THE LANGUAGE OF THE FRONTISPEICE.  

AMid the thrice three sacred Choir,  
Gold-haird HYPERION strikes his Lyre,  
Whose music charms the power of FATE,  
Th' AONIAN GIRLS reverberate,  
His melody with voices sweet,  
(Th' whole CONSORT in one tune do meet)  
Showing when MARS is grown the proudest,  
The MUSES ever chant the loudest.  
MARTIAL the life and soul of SENSE,  
(That mighty Lord of ELOQUENCE)  
AUSONIUS, in ARTS SCHOOL most great,  
[Sublime, quick, fluent of conceit]  
Before this Fabrics Portall stand,  
And (in the Dialect of the hand)  
Invite all to approach; beneath  
These, MERCURY presents a wreath  
New plucked from DAPHNE'S brows to one,  
Whose LANGUAGE and INVENTION  
Whether Legitimate, or no,  
He knows, but few will care to know.   


EPIGRAMS 
 Six Books  
Also the Socratic Session. Or The Arraignment of Julius Scaliger.  
With Some Select Poems by S. Sheppard.  
London Printed by G. D. and are to be sold by Tho: Bucknell at the Golden Lion in Ducklane. 1651   engraved title page, incorporating: lyre and lute players; Mercury gesturing with his caduceus to a drinking man; and portraits of Martial and Ausonius    

EPIGRAMS THEOLOGICAL, PHILOSOPHICAL, AND ROMANTIC.  
SIX BOOKS, ALSO THE SOCRATIC SESSION, OR The Arraignment and Conviction, of JULIUS SCALIGER, with other Select Poems.  
By S. SHEPPARD.  
LONDON Printed by G. D. for Thomas Bucknell, at the Sign of the Golden Lion in Ducklane, 1651.   

IF THESE EPIGRAMS SURVIVE (MAUGRE THE voracity OF TIME) LET THE NAMES OF CHRISTOPHER CLAPHAM, AND JAMES WINTER, (TO WHOM THE AUTHOR DEDICATETH THESE HIS ENDEAVOURS) LIVE WITH THEM.   

TO THE READER.  
Candid and Courteous,  
I Here present to thy perusal, a Body of Epigrams, and (lest thou shouldst mistake the worth of the gift, reflecting on the worthlessness of the giver) I cannot but inform thee, that Epigrams in all ages have been oftener desired then attained, either for the paucity of Epigrammatists, or for the fluency, and delicacy, they have ever exhibited; never but two amongst the Latins, viz. Martial, and Ausonius, famous for their performances in things of this nature, and amongst us here in England, none in our native tongue, (some piddlers excepted) save Bastard, and Harrington, that have divulged aught worthy notice: The first of these deserved the Laurel, but the last, both Crowning and Anointing. I confess myself guilty of no less than Treason against the Sovereignty of Apollo, and the Dignity of the Nine, to put forth any thing to public view in this Age of Ignorance, and Ostracism of Learning, when the Thespian Fount is so pitifully puddled, the Sacred Mount so Sacreledgiously Asassinated, and the Castalian Cave, become a covert for Chattering-Magpies, the (nominal) Doctor, that can scarce render an account of his Faith, (if he were Catechised) whether GALEN dealt in Drugs, or PARACELSUS in Simples, yet can make a shift to clime Parnassus, though (at his descent) his feet are so lame, all may perceive he deserves rather hellebore, than Helicon: Oh POESY! once so renowned, how hast thou forfeited thy pristine Splendour? The Tailor measures thee with his Yard, The Astronomer with his jacobs' Staff, The Merchant exposeth thee, as the wind of his moody (or muddy) Fancy hurries him, and the Effeminate Gallant (who knows only how to powder his Hair, starch his Beard, adorn his (frenchified) testicles with all the colours of Iris, lick up his Mistress spittle, talk Mimmick blasphemy, and prate by the Academy) boasts, that he hath thee at his beck, and can quaff up all Helicon at one draught.  
Oh what a shame it is (gentle Reader I address myself to thee as a competent Judge) that jupiters' Daughters (who came from Heaven, and are desirous to continue perpetual Virgins) should be thus rapaciously towfed by a crew of croaking counterfeits, who can do nothing without a Helenae Crater, etc.  
I know I shall incur as direful a curse from this fry of Fools, as ever Oedipus bestowed upon his Sons, but I as much value the barking of these Canicular Coxcombs, as I do the fawning of a Drunkard, or the Protestations of a Prostitute: Neither shall I weigh the non-sensicall cavils of those Lymphatic 
* Sabinus saith that these were a multitude of foolish people met together in Crect. Regius reports that they were turned into toad-stooles. The like Fate I wish may attend these.  Corybantes, those Semiviri Phryges', who make more noise with their tongues, (in the defence of their darling IGNORANCE) then ever those Curetes with their Brazen Instruments, for the preservation of jupiter, these may fitly (with Momus) be called the Sons of NIGHT, and SLEEP: Dull dry-witted fellows, who take a pride to undervalue other men's labours, but do nothing themselves. TERENCE made a fit discovery of one (of the better sort) of these MOMES, qui nisi quod ipse facit, nil rectum putat, and I wonder, that any accomplished Author should be the least troubled at this, since this God Momus (saith NAZIANZEN) doth not touch the worst only, but the best of men, yes, and the best of Gods too, (Optimus Maximus) as the be-nighted heathen styled their (lecherous) God, jupiter.  
Will you please (a little) to hear him exclaim, Thou O Jupiter art the Original cause of our vices, and of the adulterating our Senate with such a multitude of Bastards, whilst thou forsakest thy Heaven, and in a borrowed shape committest lewdness with mortals, insomuch, that we not a little fear, that when thou art a Bull, one or other will sacrifice thee; when a golden Shower, that some Goldsmith should melt thee, and for our Jupiter, return us an Earring or Bracelet, etc.  
And indeed jupiters' pranks and rapes, justifies Momus his Invectives, but jupiter (in Lucian) thinks him not worthy his Thunder, but rejects him as a mad prating fellow, and so I leave him.  
Now though nothing is more certain than this, that it is equally as facile to cut and shape a garment for the Moon now cresent, and now in the wane, as to please all persons, and content all constitutions, yet I have a hope (in some measure) to satisfy all, having suited myself to all capacities; art thou sportive? here thou art fitted with a Jocular vein; art thou Philosophical, Amorous, Stoical, a mere Moralist, or devout Theologist? here thou mayst recreate thyself to thy own wish.  
But now for those who truly merit the Laurel and Ivy Wreath, (fitly mythologising the incessant verdure and beauty of their learning and Ingenuity) to them I bow the Knee.  

Gentlemen,  
It is very requisite that the GRACES should accompany the MUSES, 
junctae Nymphis Gratiae decentes.  Hor. 
Nymphae noster amor Lybethrides.  Virg. therefore (with yours) I implore the smiles of those fair Nymphs, whose Intellects are as excellently splendid, as their exteriors are splendidly excellent: I confess Nature moulded me a Cynic, yet shall those rare pieces of perfection find here, APHRODITE, and ATALANTA, aswell as yourselves APOLLO, and ADRASTUS, may I find a courteous reception at your hands, and a favourable reflection from those Angellick Substances, and I shall esteem myself not only immortalised, but shall ever be proud to record myself  
Yours, (equally obliged) in all Service, S. SHEPPARD.    

To Mr. Sheppard on His EPIGRAMS.  
NO matter! let the dunghill-wits crow on,  
And bathe their Beaks in putrefaction:  
Jove's harness-bearing-bird finds better prey,  
Flying alone, the Magpie, and the Jay,  
Not worth the meanest of his moeniall train:  
Thou hast discovered (friend) so rich a vein  
Of wit, and learning, that the pit-pat fry,  
Will (with Minerva's bird (sure) fear to fly  
By day, but linger till their wits are ripe,  
Dreading the danger of thy powerful gripe.  
Thou hast redeemed the age, (leprous with Schism)  
And taught the world to perfect Barbarism:  
We are not yet reduced; but that we yet  
Are Masters of Minerva's Carcanet:  
And our perdition may (perhaps) protract,  
Maugre this most portentous Cataract,  
Which threatens Earth and Heaven; until now,  
Daphne hath dwelled upon acquaint Marshal's brow.  
No more the Nymph will with his dust remain,  
But make her mansion in thy vigorous brain.  
For what the son of THIA made such suit,  
She (like a THAIS) loves to prostitute  
To thee, (which if we truly scan, 'twill follow)  
Thou art HYPERIONS Son, the true APOLLO.  
ARTHUR ESTWICH.   

To the Author on his exquisite EPIGRAMS and other POEMS.  

THus Anacreon taught of yore,  
Thus the acquaint Venusian chanted,  
Songs that made Scylla cease to roar,  
And the rage of Tyrants daunted:  
Thus Thracian Orpheus struck his strings,  
Listened to by Founts, and springs.   

Thus witty Martial did compile,  
Ausonius thus quaffed Helicon,  
And here in this our Borean Isle,  
Thus once warbled Harrington:  
Though thou exceed'st his strain as far,  
As Cynthia doth the stmallest Star.   

Thus learned Maro sang of old,  
(Underneath the broad Beech-tree)  
Songs fit for to be graved in gold,  
He was but a type of thee:  
Thus Theocritus, and Browne,  
Made the Dryads their own.  
(Dear Sir) the very soul of wit  
In this body of your book  
Resides, (and takes delight in it)  
May that man be thunderstruckk,  
That (by hellish Instigation)  
Shall project a separation.   
GEORGE ROSSE.   

To the Author on his EPIGRAMS.  
HAd these thy learned Epigrams been owned  
By L. or B. or any wit renowned  
For empty trifles, (oh the name! the name!)  
Thy Statue had been fixed i'th' house of Fame,  
And o'er thy head, in golden letters, written,  
‛ The Prince of Epigrammatists and Wit.  
But we (alas) do take up Wit on trust,  
If this man say 'tis his, of force it must  
Be rare and excellent, although if scanned  
More dull than dross, heavier than lead, or sand.  
Rare SHEPPARD, near what Fount, upon what Hill,  
May I sometimes but listen to thy Quill,  
And see the horn-hooffed Satyrs dance to please,  
Those Sylvan beauties, the Oreades:  
Sure not a Nymph, or Wood-God but doth lie  
Couchant, when thou dost chant a Lullaby.  
But when more strenuously thou list t' advance  
Thy tone, they cannot but Corantoes dance:  
For to thy Lyre the Thespian Ladies sing,  
The thrice three Spheres, in consort answering,  
Echoed by all those 
* The hierarchy of Angels, Thrones, Dominions, Principalities, Powers, etc.  Orders, named Nine,  
(Who still sing sacred Anthems to the Trine)  
Both Heaven and Earth to share thy wit contend,  
How blessed am I, then, to have such a Friend.  
JOHN RIDLEY.   

To my much honoured Friend the Author, on his most Excellent EPIGRAMS.  
TAke heed ye crabbed Critics, how  
Ye censure; he that wears a brow  
Curled up in furrow's, viewing these,  
Is Traitor to th' Aonides.  
Friend, (though without thy Laurel on)  
Fear not the conflagration  
Of any (foolish) fiery Spirit,  
Though he did Typhon's ire inherit,  
●hy Epigrams have strength and skill,  
To sink him underneath a hill,  
More ponderous than Aetna's load,  
Chief Darling to the Delphian God.  
Th' Mnemosinides do eaten on thee,  
(Those Ymps of Jove and Memory)  
In this our British Horizon  
On JUDGEMENT, and INVENTION,  
(The two wings with which MARTIAL flew)  
Thou soar'st a pitch he never knew,  
Rich in all knowledge; thou dost twist  
●he Poet, and Mythologist,  
●nd (with a FIAT more than man)  
●●e Catholic and African.  
●e thinks I hear sweet Martial mourn,  
See; he with tears bedews his Urn  
Angry, thou art as great as he  
In all (save th' Art of Flattery)  
He had a Caesar, who at least  
Gave him a grange (though else a beast)  
But thou (his Rival) canst find none,  
Worthy a Dedication;  
For who would force his Muse to trudge  
To him that knows not how to judge  
Nay, (which to water thrills my blood)  
Cares not to gratify a good.  
But thus it happed with him to far,  
In whom all Arts included are.  
Homer, who doth all Judgements fix,  
More than the dark Apocalyps,  
Yet though reward crawl backward; this  
Make thy Asylum; thou'lt not miss  
Eternal Fame, the after times,  
As Diamonds will prise thy Rhymes,  
And though the Parcaes gall thy thread,  
Thou shalt survive when thou art dead:  
And while thou liv'st, the wiser few  
Who know the worth of wit, what's due)  
●o such a Genius as is thine,  
So acquaint so terse, and so Divine)  
Will count it glory for to be  
partakers of thy Amity.  
●his I pronounce (as backed by Fate)  
●ll know I scorn to Adulate.  
ANDREW DIXON.   

A due Encomium on the Author and his Ingenious EPIGRAMS.  
THe ancient Shepherd's of th' Arcadian Plains  
Elegant were in Verse and witty Strains,  
And as their Rural title is thy Name,  
So thou partak'st of their Eternal Fame:  
In thy facetious Fancy Learning, Wit,  
Which merit in Apollo's Chair to fit,  
And to correct the Sisters in their Lays,  
Each of which offer thee a Crown of Bays,  
Which like another Marshal thou dost merit,  
And shalt (in these thy Epigrams inherit)  
Which elevate thine honour to the sky,  
And tells the World the Ingenuity  
Of these thy lines, are of such excellence  
As may be termed, (Wits rare Quint-essence)  
Even in this critical and carping Age,  
When few in Epigrams durst vent their rage,  
Yet thy Minerva (doubtless) will be free,  
From Envy, as from Thunder, Daphne's Tree,  
And SHEPPARD by his sharp ingenuos Quill,  
Shall honour gain, and grace Parnassu● Hill.  
SAMUEL HOLLAND.   

To the Author on his excellent EPIGRAMS.  
SIr, I have read your Epigrams, and confess  
To read them is a real happiness.  
Martial, Ausonius, Harrington, and Moor,  
All that have written in this kind before,  
In you included are, the worth of all,  
Their Wit is yours, which makes you Principal.  
Vincent Howell.   

EPIGRAMS  

THE FIRST BOOK.  

EPIG. 1.  
I Writ of Fear, of Love, of Harm, of Hate,  
Of Honour, Magnanimity, of Fate,  
Of Courtesans, of Chastity, of Charms,  
Of Policy, of Perfection, and of Arms,  
Of Heaven, Earth, and Hell, of Temperance,  
Of Prodigality, of Choice, of Chance,  
Of Knaves, of Dolts, Cowards, and valiant men,  
Of Art, and Eloquence, and now and then  
Of Kings, and Captains, Queens, and Queans, of Schism,  
Of Thiefs, and Panders, sometimes Aphorism,  
Drops from my quill; thus Proteus-like I've dealt,  
To please thee (Reader) be thou what thou wilt.   

EPIG. 2. To my beloved Friend Mr. James Naworth, the best way to better a bad Wife.  
FRiend, thou art yoked, and canst not help the thing,  
(Thou seest what power there's circled in a Ring)  
Better or worse, 'tis in the power of Fate,  
And not in man, to alter thy estate:  
Therefore take counsel, " It is meritorious,  
" In Husbands (sometimes) for to be Uxorious.  
Thou sayst she's clamorous, yea will disimbogue  
Too often, and not stick to call thee ROGUE.  
To strike is barbarous, a better way  
Observe; laugh at her, on thy Viol play.  
If she will needs in folly be prolix,  
Sometimes inform her, that she shames her sex,  
" No better way to calm a woman's Ire,  
" Then to breathe water, when she belcheth Fire.  
But thou wilt say, can flesh and blood dispense  
With such incorrigible impudence?  
Know that you are incorporate; but one  
Connext, by a Celestial union,  
She's but thyself, cast in another mould,  
Thou art a Verbalist, if she's scold.  
" Women like Tortoises, are ever won,  
Throw her upon her back, and all is done.   

EPIG. 3. To Sir I. C. Knight.  
When the Law enjoined your feet  
To tread the Labyrinth of the Fleet,  
You were clogged with various sports;  
" Bands are but Bracelets, Goals but Courts,  
Seaborn Sturgeon, broadside bream,  
The Trout that thrives against the stream,  
The Carp full laden with her spawn,  
The Scarlet Lobster, prick nosed Prawne,  
Oyle-steept Anchovis (from his brine)  
Came swimming in red Seas of wine;  
The brawny Capon, full egged Hen,  
The Swan, and Mallard of the Fen,  
The costly Plover, mounting Lark,  
Furnished your Table, (like the Ark  
Preserved Ogiges) whiles I made moan  
O'er smoky beef in Whittington.  
Never was heard one note to sing,  
But drooped, and hung my feeble wing:  
But (Sir) your fare my soul abhors,  
You fed upon your Creditors.   

EPIG. 4. Of Proems.  
PRoems, to Cypress Trees we may compare,  
They're long, but yet they very fruitless are.   

EPIG. 5. The proof of Princes.  
I Wonder Princes should be good,  
(When I conceit them flesh and blood)  
What change of Pleasure,  
What ease, what Treasure,  
 he Command  
And not obtain, that's Ruler o'er a Land?  
Who dares inquire  
Or thwart's desire,  
Who dare begin  
To tax his Vice, or call a Sin, a Sin?  
Who will not be  
(Nay what is he)  
Won't fan the fire,  
To increase the flames, of his unblown desire?  
What saucy eye  
On him dares pry?  
What season will  
Not wait, his Royal lust for to fulfil?  
Then (sure) that Prince,  
Can curb his Sense,  
Swaying his Passion,  
Is more than Man, and fit to rule a Nation.   

EPIG. 6. Loving Mirabell.  
MIrabell doth her Mate, so dearly love,  
That if the least he from her sight do move,  
She seems as one distract, the good man once  
Went out, and stayed to try her for the nonce,  
But when again returned, his dearest Wife  
(whom he thought loved him better than her life)  
Was with his friend in bed, and seeing him  
She cries, oh husband, you are welcome in,  
My dear affection unto you was such,  
I thought I could not love your friend too much.   

EPIG. 7. Absolonisme.  
AS Absalon, so do the Sectists now,  
They mean a Ruin, but pretend a vow.   

EPIG. 8. Homer.  
HOmer though blind, yet saw with his Souls eye  
The secrets hid, in deep'st Philosophy,  
Who while he sang the Gods, deserved to be  
Himself adored, as a Deity.   

EPIG. 9 To his unconstant Mistress.  
SAtan, no woman, yet a wand'ring spirit,  
Once did hell disinherit  
O'th' Sailor's Trade,  
(By strict inquiry made)  
When he saw ships sail two ways with one wind,  
The Devil himself, loves not a wavering mind.   

EPIG 10. To Captain C. D. on his Periwig.  
SIr, this exactly doth with Justice suit,  
Your Mistress quaintly knows to retribute,  
She stole your hair (thanks to your lust's excess)  
And gives you hers, though in another dress.   

EPIG. 11. To Mistress E. L.  
MY pretty Protea, thou, without a spell  
Canst transform Satan to a Michael,  
Like those Effigies (sometimes) Artists paint,  
This side a loathsome Fiend, that side a Saint.  
'tis not for love of thee, but least that shame,  
Should swallow thy whole sex, I shroud thy name.   

EPIG. 12. To James Nevil Esquire.  
Believe me (Sir) this Town's all on a flame,  
London we now, may well Lutetia name,  
Perfumes without, but plasters are within,  
(Take heed how with a City Dame you sin)  
I'll sooner enter a Cole-mine, although  
The reaking ventage were dammed up, then go  
To one of those, they Aetna always bear  
Beneath the navel; tremble (Sir) and fear.  
" O 'tis a fatal object, and a Dire,  
" To see Saint Anthony triumph in fire.  
You'll say, to whom then would you love profess,  
T' a Country Damsel, in a City Dress.   

EPIG. 13. The Litany.  
Hear me great Jove, from him professeth Physic,  
Yet hath the Mange, the Gout, the Cough, the Ptyssick.  
Respond. Libera me, etc.  
For how can he have skill for my disease.  
That his own rebel Tumours can't appease?  
So from an Alchemist that's clothed in rags,  
Yet of the wondrous working Stone makes brags.  
Respond. Libera me, &.  
For he that cannot put fresh linen on,  
Can hardly make Brass Gold, (as some have done.)  
So from a Corpulent, or fat fed-Priest,  
Who only minds to Sleep, to quaff, and feast.  
Respond Liberame, etc.  
For he whose fullness, makes him foam and pant,  
Let's his own soul and others starve for want.   

EPIG. 14. On Saint Thomas.  
THomas was diffident, the Scripture saith.  
Till at his finger's ends he had his Faith.   

EPIG. 15. To my Friend Theodor Vaux.  
IT is set down, by Heaven's just Decree,  
The Child of Riot, must be beggary.  
Take caution (Friend) for " that man spends with shame,  
" That with his riches doth consume his name.   

EPIG. 16. Afflictions Beneficial.  
IT is not for our good, in ease to rest,  
" Man (like to Cassia) when bruised is best.   

EPIG. 17. The Incarnation of jesus Christ our blessed Redeemer, narrated by a Shepherd.  
THis night  
By Cynthia's light  
A Virgin hath brought forth a son,  
God, though clad in flesh and bone:  
Prince of rest  
For ever blest,  
A Virgin hath brought forth a Child  
Immaculate, and undefiled,  
All the Troop  
Of Prophet's stoop,  
All the harmonious Choir of Heaven,  
Archangels, Angels, t' other Seven;  
Perfect man  
His life a span  
Like to us, is the Heir of Glory,  
Whose Kingdom is untransitory.   

EPIG. 18. An Acknowledgement.  
THese Verses (Marshal) I composed to be  
Tapstery, for to be trodden on by thee;  
Oh may thy Genius pardon my escapes,  
Some are much famed, for being great men's Apes.   

EPIG. 19 On myself.  
SOme look upon me, as one rude,  
Quite erring in my Altitude,  
For above Atlas' Shoulders, I  
Am placed, and all the world do eye,  
When I took for me the earthly Sign  
Of Scorpio, in's ascent did shine,  
Just in the Planetary hour  
Of Saturn, (who doth ever lower)  
I viewed the light; it much doth win me,  
I have part of that Planet in me.  
No way facetious am I  
To toyish mirth or Jollity,  
Yet in one dream I can compose  
A Comedy, in Verse or Prose,  
Behold the Action, apprehend  
The Jest, and the acquaint plot commend,  
And so much of the sense partake,  
As serves to laugh myself awake.   

EPIG. 20. Lydia Inviolabilis si nolit.  
ERrat in Argutis puer irrequietus ocellis,  
Blanditur Roseis Euphrosenia labris.  
Candida lactentes colit usque Aglaia papillas,  
Stat propter niveos pulchra Thalia pedes.  
Invidiosa nimis servat sua regna Cythere,  
Haec pateant nostris, haec precor una Jocis.   

EPIG. 21. Ballad Poets.  
THe Muses wear these patches on their Faces  
To foil their Beauties, greater than the Graces.   

EPIG. 22. Scylla and Charybdis.  
SCylla's Dogs bark not more, nor yawn so wide  
As Mortals 'gainst each other in their pride,  
Rejoicing to augment each others woe,  
Man is to Man Charybdis, his worst foe.   

EPIG. 23. PEDRO, and RODERIGO, The one Franciscan, the other a Dominican Friar.  
PEdro, and Roderigo travelling,  
Came to the brink of a Religious spring,  
But Pedro fearing for to wet his feet,  
Prays Roderigo, if he think it meet,  
Since he is barefoot, on his back to carry  
Him over, and save charges of a Ferry,  
Roderigo's willing, takes him on his back,  
And being in the midst, him thus bespoke,  
Tell me good Brother, have you any Cash;  
Poor Pedro fearing that he would him wash,  
Replies I have, and mean to pay thee too,  
(Not daring to return him answer, no;)  
Which Roderigo hearing lets him fall  
Ducking him over head, and ears, and all,  
Saying, You know that by my order I,  
Must bear no money, therefore, there e'en lie.   

EPIG. 24. Acrisius Enclosing his Daughter Danae.  
Fool! dost thou think thy Destiny to dare,  
By hiding from thy Jealous eyes thy fear:  
" Women are never wiser in their drifts,  
" Then when by fortune forced unto their shifts.  
‛ Had not Jove came to Danae in a shower,  
‛ Her hot Lust had dissolved her brazen Tower.    

EPIGRAMS.  
THE SECOND BOOK.  

EPIG. 1. Roberto Astonio, Equiti Poetae eximio.  
TV Comes assiduus tristi mala cura dolori,  
Et requiē, et somni munera grata negat.  
Illa novos revocat, veteresque resuscitat ignes,  
Illa omnem ex animo spem rapit una meo,  
Illa facit tristem, desolatúmque vag●●▪  
Lumináque in duram figere 〈…〉.  
Quin etiam invit is lachrymas extorquet ocellis,  
Pallorem in nitidas & jubet ire genas,  
Et subitâ obducit macie miserabile corpus,  
Sugit, et é venis sanguinis omne meis:  
Haec est, haec memorem, quae me vetat ire, meoreum,  
Haec est, haec memorem, quae vetat esse, mei.   

EPIC. 2. Epitaph on I. P.  
BUt are you sure he's dead, and did you hear  
The Screitch-owls voice? else 'tis not true I fear,  
Was the sky blasted and with thunder torn,  
The Devil's seldom laid without a storm;  
Yet like a fatal Comet though he's gone,  
Has left behind a sad contagion.   

EPIG. 3. Catiline's conspiracy.  
IT was thy praise, thou like a Chemist chose,  
To work thy poisons in the smallest Dose,  
Extract of Treason, Schisms Compendium,  
Shorthand Sedition, and Rebellions Sum.  
To thee the great Sejanus large soul fell,  
As did great Pompey at Ericthos' spell.   

EPIG. 4. Confident Carrus.  
THou sayest thy wife flies him as her last hour,  
And he to win him to her hath no power.  
I like thou art so well conceited on her,  
But know, her last hour still doth come upon her.   

EPIG. 5. Richard the Usurper.  
THy active brains owed to Prometheus much,  
Like Sulphur they caught flame at every touch.  
Quick thy contrivance was, thy Lamprey eyes  
Where there were none, could make discoveries,  
Discord thy music was, and in thy Bed  
Thou only sleepest, when Storms did rock thy Head.   

EPIG. 6. To Mr. E. C. on his Spolario.  
AS unsound men, who do with Fevers burn,  
Do the best meats to their diseases turn:  
So of all subjects, what was worst you chose,  
Like a course searser, still the finest lose.  
So the best viper wines, if you stir their lee,  
And honey badly stilled will poison be.   

EPIG. 7. The Spanish Armado.  
Neptunes' back cracked so great a weight to bear,  
The Monsters of the Sea affrighted were,  
Their overthrow doth cause proud Spain to quake,  
Crying Jove once a Swan, is now a Drake.   

EPIG. 8. Borgia.  
MOst excellent villain, thou that didst do all,  
And were't more sin than we can think or call,  
We now begin to love thee for thine ill,  
As Drugster's Serpents which most venom spill.  
And as from blackest clouds comes thunder's light,  
And the worst leprosy is always white:  
So thy foul crimes are with this honour clad,  
That it was thy glory to have been so bad.   

EPIG. 9 De Amore.  
SOlus Amor docuit contemnere dura pericla,  
Cunctáque constanti pectore ferre mala;  
Solus Amor, perque & tenebras jubet ire, viamque  
Monstrat; et insidias non timuisse sinit.   

EPIG. 10. These Times.  
LEarning doth live in penury, and bare,  
While fools grow rich, and feed on daintiest fare.   

EPIG. 11. To Claius.  
CLaius, thou sayest, I writ too mystical,  
Had better write for to be read of all,  
I know not, but if some not understand,  
'tis sure cause Ignorance hath most command;  
But yet this is Aenigma unto me,  
How thou shouldst find out such a Mystery.   

EPIG. 12. Ovid banished.  
LOve break thy Bow, ye Muses sing no more,  
For Ovid's banished to the Pontic shore.   

EPIG. 13. On the two admirable wits, Francis Beaumond, and John Fletcher.  
CEase Greece to boast of Aristophanes,  
Or of Menander, or Euripides,  
The Comic Sock, and Tragic Buskin we  
Wear neatest here, in foreign Brittany:  
Or if you list to struggle for the Bays,  
we'll fight with Beaumont's, and with Fletcher's Plays.   

EPIG. 14. Ovid, to Augustus' Daughter in the Person of Corinna.  

OVID.  
SInce thou didst deign (Soul of my life)  
Within these Walks to dally,  
Me thought I saw the Nine at strife,  
All taxing Nasos folly.   

CORINNA.  
Tell them Augusta claims thy love,  
Whose far superior looks,  
Commands thy measures not to move,  
And bids thee burn thy books.   

OVID.  
Should any to Augustus show  
The triumph of my fate,  
How should unhappy Ovid know  
For to prevent his hate.   

CORINNA.  
Timorous fool darest thou adore  
My shrine, yet fear to be  
Marty'rd, as others heretofore  
For Love, and Venery.    

EPIG. 15. To our British Bards.  
TEll me Sons of Levi, who profess  
More of the Gospel though you practise less;  
How dare you Boanerges, Sons of Thunder,  
Untwist Loves knot, and break that bond in sunder;  
While in the Pulpit you revive old Jars,  
And re-imbroyle the Kingdom in new wars;  
Whiles you preach controverting points, and next  
In parts divide the people with the text.   

EPIG. 16. Palladium Homeri.  
Virtue, was the Palladium Homer feigned  
Kept Troy so long from sacking, and when gained  
By the curled pated Greeks, than Ilium fell,  
(Juno conspiring with the powers of Hell)  
Religion only bringeth peace and glory,  
It is the surety of things transitory.   

EPIG. 17. In Vini abusum.  
NOn olim fatuo solers Pandora Epimetheo  
Dira tot in clausa pixide damna tulit;  
Quum fundo spes una imo subsidet, ut inde  
Solamen miseris posset adesse males.  
Quot vinum furias, quot tristia funera terris,  
Morborum species quot tulit, atque neeis:  
Quin ô quin Divi perditis hoc vitium.  
Quis tulit huc Satyros? vel quis madidos Silenos?  
Quisve Corymbiferi Sistra. Scyphosque Dei?   

EPIG. 18. To my Friend Mr. E. R.  
FRiend, thou art far above me, and dost slight  
Poetic Lays, wherein fond I delight:  
For thou, whilst I do Poems scribble, tak'st  
Thy seat in Bacchus' Temple, where thou makest  
Lyaeus' flow, and quaff'st a health to those,  
Who love (like thee) to drink and pledge in prose:  
Yet at thy call the Muses come, 'tis strange,  
That when thou wilt, thou canst thy liquor change,  
And tipple Aganippe, I must learn  
Thy Art, but first would thy great gain discern   

EPIG. 19 To Mr. Davenport on his Play called the Pirate.  
MAke all the cloth you can, haste, haste away,  
The Pirate will o'ertake you if you stay:  
Nay, we will yield ourselves, and this confess,  
Thou Rival'st Shakespeare, though thy glory's less.   

EPIG. 20. A Pacification.  
BY Moses Law, he that desired to take  
His Captive to his bed, meaning to make  
His slave his Wife, must clean cut of her hair,  
Give her new garments, and her nails must pair:  
So let the Church of Rome repudiate  
Her Superfluities; find her pristine State,  
We two will be one flesh, hate banished quite,  
She shall be unto us an Israelite.   

EPIG. 21. Francis Spira.  
DIvines, and dying men may talk of Hell,  
But in my heart her several torments dwell   

EPIG. 22. Of Fame.  
OFt have I wondered at it, yet 'tis so,  
Fame, when she list her Trumpet loud will blow,  
Renowning some with wealth and eminence,  
Only for folly, and for Impudence;  
And those, whose merits aught on earth ner'ed it  
She buries with them in obscurity.   

EPIG. 23. Palinodia.  
AH me me! hoc igitur fuit,  
Quod Lymphae latices olim Aganipidis  
Propter, dulcisonae Chaelys  
Pulsavi digitis fila trementibus,  
 dulci Dominae meae  
Tam gratus modo jam qui bene vixeram,  
Quo nullus potior dabat  
Cervici tenerae brachiolum teres:  
Nunc divisus ab arbitrae  
OFt vitae, at que necis, lumine Lydiae.   

EPIG. 24. Of Honour.  
A Time there was (but ah) that time is gone,  
When precious Honour was bestowed on none  
But such as for their valiant Acts did merit,  
Or for their Learning Honour to inherit:  
But Dastards now the Badge of Knighthood bear,  
And Fools like to the wise respected are.   

EPIG. 25.  
On the wondrous accident happening in Delf, a Town in Holland (much frequented by Storks) which Town being accidentally set on fire, the old Storks perceiving the Flame to approach their Nests, attempted to carry their Young ones away, but could not, they were so weighty, which perceiving, they never ceased with their wimgs spread to cover them, till both the old ones and young ones perished together.  
THe white hued Stork, that never toucheth bough,  
Whom once the foolish Frogs did King allow,  
Seeing her young in flames, oh how it pains her,  
Shall she for them adventure life to lose,  
Pity bids her try, but fear restrains her,  
Yet pity her fear so on overthrows,  
And so one tomb, with her poor young, contains her.  
Give place Arabian Bird, thou seekest new breath,  
By being burnt, but she sought only death:  
Learn hence Medea, from an Augurs tongue,  
To cherish, and not to destroy thy young.   

EPIG. 26. An old Woman Lecherous.  
GIve over Beldame now to sport,  
The young men will not thank thee for't,  
Pullest thou thy garments never so high,  
They will not stoop for to descry;  
Prepare for to encounter Death,  
And try to blast him with thy breath.   

EPIG. 27. Ben. Jonson's Play, called the silent Woman.  
THe reason why this play's not counted common  
Is, 'cause it doth present the silent woman.    

EPIGRAMS  
THE THIRD BOOK.  

EPIG. 1. The Sectaries of these times.  
LIke to Goliath they do make their brags,  
Yet of the people are the tags, and rags:  
Men of small knowledge, though they love to bawl,  
Less Honesty, Discretion none at all.  
In their attempts Pragmatical,  
In their humours Fantastical,  
In their profession Pharisaical,  
Their Books Hypocritical,  
Their opinions anabaptistical,  
Their Doctrine Schismatical,  
Their words Angelical,  
Their deeds Diabolical.  
Yet these (oh England) are thy Gods, o Dire!  
This Ignis lambens is thy holy Fire.   

EPIG. 2. A Contented Citizen called Horn.  
SUre thy Progenitors all Cuckolds were,  
Why shouldst thou ●grudge, like them the horn to bear?  
Remove thy fear, thy wife's a comely Dame,  
And doth report thou art so cool and tame,  
She in thy body hath not least delight,  
Thou not of strength to sat her appetite:  
Why dost thou let thy Rooms to Gallants brave  
If thou intend'st thy Wife alone to have?  
Thy name is ominous, and sure I think,  
For money thou, at thy Wife's faults dost wink.   

EPIG. 3. To Penelope.  
Why shouldst not thou as far renowned be,  
As ever was the chaste Penelope  
Wife to Vlissis? this I dare aver,  
By contraries thou imitatest her.   

EPIG. 4. Sua Flamma.  
FLamma mihi dolor est, flamma est mihi summa voluptas,  
Flamma mihi curae, spes mihi flamma meae:  
Flamma mihi furor est, flamma est medicina furoris,  
Delitiumque animi, delquiumque mei:  
Flamma mihi calor, & simul est inamabile frigus,  
Flamma mihi risus, flamma mihi jachrymae:  
Flamma mihi labor, et dulc is grata aura quietis,  
Flamma est quod fugiam, flamma quod usque petam:  
Flamma est quod nullo me vulnere sauciat ●grum,  
Flamma est quod string it me sine compedious:  
Flamma mihi sine luce dies, sine nocte tenebrae,  
Flamma agit Ingenium, flamma premitque, meum:  
Flamma est quod mihi me raptat, quod me mihi reddit.   

EPIG. 5. To Clarissa  
WHat though thy eyes  
(Clarissa) do surprise  
My yielding heart,  
'tis in the power of Art,  
Alcon concludes for me  
To quit this Lunacy:  
What words can cheer  
The wounded Dear  
The Herb being gone  
he'd nibble on?  
I burn, I burn,  
I mourn, I mourn,  
Myself I tire  
In ye and fire,  
Though Juno gave  
Her gesture brave,  
Pallas her skill  
Unto thy will,  
Venus her Ceston,  
Yet my blessed one,  
Fair Helen's pride  
But terrified  
Herself at last  
Her splendour past.  
And Anaxerete  
Mourns Iphys bitterly,  
And Lydia plains  
In ruthful pains,  
With much rebuke  
The Frizland Duke;  
Thy lovely face  
Can find no grace  
With Charon in his Boat;  
'Mongst others thou must float:  
To him all are  
Alike, the foul as fair,  
Prithee assent,  
In Hell there's punishment  
For these, who love to try  
Their lovers till they die:  
Else Danae's gyrls by turn,  
Ere this had filled their Urn;  
The Gorgon's howling there  
At first were Maidens fair,  
From love they were estranged,  
Therefore to Haggs were changed,  
So bright their beauty shone  
They turned all men to stone,  
That is the power of Cupid  
Made them dull and stupid,  
But no relief would they  
Afford for to allay  
A Lover's passion,  
Therefore in uncouth fashion  
Their once fair tresses  
A Snake-haird front expresses:  
But the Babylonion 
* THISBE.  Maid,  
And Hero who obeyed  

* LEANDER.  Him of Abydos, Semele  
Calistho, and fair Ariadne,  
By power Divine  
Bright Constellations shine.  
Yield, and I'll out-play  

* HORACE.  Him of Venusia,  
Striking mute  
The Alcian Lute,  
My music shall constrain  
The sad 
* HERACLITUS.  Ephesian  
In mirth for to delight  
Beyond the 
* DEMOCRITUS.  Abderite:  
It is in me  
To give Eternity  
Unto thy Name,  
Or else to blast the same:  
All that I crave  
Is Love, for Love to have.   

EPIG. 6. To the most excellent Poet, Sir William Davenant.  
What though some shallow Sciolists dare prate,  
And scoffing thee; Apollo nauseate:  
What Venus hath snatched from thee, cruelly,  
Minerva, with advantage doth supply:  
Johnson is dead, let Shirley stoop to Fate,  
And thou alone, art Poet Lawreate.   

EPIG. 7. Sperandum esse.  
QVid jam est, quod ante non se  
Invenit esse; quid jam est  
Quod non erit; futuri  
Revolutione ab aevi:  
Quod jam vides ubique  
Subito recedet; & non  
Existet idem, at illud  
Quod non erat, subinde  
Exurget, hinc peribit,  
Ita nil vetus novumve est,  
Speremus ergo; non si  
Male nunc & olim erit sic.   

EPIG. 8. Of Sillius.  
SIllius, himself doth to the Stars apply,  
And says, they are the Book of Destiny,  
List he to ride in's Coach but to Mile-End  
By the Almanac he doth the hour attend.  
If his eye-corner itch, the remedy  
From calculation of's Nativity  
He fetches, but at this I wonder much,  
How he should break his neck, whose skill was such.   

EPIG. 9 The fall of the Druinian Oak.  
THe clap of this dire thunder sounds  
From Ganges, to Aleides bounds:  
Earth's Monarches stand amazed all,  
To hear an Act so Tragical;  
They Rest forsake, Repast forbear,  
And do the self same fortune fear.   

EPIG 10. To my Friend Lucius Varrus.  
HOw can I choose, but like mount Aetna glow,  
Though I Carussa made my drink each day,  
Or fed on frigid lettuce, and lay low  
Upon the humble earth, Love to allay:  
Her skin for whiteness passeth Atlas' snow,  
Her cheeks the Roses that in Jury grow:  
Her crisped locks do out shine Lybian Gold,  
Her teeth the pearls, in stately Orm●●s sold:  
Her lips as Cherries, breath as incense slow,  
Her eyes as to pure Crystal Heavens show;  
Her tongue, like Lydian Music, doth delight,  
Then how can I (Friend Varrus) want her sight;  
Her presence can alone preserve my breath,  
Her loss (to me) is Famine, War, and Death.   

EPIG. 11. De Cupidine arante.  
VAcum puer pharetram  
Positoque liber arcu  
Caepit repents curvi  
Prensare dentem aratri  
Verum movere terrae  
Glebas Deo volenti,  
Torvus per arva taurus  
Quae situs, inque toto  
Armenta nulla campo  
Iratus ergo patris  
Domum intu●tur igneam  
Et opus quid, inquit, orac  
Terrarum obire nobis,  
Quum servet ipse Olympus  
Taurum mihi to●ante.   

EPIG. 12. Carbo the Courtier.  
CArbo a great ginger is grown,  
The Planets motions unto him are known,  
And all the Signs, he most judiciously  
observes, black patches under either eye  
He places, and so variable proves,  
He them misplaces, as the Sign removes:  
Nor Warlike Mars, nor potent Jupiter,  
Were Rulers at his birth, but only her  
Whom 
* Paris.  Alexander gave the Apple to,  
For which Saturniae wrought the Trojans woe:  
That fatal Apple which fair Illium fired,  
Is mightily by this Musk cat desired,  
Variety of Females make his skin  
Look parched, and all his marrow fry within.   

EPIG. 13. On a Lady singing.  
What Heavenly sounds inchant my ears,  
Passing the Music of the Spheres?  
Me thinks I hear a melody  
Better than Arion's harmony,  
The quavering of a well tuned voice  
Making a most Celestial noise.  
Angellike Quires that sing in Heaven,  
The Muses Nine, the Planets Seven  
Stand still, and listening do admire  
These songs, equal t' Apollo's Lyre.   

EPIG. 14. To my noble Friend Van Velsen, the merited praise of the famous City of Amsterdam.  
Belgias' bright glory we may call  
This Town, who from the Rivers fall  
Called DAM, hath name; the People ne'er  
For ought save clothes, and meat did care,  
Hence Amsterdam, and with the name  
Its Fortune hath increased, and Fame:  
Known to far Coasts, and Continents,  
And may well, for the good it vents,  
'tis Rich in corn, in Flesh, and Fish,  
And all that Heart can think or wish,  
And to speak truth it seems to hold  
Tage, Hermus, and Pactolus gold.   

EPIG. 15. Epitaph on Prince Henry.  
HEre lies Prince Henry, I dare say no more,  
Lest after times this Sepulchre Adore.   

EPIG. 16. The Lady E. D. had her Picture drawn thus.  
IN her fair hand just overthwart her womb  
A green bay-branch, one sprig whereof did come  
Up to her Heart, another downward ran,  
Shading the place of procreation:  
And cross the branch these words all might espy,  
" Fetched from the Fields, Here let me never die.  
Upon the upper sprig was written, HITHER,  
Upon the lower, (who would not come) THITHER.   

EPIG. 17. Jove's Cupbearer.  
SWeet Ganymede, snatched fvom the Idean Hill  
By Jove's appointment, Nectar for to fill  
Unto him, and the rest o'th' Deities,  
The Allegory fitly this implies.  
" Ganymede, or the understanding Soul,  
" The beauteous mind not clogged with error foul,  
" (So drawing near the nature of great Jove)  
" Is rap't to Heaven by his Eternal love.   

EPIG. 18. Wicked Myrha.  
What will none serve for to allay thy fire  
Is there no young man abler than th● Sy●  
For to content thee? See, she hath her will,  
Her Father sports with her all night, until  
Aurora blushes, thou hadst ne'er more need  
(Lady) to leave old Tython's bed with speed,  
See the old man, when he beholds her face,  
Knows 'tis his Daughter, and bewails his case.  
Her crime he'd expiate with her hot blood,  
Behold she flies into a neighbouring wood,  
Not worthy for to breath, the God's Decree,  
She is transformed to a weeping Tree.   

EPIG. 19 To Cupid.  
GOd of hearts Prithee be gone,  
Forsake my homely Mansion,  
Thy Deity is all to great  
On Parsley for too make thy meat,  
Such, as to my Lar I  
Offer up nocturnally;  
Lucullus doth not harbour here,  
But Cato with his beard austere.   

EPIG. 20. Homer's Prophecy of our Saviour's Incarnation and Passion, etc.  

Odiss. 12. THE FABLE.  
THe Inferior Gods (saith Homer) once did vie  
With Satur's Son, for the Supremacy,  
His Balls, and flashie fumes they overcome,  
And doom him to the Mare Mortuum;  
o'er which no bird what e'er unstruck, with death  
Can stretch her wings, so poisonous a breath  
The Lake evaporates, it ever fries  
Ejecting Bitumen unto the skies,  
Therefore the Grecian Bards thought fit to name  
This Pond Avernus, to express the same  
In its true nature, here the once great Jove  
Sits a sad exile, no one dares to prove  
A danger for his rescue, he must lie  
Secluded here, until he starve and die.  
But the Olympic Thunderer must not so  
Perish i'th' dark, twelve Doves together go  
Conglomerating in a winged dance  
Over the lake of Sodom they advance,  
To the distressed God they Nectar bring,  
Which tasted, He again is Lord and King  
Of Heaven and earth, his twelve deliverers, he  
(One where of fell into the dreadful Sea)  
Before him calls, their number he makes even,  
And gives them residence, near him in Heaven.   

THE ALLEGORY.  
MIraculous Prediction, sugared song,  
Wondrously warbled by an Heathens tongue,  
Christ the true Jove, the Lord and King of Heaven,  
By the Decree of Providence was driven  
As't were in exile, doomed man's form to take,  
Our Grandsires' Garden-Sin to expiate;  
Twelve Dovelike men (regard their innocence)  
(Not tutored in the School of eloquence)  
When by stern Tyrant's rage, Christ's sacred Truth  
Lay gasping, Killed in'ts Nonage, ere grown youth,  
From their mellifluous mouths such Nectar flows,  
The infant Verity a strong man grows,  
And Jesus is acknowledged the sole Lord  
Of Heaven and Earth, Judas a deed abhorred  
(Put on by unresisted power of Fate)  
To his damnation, dares to perpetrate,  
Into Avernus falls, (black Barathrum  
The wickeds burning Mare Mortuum)  
But the world's Architector doth supply  
That loss, and makes up the Society;  
When in the shape of fiery tongues his spirit  
Finds a fit man, the office to inherit,  
Who now in one mixed concord jointly sing,  
Triumphant Paeans to their Heavenly King.    

EPIG. 21. To Mr. Glascow, a solution of his Question, what Wit is, and who ought chief to drink Sherry.  
he's witty, and he only, that can speak  
Things little greatly, and things dull and weak  
In their own entity, can so embellish  
With flowery eloquence, that they shall relish  
The nicest , can make Barren things  
And empty, honoured as the Acts of Kings,  
Rendering them fruitfully, and fully too,  
The man (my Glascow) that these things can do  
May be called witty, for his skill Divine,  
And worth the favour of the God of Wine.   

EPIG. 22. Jove's Raping Europa.  
IF we believe the witty Sul●ian, Jove,  
Was pleased (in shape) a lustful ●ull to prove  
In all proportion, (sure) as strong as he  
Leapt the prodigious lustful Pasiphae)  
For fair Europa's sake; great Jove thy brow  
Should have had horns, when Io was a Cow.   

EPIG. 23. Lucian's memorial.  
COuld Charon choose but laugh aloud,  
To see thy Soul 'mongst others crowd,  
(Who with such art didst him deride)  
To have passage to the other side,  
Or were't thou not so much abhorred  
By him, he threw thee over board,  
Hating thy Trunk should lad his Wherrie,  
Now in Cocytus' fishes worry  
Thy Raven's Soul, (Fishes in Form)  
As once thy carrion lump was torn  
On earth, thou canst not now aspire  
To carp at the Meonian Lyre;  
Excellent Rogue erect thy eyes,  
See all the deathless Deities  
Laugh at thy dolour, and esteem  
It just, because thou didst blaspheme.   

EPIG. 24. The transformation of Narcissus.  
Narcissus', once a Cupid, add but wings,  
Who too much trusted to deceitful springs,  
A flower now to the flood inclines, and so  
By that which was his ruin, he doth grow:  
While with Narcissus on ourselves we dote,  
We lose ourselves, and act we know not what.   

EPIG. 25. 'tis money makes the man.  
NOw only wealth prevails, let him be base  
Descended, of a vile and vulgar race,  
Be he a sot, a fool, yea a mere swine,  
Yet if he have but money, and go fine,  
He shall be honoured by our sons of earth,  
As the best he that comes of noble birth:  
Be he debauched, yet he's a second Cato,  
Money makes him divine, he equals Plato:  
He's Virtuous, Wise, well borne, and what you will,  
That can with money, both his pockets fill.   

EPIG. 26. To Mrs. Rhodes.  
SItting, reading, ever spinning,  
Knitting, kneading, never linen,  
Painting, progging, ever doing,  
Fainting, cogging, ever wooing  
For knacks, as Girdles, Ribbons, Lace,  
Striving at Feasts for the best place,  
Yet still at hatred, spited, loathed,  
As unto Lust, and Hell betrothed;  
Well may it be if truly Bernard swears,  
That Devils sway thy eyes, and stop thy ears.   

EPIG. 27. Epitaph on a young man that died on his Wedding Day.  
HYmen hath lost his honour, here doth lie  
A young man, who as soon as wed, did die.   

EPIG. 28. On the death of Mary Queen of Scots.  
THe doom of Judges fore appointed,  
Racking the Law beyond all reason  
To death condemned a Queen anointed,  
Without allegiance finding Treason:  
The Axe to do the execution  
Shunned to cut of a head once crowned,  
The Hangman lost his Resolution,  
To kill a Queen so much renowned:  
Remorse in hangmen, and in steel,  
Yet Judges no remorse to feel?  
O henceforth may there ne'er be seen  
By English eyes, a headless Queen.   

EPIG. 29. To my much honoured uncle M. Paul Clapham.  
Why bring'st thou not to light thy worthy lays?  
That we may crown thee with a wreath of Bays  
But thou art wiser far (alas) than I,  
And scornest to have those judge thy poesy:  
Whose sordid souls cannot afford them Art  
Of Hopkins maimed Psalms to sing a part,  
Who take the lines to pieces that they read,  
Wound some, wire-drawing others, and do need  
A Prompter, M. P's, Sonnets to con o'er,  
But let not these, Dear Sir, I you implore  
Hinder the wise from what they else might gain,  
Who shall with shouts reward your learned pain:  
" For though we cannot tie the tongues of Fools,  
" 'Twere madness therefore to pull down the Schools.   

EPIG. 30. On Sir Philip Sydney's Decease.  
When 
* Venus.  Aericina saw brave Sidney die,  
She threw her purple Ceston clean away:  
(As when Adonis bathed in blood did lie  
At her fair feet) weeping, she thus did say,  
For Mars I plain, and not for him alone,  
In Sidney, Mars, and 
* A name of Apollo.  Sminthus both are gone.   

EPIG. 31. Disorder the forerunner of Ruin.  
BOth bodies Politic, and Natural,  
By this ill-shaped enemy do fall:  

* The Ottoman Empire.  Christendomes whip, who now doth so are so high,  
By this in her own ruin low shall lie,  
Factions those Commas are, ordained by God,  
When he'll bring Kingdoms to their period.   

EPIG. 32. A journey to Tottenham Court.  

IT was the time when Lady VER had dight  
The earth with garments green, and pleasant flowers,  
When Virgins for to walk the fields delight,  
There for to sport them with their Paramours.   

I (with a crew of those, whose youthful blood  
Did swiftly glide within them) went to walk,  
All of us being in a merry mood,  
Jove's thigh-borne son compelled our tongues to talk.   

With us a train of Nymphs, in garments gay,  
Whose beauties dimmed the Sun, did pass along,  
And unto Tottenham Court we took our way,  
To hear sweet Philomells delicious song.  
But so it happed, the Heavens began to lower,  
While thunder rend the Air, the lightning flame  
Shot from the Clouds, who began amain to pour:  
Jove squeezed their spongy sides, and now we came   

For shelter, to a pleasant seated Grove,  
Whose branches met; there each man did embrace  
A Beauty, and I think the Queen of Love,  
Had ta'en up that for her residing place.  
For ere we parted thence the Lasses brave,  
Had what Aeneas unto Dido gave.    

EPIG. 33. Valour always accompanied with Love.  
THey swell with LOVE, that are with VALOUR pressed,  
VENUS DOVES, in a head-piece wish to rest   

EPIG. 34. To Mr. K. R.  
IF thou art injured, thank thy own deceit,  
Serpents prove Dragons, when they Serpents eat,   

EPIG. 35. Lodowick and Artesia.  
LOrd Lodowick with Artesia walking was,  
And happening through a Gallery to pass  
Where many Antic Statues they espy,  
Some on their feet, some on the ground to lie:  
Artesia, whose bright eyes about did rove,  
Espies Sylvanus naked, as in a Grove  
With pendents hanging o'er his privities,  
(Which were carved out, of a most wondrous size)  
Quoth then Artesia, (Lodowick) who is this,  
That looks so gravely, and yet naked is?  
He answers (Madam) verily to me  
One of the six Clerks he doth seem to be.  
Why think you so said she? said he, look then,  
And see his mighty Inkhorn, and his Pen.   

EPIG. 36. The baseness of the present age.  

1  
O That (if Fate so pleased I now were one  
The Palfrey, that same chaste and wondrous wight  
Bestrod, and cloven the Air, BELLEROPHON,  
Or in Med●as Chariot took my flight   

2  
To some strange Country not inhabited  
With humans, but a wild and barren waste,  
Whereas the 
* The fruit of this tree, according to Homer, whosoever tasted, quite forgot his Country, and what ever before happened to him.  LOTOS' Tree, his boughs doth spread,  
Whose fruit I'd prise 'bove all by men embraced.   

3  
For that rare fruit, my most ingrateful soil,  
Would make me soon forget, and I ne'er more  
Should back return 'mongst Furies for to toil,  
Who (with fond Midas) wish for golden oar:   

4  
And nothing else esteem, for should they hear  
Apollo strike his strings, (unto their sense)  
Even Rustic Pan the Laurel wreath should wear,  
And before Sol have the pre-eminence:  
I grovel on the ground, and fools do stride  
Over my bulk, and on my back do ride.    

EPIG. 37. On the death of that Incomparable Hero, Sir Walter Raleigh Knight.  

LIke to the Athenians, when with furious ire,  
Against learned Socrates they did conspire,  
After his death themselves were like to slay,  
For sorrow they had made him so away:  
And having carved his Statue out in brass,  
Erected it within their Market place,  
And to him offered Myrrh, and Spicery,  
Adoring him, as if some Deity.   

So we, while thou on earth with us didst live,  
Slighted thy worth, not having hearts to give  
Thee thanks, and honour for that 
* History of the World.  gift of thine,  
The lovely Issue of thy brains divine:  
But now thou art not with us, we look on  
Thy book, and wonder at thee being gone.  
Rest sacred spirit, while thy work shall be  
Devoutly honoured by Posterity.    

EPIG. 38. On Mr. Sands inimitable translation of Ovid's Metamorphosis.  
TEll me didst thou converse with Ovid's Spirit  
Converse, said I, most sure thou didst inherit  
His Soul, I now will credit thy relation,  
That souls transplanted are by transmigration:  
For when I read thy work, and it compare  
With Naso's own, to me it doth appear  
Thou hast outdone him, and his Latin Verse,  
(Pure and unspotted) while thou dost rehearse  
In our own tongue, is graced and made more high  
Then when it was absent from each vulgar eye.   

EPIG. 39 The power of money, to Sir Edward Buzbey Knight.  
EVen the Gods with gold are fed,  
Jove resteth in a golden Bed:  
Gold helps in peace, prevails in Wars,  
Causeth debate, compoundeth Jars,  
It bears with it such potent sway,  
Earth, Aire, and Sea, to it obey:  
It breaks down Towers, (such power it claims)  
And Cities wrapped in eager flames:  
To give me gold, would any be  
Inclined, he in my Poesy  
(Which 'twixt my fingers— thus— I strain)  
Should find a bright and golden vein.   

EPIG. 40. A Simile.  
THe Frogs will sing, though wanting wool or hair,  
Therefore to them we Poets may compare.   

EPIG. 41. An Apollogie to Sir Thomas Engham.  
SIR,  
BLame me not although I flag,  
My wings are wet, I needs must lag,  
I taste ('tis true) the holy spring,  
But then am forced Swanlike to sing  
My own sad Fate, Swans should have fair  
Wether to sing in, clogged with care  
Who's he can climb Parnassus' Hill?  
I'm with my Fortune jarring still:  
The reason why I am so hoarse,  
Lost to my singing, and discourse.   

EPIG. 42. To Sir Alexander Wroth, of the most noble Order of the Garter Knight, a Resolution to his Demand, etc.  
AS Sarums beauteous Countess in a Dance  
Let fall her spangled Garter, that great 
* Edward 3.  King,  
Who laid such powerful claim to fertile France,  
By accident himself took up the String;  
The Origen from hence that order came,  
O high Original— oh monstrous shame—  
That famed instalment is eclipsed, and we  
Give it to mean and vile a Pedigree:  
Truth is victorious, 
* The 1.  Richard (that brave King)  
At Acon pleased to tie a leather string  
About each Soldier's Leg, with his own hand,  
Thence came this order (famous in our Land)  
But (Sir) I leave't to you, pray choose you whether  
You'll have the Countess Silk, or Soldier's leather.   

EPIG. 43. On the probable continuance of these Civil Wars, the Scot, and Irish not reduced.  

OH now after a little ease  
We must again our weapons wield,  
Be't so, since war must purchase Peace  
Let's take the Field.   

But see (oh wretched Land) how thin  
And barren thou of Natives art,  
Thy much presumption is thy sin,  
Thou need's must smart.   

Money the nerv's of War is wanting,  
Yet thou another Shock must stand,  
Thy wounded heart full sore lies panting,  
Oh dying Land.   

The fleering Hollander, and France,  
Rejoice to see Aerynnis reign,  
That thou must lead a second dance,  
To thy own bane.   

Ye Heavens, must Marius once more rise  
From the Minturnian lake,  
And Scylla horrid death devise  
His ire to slake.   


* Naseby.  Pharsalia's fields our eyes have seen,  
And must Philippie's battle end  
The Harvest, the corn yet but green,  
Oh Heaven defend.    

EPIG. 44. King Arthur.  
GReat Arthur worthy Fame, but that  
Thy Acts are told by those who chat  
Of Hamptons' cutthroat, and the Knight  
Of the Red Rose, (that sanguine wight)  
The errors of some Monkish pen  
Doth wound thy honour, far more than  
The Saxons could thy body; he,  
That killed such truths with Forgery,  
Deserves to have his hand lopped off,  
Thy legend is but wise men's scoff,  
When truth and falsehood mingled lie,  
All's falsehood to Posterity;  

* Without Fabulous Legends.  there's truth enough in thy fair story  
For ever to enshrine thy Glory.   

EPIG. 45. Lot's Wife turned to a Pillar of Salt.  
THis is a Sepulchre, a Body too,  
A Sepulchre or Body choose you whether,  
A Riddle strange, one, yet distinctly two,  
A Sepulchre and Body both together:  
This fatal fortune fell to Niobe,  
Yet this the odds; this the more Savoury.  
The end of the third Book.    

EPIGRAMS.  
THE FOURTH BOOK.  

EPIG. 1. On the death of I. P.  
NOne died more grieved, we all lament thy Fate,  
So as we do our Sins, which we most hate.   

EPIG. 2. Sir Philip Sydney's Arcadia.  
SIr, you are at the Races end before us,  
But must acknowledge thanks to HELIODORUS,  
Your Romance is most rare, yet half its fame  
Had been eclipsed, had any other name  
Troubled the Title Page, each Lady's Kidney  
Twittered to hear but of the Name of Sidney.   

EPIG. 3. To Doctor Bulwer, on his artificial CHANGELING.  
Were Naso now alive, and should he see  
Thy Book full fraught with Ingenuity,  
He would write o'er his changed shapes anew,  
Or scorn to wear the Chaplet that's thy due:  
Those that read thee, and find no change at all,  
Are Changelings, not by Art, but Natural.   

EPIG. 4. Ad Sodales.  
STellas polus micantes,  
Orbem orbis, ignis auras,  
Auraeque aquas, aquaeque  
Terrae Sinus capacis,  
Homines ferasque terra  
Complectitur, fovetque:  
Quid ergo me decoram  
Vetatis, ô Sodales,  
Complectier Puellam.   

EPIG. 5. On Lucian's true History.  
THat there were Snake-foote Giants, that a Ring  
Obscured the person of the Lydian King,  
That Ixion got a race of half horsemen,  
That Hercules drew Cacus from his Den,  
That Vulcan's shop's in the Island Lemnos, where  
He forgeth fire-balls for the Thunderer,  
That the two Corgons' could transform to stone  
All those unhappy men they looked upon;  
Are things so credible compared with those,  
Woven by thy wily hand in loser prose,  
I will believe them all, and as I read  
Register each ' an Article of Creed:  
Great Lord of Lying, I applaud thy wit,  
But wish none, save thyself, may Father it.   

EPIG. 6. AN HYMN TO BACCHUS. To Sir THOMAS ENGHAM.  
YVie decked God, with dangling hair,  
Unto thy Rites we make repair,  
As is thy Right  
This Gloomy Night.  
Thou that hast thy tresses bound  
With Vernal flowers, and Mitre crowned,  
Now curiously  
In knots thy tresses tie.  
As when of thy stepdame afraid  
Thou rarely counterfeitest a maid,  
Come hither dressed,  
I'th' robes and naked breast.  
Those Nations who do Ganges drink,  
And slide in cold Araxis brink,  
Can not thee behold  
In thy Chariots roofed with gold.  
Untamed Lions drag thy Car,  
Then Hyrcian Tigers fiercer fare,  
Silenus on's lean Jade  
With thee himself doth shade.  
Drunk Priests thy Orgies celebrate,  
Basarian Froes upon thee wait  
With INO, the Nereids,  
And thy Aunt in sacred Seas.  
The Stranger Boy there makes abode,  
Thy Son PALEMON (held a God)  
Pactolus thy burden tried,  
(Whose waves bright gold do hid)  
Thy power, Lycurgus' Kingdom knows,  
Zedacians too, where Boreas blows,  
On hoary trees that shake  
Ysicles, in Moeotis lake.  
Those under the Arcadian star,  
The Northern and slow Waggoner  
Sound thy applause i'th' skies,  
Lustiest of the Deities.  
Naxos, girt with Aegean wave,  
A bed to Ariadne gave,  
Her loss repaired by thee:  
Oh let thy pleasures be  
Sent hither by some frantic hand,  
Let us drink deep at thy command,  
Set open thy flowing Springs,  
Create us potent Kings.  
Thou art our LETHE, we prefer  
Thee too, for our REMEMBRANCER,  
Come not armed Cap-a-pe  
Lapethites we would not be.  
O come not frowning we implore,  
Let not thy surly Lions roar,  
Messagians quaff Beasts blood,  
None but thine can do us good.  
That so the watchman, and his bill  
At Christs-Church corner may stand still:  
Our Drawer fly his Fate,  
Who fears a broken pate, etc.  
Not finished.   

EPIG. 7. To LILY the Stargazer.  
What weather waits upon the Hyadeses,  
Orion's progress, and the Pleyades,  
Arcturus and his Sons, with the two Bears,  
Cynthia's revolv's, the motions of the Spheres,  
And what 
* ACHILLES.  Pelides 
* CHIRON.  Schoolmaster doth do;  
Whether the Sun (so bright to humane view)  
Be not a sumpe of matter, made red hot  
With fire, (at first by fervent heat begot?)  
And whether pale-faced Cynthia so unstable,  
Be not a Region, (though inhabitable?)  
What 
* Astrorum Cultor.  Zoroaster, and the Chaldees taught,  
And what Egyptian Ptolomey hath brought  
To light, thou knowst (Oh Empiric Divine)  
Predicting with the liver of a Swine.   

EPIG. 8. Nihil omni parte beatum.  
DVlcius harmoniâ Coeli quid credimus esse,  
Est tamen a resonis sors quoque dura polis.  
Sole quid utilius? tamen idem corpora frangit,  
Quid face lucidius noctis? at illa levis:  
Munera cunctorum tulerat Pandora Deorum,  
Quae pestes homini, quae mala sola dedit.  
Demetrius tamen superis connexos orbibus orbes,  
Non homo, non quadrupes, piscis & Alice erit:  
Solem aufer, nox una oculis erit obvia nostris,  
Demetrius facem Phaebes, causaque noctis erit.  
Non Pandoram homini est hominem nocuisse put andum,  
Japetioniadae, cor sine ment fuit:  
Cuncta nocent, prosunt re, nil sine labe bonoque,  
Da mihi pro damnis basia, Nympha, tuis.   

EPIG. 9 DEDALUS, and ICARUS, A DIALOGUE.  DEDALUS. 
Why strivest thou to salute the Sun,  
Soaring above thy Sire?  
(Dear boy) Sols radiant lustre shun,  
Thy wings can't brook his fire.  ICARUS. 
To sport thus 'twixt the Air and Sea,  
Oh how it glads my sense,  
To doubt a danger, seems to me  
But foolish diffidence.  DEDALUS. 
From cruel Minos, Cretan Tower,  
Have I escaped by skill,  
To see these Waves my Son devour,  
(Rash youth) then use thy Will.  ICARUS. 
Now up unto Olympic Jove  
I'll take my speedy f●ight,  
These Pinnions were not made to move,  
But in the Angel's sight.  DEDALUS. 
Descend (fond youth) ere't be too late,  
Thy waxed wings do fry,  
Thy wretched Father wails thy fate,  
" Those must fall low, mount high.  ICARUS. 
Oh Father (see) I fall, I fall,  
And plunge into the deep,  
" This Destiny must wait on all  
" That in no Medium keepe.  DEDALUS. 
So drops some erring Star, farewell  
Dear Icarus, thy Fame  
Shall not with thee find parallel,  
This Sea shall bear thy name.   

EPIG. 10. To Clio, having but begun my Fairy King.  
OMuse, what dost thou whisper in my ear?  
What thou suggests to me I dare not hear  
Find thee an abler Agent, alas I  
Am all unfit for Warlike Poesy,  
To sing the Acts of Heros, and compile  
The Deeds of Kings, in a full heightened stile,  
Is such a task I dare not undergo,  
How to begin, or end, I do not know:  
And more, if Spencer could not scape the spite  
Of tougues malevolent, whose gentle spirit  
Prompted him, so meek as never man  
Before him could, nor (I think) ever can,  
I then shall (sure) be bit to death, but yet  
If thou commandest that I forward set,  
I will not be rebellious, but desire,  
Thou'lt warm my bosom with thy hottest fire.   

EPIG. 11. To judge Jenkins.  
SIr be content, it grieves not me at all,  
The Gospel Cajold, that the Law should fall.   

EPIG. 12. To the Illustrious Cardinal Mazerine, his Victory lately obtained over the Spanish Army under the Archduke Leopold.  
NOw hast thou silenced Slander, pared the claws  
O'th' Blatant Beast, and given Gallia cause  
To curse her fond misprission, and apply  
Herself to thee, (great Lord of Loyalty)  
Not long ago 'twas hoped a fine pretence  
Should send thee to the Land of Diffidence,  
— But by thy skill  
The Scene is changed, ascend (great Sir) until  
Thy loyal head knock 'gainst the arched sky,  
While the 
* Spain, anciently called Iberia.  Iberians howl thy memory.   

EPIG. 13. To Mr. E. C. the Lawyer.  
THou hast a voice so sharp, so shrill, and piercing,  
When thou art Littleton, or Cook rehearsing,  
That though thy beard bespeak thee man, thy tongue  
Proclaims thee woman, or that thou hadst wrong  
Beneath the navel, I conclude that Fate,  
Shaped thee both to conceive, and generate.   

EPIG. 14. All is not Gold that Glisters.  
glory's like Glow-womres, afarreoff shine clear,  
But have nor heat, nor light, if looked too near.   

EPIG. 15. A Catholic Medicine to cure the Passion of Love.  
Heard fare will famish Love, if that not do,  
Time, and long absence will impair thy woe:  
View others beauties, if that will not speed,  
Then take a Halter, that will do the deed.   

EPIG. 16. To Mr. E. G.  
YOu gave me Gold, I did accept your gift,  
But give me leave for to refuse your drift.   

EPIG. 17. A Dialogue maintained by five, viz. the Poet, Clio, Poverty, Ignorance, Mammon.  CLIO. 
HIther direct thy steps, descend this Cave,  
Castalia called here, thou a place shalt have  
To hear our Harmony, here Homer sat,  
When he his high immortal Illiads wrote,  
Here Orpheus penned his Hymns, here Maro sung  
Aeneas Travels with a golden tongue:  
Here Pindar, and Anacreon did devise  
Their Odes, which since none ere could equalise:  
Here Flaccus, Naso, Spencer, hath been seen,  
I helped the last to frame his Fairy Queen:  
Here make thyself Immortal, taste this spring,  
Which will inform thee like some God to sing,  
And though (perhaps) thou taste of some affliction,  
It shall be sweetened by our Benediction.  POVERTY. 
If to her charms thou listen, then with me  
Thou must expect torn Rags, and Penury,  
For to converse with want in some dark Den,  
Shunning, and shunned of all other men,  
Thy whole life one continued Scene of cark,  
Leaving the world despised, and in the dark.  POET. 
Twixt Scylla and Charydis, thus I stand,  
Not knowing which to take on either hand,  
This way my Genius wills me for to go,  
But wise foreseeing caution answers, no.  IGNORANCE. 
Look this way, erring mortal, learn to know  
What gratitude to me the World doth owe,  
'tis I that grasp both Poles, and unto me,  
Both Love and Honour Vassalized be,  
He that hath me to friend, can never want,  
" he's only happy that is ignorant:  
Knowledge confoundeth knowledge, what got he,  
So much renowned for his Poesy,  
But blindness, nakedness, and hunger sharp,  
Yea sometimes forced for to pawn his Harp:  
And he that wrote The Art of Love, the Rapes  
Of Jupiter, and of transformed shapes,  
Found banishment the guerdion of his wit,  
He cursed his Vein, and wilt thou Father it:  
Combine with me, and my endowments try,  
Thou liberally shalt live, and wealthy die.  MAMMON. 
If credence to her words thou'lt not afford,  
Unstable man, take thou God Mammon's word,  
Pluto hath made me Master of his Treasure,  
I have whole Hills of Ophir, Gold at pleasure,  
For to dispose to them, I list t' advance,  
Who bow the knee to Godlike Ignorance;  
he's mad, that literature or Science chooses,  
he's trebly plagued, that's loved of the Muses:  
Turn o'er blind Homer's works, consume thy time,  
Till thou growest hoarse in reading Maro's Rhyme,  
Or take thou Plato's Prose his Scholar too,  
And con o'er him, who Nature's secrets knew,  
Yet with the First thou ' it die a wretched man,  
Or with the last, perish i'th' Ocean.  CLIO. 
Behold this wreath, plucked from that Damsel bright,  
Tunred into Laurel by the God of Light.  MAMMON. 
View this refulgent O are, these heaps of Pearl.  IGNORANCE. 
Be Ignorant, and be a Lord or Earl  CLIO. 
Converse with us, and famous shalt thou be,  
Canonised unto all Posterity.  POET. 
Thrice sacred Virgin, unto thee I come,  
Thou only leadest unto Elysium.  
Though Folly glorious seem, thou art more fair,  POVERTY. 
Here I adopt thee then, my lawful Heir.  POET. 
And welcome Poverty, thou art my choice,  
Oh that I could but beg with Homer's voice   

EPIG. 18. A defiance to Fortune.  
DO thy worst (whore) I will not Cry,  
Although thou pinch me till I die,  
Throw me down on the vilest earth,  
Let one ill give another birth,  
Cloth me in rags, yea let me be  
Scorned by all Mortals, as by thee,  
Yet like myself I needs must fall,  
Though in a Ruin General.   

EPIG. 19 The Poet's invitation to Ben Jonson's Ghost to appear again.  

REverend shade,  
Since last I made  
Survey of thee,  
Me thinks I find  
A fresher mind  
To Poesy.   

Most honoured Ben  
Appear again,  
That so I may,  
Embrace thy Ghost,  
Although it cost  
My life's decay.   

Sacred Spirit  
Whose boundless merit  
I Adore,  
Upon thy Hearse  
I'll drop a Verse  
And no more.   

Thy Laurel wreath  
Doth lie beneath  
Great Phoebus' feet,  
He asks of thee  
Which way to be  
A God more great.   

Thou Ben shalt be  
A Saint to me  
Each Verse I make,  
I'll censure it  
By thy great Wit,  
If it partake   

The least of thine,  
I will Divine  
It shall subsist,  
Alas if not  
The same I'll blot,  
'Twil not be missed.    

EPIG. 20. Women must not rule.  
LEt him be made a slave, to all a scorn,  
That will not be the same that he was born.   

EPIG. 21. To my much honoured, and incomparable Friend, Mr. Theodor Lo Esquire, upon his request to me to pen a peculiar Poem of Obe-ron and his Queen.  
NOble Sir, your Poet prays  
You'd tear from's head his wreath of Bays,  
And in its stead a Chaplet place  
Of living flowers, t' would better grace  
His aspect, now you'd have him sing,  
Pucks treachery against his King.  
Jealous Oberon when his Queen,  
Dubbed him Cuckold on the green,  
Convey me into yonder grove,  
Where the broad faced Owl doth rove  
With waving wings from tree to tree,  
And the sweet Turtle mournfully  
Chants her own Dirge, beneath an Oak  
Which Sylvanus never strooke  
In anger, nor the Dryad's cursed  
Since the time it sprang up first,  
Here seat me, and I'll sing to life,  
Oberon's frenzy for his wife.   

EPIG. 22. LUCAN to NERO. Dialogue.  LUCAN. 
BUt why Stern Tyrant must I bleeding die?  NERO. 
Wretch, thou wert one in the Conspiracy  
With Traitorous Piso. LUCAN, I confess my guilt;  NERO. 
●nd therefore shall thy tainted blood be spilt:  
●now too (ambitious Mushroom) not alone  
●or that, I'll send thy Soul to Acheron,  
remember my disgrace upon the Stage,  
●hen thou inspired with a Lymphatic rage  
keepest forth to thwart, my Action.—  LUCAN. 
— O Apollo!  
Who'll dare (warned by my Fate) thy steps to follow?  
Thus Orpheus, and Euripides went hence,  
Forced by the hand of Rabbid violence;  
But know (pernicious Monster) I shall live,  
Pharsalia's Field Eternity shall give  
Unto my Name, when thou Ingloriously  
(Blaspheming Jove) on thy own sword shalt die   

EPIG. 23. Fantastic Silius.  
SIlius ' an Arras maker sendeth for,  
To whom he thus declares his pleasure; Sir,  
I would desire you in a piece of Cloth  
(Was never stained or eaten by the Moth)  
To work me a strong Castle, and in it  
A Dog that barks, yet on his tail doth sit,  
And at the Castle gate in Armour bright,  
A big-boned man who dares with any fight;  
The workman did so, and then brought it home,  
Presenting it unto this gaudy Mome,  
Who in a chafe doth stamp, and swear, and cry  
Where is the Dog should in the Castle lie?  
The workman answers, pardon Sir a sinner,  
Belike those in the Castle are at dinner,  
And (perhaps) in some corner all alone,  
The Cur you miss is gnawing of a bone.   

EPIG. 24. In Imaginem Amoris, ad Poetas & Pictores.  
ERgo fingere si lubet, Poetae,  
Pictoresve animabitis tabellas,  
Non talem mihi fingite hunc Amorem,  
Non talem mihi pingite hunc Amorem,  
Sed quum is omnia, quumque nil videtur,  
Sed quum idem nihil, omnia & videtur,  
Fingite omnia, nilque pingite unum,  
Pingite omnia, nilque fingite unum,  
Imo fingite cuncta, nilque prorsus,  
Imo pingite nil, simulque cuncta.   

EPIG. 25. Epitaph on the Lord Capell.  
HEre Virtue, Valour, Charity, and all  
Those rare endowments we Celestial call  
Secluded are; nor wonder at the Story,  
Capell lies here, Loyalties chiefest Glory.   

EPIG. 26. Epitaph on Duke Hamilton.  
A Politian, yet a Fool,  
A Teacher, and yet went to School,  
A Hempen cord of Silken twist,  
A Papist, yet a Calvinist,  
A mere OGYGES, Yet a Stranger  
To Prudence, that foresees a danger;  
Here lies (he's but to Scotland gone,  
No worse a Hell) 'tis Hamilton.   

EPIG. 27. On the Earl of Holland.  
BY Venus' self beneath this stone  
Lies Holland that spruce Earl,  
His Carcase here, his Head is gone  
To Bridget his brave Girl,  
Who makes it her Memento Mori,  
While she lies close to Captain Pory.   

EPIG. 28. On Mr. Spencer's inimitable Poem, the Fairy Queen.  
COllin my Master, O Muse sound his praise,  
Extol his never to be equalled Lays,  
Whom thou dost Imitate with all thy might,  
As he did once in Chawcers vein delight,  
And thy new Fairy King, shall with Queen,  
When thou art dead, still flourish ever green.  
Cease wealthy Italy to brag and boast,  
That thou for Poesy art famed most  
Of any Nation, Ariostos vein,  
Though rare, came short of our great Spencer's strain:  
His great Orlando hath received great loss  
By Spencer's Fairy Knight of the Red Cross:  
Warlike Rogeros' honour clouded is  
By his Arthegall, and much fame doth miss,  
His sweet Angellica described with Art,  
Is wan and withered, to his Brittomart,  
His admirable Poem darkened quite,  
As if he only had known how to write,  
Nor may that wonder of your Nation claim  
Supremacy, before our Spencer's Fame:  
Admired Tasso, (pardon) I must do  
That right the Muses all persuade me to,  
Although to Godfery by thy worthy Lays,  
Thou dost a Mausolean Trophy raise,  
Yet Spencer to Eliza hath done more,  
And by his fullness lesseneth thy store:  
He like the grand Meonian sits on high,  
Making all Verse stoop to his Poesy;  
Like to some mighty River Nile or Po,  
All that obstruct him, he'll soon overthrow:  
And shallow Brooks, if any list to strive,  
From forth his Ocean soon they may derive.  
He next unto Apollo sits above  
With Homer, and sweet Maro, who approve  
Of his society, and joy to see  
Him that did equal their famed Poesy.  
Niggardly Nation be ashamed of this,  
A Tomb for thy great Poet wanting is,  
While fools, not worth the naming, seated high  
On Sepulchers of Marble Godlike lie:  
The learned in obscurity are thrust,  
But yet their Names shall long outlive their dust:  
Although Great Spencer they did thee inter,  
Not Rearing to thy name a Sepulchre,  
Yet thou hast one shall last to the last day,  
Thy Fairy Queen, which never shall decay:  
This is a Poet's Privilege, although  
His person among sordid dolts do go  
Unto the Grave, his Name shall ever live,  
And spite of Time, or Malice shall survive.   

EPIG. 29. To the brave and nobe Lady, the Lady E. B.  
OH may these Comic lays be blest by thee  
And from thy Lips, suck their Eternity.   

EPIG. 30. On Mr. Davenants most excellent Tragedy of Albovinek of Lombard's.  
Shakespeares' Othello, Jonson's Catiline,  
Would lose the their lustre, were thy Albovine  
Placed betwixt them, and as when the Sun,  
Doth whirling in his fiery Chariot run,  
All other lights burn dim, so this thy play,  
Shall be accepted as the Sunshine day:  
While other wits (like Tapers) only seems  
Good in the want of thy Refulgent beams.  
This Tragedy (let who list dare descent)  
Shall be thy everlasting Monument.   

EPIG. 31. CUPIDS CREATION.  
LUst favouring Vice, a Deity  
Ascribed to Love, and to be free  
To that wild Fury adds  
A forged power, that Cupid gladds,  
By his Paphian Mother sent  
All about Earth's Continent;  
Flies up to Heaven and there strays,  
Shoots shafts, that every God obeys:  
Saturnus, 
* MERCURY.  he with the awful Rod  
Whose feet with winged shoes are shod,  
All power to him is given,  
On Earth, Seas, Hell and Heaven;  
T'xcuse their guilt, frantics bestow  
Upon Dame Venus' Son an awful Bow.   

EPIG. 32. All Saints, and all Souls Day, 1. and 2. of November.  
THou Sun, that sheddest the days, look down and see,  
A month more shining by events then thee,  
Departed Souls, and Saints signed it before,  
But know the living now do sign it more,  
Persons, and Actions meet, all meant for Joy,  
But some are born to build, some to destroy;  
Bate us that Ushering curse so dear known,  
Not these two days, but the whole month's our own.   

EPIG. 33. The Egyptians first found out the Art of Navigation.  
THese passed the dangerous Gulf, and durst  
By new found ways adventure first,  
These first fraught Ships, found Merchandise,  
First observed Stars, and Chequered skies.   

EPIG. 34. For the Statue of Queen Elizabeth.  
BEhold th' Effigy of a Virgin Queen,  
Zealously courted wheresoever seen:  
The People's Love first from her troubles grew,  
And then her Reign did make that Love her Due:  
That comely order, which did then adorn  
Both Fabrics, now's by many Factions torn,  
That form by her allowed of Common Prayer,  
Our Sectaries call vain beating of th' Air,  
How do they honour, how forsake her Crown,  
Her Times are still cried up, but practised down.   

EPIG. 35. Baptising of Infants, the New Mode.  
BRing here the Basin, is the Babe defiled,?  
Good Parson play the Barber with the Child,  
Place him in public view, in sight of all,  
But spare your Crosses, and your Washing-ball;  
And (that the Goldsmith may be quite undone)  
The Father and the Godfathers are one.  
This Babe of Grace shall be of more account,  
Then all the Antichristians of the Font.   

EPIG. 36. The Powder Treason.  
THis was a Treason of the worst intent,  
Had not our own done more than strangers meant   

EPIG. 37. To Mr. L. H.  
TO eat so much, and yet to look so thinn,  
Thus Lust puts out, what Luxury puts in.   

EPIG. 38. On the birth of the Lady E. D.  
AWay, and view the Graces, and the Hours  
Hover aloof, and dropping mingled flowers  
Upon the Cradle where an Infant lies,  
The greatest Grace, chiefest of Deities.   

EPIG. 39 On the Death of Strafford Deputy of Ireland.  
THat thou wert wise as Nestor, vallianter  
Than great 
* HECTOR.  Priamides, and stronger fare  
Than big-boned Ajax, that thy skill did shine  
Suparlatively in Wars art, to thine;  
That Caesar's vici was but slow, that all  
Which makes an able Statesman, thou might'st call  
Thine, and thine only, that thy mighty Soul  
Dispansed, extended unto either Pole:  
Truth must acknowledge, that thy Royal Lord,  
Durst to have mortgaged unto thee his Sword,  
So great his confidence, during whose Reign  
Thou shon'st a Constellation, next his Wain,  
And 'tis not yet decided, whether thou  
Or he were more resplendent, on thy brow  
Sat Terror mixed with Wisdom, and at once  
Saturn, and Hermes in thy Countenance.  
(Second Sejanus) in thy fall we see  
Nosce teipsum, was not known to thee.   

EPIG. 40. On the Death of the truly learned and tightly Virtuous I. D. Esquire.  
When Fates impartial hand shall summon me,  
It will increase my Joy to visit thee,  
Yet we must sympathise, and on thy Hearse  
Pour out a Sable tear to write a Verse:  
With your swart weeds my Azure lines agree,  
" Amourners beauty is deformity.  
Blame not the 
* The Parcaes.  Three for this sad Fate, they do  
Consume themselves in tears, as well as you,  
'Twas not their will so fair a flower should stay  
So short a time, and fade so soon away,  
They had resolved upon this common State,  
He should have acted out old Nestor's Age,  
While they their over-busied hands conjoin  
With curious Art, to draw the fatal twine  
To a full length, they forced the same so small,  
That (unawares) alack) it broke withal:  
And all but right, should they do heaven wrong  
To keep his precious Soul on Earth so long  
That longed to part, should they his Joys repreive  
And kill him thus, by keeping him alive;  
Heaven then took pity, and could not dispense  
With this their kindness, therefore Raped him hence.   

EPIG. 41. A Cobbler to Plato, on his Commonwealth.  
ARistos Son, behold we all agree  
To have the Government prescribed by thee,  
And sit enthroned even in our drudgery.   

EPIG. 42. To Mr. G. K.  
SIr, I do run, but you attain the prize,  
" 'Tis better to be Fortunate then Wise:  
Besides by Randalle's Exit, it appears,  
" wit's a Disease, that kills men in few years:  
Which bids me this Prediction freely give,  
Longer than Nestor you are like to live.   

EPIG. 43. To Will. Lee, the Bookseller at Paul's Chain.  
Sirrah; thou art so base a Fool that I,  
Think thee not worth my Anger, else I'd try  
In ARCHILOCHUS tone, so loud to sing,  
(With a Quill borrowed from a Raven's wing,  
Penning such fatal Scripture) thou (thou Elf)  
But hearing it, shouldst straightway hang thyself,  
But I am merciful, repent thy ill,  
And know no sword, cuts deeper than my Quill.   

EPIG. 44. To Lydia scorning him.  
I Care not now, still harden, know that I  
By viewing thee, begin to Petrefie,  
Though thou art Rocky, yet the God's assent  
I am the stone must be thy Monument.   

EPIG. 45. To I. Buzby.  
TH' art not in debt, (thou swearest) and I dare say it,  
For those alone do own, that mean to pay it.   

EPIG. 46. Epitaph, on Mr. Fountain and his young Son dying, and being buried together in one Grave.  
Fountain of tears shed here, here lies a man,  
In whom a Fount of Learning gliding ran,  
Yet cruel death this living Fountain stopped,  
The pleasant Palm that grew beside it cropped:  
You may search far, and yet not find a Well,  
Fit with this matchless Fount to parallel.   

EPIG. 47. The deliverance from a garrulous vainglorious Scholar in Zion college.  
TO I. P's Chamber, I one day resorted,  
Where the young man to me rare things imparted,  
As first his Study full of Learned Books,  
On which (I dare be sworn) he seldom looks.  
Then next a Chamber, at the Eastern end  
Thereof, a bed to entertain a Friend.  
Then led he me towards a gloomy hole,  
Quoth he, this is  with Wood and Coale,  
Not so well stuffed was Epeus Brazen steed,  
Then he discovered boxes full of seed  
Which fed his Finches, and Canary-Birds,  
And then he led me to his house of (—)  
Gravely Discoursing all the tedious way,  
That Athanasius in a Cistern lay  
Fearful of Arius, seven years and more  
Not half so sweet: then next he opened a door,  
Discovers a large Shelf of Boots and Shoes,  
Refulgent Sol (said I) that all things views,  
Rescue, oh rescue me, (great Deity)  
This Fool will kill me with's discovery.  
Apollo heard, one towards us did advance,  
And so great Phoebus saved me by chance.  
The end of the Fourth Book.    

EPIGRAMS  
THE FIFTH BOOK.  

EPIG. 1. To Lydia.  
TO thee fair Nymph my life, my love, my gaze,  
Thought-chaste Dictinna, Nature's only maze,  
More Lovely than was bright Astioche,  
Or Juno's handmaid sacred Diope  
I didicate these labours, Read I pray,  
For thine eyes stellify all they survey.   

EPIG. 2. Unmanly Fear.  
THunder affrighteth Infants in the Schools,  
And Threaten are the Conquerors of Fools.   

EPIG. 3. To Cap. Purvey.  
True Valour ever accompanied with deliberate Advice.  
RAsh Isidas, the Lacedaemon Lord,  
That naked fought against the Theban power,  
Although they crowned his Valour by accord,  
Yet was he fined for rashness that same hour,  
For in attempting, Prowess is not meant,  
But wisely doing what we do attempt.   

EPIG. 4. A Callidonians Character.  
A 
* Scotland anciently called Callidonia.  Callidonian, ever at his birth,  
Doth enter Hell, and when he goes from Earth,  
He leaves tormenting Tophet, wondrous well  
Assured there cannot be a worse Hell.   

EPIG. 5. To Mr. E. H. Complaining of his Wife.  
SIr, be content, let this your hopes uphold,  
Venus was but a Quean, Juno a Scold.   

EPIG. 6. Sir John harrington's translation of Ariosto.  
ARiost beyond Protagoras did limb '  
Better than Zeuxes could, thoust rendered him.   

EPIG. 7. Uni omnia sola.  
Cur ego felici numeros ab Apolline poscam?  
Cur Pindi aerij culmina nota velim?  
Cur mea Daphneae cingant ut tempora laurus,  
Ex Aganipaeo pocula fonte petam?  
Cur ego lascivam Venerem, Venerisque puellum  
Suppliciter multa solicitabo prece;  
Telaque plus metuam pueri quam mille Phalanges,  
Et plusquam Aegiochi fulmina rauca faces:  
Quid pharetram ex humeris pueri sine fine sonantem,  
Vdave ne lachrymis lumina sepe fluant?  
Quid toties ducam suspiria pectore ab in●o?  
Quid cadet aversos ante querela Deos?  
Perdere si certo potis es me sola dolore,  
Solaque me certa, Nympha, levare manu.  
Adspice quam, ô, variis distringar, Lydia, curis,  
Adspice quam, ô, nulla parte quiescat Amor:  
Tu mihi sola quies, quae fix'ti vulnera amoris,  
Quaeque noces, medicam sola adhibebis opem;  
Nam mihi tu Phoebus, to Pindus, Laurus & unda,  
Tu mihi blanda Venus, tu mihi dulcis Amor:  
Tela Faces, Pharetrae, Lachrymae Suspiria, Questus,  
Omnia at (hei) quum sis cur ita nulla meaes.   

EPIG. 8. To Mr. John Sands, on his excellent Waterwork called the Chaos.  
FRiend, thou the Chaos hast in every part  
So well expressed by the power of Art,  
That when I saw't I wondered, and I find  
In that rude mass, thy well digested mind:  
Nor is that all, but when I do behold  
Thy whirling Orbs, how they about are rolled,  
The Earth replenished, and the Heavens clear,  
More quaintly then in Archimedes Sphere,  
And then our Grandfyre Adam in his bliss,  
(The same I think Arabia felix is)  
His fearful fall in height of all his pride  
[Tempted by her was taken from his side]  
Then other Stories to thy matter fit,  
Not feigned, but borrowed out of holy Writ,  
Performed by Pygmies of thy own Creation,  
Who seem to walk, and talk in pretty fashion,  
I then to learned Rhasis do adhere,  
That great and wonderful Philosopher,  
And do conceit, one may so play his part,  
As to make little living men by Art:  
But to conclude, for I abhor to be  
Guilty of tedious Prolixity:  
Thy show shall more and more in Fame increase,  
And ever shall be styled Arts Masterpiece.   

EPIG. 9 A Constellation betwixt bad and good Fortune, for Antiquity, and Supremacy.  

THe glorious Senate of the skies was set,  
And all the Gods in State,  
When Happy-Fortune, and Ill-Fortune met,  
Striving for Heaven Gate,  
Confusedly as Floods do pass  
Their bounds, their entrance was.   

The Gods disturbed admire their strange approach  
Censuring their anger by their eyes,  
Ill-Fortune was attended by reproach,  
Good-Fortune Virtue stellifies:  
The Gods divided yet agree,  
The Fates should judge their Pedigree:  
Good-Fortune draws from Heaven her high Descent,  
Making Jove root of her large tree,  
She shows from him how many Godheads went   

Archangels, Heaven's posterity,  
Annexing to her line,  
Honour, Virtue, Endless time.   

Ill-Fortune yet would needs be elder-borne,  
[As sprung from Saturn, Jove's wronged Sire]  
And Heaven, and Earth, and Hell, her Arms have worn,  
(Bleeding Hearts in a Field of fire)  
Just proof may her great praise commend,  
All that Best-Chance gins, Ill-Chance doth end.    

EPIG 10. To H. P.  
THou Grand Apostle of the Gadarens,  
Thou, who hast cured the Nodes, sliced off the Wens  
O'th' Body Politic, it troubles us,  
That thou shouldst have the Morbus Gallicus.   

EPIG. 11. The Invention of Letters.  
TRadition tells us that the Elephant,  
(Made up of sense like man, who nought doth want  
Save speech) the Alphabet did first invent,  
At this some laugh, and others to't assent,  
Voting its verity, but some contest  
That Cadmus' first found Letters, and expre'st  
His Art first in Campania, if the first  
Found out that milk by which all arts are nursed,  
I dare Decree the Beasts expressions all,  
Were figured forth in letters Capital.   

EPIG. 12. On the death of the late Prince of Organge, by the Small Pox.  
POx one thee (Fortune) hadst no other way,  
To bring the Royal Cause unto decay,  
But by that Scarecrow picks out children's eyes,  
There were sure many noble Maladies  
Fare fit Harpies, to pray on a Prince,  
But oh! the Fates by snatching Nassaw hence,  
Do by a contradictive Riddle tell,  
They'll bring their ends to pass by Miracle.   

EPIG. 13. The Boy-preaching Furrier.  
DOst thou know what thou dost, fond Child alas  
Thy heart is furred, as is thy Face with Brass:  
Dost thou not fear the fervour of his Ire,  
That slew two Brethren who produced strange fire  
Upon his holy Altar? canst thou show,  
Us thy Commission, and who bade thee go?  
If not, remember forty thousand died,  
Because too nearly in the Ark they pried.   

EPIG. 14. To Delia.  
DElia, alas, and art thou now grown poor?  
Walking like a dejected forlorn whore,  
Have all thy Lovers cast thee off, what all,  
And given thee unto the Hospital?  
No presentations of Gloves, Tires, or Pins,  
Now nought is left unto thee save thy sins:  
O heavy load, now (Delia) thou dost find,  
" They nothing have, who want a virtuous mind,   

EPIG. 15. To Claudius.  
ANd why (good Claudius) should I hid,  
That wherein gods do take a pride,  
She, who is of the Nymphs the Queen,  
The loveliest that hath yet been seen,  
She, with her most enflaming eyes  
Hath fired my Heart, those curious ties  
Of her entortelled tresses bind,  
With golden fetters my whole mind:  
Her graceful smiles, her red and white,  
Which Art can never pencil right,  
That wisdom in her tender years,  
Scarce to be found amongst grey hairs,  
The constant tenor of her life  
Which may beseem the gravest wife,  
Her modest, and not gay, Attire,  
Whereby she honour doth acquire,  
The pleasing Majesty of her face,  
And her deportment with such grace,  
These have Captive took my mind,  
Oh! that my Martiallesse were kind,  
I count me happy in my Gyves,  
And would not change for thousand Lives.   

EPIG. 16. The Prodigal.  
SEe in a Tavern where Calianax sits,  
Spending his coin, and dulling of his wits,  
His painted Cockatrice doth sit him nigh,  
(Who hath the marrow from his bones drawn dry)  
His naked crown a Periwig doth cover,  
See how he courts her like an amorous Lover,  
Fool, she more deadly is, thou dost embrace,  
Then th'juice of Hemlock, or the loathed Race  
Of Scorpions, her poisonous breath more hot  
Than Aetna's fumes, by Earth and Air begot,  
Who, when thou hast thy Lands mortgaged away,  
And beg'st for food, will smile at thy decay,  
And having filled thy body full of sores,  
Will laugh to see thee turned out of doors,  
Despised by all men, when too late t' will be  
To wish for that, thou hast spent Idly.   

EPIG. 17. Lydia Inviolabilis si nolit.  
LVmina servat Amor, Charitum sed prima labella,  
Proxima dein mammas, tertia sola pedes.  
Dulce sub obscuris gaudet Venus ima latebris,  
Ridet & hinc timidos, insidiosa viros,  
Si faves; oculos Deus, & labra prima papilla  
Proxima, terna pedes, Diva dabit latebras.   

EPIG. 18. An Alderman.  
YOnder goes Carrus in his Velvet Gown,  
And is reputed one of great Renown,  
He strokes his Beard, and on the Bench doth Cough  
And seldom is beheld to smile or laugh,  
Ascends his Coach with an austere aspect,  
And gravely all his Actions doth direct,  
He would be thought a very solid man,  
As equalizing the famed Ithacan,  
Yet hath not brains enough for to indite  
A Letter, when occasion calls to write.  
O Fortune, thou wert cursed from thy birth,  
And aye wilt be so: Fools have all on Earth.   

EPIG. 19 Christmas Day.  
NO matter for Plomb-porridge, or Shrid-pies,  
Or a whole Ox offered in Sacrifice  
TO COMUS, not to CHRIST, this day I'll sing  
Celestial songs to JESUS, who did bring  
Unto depraved Adam's race Salvation,  
By the Aenigma of his Incarnation:  
I'll dance too, but as Jesses Godlike Son  
Before the Ark, a sacred Ephod on.   

EPIG. 20. To Mr. L. H. Esquire.  
YOu say, (Sir) that you wonder some times I  
(Who am a rigid Stoic naturally)  
When I do practise mirth, am so profuse,  
My mirth is madness, and my sport abuse,  
I will not (Jove forbidden it) say you err,  
But take this Story, The Philosopher  
Rich, Learned Proclus, had a Son whose vein  
Was to spend money, but get none again.  
On Whores, on Hounds, on Hawks, his Father's eyes  
Were witness to his Prodigallities,  
No Counsel he omitted, nor no way,  
That might the young man's swerving passions sway;  
Nothing proves prevalent, his grieved Sire  
Finding he poured but oil into the fire,  
resolves upon a way, as new as strange,  
Not doubting speedily to cause a change:  
A very youthful habit he puts on,  
And needs will be Associate to his Son,  
Who doth his Father's dotage deadly hate,  
And now bethinks him of his own Estate,  
Condem's himself t' have been so much a fool,  
Leaves Epicurus, sits in Plato's School.  
So Sir, take notice when I sportive am,  
I do't, such Fools as you for to reclaim.   

EPIG. 21. To E. K.  
I Just had made an end, for to rehearse  
Some of my Papers blotted o'er with Verse,  
Unto a learned Friend, when thou cam'st in  
And once again wouldst have me to begin:  
Untutored Groom, suppose that thou shouldst come  
Without a Supper in thy dirty womb,  
I being newly sated, were it fit,  
Or would it not proclaim preposterous wit,  
For thee, for to desire me for to try  
My teeth again, to bear thee Company.   

EPIG. 22. A Dialogue 'twixt LYDIA, and the POET, for the renewing their Loves after a long time of suspension.  POET. 
NOw she is numbered with the dead,  
That won my heart from thee,  
Why art thou like to Stone, or lead,  
And makest not haste to me.  LYDIA. 
Claudius, the Son of Aretine,  
Possesseth now my Love,  
And shall I change for that of thine,  
Who ever lov'st to Rove.  POET. 
Forget what's past, my future Zeal  
And my obsequious care  
To thee, all former wounds shall heal,  
Not leaving any scar.  LYDIA. 
After thy stock of strength is spent,  
And thou grown weak with doing,  
Thou wouldst our former breach Cement,  
Away, I hate thy wooing.  POET. 
The shag-haired Goat in's prime of heat,  
Is not more apt than I,  
For to perform the wished feat,  
My Veins with blood swell high.  LYDIA. 
Though thou art harsh and Rude as fire,  
More humorous than the winds,  
So well thou satiat'st my desire,  
To thee Loves cords me binds.   

EPIG. 23. On excellent strong Beer.  
Plump cheeked Bromeus venge thy wrong,  
Barley, as thy berry strong  
Makes us talk, and sing, and laugh,  
As if we did Nepenthe quaff;  
With Elder leaves our heads we twine,  
Not with the Ivie-creeping Vine,  
And Oake-leaved Javelins we bear,  
Which in our drunken rage we tear:  
Thy Orgies must ever fail,  
If this strong Liquors fame prevail,  
All for to drink will agree:  
Smooth chined Anacreon could not be  
More heated with his Corsic vine,  
Nor Flaccus with his Falern wine,  
Then I with this most potent Beer,  
Kept in a Marble Vault a year:  
And now it sparkling freely drills,  
Cur'st be he a drop that spills:  
Fill the steep flagons, and each pot,  
Drink till all sorrow be forgot.  
Had great Johnson had the hap  
To taste of what flows from this tap,  
Nine muses had no number been  
To contend 'gainst such Hippocrene,  
And he (no doubt) had finished well  
His Mortimer, and Issabell:  
Nymbly dance all in a Ring,  
Paeans to god-BARLY sing,  
Gallop round in Fairy measures,  
Oh that in height of all these pleasures,  
Charmed by the sleepy God,  
Ere the Hymn is sung, I nod.   

EPIG. 24. Leander's Ruin.  
While bold Leander, swum as he was wont,  
Brushing the billows of the Hellespont,  
Thetis herself envying fair Heros bliss,  
(His Love being sought by the Nereids,  
Cymodoce, and sweet Pronea too)  
But when she found 'twas but in vain to sue,  
She begs of Aeolus, and he complies,  
To raise a storm, by which Leander dies.   

EPIG. 25. A Frolic to Capt. Baines the Poet being Prisoner (for his Loyalty) in Whittington Goal.  

1  
Polihymnia, lend me thy Lute,  
And thou (my Bains) take the shrill Flute,  
No rainy Hyades  
Or the rude blasts at Seas  
Can strike our Music mute.   

2  
Drink thou to Peleus' stout Son,  
Or the Grandchild of Laomedon,  
With ardent zeal than I  
Will flowing Cups apply  
To Pindar, Horace, and Anacreon.   

3  
'Tis sin for us to know  
What Fate Jove will bestow,  
What need we try  
Lilies Astrology,  
The Gods, at Westminster can truest show.   

4  
With Ivy Chaplets lets impale  
Our Fronts, and though lodged in a Goal  
(My loved Baines)  
Did we were chains  
Their rattling should make Briscoes' heart to fail.   

5  
Bring forth the Tun of sparkling Wine  
Such as learned Flaccus termed Divine,  
Pierce its rough rind,  
Leave none behind,  
(Dear Baines) 'twill make our Faces shine.   

6  
Minerva, (O my Patroness)  
To thee I will my Faults confess,  
I am too Stoical,  
But yet can smile withal,  
And now and then slip into lose excess.   

7  
About with't, let us swill  
Stand near (boy) nimbly fill,  
Sing, Jo, triumph cry,  
Young C. hath Victory,  
Thanks powerful Rector of Olympus Hill.   

8  
What though we do not wear  
Laconic Purple, but are forced to bear  
The frowns of slaves,  
When in our graves,  
Fame to our memories shall Pillars rear.   

9  
Foggy Cocytus we must view,  
Nor can we the Eumenideses eschew,  
In Charon's Wherrie  
We both must Ferry,  
Then drink and Dance, Earth's blisses are our due.    

EPIG. 26. Martagon, and Ancilla in the person of the Poet, and Mistress E. R.  Mart. 
MUst thou be gone, my pretty one,  Ancil. 
Alas, I dare not tarry,  Mart. 
O what a spite is marriage-life,  Ancil. 
Then why (Sir) did you marry?  Mart. 
Although that Hymen hold full high,  
His Torch above my tresses,  
Yet thousands sweet as well as I  
May purge their lights with Cresses:  
Pox on his horns, and spotted hide,  Ancil. 
His Dowcets, and his Rutting,  
But (Sir) he is like Argus eyed,  Mart. 
And like a Ram still butting.  
Away by Moonshine we will wend  
Unto my Country Villa,  
And there securely we will spend  
Our days, my dear Ancilla.  Ancil. 
Love give us wings unto our wish,  
Be lustful Jove, Protector,  Mart. 
A Toad be still i'th' Husband's dish,  Ancil. 
And poison in his Nectar.  Mart. 
Actaeon's Ghost still haunt him,  Ancil. 
The God of Cuckolds daunt him,  Mart. 
Let a dead man struck him,  Ancil. 
And his spittle choke him,  Mart. 
And every Fiend invoke him,  Ancil. 
While we thus twine,  
Like the Amorous Vine,  Mart. 
Away base Strumpet leave me,  
If thou hast Will  
Thy Lord to kill,  
Most sure thou wilt deceive me.   

EPIG. 27. On Mr. Websters most excellent Tragedy, Called the White Devil.  
We will no more admire Euripides,  
Nor praise the Tragic strains of Sophocles,  
For why? thou in this Tragedy hast framed  
All real worth, that can in them be named:  
How lively are thy persons fitted, and  
How pretty are thy lines, thy Verses stand  
Like unto precious Jewels set in gold,  
And grace thy fluent Prose; I once was told  
By one well skilled in Arts, he thought thy Play  
Was only worthy Fame to bear away  
From all before it, Brachianos' Ill,  
Murdering his Duchess, hath by thy rare skill  
Made him renowned, Flamineo such another,  
The Devil's darling, Murderer of his brother:  
His part most strange, (given him to Act by thee)  
Doth gain him Credit, and not Calumny:  
Vittoria Corombona, that famed Whore,  
 Lodovico weltering in his gore,  
Subtle Francisco, all of them shall be  
Gazed at as Comets by Posterity:  
And thou mean time with never withering Bays,  
Shalt Crowned be by all that read thy Lays.   

EPIG. 28. Epitaph on that Excellently Learned young man Mr. Anthony Dyer.  
A Morning fair as the first look of May,  
With the glad promise of a Glorious Day.  
The ●un was early up, and at first rise  
With noontide Beams amazed our duller eyes,  
Is creped behind a cloud, a blossom bright,  
As those Sunbeams that kiss and paint the Light,  
Which first of all salutes the budding year,  
And smiles to see its fellows not appear,  
Dies by rude Frosts: so when beginnings raise  
Too great an expectation, and amaze  
Our Senses, Wisdom plucks it by the ear,  
And bids us turn our hopes into a fear,  
So if some one leap over sluggish time,  
And wear his Age's Autumn in his Prime,  
Nature herself her future Progress fears,  
And dares not trust this Virtue with more years,  
And therefore Dyer died, and here doth lie,  
To force a tear from every passer by.   

EPIG. 29. To his Muse in (reference to his Fairy King.  
BY thee fair Muse, when violent hands have made  
England a Den of Dragons, a dark shade  
Where shag-haired Satyrs Dance, when Kingdoms are  
Quite overturned, and fry in flames of War,  
I shall command the Forth, and to the sky,  
Above the Earth, borne on Fame's Wings shall f●ie.   

EPIG. 30. Epitaph on my dear loved Kinsman Thomas Clapham.  
REader, here lies a youth, whose Fac●  
Passed even Adonis for sweet grace,  
And winning gesture without peer  
For wit unequalled, closed here  
Doth lie, an heap of virtuous dust  
Keep it safe (Marble) to thy trust,  
We do commit it as a Gem,  
Hid in a Casket of esteem.   

EPIG. 31. To his Book.  
Go forth in thine own strength amid the Crowd,  
Be not thou too submiss, nor yet too proud,  
If any jostle, stand the sturdy shock,  
Have I not fixed thee firmer than a Rock.   

EPIG. 32. Fortius est qui se quàm qui fortissima vincit.  
It is the greatest Conquest for a Conqueror to Conquer himself, to conquer his Irascible passions, which Alexander could not do, and his Concupiscible, which Hercules could not do, so vassalized to his JOLE, to him, Dei ira Hercules.  
HE Cacus, Cerberus, Hydra overthrew,  
Lions, not Lust and Whores could he subdue.   

EPIG. 33. Ben Johnson 's due Encomium.  
When he, with Verse to's pipe applied did, sing,  
The Rude 
* His excellent Underwoods.  Woods listened to his carolling,  
Sulla's Dogs barked not, the harmonious spheres  
took pains to plant their Souls into their cares,  
More excellent than he, no age e'er saw,  
More sacred, wonderful, (by Phoebus' Law)  
His Verse Divinely framed, deserves alone,  
The thrice three Sister's Benediction.   

EPIG. 34. Epitaph on a Virgin dying for Love.  
Ye virgins that this Tomb pass by,  
Behold the same with weeping eye,  
Accuse the blind god of stern wrath,  
That he this Virgin here laid hath,  
For he was partial, nothing moved,  
He wounded her, not him she loved.   

EPIG. 35. The Paper Hero's.  
THeir murmuring splendour is Nocturnal all,  
They are but Torches to a Funeral,  
That's all, their glory for themselves must fall  
In his great doom, quite waste and perish all  
In Lighting him to's Vault, their Luster must  
Shrink to a Snuff, their Honour to the dust.  
The End of the Fifth Book.    

EPIGRAMS.  
THE SIXTH BOOK.  

EPIG. 1. Virgula Divina.  
SOme Sorcerers do boast they have a Rod,  
Gathered with Vows, and Sacrifice,  
And (borne about) will strangely nod  
To hidden treasure, where it lies:  
Mankind is (sure) that Rod Divine,  
For to the wealthiest (ever) they incline.   

EPIG. 2. To Wil Dross the upstart Gallant.  
FRiend, those gay , aswell thy hyde befits,  
As Purple doth th' untutord Marmuzets.   

EPIG. 3. To Tatam.  
TAtam makes Verses of all sorts, and sizes,  
And Plays, and Songs, and Ballads he comprizes:  
In keen iambics a Lymphatic Lyric  
He is, and plays, and sings, sweeter than Derick,  
For which, amongst the Brokers and Broomcriers,  
Amongst the Watermen, 'mongst Dolts, and Dyer's,  
he's cried up for a 
* Bardus, Prince of Wales, an excellent Poet, of whom Poets are called Bards.  Bards and he is one,  
For he writes Welsh, or in some stranger tone.   

EPIG. 4. To Mr. Giles Granvert.  
NOw we  
(Dear Sir) be  
Our own Antipodes,  
Our own Disease,  
Seamen the Whip,  
Plowmen the Ship  
Usurp and guide,  
Men walk, Mules ride,  
Children begin  
To teach to spin  
Their Grandams old,  
Sheep Shepherd's Fold,  
Meteors exhaled  
From mud are called  
The highest Spheres,  
Small hopes, great fears,  
Wolves in Humane shapes  
Men, Asses, Hogs and Apes,  
Hermaphrodites with Child,  
Herod reconciled  
To Pilate; justice, Knowledge,  
From Gotham College  
Proceed, the blind perceive  
What Seers won't believe,  
No way but Chemistry,  
Salt, Sulphur, Mercury.   

EPIG. 5. Aristotle.  
Nature's great Midwife, thou that knewest far more  
Than all the Ethnic Sages, did before  
'Tis more than a Chimaera unto me,  
Thou that couldst weight the Earth, shouldst by the Sea  
Be swallowed, thy Wit's Ocean knew no shore,  
Fathoming Rhea's wealth and Thetis store.   

EPIG. 6. Epitaph on Mahomet the Second, Emperor of Turks, Anno Dom. 1450.  
I That so many nations have  
Tumbled together in one grave,  
Am now by Death, which all devowers,  
Laid here, where now are my powers?  
Phillip's mad son's most glorious Fame,  
Compared with me shall want a Name,  
And mighty 
* Caesar.  Julius have small glory,  
Parralleled with my Deathless story:  
I the Greeks vanquished, all Epire,  
I tamed, and with vindictive ire,  
Made the squat bodied Tartar's stoop,  
Th' Assyrians under me did droop,  
Likewise the Arabs, fierce and wild,  
I Persia, and Hungaria spoilt,  
Rhodes I had ta'en by Martial strife,  
Had the three Sisters spared my life:  
Death in the twinkling of an eye  
Forced me to a Satiety,  
So perished the Pride of Glory,  
Proving all things but Transitory.   

EPIG. 7. To the brave and beauteous Lady, the Lady I G.  
Circe the Enchanteresse (who as Homer relates) transformed rational men into the similitude of bruit Beasts.  
CIrce, not only was a Sorceress,  
But also Lais Function did profess,  
By ●er lose postures many were enthralled,  
Most aptly she's 
* Daughter to the Sun.  Hyperions Daughter called,  
Because her filthiness to every eye  
Was obvious, by her Impudicitie,  
Lascivious gestures, and her wanton tricks,  
(More base than any London Meretrix)  
She caused men, of honest moralists  
To become Brutish, and mere Sensualists:  
" Man by the Gods was framed Just, and Free,  
" But innate guile forfeits his purity.  
Thus did she Metamorphose Men to Beasts,  
So he (bright Lady) on your beauty feasts,  
Sol's Daughters Soporiferous draught doth drink,  
Let me be Gryll, or what you please to think,  
Not any sordid shape will I eschew,  
Some Bristled Swine, so I may grunt near you.   

EPIG. 8. Silvesters Translation of Dubartas, His Divine Weeks, and Works.  
IT Were no absurdity to question it,  
Whether the great Dubartas better writ,  
Or Silvester translated, quaintly rare  
Is his conversion, had he rested there  
His Fame had been advanced to the skies,  
Now grovelling, clogged with his own Tripperies.   

EPIG. 9 On the pollution of a well known Temple.  
NOw birds, and Four-foot-beasts inhabit where,  
The Sacred Fathers erst assembled were,  
The Porches full of noble Imagery,  
Oppressed with their own weight, prostrate lie,  
Fanes lie full low,  
Grass on Tombs do grow,  
So many adornments, rare works, Sepulchers  
And sacred Urns, one ruin now interr's.   

EPIG 10. The celebration of a Health to my jovial Friend, James Gort Esquire.  
SEe Sir, here flows a curious Cup  
Of sparkling Nectar, full charged up  
To ' th' brim, her sprightly dancing bubbles,  
(Defying fears, and duller troubles  
Of care-cloged hearts) look how they swell  
In proud disdain, as threatening Hell,  
As if she meant to undertake  
A Duel, with th' Infernal Lake,  
See how she mantles, with what grace  
She sweetly smiles upon thy Face:  
Drink Sir, (a fig for Fools, and Wealth)  
This Sea to Claracillas' health.   

EPIG. 11. Defacing of Images  
IF that all Images defaced should be,  
(My Friends) I' me sure, you would not scape .   

EPIG. 12. To the Pamphleteers of these times.  
Forbear fond Pamphleteers, forbear to vex,  
The giddy world, as with an Apoplex,  
Cease railing Rabsheka's cease to disclose,  
And vent such poison in prophaner Prose,  
Whose Basilisk-like Vapours seem t' impair  
The squeasie temper of the troubled Air.   

EPIG. 13. To John Taylor (commonly called) the Water-Poet.  
IF ever I did drink, or taste one drop  
Of Helicon, or coveted the top  
Of craggy clived Parnassus, if that I  
Did ever pipe or sing ● armoniously,  
Then let my censure find a free access  
To those that make thee more, making thee less:  
I say thy Lines are fluent, and thy Lays  
(I do avowched, not partial in my praise)  
[Some Cockle cast away] are such to me,  
That when I read'em, I' me in Love with thee,  
And sighing say, had this man Learning known,  
(Who hath so acquaint a Genius of his own)  
Great Ben had crept to's Urn without a Name,  
And Tailor solely slept i' th' house of Fame.   

EPIG. 14. Modest, Martha.  
When to thy Husband I resort,  
We sometimes jest, and talk in sport,  
And if that any word obscene,  
Do pass, thou askt's us, what me mean,  
With looks demure thou silently  
Dost sit, as one loved Piety,  
Yet I one day unwares came in  
Ere thou hadst time to shroud thy sin,  
And found in those fair hands of thine  
The filthy works of Aretine.   

EPIG. 15. Lactantius, his strange opinion of that Text of Scripture, Gen. 6. 2. Then the Sons of God saw the Daughters of Men that they were fair, and they took them Wives, etc.  
To the Fair and Courteous Mistress, R. H.  
THe Angles, whom their mighty Lord  
Appointed mankind for to Guard,  
With this Command, they should take heed  
How they Commixed with humane seed,  
And so polluted, did become  
Unfit for blessed Elysium.  
Yet could not scape the Paphian Gin,  
Jehovah sees, and hates their Sin,  
And now as useless properties,  
Secludes them from celestial Bliss  
Thrown down, ne'er to return again  
Fell Satan, doth them entertain  
His Agents, their prodigious brood,  
(Not harmful Fiends, nor Angels good)  
Not mortal, nor aerial Spirits,  
Suffer not for their Father's merits,  
To Barathum they were not sent,  
Nor yet up to Olympus went,  
Two sorts of Devils there became,  
The one we may Celestial name,  
T' other Terrestrial, thus far he,  
Whose profound Ingenuity,  
All men admire, but he forgot,  
That Heavenly Spirits cannot blot,  
Their purity by such a deed  
Not capable of humane seed,  
But this (bright Mistress) makes for me,  
If to Lactantius you'll agree:  
For if the Angels could not tame,  
The force of Aericinas' flame,  
No marvel I am scorched to dust,  
Served up an Oglio unto Lust.   

EPIG. 16. My Imprisonment in Whittington for Writing Mercurius Elencticus.  
MOst strange it seems unto the Vulgar rout,  
That, that which thrust me in, should guard me out,  
My Soul with no engagement's clogged, but thus  
My gaining life, struck dead Elencticus.   

EPIG. 17. In Memory of our Famous Shakespeare.  

1  
SAcred Spirit, whiles thy Lyre  
Echoed o'er the Arcadian Plains,  
Even Apollo did admire,  
Orpheus wondered at thy Strains.   

2  
Plautus Sighed, Sophocles wept  
Tears of anger, for to hear  
After they so long had slept,  
So bright a Genius should appear:   

3  
Who wrote his Lines with a Sunbeam,  
More durable than Time or Fate,  
Others boldly do Blaspheme,  
Like those that seem to Preach, but prate.   

4  
Thou wert truly Priest Elect,  
Chosen darling to the Nine,  
Such a Trophy to erect  
(By thy wit and skill Divine)   

5  
That were all their other Glories  
(Thine excepted) torn away,  
By thy admirable Stories,  
Their garments ever shall be gay.   

6  
Where thy honoured bones do lie  
(As Statius once to Maro's Urn)  
Thither every year will I  
Slowly tread, and sadly mourn.    

EPIG. 18. Pimponello, Flambello, A Dialogue.  
FLambello. Happy Pimpinello, thou  
thriv'st, I prithee tell me how,  
Pimpinello. Learn of me for to engage  
If thou'lt thrive this Iron Age,  
Pleasures at the highest pitch,  
Pandora only can make rich,  
No gold, nor meed is held too dear  
To buy a Beauty for a year,  
To sin securely, swim in pleasure,  
Twice six Months: Flambello. If that Treasure  
May so facilely be won,  
I have a Daughter, she shall shun  
No wealthy Lecher. Pimpinello. A match, our Trade  
Shall last till Sin, and Pleasure fade.   

EPIG. 19 To Mr. James Ford, his Medals being Miraculously preserved from fire.  
Wlcan to save these Monuments  
Suffocates his own flaming Vents,  
The Elements themselves had sense,  
(By a coactive Providence)  
Their Father Air, and Mother Earth,  
Bridled their fury in its birth,  
As when they choked Enceladus,  
For Anapis, and Amphinomus,  
For which (Sir) you ought every day  
A Jocund Vulcanalia say.   

EPIG. 20. Our Blessed Redeemer (in scorn) by the Cursed Jews, clothed in White Raiment.  
ALmighty and Omniscient, thus thy Power  
Was visible, even in that very hour,  
When Satan's ire, was most predominant,  
(When the thing made did 'gainst its Maker vaunt:)  
Wrapped in an Alball, (though on vile pretence  
The perfect Emblem of thy Innocence).  
Unwittingly they did Mithologize  
Thou wert to die a spotless Sacrifice,  
Thus wert thou Typified by samuel's deed  
Then when he made a sucking Lamb to bleed,  
And Israel, was Victorious o'er his foe,  
By thy dear blood, we quell Apollion So.   

EPIG. 21. Mortimer, and Queen Isabel, A Dialogue.  MORTIMER. 
NOw, now, securely we may clip  
Not fearing Edward's Ire,  
Let me suck Nectar from thy lip,  
And 'bove the gods aspire.  ISABEL. 
Yet, our embraces are but stolen  
No safety, can I see,  
The Commons, are with anger swollen,  
And rage 'gainst thee and me.  MORTIMER. 
Let the Plebeians mutter all,  
All is our own (my Dear)  
Confirmed in Canarvans fall  
Which I expect to hear.  ISABEL. 
Is Gurney gone to do the deed,  
Our Love's Foundation  
Is laid in blood. Mortimer. Edward must bleed,  
This night (my Love) t' is done.  ISABEL. 
I, that when Edward was a King  
Enthroned, by all obeyed,  
Durst love thee, now do fear the thing  
I shake,— We are betrayed.  MORTIMER. 
Betrayed, me thinks thy Noble Soul  
Should not be timorous,  
Who's he dares Mortimer control?  
Fate must not menace us.  ISABEL. 
I could rejoice that he were dead,  
But that I durst conspire  
To macerate his vital thread  
Is horrible and Dire.  MORTIMER. 
In that, in that alone (fair Queen)  
Thy Love is manifest,  
All had been nought, had this not been  
In sanguine Lines expre'st.  ISABEL. 
Then let our Love's obstructer die,  
But I Prognosticate,  
Many, that his Throne shall supply,  
Shall taste the selfsame Fate.  MORTIMER. 
No matter, I am sure my brow  
Shall ne'er impaled be,  
With Britain's wreath, a Crown I know  
Was not ordained for me.  ISABEL. 
Oh, but unhappy Edward's Son,  
See'st not how he does lower,  
He knows, although a Child, what's done,  
He must ere long have power.  MORTIMER. 
But I'll anticipate his time,  
The Boy shall to his Sire,  
That he is Edward's is his Crime,  
Ere long he shall expire.  ISABEL. 
But my distressed Soul doth Divine  
Thou by his rage shalt Perish,  
I justly in a Prison pine,  
That durst such Treason cherish.   

EPIG. 22. To the hopeful and excellently Ingenious, Mr. JOHN QUARLES.  
IT were a Treason, 'gainst Apollo's Gam,  
Should I not consecrate one Epigram  
To thee (sweet Quarles) whose Person though I ne'er  
Did bless my eyes with, I affect most dear,  
Heir to thy Father's Genius, He whose Brain  
Measured the Earth, and Fathomed the Main,  
Whose Theologick Lays I do admire,  
Who drew the Star's down with his Thespian Lyre.  
How like thy Father dost thou strike the Strings,  
Soaring aloft, borne on those very wings  
Raped him to the third Heaven, where he's now,  
Wearing as fair an Anadem on's brow  
As godlike Bartas claims, go thou but on,  
And doubt not of a Chaplet, and a Throne.   

EPIG. 23. On Mr. Chapman's Incomparable Translation of Homer's Works.  
What none before durst ever venture on,  
Unto our wonder is by Chapman done,  
Who by his skill hath made great Homer's Song  
To veil its Bonnet to our English tongue,  
So that the Learned well may question it,  
Whether in Greek, or English Homer writ?  
O happy Homer, such an able Pen  
To have for thy Translator, happier than  

* By Golding.  Ovid, or 
* By Phaer.  Virgil, who beyond their strength  
Are sttretcht, each Sentence near a Mile in length:  
But our renowned Chapman worthy praise,  
And meriting the never blasted Bays,  
Had rendered Homer in a genuine sense,  
Yea, and hath added to his Eloquence:  
And in his Comments, his true sense doth show,  
Telling Spondanus, what he ought to know;  
Eusthatius, and all that on them take  
Great Homer's Mistick meaning plain to make,  
Yield him more dark, with far fetched Allegories,  
Sometimes mistaking, clean, his learned Stories:  
As 'bout the fly 
* Menelaus, Agamemnon's Brother, a Soft pated Prince, as Homer [covertly] renders him throughout his Illiads, and as Mr. Chapman hath aptly observed in Homer.  Menelaus did inspire,  
Juno's retreat, Achilles strange desire;  
but he, to his own sense doth him restore,  
And Comments on him better than before  
Any could do, for which (with Homer) we  
Will yield all Honour to his Memory.   

EPIG. 24. Epitaph on Mr. Flood.  
REader, thou needest no Inundation fear,  
Yet be it known a Flood's Imprisoned here.   

EPIG. 25. To Mr. E. G.  
YOu say, (Sir) that I do obscurely live,  
And my retyr'dnesse doth suspicion give,  
Fame (you say) on wings doth fly,  
" Whole aves himself, doth living die,  
'Tis true, I do in darkness go,  
That I am thought-bound well I know,  
Honour I seek not, I flight Fame,  
I feel within, what those do blame  
That are without, I scorn, 'tis true  
The World, it me, I honour you.   

EPIG. 26. Epitaph on Mr. James Gourd a singing-man.  
HFre lies a Chorister, whose voice applied  
Unto the Organ, oft hath dignified  
His maker, who so liked his Carroling,  
He took him into heaven there to sing.   

EPIG. 27. To the PARLIAMENT of ENGLAND.  
YOu are the Brain, the Liver and the Heart,  
We are the Hands  
Of this great Body, and the Vital part,  
The Feet whereon it stands,  
The Bones, and Bulk, which must the Burden bear,  
Therefore without offence  
With you we (sure) may claim an equal share,  
'Specially in the Common sense.   

EPIG. 28. To Mr. Edward Gosling pitying my want of Books.  
THe rage of these rude times hath snatched away  
My Books, from Aesop to Mirandula,  
I now for Books have 'bove my head the skies,  
The Truth for Light, and Reason for my Eyes,  
Under me Earth, about me Air, and Sea,  
Virtue for Guide, and Nature for my Way,  
And truth to say, in Books, as Clouds, men see  
Of whose Embracements, Centaurs gotten be.   

EPIG. 29. A Parallel.  
AS Humours drawn up from the Ground  
Are unto many Functions bound,  
'Cause of their native property,  
And climes through which their journeys be,  
Some Meteors, that amaze below,  
Some Comets, that fore-threaten woe,  
Some hailstones, that afflict the earth,  
Some rain, which hastens every birth,  
Lightning and Thunder made of those  
Cold regions double heats enclose:  
So is mankind in other fashion  
Raised and let fall with his own passion,  
Formed, Transformed, made instruments  
In many shapes, and many vents,  
Feeding great men, as Vapours do,  
And vading Scourge their Parents too:  
Some misshaped Meteors terrifying  
True Spirits, under Tyrants lying,  
Others like Winds, and made to blow  
To breath themselves, and overthrow  
Others, some like Dews where they touch,  
Exhalation-like, some flame too much,  
Hatching in heats of power and will,  
Thunders, and Flames, t' amaze and kill.   

EPIG. 30. To Mr. John Sob, of these times.  
FAme, and Religion but assure  
Vain man, to give wounds, and endure,  
Those Princes still most famous are,  
Who stain most earth with blood in war,  
As when winds 'mongst themselves do jar,  
So restless humours bring forth war,  
Seas than are tossed, the waves do fight,  
The people bear the wounds of might,  
All the diseases of the head  
Descending till the Limbs be dead.   

EPIG. 31. The Character of an accomplished Man.  

He that is moulded of a noble mind,  
Dares bear (with Atlas) Heaven on his back  
Flies not with feathers of a Buzzard kind,  
Doth reverence, not fear the Thunder crack.  
Sups up his sighs, and swallows down his grief,  
Beggs but of God, or of his great Vicegerents,  
Cannot endure to name the word, Relief,  
And serves but Honour, or her loved Adherents.   

Knows his Deserts, and yet cannot Importune,  
Bites on bare need, and yet laments no lack,  
Hates to be called or thought the Child of Fortune,  
Stoops not to Death, until his heartstrings crack.  
Lives like himself, and at his latest breath  
Dies like himself, a Conqueror of Death.    

EPIG. 32. To his Excellency, the Lord General Cromwell.  
SIr, Power is proud, till it look down to Fear,  
Though only safe, by ever looking there,  
King's Thrones were ever like enchanted fires,  
Mighty to see, and easy to pass over:  
The Torrid Zone of Tyranny retires  
Into the Frigid, and can ne'er recover  
Its Pristine Station, when it is dislocated  
By Providence, and Power ingemminated:  
Sir, ● confess when one man ruleth all,  
There Fear and Care, are secret ways of Wit,  
Where all must rise, and only one must fall,  
Safety aspire, and care must manage it.  
Dead men are only trusted by the wise,  
On speechless Forms we may securely rise.  
Those Spirits of Practice that contend with Fate,  
Must by their Deaths do Honour to a State,  
New counsels must be had, when Planets fall,  
Change hath her Periods, and is natural.   

EPIG. 33. To the profoundly Learned, and unparallelled Antiquary, John Selden Esquire.  
THou living Library, the admiration  
Of this our Borean Clime; who knowst each Nation  
Their Origen, Laws, Ceremonies, all  
Their customs trivial, or authent call,  
All which thou hast narrated with such skill,  
That more than Camb●ens) all admire thy Quill,  
Scalligers but a Pupil unto thee,  
(The very Basis of Antiquity)  
Sufficient Characters to express all things  
Thou hast, nor needest thou Metaphorick wings:  
For all the Earth is thine a Caspian Sea  
Thou art, and all Brooks sally into thee,  
But like the Ocean, thou giv'st back far more  
To those clear springs, than thou receiv'st before;  
From thee true living Wisdom doth proceed,  
Thou hast the art of Floquence (indeed)  
What bold presumption is it (then) in me  
To dedicate my Epigrams to thee,  
Yet so I dare to do, that all may know  
I wish the censure of the rigid'st brow.   

EPIG. 34. Not to wonder at the monstrosity of these times.  
men's Vices, Beasts chief Virtues are,  
●he shames of ●eace, the pride of Warr.   

EPIG. 35. To Maul my Wife.  
DEarest Love, I pray thee tell,  
Is not he an Infidel,  
That conceiv's thy dainty sex  
Were only made for to perplex  
Wretched mankind, and that the Gods,  
Framed the first woman, when at odds:  
The Whore Pandora with her Box  
Brought healing medicines, not the Pox.  
Hesiod was beside his sense  
When he divulged with impudence  
All the Plagues that fall on man  
From Pandora first began.  
O my Dear, whom I prefer  
Above my Life, my wished Star,  
In whose embraces I do sleep,  
When I have folded up my Sheep,  
Let not any casualty,  
Any harsh Adversity  
Dull thy noble sense, or yet  
Force thee 'gainst thy stars to fret,  
Philemon, and poor Baucis, who  
Lived in penury, and woe,  
By Saturnus and his Son  
Were visited and Favours won,  
When mighty Kings their Persons wanted,  
Let nought make thee and I be daunted.  
But what need I advertise thee,  
Whose copious Ingenuity,  
Athenia makes more jealous fare  
Then when Arachne challenged her,  
The Gods, I' me sure, appointed thee  
As only fit, my Wife to be:  
Juno, and Hymen, both delight  
To wait on us, let Fortune's spite  
But give us cause of mirth, the Graces  
Do wait on us, and our Embraces.   

EPIG. 36. The Conclusion.  
'TIs done, but (Englishman) if thou  sit  
As Judge, be sure thou hast a Latin wit.  
The end of the Sixth and last Book.     

THE SOCRATIC SESSION, OR The Arraignment and Conviction, OF JULIUS SCALIGER.  
By S. SHEPPARD.  
LONDON. Printed by G. D. for Thomas Bucknell, at the Sign of the Golden Lion in Ducklane, 1651.   

The Persons in this PARLIAMENT.  

ORPHEUS.  
LINUS.  
HESIOD.  
MUSEUS.  
MENANDER.  
ARISTOPHANES.  
SOPHOCLES.  
EURIPIDES.  
PINDAR.  
ANACREON.  
THEOCRITUS.  
AESCHELINUS.  
APOLLONIUS.  
JUVENAL.  
VIRGIL.  
SENECA.  
MARTIUS'.  
CAPELLA.  
LUCRETIUS.  
HORACE.  
PERSIUS.  
MARTIAL.  
OVID.  
LUCAN.  
STATIUS.  
CLAUDIAN.  
TIBULLUS.  
MANTUAN.  
PROPERTIUS.  
CATULLUS.  
AUSONIUS.  
PALINGENIUS.  
MANILLIUS.  
BOETHIUS.  
HOMER, (as a mute)  
SCALIGER, the Delinquent.  
APOLLO, President.  
NEMESIS, A Fury employed.  
THE CONVOCATION HOUSE. CASTALIA.  
MERCURY, Cryer of the Court.    

To the truly judicious, my much honoured Friend james Yate, Esquire.  
Sir,  
THe many Favours that have been put upon me by your profuse Palm, command at least a manifestation of what gratitude I own to your much meriting self: (Sir) I know this Poem, (though concise) yet for the rareness and solidity of the Subject, will find welcome with you. It castigates him, who hath censured all the Wits of the World, (from the Creation to his time.) Scaliger was indeed a man of profound Learning, and admirable Elocution, but (sure) much besides himself, when he jeers (with his French wit) so grossly, and vituperatively, the Master of all Learning, and Science, Divine HOMER.  
Poetarum omnium, & praestantissimum, & Divinissimum,  (according to Plato) 
— Cujusque ex ore profuso, Amnemque in tenues ausa & deducere rivos, unius foecundia bonis.—  Manil. Astrol. LIB. 2. 

From whose large mouth for Verse, all that since live  
Drew water, and grew bolder to derive  
Into thin shallow Rivers his deep flood,  
Richly luxuriant in one man's good.   

The Fount of Wit was Homer, Learning's Sire,  
And gave the Liberal Arts their living fire,  
Apollo stood amazed, and did confess  
Himself was equalled in Maeonides.   
Out of him (saith Learned Plutarch) are all Arts deduced, Angelus Politianus, nominates him the true and only Apollo: His Iliads, and Odysseys (saith Eusthatius) for their Excellency, may be worthily called the Sun, and Moon of the Earth: out of the entire affection that I bear to the Name, and Honour of that most Divine and inimitable Wit, as also in the vindication of Poesy, so deeply wounded by this Critic, in detracting from Homer's incomparable worth) I have summoned (by Apollo's Writts) most of all the ancient Greek, and Latin Poets to a full Session, (as in Parliament) The manner of their meeting with their various Votes, and Dissolution. Yourself, may inform yourself, in half an hour.  
Sir, Your humble Servant, S. SHEPPARD.   

To the Author on his Socratic Session.  
'TWas boldly ventured (Friend) what, to defy,  
And fight with him, with whom all do comply,  
Most out of fear, and others of affection,  
This 'tis to have Apollo's grand protection:  
Such a Delinquent Scaliger was ever,  
He hath been blamed, (till now) arraigned never:  
How doth the grand Moeonian Bard rejoice  
To hear the sound of thy Stentorian voice,  
Reverberated by the Trump of Fame,  
Purging his Honour, Deifying his Name:  
Such power is in thy spell, (not like Medea  
To raise up Pluto) but call down Astrea,  
That at thy summons all the wits do come,  
And for thy sake, forsake Elysium:  
Their censure's just, and so is mine, thy Praise  
Should not be Thanks, but Anadems of Bays.  
Edward May.   

THE SOCRATIC SESSION, OR The Parliament of Poets, Containing, The Arraignment, and Conviction OF JULIUS SCALIGER.  MERCURY. 
O Yes, O Yes, come on, come on,  
Ye tiplers of clear Helicon,  
Here take your seats, ye wise, and grave,  
And cram up this Castalian Cave,  
No matter though you sit all night,  
Since countenanced by the god of light.  APOLLO, WITH A TRAIN OF BARDS. APOLLO to Homer. 

SIt here (grave Sir) or else more rather  
Fill that Throne, my most honoured Father,  
Thy Doric Lyre  
Made th' Heavenly Choir  
More wonder, and more joccund fare  
Then when sung the Giant's War:  
The rest (Hermes) I leave to thee,  
Place each man, as is his Degree.   MERCURY. 
Orpheus, Linus, Hesiod,  
Who gav'st a birth to every God:  
You three  
Accompany,  
Unless you please for to prefer  
This ancient Schoolmaster  
To your society; ORP. LIN. He merits it,  
Is not this 
* Musaeus  he Leander writ?  MERCURY. 
The same, why here's Menander too,  
Faith (Sir) we did look for you.  
Please (Sir) to be  
Alone, You ere loved singularity,  
Pray take your ease,  
Sir, Aristophanes,  
With Sophocles,  
And Euripides,  
You need not brawl—  
For room, this Form will hold you all,  
This seat must be reserved alone  
For Pindar, and Anacreon,  
They come amongst the rest for to discuss,  
What! my smooth Theocritus,  
Most acute in every Page,  
Possessed with Lymphatic Rage,  
Here are no Neatheards— sit thee down,  
Whence comes this muffled Clown?  PINDAR. 
Oh 'tis our Friend  
Aeschelinus, see his head  
Is wounded, some Malevolent Fiend  
Shaped like an Eagle. MERCURY. Tread  
Softly, for fear  
Hyperion hear,  
Whose wrath I must expect to bear,  
If any I admit to come  
With a cracked 〈…〉.  
Good Sir come in,  
The game is ready to begin,  
Here only wants  
You, and your Argonantes.  APOLLONIUS Enters. 
The Grecians all are marshaled for the Fight,  
Now let me rank Aeneas offspring Right.  VIRGIL Enters. 
Stay (Sir) have you the face  
To claim a place  
'Fore Juvenal, we know your Muse  JUVENAL preferred before VIRGIL by MERCURY. 
Did the Moeonian, and Ascraean use,  
Him no supply,  
All sprang from his own Ingenuity.  
Now you may sit  
Having done homage to his Wit,  
Make way  
For Seneca.  SENECA Enters. A Scuffle for Superiority. 
Nay be not angry (Sirs) for you must know it,  
he's a Peripatetic, and a Poet.  MARTIUS' CAPELLA Enters. 
The like to us  
Art thou (sweet Martius,)  LUCRETIUS Enters. 
And thou Lucretius,  
Sat ye together, be not vexed  
Dear Horace, thou art next.  HORACE Enters with PERSIUS. HORACE. 
I cannot Persius brook,  
H'as such a crabbed look.  MERCURY. 
Still jeering, Flaccus, (Sir) sit down,  
Wear (next to Juvenal) the Crown.  MARTIAL Enters. 
— You have been mist  
Acquaint Epigrammatist.  OVID Enters. 
Oh Sir, y''ve lost the Day,  
By your too tardy stay,  
Admired Naso t' would not please,  
If we should Metamorphose these  
Already seated, 'twould become  
Another Tristium.  
Therefore, though great  
In worth, there take thy seat.  APOLLO. 
Active Cylenius  
Bring hither next to us  
Lucan, and Statius.  LUCAN AND STATIUS next APOLLO. 
Ye worthy pair, who did great Acts rehearse,  
In fare more mighty and Immortal Verse,  
It is your due,  
That I should honour you.— here sit.  MER. 
Ho stay, bear back there,— 'tis not fit  
That every gay Poetic man  
Should press before sweet Claudian,  
Though elder in degree,  
Y'are lesser fare than he.  CLAUDIAN Enters, with TIBULLUS, PROPERTIUS, CATULLUS, AUSONIUS, PALINGENIUS, MANILLIUS, BOETHIUS. 
Sat Claudian, now approach Tibullus,  
Propertius, Mantuan, and Catullus,  
Ausonius, Palingenius too,  
(Sir) here is hardly room for you,  
Yet enter, thoust a throat  
Will help make up the Vote.  MERCURY. 
By the faith of gods, and men  
You have undone us Gentlemen,  
You cannot now inherit  
The places which you merit.  MANIL. 
we'll only be spectators. BOE, We  
Will not disturb the Company.  MERCURY. 
Your assent,  
Must mix in this great Parliament,  
Sweet Naso is alone  
Without Companion,  
You two sit next him.  APOLLO. 
Are all placed?  MER. 
Yes Sir, with much ado, at last.  APOLLO. 

Hear then (great 
* Homer  Rival) and my honoured Sons,  
(Beloved by the gods, and sacred Nine)  
Whom I am proud to call Companions,  
We convocated are by aid Divine,  
To castigate a Critic Elf,  
Who Censured all men but himself,  
Who hath blasphemed the three times three,  
Taxing the Master of all Poesy.   

Great Homer, from whose mouth came all  
That we can rare, or learned call,  
To hear whom I amazed oft have stood,  
Listening to him, as some god:  
All Rivers from the great Oceanus' spring,  
From him all Verse, he is the Poets King.  
Bring the Delinquent (Atlantiades)  
Unto the Bar, place him upon his knees.   Nemesis enters with Scaliger, places him at the Bar. MER. 
Rhamnusian Nemesis— appear  
With the Cur'st Critic Scaliger.  
Great light, he doth refuse to kneel.  APOL. 
Whip him (stern Fiend) and let him feel  
Thy strokes. SCAL. 
* Scalliger tormented.  Hold, hold, I am content,  
Oh, wherefore am I hither sent?  APOL. 

Injurious Frenchman, knowst thou not the cause?  
Thou Traitor to our Fundamental Laws,  
Whose envious Treason's hurled  
Through all parts of the World.   

Hast thou not uttered horrid Blasphemy,  
Against my Crown, and th' Muse's Dignity?  
What moved thee to belch forth  
Aspersions 'gainst the worth  
Of Divine Homer? making Maro fare  
(Although his Ape) 'bove him superior,  
And therewith not content  
Voted'st Museus much more eminent.  
Do we not know when twenty years of Age  
Thou couldst not give the meaning of one Page  
Of the Phrygian Fabulators,  
Though with the help of Commentators,  
Yet afterwards we do confess,  
Thou understood'st twelve Languages,  
Which makes thy crime the greater,  
By consequence thy punishment completer.  
he's Planet struck.   — SCAL. 
My guilty sense  
Cannot afford me so much impudence  
For to deny  
My treachery.  
Great Phoebus, I acknowledge my offence,  
By thy bright self, I swear,  
I held great Homer dear:  
His Poesy  
As sung by thee,  
Above all humane wit did seem to me,  
Yet by Ambition lead,  
I rashly censured  
His most incomparable works; as low  
That by eclipsing him, I great may grow.  APOLLO. 
This Ingenious free confession  
Mitigates much of the Transgression,  
But must not Anticipate  
The destined rigour of thy fate.  
You hear (great Rival) and the rest  
Of my loved Sons, this Critic hath confessed  
His Treachery, but there's no reason,  
Acknowledgement should expiate a Treason,  
Great Homer must not be  
His Judge, do you decree  
Each give his verdict,  
But Impartially.— Speak dearest Son—  SCALIGER CENSURED. ORPHEUS. 
Unto a Rock of ye.  
Let him be chained. LINUS. To expiate his vice  
With Ixion, give him torture on a wheel.  
HESIOD. Tantalus' torment let him feel.  
MUSEUS. I still must sing as I was wont,  
Plunge him (Leander like) i'th' Hellespont.  MENANDER. 
Let Cerberus still worry him, or let  
Him to the chin in Phlegeton be set.  SOPHOC. 
Let him be given into Aenyos hand.  EURIPIDES. 
Let fell Maegera lash him with her brand.  PINDAR. 
In a steep gulf of fire  
Let him howl, and ne'er expire.  ANACREON. 
Falling ever  
From on high,  
Wishing still  
A greater ill,  
And yet never,  
Any other torture try.  LUCAN. 

* Lucan, and Statius give their verdict amongst the Greeks is order to A pollos appointment, who hath preferred them to a place amongst them.  His Critic Soul into some flesh prefer.  
Destined by Fate to be a Schoolmaster.  STATIUS. 
Or else by power Divine,  
Seclude it in some Swine.  AESCHELINUS. 
Titius' Kites still tear his heart.  APOLLONIUS. 
Horror from him never part.  JUVENAL. 
Beneath mount Aetna give him place  
With the Ringleaders, of the snakefoot-race,  
Once darted mountains at Jove's face.  VIRGIL. 
Sisyphus snowball let him roll.  SENECA. 
Let the three Furies tear his Soul  
Eternally, with furious ire.  MARTIUS' CAPELLA. 
Confine him to that Lake of fire  
Girds Erebus. LUCRETIUS. I confirm his Vote.  HORACE. 
Let Sulphur down his throat  
Continually be poured.  PERSIUS. 
Let him give ease  
Unto the Belides,  
And ever mourn,  
Filling the fatal Urn.  OVID. 
Let him still curse his Fate,  
While he the Elysian Joys doth contemplate.  CLAUDIAN. 
Charon's assotiate let him be  
To ferry,  
Souls in his Wherrie,  
And tug the oar, till the earth dissolved be.  TIBULLUS. 
And then be caged with swart Tisiphone.  PROPERTIUS. 
Sodom's destruction still environ him.  MANTUA. 
Ever in black Cocytus let him swim.  AUSONIUS. 
Seat him where Nero sits.  CATULLUS. 
Place him on  
Some ever-flaming Grydion. PAL. The like I Vote.  MANILUS. 
Let him still melt, and ne'er expire  
In THYESTES' sickly fire.  BOETHIUS. 
With Homer's Momus (Lucian) seat him,  
And let his Fancy ever cheat him.  APOLLO. 
These are your Votes. OMNES They are.  APOLLO. 
Then thus,  
I crown your censures. Japetus  
Sits where my piercing Rays ne'er shoot  
With sullen Saturn, dark as soot  
All about them is the sky,  
There place this Critic (Mercury.)  
Every day let him torment tastes  
Varying, as their Votes have past.  A SHOUT. 
So let him ever ban his Birth.  OMNES. 
Thanks great Apollo, Heaven and Earth  
Still bless thy Beams.  APOLLO. 
Now all be gone,  
Thus endeth our SOCRATIC SESSION.  MERCURY. 

* Hyperion, a name of APOLLO.  Hyperion, and Homer all alone,  
Are flown up to the milky path,  
And now every Bard that hath  
Place in Elysium, follow me along,  
Each Prophet chanting a Triumphant song.  
The End.   

A MAUSOLEAN MONUMENT, Erected By a SORROWFUL SON over His Deceased Parents: With THREE PASTORALS.  
Two of them alluding to some Late Proceed between Parties.  
By S. SHEPPARD.  
LONDON, Printed by G. D. for Thomas Bucknell, at the Sign of the Golden Lion in Ducklane, 1651.   

To the worthy, my much honoured Kinsman, Christopher Clapham of Beamsly Esquire.  
SIR,  
I Know you are as fare from pride as Ignorance, and not only understand, but love endeavours of this kind; the ensueing Ellegies (memorizing my much honoured Parents) I present to your Patronage: for that you were well acquainted with their persons (when on Earth) and can witness (with me) to the World, that I am not partial in my praises: Sir, I have a hope that reason ere long may clear your eyesight, that so at length you may look up, and view him, whom hitherto you have unkindly neglected, to hasten which desired day, I have not only alarumed you with groans from graves, but do also sound Pan's Pipe in your ears, dedicating unto you also the following Eglogues, and I beseech you, assure yourself, that as they cannot prove disgraceful to me, so they must needs be esteemed, an addition of Honour to you: among all the Poets in that wise age wherein Moecenae lived, Virgil, and Horace were the only the only two, whose mean Fortunes needed his liberality, as well as their virtues deserved his acquaintance, how liberal he was, their acknowledgements in their works have testified to the World. Sir, you are blest with much substance, you cannot better provide for your name, then to be kind to those, in whose power it is either to cajol, or canonize you to all posterity. I may safely aver that it was happy for Moecenae (not only that Virgil, and Horace lived in his time, but) that those two famous men should live in such estates as to need his bounty, though that excellent Epigarmmatist, Marshal, could say, Sint Moecenates, non deerunt Flacce Marones'.  
Yet the contrary (by experience) hath been found: Maro's have been borne, when no Moecenasses have lived to cherish them. As Homer, the wonder of Posterity, in his own time little esteemed, and Moecenasses have lived and wanted Maro's. Alexander the great (than whom none more desirous of Fame, or more able to requite, yet (if we may credit Arianus) found not one Poet to memorise his actions. I have been Sir) some thing prolix on this subject of Poets and Patrons, to make you sensible, that your liberality to the Muses, will be retributed with double advantage, you may as you please determine of me, that as I never had, I care not how soon I lose.  
Sir, I am Yours, Affectionately devoted, S. SHEPPARD.   

FUNERAL ELLEGIES.  

AN ELLEGIE ON THE DEATH OF MY MOST DEAR AND REVEREND FATHER, DOCTOR HARMAN SHEPPARD, who Deceased july 12. 1639.  

IN what words shall I  my Verse whilst I  
(O Father) do weep out thy Ellegie?  
Stab me some one that loves me, that my blood  
Spouting from forth my veins, like to a flood  
I may take thence my Ink, and so proceed  
To write a line for every ounce I bleed.  
Prompt me some Ghost, Melpome thy aid  
Afford, O thou most sad dejected Maid,  
I court thee now, as chiefest of the Nine,  
And truth to say, thou only art Divine,  
And Lovely in my eyes, help me to moan,  
Thou that for fifty slaughtered Sons didst groan  
Whiles thy fair City sparkled to the skies,  
And thou each minute anxious of surprise,  
Thy grief as mine was most transcendent sure,  
And mine with thine shall evermore endure.   

What direful Planet, enemy to man,  
Usurped the Hemisphere, what influence ran  
O'er the Earth's surface, and produced that day  
On which my Reverend Sire was snatched away?  
Ye Fatal Sisters, whom all mortals dread,  
Oh how durst you in fury cut his thread  
Who was Jove's darling, and whose single skill  
Curbed iron Mors, and slaved him to his will,  
While (like another Aesculapius)  
He redeemed souls destined for Erebus,  
And by the working mineral alone  
Gave them from death a sure redemption:  
Great Paracelsus Son, he called was,  
And by his skill, as strange things brought to pass,  
He knew the motions of the Heavens, how fare  
Extent Jehovah hath assigned each star,  
Orion's progress, and the hidden cause  
Makes Cynthia , gives Oceanus' Laws:  
Sleep blessed Spirit in thy gelid urn,  
All I can do is thy great loss to mourn,  
And by this deathless Verse to raise thy fame,  
That after times may reverence thy name.   

HIS EPITAPH.  
GReat Aesculapiu's Son here lies,  
A Leech that cured all maladies,  
A Paracelsian, and yet knew  
Better than Galen how to do,  
He taught the operations  
And virtues of most herbs and stones,  
The day and hour he did impart,  
That Mors would strike him with his dart,  
Three years before his Soul went hence,  
Age laid him here, no impotence:  
Grim Death, it to the soul did grieve,  
His skill so many should reprieve,  
Destined to Charon's Boat, in ire  
With Atropos he did conspire,  
And contrary to Jove's Decree,  
Robbed him of his Mortality,  
When he had numbered ninety years,  
Sighed for with sobs, condoled in tears.    

AN ELLEGIE ON THE DEATH OF MY DEAR AND TRULY VIRTUOUS MOTHER, Mis. PETTRONELLA SHEPPARD, Who Deceased September 10. 1650.  

ALL I can do I will, Nature alone,  
Doth not enjoined, the valluation  
I set on Virtue doth command my Quill (Triumphant Saint) these lines for to distil:  
Thou gav'st me life, now thou hast lost thy breath,  
●et me at least preserve thy Name from Death.   

● will not tax the stars, or on pretence  
Of grief defy each heavenly influence,  
Quarrel with Atropos, give Mors the lie,  
And denounce war against each Destiny,  
For snatching thee away, a special Fate  
From hence to Heaven did thy Soul translate,  
This dirty orb, not worthy for to bear  
A Soul so matchless, so Divinely fair.  
Vriell did Eliah's Chariot guide,  
In which up to Olympus thou didst ride.   

As Sol beneath a Cloud, as Gold in dung,  
So wert thou conversant on Earth too long,  
Prosperity could not beguile thy sense,  
Nor Fortunes frown cause thy impatience,  
I am not partial in what I aver,  
I would be Truths, and not thy Chronicler.   

Hadst thou survived in those imperfect times  
When He find wrote, and Homer sang his rhymes,  
Thou hadst been VESTA, or some Deity,  
More glorious, more divinely chaste than she:  
●●r had those of that age thy virtues seen,  
The first and greatest Sibyl thou hadst been:  
Or had the Romish Faith thy soul surprised,  
Most sure ere this thou hadst been canonised,  
And placed it Rubric, found as fair a day  
As Agnes, Agathe, or Ursula.  
What though the pomp, and that affected state  
Which many a Lais doth accumulate,  
Was wanting at thy death, and in the dark  
(Perhaps without the Priest, or Parish Clarke)  
Thou wert but half inhumed, this is thy glory,  
That both in life and death things transitory,  
Were thy contempt and scorn (perhaps it was so)  
Decreed above thou to thy grave shouldst go  
Like Moses wrapped in Mists, lest after days  
Reading this story of thy lasting praise,  
Should erect temples to thy virtuous Name,  
Search for thy body, and adore the same.   

Rest, Rest thou glorious Saint, the feigned praise  
Which doth unto the skies the glory raise  
Of Aria, Portia, and Lucretia,  
Evadne, or famed Artimesia,  
Suffers eclipse in thee. O sad 〈…〉,  
That thou whose Virtues were so Paramount,  
Should find so little Room i'th' book of Fame,  
Yet this shall serve to keep alive thy Name,  
I would say more, did not my tears prevent,  
Be this thy Pyramid and Monument.   

HER EPITAPH.  
WIth reverend awe this earth tread on,  
It merits your Devotion.  
Beneath this turf lies Chastity,  
Wisdom, and real Piety  
Kneaded together, buried here  
(Though without Tomb or Sepulchre)  
Lies Arias, Loyal love and all,  
That we can rare, or precious call.  
A woman, who for wit might vie  
With Pallas, for sobriety  
With the famed 
* Lucrece.  Wife of Collatine,  
Her gesture grave, her words Divine,  
No Fortune could her thoughts divide,  
A Saint she lived, a Saint she died.    

THE ADVENTUROUS BARD. OR (UXORIOUS) ORPHEUS HIS DESCENT.  
While Sweet Eurydice in flight  
Invoked the sad and shady night,  
For to abscond her from the eye  
Of 
* Aristaeus.  him that sought her lustfully,  
The chaste soul as she fled ne'er spied  
A Snake (by whose fell sting she died)  
Lurking i'th' rank grown grass, but all  
The Dryad's at her funeral  
Wept on high Pangaea, and  
The Rodopeian Towers, the Land  
Of Rhaesus, yea the Gets for woe,  
Athenian, Orythia too,  
But he his sick soul solacing,  
Oft to his instrument would sing  
Of his loved Wife o'th' shore alone,  
Morning, nor night could end his moan,  
He through the gloomy wood did venture,  
Pluto's grisly cave to enter  
Toth' Ghosts, and their grim King he went  
Hearts that to prayers did ne'er relent:  
From Hell's dark nooks the Ghosts do throng,  
Even shadows moved by his song,  
Came forth by thousands, as a flight  
Of little Birds i'th' woods, whom night  
Or showers, do thither drive in shoals,  
Ghosts of both sexes, the great souls  
Of Heroes, and of Virgins there,  
Youths buried ere their parents were,  
Whom swart Cocytus' banks enclose,  
And that black pool that never flows,  
Styx nine times 'bout it rowles his waves,  
Hell's inmost Vaults, and torturing Caves  
Were oped, th' Eumenideses forbear  
To menace with their snaky hair,  
Yea, Cerberus to bark refrains,  
Ixion's wheel unmoved remains,  
Returning not lest touched had he  
Behind him, his Eurydice  
Restored to life (for this accord  
Proserpina made with her black Lord)  
Forgetful love a frenzy wrought,  
But trivial, could Fiends pardon aught  
Near to the light forgetful he  
Must needs vie with Eurydice:  
Which frustrates all the pains he took,  
The Tyrant's Covenant is broke,  
And thrice Avernus' lake resounds  
Thus she,   

EURYDICE TO ORPHEUS.  
What madness thus confounds  
Thyself and me, stern Fates surprise  
Me bcak, Death's slumbers close my eyes,  
Farewell; I'm summoned, and must go  
Back to the iron Isle of Woe:  
As smoke fleets, so she vanished there,  
And left him for to clasp the air,  
he'd try again no more, alas,  
Will churlish Charon let him pass.  
What should he do, the Fiends do move  
With tears, with Prayers, the Gods above:  
His cold Wife serried thence away  
In Charon's boat, seven Months they say  
Weeping near Strymons forfeit waves  
In dark and solitary Caves,  
To hard Rocks did his Ills lament,  
Trees moved, and Tigers did relent,  
So Philomela on an Orange Tree,  
Wales her youngs loss, whom cruelly  
A Husbandman ere fleged for flight,  
Snatched thence, she spends in grief the night,  
From a bough sings her sorrow there  
With moans filling the places near,  
Now heavenly Muse with Art relate  
The Thracian Poets future fate,  
Nor Venus, or bright Hymen's rites  
Moved him, wand'ring in woeful plights,  
o'er Riphaean fields, where frost ere lies  
Scythian ye, snowy Tanais,  
Bewailing Pluto's bootless boon,  
And that again his Wife was gone.  
Those Dames whose beds he did despise,  
Raging in Bacchus' Sacrifice:  
His limbs they strewed o'er th' fields abroad,  
When swift Oeagrian Hebrus flood,  
His ravished head did bear along  
Eurydice, his dying tongue  
Ah poor Eurydice did resound,  
Which words, the banks did echo round.  
His Father Phoebus made more moan,  
Then when he lost his Phaeton:  
(Some do avouch that for three days  
He left his Car, put off his Rays)  
To see his Orpheus rudely rend,  
Up to Olympus straight he went,  
Fell at Jove's feet, of him desires  
A Tomb, he grants what he requires:  
His Sons torn limbs he up doth gather  
(Wailing like to some earthly Father)  
Burying them in the milkie-way,  
Caused by a bright refulgent ray,  
He darts with a Paternal care  
On his loved Orpheus Sepulchre,  
Here Orpheus sits, and sweetly sings  
And strongly strikes the quavering strings,  
When Jove, and all the gods do come,  
(For they must reeds pass by this Tomb)  
Unto their Senate House, and there,  
Determine for to smite or spare:  
Still-ever-clogd-vicious-mankind  
Here the sweet singer is confined:  
Yet in no worse a prison lies  
Then what immures the Deities.   
The End.   

PASTORALS.  

THE FIRST PASTORAL.  
Amarillis. Claius.  

The ARGUMENT.  
Amarillis doth discover  
Her desires unto her Lover,  
Showing how her nature scorns  
Those whom Virtue not adorns,  
After which the swain and she  
Intent by Hymen linked to be.   

IN the merry month of May,  
When the Birds on every Spray  
Sat chirping Amarillis fair,  
Softer than down, sweeter than air,  
Drove her floks from forth their fold  
Which when Claius did behold,  
He said, loved Nymph, be pleased that I  
May you this day accompany,  
Our flocks together feeding, we  
Beneath some broad-branched Myrtle Tree  
Will sit, where with my pipe will I  
Make you pleasant melody,  
And when Sol our shades shall lengthen,  
We with Cates ourselves will strengthen.  
Within my bag (by me is put)  
As good souse as ere was cut,  
With Butter made of purest milk,  
And of Curds as soft as silk,  
And in my bottle nappy Ale  
Made of sweet Malt, and two month's stale.  
And though my buskins are not painted,  
Nor I with Courts and Kings acquainted,  
Yet, gentle Nymph, take note that I  
Am not born ignoblly:  
I have seen the Grace's three,  
When my pipe made mellodie  
To dance about me, and the Fairies  
(Who so often nym our Daries)  
In a Ring to compass round,  

* Queen Mab.  Obera, tripping on the ground,  
Leave behind them to be seen  
A perfect Oval on the green,  
The Satyrs rude and full of ire  
Have sat and listened to my Lyre,  
And when my pipe hath ceased to play  
Have discontented gone away.  
Then, sweet Nymph be pleased that I  
May you this day accompany.   

Quoth Amarillis, So may PAN  
Preserve my flocks from harm and wan,  
So may the Wolf keep from my Fold,  
As I thee (Shepherd) dear do hold.  
Although Myrtillus seek my love,  
And Palemon, the same do prove,  
Although Thomalin much me gives,  
And by his wealth to win me strives,  
Yet I Myrtillus hate, for he  
Coming the other day to me,  
As I sat beneath the shade,  
Which a broad spreading Beech-tree made,  
Had words, and gestures so uncivil,  
I see his tongue and heart are evil.  
Palemon too, although his flock  
Be great, and greater far his stock,  
Yet I affect him not, for though,  
He hath the art to shroud it so,  
I am acquainted with his mind,  
And that he is to ills inclined:  
For th' other day within the wood  
My flocks by chance having strayed for food,  
As I to gather them was going,  
Under a tree I found him wooing  
A Shepherdess unto his Lust,  
But seeing me, himself he thrust  
Amid the thick and shady boughs:  
And though Thomalin much allows  
In gifts to win me, so to more  
Besides myself he giveth store.  
Thus (gentle Shepherd) none of these  
So well as thee my fancy please,  
If thou art mine, as I am thine,  
In Hymen's joys we will combine.   

Quoth Claius, Shepardesse I ween  
The god of love my Friend hath been,  
That thou dost motion my desires,  
And that so mutual are our fires:  
May Woulves burst in unto my fold,  
And kill those Ewes I dearest hold,  
And may my wreath-hornd Rams decrease,  
Nor yield to me their wont fleece,  
As will love thee till I die,  
But see Titan apace doth high,  
Driving his fiery Car amain  
The briny Ocean to attain:  
Now let's departed, to morrow we  
Will sing to Hymen merrily.    

THE SECOND PASTORAL.  
AMINTAS. ADMETUS.  

The ARGUMENT.  
Distressed Amintas sits and mourns,  
All proffered joy, and solace scorns,  
He tells the story of his woes  
Piteous to hear. Admetus' does  
His utmost to assuage his grief,  
But Counsel yields him no relief  
Nought will assuage it, to the skies,  
He sadly shoots a look, and dies.   ADMETUS. 
A Mintas wherefore dost thou moan  
As if all thy joys were gone,  
Up man, leave this uncouth shade,  
This tenebrous and fatal glade,  
Where none but Satyrs used to prance,  
And the nimble Fairy's dance;  
See, thy sheep go all astray,  
Thy belt and scrip is stolen away,  
Thy pipe lies near the Brook in twain,  
Cheer up, O thou dejected Swain.  AMINTAS. 
Cease (good Admetus) thy harsh din,  
And know I suffer for my sin,  
Under this broad spreading Beech,  
Whose curled front to Heaven doth reach,  
I'll lie, and listen to the Owl,  
And languishing sigh out my Soul.  ADMETUS. 
So to dare thy frowning Fate,  
Argues thee madly desperate,  
Most loved Shepherd, what may be  
The cause of thy great misery?  AMINTAS. 
O Friend, t' will but augment my grief,  ADMETUS. 
To breathe one woe is some relief,  
All the Shepherds of the plain  
Mourn for thee delicious Swain,  
They sorrow that thy Pipe is still,  
Which came so near to Astrophill,  
Yea, wont aswell to please the rout,  
As the rare Lays of Collen Clout:  
Their Oaten Reeds they also break,  
And make great sorrow for thy sake.  AMINTAS. 
May they be happy, I am lost,  
Split when I hope to harbour most,  
I feel the frozen hand of death,  
But yet before I yield my Breath,  
I'll tell thee (dear Friend) ere thou go,  
The cause and progress of my woe.  ADMETUS. 
Here I'll lie down, proceed to tell,  AMINTAS. 
Admetus' hear and mark me well,  
Thou knewst fair Cloris, lovely fair,  
Who tied winged Cupid in her hair,  
The little god being glad to stay,  
Did with his golden-fetters play,  
Lovely as Hebe, fairer fare  
Than she the plump god made a star;  
As coldly chaste as ere was she,  
Titan turned to Laurel tree,  
Wise as Tritonia, her bright eyes,  
Dazzled Apollo in his rise,  
Her forehead cheerful, coral lipped,  
Her cheeks were Roses in milk dipped,  
Fingers such as Aurora fair  
When pleating her old Tython's hair,  
This goddess of my life and I  
(Joined in mutual amity)  
By Hymen to the Temple led,  
Dame Flora having deckd our bed,  
To add unto our active sports  
Fortune who still our wishes thwarts  
Joining with Atropos conspired,  
To kill the thing I so desired,  
Chloris in the Temple dies,  
Her Nuptials are her Obsequies.  ADMETUS. 
Most gentle Shepherd I confess,  
Thou hast great cause of heaviness,  
But wise men have concluded still  
'tis vain to wail an helpless ill.  AMINTAS. 
Her memory remains with me,  
Although her body buried be,  
Ye purling brooks, who murmuring  
Still run on errands to your King,  
Earth-shaking Neptune, bid him roar  
Until he do eat up the shore,  
And let his Tritons loud resound  
The cause, and dolour of my wound,  
Both Death, and Destiny, and Hell,  
Avernus, where the Furies dwell,  
With the loathsome stream of Styx,  
In their Counsels do commix  
For to rob me of my Bliss,  
Staying my Love in shady Dis.  ADMETUS. 
What frenzy doth possess thy brain,  
O thou late most honoured Swain?  
But Love I know no Law abides,  
Since his great power, Heaven guides,  
And all things that on earth survive,  
Without they love they never thrive.  
" Love altereth nature, ruleth Reason,  
" Makes vice a Virtue, Virtue Treason.  
jove, whose voice Olympus shakes,  
Love, to be transformed makes.  
Love caused Hypollitus with briers  
(Shunning Phaedra's lustful fires)  
To be out of his Chariot born,  
And into many pieces torn.  
Love laid Absyrtus limbs o'th' Strand,  
Scattered by his Sister's hand,  
Forced Pasiphae that impious trull)  
To the embraces of a Bull.  
Love great Alcides did betray,  
And while upon Polixena  
Achilles doted, he was slain,  
(Rhamnusia so her will did gain.)  
Love, smooth Leander did compel  
To swim the Hellespont so well.  
No marvel then that thou art ta'en  
(Admintas) thus unto thy bane,  
These were with living beauties fired  
By thee a dead Maid is desired.  AMINTAS. 
Admetus', cease t' upbraid my will,  
‛ Less thou hast Podalyrius skill,  
And with thy ointments canst assuage  
The fire that in my heart doth rage,  
In direful sobbing, sighs and tears,  
Perpetual plaints I'll spend my years,  
On Rocks, in Dens, and deserts I  
Will breathe my woes incessantly,  
Farewell for ever, my dear Flocks,  
Ye Woods, ye Rivers, and ye Rocks,  
A black stone ever on this day,  
Let each true Lover cast away;  
On which let Titan never shine.  
But let the clustering clouds combine  
For to obscure the sight of day,  
And dim the glories of his ray,  
Let loathsome snakes loud hissing keep,  
And scaly fishes leave the deep,  
To come on shore, let screech-owls sing  
Myrtles whither, Willows spring;  
Dearest Chloris, see I come  
To meet thee in Elysium.   

THE THIRD PASTORAL.  
LINUS. CORIDON.  

The ARGUMENT.  
Linus a Shepherd doth explain  
To Coridon, a rigid Swain,  
What learned Shepherds once there were,  
And who do now the Laurel bear,  
And (as he's able) yields praise  
Unto their most admired Lays.   LINUS. 
COme Coridon sit down by me,  
Our flocks securely feeding be,  
While Phoebus' beams do parch the earth,  
Giving the slime of Nilus' birth,  
An hour we'll wholly spend in chat,  
Finding discourse of this, and that.  CORIDON. 
I list not spend my time so ill,  
But yet because it is your will,  
I'll sit, though much against my mind,  
Now— what talk with me will you find.  LINUS. 
Indeed I know thou lov'st to hear  
Of nought, but how thy Ox will bear  
His yoke, and when thy sheep to shear,  
That thou mayst make a gainful year,  
But yet to me more pleasant is  
To hear Tytirus play I wis  
Upon his oaten Reed, while he  
Doth make delicious melody,  
(As once to Orpheus' Harp) each tree  
Does nod, Beasts of the wood agree  
To cast aside their furious kind,  
And take to them a gentle mind,  
While he records in pleasant verse  
Sweettales of Love, and doth rehaerse  
His dreams and songs, the stones do move.  CORIDON. 
O fool with fancies much in love,  
I wots not what Tytirus was,  
Nor for his tales and songs, do pass,  
But yet I pray thee let me hear  
Yet more of this fantastic gear,  
If they were Shepherds like as we.  LINUS. 
O Coridon that cannot be,  
They pass us Swainlings all as far,  
As doth the Moon the smallest Star,  
But I to thee will now display  
What I have heard my Father say.  
Next unto Tytirus there came  
One that deserved a greater name,  
Then was bestowed, but when She swayed,  
Whom to this day some call a Maid,  
Then Collen Clout his pipe did sound,  
Making both Heaven and Earth resound;  
The Shepherds all both fare and near  
About him flocked his lays to hear,  
And for his songs he was so famed,  
He was the Prince of Shepherds named:  
And next to him was the sweet quill  
Of far renowned Astrophil  
Admired, who whether that he chose  
To pipe in Verse or else in Prose,  
Was held the bravest swain to be,  
Ere folded Flocks in Arcady:  
After him risen as sweet a Swain,  
As ever piped upon the Plain,  
He sang of wars, and Tragedies  
He warbled forth, on him the eyes  
Of all the Shepherds fixed were,  
Rejoicing much his songs to hear.  
And then lived He who sweetly sung,  
Orlando's fate in his own tongue,  
Who would not deign t' divulge his own,  
But by another would be known,  
O gentle Shepherd we to thee  
Are bound in a supreme degree.  
And after him a swain arose,  
In whom sweet Ovid's Spirit chose  
For to reside, he sang of Love,  
How Cupid Ladies hearts can move,  
And each how large the Continent  
Of Arcady is in extent,  
He praised his maker in his Lays,  
And from a King received the Bays.  CORIDON. 
Although thy words a mystery  
Include, not understood by me,  
Yet these I think our Fathers were,  
Have we none now their names to bear?  
And able are their Pipes to sound  
As loud as those so much renowned.  LINUS. 
Yes Coridon, I'll tell thee then,  
Not long ago lived learned Ben,  
He whose songs, they say, outvie  
All Greek and Latin Poesy,  
Who chanted on his pipe Divine,  
The overthrow of Catiline,  
Both Kings and Princesses of might,  
To hear his Lays did take delight,  
The Arcadian Shepherds wonder all,  
To hear him sing Sejanus fall,  
O thou renowned Shepherd, we  
Shall ne'er have one again like thee,  
With him contemporary then,  
(As Naso, and famed Maro, when  
Our sole Redeemer took his birth)  
Shakespeare trod on English earth,  
His Muse doth merit more rewards  
Then all the Greek, or Latin Bards,  
What flowed from him, was purely rare,  
As born to bless the Theatre,  
He first refined the Comic Lyre,  
His Wit all do, and shall admire,  
The chiefest glory of the Stage,  
Or when he sung of war and Strage,  
Melpomene soon viewed the globe,  
Enveloped in her sanguine Robe,  
He that his worth would truly sing,  
Must quaff the whole Pierian spring.  
And now— (be gone ye gastfull fears  
Alas I cannot speak for tears)  
There is a Shepherd caged in stone  
Destined unto destruction,  
Worthy of all before him were,  
Apollo him doth first prefer,  
Renowned Lawreate be comtent,  
Thy works are thine own Monument.  
Apollo still affords supply,  
For the Castalian Founts ne'er dry,  
Two happy wits, late brightly shone,  
The true sons of Hyperion,  
Fletcher, and Beaumond, who so wrote,  
johnsons' Fame was soon forgot,  
Shakespeare no glory was aloud,  
His Sun quite shrunk beneath a Cloud:  
These had been solely of esteem,  
Had not a Sucklin Rivaled them.  

* Sir John Sucklin.  SUCKLIN, whose neat superior phrase  
At once delights, and doth amaze,  
Serene, sententious, of such worth,  
I want fit words to set it forth,  
Exactly excellent, I think,  
He used Nepenthe stead of Ink,  
In this he all else doth outdo,  
At once he's grave, and sportive too.  
And next to him well ranked may be  
He, whose Pipe melodiously  
Doth sound, who for his well-tuned Lays,  
May before Plautus claim the Bays,  
Whose Comic strains, and Tragic sounds,  
Do echo all about our grounds:  
O gentle Shepherd still pipe on,  
Still take deep draughts of Helicon,  
And thou'lt be ranked I make no doubt  
With Tytirus and Collen Clout.  CORIDON. 
Come let us rise, I wonder why,  
Thou'lt spend thy time so foolishly,  
By this we might our traps have set,  
The Wolf within our toils to get,  
Have made new Hurdles for our fold,  
While we have heard these stories told,  
That are not worth a lock of wool,  LINUS. 
Wisely to speak unto a Fool  
Is madness, come, bright Sol declines,  
And glimmering on the Hills he shines.  
Let's fold our flocks, which done, than I  
Myself will to my pipe apply.  
The End.   

ANINTOR. MARTAGON.  
This fragment (because Pastoral) though of a deeper sense than the other, was at the earnest entreaty of some Friends inserted by the Author, who was forced to maim his own, etc.  MARTAGON. 
NOw Titan's heat the mountain's Snow dissolves,  
All pleasing Ver in her smooth arm involves  
Meadows, and Woods, and like some gaudy Queen  
Wears various colours, but delights in green,  
Here let us sit, and descant on our Fate,  
This Poplar to Alcides dedicate.  AMINTOR. 
Rather beneath you branched baleful Yew,  
That Pitch tree, or black Yvie in our view,  
Let's throw ourselves, and with alternate cries,  
Force audience from the deafened Deities,  
Who seem to fly from our complaints and us,  
As once from Typhon, and great japetus.  MARTAGON. 
Here we hunt Boars with a looped Spanish Dart,  
Take Cranes in springes by the Phrygian Art,  
Fare from our Native, etc.— Ol— Isle,  
On which when thou Olympic Jove didst smile,  
Nor fertile Egypt, nor rich Lydia more,  
Nor Medes, nor Parthians did their— adore,  
Divine Amintor change thy oaten Pipe,  
For the shrill Trumpet, and the solemn Fife,  
To Panopea, Glaucus, Ino's boy,  
Whole herds of Beefs, and sheep, we will destroy,  
When thou imbarkst with thy Iberian train,  
To win thy own Ruina back again,  
Fair Opis, Deiopeia, Cydippe  
Ligaea, Spio, and Cymodoce,  
Ar' thusa, Clio, and Lycothoe,  
By Amphitrites side, shall waft thee over,  
Dancing before thee to Ruinas Shore.  AMINTOR. 
Farewell then Pales, and thou god whose Sire,  
By a wronged Goat did in the waves expire,  
Tisiphone assume thy knotted snakes,  
Which with the surfeit of Aechidna makes  
Earth tremble, and the pines of Ossa nod,  
Piercing the Palace of the Stygian god,  
Thou Patroness of Rhamnus help thy Priest,  
My wrongs thou know'st, my innocence thou see'st.  MARTAGON. 
But on what soil, in what Illustrious Coast,  
Shall we discourse with thy great Father's Ghost?  
As once the witty, famed Dulichian guide  
Did with Tiresias shade, when terrified  
With fear of future woes, the hand of Fate  
Crushing him (under Aerycinas' hate.)  AMINTOR. 
If Orpheus had the power Hell's gates to see,  
Entering in search of his Eurydice,  
(Caught by Avernian Juno's wise) if he  
Who conquered Latium, peopled Brittany,  
(As once Amphitrios' Son) by Sibyl led,  
Viewed Pluto's Palace, and with arms out-spread  
Courted his Father's shade, why may not I,  
With (Atlas Grandchild) wingd-foot Mercury  
Hyperion aiding, pass black Erebus,  
Still burning Phlegeton, and Tartarus,  
Not ceasing till with happy speed I come,  
And kiss my Sire in blessed Elysium.    

To the Reader on the Errors of the Press.  
I Gave the Bullion good into the Mint,  
Do thou cement the fractions of the Print.  
FINIS.