THE SCULLER, Rowing from TIBER to THAMES with his Boat laden with a hodge-podge, or Gallimawfry of Sonnets, satires, and Epigrams.  
With an addition of Pastoral Equivocques or the complaint of a Shepherd.  
By JOHN TAYLOR.  
Sum primus homo, Vis ire mecum Remis? Est mihi proxima ● imbe.  
Read, and then judge.  
Printed at London by E. A. & are to be sold at the Pide-bull near St. Augustine's gate. 1612.   

TO THE RIGHT Worshipful and worthy favourer of learning, my singular good Master, Sir WILLIAM WAAD Knight, Lieutenant of his M ties Tower of London, your poor servant john Taylor, consecrates this his first Inventions: wishing You, and Yours, all happiness temporal and eternal.  

S Such is the course of this inconstant life,  
I In which we mortal creatures draw our breath:  
R Reason is ruled by Rage, and Peace by Strife,  
W Wit is a slave to Will, and Life to Death.  
I I in these fickle, fleeting, fading times,  
L Live and enjoy the bounty of your favours,  
L Let me I pray, and my unworthy rhymes,  
I Entreat your kind protection of my labours.  
A As in a storm the Sheep to shelters run,  
M My Muse unto your Patronage doth fly,  
W Whereas she hopes all envies storms to shun,  
A And live despite of scandals calumny.  
A All my endeavours then shall me persuade,  
D Dreadless that I through greater streams will wade.   
Your humble servant most obsequious JOHN TAYLOR.   

To the right worshipful and my ever respected, Mr. JOHN MORAY Esquire.  

OF all the wonders this vile world includes,  
I muse how 〈◊〉 such high favours gain!  
How adulation cunningly deludes  
Both high and low, from Sceptre to the Swain:  
But yet if thou by flattery couldst obtain  
More than the most that is possessed by men,  
Thou canst not tune thy tongue to falsehoods strain,  
Yet with the best canst use both tongue and pen.  
Thy sacred learning can both scan and ken  
The hidden things of Nature, and of Art,  
'tis thou hast raised me from oblivions den,  
And made my Muse from obscure sleep to start.  
Unto thy wisdoms censure I commit,  
This first borne issue of my worthless wit.   
I T.   

To my dear respected friend Mr. Benjamin johnson.  

THou canst not die, for though the stroke of death  
Deprives the world of thy worst earthly part:  
Yet when thy corpse hath banished thy breath,  
Thy living Muse shall still declare thy Art.  
The fatal Sisters and the blessed Graces,  
Were all thy friends at thy nativity:  
And in thy mind the Muses took their places,  
Adoring thee with rare capacity.  
And all the Worthies of this worthy land,  
Admires thy wondrous all admired worth,  
Then how should I that cannot understand  
Thy worth, thy worthy worthiness set forth.  
Yet bear the boldness of the honest Sculler,  
Whose worthless praise can fill thy praise no fuller.  
I. T.    

To my loving friend JOHN TAYLOR.  

COuld my unpractisd Pen advance thy name,  
Thou shouldst be seated on the wings of Fame.  
For from thy toilsome Oar I wonder I,  
How thy invention flows so jocundly!  
Not having dreamt on fair Parnassus' Hill,  
With fruitful numbers to enrich thy Quill.  
Nor having washed in that Pegassion Fount,  
Which lends the wits such nimbleness to mount,  
With tickling rapture, on poetic strains,  
On Thames the Muse's float that fills thy brains.  
Thy happy wit producde thy happy rhymes,  
Which shall commend thee unto after times.  
And worthily unroll thy name 'mongst those,  
Whose Temples are begirt with Laurel bows.  
For, (sooth to say) a work I saw not yet,  
Less helped with learning and more graced with wit.  
Then spite of Envy, and Detractions scorn,  
Though Art thou want'st, thou art a Poet borne:  
And as a friend for names sake, I'll say thus,  
Nec scombros metuentia, Carmina nec Thus.   
Henry Taylor.   

To the one and only water-Poet and my friend john Taylor.  

FResh water Soldiers sail in shallow streams,  
And mile-end Captains venture not their lives:  
A brain distempered brings forth idle dreams,  
And guilded Sheaths have seldom golden Knives.  
And painted faces none but fools bewitch:  
Thy Muse is plain; but witty, fair, and rich.  
When thou didst first to Agganippe float,  
Without thy knowledge (as I surely think)  
The Nayades did swim about thy boat  
And brought thee bravely, to the Muse's brink.  
〈◊〉 Grace, and Nature filling up thy Fountain,  
Thy muse came flowing from Parnassus' Mountain.  
So long may flow as is to thee most fit,  
The boundless Ocean, of a Poets wit.   
I P.   

In laudem Authoris.  

WIt, Reason Grace, Religion, Nature, Zeal.  
Wrought all together in thy working brain.  
And to thy work did set this certain 〈◊〉,  
Pure is the colour that will take no stain.  
What need I praise, the work itself doth praise:  
In words, in worth, in form, and matter to,  
A world of wits are working many ways,  
But few have done, that thou dost truly do:  
Was never Tailor shaped so fit a Coat,  
Unto the corpse of any earthly creature,  
As thou 〈◊〉 made for that foul Romish Goat,  
In true description of his devilish nature.  
Besides, such matter of judicious wit,  
With quaint 〈◊〉 so fitting every fancy,  
As well may prove, who scorns and spites atit,  
Shall either show their folly or their franzie.  
Then let the Pope's Bulls roar, bell, book and candle,  
In all the devils circuit sound thy curse:  
Whilst thou with truth dost every try all handle,  
God bless thy work and thou art near the worse.  
And while Hell's friends their 〈◊〉 foe do prove thee  
The Saints on earth, and God in heaven will love thee.   
Thy loving friend Nicholas Bretton.   


WHen Tiber's silver waves their Channel leave,  
And lovely Thames, her wont course for sake,  
Then foul oblivion shall thy name bereave,  
Drenching thy glory in her hellbred lake,  
But till that time this scourge of Popery:  
Shall Crown thy fame with immortality.   
Thy friend assured Maximilian Waad.   

To my loving friend john Taylor.  

FErris gave cause of vulgar wonderment,  
When unto Bristol in a Boat he went:  
Another with his Sculler ventured more,  
That Rowed to Flushing from our English 〈◊〉.  
Another did devise a wooden Whale,  
Which unto Calais, did from Dover sail,  
Another, with his Oars and slender Wherry,  
From London unto Antwerp o'er did ferry.  
Another, maugre fickle fortunes teeth,  
Rowed hence to Scotland, and arrived at Leeth.  
But thou hast made all these but trivial things,  
That from the Tower thy watery Sculler brings  
To Helicon: most sacred in account,  
And so arrived at Parnassus' Mount:  
And back returndladen with Poet's wit,  
With all the muses hands to witness it:  
Who on their Sculler doth this praise bestow,  
Not such another on the Thames doth row.   
Thy loving friend SAMVEL rowland's.   

To my friend both by water and land JOHN TAYLOR.  

OFt hast thou traveled for me at thy Oar,  
But never in this kind didst toil before.  
To turn a Poet in this peevish time,  
Is held as rare as I should write in rhyme,  
For one of thy profession, yet thy Art,  
Surpasseth mine: this serves to paint that part,  
I mean thy Poetry which in thee lurks,  
And not thy sweeting skill in water works.  
I cannot but commend thy Book, and say  
Thou merritst more than common Scullers pay:  
Then whistle off thy Muse, and give her scope.  
That she may sound cease upon the Pope:  
For well I see that he and many more,  
Are dared by her (which scarce was done before)  
Proceed (good john) and when thoust done this work,  
Fear not to venture trussing of the Turk.  
I like thy vain, I love thee for those gifts  
Of Nature in thee, far above the shifts  
That others seek plodding for what they pen,  
Wit works in thee, Learning in other men,  
Thou native language we have done thee wrong,  
To say thouart not complete, wanting the tongue  
Called Latin, for here's one shall end the strife,  
That never learned Latin word in's life.  
Then to conclude, I truly must confess,  
Many have more been taught, hut learned less.   
Thy assured friend R. B.   

To my loving friend JOHN TAYLOR.  

SOme say kind jack thou art a Poet borne,  
And none by Art; which thou mayst justly scorn:  
For if without thy name they had but seen  
Thy lines, thy lines had artificial been.  
Opinion carries with it such a curse,  
Although thy name makes not thy verse the worse.  
If then this work, variety affords  
Of Tropes, of Figures, Epethets and words,  
With no harsh accent, and with judgement too,  
I pray what more can Art or Nature do?  
So that in thee thy Genius doth impart,  
To Artificial Nature, Natural Art.   
Thy old assured friend IO. MORAY.   

Prologue to the READER.  

GOod gentle Reader, if I do transgress,  
I know you know, that I did ne'er profess,  
Until this time in Print to be a Poet:  
And now to exercise my wits I show it.  
View but the entrails of this little Book,  
And thou wilt say that I some pains have took:  
Pains mixed with pleasure, pleasure joined with pain,  
Produced this issue of my labouring brain.  
But now me thinks I hear some envious throat,  
Say I should deal no further than my Boat:  
And ply my Fare, and leave my Epigram,  
Minding, ne suitor ultra 〈◊〉.  
To such I answer, Fortune gives her gifts,  
Some down she throws, & some to honour lifts:  
'mongst whom from me, she hath with held her store  
And gives me leave to sweat it at my Oar,  
And though with labour I my living purse,  
Yet do I think my lines no jot the worse:  
For gold is gold, though buried under moss,  
And dross in golden vessels is but dross.   
john Taylor.   

TO TOM CORIET.  

WHat matters for the place I first came from,  
I am no Duncecomb, Coxcomb, Odcombe Tom  
Nor am I like a Wooll-packe, crammed with Greek,  
Venus in Venice minded to go seek:  
And at my back return to write a volume,  
In memory of my wits Gargantua Column.  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 wits would 〈◊〉 so adore me,  
Nor like so many 〈◊〉 run before me:  
But honest Tom, I envy not thy state,  
There's nothing in thee worthy of my hate:  
Yet I confess thou hast an exeellent wit:  
But that an idle brain doth harbour it.  
Fool thou it at the Court, I on the Thames,  
So farewell Odcomb Tom, God bless King james.    

The Author in his own defence.  

THere is a crew of ever carping spirits,  
Who merit nothing good, yet hate good merits:  
〈◊〉 wrings his jaws awry, and then cries mew,  
And that I stole my lines 〈◊〉 plainly show.  
Thou addle headed Ass, thy brains are muddy,  
Thy witless wit, uncapable of study,  
Deemst each invention barren like to thine,  
And what thou canst not mend thou wilt repine.  
Lo thus to wavering Censures torturing Rack,  
With truth and confidence my Muse doth pack.  
Let Zoilus and let Momus do their worst,  
Let Envy and Detraction swell and burst:  
In spite of spite, and 〈◊〉 disdain,  
In 〈◊〉 of any carping Critics brain,  
Like to a Post I'll run through thick and thin,  
To scourge iniquity and spurreg all sin.  
You worthy favourites of wisdoms lore,  
Only your fovors doth my Muse implore:  
If your good stomachs these harsh lines digest,  
I careless bid a rush for all the rest.  
My lines first parents (be they good or ill)  
Was my unlearned brain, and barren quill.    

To the whole kennel of Antichrist's hounds, Priests, friars, monks, and jesuits, mastiffs, mongrells, Islands, Spaniels, bloodhounds, bobtailetike, or foysting-hound: the Sculler sends greeting.  

Epigram 1.  

CVrse, exorcize, with beads, with book, & bell  
Polluted shavelings: rage and do your worst:  
Use conjurations till your bellies burst,  
With many a Necromantic mumbling spell,  
I fear you not, nor all your friends that fell  
With Lucifer: ye damned dogs that durst  
devise that thundering treason most accursed,  
Whose like before was never hatched in hell:  
Half men, half devils, who never dreamt of good,  
To you from fair and sweetly sliding Thames,  
A popomasticke Sculler war proclaims,  
As to the suckers of imperial blood.  
An Anti-Iesuit Sculler with his pen,  
Defies your Babel Beast, and all his den.   
I. T.   

Epigram 2.  

Room, now approaches thy 〈◊〉,  
Thy Antichristian Kingdom down must tumble,  
Like Nimrods' proud cloud-pearcing Babylon,  
Thy hell-hatchd pride, despite thy heart must humble.  
In scorn of damned equivocation,  
My lines like thunder through thy Regions rumble.  
Down in the dust must lie thy painted glory,  
For now Irowe and write thy tragic story.    

Epigram 3.  

WHen God had all things out of nothing framed,  
And man had named all things that are named:  
God showed to man the way he should behave him,  
What ill would damn him, or what good would save him.  
All Creatures that the world did then contain,  
Were all made subjects to man's Lordly reign.  
Fair Paradise was princely ADAM'S walk,  
Where God himself did often with him talk:  
At which the Angels, envious and proud,  
Strived to ascend above the highest 〈◊〉:  
And with the mighty God to make compare,  
And of his glory to have greatest share:  
Because they saw God's love to man so great,  
They strived to throw their maker from his seat.  
But he, whose power is All-sufficient,  
Did headlong hurl them from heavens battlement:  
And for with envious pride they so did swell,  
They lost heavens glory for the pains of Hell.  
In all this time man living at his ease,  
His wife nor he not knowing to displease  
Their glorious maker, till the son of night  
Full fraught with rage, and poison bursting spite,  
Finding alone, our ancient Grandam EVE,  
With false persuasions makes her to believe,  
If she would eat the fruit she was forbidden,  
She should Gods secrets know, were from her hidden.  
Supposing all was true, the Serpent told,  
They both to ADAM straightway did unfold,  
This treacherous horrid vile soul-killing treason,  
And he ambitious, past the bounds of reason,  
(To his posterities sole detriment)  
Doth to the Woman and the Fiend consent.  
Yet Adam never had the Devil obeyed,  
Had he not had the woman for his aid.  
Lo thus the sex that God made, man to cherish,  
Was by the Devil intic'te to cause him perish.  
Satan supposing he had won the field,  
(In making man to his obedience yield)  
Poor Adam now in corpse and mind dejected,  
From head to foot with shameful sin infected:  
Is now a slave to sin, the Devil, and death,  
Dreading the danger of th'almighties wrath.  
From Eden banished, from God's presence thrust,  
And all the earth being for his crime accursed:  
Oppressed with grief and self consuming care,  
〈◊〉 at the brim of bottomless despair.  
Yet God in mercy thinking of his frailty,  
Though sinful man to him had broken fealty;  
Did promise he would send his only Son,  
To satisfy for faults by man misdone.  
At last he came, in his appointed time,  
And on his faultless shoulders took our crime:  
And like a malefactor death he fusferd,  
And once for all, himself himself hath offered.  
And yet the Devil will not be satisfied,  
(Although the Son of God for sinners died)  
But daily hellish damned enterprises,  
His ministers and he 'gainst man devices,  
Under the shelter of Religion's cloak,  
Seditiously he doth the world provoke,  
'Gainst God in traitorous manner to rebel,  
To amplify his everlasting hell,  
Attempting mankind still by fraud or forcc,  
His soul from his redeemer to divorce:  
And yet not man alone must feel his sting,  
But he dares venture on our heavenly King,  
Whose power, though Satan knows is everlasting,  
Yet after forty days and nights long fasting,  
Thinking him weak, attempts now to invade him,  
And with illusions seeking to persuade him:  
Carries our Saviour up unto a hill,  
And told him if he would obey his will,  
In adoration to fall down before him,  
He of this world's great glory would so store him,  
That he should Lord and Master be of all,  
If he in reverence would before him fall.  
Christ knowing him to be the root of evil,  
With Godlike power commands, avoid thou devil:  
'tis writ, thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God,  
But serve and fear the fury of his rod.  
Satan perceiving all his labour lost,  
Runs through the world more swifter than a post:  
Proclaims large kingdoms, and a triple Crown,  
To him that in his reverence would fall down.  
Ambitious thirst of sickle fading fame,  
Did quickly minds of worldly men inflame:  
Making them dream on pleasures transitory,  
And to esteem earth's pomp above heavens glory.  
This made the Pope, with poisonous pride infused,  
T accept those honours Christ before refused:  
Now hath he won great fame, on this condition,  
That fore the devil he fall in base submission:  
So having won this great magnificence,  
To countermand the earth's circumference:  
The Idiot World he proudly over-swayes,  
Under the name of heavens immortal Keys,  
o'er all the Globe he reigns as Lord & King,  
And to Hell's Goate-folde aye doth millions bring  
Of souls, seduced with buzzard blinded zeal,  
From men besotted he doth honour steal.  
And yet with his effrontit shameless face,  
Seems to command the Devil that gave him place.  
A heinous fault in my dull understanding,  
The servant o'er his Lord should be commanding:  
But yet I think 'tis but for policy,  
More to 〈◊〉 th'infernal monarchy:  
He seems to hate the Devil, he most doth serve,  
Else would the world from Rome's obedience swerver,  
And leave the Pope and papists in the lurch,  
And then might Satan whistle for a Church.  
The I'll of Britain hath perceived their tricks,  
And in rebellion 'gainst the Pope she kicks:  
For whom they have invented hell-hatcht plots,  
Quite to extirp the English and the Scots.  
I wot not which of Rome or hell roared louder,  
But they had like t'have peppered us with powder.  
Yea all estates from Sceptre to the Clown  
Should topsie turuy all be tumbled down.  
Without respect of person, sex, or age,  
All had their doom, t'abide the Roman rage.  
But he that by his sacred self had sworn,  
To guard his Church, did laugh them all to scorn:  
For when those vassals of eternal night,  
Thought all secure, than God brought all to light,  
Casting their painted glory in the dust,  
That any power besides his power doth trust:  
Leaving their Corpse a prey for Crows and Kites,  
That bravely so for signor Satan fights.  
But in this matter I'll no longer travel,  
Lest want of water make my Ship to gravel:  
Knowing there's many wits of far more worth,  
That to the life hath limd this treason forth:  
But I'll conclude as I hegan before,  
Because that Christ would not the Devil adore,  
Christ lost this glorious worldly pompous reign,  
Which happy loss the hapless Pope did gain.    

Epigram 4.  

HOw weakly is that weak Religion grounded,  
That thinks the Church on Peter's corpse is sounded?  
The spouse of Christ is built on faiths firm rock,  
Which not the fury of hell's direful shock,  
Though all the fiends in troops do her assail, 
Math. 16.   
Yet 'gainst God's power their force cannot prevail. 
If the corpse of Peter 〈◊〉 the Churches foú dation, as the Papists 〈◊〉, them how 〈◊〉 the spouse of our Saviour have done if the Apostle Peter had never been borne   
Peter's confessing Christ God's true begotten,  
Is sure the Church's ground, but Peter's rotten.  
Or else if Peter never had had life,  
Through want of him Christ never had had wife.  
For 'tis an Article of faith profound,  
To know St. Peter for the Church's ground.  
And who denies it shall have fire and rope,  
Believe me Reader or go ask the Pope.  
But yet I muse in what place of this earth,  
God's Church did stand before Saint Peter's birth?    

Epigram 5.  

WHen as our Saviour to the Temple went,  
To tell the message that his father sent:  
And finding there a rude unruly tout,  
That bought and sold: he angry, beat them out,  
And overthrew their trestles and their tables,  
And made them pack away with all their babbles:  
And further said (what all true hearts believes)  
This house was made for prayer, no den for thieves.  
Those merchants thus whipped from their market place,  
Practised revenge 'gainst Christ for this disgrace.  
And more, to strength their power, joined with the Pop.  
Who by his lawless laws hath given them scope,  
That in the Church they still should buy and sell  
Both God and devil, Heaven, Purgatory, Hell.  
Now here's the odds, Christ out the Pediars thrust,  
And stayed himself there, preaching what was just.  
And for revenge the haughty Roman Priest,  
Hath ta'en the Pedlars in, and thrust out Christ.    

Epigram 6. 
'tis more the I can believe that the Devil hath power to elect Turrian Officer for God.   

IT is a question far beyond my Logic,  
How those that have the Popedom won by Magic,  
Can be Lieutenants unto Christ our Saviour,  
Being known for hellhounds of most damned behaviour 
Being of the Devils placing or displacing, the Pope must needs be the devils deputy & not 〈◊〉   
Then since the devil hath the Pope created,  
His Vicar must he be that there him seated:  
'Twould make a wiser head than mine to muse,  
That God should like the man the Devil doth choose.    

Epigram 7.  

A Proverb old, where had the Devil the Friar?  
Where had the Devil the Friar but where he was?  
The Devil with the Friar, sits in the choir,  
The Friar with the Devil says and sings Mass:  
The Devil and the Friar are near asunder,  
The Friar to hate the Devil is more than wonder.    

Epigram 8.  

COnferring with a Romish Pharisie,  
Who void of grace 〈◊〉 this heresy, 
I myself did talk with such a fellow, and if occasion serve I can produce him.   
That he the law of God had never broken,  
Nor never ill had done, nor ill had spoken.  
I gave his Antichristian faith the lie,  
And told him that for him Christ did not die.  
For he did suffer only for their sin,  
Who were ensnared in the devils jynne.  
And as for him that never had transgressed,  
'twere good to hang him now he's at the best.    

Epigram 9  

IT is an Art beyond the work of Nature, 
'tis a 〈◊〉 piece of work for the pot to make the 〈◊〉ter.   
The Pope should be Creator, and a creature:  
Betwixt the Pope and God there's one thing odd,  
For though God all things made, the Pope makes God.    

Epigram 10  

REligion's scattered into divers sects, 
If the devil be true to his 〈◊〉, these two principle axioms will to the end of the world, help the Papists at a dead life.   
One likes one way for many sound respects,  
Others like that way, others like another,  
And what likes t'one, is loathed by the tother.  
Yet each man deems his own opinions right,  
And each 'gainst other bears inated spite.  
Amongst the rest the Roman Catholic,  
Who scorns that his Religion sail should strike  
To any, since from it two virtues springs,  
That they may eat their God, and kill their Kings:  
By which main maxims they do strongly hope,  
To the world's Period to uphold the Pope.    

Epigram 11. 
'tis reason a Shepherd should rule Rome because a Shepherd did build it: & How Romulus by great reason the Pope should be of a wolvish nature cause a wolf was nurse to his first 〈◊〉 for Romulus.   

IT is no wonder though Rome's regal sway,  
Is by a Shepherd ruled with Lordly fame;  
For ancient records truly doth display;  
How Romulus the Shepherd built the same:  
And how his brother Remus and himself,  
In Tiber's ruthless waves, ydrencht and ducked,  
When infant misery was all their pelf,  
A ravening wolf, most mother-like they sucked:  
From whom doth spring as from a flowing gulf,  
Rome's Priest, and Prince, a Shepherd, and a Wolf.    

Epigram 12.  

TVmulteous thoughts within my breast doth struggle, 
Though all the scriptures do assure that the corporal presence of Christ is in heaven, from whence he will not come 〈…〉, till 〈◊〉 comes to the general judgement: yet a 〈◊〉 Priest will daily take upon him to command him down, 〈…〉 juggle him into the 〈◊〉, ● a cake or a piece of bread.   
To think how finely popish Priests can juggle:  
And make the world believe, a wafer Cake  
Is that Creator that did all things make:  
Or that the sinne-polluted bald-crownd Priest,  
With conjurations, can create his Christ,  
When our belief doth plainly testify,  
He sits at God's right hand in majesty,  
From whence in human form he will not come,  
Till quick and dead shall all abide his doom,  
What fools are they then thinks the priest & Baker,  
With impious hands makes their immortal maker.    

Epigram 13. 
Alexander the 〈◊〉. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 were 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. But if his holiness had 〈◊〉 in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 he could not have 〈◊〉 in such a matter.   

NOt all the sophistry of Aristotle,  
Cannot persuade me but the Pope did err,  
When he and's son mistook the poisoned bottle,  
〈◊〉 error sure what ever they infer.  
O''t had been good then, both for him and's heir,  
He had been halterd fast in Peter's Chair.    

Epigram 14.  

THe warlike Emperors before Christ come, 
Heaven, Earth, Sea and land, being all 〈◊〉 before these latter times by the Emperors and the godly Bishop, There remains only hell for the Pope to make a lawful claim unto.   
Subdued the world, both sea & land to Rome.  
Then afterwards the Heavens, their Bishops won,  
By preaching truly Gods immortal son.  
Heaven, Earth, and Sea, being taken in the prime,  
What rests now for the Popes this latter time?  
Since of the heavens and earth they lose their part,  
They will have hell despite the devils heart.    

Epigram 15.  

CHrists Church in no ways is the Church of Rome,  
For Paul says, in the latter times should come 
That Church that is so opposite to the doctrine of Christ cannot be Christ's wife but the devils whore.   
apostates that the 〈◊〉 should quite for sake,  
That lies and fables should Religion make:  
Affirming meats and matrimony evil,  
Which Paul doth call the doctrine of the devil.  
Then since the Pope and all his shaveling rout,  
What Christ commands they wilfully thrust out,  
I with my betters must conclude this doom,  
The devils dear drab must be the Church of Rome.    

Epigram 16.  

O Yes, if any man would know a place, 
God made 〈◊〉, the 〈◊〉, & the Sea, and all things 〈◊〉 in them: the Pope made Purgatory without God's jeave or know ledge therefore 'tis no reason that God should 〈◊〉 any thing to do there 〈◊〉 the Pope's leave.   
Where God himself hath neither power nor might,  
Where as th'almighty never show'd his face:  
Where words, 〈◊〉 swords can neither talk nor fight,  
O such a placeles place is Purgatory,  
Created by the Pope without God's leave,  
To 〈◊〉 his Antichristian glory,  
And all the world with cunning to deceive,  
Where as the Pope hangs, draws, condemns, & judges,  
Commits, acquits, sets free, or casts in thrall,  
Whether he thousands sends, on heaps like drudges,  
For in this no place, he is all in all:  
And like a mighty three crowned priestly Prince,  
With threats and bans he so the world bewitches:  
In sending thither and recalling thence,  
He gains himself the Devil and all for riches.    

Epigram 17.  

THe Pope hath charge of heavens immortal keys, 
His holiness 〈◊〉 over all the devils in this life, but 'tis but borrowed ware, 〈◊〉 they pay him all his old score when he dies, & comes to 〈◊〉 host.   
And triple-headed Cerberus obeys,  
His triple Crown, and who so ere he please,  
He 〈◊〉 to hell for pain, or heaven for ease.  
He can command the Angels and the Fiends,  
What pleases them for him or for his friends,  
Like as a dog doth fear a flitch of bacon,  
So his great name, Heaven, Earth, and Hell hath shaken.    

Epigram 18.  

WHo dares affirm the Popes of Rome are Proud,  
Amongst the Heretics himself must shroud:  
Or who dares say they're given to Avarice,  
In selling heaven and hell for sums of price?  
Or who dares speak such words of treachery,  
To say the Pope is given to Lechery?  
Or who is he, dares be so impious, 
Seven goodly virtues, natu rally 〈◊〉 in his 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
To say his holiness is Envious?  
Or 〈◊〉, for fear of everlasting scathe,  
Dares once accuse his holiness of Wrath?  
Or who is he that dares once veresy,  
The Pope doth use excessive Gluttony?  
Or who dares say that like a drone or moth,  
Like an unpreaching Priest he lives by Sloth?  
He that against him this dares justify,  
Is a plain Protestant, and such am I    

Epigram 19  

MAy it be called intolerable pride,  
For man to sit in the Almighty's seat?  
Or on men's shoulders pompously to ride, 
His holiness never learned this of Christ, nor yet of 〈◊〉.   
To terrify the World with thundering threat?  
To wear a three-piled Crown upon his head?  
To have both Kings and Princes at his beck?  
Whose Horse by mighty Potentates is 〈◊〉,  
Who proudly feet upon the Emperor's neck?  
If tricks like these for pride may be allowed,  
Then I conclude the Pope must needs be proud.    

Epigram 20.  

IF it be covetous for gripple gain,  
To sell 〈◊〉 Heavens, the Earth, yea God himself, 
If you will know the 〈◊〉 of 〈◊〉, any ordinary priest can tell you as well as 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 can tell a penny is the price of a pot of ale.   
To dispossess Kings from their lawful reign,  
To cram his coffers with unlawful pelf.  
To pardon sins for money, more than pity:  
Nay more, to pardon sins that are to come:  
To maintain whores, & Stews in Town and City:  
Who yearly pays the Pope a countles sum,  
Who takes great interest, puts great sums to use,  
'tis covetousness I think without excuse.    

Epigram 21.  

IS it not 〈◊〉 sensual appetite, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
The 〈◊〉 to make a Strumpet of his Child?  
Or is not Lechery an Epithet,  
For him that hath his father's bed defiled?  
For him that hath deflowered Virginity?  
That hath defiled the Damsel and the Dam  
〈◊〉 respect of Consanginity?  
That like a Wolf hath spoiled both Ewe and Lamb?  
This may be termed incestuous Luxury,  
And yet his Holiness not wronged thereby.    

Epigram 22.  

HE like a God that governs in the world, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
That 〈◊〉 each man's honour but his own:  
He that sedition through the earth hath hurled,  
Whose Envy hath great Kingdoms over thrown.  
He that ungraves his foe that's once entombed,  
For Envy that he wronged him whilst he lived,  
And after death is 〈◊〉 doombd,  
To be of lifeless senseless 〈◊〉 deprived.  
If this be true none will deny I hope,  
That Envy is engrafted in the Pope.    

Epigram 23.  

HE whose fierce Wrath with bloody rage doth swell,  
That takes delight in slaughtering Gods elect: 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
He that is sworn the Champion of Hell,  
That Wrath and Murder only doth effect:  
He whose combustious all devowring ire,  
Depopulates and lays whole Empires waste,  
Whose Wrath like a consuming quenchless fire,  
Hath blessed peace from Christendom displac'te,  
If I should need one, 〈◊〉 in wrath and murder,  
His Holiness commands me seek no further.    

Epigram 24.  

WHo dares for Gluttony the Pope accuse, 
It is a 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, to 〈◊〉 flesh & 〈◊〉 all 〈◊〉 of fish, & other delicates, which they cause to swim in their 〈◊〉 with the strongest wine, which makes 〈◊〉 Holiness & all is crew, to look as lean as so many Brawns, stied up against Christ mass.   
Or 'gainst voluptuous diet makes complaints?  
His Holiness so many Fasts doth use,  
As 〈◊〉, and fasting days, and Eves of Saints.  
Yet where Pride, 〈◊〉, and Avarice are found,  
Heart gnawing Envy, and fell murdering Wrath,  
There ravenous Gluttony must needs abound,  
Else other vices will be out of breath.  
For Papists fasts are generally more dear,  
Then feasts of 〈◊〉 with all their cheer.    

Epigram 25.  

THose 
* I mean the 7. deadly sins.  Liberal Sciences, in number seven,  
Began with Pride, and ends with drowsy Sloth?  
Yet Christ's command unto th' Apostles given,  
Was 
* His 〈◊〉 knows if 〈◊〉 should feed 〈◊〉 Sheep of Christ 〈◊〉 such 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 he 〈◊〉, they 〈◊〉 soon find out his 〈◊〉.  feed my Sheep that faith in them have growth.  
Now I suppose the feeding of Christ's flock,  
Is truly preaching of his sacred word,  
Which word's the Key that opes the heavenly Lock,  
Which 
* If the Pope should 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉 drawn, it wield 〈◊〉 his 〈◊〉, & his 〈◊〉. both.  Sword and Word his Holiness doth hoard,  
Which drawn, cuts his throat and the Devils both,  
For fear of which he lets it sleep in sloth.    

The belief of a Romish Catholic. Epig. 26.  

I Do believe the holy Pope of Rome, 
I would wish that this were not so, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 stand long in 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 to 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 for 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Author's 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 & 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉.   
Is Lord of Scriptures, Fathers, Church and all:  
Of Counsels, of the world, whose dreadful doom,  
Can at his pleasure make all rise, or fall.  
I do believe though God 〈◊〉 the same,  
That I should worship Images, and Saints:  
I hope by mine own works I Heaven may claim,  
In tongues unknown, I must make prayers and plaints.  
I do believe Christ's body made of bread,  
And may be eaten by Dogs, Cats, 〈◊〉 Mice,  
Yet is a sacrifice for quick and dead,  
And may be bought and sold for rated price.  
I further do believe the Pope our Lord, 
I think as you think, what think 〈◊〉 〈◊〉   
Can at his pleasure all my sins forgive.  
I do believe at his commanding word,  
Subjects must Kings of lives & lands deprive.  
Like as the Church believes so I believe:  
By which I hope the heavens I shall achieve.    

Epigram 27.  

LIke as the Viper's birth's his mother's bane,  
So the Pope's Full, hath been the Emperors Wane:  
The Empire's Autumn was the popish Spring,  
And King's subjection made the Pope a King.  
Then did his holiness become a God,  
When Princes children like, 'gan fear his rod.  
Whilst earthly potentates their own did hold  
The Popes than shepherd like did keep their fold.  
And fore the sacred truth should be o'ercome,  
They manfully would suffer martyrdom.  
But farewell Martyrs now, and welcome Mitres,  
For painful Preachers now, contentius fighters  
With blood or gold ascends the papal chair,  
Under the title of St. Peter's heir.  
I think if truth were brought unto a trial,  
The Pope is heir to Peter in denial.  
But want of penitence proclaims him base,  
A Bastard, not of Peter's blessed race,  
Unless when Christ did call th'Apostle devil,  
he's bastard to the good, and heir to th'evil.    

Epigram 28.  

ME thinks I hear a swarm of Romanists,  
Revile and curse, with candle book, and bell:  
Yea all the poleshorne crew of Antichrists,  
Condemns me all without remorse to hell.  
But I with resolution so do arm me,  
Their blessings do no good, nor cursings harm me.    

Epigram 29.  

I That have rowed from Tiber unto Thames,  
Not with a Sculler, but with skull and Brains:  
If none will pay my fare, the more their shames,  
I am not first unpaid that hath ta'en pains.  
Yet I'll be bold if payment be delayed,  
To say and swear your Sculler is not paid.    

To his approved good friend Mr. Robert Branthwayt.  

Dear friend to thee I owe a countles debt,  
Which though I ever pay, will near be paid:  
'tis not base coin, subject to cankers fret,  
If so, in time my debt would be defrayed.  
But this my debt, I would have all men know,  
Is love: the more I pay, the more I owe.   
I. T,   

To his well esteemed friend Mr. Maximilian Waad.  

WIt, Learning, Honesty, and all good parts,  
Hath so possessed thy body, and thy mind,  
That courteously thou stealest away men's hearts,  
Yet 'gainst thy theft there's never none repined.  
My heart, that is my greatest worldly pelf,  
Shall ever be for thee as for myself.   
I. T.   

To my friend Mr. William Sherman.  

THou that in idle adulating words,  
Canst never please the humours of these days,  
That greatest works with smallest speech affords,  
Whose wit the rules of wisdoms lore obeys.  
In few words then, I wish that thou mayst be,  
As well beloved of all men as of me.   
FINIS.  
I. T.   

Epigram 1.  

ALl you that steadfastly do fix your eyes,  
Upon this idle issue of my brain,  
Who void of any intricate disguise,  
describes my meaning rustical and plain.  
My Muse like Sisyphus with toilsome trade,  
Is ever working, yet hath never done,  
Though from the Romish Sea she well 'gan wade,  
Yet is her labour as 'twere new begun.  
For having at the Papists had a fling,  
Great Britain's vice, or Virtues now I sing.    

Epigram 2.  

THen cause I will not hug myself in sin,  
First with myself I mean for to begin.  
Confessing that in me there's nothing good:  
My veins are full of sin-poluted blood,  
Which all my corpse infects with hellborn crimes,  
Which make my actions lawless like these times,  
That had I power according to my will,  
My faults would make compare with any ill.  
But yet I muse at Poets now adays,  
That each man's vice so sharply will dispraise:  
Like as the Kite doth over the carrion hover,  
So their own faults, with other men's they cover.  
'Cause you shall deem my judgement to be just,  
Amongst the guilty, I cry guilty first.    

Epigram 3.  

GLacus that self conceited critic fool,  
Upon my Epigrams doth look askance,  
And bids me put my barren wit to school,  
And I in anger bid the Ass avaunt.  
For till some better thing by him is penned,  
I bid him fault not that he cannot mend.    

Epigram 4.  

A Skilful Painter such rare pictures drew,  
That every man his workmanship admired:  
So near the life, in beauty, form, and hue,  
As if dead Art, 'gainst Nature had conspired.  
Painter says one, thy wife's a pretty woman,  
I muse such ill shaped Children thou hast got,  
Yet makest such Pictures as their like makes no man,  
I prithee tell the cause of this thy lot?  
Quoth he, I paint by day when it is light,  
And get my Children in the dark at night.    

Epigram 5.  

Unlearned Azo, a store of books hath bought,  
Because a learned Scholar he'll be thought:  
I counselled him that had of books such store,  
To buy Pipes, Lutes, the Viol and Bandore,  
And then his music and his learning's share,  
Being both alike, with either might compare.    

Epigram 6.  

Fair Betrice tucks her coats up somewhat high,  
Her pretty Leg and Foot cause men should spy:  
Says one you have a handsome Leg sweet Duck,  
I have two (quoth she) or else I had hard luck:  
There's two indeed, I think theyare twins (quoth he)  
They are, and are not, honest friend (quoth she)  
Their birth was both at once I dare be sworn,  
But yet between them both a man was borne.    

Epigram 7.  

THe way to make a Welshman thirst for bliss,  
And say his prayers daily on his knees:  
Is to persuade him that most certain 'tis,  
The Moon is made of nothing but green Cheese.  
And he'll desire of God no greater boon.  
But place in heaven to feed upon the Moon.    

Epigram 8.  

A Gallant Lass from out her window saw  
A gentleman whose nose in length exceeded:  
Her boundless will, not limited by law,  
Imagined he had what she greatly needed.  
To speak with him she kindly doth entreat,  
Desiring him to clear her dark suppose:  
Supposing every thing was made complete,  
And corespondent equal to his nose.  
But finding short where she expected long,  
She sighed, and said, O nose thou didst me wrong.    

Epigram 9  

YOung Sr. john Puck foist, and his new made madam,  
Forgetts they were the offspring of old Adam:  
I'm sure 'tis not for wit, nor manlike fight,  
His worthless worship late was dubbed a knight.  
Some are made great for wealth, and some for wit,  
And some for valour do attain to it:  
And some for neither valour, wit nor wealth,  
But stolen opinion, purchase it by stealth.    

Epigrom 10.  

ONe told me flattery was exiled the state,  
And pride and lust at Court were out of date,  
How virtue did from thence all vice pursue,  
'tis news (quoth I) too good for to be true.    

Epigrum 12.  

HE that doth beat his brains, and tyre his wit,  
In hope thereby to please the multitude  
As soon may ride a horse without a bit,  
Above the Moon, or suns high Altitude.  
Then neither flattery, nor the hope of pelf,  
Hath made me write, but for to please myself.    

Epigram 12.  

ARustick swain was cleaving of a block,  
And hum he Cries at every ponderous knock,  
His wife says, husband wherefore hum you so?  
Quoth he it makes the wedge in further go.  
When day was done, and drowsy night was come,  
Being both in bed at play, she bids him hum,  
Good wife (quoth he) entreat me hum no more,  
For when I hum I cleave, but now I bore.    

Epigram 13,  

WHen Cavalero Hot-shott goes with Oars,  
'Zounds row ye Rogs, ye lazy knaves make haste,  
A noise of Fiddlers, and a brace of whores,  
At Lambeth stays for me to break their fast.  
He that's so hot for's wench ere he come nigh her,  
Being at her once I doubt he'll be a fire.    

Epigram 14.  

IT was my chance once in my furious mood,  
To call my neighbour's wife an arrant whore,  
But she most stiffly on her credit stood,  
Swearing that sorry I should be therefore,  
Her husband understanding of the case,  
Protested he would sue me for a slander,  
When strait I proved it to his forked face,  
He was a knave, a cuckold and a Pander.  
Oho (quoth he) good neighbour say no more,  
I know my wife lets out her buggle bo.    

Epigram 15.  

THe Law hangs thieves for their unlawful stealing,  
The Law carts Bawds, for keeping of the door,  
The Law doth punish Rogues, for roguish dealing,  
The Law whips both the Pander and the whore,  
But yet I muse from whence this Law is grown,  
Whores must not steal nor yet must use their own.    

Epigram 16.  

OLd Fabian by extortion and by stealth,  
Hath got a huge mass of ill gotten wealth,  
For which he gives God daily thanks and praise,  
When 'twas the Devil that did his fortunes raise.  
Then since the getting of thy goods were evil,  
thoust reason to be thankful to the devil,  
Who very largely hath increased thy muck,  
And sent them Miser mida's golden luck.  
Then thank not God for he hath helped thee least,  
But thank the Devil that hath thy pelf increased.    

Epigram 17.  

WHat matter ist, how men their days do spend,  
So good report do on their deaths attend:  
Though in thy former life thou near didst good,  
But mad'st Religion for thy faults a hood,  
And all black sins were harboured in thy breast,  
And took thy Conscience for their native nest:  
Yet at thy burial for a noble price,  
Shalt have a Sermon made, shall hide thy vice.  
A threadbare Parson shall thy praise out-powre,  
And in the expiration of an hour,  
Will make the world thy honesty applaud,  
And to thy passed life become a Baud.  
Our Christian brother here lies dead (quoth he)  
Who was the pattern of true Charity:  
No Drunkard, Whoremonger, nor no vile swearer,  
No greedy Usurer, nor no Rent-rearer.  
O dear beloved his example take,  
And thus an end at this time do I make.  
Thus Mr. Parson nobly spends his breath,  
To make a Villain honest after death.  
And for one noble, freely he affords,  
Much more than twenty shillings-worth of words.    

Epigram 18.  

LOrd who would take him for a pippin squire,  
That's so bedaubed with lace and rich attire?  
Can the damned windefalls of base bawdry,  
Maintain the slave in this imbrodery?  
No marvel virtue's at so low a price,  
When men knows better how to thrive by Vice.    

Epigram 19  

ALl Bradoes oaths are newfound eloquence,  
As though they sprung from learned sapience:  
He swears by swift-paced Titan's fiery Car,  
By Mars' Lance, the fearful God of war,  
By Cupid's Bow, Mercury's charming Rod,  
By Bacchus Deity, that drunken God.  
By grimfacde Pluto, and avernus Caves,  
By Aeolus blasts, and Nptunes' raging waves,  
By his sweet Mistress bright translucent eyes,  
All other Oaths his Humour doth despise.    

Epigram 20.  

Signior Serano, to and fro doth range,  
And at high noon he visits the Exchange:  
With stately gate the peopled Burse he stalks,  
Prying for some acquaintance in those walks.  
Which if he spy, note but his strange salute,  
Mark how he'll spread to show his broking suit,  
When he perhaps that owed this cast apparel,  
Not a fortnight since at Tyburn fought a quarrel.    

Epigram 21.  

OLd Grubsons' Son a stripling of good age,  
T will make one laugh to see him and his Page,  
Like to a guarded Urchin walks the streets,  
Looking for reverence of each one he meets:  
Eagles must honour Owls, and lions Apes,  
And wise men worship fools for far fetched shapes.    

Epigram 22.  

GReat Captain Shark doth wonderfully muse,  
How he shall spend the day that next ensues:  
There's no Play to be played but he hath seen,  
At all the theatres he oft hath been:  
And seen the rise of Clowns, and fall of Kings,  
Which to his humour no contentment brings.  
And for he scorns to see a Play past twice:  
he'll spend the time with his sweet Cockatrice.    

Epigram 23.  

A Complete Gallant that hath gone as far,  
That with his hands from Skies hath plucked a Star:  
And saw bright Phoebus when he did take Coach,  
And Luna when her Throne she did approach:  
And talked with jupiter and Mercury,  
With Vulcan and the Queen of Lechery,  
And saw the net the stumpfoot Blackesmith made,  
Wherein fell Mars and Venus was betrayed,  
With thousand other sights he saw in Skies:  
Who dares affirm it that this gallant lies?  
I counsel all that either hate or love him,  
Rather believe him then to go disprove him.    

Epigram 24.  

DRusus his portion gallantly hath spent,  
What though? he did it to a good intent.  
Unto a wise man it seems never strange,  
That men should put their money to exchange.  
Nay then I see he was a subtle Fox,  
What had he for't I pray? sweet Sir the Pox.  
I do not like his bargain: why, wherefore?  
His money still waned less, his pox wax more.  
He need not now fear wasting of his stocks,  
Spend what he can he near shall want the pox.    

Epigram 25.  

NEat Master Scapethrift rails against all riet,  
Commending much a temperate sparing diet:  
What though he hath been prodigal and wild,  
Those idle fancies now he hath exiled:  
What though he hath been frequent with excess  
Of Dice, of Drabs, and drowsy Drunkenness,  
Yet now he's changed sir, he is not the man,  
The case is altered now from what 'twas then:  
The Prologue of his wealth did teach him spend,  
And 'tis the Epilogue that makes him mend.    

Epigram 26.  

A Greedy Chuff once being warned in post,  
To make appearance at the Court of Hell:  
Where grisly Pluto hotly rules the roast:  
And being summoned by the passing Bell,  
With heaps of Gold he would have bribed Death,  
But he disayning bribes, deprived his breath,    

Epigram 27.  

DOctor Donzago one of wondrous learning,  
And in Astronomy exceeding cunning:  
Of things that s past and coming, he's discerning,  
His mind on Prophecies is ever running,  
Of Comets, Meteors, Apparitions,  
Of Prodigies, and exhalations,  
Of Planets, natures, and conditions,  
And of the spheres great calculations,  
Yet want of one skill, all his cunning smothers,  
Who lies most with his wife himself or others?    

Epigram 28.  

Brave Bragadocio whom the world would threaten,  
Was lately with a faggot stick sore beaten:  
Wherefore in kindness now my Muse must weep,  
Because his resolution was a sleep.    

Epigram 29.  

WAlking along the streets the other day,  
A ragged Soldier crossed me on the way;  
And though my Purses lining was but scant,  
Yet somewhat I bestowed to ease his want.  
For which he kindly thanked me with his heart,  
And took his leave and friendiy we did part.  
When strait mine eyes a Horse and Foot-cloth spied,  
Upon whose back in pompous state did ride,  
One, whom I thought was Deputy to jove,  
Yet not this Soldiers wants could pity move,  
But with disdainful looks and terms of scorn,  
Commands him travel whether he was borne.  
'twill almost make a puritan to swear,  
To see an Ass' Horse a Cloak to wear,  
When Christians must go naked bare and thin.  
Wanting apparel t'hide their mangled skin.  
Vain world unto thy Chaos turn again,  
〈◊〉 brutish beasts are more esteemed then men.    

Epigram 30.  

Lieutenant Puff from Cleaveland is returned,  
Where entering of a Breach was sorely burnt:  
And from Revenge he'll never be persuaded,  
Till the low Countries he hath quite invaded.  
When his hot wrath makes Netherlands to smoke,  
he's bound for Deep in France, with ireful stroke.  
But have a care in these hot wars of France:  
Lest in a pocky heat you spoil your Lance.    

Epigram 31.  

A lovesick Wooer would a Sonnet write,  
In praise of her that was his heart's delight:  
Hoping thereby his wished love to win,  
And to attain it, thus he did begin.   

Star of the Earth, and Empress of my Soul,  
My Love and Life, that doth my thoughts control:  
Sole Queen of my affections, and desire,  
That like to Aetna sets my heart on fire.  
Thy golden Locks, resembling brightest Amber,  
Most fit to grace some mighty monarch Chamber:  
Thine eyes eclipsing Titan in his rising,  
Thy Face surpassing Natures best devising.  
Thy Lips Wickedness most sweet perfumes,  
Thy Voice the Music of the Spheres assumes.  
Perfection wounds more than loves Shaft and Bow,  
Thy red the Rose doth shame, thy white the snow,  
Thou World's wonder, Nature's dearest jewel,  
Stain not thy Virtues, with thy being cruel.  
O thou that art my Souls adored Saint!  
Be penetrable to my woes complaint.  
Thus the poor Bull-finch spends the day in moans,  
The night he wastes in deep heart-gnawing groans,  
For a most filthy ugly odious Whore,  
On whom he spends his substance and his store.  
Devising millions of egregious lies,  
To raise his Punks foul feature to the skies.    

Epigram 32.  

Look how yond I etchers Legs are worn away  
With haunting of the whorehouse every day:  
He knows more greasy Panders, Bawds, & Drabs,  
And eats more Lobsters, Artichockes, and Crabs,  
Blew roasted Eggs, Potatoes, muscadine,  
Oysters, and pith that grows i'th' Ox's Chine:  
With many Drugs, Compounds, and Simples store,  
Which makes him have a stomach to a Whore.  
But one day he'll give over, when 'tis too late,  
When he stands begging through an iron grate.    

Epigram 33.  

LIght fingered Francis begging in the jail,  
Did chance to see a friend of his pass by,  
Thinking his lamentations would prevail,  
And that some coin would from his bounty fly.  
Those ancient friends, one thrall, and other free,  
One hungry, lousy, ragged, and forlorn:  
The other fat with prodigality,  
Makes him this answer mixed with pride and scorn,  
What Frank (quoth he) art there for Ale and Cake?  
Why how the Devil comes this luckless cross?  
Faith Sir (quoth Frank) your Mastership mistakes,  
For I am here for stealing of a Horse.  
Troth I mistook indeed, and so didst thou,  
For at this time I have no money now.    

Epigram 34.  

MOunsieur Luxurio hath been with a Punk,  
Whereby his Worship's purse is shrewdly shrunk.  
And now for penance of his former ryet,  
With good Duke Humphrey he must take his diet.  
Thus with a crosseles purse and meatles maw,  
〈◊〉 his case quite past the help of Law.    

Epigram 35.  

THere chanced to meet together in an Inn,  
Four men that thought that lying was no sin,  
The 〈◊〉 an old man was in age well entered,  
The next a traveler that far had ventured,  
The third a Poet in prose and verse attired,  
The fourth a Painter for his art admired:  
These four strived each other to excel,  
Who should in lying bear away the Bell:  
The old man said that when he was a boy,  
To lift nine hundred weight was but a toy,  
To jump in plain ground thirty foot at least:  
Then was accounted but an idle jest.  
The 〈◊〉 replied that he had seen,  
The King of Pigmies and the Fairy Queen:  
And been where triple-headed Cerberus,  
Did guard the sulphrus gate of Erebus.  
The Poet he had been at Helicon,  
And raked from embers of oblivion,  
Old Saturn's downfall, and Ioues royal rising,  
With thousaud fictions of his wits devising.  
And for the Painter scorns to come behind,  
He paints a flying Horse, a golden Hind.  
A Sagitary, and a grim wild man,  
A two-neckt Eagle, and a coal-black swan.  
Now Reader tell me which of those four Liars,  
Doth best deserve the whetstone of their hyers'.    

Epigram 36.  

THough Death do Usurers of life deprive,  
Yet their extortions ever shall survive.    

Epigram 37.  

MIraculos wonders in the British clime,  
Monsters of Nature, sprung from putrid slime.  
Sampson that pulled the Gates of Gaza down,  
Nor Libyan Hercules whose furious frown,  
Would mase strong Giants, tame the lions rage,  
Were not so strong as Gallants of this age:  
Why you shall see an upstart Corkebraind jack,  
Will bear five hundred Acres at his back,  
And walk as stoutly as it were no load,  
And bear it to each place of his abode,  
Men of such strength I judge it necessary,  
That none but such should Porters burdens carry.    

Epigram 38.  

FOr God's love tell what gallant Gull is that,  
With the great Feather, and the Beaver Hat?  
O now I know, his name is Mounsieur Shift,  
Great Cousin german to Sir Cuthbert Theft,  
All his revenues still he bears ab out him,  
Whorehouse, nor Ordinaries never are without him.  
False Dice, sharp Knife, and nimble nimming fingers,  
Are his sworn Subjects, and his tribute bringers.  
Thus doth he swagger, shark, steal, filch, and quarrel,  
Until the hangman's wardrobe keeps his parreli.    

Epigram 39  

A Famous house in posting haste is built,  
A gallant Porch with Pillars all beguilt,  
Brave lofty Chimneys, pity to defile them,  
Pray make no fire, for the smoke will soil them.    

Epigram 40.  

A Worthy Knight there is of ancient fame,  
And sweet Sir reverence men do call his name:  
By whose industrious policy and wit,  
There's many things well ta'en, were else unfit,  
If to a fowl discourse thou hast pretence,  
Before thy foul words name Sir reverence.  
Thy beastly tale most pleasantly will slip,  
And gain the praise when thou deservest the Whip.  
There's nothing vile that can be done or spoke,  
But must be covered with Sir reverence Cloak.  
His ancient pedigree who ever seeks,  
Shall find he's sprung from 'mongst the gallant greeks.  
Was Ajax Squire, great Champion to God Mars:  
Pray God Sir Reverence bless your Worships ()    

Epigram 41.  

HVnting is all this Gentleman's delight,  
Yet out of Town his Worship never rides:  
He hunts invisible and out of sight,  
For in the City still his game abides.  
He hunts no Lion, Tiger, nor the Boar,  
Nor Buck, nor Stag, nor Hart, nor Hind, nor Hare,  
But all his sport's in hunting of a whore,  
And in the Chase no travel he will spare.  
He hath one Dog for hunting of the Coney,  
Worth a whole kennel of your flapmouthd Hounds,  
He will not part with him for any money,  
But yet the Cur will course beyond his bounds.  
But I advise him to respect his lot,  
Lest too much heating make him pocky hot.    

Epigram 42.  

FAlling a sleep, and sleeping in a dream,  
Down by the Dale that flows with Milk & Cream,  
I saw a Rat upon an Essex Cheese  
Dismounted by a Cambrian clad in freeze.  
To bid his Worship eat I had no need,  
For like a Sergeant he began to feed.    

Epigram 43.  

A French and English man at dinner sat,  
And neither understanding others prate,  
The Frenchman says, mange proface Mounsieure,  
The Englishman begins to storm and swear:  
By all the Devils, and the devils dams,  
He was not mangy but i'th' wrists and 〈◊〉.    

Epigram 44.  

A Dead dead bargain is a quick quick wife,  
A quick wife lies over long upon ones hands,  
But for a dead wife that hath lost her life  
A man may sooner utter than his lands.  
This Riddle greatly doth amaze my head,  
That dead things should be quick, and quick things dead.  
Lo then I'll make an outcry wondrous strange,  
If death do any wife of life deprive:  
I'll give her husband coin to boot and change,  
And for his dead wife one that is alive:  
Besides, I'll pay the 〈◊〉 and the feast,  
And take my wife again when she's dtceast.    

Epigram 45.  

Omus sits mumming like an 〈◊〉 Elf,  
Hates others good nor doth no good himself.    

Epigram 46.  

REader, if any thing this Book did cost,  
Thou needst not deem thy coin and labour lost:  
'twill serve thee well Tobacco for to dry,  
Or when thou talk'st with mother Anthony.  
'twill serve for Muckenders for want of 〈◊〉,  
So farewell Reader, I remain thy debtor.    

Satire  

THou that hast ever been a roving These,  
A diving Cutpurse, or a perjured Slave,  
And in all villainy hast been the Chief,  
And with a brazen brow canst justice brave,  
That stealest thy pedigree from ancient houses,  
And 〈◊〉 in broking Satin every day:  
That tak'st delight in stabbing and Carouses,  
Not caring how thou lettest thy loose life stray.  
Thou that hast been a Traitor to thy Prince,  
A great Arch-villain to thy native soil,  
And wouldst by treachery exile from thence,  
The blessed peace hath been procured with toil.  
Thou that hast been a Machiavellian  
For damned slights, conceits, and policy:  
Thou that hast been an Antichristian,  
Or 〈◊〉 with blinded heresy.  
If any of these vile iniquities,  
Have been the Axioms of thy passed life;  
Then view the Rolls of old antiquities,  
And see goods got with falsehood, lost with strife.  
There shalt thou see how justice evermore,  
Hath poyz'd the Balance, and upheld the Sword,  
How Gravity inspired with Wisdoms lore,  
Hath Virtue honoured, and foul Vice abhorred.  
How Treason hath been severed limb from limb,  
How Theft and Murder there have paid their hire:  
How those that erst in worldly pomp did swim,  
Have soiled their fortunes in disgraces mire.  
How 〈◊〉 hath forfeited his ears,  
How 〈◊〉 mounted on the Pillory,  
How graceless 〈◊〉, that nothing fears,  
Do end their days in loathed misery.  
How Usury is plagued with the Gout,  
How Avarice complaineth of the Stone:  
How guilty Consciences are still in doubt,  
How Envy gnaws on Honour to the bone.  
How Lechery is laden with the pox,  
How Prodigality doth end with woe:  
How Panderism is headed like an Ox,  
Because the destinies appoint it so.  
How drunkenness is with the dropsy fraught,  
And made his visage like a fiery Comet,  
Who being full must leave the other draft,  
Till like a Swine he wallow in his vommet.  
How damned hypocrisy with feigned zeal,  
And outward show of painted holiness:  
(Doth like a Canker eat the public weal)  
All scornful pride, yet seems all lowliness.  
To thee that readst this, therefore be it known,  
If any of those vices are immured  
Within thy heart, not to the World yet shown:  
If by this reading thou mayst be allured,  
To turn thy tide of life another way,  
And to amendment all thy thoughts incline:  
And to thy rebel will no more obey,  
But seek by virtuous actions to combine  
Fame to thy friends, and terror to thy foe,  
And say 'twas friendly counsel told thee so.    

Satire.  

THis childish Antic, doting piebald world,  
Through which the Devil, all black sins hath hurled:  
Hath bene so long by wickedness priest down,  
From the freeze Plow-swaine to th'imperial Crown:  
We have so long in vice accustomed been,  
That nothing that is wicked looks like sin.  
The glistering Courtier in his gaudy tire,  
Scorns with his heels to know his russet Sire.  
The perifogging Lawyer crammes up Crowns,  
From hobnayld Boors, and sheepskin country Clowns  
The gaping, greedy, griping Usurer,  
The son of Hell, and Satan's treasurer:  
The base 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 sold bribing Broker,  
The 〈◊〉 of Mankind and his Country's choaker.  
The helhownd whelp, the shoulderclapping Serient,  
That cares not to undo the world for Argent.  
The postknight that will swear away his soul,  
Though for the same, the law his ears do paul.  
The smoky black-lungd puffed Tobacconist,  
Whose joy dothin Tobacco sole consist.  
The choleric Gull that's tangled with a Drab,  
And in her quarrel will his father stab.  
The bawdy dry boand lecherous Baboon,  
Would fain repent, hut thinks it is too soon.  
The rhyming jygmonger would be a Poet,  
But that the Rascal hath not wit to show it.  
The wrinkled Bawd, and damned Vermilion whore,  
That buys and sells the pox t'increase their store.  
The greasy cavesdropping doorkeeping Pander,  
That with a Punk to any man will wander.  
The coney-catching shifter 〈◊〉 most brief,  
And when he's hanged he'll cease to be a thief.  
The 〈◊〉 Drunkard, will carouse and quaff,  
Till like a Hog he tumble in his draff.  
Besides, there's divers other helborne sins:  
As some great men are wrapped in Miser's skins,  
For fear of whose dislike 〈◊〉 hold me still,  
And not bombast them with my Gander's quill.  
Consider with thyself good Reader then,  
That here thou 〈◊〉 amongst those wicked men,  
Who on this earthly stage together keep,  
Like mag gets in a putrefied sheep.  
Whose damned dealings black confusion brings,  
By the just judgement of the King of Kings.    

Pastoral Equinoxes, or a shepherds complaint.  

I That have traced the mountains up and down,  
And pipte and chanted Songs and pleasant lays:  
The whilst my flokes have friskt it on the down,  
Now blinded love my sportive pleasures lays.  
I that on greeny grass could lay me downe,  
And sleep as sound as on beds of down.   

I than was free from loves all wounding blow,  
My Ewes and Lambs then merrily could fold:  
I card not then which way the wind did blow,  
Nor had I cause with grief my arms to fold,  
I feared not Winter's frost, nor Summer's son,  
And then was I a happy mother's son.   

I than could haunt the Market and the Fair,  
And in a frolic humour leap and spring:  
Till she whose beauty did surpass all fair,  
Did with her frosty 〈◊〉 nip my Spring.  
Then I alas, alas unhappy I,  
Was made a captive to her scornful eye.   

When love's fell shaft within my breast did light,  
Then did my Cockhorse pleasures all a light,  
loves fiery 〈◊〉 eclipsed all my light,  
And she unkind, weyde all my woes to light.  
O than my merry days away did high,  
When I so low did dote on one so high.   

Her beauty, which did make loves Queen a Crow,  
Whofe white did shame the Lily, red the Rose.  
When Phoebus' messenger the Cock did crow,  
Each morn when from hia Antipods he rose.  
Despite of gates, and bars, and bolts, and locks,  
Heed kiss her face, and gild her golden locks.   

Which makes my rest, like those that restless be,  
Like one that's hard pursued, and cannot fly:  
Or like the busy buzzing humming Bee,  
Or like the fruitless nought respected Fly.  
That cuts the subtle air so swift and fast,  
Till in the Spider's web he's tangled fast.   

As blustering Boreas rends the losty Pine,  
So her unkindness rends and reaves my heart,  
I weep, I wail, I sigh, I groan, I pine,  
I in ward bleed as doth the wounded Hart.  
She that alone should only wish me well,  
Hath drowned my joys in sorrows joyless well.   

The 〈◊〉 Tiger, and the savage Bear,  
All Beasts and Birds of prey that haunt the wood,  
In my laments do seem some part to bear,  
But only She whose feature makes me wood,  
As barbing Autumn robs the trees of leaves:  
Her 〈◊〉 scorn me void of comfort leaves.   

No Castle, Fort, no Rampire, or strong Hold,  
But Love will enter without Law or Leave:  
For where affections force hath taken hold,  
There lawless love will such impression 〈◊〉,  
That Gods, nor men, nor fire, earth, water, wind,  
〈◊〉 loves strait laws can neither turn nor wind.   

Then since 〈◊〉 hapless haps falls out so hard,  
Since all the fates on me their anger power:  
Since my laments and moans cannot be heard,  
And she on me shows her commanding power.  
What then remains, but I dissolve in tears,  
Since her disdains my heart in pieces tears.   

Dye then sad heart in sorrows prison penned,  
Dye face that's 〈◊〉 with a deadly dye:  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 that in her praise hath Poems penned,  
〈◊〉 〈◊〉, and Hand, hapless and helpless dye.  
〈◊〉 Sergeant Death, that rests and tak'st no bale,  
〈◊〉 only thou must ease my bitter bale.   

This said, he sighed, and fell into a sound,  
That 〈◊〉 the Hills, and Groves, and neighbouring Plains,  
The Echoes of his groan seemed to sound,  
With repercussion of his dying plains.  
And where in life he scorned counsel grave,  
Now in his death he rests him in his grave.    

Epitaph.  

Here lies engraved whose life fell death did sack,  
Who to his grave was brought upon a Beer:  
For whom let all men ever mourn in Sack  
Or else remember him in Ale or 〈◊〉.  
He who in life loves blinded God did lead,  
Now in his death lies here as cold as Led.    

Sonnet: In trust lies treason.  

THe foulest friends assumes the fairest forms,  
The fairest Fields doth feed the foulest Toad:  
The Sea at calmest most 〈◊〉 is to storms,  
In choicest fruit the canker makes abode.  
So in the shape of all believing trust,  
Lies toad envenomed treason cooched close,  
Till like a storm his trothless thoughts out burst,  
Who canker-like had lain in trusts repose.  
For as the fire within the flint confined,  
In deepest Ocean still unquenched remains:  
Even so the false though truest seeming mind,  
Despite of truth the treason still retains.  
Yet maugre treason trust deserveth trust,  
And trust survives when treason dies accursed.    

Death with the four Elements.  

TWo Infant-twinnes a Sister and a Brother,  
When out of doors was gone their careful Sire,  
And left his babes in keeping with their mother,  
Who merrily sat singing by the fire.  
Who having filled a 〈◊〉 with water warm,  
She bathed hen girl (O ruthless tale to tell)  
The whilst she thought the other safe from harm,  
(Unluckily) into the fire he 〈◊〉:  
Which she 〈◊〉 lets her daughter drown,  
And rashly ran to save her burning son.  
Which finding dead, she hastily casts down,  
And all aghast, doth to the water run:  
Where seeing other was deprived of breath,  
She 'gainst the earth falls down and dasnt her brains:  
Her Husband comes and sees this work of death,  
And desperate hangs himself to ease his pains.  
Thus death with all the elements conspire,  
To reave man's life, Earth, Water, air, and Fire.    

Epilogue.  

GOod Reader, if my harsh unlearned rhymes,  
(Where with my Muse hath whipped these heedless times)  
Hath pleased thy palate with their true endeavour:  
She then will think herself most fortunate,  
And shall here after be importunate.  
Herself in better labours to persever.  
I speak not to those ignorant jack jack 〈◊〉,  
That with their Canker-biting envious jaws,  
Will seem to stain my Muse's innocence.  
But in all humbleness I yield to those,  
Who are detracting Ignorances' foes:  
And loves the labours of each good pretence.  
Dislike and scorn may chance my Book to smother,  
But kind acceptance brings forth such another.    


YOu that the Sculler right doth understand,  
Mees very glad you're safely come to land.  
But if that any inarling manlike Monster,  
His honest meaning wrongfully misconstrue:  
To such 〈◊〉 all despite, he sends this word,  
From Book and Boat he'll hurl them over board.   
I. T.  
FINIS.