A DESCRIPTION OF LOVE. With certain Epigrams. Elegies. and Sonnets. AND Also Mast. JONSON'S Answer to Master WITHERS. With the Cry of Ludgate, and the SONG of the Beggar. The sixth Edition.  
LONDON, Printed by M. F. for Francis Coules at the upper end of the Old-Baily near Newgate. 1629.   

The Author to the Book.  
IT is no little Cottage that contains  
Wild wand'ring youth, or giddy headed brains:  
Their soft down beds at home or dainty fare  
Contents them not, they love the open Air:  
They among themselves expostulating, say,  
Shall we like Snails, live in our shel●● Away,  
To Sea for shame, to Ship, let's go aboard,  
And see what other Countries can afford▪  
But being pinched with cold, or parched with heat,  
Ready to die with thirst, or starve for meat,  
When they grow lean and lousy, tattered▪ torn,  
When they be curbed, mocked, scoffed, contemned, forlorn,  
Seeing their folly: then they sigh & cry  
Oh what a happy thing it is to die!  
Even so my gadding Muse, and running brain,  
Not witting what it was to pass the Main,  
In a mad humour once, or merry fit,  
Would needs go wander without fear or wit:  
But being tossed in the tempestuous Seas,  
Having no friend, no comfort, rest or ease,  
She vowed if e'er she set a foot on shore,  
ne'er to see Sea, or once take shipping more.  
Like a drowned Mouse at last to land she got,  
And being wounded, weak, and full of shot,  
Crept in a corner choosing there to lie,  
(Rather than once Peep out of door) and die,  
But yet, alas, within a year or twain,  
News came, my Muse must to the Sea again:  
She being full of grief, and quite dismayed,  
Flies unto me, and cries to me for aid▪  
But all in vain for succour did she crave,  
I could not help her: then self do, self have.  
I told her plain my mind, what I thought best,  
To arm herself and go, since she was pressed.  
So to the Sea the second time she went,  
Against all wind and weather being bend.  
Let Critics crack and crow, let Roisters rail:  
No storm (said she) shall make me now strike sail  
A little wetting shall not make me shrink▪  
I'll hoist up sail, though I be sure to sink.  
Then to her tackle did she stoutly stand  
The second voyage, till she came to land.  
Good gentle Sirs, let me now beg this boon,  
That she ne'er pass the Seas, as she hath done:  
The Seas are dangerous, and the Ocean rough,  
And since that she hath service done enough,  
Now let her rest: seek not her heart to break▪  
She's weatherbeaten, old, and springs a leak.  
The Pitcher, be it framed ne'er so strong,  
Comes broken home, going to water long,  
Now let her rest: give her a little breath,  
Press her no more lest she be pressed to death  
But she is bound the sixth time to the Seas;  
She must not lie at harbour or at ease;  
I cannot for my life her voyage stay:  
she's bound, and being bound, she must obey.  
Farewell, dear Muse, I thought ere this to see  
Thee weary of the World, or that of thee.   

To the Book.  
MY little ship doth on the Ocean fleet,  
That every circumspecting eye may see't▪  
Now in her journey lest she chance to fail,  
L●● Printers pray she may have happy sail.   

To the Reader.  
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.   

To the envious Reader.  
PAle faced Envy aims at greatest men,  
And by her nature ever seeks to climb;  
If it be so, surely she will not then  
Look down 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.   

A Description of LOVE.  

ne'er touched my lips the Heliconian Well▪  
Mine eyes ne'er gazed upon Parnassus' hill,  
My tongue did never ancient Stories tell:  
My hand did never hold a curious quill.  
Yet write 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 seeth before, behind.   

Like unto Summer's grass she's fresh and green,  
Sh'adornes the body, as the flowers the field,  
She in a Beggar lives, 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, well a contradiction.   

She is a restless rest, a fervent cold,  
A wholesome poison, she's a painful pleasure,  
Exceeding shame fast, she's exceeding bold;  
she's bitter honey, she's a gainelesse treasure,  
she's too too loose, 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 Helean 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 Lion's prey;  
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 seems 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 nor 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 smile 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 screeches.   

She whom the gods did love to look upon,  
Makes Pluto quiver at her odious sight;  
Who was a Mate most meet for Love 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, there'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, and you'll find,  
That every staff and line of these be true:  
The 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 ere 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 disturb 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 Helitropium 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,  
D●●th may be near although the Swan doth sing  
Cheques 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 keeps,  
Lest I lie tumbling 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 hands a several instrument,  
And play to me the sweetest harmony,  
That ever was? yet were it no content;  
The sweetest tunes seem harsh unto mine ear,  
Unless my Rosa be in place to hear.   

Smelling.  
What if my skin should be by nature sweet  
Like Alexander's; what if by perfumes  
Each man should smell me passing through the street,  
What if my smell make sweet il-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 ●unkets can be made for m●●▪  
If Nectar be my drink, if that my bread  
Be of the purest Manche● made, what then?  
All these delights will not my palate please,  
‛ Less 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 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 do like our sight exceeding well:  
Feed on her lips, she is the daintiest cheer,  
Mongst 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 Shipmen sail,  
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,  
What can be felt, seen, heard, or understood,   

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 adjective she may be also said,  
Who sometime doth require another's aid   

But of Noun substantives there are two sorts,  
Some Nouns are proper, others common be,  
The best of all Gramarians reports;  
If it be so, yet both of these is she▪  
She's proper, small, and of but slender bone,  
She's 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 loves, 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.   

Participle.  
She is a Participle too, I know,  
For she hath 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 Pretertense with me.   

An adverb.  
Adverbs of diverse kinds we know there be,  
An adverb then of any kind is she,  
Sometime she is of place, for here and there,  
Nay look for her, you'll find her any where;  
She's any adverb; 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 Disiunctive, 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 passions 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 mary's,  
And pray I may be out of Purgatory:  
For if I me not in Purgatory here,  
I'll not believe there's any any where.    

Epigrams.  

To the courteous Reader.  
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.   

Of a Legacy not an Ambassador.  
As 'twas my fortune by a wood to ride,  
I saw two men, there 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.   

To the Barber.  
To●sorlus only lives by cutting hair,  
And yet he brags, that Kings to him sit bare,  
Me thinks he should not brag and boast of it,  
For he must stand to Beggars while they sit.   

He tastes of his bitten nails.  
Philomathes once studying to indite,  
Nibbled his fingers, and his nails did bite:  
By this I know not what he did intend,  
Unless his wit lay at his finger's end.   

Of one subject to his wife.  
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's so evil,  
That I am sure I married with the devil.   

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

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

Demosthenes' his imperfection.  
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,   

Of a Tobacconist.  
If man's flesh be like swine as it is said,  
The Metamorphosis is sooner made;  
Then full-facd ●nath● no Tobacco take,  
Smoking your corpse, lest bacon you do make.   

Of a drunkard.  
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   

Of Flatterers.  
Whilst on the Helitropium Sol doth shine,  
Her closed and twisted self it doth 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 begins to ●et,  
They clutch their own, having no more to get,   

Of a proud man  
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,   

The unconstancy of a woman.  
A woman may be fair, and yet her mind,  
Is as unconstant as the wavering wind,  
V●nus herself is fair, she shineth far:  
Yet she's a Plane●, and no fixed star.   

The pride of Bassa.  
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:   

Of the Pyhsicians of our time.  
'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?   

Poor men's happiness.  
Fortune doth favour poor men most of all,  
They hope ●o rise: but rich men fear to fall.   

To a Shoemaker.  
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,   

To a bald man.  
Caluus to comb his head doth take no care:  
For why, there breeds no nits where grows no hair   

Of the same man.  
Hair on my head I never slumber shall,  
Nor Caluus his, for he had none at all.   

To the Fowler.  
As Auceps walked with his Piece to ●●oote,  
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.   

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

Let no day pass without learning somewhat.  
By ever learning, Solon waxed old,  
For time he knew, was better far than gold,  
Fortune would give him gold, which would decay  
But fortune cannot give him yesterday.   

No truth in Wine.  
Truth is in wine, but none can find it there,  
For in your Tavern, men will lie and swear.   

Of a Painter.  
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.   

Of a forsworn maid.  
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.   

The unconstancy of time.  
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.   

Of a Flatterer.  
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 hart is killing when his words do please.   

Of a Courtier.  
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.   

Of the death of Achilles.  
Achilles' hear● no wound would hurt his mind  
No chance could fright, as we in story find:  
But yet he died when he did Paris feel  
Surely I think his heart was in his heel.   

Of a Boaster.  
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.   

The pride of Woman.  
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.   

Of one without Teeth.  
To Fusca beef and bacon's very loathsome,  
Chickens and Pigeons are not very toothsome;  
No marvel though if then she cannot eat,  
She hath no teeth, and they are toothsome meat.   

Of a stubborn Woman  
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.   

Of false accusers or backbiters.  
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.   

Of master Leech who ran away.  
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.   

The countenance descries the mind.  
If Phoebus' good and bad doth see, 'tis sign  
Bassa is bad; for she when Sol doth shine,  
Doth wear a mask, least to the pearing Sun,  
Her countenance should tell what she hath done.   

An answer to Momus.  
Whilst I; as I was want, 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.   

Of the Author's education.  
The City London to me life did give,  
And Westminster did teach me how to live:  
To whether place I do most duty own,  
Good Readers tell me, for I hardly know.   

Know thyself, that is, be not proud.  
Walking and meeting one not long ago,  
I asked who 'twas? he said, he did not know:  
I said, I know thee. So said he, I you:  
But he that knows himself I never knew.   

Trust not too much to thy beauty.  
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.   

Of a Lean man.  
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.   

Of an Usurer.  
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.   

Of the same,  
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.   

Of a great gormandizing belly.  
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.   

Of a Page.  
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 masters old apparel makes him new.   

Of a prattler having no teeth.  
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.   

Necessity hath no law.  
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.   

Of one without ears.  
Thraso upon a pillar lost his ear,  
And ever since he hid that place with hair;  
Now lest thou Thraso, or his friend would be,  
Cut off your locks, that we your ears may see.   

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

Of an ill wife.  
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.   

A dark sentence or a riddle.  
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, ye have cut your finger well.  
Not so saith he, for now my finger's sore;  
And I am sure that it was well before.   

Of the poverty of Codrus.  
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.  
Vermin did feed on him when he perhaps  
Did either feed on nothing or on scraps.   

Of a covetous man.  
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.   

Of a great drinker.  
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.   

Of the same.  
Gnatho did swear that he would drink no more,  
Flinging the beer away, cause it ran low.  
Nay faith, says one, it is a sin to spiled,  
For that is noble beer, that runs at Tilt.   

Of chaste Love..  
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.   

To a Cuckold.  
Cornutus' called his Wise, 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 Anchovies  
Sic vos non vobis, fertis aratra bones.   

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.   

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

To 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.  
Cinna 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 Cinnaes' wife, the others friend.   

To certain Academians.  
You that so many precious hours lose,  
Fall close unto my 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, thou hast enough to spend.  
What if thou be'st by chance in prison cast?  
Mongst those that are in want, thou'lt find a waist.  
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 sha's left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

Her hair like gold did glister  
Each eye was like a star,  
She did surpass her sister,  
Which past all others far.  
She would me honey call,  
She'd o she'd kiss me too,  
But now alas sha's left me.  
Falero, lero, loo.   

In Summertime to Medley  
My love and I would go,  
The boat-men there stood ready,  
My love and I to row:  
For Cream there would we call,  
For Cakes, and for Prunes too,  
But now alas sha's 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 sha's left me,  
Falero lero loo.   

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

Her cheeks were like the Cherry,  
Her skin as white as snow,  
When she was blithe and merry,  
She Angellike did show:  
Her waist exceeding small,  
The five did fit her shoe,  
But now alas sha's left me,  
Falero, lero, loo.   

In Summer time 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 sha's 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 ere 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 that they proved 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 hath 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 in snare 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 lingering 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 foolest skin;  
●ad lines are often writ in gilded 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 veh'mencie of weather,  
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 me,  
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. No what is Love? 'Tis I,  
'Tis you '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 an 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 write,  
Nature made Maidens pretty, and not men.  
What Midas touched was gold, you are so witty  
That what you write, 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 send you,  
What ere 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, for 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 pleasure  
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 Majdens No, is I.    

An Answer to her Answer.  
SWeet Mistress Rosa, for whose only sake  
I'd run through fi●e and water, nay I'd make  
A journey through the dangerous uncouth 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 flouted others once in misery,  
But other men may now well flout at me;  
This is that dry and cursed punishment,  
Which all the gods above to me have sent  
For all my faults. O see with pity see,  
Sweet Love, thy Love in woeful misery,  
Whose eyes ne'er sleep, 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 my 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 Maiden's eyes:  
They'll think all hate me, or suppose indeed,  
I only came to woe, but not to speed.   

O how much am I bound to Nature now,  
For making thee, that dost so far excel  
Her whom I thought excelled all others? how  
Am I bound to Nature prithee 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 write,  
Without an Eagles 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 write, 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 johnsons' 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 affections 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 let in sight.  
If she be 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 not so to me,  
What care I how cursed she be?  Withers. 
Shall a woman's virtues make  
Me to perish for her ●ake,  
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 vices 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 seem too high,  
Should I play the fool and die?  
He that bears a noble mind,  
If not outward help he find,  
Think what with them he would do  
That without them dares to woe.  
And unless that mind I see,  
What care I how great she be?  johnson. 
'Cause her fortunes seem too low,  
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 flight me, when I woe,  
I can flight 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 woe,  
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 common custom now adays,  
For one to write upon another's praise:  
But I no Trumpet seek, no sound of drums,  
No man for me shall make Encomium●●  
Their Verses cannot make these Verses better,  
They will not mead a staff, a line, a letter.   

The Cries of Ludgate.  
NOble King Lud, long here hast thou stood,  
Not framed of wood,  
But of stones;  
Stones sure thou art, like our Creditors 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, or 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,  
here's 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.  
Merchants that go by the gate to and fro,  
Their hearts at our woe,  
Seem to shake,  
Thinking what crosses, what grief, & what losses,  
When their Carackes to Seas  
They take.  
These men are best, remorse in their breast  
Doth harbour and rest  
To the needy,  
Th●y 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 were free, here again.  
Let them take heed, that mock us indeed,  
‛ And thus at our need go by grinning,  
'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 at the bousing Ken  
I'll bouse it all in Beer Sir.   

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

Ten miles unto a Market,  
I run to meet a Miser,  
Then in a throng, I ●ip his Bung,  
And the party ne'er the wiser.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

My dainty Dals, my Doxis,  
When e'er they see me lacking,  
Without delay poor wretches they  
Will set their Duds a packing.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

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

If any give me lodging,  
A courteous Knave they find me,  
For in their bed, alive or dead  
I leave some Lice 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 doubler sleeve hangs empty,  
And for to beg the bolder,  
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 hie me.  
For being lame, it is a shame▪  
Such Gallants should deny me.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

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

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

If from out the low-country,  
I hear a Captain's name Sir,  
Then straight I swe●e 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,  
Sill do I cry, etc.   

With Switches sometimes stand I,  
In the ●●●●ome of a Hill Sir,  
There t●ose men which do want a Switches,  
Some ●onie give me still Sir.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

Come buy, come buy a Hornbook,  
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 and woes  
I passed by Sea and Land Sir.  
Still do I cry, etc.   

Now blame me not for boasting,  
And bragging thus alone 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 Denire Sir,  
And bravely then at the Bousing Ken,  
I'll bouse it all in Beer Sir.   
FINIS.