In Memorabilis Effigies.  
View and behold his Monumental Pictor,  
Whose trade was Arms, whose Fortune still was Victor:  
Look on Truncheon how it is becrowned,  
By which you may perceive how he's Renowned.  
His Beard, a Grave bush (Naturally fitted)  
Shows by the store of hair how he is witted.  
And howsoever Times or Seasons change-thinges,  
This Captain very truly hath done strange-thinges;  
Whilst some (perhaps) will say these lines do scoff him,  
Read what the Inside of the Book speaks of him.  john Taylor.  

These 8. Lines by an unknown Author.  
GReat Moguls Landlord, and both Indies King,  
(Whose self admiring Fame doth loudly Ring)  
Writes 4. score years: More Kingdoms he hath right to  
The Stars say so. And for them he will Fight too.  
And though this worthless Age will not believe him,  
But clatter, spatter, slander, scoff and grieve him,  
Yet he and all the world in this agree,  
That such another TOOL, will never be.   


ARTHURUS SEVERUS O-TOOLE NONESUCH: AEtatis 80.   
Great Mogul's Landlord; of both Indies King,  
Whose self-admiring fame doth loudly ring;  
Writes fourscore Years, more Kingdoms he hath right to, for them he will fight too:  
And though this worthless Age, will not believe him,  
But clatter, spatter, slander, scoff, to grieve him  
Yet He and all the World in this agree,  
That such another Tool will never be.   

THE GREAT O Toole.  

Englands', Scotland's, Ireland's Mirror,  
Mars his fellow, Rebel's Terror:  
These Lines do gallop for their pleasure,  
Writ with neither feet or measure;  
Because Prose, Verse, or Antic Story,  
Cannot Blaze O Tools great Glory.   
LONDON. Printed for Henry Gosson. 1622.   

AN ENCOMIUM OR ENCO-MI-ASS-TRICK, dedicated to the unlimited memory of Arthur O Toole, or O Toole the Great: Being the Son and Heir of Brian O Toole, Lord of Poors Court and far Collen, in the County of Dublin, in the Kingdom of Ireland. The Mars and Mercury, the Agamemnon and Ulysses both for Wisdom and Valour, in the Kingdoms of Great Britain and Ireland.  

Prologue.  

Brave Vsquebough that fierce Hibernian liquor,  
Assist my brain, and make my wit run quicker:  
To heat my Muse like to a well warmed Chimney,  
I beg thy merry aid kind Polihimny.  
I list not to call Fables into question,  
Nor of Baboons, or idle bibles jest I on:  
And yet if Sense or reason here you look for,  
For neither, or for either read this Book for.  
And if perchance I do in any word lie,  
Do, as I writ it, read it o'er absurdly;  
Though in these days there are a Crew of fond men,  
That for invention strive to go beyond men,  
And write so humorous Dogmatic,  
To please my Lord and Lady what d'ye Call,  
With Inkhorn terms stiff quilted and bombasted,  
And (though not understood) yet are well tasted.  
And therefore I'll not reach beyond the bounds of  
My weak capacity, nor search the sounds of  
Deep Nature's secrets, or Arts spacious cirquit:  
My Muse is free from those, myself will her quit.  
But leaving Idle toys, with toil endure I on,  
To write the praise of this brave bold Centurion.     

The Argument and meaning, of this following History.  
IN all Ages and Countries, it hath ever been known, that Famous men have flourished, whose worthy Actions, and Eminency of place, have ever been as conspicuous Beacons Burning and blazing to the Spectators view: the sparks & flames whereof hath sometimes kindled Courage in the most coldest and Effeminate Cowards; as Thersites amongst the Grecians, Amadis de Gaul, and Sir Huon of Bordeaux in France, Sir Bevis, Gogmagog, Chinon, Palmerine, Lancelot, & Sir Tristram amongst us here in England, Sir Degree, Sir Grime, and Sir Grace Steel in Scotland, Don Quixot with the Spaniards, Gargantua almost no where, Sir Dagonet, and Sir Triamore any where, all these, and many more of the like Rank have filled whole Volumes, with the airy Imaginations of their unknown and unmatchable worths; So Ireland amongst the rest, had the Honour to produce and breed a spark of Valour, Wisdom, and Magnanimity, to whom all the Nation of the World must give place. The Great O Toole, is the tool that my Muse takes in hand, whose praises (if they should be set forth to the full) would make Apollo and the Muses Barren; To whom the Nine Worthies were never to be compared: betwixt whom, and Hannibal, Scipio, the Great Pompey, or Tamburlaine, was such odds, that it was unfit the best of them should hold his stirrup, and who (by his own Report) in whom Ireland may rejoice, and England be merry, whose Youth was Dedicated to Mars, and his Age to Westminster, which ancient City, is now honoured with his beloved Residence.   


¶ To the Honour of the Noble Captain O Toole.  
THou Famous man, Est, west, & North, & Southward,  
From Boreas' cold rump, t' Austers slavering mouth ward,  
I call Apollo's daughters all, to witness,  
Much would I praise thee, but my Wit wants fitness.  
But thou thyself (of thyself) canst speak so-well,  
That though my Rhymes not altogether goe-well,  
Yet if the World's applause would not attend thee,  
were all tongues mute, thy own tongue would commend thee  
Thyself (unto thyself) art Fame's Trump blasting,  
To make thy name (like Buff) tough, long and lasting.  
Yet grant me (thou brave man that ne'er feared colors)  
T'accept the poor Lines of an Artless Scullers.  
Thy Bilbo oft bathed in the blood of Foe man's,  
Like Caius Marius, Consul of the Romans:  
When thou hast seemed more dreadful in thy harness,  
Then Babel's General great Holophernes,  
More in command than was Nabuchadnezar,  
And more renowned than Cayus julius Caesar:  
Upon thy foe's breast thou hast often troad free,  
As on the Pagans did brave Boloignes Godfrey.  
Fierce Methridates the stout King of Pontus,  
If thou dost lead us, dares not to confront us:  
Thy matchless valour, ten to one more tried is,  
Then ever was the Libyan strong Alcides:  
And all men know that never such an odd piece  
Of fight mettle, sprung from Mars his Codpiece.  
Upon the main land and the raging Ocean,  
Thy courage hath attained thee high promotion.  
Thou never fear'dst to combat with Gargante,  
Thy fame's beyond the battle of Lepanto.  
The mighty Alexander of Macedo,  
Near fought as thou hast done with thy Toledo.  
We hold thee for a worthy and no base one,  
But one that could have won the fleece from jason:  
Thou durst oppose against Boar, Bear Wolf or Lion,  
And from the torturing wheel to fetch Ixion,  
And I acknowledge that thy matchless valour is,  
To kill Pasiphae's or the Bull of Phalleris,  
Though age hath overta'en thee, yet thy will is,  
To grapple with an Aiax or Achilles,  
Or with Hell's Monarch envious ill faced Pluto,  
And prove him by his horns a damned Cornuto.  
Thou fearest no Devil, nor no Demogorgon,  
Nor yet the valiant Welshman Shone a Morgan:  
So that most Wizards and most fortune tellers,  
Approve thee for the greatest of Monster quellers:  
And absolute and potent Dominator,  
For War or Counsel both by land and Water,  
In times of tumult thou amongst the Irish,  
Hast made them skip over bogs and quagmires mirish,  
Whilst in the pursuit, like an angry Dragon,  
Thou mad'st them run away with not a rag on.  
For had thy foes been Thousands, with thy Pistol,  
And thy good sword, thou bravely wouldst Resist all.  
Thou wast to us, as unto Rome was Titus,  
And stoutly sent our foes to black Cocytus.  
To kill, and cut throats, thou art skilled in that trick,  
As if thou wert the Champion to Saint Patrick:  
I know not to which worthy to compare thee,  
For were they living, they could not outdare thee.  
To thee what was great Tamburlaine the Tartar,  
Or matched with thee what was our Britain Arthur?  
Great Hannibal, that famous Carthaginean,  
Was not a mate for thee in mine opinion,  
And all Severus virtues, summed up total,  
Remain in thee, if this blind Age would note all.  
Thou show'dst thyself a doughty wight at Dublin,  
When Irish Rebels madly brought the trouble in:  
At Baltimore, Kinsale, at Cork, and Yoghall,  
Thou with thy power hast made them oft cry faugh all,  
Oft in thy rage, thou hast most madly Ran on,  
The burning mouth of the cumbustious Cannon.  
For in thy fury, thou hast oft been hotter,  
More swifter than an Ambler, or a Trotter,  
As witness can the bounds of fierce Tirconnell,  
and the rough Bicker with the stout Odonnell.  
The slaves did scud before thee o'er the Quagmires:  
Where many a warlike Horse & many a Nag mires:  
Thou killed'st the gammon visaged poor Westphalians,  
The Al-to-totterd, torn Tatterdemalians:  
The broaging, roaging, brawling, base Bezonian:  
The swift foot, light heeled, run away Slavonians,  
Thou lettest them have no ground to stand or walk on,  
But made them fly as Doves do from a Falcon.  
For if thou list in fight to lead a Band on,  
Thy slaughtering sword if thou but layst thy hand on  
Thy fearful foes would strait the place abandon,  
Without or hose, or shoes, shirt, or a band on:  
Thou lettest them have no quiet place to stand on.  
By tongue or pen it cannot well be verifide,  
How many hundred thousands thou hast terrified,  
For thou hast razed more Castles, forts and Garrisons,  
Beyond Arithmetic, and past comparisons:  
The Proverb says Comparisons are odious,  
I'll therefore leave them being incomodious,  
In all thy actions thou hast been impartial,  
Accommodating thy designs as Marshal,  
In mortal Battles and in bruising battery,  
Thy ears would entertain no smooth tongued flattery,  
That though to all men thy exploits seemed very odd,  
Thou broughst them still to an auspicious Period.  
And as thy valour durst outdare bold Hector,  
Like wise Ulysses thou canst speak a Lector  
Such policies thy wits mint could devose on,  
Which wiser pates could never once surmise on:  
With many a hundred never heard of Stratagem,  
Thou hast got precious honour, is not that a gem?  
What tricks, or slights of war so ere the foe meant,  
Thou canst descry and frustrate in a moment.   

Upon his Wisdom, and Policy.  
OF thy Heroic acts, there might be more said,  
For sure they are but slightly touched aforesaid,  
But Gods or Muses, Men, or Fiends infernal,  
To blaze thee to thy worth, can ne'er discern all:  
And should I write but half that I know of thee,  
Some Critics would persuade thee I did scoff thee.  
Thus having showed thy valour, now I'll expound,  
Part of thy policies, and wisdom profound.  
Unfellowed, and unfollowed, and unmatched,  
Are the rare sleights that in thy pate were hatched:  
Of Engines, Mines, of Counterscarphs and Trenches,  
And to keep clear the Camp from whoring wenches:  
To teach the Soldiers eat frogs, snails and vermin,  
Such Stratagems as these thou couldst determine.  
That Cato, Plato, or Aurelius Marcus,  
Wise Socrates, or reverend Aristarcus,  
Diogenes, or wise Pythagoras,  
Lycurgus, Pliny, Anaxagoras,  
Archidamus of Greece, or Roman Tully,  
Could ne'er demonstrate Sapience more fully.  
And specially when there was any trouble like,  
To vex, molest, or trouble the Republic.  
That wit with valour, valour joined with wisdom,  
From all the world thou hast attained this doom:  
To be wars Abstract, Counsels Catechiser,  
That canst direct all, and all scarce the wiser.   

A Complaint and a Petition to him.  
THus thou of Yore hast followed great Belona,  
And shined in Arms like twins of bright Latona:  
But now those manly martial days are gone. A  
Time of Cheating, sweeting, drinking, drabbing,  
Of Burst gut feeding and inhuman stabbing,  
The Spanish Pip. or else the Galtan Morbus,  
Bone-bred diseases, mainly do disturb us:  
That now more men by riot are confounded,  
Then valiant Soldiers in the wars were wounded.  
Mars yields to Venus, Gownsmen rules the roast now,  
And men of War may fast, or kiss the post now.  
The thundering Cannon and the rumbling Drum now,  
The Instruments of War are mute and dumb now,  
And stout experienced valiant Commanders,  
Are turned Saint Nicholas Clarks & high way standers.  
And some (through want) are turned base Pimps & Panders,  
The watchful Corporal, and the Lansprezado  
Are Merchants turned, of smoky Trinidado.  
His shop, (a fathom compass) now contains him,  
Where midst the misty vapours he complains him,  
That he who hath made Forts and Castles caper  
lives now Chameleon-like, by Air and Vapour.  
Whilst fools & flatterers thrive, it greatly grieves him,  
When all Trades fail, Tobacco last relieves him.  
Besides each day some hound-like scenting Sergeant.  
Scouts, gapes, pries, peyes, & tires on him for argeant:  
And Longlane Dogditch, damned soul wanting Brokers  
The Common wealth's bane & poor men's unclokers,  
The Country's Sponges, and the City's soakers,  
The Peace's Pestilence, and Warriors choakers.  
These beat their hogsheads all, to try conclusions  
By base extorting, working our confusions.  
The Soldiers naked, by the Brokers bribing,  
The Scrivener lives brave by sophistic scribing  
The slaves grow rich (and 'tis not to be wondered)  
By taking Forty interest for a hundred.  
And Nasty Beadles with their breath contaminous,  
With what are you, and who go there examine us:  
With hums and haws, Sir reverence, nods & becking,  
With senseless nonsense, checks and Counter checking:  
The brownbild Rug-gownd bench do think it fitting  
To exercise their Office, by committing,  
Where our expense, with Ale their faces varnish,  
Whilst we encountered, pay fines, fees and garnish.  
And Tyburn, Wapping, and St. Thomas Watering,  
Poor Soldiers ends to every neighbouring State rings.  
Whilst lousy Ballad-mongers gape and look out,  
To set some Rhyming song, or Roguing Book out,  
Where more than all is against the dead imputed,  
By which means men are doubly executed:  
That sure the Gallows hath eat up more Pe— ople,  
Then would subdue and win Constantinople.  
O rouse thee, rouse thee, then brave man of Action,  
Make Fur-gowned peace burst into Armed faction:  
Thou hast a pate that canst the State unsettle,  
Be as thou hast been then, a man of mettle  
And now base Cowardice doth seem to rust us,  
Into some worthy business, quickly thrust us,  
Now show thyself a noble Ahashuerus,  
And once more make our braving foes to fear us,  
Do thou but lead us on, and look but Grimly  
And make no doubt, we'll do the business trimly.  
Mongst all the tools of war, be thou great O Toole,  
And never let the world esteem thee no Foole.  
O make the wheel of reeling State, and Fate turn  
In spite of sullen melancholy Saturn  
To Arms, but from the Arms of lustful Venus  
I do entreat thy warlike care to wean us.  
Let not the prick-eared power, of proud Priapus  
In bonds of painted Courtesans entrap us,  
And Rouse us from our Acts and thoughts libidinous,  
That (traitorlike) in ambush do lie hid in us.  
Let not thy Tents of worthless Martial discipline,  
Be turned to stinking Tap-houses to tipple in:  
But make the freezing pot of numb-cold war-boyle,  
And bubble to a hurly burly Garboil:  
Do as thou hast done oft most noble Spartan,  
Strike silken peace into a fever Quartane;  
Or else like Phoebus in his hot Meridian,  
Astonish all the world with a Quotidian.  
I know thy worth the world doth all admire on,  
Then clad thyself in burnished steel and Iron.  
I know that all men knows thou hast been tried well,  
Discreetly thou canst talk, fight, run and ride well,  
I know the reach of thy politic skull, can  
Pluck rugged Mars from out the bed of Vulcan,  
To make war roar more loud than any Bull can,  
I know thou canst do more than any Gull can.  
I know thou hold'st it Valour's ignominy.  
To spend thy days in peaceful whip her Ginny.  
Thy name & voice, more feared than Guy of Warwick,  
Or the rough Rumbling, roaring Meg of Berwick.  
We should do some what, if we once were Roused,  
And (being Lousy) we might then be loosed.  
Encourage Soldiers to demean them like men,  
And measure Velvet with their Pikes brave Pikemen.  
Let shouts & clamours, Woods, groves, dales, & hills fill,  
With dreadful noise & cries of follow, follow, kill, kill,  
Let Drums cry dub, dub, and let Cannons thunder,  
Tantara Trumpets, and let Cowards wonder:  
Let Muskets bounce, bounce, let the Welkin rumble,  
Let Towns, Turrets, topsy-turvy tumble,  
Do this (as well I know thou canst do't wisely)  
Exceeding careless, fearless and precisely,  
And then thy Fame shall farther far be noised,  
Then Titan's rays, or justice scales are poised.  
And since thou knowest man's time on earth is short all,  
Let mortal Actions make thy name Immortal.   

lenvoy.  
IVdge O you Gentiles, what is writ is probable,  
And though it seem a babble, yet 'tis no babble.  
Doom amongst ill tinges, that the best is meant all,  
And what's amiss, pray take as accidental,  
For like a puny practising Astronomy,  
And knows no grounds nor rules so far o'regon am I:  
In diving to his valour's whirlpit bottom,  
That like the Reverend Sages of old Gotam,  
I now perceive how much I overshot am:  
I'll wade no further in't, but in brief brevity,  
Abrupt, absurd, abject, thus cast thus leave it I.  
These forced Rhymes, fully stuffed with fruitless labour,  
Hath Curried my poor brainpan like a Tabor:  
And to recure me from this strange quandary,  
Hence Vsquebaugh, and welcome sweet Canary.   
FINIS.