the plain,  
o'er which a fatal Tree  
With treacherous shades betrays the sleeping Swain?   

Beneath it is a Cell  
As full of horror, as my breast of care.  
Ruin therein might dwell,  
And fit a room for guilt, and black despair.   

There will I headlong throw  
This wretched weight this heap of misery,  
And in the dust below,  
Bury my carcase, and the thought of thee.   

Which when I finished have,  
O, hate me dead as thou hast done alive,  
And come not near my grave,  
Lest I take heat from thee, and so revive.    

Sonnet Antiphrasticall, to love's fire:  

SUrely Love is but a water,  
Dew of early clouds of nature,  
A dew which on the pricks of Roses,  
Venus' Lime-twigs, she reposes.   

Clouds which from their youthful fire,  
Rise in smoke of loose desire,  
Borne up by hopes, and rapt by fears  
Vanish strait, or melt by tears   

Venus made out of the water  
Of the Ocean, shows her nature,  
In those selfe-betraying eyes,  
Envious Cupid doth so prize.   

When those corpse are crowned with tears,  
Twinkling stars swim in their Spheres;  
So eyes in water, drenched to prove  
The heart first mover, drowned in Love.    

SONNET. His Mistress unkindness.  

I Pray thee leave, love me no more,  
Call back the heart you gave me;  
I but in vain the Saint adore:  
That can, but will not love me.  
Show me no more those sunny breasts,  
With azure rivulets branched;  
Where though my eyes with pleasure feasts,  
Yet is my thirst not staunched.   

Those poor half kisses kill me quite,  
Was ever man thus served,  
A midst the Ocean of delight,  
For pleasure to be starved:   

O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell,  
By me thou art prevented;  
No wonder to be plagued in hell:  
But in heaven to be tormented.    

A Pastoral of Phillis and Coridon.  

ON a hill there grows a flower,  
Fair befall the gentle sweet:  
By that flower there is a Bower,  
Where the heavenly Muses meet.   

In that Bower there is a Chair  
Fringed all about with gold,  
Where doth sit the fairest fair,  
That did ever eye behold.   

It is Phillis fair and bright,  
She that is the Shepherd's joy,  
She that Venus did despite,  
And did blind her little Boy:   

This is she, the wise, the rich,  
That the world desires to see,  
This is Ipsa quae the which,  
There is none but only she.   

Who would not this face admire,  
Who would not this Saint adore;  
Who would not this sight desire,  
Though he thought to see no more?   

O fair eyes! but let me see,  
One good look, and I am gone,  
Look on me, for I am he  
Thy poor silly Coridon.   

Thou that art the Shepherd's Queen,  
Look upon thy silly Swain.  
By thy comfort have been seen  
Dead men brought to live again.    

AN ODE, Cupid's Marriage with dissimulation.  

A New found match is made of late,  
Blind Cupid needs will change his wife:  
New-fangled Love doth Psyche hate,  
With whom so long he lead hit life.  
Dissembling, she,  
The Bride must be,  
To please his wanton Eye.  
Psyche laments  
That Love reputes  
His choice without cause, why?   

Cithaeron sounds with Music strange,  
Unknown unto the Virgins nine,  
From flat to sharp the tune doth range,  
Too base, because it is too fine:  
See how the Bride,  
Puffed up with pride,  
Can mince it passing well,  
She trips on toe  
Full fair to show,  
Within doth poison dwell.   

Now wanton Love at last is sped,  
Dissembling, is his only joy,  
Bare truth from Venus' Court is fled,  
Dissembling pleasures hides annoy.  
It were in vain,  
To talk of pain,  
The wedding yet doth last.  
But pain is near,  
And will appear  
With a dissembling cast.   

Despair and hope are joined in one,  
And pain with pleasure linked sure.  
Not one of these can come alone,  
No certain hope, no pleasure pure.  
Thus sour and sweet  
In Love do meet,  
Dissembling likes it so,  
Of sweet small store,  
Of sour the more,  
Love is a pleasant woe.    

1. Satire.  
ALl hail Tom Toss-pot, welcome to the coast,  
What Paris news canst brag of, or make boast?  
Thy phisnomy betrays thou canst relate  
Some strange exploits attempted in the state.  
I know thoust courted Venus lusting Dames,  
'Twas thy intent when thou took'st ship on Thames,  
Let's sympathise thy hap, enjoy some sport,  
What art thou senseless, dead-drunk, all a mort?  
Gallant this abject object which you see,  
Is an old picture of Gentility.  
With Coriat he traveled hath, by land,  
To see Christ's Cross, the Tree where judas hanged,  
Divelin and Amsterdam his Sea-crab pace,  
With other Country's more did often trace.  
Earth's circled orb, he frequent trudged, went,  
With less expenses than Tom Odcome spent,  
With fewer clothes though furnished with more shifts,  
With sparing diet, few received gifts.  
Tom had one pair of stockings, shoes, one suit,  
But Tosspots case Tom Coxcombs doth confute,  
For he hath travelled all earth's globe a foot,  
Without whole clothes, good stocking, shoe or boot.  
Yet (God be thanked) he is returned all whole.  
Tom had assistants at his Books report,  
But Toss-pot travelled void of all consort,  
Having no creature with him whiles he slept,  
Or walked, but such as in his bosom crept.  
Toss-pot detests all clothes, hates new found form,  
Unless it were no clothes at all were worn.  
He is no boasting Thraso which will vaunt,  
Of his adventures, penury and scant.  
Yet if you please to read my slender Muse,  
I shall describe the humour he doth use:  
Tobacco, Botle-ale, hot Pippin-pies:  
Such traffic, Merchandise he daily buys.  
With belly-timber he doth cram his gut,  
With double jugs doth his Orexis glut,  
Swears a God, damn-me for the Tapster's shots,  
And may pledge no health less than with two pots.  
He has a sword to pawn in time of need,  
A perfect beggar's phrase wherewith to plead,  
For maintenance, when his exhausted store,  
Is profuse lavished on some pocky whore.  
Tibornes' triangle trees will be the thing,  
Must send this knave to heaven in a string.   

2. Satire of the in satiate woman.  
MY treatise next must touch before 'tis late,  
A woman-creature most unsatiate:  
See this incarnate monster of her sex,  
Play the Virago, unashamed perplexed.  
See Omphale her effeminate King,  
Basely captive, make him do any thing:  
Her whole discourse is of Guy Warwick arms,  
Of certain Knights or of blind Cupid's charms,  
Her civil gesture is to feign a lie,  
In decent phrase, and true orthography:  
Her modest blush, immodest shame, O fie,  
'Tis grand disgrace to blush indignity,  
She counts her but a Nazard, half a mort,  
That will not nimbly use dame Venus' sport,  
To kiss, to cull, t'admire her painted face,  
And do no more, ignoble, vile disgrace,  
With costly unguments she paints her brows,  
Calls them the Palace of chaste Hymen's vows.  
And yet this statue for her honoured trade,  
With every vassal will be underlayed.  
Her sole delight is fixed in a Fan,  
Or to walk ushered by a proper man.  
Nature hath polished each external part  
Of this vile dame with Oratories Art,  
Do but confer and note her private speech,  
Her divine frame, will pass your humane reach.  
she'll compliment, Pathetically Act  
A tragic Story, or a fatal fact.  
Lively discover Cupid and his Bow,  
Manage his savage Quiver in her brow,  
Court so completely, rarely tune a song,  
That she will seem a Dido for her tongue,  
And by the virtue of all-conquering sight,  
Infuse even life in him that has no spirit.  
Yet this proud jezabel so nice, demure,  
Is but a painted Sepulchre impure.  
Though she bestow her vigilancy, care,  
In coining phrases, pouncing of her hair:  
Yet are her Legends, golden mass of wit,  
But like Apocrypha, no sacred writ.  
Cease austere Muse, this counterfeit to touch,  
Y'have spoke Satirical, I doubt too much,  
I'll rather pity then Envy invay,  
Their Calendar of wretch'dnesse to display:  
Shutting my Muse in silence, lest she strip,  
This Saintlike creature with a Satyr's whip.   

3. Satire, of graceless Grace.  
NOw in the name of Fate what Saint is she,  
That keeps a shop of public brothelry?  
Harbours the sharking Lawyer for his pence,  
And Martyr-like consumes his evidence:  
Nusles my damned Atheist, makes him curse  
Nature and fortune, that his thin-lined purse,  
Should be deprived of crowns: do you ask what, etc.  
This Saint was sent from th'fiery Regiment.  
A Sodom Apple, a lascivious stain,  
To virtuous habit, or a whore in grain.  
A suck-blood Hyene, feigning Crocodile,  
Worse than the monster bred on th'banks of Nile,  
A purple strumpet, gangrene to the State,  
Earth's curse, hells-blisse, soules-soyle & Angels hate.  
Pitty-faced Devil of a ginger pace,  
Graceless in all save that her name is Grace:  
Soul running ulcer that infects the heart,  
With painting, purfling and a face of Art:  
Creature of her own making, hollow Trunk,  
A Christian Paganised with name of Punk.  
A cell, a hell, where she'll no others have,  
The common Palliard-pandor, Bawd, or slave,  
A cage of unclean birds, which is possessed,  
Of none save such as will defile their nest.  
Where bankrupt Factors to maintain a state,  
Forlorn (heaven knows) and wholly desperate,  
Turn valiant Bolts, Pimps Haxtars, roaring-boys,  
Till fleshed in blood, counting but murders toys,  
Are forced in th'end a doleful Psalm to sing,  
Going to heaven by Derick in a string.   

To the READER.  
REader I here present you a Shrimpe-fish;  
I hope you'll make no bones to taste this dish,  
It is no carp, unless you'll give't that note:  
Which if you do, I wish 'twere in your throat.   

Upon two Ladies in strife for the wall.  
TWo Madams once were striving for the wall,  
Each standing much on terms of worthiness,  
The one but young (howbeit rich withal)  
The other ancient, though of substance less,  
Said, soft and fair till time hath ta'en fruition,  
Your Ladyship is of the last Edition.   

To Quindeno the Lawyer.  
AS often as my Tinderbox I see,  
So oft Quindeno do I think on thee:  
Thy Clients fall together by the ears,  
Like steel and flint, and each the other wears.  
Whilst underneath thou like the willy Fox,  
Pursest th' eir golden sparks within thy box,  
And art by Torchlight ushered thorough Town,  
While (fools) i'th' dark they stumble up and down.   

To Ciclus his trial of all Trades.  
CIclus the Soldier and Civisian  
The Pander, Painter, and Musician,  
Saw nothing could be gotten by the Arts,  
By wit, by fortune's friendship or deserts,  
Is now a late turned fool and gotten more,  
Then he could do with all his wit before:   

To excelling Panpaedes.  
AS well as most men Panpaedes they say,  
Thou singest, canst set, and on a Viol play,  
Pourtract in oil, and parley the languages,  
Fence, dance, discourse of State and policies:  
Few would believe it, till I told them how,  
Most men can none at all, no more canst thou.   

Of Severus reading my Book.  
SEverus having overlook my rhymes,  
With rugged brow, and caught a dozen times;  
This fellow saith, hath sure a pretty wit,  
Great pity thus he hath employed it.   

Ostendit haedera vinum.  
AScoffing mate, passing along Cheapside,  
Incontinent a gallant Lass espied,  
Whose tempting breasts (as to the sail laid out,)  
Incites this youngster thus to gin to flout,  
Lady (quoth he) is this flesh to be sold?  
No Lord (quoth she) for silver nor for gold,  
But wherefore ask you? (and there made a stop)  
To buy (quoth he) or else shut up your shop.   

Upon two Ladies.  
TWo City Ladies, pendants of the Court,  
Where late I lived, did commonly resort,  
And in the garden one day as they walked,  
Thus gathering flowers each to other talked:  
What lives (good Lord) these Country creatures lead,  
O'er one of us within the City bred?  
What dainty flowers, what Arbours, walks, & trees,  
Poor souls they have, & look where stand the Bees?  
Goodness a me, see Madam where Thrift grows,  
My sweetheart loves not it should touch his nose:  
And by my patience, quoth the other, I  
As ill abide this scurvy honesty,  
It bears no flower nor casteth any smell,  
Yet Country Ladies wear't and like it well.   

Upon Virtue Mistress Milla's Maid.  
SAith Aristotle, virtue ought to be  
Communicative of herself and free,  
And hath not Virtue Mila's maid been so,  
Who's grown hereby as big as she can go?   

Upon Boon.  
WHen unto Boon a book was brought to swear,  
He prayed the Judge he would that labour spare,  
For there's no oath (quoth Boone) that you can name,  
But perfect I without book have the same.   

Se fingit Adultera castam.  
NIsa, who from her window glanced her eyes,  
Saw Mopsus come, as fast as foot could troth,  
For joy whereof, upon her bed she lies,  
As who would think, she slept and saw him not,  
'Twas very strange, unless she meant herein,  
Her eyes should not be open to her sin.   

Degeneres animos arguit.  
Monsieur Montanus is no little man,  
Of unapproved valour to his foe.  
Persuade or woo him with what words you can,  
He'll be revenged all the world must know.  
But when he found one with his wife in bed,  
For fear or shame he durst not show his head,   

Rubins glory is soon vanished.  
IPray sir, did you note on Sunday last,  
How richly Rubin was apparelled?  
Well may he be compared to a blast,  
Or like to one that's Metamorphosed.  
For the next morning ere the day did dawn.  
All that he wore, and more, was laid to pawn,  
To Emson.   

EMson thou once in Dutch would court a wench,  
But to thy cost she answered thee in French.   

Quae placuit Domino nupta est Anoilla sodali.  
Madam Rugosa knows not where to find,  
One Chambermaid of ten to please her mind:  
But yet my Lord so likes their comely carriage,  
As he perfers them to his men in marriage.   

Quid queat esse diu?  
SIgnior Fantasmos ne'er such pleasure found,  
In any thing as in a deep mouthed hound,  
Small was that pleasure, when upon one day,  
He lost his hair, and hunted all away.   

Satis est ditescera fama.  
CLitus with Clients is well customed,  
That hath the Law but little studied,  
No matter Clitus, so they bring thee fees,  
How ill the case, and thy advice agrees.   

Timid●● fortuna repellit.  
WHen Miles the Servingman my Lady kissed,  
She knew him not (though scarcely could resist  
So sweet a youth and well apparelled)  
Had not the dunce himself discovered.  
For this, quoth he, my master bade me say—  
Which hearing made her frown and flying away,  
Why thus it is, when fools must make it known,  
They come on others business, not their own.   

Upon Crab.  
CRab being caught, and in the Sergeant's power,  
For shame and anger looked both red and sour,   

Sequitur post gaudia luctus.  
AY me (quoth Amy) who would ere have thought,  
So great a mischief should arise of naught,  
Which had she known ere she began to swell,  
Each yard of pleasure should have proved an ell.   

Of Cajus, his amissing a blot that lost his game.  
CAjus his Love came to his chamber late,  
But he that Grace did not congratulate,  
But with too bashful chat, who for the same,  
(Missing to take her Blot) quite lost his game.   

Merchant's wives conjuring.  
SOme Merchant's wives conjure their Maids, in storms,  
With wands enchanting, working wonders so:  
But on their husband's heads some conjure horns,  
By their familiars still with them below.   

Friscus' secret jesting with a too earnest Lady.  
FRiscus in secret jesting with a Lady,  
(Which jesting Chaucer far more broadly styles)  
Who fearing fainting, called him fool and baby;  
But he with jesting plied her all the while:  
Then if she called him fool she did not fable,  
For fools are ever jesting with their Babble.   

Julias bookishness.  
IVlia is Bookish, and doth study still,  
To fashion Nature's favours to her will:  
Her Mirror is her book, her time to pass,  
And so she ever studies on her Glass.   

Against perfumed persons.  
THey that smell least, smell best, which intimates,  
They smell like beasts that smell like Civet-cats.   

Against Doctor Tangus his swelling Physic.  
TAngus, the Physic Doctor loves a whore  
Better than giving Physic to the poor.  
He hath the art of bawdry better far  
Than Physic, yet in both, doth make and mar;  
He makes a maid a whore, so mars her quite,  
And makes a sound man sick, or dead outright.  
What Virgin can resist, when he doth boast,  
He can restore her Maidenhead, if lost;  
Which at her marriage shall be found as strict,  
As any girls that love did ne'er afflict.  
When he doth promise by a Physic feat,  
To let the womb and paps from growing great:  
To give her unguents and complexions store,  
To make her Beauties rare reflections more,  
To keep her body still in healthful state,  
And make her merry in despite of fate.  
Which having will to promise, skill to do,  
What wench can choose but love and please him too?  
Tangus your Art, your nature truly hits,  
That helps or hinders loves still burning fits;  
But take heed (Tangus) how you empty still,  
The wombs which you with working Physic fill,  
Lest some repentant wench which used you have,  
Say at her end you used her like a knave;  
Then let me thee admonish (without stripes)  
Give no more Physic with such Clyster-pipes.   

Covetous Patrons.  
patrons are Latrons, then by this,  
theyare worst of greedy people,  
Whose Cognizance a Wolfes-head is,  
And in his mouth a steeple.   

Lucillas' white going.  
LVcida lightly all in white do go,  
To lay her chastity a whitning so.   

Of no fish called Salmon.  
A Man called Salmon, Sivern banks dwelled under,  
That his wife Salmon spawned then, was no wonder.   

Stophus married a fair fool.  
STophus with his great wit, a fool hath wed,  
Strange death, the livings bound so to the dead.   

women's Masks.  
IT seems that Masks do women much disgrace,  
Sith when they wear them they do hide their face.   

Bears bated loose is the worst of loose sports, and why.  
I Like not (of loose sports) Bears baitings play,  
Sith Bears broke loose, teach men to run away.   

Of much promising.  
Lord's promise soon, but to perform are long,  
Then would their purse-strings were tied to their tongue.   

To Severus.  
Believe Severus, that in these my rhymes,  
I task no person, but the common crimes.   

Upon Hugh.  
HVgh should have gove to Oxford th'other day,  
But turned at Tyburn, and so lost his way.   

Of Jack-Cut purse.  
IAck-cut-purse is, and hath been patient long.  
For he's content to pocket up much wrong.   

Bell the Tinker.  
BEll though thou die decrepit, lame, forlorn,  
Thou wast a man of Mettle, I'll be sworn.   

Crooke-backs payment.  
CRook-back to pay old scores will sell his state,  
And though he do, he'll never make all strait   

Barber's care.  
Neat Barber Trim, I must commend thy care,  
Which dost all things exactly, to a hair.   

Case is altered.  
TOm Case (some do report) was lately haltered,  
If this be true, why then the case is altered.   

Of Stupid Binus.  
Sigh time flies fast away, his fastest flight,  
Binus prevents with dreaming day and night.   

The Prodigal and the Miser all on't.  
THe ding Thrift and the Miser's fault's all one,  
For neither wots how well to use his own.   

Of Flavia's looks after her fall.  
FLavia looks feebly since she caught a fall,  
So looks as if she could not do withal.   

Against Gella and her Consumption.  
GElla is light and like a candle wasteth,  
Even to the snuff that stinketh more it lasteth.   

Of false praise.  
THe praise of Arts, which ill we deem,  
Like smoke goes out as soon as seen.   

In medio consist it virtus.  
A Gallant courting of a game-some maid,  
Said, sweet, oh let me kiss your hands and feet  
In sign of humblest love! good sir (she said)  
Both those for your sweet lips are most unmeet,  
" But virtue's in the midst, than (virtue) there,  
If you will kiss you may, if not forbear.   

Against Lady's fantastical attire.  
IF Lady's manners with their gauds agree,  
Then they seem such they would not seem to be;  
But if they would not be as theyare in sight,  
Let them not wear what makes them seem so light.   

Malsters ill measure.  
SUch Malsters as ill measure sell for gain,  
Are not mere knaves, but also knaves in grain.   

Upon Divine Roscios.  
TWo famous Roscios chanced I to espy,  
Acting a Metamorphosis, while I,  
Sleep under the covert of a shady wood,  
Where great Archias for the Empire stood:  
Who did their several actions thus define,  
Artful the one, the other most divine.   

Drunken promises.  
YOu promise mountains unto me,  
When over night stark drunk you be:  
But nothing you perform next day,  
Henceforth be morning drunk, I pray.   

The worlds in a Band.  
A Fellow judged to dye for filching ware,  
At his confession did himself compare,  
In Metaphors unto the world, wherein  
Contained is the Sentinel of sin.  
The hangman hearing this, when he had prayed,  
Began to scoff, and thus deriding said:  
I may attempt what I desire, were't land,  
For why? I have the world now in a Band.   

The Woman Cuckold.  
FRancisco vaunts he gave his wife the horn,  
She frowns, she frets, and takes the news in scorn;  
And though you did (quoth she) yet you indeed,  
Must wear the horn, because you are the head.   

A Cuckold.  
A Cuckold is a dangerous beast, why so?  
Nam Cornu ferit ille: Caveto.   

Rest in motion.  
ALl motion ceaseth when it hath its end,  
So say Philosophers, then how is it,  
That Cailus loving long old Kate (his friend)  
Love being a motion in marriage knit,  
Doth beat her every day; what rest is this?  
Why, rest of Love, while hate in motion is.   

Dolls a drab, and yet no Courtesan.  
A Punk's called Courtesan, of courtesy;  
Then Dol's a Drab, and yet no Courtesan;  
For with her friends she deals most cruelly,  
And in love's skirmish spoileth many a man:  
Yet is she kind and courteous where she takes,  
And plays with them, but seld ' they have their stakes.   

On traversing the error of an action.  
ONe Lawyer once another's wife did woe,  
That she with him would enter Action too,  
The issue joined the husband wronged so,  
Seeing the intruder, quite his wife over o'er throw;  
He right well swinged them both for that compaction,  
So canvased the error of their Action.   

Of women's Metamorphosis, according to the time and place.  
SOme women are in Churches Saints or more,  
Angels abroad, at home too like the Devil,  
At windows Sirens, Parrots at the door;  
And in their gardens Goats, or more uncivil:  
And Tradesmen that ne'er match till they have much,  
In deadly danger are to meet with such.   

Against promise breaking.  
VEntus doth promise much, yet still doth break,  
So all his promises are great and weak,  
Like Bubbles in the water, (round and light)  
Swelling so great that they are broke outright.   

No good wives in London.  
THe Countri's full of good wives, specially  
The wives of all the clowns and yeomanry;  
But Tripe-wives, Broom-wives, Oyster-wives & all,  
We still in London Mistresses do call:  
Then London hath no good wives, sith they abide  
All in the Country better to be tried.   

Fast and loose.  
PAphus was married all in haste,  
And now to rack doth run:  
So knitting of himself too fast,  
He hath himself undone.   

A Man in Print.  
A Man in Print, once such a man I saw,  
Who whipped but vice in print, and then did draw  
Himself in print, so much in print, that he  
Comes thus in print, reformed in print to be.  
While he that whipped but vice in print doth storm,  
For being a vice in print, so much in form.   

Against the bare breasts of young women.  
WHy bore ye so your breasts audacious Dames?  
Is it to give men's eyes a taste of that,  
You yet do hide, t'augment their lustful flames?  
Or else to draw their tongues to wanton chat?  
It seems y'are hot, that so low naked go,  
And look for cooling at some vent below.   

Laugh and lie down.  
I See and laugh, still laugh at what I see,  
Democritus hereing, I play thy part:  
I see some Madams, honest held to be,  
That oft in sport do (W—) it by their art:  
Yet merely seem chaste, till they be nigh down,  
So still I laugh, to see them laugh, and lie down.   

Master Glaius and bright Mistress Grace, alight one that lightened a work of darkness.  
GRace in the dark, stood full in Glaius way,,  
Whose bravery (like the Sun) turned night to day,  
She would not move although she moved him much,  
Nor speak, although he did her homely touch;  
Yea touch her to the quick in sinful case,  
So Glaius quickly deadly sinned with Grace.   

Turpe senilis amor.  
OLd doting Clandus doth in haste desire,  
With beauteous young Penelope to wed;  
Whose frozen appetite is set on fire,  
Until the match be throughly finished.  
Indeed as good dispatch as make delay,  
That must be horned on his wedding day.   

Natura paucis contenta,  
MEcus is now become a frugal fire,  
That spends no more than nature doth require;  
And yet his wife will prove a traveller,  
Although but once a year he lie with her.   

Frustra timet quisperat nihil.  
TUsh hang it, have at all (says Curio)  
Comes not duze ace, as soon as six and three;  
Who would not half his land forgo,  
Then be outdared by such a one as he.  
Dammee I'll venture all upon a cast,  
Were't not as good turn Rogue at first as last?   

Impar impares odit.  
SOtus hates wisemen, for himself is none,  
And fools he hates, because himself is one.   

The civil Devil.  
IT chanced one evening as I went abroad  
To cheer my cares, and take away my load  
Of disagreeing passions, which were bred,  
By the distemper of a troubled head;  
Midst of my walk, spying an Alley door,  
Which (I protest) I never spied before,  
I entered in, and being entered in,  
I found the entry was to th'house of sin;  
Yet much I wondered how sin there could be,  
Where the sins protectress showed most modesty.   

The honest Lawyer.  
SPrightly (my Muse) speak like the son of thunder,  
And with a full mouth ring out Albion's wonder:  
No Sussex Dragon, no Virginian,  
But of a Lawyer that's an honest man,  
Whose definition (if you wish to know)  
Is a black Swan, fair Moor, or milk-white Crow;  
He takes no fees till he conceives the cause,  
Nor with an oily bribe anoints his jaws;  
He wants the use of feeling, fears heaven's curse,  
Strings not his conscience with his Client's purse.   

A Casstered Courtier.  
CVrius Lampert (as he doth confess)  
For he was ta'en in the nick of the business,  
H'as done, soon done, God wot a worthy deed,  
Setting the Court's wrath on the City's head,  
But for his wrath, before one terms demur,  
He was degraded of his Courtly spur,  
True badge of honour: and from that time swore,  
ne'er to approach the City's confines more.   

Anagramma. How riches freed adorn a Gull.  
WIfe is that fool that hath his coffers full,  
And riches freed adorn the veriest Gull,  
Yet but uncase the Ass, and you shall see,  
An Ass is still an Ass, and so is he.   

Upon Tarbon a Country Gentleman.  
TArbon (they say) is melancholy grown,  
Because his wife takes physic in the Town,  
Why? that's no cause, who would not hazard fair,  
To leave both land, and name unto his heir;  
Yea, but he doubts (so jealous is the man)  
That the physic works not, but Physician;  
Which if he find, he swears he means to call  
The child not Tarbon, but young Urinal.   

The Courtier.  
NOw heaven preserve mine eyesight, what is here,  
A man made up in wainscot? now I swear  
I took him for some Colosse; sure I err,  
This is not he, yes, 'tis the Courtier:  
Brave Pun-te vallo, for those Arms he bears,  
An Ass head rampant, and that chain he wears,  
By blessed S. Martin, do descry it's he;  
Well, I'll observe his carriage narrowly.   

Like to like.  
Upon a time (as I informed am)  
A suburbs bawd and Country Gentleman,  
Coming at the door where I do lie,  
A gallant ruffling wench chanced to pass by,  
Which the Bawd observing— sir I pray you see,  
How like yond Gallant, and my daughter be,  
Indeed they much resemble both in face,  
Painting complexion, and in huffing pace;  
Yea I should say ne'er any, two were liker,  
If this be as thy daughter is a striker.   

Brawling contention.  
TWo railing creatures fell at strife,  
and such a clamour made,  
That people passing by, stood still  
to hearken what they said,  
Amongst the rest a woman comes  
demanding of the rout,  
I pray (quoth she) what is the cause  
of all this falling out?  
One presently made answer thus,  
you are a whore (quoth he)  
Thou art an arrant scurvy knave,  
and rascal rogue, said she,  
Why thus (quoth he) these two fell out  
the quarrel that they have,  
Began at first as we do know  
with calling whore, and knave.   

A Prize.  
TRee darlings have I, and I know not which  
To make a wife on: first is meetly rich,  
Fair, wise, but we in faith be different,  
And where that is there can be no content.  
The next, as loving as the Turtle is,  
Whose lip distils pure Nectar with her kiss.  
But this my fear is, her nature is so prone  
To give content, she cannot keep to one.  
The third is rich, and wise, and well adorned  
With inward graces, but she is deformed.  
So as for all that I do treasure lack,  
I would not get it on Camels back.  
Which should I have of these, they all love me,  
One must I have, I cannot have all three.   

In Briscum.  
BRiscus (his father being dead) was told,  
And found (ere long) where was his father's gold,  
All Angels rich, but poorly clad in leather;  
Briscus took pity on them, and strait hither,  
Sends some for Satin, other some for Tissue,  
Gloves, Scarves, Hats, Hangers, but make the issue,  
They all being freed, did all consent together,  
And their flight poor Briscus knows whither,  
Which he laments, blaming those former Kings,  
Who made a Law he might not clip their wings.   

On Luce's maintenance.  
HE that takes pains shall get, the Proverb goes,  
But Luce take pleasure, yet doth nothing lose,  
Poor labouring Portars with much toil and sweat,  
Scarce get sufficient victuals for to eat;  
But if that Luce at any time doth lack,  
She with her belly can maintain her back.   

In Cornutum:  
WHy should Cornutus wife lie in the Strand,  
And he poor silly man lie in the City;  
Belike the shop was not sufficient maned,  
To part the head and members, yet 'tis pity,  
But what cares she for head, I hope she scorns,  
Were he seven heads, she'd crown them all with horns.   

On Age.  
IF we love things long sought for, age is a thing  
That we are fifty years a compassing.   

Upon Church a whore hunter.  
HEre lies a Church triumphant still in evil,  
That never fought with sin, the world, nor devil,  
But still with flesh he changed friendly knocks,  
And so to shun the Plague, died of the Pox.   

Upon fair Mistress Eliz. Ambar:  
REader stay, see who lies here,  
Attracting Ambar shining clear;  
Yet death that clearness cloudeth now;  
But being bright, it shineth through.   

Upon a Collier.  
HEre lies the Collier jenkin Dashes,  
By whom death nothing gained he swore,  
For living he was dust and Ashes,  
And being dead he is no more.   

Upon a young Gentlewoman.  
STay do not pass, here fix your eyes,  
Upon a Virgin's Obsequies,  
Pay tribute to a troubled heart,  
'Tis but one tear before you part;  
And what are tears? they are but streams  
Of sorrow, which like frightful dreams  
Disturb our senses, yet I crave,  
No other sacrifice to have.  
But if you pass and let fall none,  
Y'are harder than this marble stone.  
Your love is coldet, and your eyes  
Are senseless of my miseries.   

Upon a great Usurer.  
TEn in the hundred lies under this stone,  
And a hundred to ten but to ' th' Devil he's gone.   

On a young Gentlewoman.  
NAture (in this small volume) was about  
To perfect what in women was left out:  
But fearing least a piece so well begun  
Might want preservatives when she was young,  
Ere she could finish what she undertook,  
Threw dust upon it and shut up the Book.   

Of one that loved Sack as his soul.  
GOod Reader bless thee, be assured,  
The spirit of Sack lies here immurd,  
Who havoced all he could come by  
For Sack, and here quite sacked doth lie.   

Of a cursed wife.  
IF it be true what I hear tell,  
That some affirm the grave is hell:  
And if that hell be then so near,  
The veriest Devil in hell, lies here.   

One that died with grief a few days after her husband.  
HE first deceased, she a little cried,  
To live without him liked it not and died.   

A double fellow ill composed:  
HEre lies one double in his grave;  
For he was still a fool and knave?   

Upon fair Elizabeth Butter.  
HEre lies sweet Butter turned to grass,  
To make sweet Butter as it was.   

Upon John Death a good fellow.  
HEre Deaths interred that lived by bread,  
Then all should live, now Death is dead.   

On a self conceited fool.  
HEre lies a man that was an Ass;  
Then sure he's better than he was.   

One that cheated his father.  
HEre lies a man who in a span  
Of life, beyond his father ran.   

On an Usurer.  
HEre lies on Ten per Cent.  
In deathshouse, and pays no rent:   

An Elegy by the Author, upon the death of his dear father, Master Edward Pick.  
TO tell my loss so well to each man known,  
Were to lament myself, not him that's gone:  
That were to cry, out help to those that lie,  
By the same grief dead to eternity.  
But yet that men may fully understand,  
Know 'twas my father, even by whose hand,  
I first had breath, and I will give him fame,  
By writing in a double kind his name:  
I do confess he's gone, and yet my loss,  
If told is undervalved, so gross,  
So young are my complaints, that I lament,  
In petty notions, sorrow's rudiment:  
My infant tears yet know not all my woe,  
Because I knew not all that was to grow  
In him a graft all hope, but riper years,  
Shall teach me how to parallel my tears,  
And so improove I may, (as he did grow  
In virtue) daily thriving in my woe:  
Did we not lose enough when Adam fell,  
By thee cursed fruit? but thou must longer still,  
Produce our miseries, and when weare best,  
By tempting one must murder all the rest.  
Was he too good for earth, and did heaven call,  
To have him there; so that he needs must fall?  
If so, 'tis well, for it was equity,  
Mankind and he by the same fate should dye.  
But though thouart dead, thy memory survives,  
And thy good deeds shall outlast others lives.  
SA. PICK.   

An Elegy upon the death of his dear friend Mistress PRISCILLA WADL.  
HEre though her spot, less span-long life be spent,  
Are silent steps to show where goodness went.  
Nature did in such rare completeness make her,  
To show her Art, and so away did take her.  
For she was only to us wretches lent  
For a short time to be our precedent.  
Goods we inherit daily, and possession.  
O, that in goodness were the same succession!  
For then before her soul to heaven she breathed,  
She had to each of us a part bequeathed,  
Of her true wealth; and closing thus her eyes,  
Would have enriched her sex with Legacies.  
SA. PICK.   

Upon the death of Mistress Sarah Wadl.  
Weep, weep, your sorrows are well paid,  
For 'tis a Virgin here is laid,  
You that shall see this Monument,  
And cannot at this fight lament,  
The conscious marble will you show  
How to discharge your comely woe.  
Either you may the occasion fit,  
By melting into tears like it.  
Or if you punish not your, eye  
By weeping, cause it fatally.  
Behold her Tomb, then may you moan,  
By standing stupid, like the stone.  
Yet both these sorrows are well paid,  
For 'tis a Virgin here is laid.   
FINIS.