A Description OF LOVE.  
WITH certain Epigrams. Elegies. and Sonnets.  
AND Also JONSON'S Answer to WITHERS.  
The Second Edition, With the Cry of LUDGATE.  
AND The Song of the BEGGAR.  
LONDON. Printed by Edw. Griffin. 1620.   


Ad Librum.  
MY little ship doth on the Ocean fleet,  
That every circumspecting eye may see't:  
Now in her journey lest she chance to fail,  
Let Printers pray she may have happy sail.   

Ad Lectorem.  
Some men there be that praise what's good they hear,  
And some there are that carp what ere it be:  
Some men in Zoilus ghost will soon appear,  
And some with Aristippus' flattery.  
But carp at what you can, dispraise, backbite,  
I'll never hide my Poems from the light.   

Ad lectorem malevolum,  
PAle faced Envy aims at greatest men,  
And by her nature ever seeks to climb;  
If it be so surely, she will not then  
Looke-downe so low as for to view my rhyme,  
But if against her nature she will see't.  
Her face to face my verse shall dare to meet.   

In eundem.  
IF good it be I write, some pick-thanke-pate,  
Will swear that I had some Coadinuate;  
If naught it be, the more is my disgrace;  
For every man will houte me to my face.  
But spit your venom at me if you will,  
I must write what is good or what is ill.   

Ad candidum Lectorem.  
PLease learned wits, I know I never shall,  
For shallow is my wit, my will is all,  
If that the meanest sort I can but please,  
I'll count this work a play, this labour ease.   

Ad Lectorem.  
NOr good nor bad I can these verses call,  
Some bad I know, and yet not therefore all.  
Amongst sweetest flowers no some nettles spring:  
There's some black feathers in the Peaceckes wing.  
Let not the bad then all the rest disgrace,  
Fair Venus had a wart upon her face.   

Nemo Propheta in patria sua.  
GOod gentle Readers let me truly tell,  
That City, Town, and Country love's me well.  
At home some hate me, too too well I know it;  
They thinking me a Prophet or a Poet.   

Ad Lectorem.  
REad gently, gentle Reader, as 'tis fit,  
Lest that your tongue should overrun my wit.   

Author.  
ALas these rhymes I had forgotten quite,  
Not dreaming they should come again to light,  
But sure at this same pretty rhyming stuff  
The curious world, not scoffed hath enough,  
But to come forth again since 'tis my chance,  
You shall not laugh me out of countenance.    

¶ A Description OF LOVE.  

ne'er touched my lips the Heliconian Well,  
Mine eyes ne'regazd upon Parnassus Hill.  
My tongue did never Ancients stories tell  
My hand did never hold a curious quill.  
Yet writ I must, but if I barren be,  
And show no wit, I'll show my industry.   

Where is that mortal man that can define  
The thing called love, which all the gods do honour?  
Her greatness goes beyond the wit of mine,  
I go beyond my wits; to think upon her:  
The more I think what this same love should be,  
The less I do conceive what thing is she.   

A task most weighty do I undergo,  
By undertaking for to speak of Love,  
Whose bare description I did never know,  
Whose definition pose the gods above,  
She's deaf yet hears, she's dumb yet speaks, she's blind,  
Yet janus' like, she seethe before, behind.   

Like unto Summer's grass she's fresh and green,  
She adorns the body as the flowers the field,  
She in a Beggar life's, as in a Queen,  
She conquers Mars, and yet to Mars she'll yield;  
she's white, she's red, she's yellow as the gold,  
she's ever living, yet is never old.   

Invisible she is, yet her we see,  
Both Heaven and earth this goddess doth inherit,  
she's flesh, she's blood, she's bone as well as we.  
Yet can she nothing do but with a spirit;  
She is a ponderous feather, witty folly,  
A quick thing slow, a merry melancholy.   

she'll soon be angry, she'll be pleased as soon,  
Maliciousness ne'er harbours in her mind.  
She's hot i'the morning, but she's cold ere noon,  
She's rough, she's calm, she's hoggish, yet she's kind,  
She'll sing, she'll sob, so that the curious fiction  
May term and call her, a contradiction.   

She is a restless rest, a fervent cold,  
A wholesome poison, she's a painful pleasure,  
Exceeding shamefast, she's exceeding bold;  
she's bitter honey, she's a gainlesse treasure,  
she's too too lose, yet too too fast a knot.  
She is a hellish Heaven, what is she not?   

She made Leander pass the raging Seas,  
His loving Hero that he might enjoy;  
Fair Helena did Paris better please,  
Then all his kinsfolks, or the wealth in Troy:  
she's such a thing that we so much respect,  
That we our friends forget, ourselves neglect.   

Our native Country do we quite forsake,  
Our prudent parents will we disobey,  
Through desert places journeys do we make,  
And so become some lurking Lions pray:  
Nay more than this, down quick to hell we go,  
As Orpheus did, if Love would have it so.   

Whilst on the key-cold earth our love doth lie,  
The ground sends forth a comfortable heat,  
Forgetting of her own propriety,  
The stones seem soft whilst love makes them her seat,  
Down on the downs whilst Lovers lie together;  
The down seems down, & every stone a feather.   

Who her enjoys, enjoys all earthly pleasure,  
Who her enjoys, can feel no cold not heat,  
Who her enjoys, enjoys a world of treasure,  
Who her enjoys, enjoys his drink, his meat:  
she's honey sweet, herself not mixed with gall,  
Who her enjoys, enjoyeth all in all.   

But if the goddess Love should changed be,  
And not perpetually abide the same;  
She headlong falls into extremity,  
She takes upon her then another name.  
Her white is black, her smillings changed are,  
She is a fury grown which once was fair.   

Her golden hairs are turned to slimy snakes,  
Her eyes like fire, her touch doth poison spit;  
Most grim and dreadfully her head she shakes:  
Which on her shoulders once did finely sit.  
Her pretty lisping tongue, & wanton speeches,  
Are turned to yelling, howling, and to scretches.   

She whom the gods did love to look upon,  
Makes Pluto quiver at her odious sight:  
Who was a Mate most meet for jove alone,  
Is now become a Fiend of darksome night;  
Who once was lovely and in rich estate.  
Is wretched, hurtful, and is turned to hate.   

Your youthful Youths will not so often knock,  
And beat their tender fists against the door,  
But rust and canker now consumes the lock,  
For want of use which shined with use before.  
She keeps her home, and lurking there doth lie  
In holes and corners free from company.   

Speak what she will, she may, here's none that hears;  
Let her bite, backbite, slander or revile,  
Weep whilst she's weary, none respects her tears,  
We know they come but from a Crocodile,  
We know her arts, her cunning, charms & skill,  
Who can seem kind to those she means to kill.   

Then why for Rosa should I cark and care?  
Why for my Rosa should I sorrow feel,  
Being she's false, as much as she is fair?  
What once lay at my heart, lies at my heel:  
For why, a fool I should accounted be,  
To die for her that scorns to live with me.   

Farewell my Rosa, fickle as the wind,  
Yet read these verses which I make of you,  
Scan them upon your fingers, & you'll find  
That every staff and line of these be true:  
Then since that you and I are now apart,  
My Verses feet be truer than thy heart.   

Cursed be that beauty which was once my bliss,  
Cursed be those twinkling starlike eyes of thine,  
Cursed be those lips which gave me kiss for kiss,  
Cursed be the tongue which told me, thou wert mine,  
Cursed be those arms which once did hold me fast  
And ten times cursed be what e'er thou hast.   

Now to some uncouth desert will I go,  
There will I lay me down in melancholy,  
Where croaking toads lie throttling out my woe,  
Or where some snakes lie hissing at my folly:  
There will I lay me down, there will I stay,  
And never turn until I turn to clay.   

But soft, what slumber hath mine eyes oppressed,  
What idle fantasies disturbs my brains,  
What is it makes me rail amidst my rest,  
In slumber sweet what makes me talk of pains?  
Pardon sweet Love, on me compassion take,  
For this I dreaming or in passion spoke.   

The Heliotropium makes no show at night,  
The proudest Peacock hath no pleasing cry,  
The glittering Sun reserves his total light,  
Though misty clouds may keep it from our eye:  
Pardon sweet, love, once more I pardon ask,  
Fair is not foul, although she wears a mask.   

He sometimes feels the pricks that pulls the rose;  
Who honey takes may sometimes touch the sting,  
The fairest flowers may offend the nose,  
Death may be near, although the Swan doth sing:  
Checks from such cheeks, & frowns from such a face,  
Sweet love I like, so I may thee embrace.   

Then promise me I may enjoy thy sight,  
And faithfully thy word and promise keep,  
Lest I lie rumbling all the irksome night,  
Telling the tedious minutes wanting sleep:  
For when ones love doth stay a while away,  
Each minute seems an hour, each hour a day.   

Seeing.  
What if I walk most richly through the town,  
What if I be adored like Mahomet,  
What if I take my rest on beds of down,  
What if I do enjoy whole kingdoms? yet  
All this is nought, unless my Rosa be  
In presence, to behold my bravery.   

Hearing.  
What if the best Musicians that be,  
Take in their hand a several instrument,  
And play to me the sweetest harmony  
That ever was? yet were it no content;  
The sweetest tunes seems harsh unto mine care,  
Unless my Rosa be in place to hear.   

Smelling.  
What if my skin should be by nature sweet  
Like Alexander's; whar if by perfumes  
Each man should smell me passing through the street,  
What if my smell make sweet ill-smelling rooms?  
These smells, these odours little will content me,  
Unless my Rosa be in place to sent me.   

Tasting.  
What if my Table be most richly spread  
With the best junkets can be made for men,  
If nectar be my drink, if that my bread  
Be of the purest Mancher made, what then?  
All these delights will not my palate please,  
Lest my Rosa be in place to taste of these.   

Feeling.  
What if the fairest Damsels in the Land  
With soft silk skin and Alabaster white,  
Should all at once before me naked stand  
To touch, they'd neither please my touch or sight:  
Rosa is she, like whom there is none such,  
She is my eye, ear, smell, my taste, my touch.   

All the Senses.  
Her voice is pleasant music to the ear,  
Her looks doth like our sight exceeding well:  
Feed on her lips, she is the daintiest cheer,  
'Mong all perfumes she is the sweetest smell:  
Our hot desire her water only quenches,  
She is the touch, the very sense of Senses.   

She is the Star by which the Ship men fail,  
She is the hatches, she wherein they rest,  
She is the wind which makes the prosperous gale,  
She is the haven, she which pleaseth best;  
She is the Dolphin which Arion did  
Preserve from danger, whilst he played and rid.   

Then be my Pilot to direct my Ship,  
Be thou the only house where I may dwell,  
Be thou the only cup to touch my lip,  
Be thou my heaven, and I shall feel no hell:  
Be thou my wind in spite of Aeolus,  
My journey then must needs be prosperous.   

Now what is Love, or what may we it call,  
Tell me O thou that triest? I do beseech  
You see, that only she's the senses all;  
I think she's also all the parts of Speech:  
To call her first a Noun, I think it good,  
Who can be felt, seen, heard, or understood.   

A Noun.  
She is a Noun, and a Noun substantive,  
And by that name I may her rightly call,  
Who stands herself, unless another strive  
To fling her down, and force her for to fall:  
An Adiective she may be also said,  
Who sometime doth require another's aid,   

But of Nun Substantives there are two sorts,  
Some Nouns are proper, others common be,  
The best of all Grammarians reports;  
If it be so, yet both of these is she:  
She's proper, small, and of but slender bone,  
She is doubtful, common yet to more than one.   

A pronoun.  
She is a pronoun, like unto a Noun,  
A pronoun now she may be called well,  
For she what ere is done throughout the town,  
To every one that comes will show and tell;  
She busy is, like Poets that be versing,  
She doth delight in showing and rehearsing.   

A Verb.  
she's a Verb Active; for if any woo,  
And ask her if she love's, she'll say, I do;  
She is a Passive too, for she'll sit still,  
And suffer any man to have his will;  
But yet to her I ne'er will be a Suitor,  
she's Active, Passive, but to me a Neuter.   

A Participle.  
She is a Participle too I know,  
For she has two strings ever to her bow;  
She is a Noun, a Verb, yet sometimes neither:  
She sometimes only takes but part of either:  
Four kinds of Participles now there be,  
But she is of the Preter tense with me.   

An Adverbe.  
Adverbs of diverse kinds we know there be,  
An Adverbe then of any kind is she,  
Sometimes she is of place, for here and there,  
Nay look for her, you'll find her any where;  
she's any Adverbe; if you would know why,  
she'll wish, she'll swear, flatter, affirm, deny.   

A Conjunction.  
she's a Conjunction copulative, for either  
As close as wax she joineth things together,  
Or a Disinnctive, for she'll stir up strife,  
(Having a naughty tongue) 'twixt man and wife:  
She is a thing that's fit for any function,  
she's any thing, therefore any Conjunction.   

A Preposition.  
She is a part of speech commonly set  
Before all other parts of speeches; yet  
This part of speech, we very often find  
Beyond, beside, nigh, through, about, behind:  
She is a Preposition likewise seen,  
Within, without, against, beneath, between:   

An Interjection.  
Since she is any thing, we last of all,  
May rightly her an Interjection call;  
Sometimes she's cursed, sometimes exceeding kind,  
Troubled with diverse passiions of the mind;  
Of marvelling, she's often as Pape,  
Sometimes of laughing too, as Ha', ha', he.   

O you most brave conjuring Seminaries,  
Read and attend my woeful wooing story:  
Take beads, make crosses, say your Aue Maries,  
And pray I may be out of Purgatory:  
For if I'm not in Purgatory here,  
I'll not believe there's any any where.    

Epigrams.  

Ad lectorem candidum.  
THese Epigrams I made seven years ago,  
Before I rhyme or reason scarce did know:  
Condemn me not for making these, alas,  
It was not I, I am not as I was.   

De Ligato non Ligato.  
As 'twas my fortune by a wood to ride,  
I saw two men, their arms behind them tide:  
The one lamenting there what did befall,  
Cried, I'm undone, my wife and children all:  
The other hearing him, aloud did cry,  
Undo me then, let me no longer lie:  
But to be plain, the men which there I found,  
Were both undone indeed, yet both fast bound.   

Ad Tonserium.  
Tonserius' only lives by cutting hair,  
And yet he brags, that Kings to him sit bare:  
methinks he should not brag and boast of it,  
For he must stand to Beggars, whiles they sit.   

Mordaces sapit ungues.  
Philomathes once studying to indite,  
Nibbled his fingers, and his nails did bite:  
By this I know not what he did intent,  
Unless his wit lay at his finger's end.   

In Vxorium.  
Noctivagus walking in the evening sad,  
Met with a Spirit; whether it was good or bad,  
He did not know: yet courage he did take,  
And to the wand'ring spirit thus he spoke;  
If good thou be'st, thou'lt hurt no silly men,  
If thou be'st bad, thou'st cause to love me then,  
For I thy Kinsman am, my wife so evil,  
That I am sure I married with the Devil.   

In Naturam.  
Nature did well in giving poor men wit,  
That fools well monified, may pay for it.   

Ad Cansidices.  
To go to law, I have no maw,  
Although my sure be sure;  
For I shall lack suits to my back,  
Ear I my suit procure.   

Demosthenes' Imperfectio.  
Demosthenes both learning had and wit,  
As we may gather by the books he writ:  
Then blame him not, having so much to utter,  
If that his tongue did trip, or he did stutter.   

In quendam Tobacconistam.  
If man's flesh be like swine, as it is said,  
The Metamorphosis is sooner made;  
Then full faced Gnatho no Tobacco take,  
Smoking your corpse, lest bacon you do make.   

In quendam Ebrium.  
Cinna one time most wonderfully swore  
That whilst he breathed he would drink no more  
But since I know his meaning, for I think  
He meant, he would not breathe whilst he did drink.   

In Adulatores.  
Whilst on the Heliotropium Sol doth shine,  
Her closed and twisted self it will untwine,  
But when from her bright Phoebus takes his light,  
She shuts again as scornful to the night.  
Whilst on me Phoebus' sunshine shows his face,  
Each man with open arms will me embrace.  
But when the Sun of fortune'gins to set,  
They clutch their own, having no more to get.   

In Superbum.  
Sylla would take the upper hand of me,  
Saying he was a better man than I;  
I knew myself his better for to be,  
But yet the wall I gave him willingly.  
The wall he took, and take it ever shall,  
For still the weakest goeth to the wall.   

Mulieris inconstantia.  
A woman may be fair, and yet her mind,  
Is as unconstant as the wavering wind,  
Venus herself is fair, she shineth fare:  
Yet she's a Planet, and no fixed star.   

Bassae superbia.  
If it be true as ancient Authors write,  
That Blackamoors do paint their Devil's white,  
Then why doth Bassa brag that she is fair,  
When such as she most like the Devils are?   

In medicis nostri-seculi.  
Twixt former times and ours there is great odds,  
For they held men that were Physicians, Gods.  
O what a happy age live we in then,  
That have such Gods before that they be men!   

Pauperum felicitas.  
Fortune doth favour poor men most of all,  
They hope to rise, but rich men fear to fall.   

Ad Coriatum.  
Coriat shoes, and shirt did never shift  
In his last voyage; would you know his drift?  
It was because he scorned that any one  
Should say, he was a shifting Companion.   

Ad Caluum.  
Caluus to comb his head doth take no ear,  
For why, there breeds no nits, where grows no hair.   

In Eundem.  
Hair on my head I never number shall,  
Nor Calvus his, for he hath none at all.   

Ad Aucipitem.  
As Auceps walked with his piece to shoot,  
Upon a toad by chance he set his foot,  
With that he straightway started back and said,  
It was the foulest Creature, that was made.  
But say he what he will, I think not so,  
For he himself a Fowler was I know.   

In Balbum.  
Balbus, with other men would angry be,  
Because they could not speak so well as he.  
For others speak but with their mouth, he knows  
But Balbus speaks both through the mouth and nose.   

Nulla dies sine linea.  
By ever learning Solon waxed old,  
For time he knew, was better fare than gold.  
Fortune would give him gold, which would decay,  
But fortune cannot give him yesterday.   

In vino nulla veritas.  
Truth is in wine, but none can find it there,  
For in your Tavern, men will lie and swear.   

In Pictorem.  
Priscus is excellent in making faces,  
For he his eyes, his nose, his mouth displaces;  
Since he hath skill in making these alone,  
I wonder much he mendeth not his own,   

In Rosam Periuratam.  
Rosa being false and perjured, once a friend,  
Bid me contented be, and mark her end.  
But yet I care not, let my friend go fiddle,  
And let him mark her end, I'll mark her middle.   

Temporum inconstantia.  
Those men that travel all the world about,  
Do go to find the rarest fashions out,  
For all the newest fashions that we wear,  
We have beyond Sea; They their fashions here,  
But now the world of fashions seemeth dry,  
We look to find them in the starry sky.  
For if you look it now, this fashion's new,  
To wear a star on a Polony shoe.   

In Adulatorem.  
The Dog will ever bark before he bite,  
The Thief will bid you stand, before he'll fight,  
Each lurking beast, with some sour visage will  
Show you a former sign of following ill:  
But Marcus yet is ten-times worse than these,  
Whose heart is killing, when his words do please.   

In Aulicum.  
Man's but a worm, the wisest sort doth say,  
Yet Clim the Courtier goes in fine array,  
So that if man's a worm till he's deceased,  
He means to be a Silkworm at the least.   

De morte Achilles.  
Achilles' heart no wound would hurt, his mind  
No chance could fright, we in story find:  
But yet he died when he did Paris feel;  
Surely I think his heart was in his heel.   

In Arrogantem.  
When foolish Icarus like a Bird would fly,  
With waxed wings he did ascend on high;  
But when that Phoebus saw his proud intent,  
Him headlong down into the Sea he sent.  
Then Icarus cried, O that I had my wish,  
I would not be a Bird, but be a fish.   

Mulierum superbia.  
Why women wear a Fall, I do not know,  
Unless it only be to make a show;  
It's true indeed, to pride they're given all,  
And pride the Proverb says, must have a fall.   

In quandam Edentulam.  
To Fusca beef and bacon very loathsome,  
Chickens and Pigeons are not very toothsome;  
No marvel though if them she cannot eat,  
She hath no teeth, and they are toothsome meat.   

In viraginem  
My wife while she doth live, her Will will take,  
For when she dying is, no will must make:  
But if she'll promise quickly for to die,  
I'll grant her will, her life-time willingly.   

In Calumniatores.  
When Codrus catches fleas, what ere he ails,  
He kills them with his teeth, not with his nails;  
Saying that man by man might blameless go,  
If every one would use Backbiters so.   

In Magistrum Leech fugitiwm.  
A pillar of the Church some Leech do call,  
But such as he are Caterpillars all:  
he's fled to Rome, there's room for such as he,  
We love his room, but not his company.   

Vultus index animi.  
If Phoebus' good and bad doth see his sign,  
Bassa is bad; for she when Sol doth shine  
Doth wear a mask, lest to the pearing Sun,  
Her countenance should tell what she hath done.   

Ad Momum responsum.  
Whilst I, as I was wont, went neat and fine,  
Momus me delicatulum did call;  
This was the answer which I made to him,  
Take you but half the word, and I'll take all.   

De Educatione Authoris.  
The City London to me life did give,  
And Westminster did teach me how to live:  
To whether place I do most duty owe,  
Good Readers tell me, for I hardly know.   

Nosce teipsum.  
Walking and meeting one not long ago,  
I asked whoed was, he said, he did not know;  
I said I know thee, so said he, I you,  
But he that knows himself I never knew.   

Nimium ne crede colori.  
When Bassa walks abroad, she paints her face,  
And then she would be seen in every place;  
For than your Gallants who so ere they are,  
Under a colour will account her fair.   

In Macilentum.  
When first of all I Macilent did see,  
An ugly spirit, I thought him for to be;  
But since I know the cause he looked so grim,  
Had hardly flesh enough to cover him.   

In faeneratorem.  
Griper more money got than he could spend,  
By money which to others he did lend,  
Say what he will, he was no gainer yet,  
But he a Loser was, which so did get:  
To get by cozening, was his whole pretence,  
By getting so, he lost his conscience.   

In eundem.  
Much gold you Griper gather and corrade,  
By lending out to use a damned trade;  
But whilst of gold you are a Hell-u-o,  
Much to the Devil, much to hell you owe.   

In ventriculum sesquipedalem.  
Gaster did seem to me to want his eyes,  
For he could neither see his legs nor thighs;  
But yet it was not so, he had his sight,  
Only his belly hanged in his light.   

In Asseclam.  
Sextus in old apparel still doth go,  
Yet all his suit is new from top to toe:  
It is no marvel though, if this be true,  
His Master's old apparel makes him new.   

In Edentulum garrulum.  
Nature the teeth doth as an hedge ordain,  
The nimble frisking tongue for to contain:  
No marvel then since that the hedge is out,  
If Fuscus tongue walketh so fast about.   

Necessitas non habet legem.  
Florus did beat his Cook, and 'gan to swear,  
Because his meat was rotten roasted there:  
Peace good sir, quoth the Cook, need hath no law,  
'Tis rotten roasted, 'cause 'twas rotten raw.   

In deauriculatum.  
Thraso upon a pillar lost his ear,  
And ever since he hide that place with hair;  
Now lest you Thraso, or his friend would be,  
Cut off your locks, that we your ears may see.   

Iri Paupertas.  
Irus using to lie upon the ground,  
One morning under him a feather found;  
Have I all night here lain so hard (quoth he)  
Having but one poor feather under me?  
I wonder much then how they take their ease,  
That night by night lies on a bed of these.   

In malam uxorem.  
Priscus was weeping when his wife did die,  
Yet he was then in better case than I,  
I should be merry, and should think to thrive,  
Had I but his dead wife for mine alive.   

Aenigma.  
As Sextus once was opening of a nut,  
With a sharp knife his finger deeply cut,  
What sign is this quoth he, can any tell,  
'Tis sign, quoth one, you have cut your finger well:  
Not so, saith he, for now my finger's sore,  
And I am sure that it was well before.   

De Paupertate Codri.  
Codrus did serve a multitude with meat:  
Yet he himself had nothing for to eat:  
Some men may think this frolic misery,  
Or miserable liberality.  
Vermine did reed on him, when he perhaps  
Did either feed on nothing or on scraps.   

In Philogastrum.  
Croesus' is rich, and gallant, fair, and fat,  
Codrus thou art but poor, and what to that?  
When he is dead, tell Croesus this from me,  
More worms will feed on him, then will on thee.   

In quendam Petatorem.  
Bid Gnatho hear a Sermon, then he'll say,  
he's a dry fellow that doth preach to day;  
But he's a drier Fellow sure, I think,  
That ne'er has from his nose a pot of drink.   

In eundem.  
Gnatho did swear that he would drink no more,  
Flinging the beer away cause it run lo;  
Nay faith, says one, it is a sin to spiled,  
For that is noble beer that runs at tilt.   

De Casto amore.  
Many accuse me cause I could do nothing,  
Many accuse ' me 'cause I was a slow thing;  
But soft my Masters, I was politic:  
For had not I been slow, she had been quick.   

Ad Cornutum.  
Cornutus' called his wife both whore and slut.  
Quoth she, you'll never leave your brawling, but;  
But what, quoth he? quoth she, the post or door:  
For you have horns to but, if I'm a whore.   

An Epigram.  
The Shopmen Gallant go, and spruce they are,  
And give their Workmen what they list for ware,  
They drink good wine, they feed upon anchoves,  
Sic vos non vobis, fertis aratra boves.   

An Epigram.  
When I in Press saw these things, not long since  
I judged they had been tried by the bench;  
For if the jury once had gone upon them,  
Less they'd been hanged or burned, what had come on them.   

Ad ● F.  
Since you yourself did break, you cunning are,  
Cozening your kindred thus with broken ware.   

Ad M. P.  
Six years I was a Servant unto thee,  
Had I served one year more, I had been free;  
But since you got me once upon the hip,  
You turned me off, before my Prenticeship.   

An Epigram.  
Cmna loved Rosa well, thinking her pure,  
And was not quiet till he made her sure,  
She married yet another, but the end  
Is this; she's cinna's wife, the others friend.   

Ad quosdam Academicos.  
You that so many precious hours lose,  
Fall close unto your study; let your Muse  
Think upon nought but goodness. Starve & pine,  
Before an hour pass without a line.  
For even as the river ebbs and flows,  
This trash and earthly treasure, comes and goes,  
But learning lasts until the day of doom,  
Sea cannot sink it, nor fire it consume,  
What if thy friends, thee meat, nor money send,  
Spend thy time well, though hast enough to spend,  
What if thou be'st, by chance in prison cast,  
'Mongst those that are in want, thou'lt find a waste.  
Nay one may come, thy face that ne'er did see.  
And set thee out, as one delivered me.    

A Love Sonnet.  

I Loved a Lass a fair one,  
As fair as e'er was seen,  
She was indeed a rare one,  
Another Sheba Queen.  
But fool as then I was,  
I thought she loved me too,  
But now alas she's left me;  
Falero, lero, loo.   

Her hair like gold did glister,  
Each eye was a star,  
She did surpass her sister,  
Which past all others fare.  
She would me honey call,  
Shee'd-o-sheeed kiss me too,  
But now alas sh'as left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

In Summertime to Medley  
My love and I would go,  
The boate-men there stood ready,  
My love and I to row:  
For cream there would we call,  
For cakes, for prunes too,  
But now alas sh'as left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

Many a merry meeting  
My love and I have had,  
She was my only sweeting,  
She made my heart full glad,  
The tears stood in her eyes  
Like to the morning dew,  
But now alas sh'as left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

And as abroad we walked,  
As Lover's fashion is,  
Oft we sweetly talked,  
The Sun would steal a kiss:  
The wind upon her lips  
Likewise most sweetly blue,  
But now alas sh'as left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

Her cheeks were like the cherry,  
Her skin as white as snow,  
When she was blithe and merry,  
She Angel-like did show:  
Her waste exceeding small,  
The five did fit her shoe,  
But now alas sh'as left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

In summertime or winter  
She had her hearts desire,  
I still did scorn to stint her  
From sugar, sack, or fire:  
The world went round about,  
No cares we ever knew,  
But now alas sh'as left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

As we walked home together  
At midnight, through the town,  
To keep away the weather,  
O'er her i'd cast my gown:  
No cold my Love should feel,  
What e'er the heavens could do.  
But now alas sh'as left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

Like Doves we would be billing,  
And clip and kiss so fast,  
Yet she would be unwilling,  
That I should kiss the last:  
They're judas kisses now,  
Since they proved all untrue,  
For now alas sh'as left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

To Maiden's vows and swearing,  
Henceforth no credit give,  
You may give them the hearing,  
But never them believe;  
They are as false as fair,  
Unconstant, frail, untrue,  
For mine alas has left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

'Twas I that paid for all things,  
'Twas others drank the wine,  
I cannot now recall things,  
Live but a fool to pine:  
'Twas I that beat the bush,  
The bird to others flew,  
For she alas has left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

If ever that Dame nature,  
For this false Lover's sake,  
Another pleasing creature,  
Like unto her would make;  
Let her remember this.  
To make the other true,  
For this alas hath left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

No riches now can raise me,  
No want makes me despair,  
No misery amaze me,  
Nor yet for want I care:  
I have lost a world itself,  
My earthly heaven adieu,  
Since she alas hath left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.    

To his Love fearing a Corrival.  

THe poisonous Spider, and the labouring Bee,  
The one and selfsame flower daily sucks;  
But yet in nature much they disagree,  
For poison one, the other honey plucks.  
You are the flower (you know my meaning,) he  
The poisonous Spider is, and I the Bee.   

But if you like that swelling creature best,  
Whose only trap can but ensnare a fly;  
I'll leave my writing, and I'll live in rest,  
Until another Love can like my eye.  
But, if you leaving me, me none can please,  
I'll linger live in pain, I'll pine in ease.   

I am the Bee, if thou wilt be the Hive,  
Wherein no black nor poisonous moisture lies;  
I'll be a painful Bee, I'll daily strive,  
Home to return to thee with loaden thighs:  
And in the winter, when all flowers perish,  
The hive the Bee, the Bee the hive shall cherish.   

'Tis not your fringe, your gloves, your bands, your lace,  
Your gold, your father's goods that I desire;  
But 'tis your golden hair, your comely face,  
'Tis that, O that, that sets my heart on fire:  
Your hands, your heart, your love, your comely hue.  
Makes me forget myself, remembering you.   

O that I were a hat for such a head!  
O that I were a glove for such a hand!  
O that I were your sheets within your bed!  
O that I were your shoe whereon you stand!  
To be your very smock! I'd daily seek,  
So that you would not shift me once a week,    

Another to his Love seeing her walk in twilight.  

THe deepest waters have the smoothest looks,  
The fairest shirt may hide the foulest skin:  
Bad lines are often writ in guilded books,  
View not the outside then, but look within:  
Try ere you trust, and if all things be true,  
Lock hands in hands, and seek not for a new.   

I must confess, and will, I am but poor,  
But rich I am in love, perhaps you know:  
But if you to some higher region soar,  
Disdaining for to take your flight so low,  
Take heed lest by some vehemency of wether,  
You chance to burn some, or scorch some other.   

But tell me sweet, if that thy mind be set  
Upon some other man; or if you know  
What thing this Love should be, if not as yet,  
I'll teach you what a thing is love; O no:  
What thing is love? how can you learn of ●e,  
When first I learned to love by seeing thee?   

The pretty winding of thy comely head,  
The decent rolling of thy lively eye,  
Thy tender lily hand, hath struck me dead  
Without a touch. Now what is Love? 'tis I,  
'tis you, 'tis I, 'tis you, 'tis both together,  
You love, I love, both loves, sweet love come hither.   

I cast an eye upon you yesternight,  
But Phoebus' Horses went too great a pace,  
Unwilling to afford me so much light,  
Wherein I plainly might discern your face:  
In spite of Phoebus, nay in spite of you.  
I'll look, I'll love, 'tis somewhat strange, but true.    

Desiring an Answer from his love.  

IF that I am unworthy of your love.  
Let me be worthy of your answer yet,  
That I may know whether I must remove  
My dear affection from you now, and set  
My mind upon my books, which now I fear  
I spend in Love toys, and am ne'er the near.   

Prithee sweet Love, some pretty thing Indite,  
Let those thy pretty fingers hold a Pen;  
Upon some pretty piece of paper writ,  
Nature made Maidens pretty, and not men.  
What Midas touched was gold; you are so witty  
That what you writ, or touch, or do, 'tis pretty.   

If you want paper, paper will I send you,  
If you want Ink, I'll likewise send you Ink;  
If that you want a Pen, a Pen I'll lend you,  
What ere 'tis you want, if that I can but think:  
What 'tis, I'd freely give it to you, so  
You would but send an answer, I, or no.   

I do not write to thee for hope of gains,  
But only for to gain thy love; so than  
I prithee Rosa take a little pains;  
Once more I prithee Rosa hold a Pen:  
I long to hear from thee, I fain would know,  
An answer from thee quickly, I, or no.   

If it be I, than Rosa thou art mine,  
Then will we spend our youthful days in pleasures  
If it be No, yet Rosa am I thine:  
What ere thy answer is, thou art my treasure.  
If that (sweet heart) you'd know the reason why,  
It is, because a Maidens No, is I.    

¶ An Answer to her Answer.  
Sweet Mistress Rosa, for whose only sake  
I'd run through fire and water, nay I'd make  
A journey through the dangerous uncuth places,  
I'd measure all the world with weary paces  
To do you good: nay more, I'd lose my heart,  
Rather than have your little finger smart:  
But when you chance to read the same, I flatter  
You then will say; but oh, it is no matter,  
Mock, flout, neglect, disdain, spit, spite, contemn,  
I needs must love my earthly Diadem.  
I stouted others once in misery,  
But other men may now well flout at me;  
This is that dire and cursed punishment,  
Which all the gods above to me hath sent  
For all my faults, O see with pity see,  
Sweet Love, thy love in woeful misery,  
Whose eyes ne'er sleeps, whose fancy still is doing  
Since that he knew what did belong to wooing:  
Thou art the Cloth that hath spun my thread,  
By which I seem to live, but yet am dead.  
But prithee Rosa, if thou'lt stop thy breath,  
Kill quick, let me not live a lingering death:  
Pity, pity, pity, pity, pity.  
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty,  
Sweet, golden, lily, lively, tender maid,  
Look, like, live, love me well, and I am made.   

To his second Love..  

TWixt hope & fear, I fear (sweet Love) I live,  
Thinking my heart was given long ago;  
Being one man, has but one heart to give,  
How can you look for mine, yet think not so?  
But try me, trust me, and sweet heart, you'll see,  
I have a heart that's only kept for thee.   

Misdoubt me not although I loved before,  
Misdoubt me not, but I loved faithfully;  
Experience makes me now love ten-times more,  
I have my lesson now without book, I:  
When first I loved I was a fondling fool,  
Now I am a Captain made in Cupid's school.   

You smiled on me, but if you'll smile no more,  
What will those men that know me now surmise?  
Being I was forsaken once before.  
They'll think me hateful in a Maidens eiet:  
They'll think all hate me, or suppose indeed,  
I only came to woo, but not to speed.   

O how much am I bound to Nature now,  
For making thee, that dost so fare excel  
Her, whom I thought excelled all others; how  
Am I now bound to nature pray thee tell.  
The difference 'twixt my first love, and you  
Is this, she's fair and false, thou fair and true.   

Misdoubt me not, for by the Heavens above,  
Thou shalt not find me with a double tongue;  
For if I am the man thou canst not love,  
I am the man that will do thee no wrong.  
For if I speak by thee but any evil,  
Count me no more a Man, count me a Devil.    

Of the burning of his letter.  

LIke as the Moth about the candle flies,  
Hoping to have some comfort from the light,  
Scorcheth her wings, and on a sudden lies  
Panting upon the ground, or burned quite.  
So I still hoping thee sweet heart to move,  
Consume myself in burning flames of love.   

Alas, alas, thy beauty shines so bright,  
It dulls and dazzles all that do come nigh thee,  
This is the cause I never come, but writ.  
Without an eagle's eye, how dare I eye thee?  
Cupid is blind; then I in loving thee,  
And looking too, should be more blind than he.   

Why do I sigh, and sob, and broil, and burn?  
Why do I seek to strive against the stream?  
Letters, nor love, nor looks, thy heart can turn,  
Why do I then make love my only theme?  
I love, you hate, I writ; but what the better?  
I burn in love, and you do burn my letter.   

Poor harmless verses, what did ye commit?  
Hard hearted Flora how did they offend thee?  
More verses have I made for thee, but yet  
I'll swear thou shalt not burn the next I'll send thee.  
Burning's too base a death, therefore the rest,  
If they deserve to die, they shall be pressed.    

Master Jonson's answer to Master Withers.  

Withers.  
SHall I wasting in despair,  
Die because a woman's fair,  
Or my cheeks make pale with care,  
'Cause another's rosy are?  
Be she fairer than the day,  
Or the flowery Meads in May,  
If she be not so to me,  
What care I how fair she be?   

johnson.  
Shall I mine affection slack,  
'Cause I see a woman's black,  
Or myself with care cast down,  
'Cause I see a woman brown?  
Be she blacker than the night,  
Or the blackest jet in sight:  
If she seem not so to me,  
What care I how black she be?   

Withers.  
Shall my foolish heart be pined,  
'Cause I see a woman's kind,  
Or a well disposed nature  
joined in a comely feature?  
Be she kind or meeker than  
Turtle Dove, or Pelican;  
If she be not so to me,  
What care I how kind she be?   

johnson.  
Shall my foolish heart be burst,  
'Cause I see a woman's cursed,  
Or a thwarting hoggish nature  
joined in as bad a feature;  
Be she cursed or fiercer than  
Brutish Beast, or savage Men:  
If she be not so to me,  
What care I how cursed she be?   

Withers.  
Shall a woman's virtues make,  
Me to perish for her sake,  
Or her merits value known  
Make me quite forget my own?  
Be she with that goodness blest,  
That may merit name of best:  
If she seem not so to me,  
What care I how good she be?   

johnson.  
Shall a woman's vices make,  
Me her virtues quite forsake,  
Or her faults to me made known,  
Make me think that I have none?  
Be she of the most accursed,  
And deserve the name of worst:  
If she be not so to me,  
What care I how bad she be?   

Withers  
Cause her fortunes seems too high,  
Should I play the fool and dye?  
He that bears a noble mind,  
If not outward help he find,  
Think what with them he would do,  
That without them dares to woo.  
And unless that mind I see,  
What care I how great she be.   

johnson.  
'Cause her fortunes seems too lo,  
Shall I therefore let her go?  
He that bears an humble mind,  
And with riches can be kind,  
Think how kind a heart he'd have,  
If he were some servile slave:  
And if that same mind I see,  
What care I how poor she be.   

Withers.  
Great, or good, or kind, or fair,  
I will ne'er the more despair,  
If she love me then believe,  
I will die, ere she shall grieve,  
If she slight me when I woo,  
I can slight, and bid her go:  
If she be not fit for me,  
What care I for whom she be?   

johnson.  
Poor, or bad, or cursed, or black,  
I will ne'er the more be slack,  
If she hate me, then believe,  
She shall die ere I will grieve,  
If she like me when I woo,  
I can like and love her too:  
If that she be fit for me,  
What care I what others be?   


To the Reader.  
IT is a common custom now adays,  
For one to wright upon another's praise:  
But I no Trumpets seek, no sound of Drums,  
No man for me shall make incomiums:  
Their verses cannot make these verses better,  
They will not mend a staff, a line, a letter.     

The cries of Ludgate.  
NOble King Lud, long hear hast thou stood,  
Not framed of wood,  
But of stones;  
Stones sure thou art, like our creditor's heart,  
Which cares not a—.  
For our groans  
Within thy gates, the cry at thy grates,  
Though it moves the states of this City:  
Our calling, our bawling, our yawling it moves not,  
Our Creditors hearts unto pity.  
In caps, and in coats, with sorrowful notes,  
And tearing our throats  
For relief:  
Good, Sir, we cry, with a Box hanging by,  
Heeres a hundred that lie  
Full of grief,  
The Gallants ride on, and ne'er think upon,  
Our pitiful moan  
Which we make,  
But rumbling, and tumbling, and jumbling their Coaches,  
The stones in the streets they do shake.  
Merchant's that go by the gate too and fro,  
There hearts at our woe,  
Seem to shake,  
Thinking what crosses, what grief, & what losses,  
When their carackes to sea,  
They take,  
These men are best, remorse in their breast,  
Doth harbour and rest  
To the needy,  
They roundly, profoundly, and sound are giving,  
As if they to free them were greedy.  
Others pass by, and cast up an eye  
Upon that cry,  
In disdain,  
Saying, that we, all quickly would be,  
If now we were free, here again:  
Let them take heed, that mock us indeed,  
And thus at our need go by giving,  
'tis so man, that no man, can know man his ending,  
Though well he may know his beginning.   

The Song of the Beggar.  

I Am a Rogue and a stout one,  
A most courageous drinker,  
I do excel, 'tis known full well,  
The Ratter, Tom, and Tinker  
Still do I cry, good your Worship good Sir,  
Bestow one small denire Sir,  
And bravely then at the bousing can,  
I'll bouse it all in beer Sir.   

If a Bung be got by the hie Law,  
Then strait I do attend them,  
For if Hue and cry do follow I,  
A wrong way soon do send them.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

Ten miles unto a Market,  
I run to meet a Miser,  
Then in a throng, I nip his Bong,  
And the Party near the wiser.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

My dainty Dals, my Doxis,  
When ere they see melacking,  
Without delay poor wretches they,  
Will set their Duds a packing.  
Still do they cry, etc.   

I pay for what I call for,  
And so perforce it must be,  
For as yet I cannot know the man,  
Nor Oastis that will trust me.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

If any gives me lodging,  
A courteous knave they find me,  
For in their bed, alive or dead,  
I leave some louse behind me,  
Still do I cry, etc.   

If a gentry coe be coming,  
Then strait it is our fashion,  
My Leg I tie close to my thigh,  
To move him to compassion.  
Still do I cry etc.   

My doublet sleeve hangs empty,  
And for to beg the boulder,  
For meat and drink, mine arm I shrink  
Up close unto my shoulder.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

If a Coach I hear be rumbling,  
To my Crutches then I hve me,  
For being lame, it is a shame,  
Such Gallants should deny me.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

With a seeming bursen belly,  
I look like one half dead sir,  
Or else I beg with a wooden leg,  
And a Nightcap on my head sir.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

In Winter time stark naked,  
I come into some City,  
Then every man that spare them can,  
●●ll give me  for pity.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

If from out the Low country,  
I hear a Captain's name sir,  
Then strait I swear I have been there,  
And so in fight came lame sir.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

My Dog in a string doth lead me,  
When in the town I go sir,  
For to the blind, all men are kind,  
And will their Alms bestow sir,  
Still do I cry, etc.   

With switches sometimes stand I,  
In the bottom of a Hill sir,  
There those men which, do want a switch  
Some money gives me still sir,  
Still do I cry, etc.   

Come by, come by, a horn book,  
Who buys my pins or needles:  
In Cities I, these things do cry.  
Oft times to scape the Beadles.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

In Paul's Church by a Pillar,  
Sometimes you see me stand sir,  
With a writ that shows what care & woes,  
I passed by Sea and Land sir.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

Now blame me not for boasting,  
And bragging thus a lone Sir,  
For myself I will be praising still,  
For neighbours have I none Sir:  
Which makes me cry good your Worship good sir,  
Bestow one small dinere Sir,  
And bravely then at The bousing Can,  
I bouse it all in beer Sir.