A COLLECTION Of the choicest EPIGRAMS AND CHARACTERS OF Richard Flecknoe.  
Being rather a New Work, then a New Impression of the Old.  
Printed for the Author. 1673.   

THE PREFACE.  
BEfore I give over writing, I have endeavoured to set the last hand to these Epigrams and Characters, especially the Epigrams since they contain the Praises and eulogiums of divers Noble Persons, whom I much honor, and desire that all the World should do the same. But being made at several times, on several occasions, I knew not how to range them, onely I imagined, as in a Chaplet of Flowers, it imported not much, which Flowers were placed the first, so all together made a delightful variety: They are little things, that launch not into the depth of Poetry, but keep onely along the shore, and to expect the force and grandeur in them of an Epick or heroic Poem, were to expect the strength of a Ship of War, or bulk of a huge Carrack in a Yatcht or Pleasure Boat, mean time they are more pleasant and delightful. Since, in short Journeys we come always fresh, in long, always tired and weary to our Journeys end.  
And so much for these Epigrams, which I aptly couple with the Characters, since these are onely Epigrams in Prose, as the others are onely Characters in Verse; and consequently, All that is said of the one, may be said of the other, excepting what shall be said of the Characters hereafter.   

THE portrait OF HIS MAJESTY, Made a little before HIS Happy Restauration.  
KIngs like the Sun in their full Majesties,  
Are too resplendent bright for subjects eyes;  
But when eclipsed, then every one can see  
Without that splendour, what their persons be.  
In which conjuncture, whosoe'er has seen  
This Sun of ours, may well affirm of Him,  
His Person's such, as He for that alone  
( His Birth away) deserves the Royal Throne.  
Such Majesty there's in it, and such Grace,  
Both awing and delighting in His Face;  
Without those Kingly Robes adorn the Throne,  
He shows more King, than those who have them on.  
His Stature's tall, and of the comeliest make,  
His visage oval, His Hair thick and black;  
In ample Curls on's Shoulders falling down,  
Adorning more His Head, than any Crown.  
His Eyes are lively, full of flamme and spirit,  
And of that colour most delights the sight.  
Royal and largely featured all the rest,  
showing the loathness of H●s Royal breast.  
Then for His Exercise's, He in all  
The noblest Gallants, and most marshal,  
Even the most exc lent so far excels,  
He's King in them, as He's in all things else;  
And who'd be absolute in every thing,  
As well as Birth and Power, should be a King:  
Nor shall you e'er in any person find,  
A greater strength of Body, nor of Mind;  
Which with long travail H'as improved so,  
He know's what ere befits a Prince to know.  
Not learned o'th' dead, but of the World and Men,  
Those Living Authors, and H'as studied them;  
So as each Nations Wisdom He does know,  
And each one's Language to express it too.  
Whence He compared to other Princes, sit  
Dully at home, and nothing know but it;  
Seems just like some huge Gallion does come,  
From farthest Indies, richly laden home;  
compared to some poor Hoy or Bylander,  
Who never farther than their own Coasts were,  
And never none to Fortune more did owe,  
Than to Misfortune He for being so.  
For Moral virtues then, H'as every one  
In their full height and exaltation.  
Justice not clouded with Severity,  
Nor Temperance, with sour Austerity.  
And never in none more Courage was, nor more  
Wisdom and Prudence with less vanity, nor  
With lesser Artifice, th●n or's Passions He  
Commands so absolutely and Sov'raignly;  
As shows Him King over Himself, as well  
As other Men, nor does He less excel,  
In Civil virtues, which adorn no less,  
The Royal Throne, as Mildness, Gentleness,  
Obligingness and Debonarity,  
With such a winning affability,  
He more does conquer with a gentle word,  
Than ever any conquer●d by the Sword.  
Mean time He is so cheerful and so gay,  
None from His presence e'er went sad away;  
Nor yet could all His troubles, nor His cares,  
Render Him less gay and cheerful, which declares  
His Mind's above them all, and H'as within  
Him, somewhat higher than His being King.  
Just like the highest Region of the Air,  
Where never Storms nor Tempests can repair.  
For Your more noble Courtly virtues then,  
In which Kings too should excel other Men;  
As far as Courts do other Houses, He  
Appears in every one to excellency.  
Dances so admirably, as your Eye  
As well as Ears are charmed with Harmony;  
Knows music, Poetry, Gallantry, and Wit,  
And none knows better how to judge of it.  
And as He is a King 'mong Courtiers, so  
'Mong Ladies he's both King and Courtier too.  
How happy are His Subjects then, t'have one  
For King, Heaven seems to have chosen Him alone  
To make them happy? One, they need but pray,  
That as H'as born Adversity, He may  
But bear Prosperity as well, and then  
As still H'as been, He'll be the best of Men.  
One finally, in whom y'united find,  
Besides His Birth, His Person, and His Mind.  
All that which found in others one by one,  
Raise them to height of Admiration.  
The Wise, the Valiant, the Majestical,  
The mildred, the Gallant, and the King in all.  
More glorious are His sufferings then, and more  
Injurious Fortune, persecutes Him for  
His Royal Birth alone, who had He been  
Born private Man, deserves to be a King.  
Such is her ignorant blindness does not know  
His eminent worth, whom she disfavors so.  
Who'd find, if she had eyes, and could but see,  
None e'er deserved her favour more than He.   

To His Majesty.  
VOuchsafe Great Sire, on these to cast your sight,  
Made chiefly for Your Majesties delight,  
By him has cast off all Ambition  
Long since, but of delighting you alone;  
Counting it highest honor can befall,  
To delight Him, who's the delight of all.  
R* Watson*   

PROEMIUM OF EPIGRAMS.  
WHat Airs in point of music are the same  
In point of Writing is your Epigram,  
For short and sprightly, and both these and those  
When th' ear expects it always come to th' clo●e.  
'Tis but few lines, but those like Gold well tried  
Out of the dross of many lines beside,  
And says not much, but i'th' laconic way,  
Comprises much, i'th' little it does say.  
In every kind, be th' writing what it will,  
'Tis that most takes, and most delights you still,  
And adds to all the rest, no less a Grace,  
Then Wit to sense, or Beauty to the Face.  
Poets can't writ, nor Orators declaim,  
But all their Wit, is chiefly Epigram;  
And both in Verse, and Prose, and every thing,  
Your Eprig●am is writing for a King.  

Of the difficulty of making them now a days.  
BUt Times and Wits are so refined of late,  
Old Epigrams are wholly out of date;  
Nor is't so easy making new, as 'twas  
●… n former times in our Forefathers day●.  
Then, so th'ad only rhyme and sense to boot,  
A little jingle on the words would do't.  
But now they must have wit and sharpn●ss too,  
Or else your sense and rhyme will h●rdly do.  
●… hen, when they heard a Clench or Quibble spoken,  
theyed claw you for't, as if some jest were broken;  
●… ut when they hear such Toys and Trifles said,  
●… our Wits are ready now to break your head.  
●… o goes the World, nor must we think it strange,  
●… hat with the Times, our Epigrams should change.  
Tis so you see in fashion of our clothes,  
●… nd why not of our Wits, as well as those?   

In Detractorem.  
〈…〉 See thou art resolved in spite,  
To cry down every thing I writ;  
●… nd I 'm resolved in spite of thee  
●… o writ so, thou ashamed shalt be  
●… f thy poor Envy, and thy spite,  
〈…〉 crying down every thing I writ.   

Of Wits.  
WIt's like Hawks are for the sport,  
Some are long winged, some are short;  
The one does fly so high a flight,  
They often soar quiter out of sight;  
The other far the fitter, for ye  
Keep them close unto the Quarry;  
Nor too low, nor yet too high,  
Of this latter sort am I.   

To the Readers.  
AUthors use to make you Feasts.  
Books the Fare, and Readers Guests;  
judgement Caterer, and Wit  
The Cook to dress and Season it.  
And when 'tis on the Table set,  
The Author who provides them Meat,  
prays his Guests unto't to fall,  
And says th'are kindly welcome all.    

EPIGRAMS  

To his Royal Highness JAMES Duke of YORK, On his return from our Naval Victory. Anno 1665.  
GReater and Famouser than e'er  
Caesar or Alexander were,  
Who has both done, and outdone too,  
What those great Heroes could not do.  
Till Empire of the Seas we get,  
No Victory can be complete  
For Land and Sea make but one Ball,  
They had but half, you have it all.  
Great Prince, the Glory of our days,  
And utmost bound of human praise!  
increased in style, we well may call  
You now, the whole Worlds Admiral,  
Whilst mighty Charles with Trident stands,  
And like some God the Sea commands,  
Having so gloriously o'ercome,  
What now remains but to come home;  
And fixed in our British Sphere,  
Shine a bright Constellation there,  
With greatest power o'th' watery Main,  
Next unto that of Charles's Wain.   

To his Highness Prince Rupert on the same.  
GReat and heroic Prince, surpassing far  
Him who was styled The Thunderbolt of War,  
The belgic Lion stands amazed to see,  
A greater Lion than itself in thee;  
And Zealand one, all trembling for fe●r,  
Half sinks into the Waves, to hid it there.  
never since the Grecians called the World their own,  
Or Romans, theirs was greater valor known.  
And if there yet new Worlds to conquer were,  
Brave Rupert were the fittest conqueror.  
Greatest example of heroic worth,  
As ever yet this later age brought forth,  
As formerly the Land of Britain was,  
So now the Sea's too narrow for thy praise.  
And 'twill in time become the work alone  
Of ecstasy and Admiration.   

On the Death of Her Royal Highness HENRIETTA duchess of orleans.  
THis life of ours is like a Garden, where  
The fairest flowers always first gathered are,  
The whilst they leave more common ones like Weeds,  
To whither on their stalks and fall to Seeds.  
And never than this was fairer flower known,  
Where th' Rose and lily both are joined in one.  
In which conjuncture does together meet,  
All that was heavenly fair, and heavenly sweet.  
Hereafter then as 'tis your Florists guise  
New names, for rarest Flowers to device,  
And more for the perpetuating their fames,  
To call them by some Royal Persons names.  
Those that are sweetest, fairest ones of all,  
We Henrietta's by her name may call.   

On the Death of the Duke of gloucester.  
HIgh born and great, as any Prince on Earth,  
With Mind as great and high as was his Birth.  
Wise 'bove his years, valiant above a Man,  
And had he lived to end as he began,  
The World would for him scarce have any Room,  
So mighty and so great he had become.  
Mean time his life, just like th' Arabian wind,  
Did so much fragrant sweetness leave behind,  
The World was filled with odour of his Name,  
even when h'was gone, from whom the sweetness came.  
Who's now so dull, when this they hear but said,  
Who do's not know the Duke of Gloc'sters dead?  
The gallants Person Nature ever made,  
And hopefull'st Prince as England ever had!  
Let all who trust this World now, learn by this,  
What all their worldly hope and greatness is.   

On the Duke of Monmouth's going into France, An. 1669.  
WE to the French as much in Court did yield,  
As they to us did formerly i'th' Field,  
Till Monmouth went and overcame them more  
I'th' Court, than e'er we did i'th' Field before.  
How fatal to the French is Monmouth's name,  
They should be twice thus conquered by the same.  
By Valor first in War, and now no less  
A second time, by Gallantry in Peace.   

On the duchess of Monmouth's happy Child-birth.  
NOw thanks to Heaven, what we have wished for long,  
And long have prayed for, Monmouth has a Son.  
His Lady safe delivered, and with her  
Whole thousands are delivered of their fear.  
Who hears this joyful news, and is not glad,  
May they be ever deaf, and ever sad.  
Now ye Physicians, you, who said that she  
With so great danger should delivered be,  
Who'll e'er believe you more? Unless you'll say,  
You have no skill, and then indeed they may;  
Or that each Midwife has more skill than you  
●… n Child-births, then they may believe you too.  
Mean time we clearly see you Liars are,  
●… y these your false predictions of her.  
●… nd now to prove you greater Liars, may  
●… h' have many Children, and live many a day.   

To His Highness COSMO Prince of TUSCANY; On his Travels and coming into England.  
COsmo, a name that's all Cosmography,  
And Cart or Map, where all the World you se●…  
Seeing what you do, and being what you are,  
You are the onely great Cosmographer.  
If Princes then, like rolling Balls of Snow,  
By traveling the World, still greater grow.  
How great must you be, who were great before,  
And now by traveling, grow more and more?  
Mean time your thirst of seeing the World's grea●…  
As should th'almighty still new Worlds create;  
Till there were Globes enough for every Ball,  
O'th' Medic●ian Arms you'd see them all;  
Amongst the rest▪ at last y'are come to see  
This other World of ours, Great Brittany.  
Nor can you be but in your own World still,  
And 'mongst your kindred travail where you will.  
nearly by Blood and Parantage allied  
To all the Princes of the World beside.   

To Mr. Edward Howard, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk.  
IT is not travail makes the Man, 'tis true,  
Unless a Man could travail, Sir▪ like you.  
●… y putting off the worst, and putting on  
●… he best of every country where they come.  
●… heir Language, Manners, Fashions, and their use,  
●… urged from the dross, and stripped from the abuse.  
●… ntil at last, in manner they become,  
New Men and Creatures at their coming home;  
Whilst your Pyed Traveller, who nothing knows  
Of other Countreys Fashions but their clothes,  
And speaks their Language, but as Parrots do,  
Onely at best a broken word or two,  
Goes and returns the same he went again,  
●… y carrying England still along with him;  
Or else returns far worse by bringing home,  
●… he worst of every Land, where he does come.   

To the duchess of Cleveland, on her new Accession of Titles. An. 1670.  
ALthough your Graces Modesty is so great,  
You won't admit of your own praises yet,  
We well may praise you under Beauties name,  
And you and Beauty, Madam, are the same.  
To ask then, what in Beauty we can find  
To honor so? Is question of the blind.  
Since all have any sense or Eyes may see  
itself alone is its own Dignity,  
And Monarch like does in itself comprise,  
All other Titles, Stiles, and Dignities.  
Th'are envious then at its advancement grudge,  
Or think it can be honoured here too much.  
That might in ancient times if it had been,  
Have choose what Constellation 'twould be in.  
Either to have sat in Casiopea's Throne,  
Or to be crowned with Ariadne's Crown.  
There is no honor underneath the sky,  
That is for Beauty too sublime and high.   

On the Death of the Lady Jean Cheney.  
THe softest temper, and the mildest breast,  
Most apt to pardon, needing pardon least.  
Whose blushy was all her reprehension,  
Whilst none e'er heard her chide or saw her frown,  
All sweetness, gentleness, and mildness all,  
Without least anger, bitterness, or gall.  
Who scarce had any passion of her own,  
But was for others all compassion.  
To all Relations kind, but most of all  
She did the poor, her chief relations call;  
To whom she was so liberal, as she scant  
Thought wealth her own, whilst any one did want.  
A Saint she lived, and like a Saint she died,  
And now is gone where onely Saints abide.  
Make much of her the whilst, for Heaven knows when  
Your Quires will ever have her like again.   

To Mr. E. W. on his excellent Poems. Poco & Bono.  
'TIs not in Wits, as 'tis in Horses found,  
Where those who run the fastest, get most ground;  
Nor dost with Books, as ' tdoes with Cattle fare,  
Where those are counted best, who biggest are.  
Some swell their volumes up, and think it brave,  
Like those o'th' Alps, when they such swellings have  
Which other men, more learned, and more wise,  
Do look upon, but as deformities.  
If writing much did make a Learned Man,  
Scriv'ners writ more then Learned Authors can.  
'Tis not how much th'ave written, but how well  
Makes Authors famous, and their works excel.  
A little and good, th' Italian wisely says,  
In which consists a Writers chiefest praise;  
And never any Author more than you,  
Did in their writings make that saying true.   

On the Death of her Highness Beatrix, duchess of lorraine.  

WHen this fair Soul i'th' World below did live,  
She had some Angel been, you would believe:  
through her bright Exterior there did shine,  
So much from her Interior of Divine,  
Her virtue too, the more to blind our sense,  
So wrapped her up in every Excellence;  
As by unfolding of them one by one,  
You never should to onely Woman come.  
Yet do what virtue, and what Beauty could,  
By making her so exc'llent fair and good.  
She's dead, and we had honor of knowing her,  
May well writ this upon her sepulchre.   

She who alive all virtue and Beauty was,  
T'one in her breast, and t'other in her Face.  
Now she is dead, just reason w'ave to fear,  
All Beauty and virtue too, are dead with her.    

To her noble Sister mademoiselle de Beauvais, now Princess of Aremberg.  
ALl the Lay-thoughts, Madam, I ever had  
Of your fair Sex, are now Religious made  
By your Converse, and I'm become by it  
Your Sexes honourer, and your Convers't;  
For just unto your Chamber all do come,  
As to some Temple, and from thence go home;  
The bad converted, and the good far more  
confirmed in goodness then they were before.  
Yet all so cheerful, one should weary be  
Of Heaven, as soon as of your company.  
Which clearly shows Religion where 'tis true,  
May be both cheerful, and Religious too.  
But stay— since 'tis a theme so infinite,  
As we can never say enough of it.  
And there's an Artful silence, as there was  
An Artful veiling great Atrides face.  
'Tis praise enough to say, That she can never  
Be praised enough, and say no more of her.   

Question on her Letting Blood.  
Quest. Of this just mixture and equality  
Of water and Blood, what should the reason be?  
Res. The reason's clear, forced to part with her,  
Each drop of Blood for grief did  shed a tear.   

To the Lady Kilmurry.  
WHen I would praise you as I others do,  
There does occur so much to praise in you  
As quiter confounded, when I once am in  
I 'm forced to leave it off, e'er I begin.  
What should I do then, but at last conclude  
As Painters when they paint a multitude;  
Who having some o'th' chiefest heads expressed  
Under them darkly, shadow all the rest.  
So having said y'are beauteous, virtuous, wise,  
Under which heads I all the rest comprise.  
So infinite I 'm forced to give over,  
oppressed with number, and to say no more.   

To the Earl of St. Albans.  
My Lord,  
THough we allow Fortune no Deity,  
Yet sure there's some such fickle thing as she  
That has great power over th'unwiser sort,  
And next to virtue can do much in Court.  
For since in Court y'have stood and honoured been,  
How many revolutions have we seen?  
How many strange examples have we known  
Of favourites she has raised and overthrown?  
Whilst none but such as you can firmly stand,  
Not raised by Fortunes, but by virtues hand.  
Live ever honoured then, ever the same,  
Still more and more ennobling Jermin's name;  
And live a great example unto all,  
Who tottering stand in Court, and fear to fall.  
How none but those are raised by virtues hand,  
Can either safely rise or firmly stand.   

Of an unworthy Nobleman.  
SEe ye yond thing that looks as he would cry  
I am a Lord, a mile e'er he comes nigh,  
And thinks to make his Lordship more complete,  
By being proud, instead of being great.  
Behold him well, you'll hardly find enough  
In the whole Man, to make a Lackey of.  
And for doing service to his country,  
His Coach-horses would better do't than he.  
Such things as he, have nothing else of worth,  
But Place and Title for to set them forth;  
Being just like Dwarfs, dressed up in Giants clothes,  
Bigger he'd seem, the lesser still he shows;  
Or like small Statues, on huge Bases set,  
Their height but onely makes them show less great.   

Of a worthy Nobleman, or William Duke of Newcastle.  
BUt now behold a Nobleman indeed,  
Such as we admire in story when we red;  
Who does not proudly look that we should d'off  
Our Hats, and make a reverence twelvescore off;  
Nor takes exceptions, if at every word,  
We call him not his Grace, or else my Lord.  
But's rather on the offering part with Men,  
Then the receiving courtesies from them;  
Well knowing how that Nobleman, but does  
Degrade himself, who is discourteous.  
The whilst Civility and courtesy,  
Is chiefest part of their Nobility.  
So through all degrees that he has past,  
Of viscount, Earl, marquis, and Duke at last,  
Has always gained the general esteem  
Of honouring them, more then they honoured him.   

To the Lord Henry Howard of Norfolk now Earl of Norwich, and Lord High Marshal of England, on his African Voyage.  
COmmanded by your Prince, you did not say  
For your excuse a Lion's in the way;  
But by obedience, and your Honor lead,  
Even into afric went where they are bread.  
Teaching of Subjects by the hast you made,  
How Kings and Princes are to be obeyed.  
And how they obey, but slowly and too late  
When they demur, or else capitulate.  
By your example then, who e'er are sent  
By Kings abroad, may learn this document;  
How they but serve themselves, and not their Kings  
Who onely obey in safe and easy things,  
And how there's little honor to obey,  
When difficulty and danger is away.  
Let then your talking crowd say what they will,  
The greatest danger, greatest honor still;  
And that, my Lord, you went to afric for,  
Let who's list, go and fetch the Golden Ore.   

To the same on his Voyage and Return from Constantinople.  
My Lord,  
AS Merchants Trade for other riches, so  
You Trade for Honor wheresoe'er you go;  
And of that Noble Merchandise still make  
A brave and rich return at coming back.  
How rich then must the Howards be of't, who  
Have such brave Factors for't abroad as you?  
And are so honoured for't at home, as they  
Without offence and vanity may say.  
As God first made the Light, then made the Sun  
A great reserve for it when he had done,  
So Kings make honors, and the Howards are  
The great reserves of't, still you find it there.   

On the Duke of Albemarles, and the Earl of Sandwich's bringing in the King.  
THat present and all future times may know,  
How much to Monk and Montague they owe.  
By them that great and mighty work was done  
O'th' Kings most happy Restauration.  
A happiness so general we may call  
It well, the Restauration of us all.  
Whilst t'one restored him to possession  
O'th' Royal Fleet, t'other oth Royal Throne.  
T'one gave him full, and absolute command  
O'th' Sea again, as t'other did o'th' Land.  
For which, what Statue's had erected been  
In former times, what titles given to them;  
And with what acclamations had they said,  
Whilst to these Heroes they their thanks had paid.  
" If others have their honors well deserved,  
" Who nobly have their King and country served  
" What Honors ever can be worthy you,  
" Who have not onely served, but saved them too?   

To M. M. Davies. On Her excellent Dancing.  
DAvies who well derives thy name from him  
Before the Ark did Dance as well as Sing.  
Who would not think to see thee dance so light,  
Thou were't all Air, or else all flamme and wright?  
Or who'd not say, to see thee onely tread,  
Thy feet were Feathers, other's feet but led?  
Atlanta well could run, and Hermes flee,  
But none e'er moved more gracefully than thee.  
And Circes charmed with wan'd and magic lore,  
But none like thee, e'er charmed with Feet before.  
Thou miracle whom all men must admire,  
To see thee move like Air, and mount like Fire.  
Who e'er would follow thee, or come but nigh  
To thy perfection must not dance, but fly.   

On Her excellent Singing.  
NOr does she onely dance, but sings withal,  
With voice so sweet, and so Angelical.  
You'd think she were some Angel, and believe  
The soul of Harmony in her did live;  
And that for motion, and for air to boot,  
She she were all Harmony from Head to Foot.  
For music is but moved Air, and so  
In-certain measure is but dancing too.  
Whence in her person does together meet,  
All that in either, is both fair and sweet.  
And they may talk of charming, but there's none  
Knows every way to charm, but she alone.  
But now she sings, let's peace, and say no more,  
For just as when we saw her dance before.  
We wished ourselves all eyes to see her, so,  
We wish ourselves all ears to hear her now.   

Envoy to this Book.  
I Know not what the World may think of it,  
That I so often mend what I have writ;  
But this is all that they can say at worst,  
My second thoughts are better than my first.   
The end of the First Book of Epigrams, Corrected and Amended.   

THE SECOND BOOK OF EPIGRAMS, ON GEORGE The First Duke of Buckingham, to my Lord Duke His Son.  

THe comeliest Person, and the ablest mind,  
For highest trust, his Prince could ever find.  
Or to participate his private cares,  
Or bear the public weight of his affairs.  
All which he bore as steady, and as even  
As ever Atlas did the Globe of Heaven:  
Like well built Arches stronger, with their weight,  
And well built minds, the steddier with their height.  
Such was the Composition and Frame,  
O'th' Noble, and the Gallant Buckingham.  
Whence, though he rose, as high or higher yet,  
Than ever Prince advanced Favorit,  
None envied his height, nor wished his fall,  
ut who their Countreys ruin wished withal.   

These whilst he lived, your Fathers praises were,  
And now he's dead, are yours, my Lord, his heir.  
The winning carriage, and the smiling Grace  
Of his exterior Person, and his Face.  
The noble virtues of's interior breast,  
And in's example you have all the rest.   

On MARY duchess of Richmond.  
WHether a cheerful Air does rise,  
And elevate her fairer Eyes:  
Or a pensive heaviness,  
Her lovely Eyelids does depress.  
Still the same becoming Grace  
Accompanies her Eyes and Face.  
Still you'd think that habit best  
In which her countenance last was dressed.  
Poor Beauties! Whom a look or glance,  
Can sometimes make looks fair by chance.  
Or curious dress, or artful care,  
Can make seem fairer than they are.  
Give me the Eyes, give me the Face;  
To which no art can add a Grace.  
Give me the Looks, no Garb, nor Dress,  
Can ever make more fair or less.   

On Mistress STUART.  
STuart a Royal Name that Springs  
From Race of Calidonian Kings.  
Whose virtuous mind, and beauteous frame,  
Adds honor to that Royal Name.  
What praises can we worthy find,  
To celebrate thy form and mind?  
The greatest power that is on Earth,  
Is given to Princes by their Birth,  
But there's no power in Earth nor Heaven,  
Greater than what's to Beauty given;  
That, makes not onely Man relent  
When unto rage and fury bent,  
But Lions tame, and tigers mildred,  
All fierceness from their breasts exiled.  
Such wonders yet could never be done  
By Beauties power and force alone;  
Without the force and power to boot,  
Of excellent goodness added to't.  
For just as Jewels we behold  
More brightly shine when set in Gold,  
So Beauty shines far brighter yet,  
In goodness and in virtue set.  
Continue then but as you are,  
So excellently good and fair,  
Let Princes by their birthrights sway,  
You'll have a power as great as they.   

On Her Dancing in Whitehal, all shining with Jewels.  
SO Citherea in th'Olympick Hall,  
And, th'rest o'th' Stars dance their Celestial Ball  
As Stuart with the rest o'th' nymphs does here,  
The brightest Beauties of the British sphere.  
Who would not think her Heaven, to see her thus  
All shine with starry Jewels as she does?  
Or somewhat heavenlier, yet to see her eyes  
Out-shine the starry Jewels of the skies?  
Onely their splender's so exceeding bright,  
Th'excess confounds and blinds us with the sight,  
Just as the Sun, who's bright to that degree,  
Nothing is more, nothing less seen than he.  
Mean time the rapid motion of the spheres,  
Is not more sweet, nor ravishing than hers.  
And 'tis not th' harmony makes her dance, but she  
With Dancing 'tis, that makes the harmony.  
Next to divinest Cynthia, Queen of Light,  
Never was seen a nymph more fair nor bright,  
Nor ever shall 'mongst all her starry train,  
Though those in Heaven, should all come down again.   

On Her Marriage with the Duke of RICHMOND.  
THe fairest nymph of all Diana's train,  
For whom so many sighed, and sighed in vain.  
●… he who so oft had others captive made,  
●… nd who so oft over others triumphed had,  
●… s Hymens captive now herself, and lead  
●… n triumph, to the noble Richmond's Bed.  
Nor is it strange to see about her fly  
●… s many Cupids as are Stars i'th' sky,  
●… s many Graces as are Sands i'th' Sea,  
Nor yet as many Venus's as they;  
But to behold so many virtue's throng,  
About a Nymph so beautiful and young,  
●… s strange indeed, and does enough declare,  
That she is full, as virtuous as fair.  
And all those lovely graces has beside,  
As e'er made Bridegroom happy in a Bride.   

To the truly honourable Mr. Thomas Howard, Brother to the Earl of Carlisle.  
ALthough there's many of opinion are,  
That Honor's onely in the honourer,  
Yet we may truly say of such as you,  
'Tis both i'th' honourer, and the honoured too.  
Nay, you'd be honourable Sir, though none  
In all the World, there were, but you alone.  
As th' Sun would still be luminous and bright,  
Though all the World were destitute of sight.  
Let others glory in the Titles then,  
And Honors they receive from other Men.  
You have no Title, by the which y'are known,  
Nor Honor, but what's properly your own.   

On the Death of the Earl of Sandwich.  
NEver was greater Sacrifice than this,  
Where Sea's the Temple, Fireship Altar is,  
And Sandwich victim offered up to save  
His Countreys honor, by a death more brave,  
Than ever hero died, though we should sum  
All Greece e'er boasted of, or ancient Rome.  
O Noble Sandwich! While there's memory  
O'th' British Seas thy famed shall never die;  
Who 'twixt two different deaths at last wert found,  
●… n Water burnt, and in the fire drowned.  
As if to kill thee once, did not suffice  
Thy mighty mind, but they must kill thee twice.  
Or else to serve thy country, thou didst choose  
More than one death, more than one life to loose.  
Let then the Fabii, Decii, curtij, nor  
Meltiades's be mentioned no more,  
Who for to serve their country choose to fall,  
Our Noble Sandwich has out-done them all.   

To the Earl of Ossery on his going to Sea.  
MOst noble Ossery, who does possess,  
So much of honor, and of nobleness,  
As were all honor, all nobility,  
●… n others lost they might be found in thee.  
●… n these our Wars at Sea, where Death does stand,  
With twice more force and terror than at Land,  
●… unto what danger thou thy life dost bear,  
The less thou fearest, the more thy friends do fear.  
But when we talk of danger unto him,  
Who life than honor, does far less esteem,  
This onely's all the answer he does give,  
There's need to go, but there's no need to live.  
Go then, since nothing can be thoroughly done,  
●… ut where the Noble Ossery is one.  
There's nothing now that England needs to fear,  
When York is Leader, and he follower,  
Who's both in Peace and War, by Land and Sea,  
So fit to serve his country every way,  
As for true honor, true nobility,  
England had never a braver Man than he.   

On Welbeck the Duke of Newcastle's House, where he entertained the Last King so Royally.  
WElbeck a Royal Place, where every thing  
Seems made for entertainment of a King;  
And ●very one confesses, that he never,  
Was en●ertain'd more Royally than there.  
Let others wonder at thy Lords expense,  
And at the vastness of's magnificence.  
He who would hazard Fortune, Life and all,  
To serve his Master, when his General;  
For me I never shall wonder, that he would  
Not spare his Purse, who would not spare his Blood.   

TO Sir WILLIAM DUCEY, on his Three Entertainments, of the King, Prince of Tuscany, and Prince of Denmark, all the same year. An. 1669.  
DUcey, who bravely knows to spend,  
When 'tis for any noble end;  
And never sticks at the expense,  
When 'tis to show magnificence.  
For th'Royal entertainment that  
Thou gav'st unto thy Prince of late▪  
The honor onely is thine own;  
But what's to other Princes done,  
The honor which to that is due,  
●… s both thine own, and others too.  
●… n that th'art but a private Man,  
●… n this a public Person, and  
Thy country should ungrateful be,  
●… hou'd it not always honor thee.  
Who know'st so bravely how to spend,  
When 'tis for any noble end.  
●… nd never sticks at the expense,  
When 'tis to show magnificence.   

On his House at Charlton, nigh Greenwich, where these Enterments were made.  
NOr shalt thou Charlton uncommended go,  
Whilst Greenwich is by all commended so.  
Although thou want'st a Barkleys Pen to raise  
Thee to that height of famed, which t'other has.  
Did Thames but at thy Feet itis tribute pay,  
As't does to theirs, shouldst be as famed as they  
But yet it needs not, for thou hast by Land,  
As it by Water full as great command.  
And hast as many Neiades, as they  
Their Hyades, who thy commands obey.  
Thy Champions are as pleafant and as green,  
Thou seest as much, though not so much art seen.  
And in thy safe Retirement from the shore,  
Thy famed is less, but happiness the more.  
In fine, thy Gardens, Orchards, and thy Fields,  
Yield not to t'other Park, while Greenwich yields  
As much or more,( although a Royal Seat)  
To thee for height, as thou to it for great.   

On the Death of Charles Lord Gerrard of Bromley.  
WHo alive so far had been,  
He almost every Land had seen;  
And almost every thing did know,  
A man could in this world below.  
At last his knowledge to improve,  
Is gone unto the World above.  
Where his knowledge is so much,  
And his happiness is such;  
' Twou'd envy, and not sorrow seem  
In those too much, should grieve for him.   

To the Lady Gerrard of Bromley, on the Education of my Lord Her Son.  
IF Education, Second Nature be,  
You doubly have obliged Posterity,  
By giving, Madam, to, my Lord, your Son,  
Such brave and noble Education,  
As gives him double Title to the famed  
Of noble Gerrards, and brave Digbies name.  
Which while you give, and he does take so well,  
Who merits greatest praise, we cannot tell;  
But all agree there's none can better do,  
A Sons then he, a Mothers part than you.   

To Sir K. D.  
WHilst with thy mighty wit we but compare  
Our petty ones, me thinks they pigmies are.  
And thine the Giant, with whose vast discourse,  
Whilst weed be meddling fain, but want the force,  
Thy wit comes to't, and takes it up with ease,  
Turns it as light, and handles as thou please.  
Oh how I've longed! when I've in company been,  
Where I've some insolent talking Tyrant seen;  
Usurping all th'discourse o'th' company,  
Whilst none must talk, none must be heard but he;  
T'have some such Tyrant-Conqueror as thou  
Enter the Room, but onely to see how  
My talking; Sir, would presently be hushed,  
And his swollen insolence like a Bladder crushed.  
So have I seen some chattering pie or Jay,  
Fright with their noise, the lesser Foul away.  
Until some mighty Eagle comes in sight,  
When straight themselves are hushed, and put to flight.   

To the same, Recommending a certain Memorial to him in Italy. An. 1646.  
I Must beg of you Sir, nay, what is more,  
'Tis a disease so infectious to be poor.  
●… ust beg you'd beg for me, which whilst I do,  
●… hat is't, but even to make you beggar too?  
●… ut poverty being as honourable now,  
●… s 'twas when Cincinnatus held the Plough,  
●… enatots sowed and reaped, and who had been  
●… n Carr of Triumph, fetched the Harvest in.  
●… hen mightiest Peers do want, nay, what is worse,  
●… ven greatest Princes live on others Purse.  
●… nd very Kings themselves are beggars made,  
●… o shane for any Sir, to be o'th' trade.   

On the duchess of Newcastles closet.  
WHat place is this! Looks like some sacred Cell,  
Where holy Ermits anciently did dwell.  
●… nd never left importunating Heaven,  
●… ill some great blessing unto Earth was given?  
〈…〉 this a Ladies closet! 'T cannot be,  
●… or nothing here of vanity we see:  
●… othing of curiosity or pride,  
●… s most of Ladies closets have beside.  
●… carcely a Glass or Mirror in't you find,  
●… xcepting Books, the Mirrors of the mind.  
●… or is't a Library, but just as she,  
●… aches each place where she comes a Library.  
●… ere she's in rapture, here in ecstasy,  
With studying high and deep Philosophy.  
Here those clear Lights descend unto her mind,  
Which by reflection in her Books we find:  
And those high Notions, and ideas too,  
Which but her self, no woman ever knew.  
Whence she's the chiefest Ornament and Grace,  
O'th' Age and of her Sex, Hail sacred Place,  
To which, the World in after time, shall come,  
As unto Homers Shrine, or Virgils Tomb.  
honouring the Walls in which she made abode,  
The Air she breathed, and Ground on which sh●… trode●…  
So famed rewards the Arts, and so again,  
The Arts reward all those who honor them.  
While those in any other famed do trust,  
Shall after death lye in forgotten dust.   

To the same with his Emilia.  
WHen Poets would a Heroinna make.  
Does all perfections of her Sex partake.  
They make her noble Fair, and virtuous too,  
All which perfections, Madam, are in you.  
Emilia then is but a feigned name,  
But you and she, are really the same.  
Or, if there's any difference this is all,  
She's but the Copy, you the Original,  
Being then your portrait, and your mirror too,  
There's none has greater right unto't, than you.  
Who so resembles you, we well may say;  
Emilia's you, and you Emilia.   

To Mr. Henry Jermin, On the demand, Why he had no higher Titles.  
STill Noble, Gallant, Generous, and Brave,  
What greater Titles would these people have?  
Or, what can they imagine more to express,  
●… owe great thou art, that would not make thee less?  
He who is proud of other Titles, is  
●… roud of a thing, that's others, none of his.  
〈…〉 thing that's but the Title page. o'th' Book,  
On which your Fools and Children onely look.  
Or garnishment of dishes not to ear,  
●… ut empty nothings to set off the meat.  
●… how enviest none their Honors, but would be,  
●… orry they should deserve them more then thee.  
●… nd 'twere in thee, but vain ambition,  
●… o seek by other Titles to be known.  
When Henry Jermins name alone affords,  
●… s loud and high a found as any Lords.  
●… e still thyself then, and let others be,  
●… igh as they list in's place, what's that to thee?  
●… heir worth is all without them, thine within,  
●… nd whilst man fills the place, 'tis worth fills him.  
●… he Title of a worthy person's more,  
●… hang all those Titles which your Clowns adore.  
And there's no Office we may greater call,  
Than doing of good offices to all.  
This is thy Office, these thy Titles are.  
Let whose list take the rest, thou dost not care.   

To James Earl of Northampton.  
WHilst you your Fathers noble steps did trace,  
And still were found where greatest danger was.  
As none i'th' Wars more active was than you,  
So none has since more suffered for it too;  
By Plundering, Harassing, Imprisonment,  
And all successful Rebels could invent;  
To punish Loyalty with, in such a time,  
When being Loyal was the greatest crime.  
All which you not with patience alone,  
But even with cheerfulness have undergone.  
Wishing your dangers, loss, and suffering,  
Far greater yet in serving of your King.  
And that far from the mercenary regard  
Of those, did less for honor than reward.  
And you've the honor of't, let other men  
Take the reward, you do not envy them.   

To Mr. Bernard Howard, Brother to the Duke of Norfolk. Seguite il Pocchi, & non li vulgar genti.  
I Grant you Sir, I have a mind unfit,  
For my low fortune far too high for it;  
●… ut sure you'll grant 'tis better have it so,  
●… hang for high fortune to have a mind too low.  
●… y that a man is elevated too,  
●… n Angels pitch, attained by onely few.  
●… y this, the Noble Soul is even depressed  
●… unto the vulgar, almost to the Beast.  
●… his sentence I have ta'en for Motto then,  
Follow the few, not vu●gar sort of men;  
●… nd care not what the ignorant vulgar say,  
●… or being not of their number, nor their way;  
●… hey do but talk, and can't in judgement sit,  
Nor lies it in their verge to judge of it.  
〈…〉 put myself upon the onely few,  
●… hat is the best and noblest, such as you.   

To the Lord George Barkley.  
IF as they say, and as we clearly see,  
virtue be onely true nobility:  
There's none gives greater testimony than you,  
My Lord, that your nobility is true.  
And that't may so continue, you provide  
By adding to 't true piety beside.  
For Piety is but virtue Died in Grain,  
Can never change colour, nor take spot or slain.  
In which pure G●rments, who so e'er are clad,  
Are truly noble, truly virtuous made.  
Such Courtiers, Heaven desires, and such King shou'●  
Desire too, if they'd have them great and good.  
Happy the whilst, my Lord, are such as you,  
F●t both for th'Earthly Court, and Heavenly too.   

To lily, Drawing the duchess of Clevelands Picture.  
STay daring Man, and never presume to draw  
Her Picture, till thou mayst such Colours get;  
As Zeuxes and Apelles never saw,  
Nor e'er were known by any Painter yet.  
Till from all Beauties thou extracts the Crace,  
And from the Sun, the Beams that guild the Skies;  
Never presume to draw her Beauteous Face,  
Nor Paint the Radiant brightness of her Eyes.  
In vain the whilst thou dost the labour take,  
Since none can set her forth, to her desert.  
She who's above, all Nature e'er did make,  
Much more's above, all can be made by Art.  
Yet been't discouraged, for who e'er does see't,  
At least, with Admiration must confess,  
It has an Air so charming and so sweet,  
Much more than others, though than hers much less.  
So those bold Giants, who would scale the Sky,  
Although they in their high attempt did fall,  
This comfort had, they mounted yet more high  
Than those, who never striven to climb at all.  
Comfort thee then, and think it no disgrace,  
From so great height, a little to decline.  
Since all must grant the Reason of it was,  
Her too great Exc'llence, and no want of thine.   

In Memory of his Noble Friend, Col. William Evers, Slain in the Battle of Marstone-Moor.  
EVers, who as thou liv'dst, so thou didst die!  
Deserving an Eternal Memory!  
Let some for th' Macedonian go about  
To cut Mount Athos into Statues out;  
Others in memory of Great Heroes,  
Raise huge Mausolium's and Collosose's.  
This for thy memory, may be enough  
To make't not onely Time, but Glory prove,  
To see thee embracing of a Kingdom stand,  
Like some great Cato, or some greater hand;  
And midst of thy embraces see it fall,  
Drawing to ruin with it, thee, and all.  
Who would not say of such a mind, 'twas fit  
'T should never fall, but all the World with it.   

Of the Riches of the Barbado's, to Mr. Henry Drax.  
HOw rich Barbadoes is in other things,  
We well may see by th' wealthy Trade it brings.  
How rich it is in Men, we well may see,  
By bringing forth brave Drax, such Men as thee.   

On Mr. Abraham Cowley.  
COwley's not dead, immortal is his Muse;  
Or, if he be a phoenix he's become,  
Who match-less in his kind, his life renews,  
And animates his ashes in his Tomb.   

The same in French.  
NOn Couley n'est pas mort, sa muse est immortelle,  
Ou bien si Couley est mort c'est un phoenix nouveau  
Qui n' ayant son pareil, voy mesme renouelle,  
Et suruit a sa cendre, animant son Tombeau.   

The Praises of Burbadge, or an Excellent Actor. To Charles Hart.  
WHo by the best and noblest of the Age,  
Was held the chiefest ornament o'th' Stage  
And Actors clearest light, in no dark time,  
To show them what to follow, what decline.  
Who knew by Rules of the dramatic Art,  
To fit his Speech and Action to his Part.  
And of an Excellent Orator had all  
In voice and gesture which we charming call;  
Who a delightful Proteus was, that could  
Transform himself into what shape he would.  
And finally did on the Stage appear.  
Beauty to th' Eye, and music to the Ear.  
Such Burbadge was, and such Charles Hart is now,  
All but the deaf and blind, must needs allow.   

To Mr. John Dryden.  
DRyden, the Muses darling and delight,  
Then whom, none ever flew so high a flight;  
Nor ever any's Muse, so high did sore  
Above th' Poets Empyrium before.  
Some go but to Parnassus foot, and there  
Creep on the Ground, as if they Reptils were:  
Others but Water Poets, who have gone,  
No farther than the Fount of Helicon;  
And they're but Airy ones, whose Muse soars up  
No higher than to Mount Parnassus top.  
Whilst thou with thine, dost seem t'have mounted higher,  
Than he who fetched from Heaven, Celestial fire;  
And dost as far surpass all others, as  
The fier's, all other Elements does surpass.   

On Mistress Jean Roberts.  
Roberts, whom rather we Rob-hearts, may call,  
Since of our Hearts, her Beauty robs us all;  
And does it with such gentle force and slight,  
As she even robs us with her very sight.  
Nay, what few Beauties else could ever do,  
Her sight not onely robs, but kills us too.  
Though none so fond of life, was ever found,  
Who would not gladly die of such a wound;  
Nor talk of Law to her, who is above  
All other Laws, but onely those of Love.  
Whence she's so high, and absolute become,  
As she gives Laws to all, but takes of none.  
Such privilege Beauty has, whence we may see  
Less Thieves are punished, great ones lawless be.  
And mighty Conquerors, whom no Laws can touch,  
Do rob and kill like her, but not so much.   
The End of the Second Book of EPIGRAMS Published before.   

THE THIRD BOOK OF EPIGRAMS.  

To a Lady who miscarried of Her First-Born Son.  
IT always has a Pious custom been,  
To give to Heaven First-fruits of every thing.  
And in this manner, Madam, y'have begun,  
By giving unto Heaven, your first-born son.  
Mean time, you may be most assured, that Heaven,  
To whom your Son, so piously y'have given,  
Will liberally reward you; and for one  
That you have given it, give you many a son.  
Then, Madam, cease to grieve, and to complain,  
If Heaven who gave him, takes him back again;  
Who might have longer lived, but never could die  
For you, nor for himself, more happily.  
Happy for him, has that good Fortune had,  
' Stead of a Man, to be an Angel made.  
Happy for you, to whom the whilst is given,  
' Stead of a Son on Earth, a Son in Heaven.   

To a Lady newly Married.  
HAving now wholly changed your state of life,  
From that of Virgin, unto that of Wife.  
No wonder, Madam, at so great a change,  
That every thing should seem t'y ' new and strange,  
As all great changes, greater still they be,  
Begin with wonder, and with ecstasy;  
But end in joy, and in delight at last,  
When once the strangeness and the wonder's past.  
So those, who to the elysian shades do come  
At first, are lost in admiration;  
Till they at last recover by degrees,  
And wholly all their admiration lose.  
Now marriage is this blessed elysian shade,  
Where those, who love like you, are happy made.  
As you'll experience now y'are thither come,  
And so y'are welcome to Elysium.   

To a Lady, too curious of Her Dress.  
ANd why Clarissa so much pains and care,  
To gain the reputation of fair!  
When without all this care, and all this pain,  
You have already, what you strive to gain?  
Beauty and Truth need so small setting forth,  
All you can add to 't, takes but from their worth;  
And th' Sun and you, need far more art to hid,  
Your brighter Beams, than make them more espi'd.  
All other arts in you, would show as poor  
As his, should go about to guild Gold over.  
And you'd appear as vain in it, as they  
should seek by art, to blanche the Milky way.  
Y'are fair enough Clarissa, leave to those,  
Those petty arts, are onely Paint and clothes,  
And those wh're of themselves so little part,  
They're forced to piece it out by help of art.  
So politics, when th' Lions skin does fail,  
Do use to piece it out with th' Foxes tail.  
But when th'ave Lions skin enough, 'tis poor  
And beggarly, to add a piece to't more.   

To a fair and virtuous Lady, too confident of Her Innocence.  
MAdam, that you are innocent I know,  
But men want innocence to think you so;  
Who're all so vicious grown, they wont allow  
That any can be fair and virtuous now.  
●… n Saturns days, perhaps it might suffice,  
When to be innocent, was to be wise:  
But now without the Serpents wisdom too,  
The inn'cence of the Dove will hardly do.  
You then must get you some more sure defence  
For virtue now, besides your innocence;  
For Innocence is virtue but unarmed,  
The more you trust unto't, the more y'are harmed,   

The Ladies name in Enigma.  
Her first name somewhat of elysium has,  
Her second is in a more mystic phrase;  
That colour which shows venerable Age,  
And does i'th' morning a fair day presage,  
Unriddle now and tell, whose name it is,  
Or forfeit a discretion if you miss.   

On two married very young.  
LOve well was feigned young, for then's the time  
As Roses are i'th' Bud, when he's in's prime.  
And such a Love as that, is this of theirs,  
Who now are married in their tender years.  
Now like Soft Wax, they fittest are to take,  
The first impressions which their love does make.  
And like young Plants, they'll easily bend and bow,  
Which older grown, they'd not so easily do.  
Make hast to th' Temple then, you do them wrong  
To let them stay unmarried so long.  
Marriage is but a bargain betwixt too,  
With giving hands, and there's no more to do;  
And unto those have given their hearts before  
The giving hands, does add but little more:  
For Love and Marriage, none are under Age,  
Though for the Bed they're yet in pupilage:  
Those sweets are yet behind, which when they taste  
They'll soon repent, they made no greater hast.   

On a Fair and Beauteous Youth.  
WHat more than fair and beauteous Youth is this?  
Seems Natures chiefest Pride and Master-piece;  
When doubtful, whether Sex to make, she made  
One, who of either all perfections had.  
You'd think him young Apollo or the Sun,  
But that his Face has two, and th' Skies but one;  
Or else, that Cupid God of Love he were,  
Did he, like him, but Bow and Quiver bear.  
Who e'er he be, you well may say, that he's  
All that to Beauty, Beauty to others is  
Of Grace and Ornament, and that has more  
Than ever any Mortal had before.  
Live then fair Youth, and may the Fates still twine  
New threads of Life, and add them unto thine,  
Till thou at length Immortal mayst become,  
As bright Latona's, or fair Venus son.  
Which if the Fates and Destinies deny,  
Thine own brave parts, and virtues may supply.   

To a fair Lady under the name of Celia.  
CElia, who now are in your Beauties prime,  
Courted by all the gallants of the time;  
Who almost nothing else of Heaven do crave,  
Than that for wife they might fair Celia have.  
I'll tell you what your Beauty is, and what  
Y'are to expect, when come to marriage state.  
Beauty is just like Sweet-meats, which before  
Th'ave tasted of, nothing they long for more,  
But after once 'tis tasted and enjoyed,  
Ther's nothing with the which th'are sooner cloi'd.  
Then married once, 'tis such a tepid thing,  
And's fiers become so dull and languishing,  
As losing all its force i'th' married breast,  
'Tis Ice to them, that's fire to all the rest.  
Trust not the Bodies Beauty then alone,  
Than which, there's nothing sooner past and gone.  
But if a lasting one indeed you'll find,  
Trust onely to the Beauty of the mind.   

On a little pretty Child.  
PRetty Child! In whom appears,  
All the Seeds above thy years,  
Of every Beauty, every Grace,  
As e'er was sown in Mind or Face!  
By the Bud we well may see,  
What the Flower in time will be;  
And by the Blossom may presage,  
What the Fruit of riper age,  
Never by Nature, yet was made  
One who more perfections had,  
Nor ever, though she'd never so fain,  
Can she make the like again.  
Thou art epitome of all  
We pretty, fair, and sweet may call;  
And for the more conformity,  
This is th' epitome of thee.   

To certain Ladies, who said they liked not our old Wits.  
LAdies, you like not our old Wits, you say,  
And what new ones, are those you like I pray?  
Age perfects Wits, as Time does perfect Fruit,  
Giving a riper taste, and relish to't.  
And 'tis in such as you, a gross mistake,  
No difference betwixt Age and Dotage make.  
But 'tis the nature of Green-sickness Wits,  
As 'tis of your Green-sickness appetites.  
T'one in the Minds, t'other the Bodies Food,  
To like the Bad, and to mislike the Good.  
Or just as heresy at first begun  
By crying down the Old Religion.  
So 'tis perchance an heresy in you,  
To cry down old wits, and cry up the new.  
If so, with your good leaves, say what you will.  
Ladies o'th' new, give me the old ones still.   

To a fair Lady against Masquerading.  
SUre 'twas some one, who was ashamed, and durst  
Not show her face, invented Masking first:  
And since t'has been a common custom made  
By such as those, to go in Masquerade,  
But such as you, and all fair things were made  
To shine i'th' light, and not lye hide i'th' shade.  
nights dark enough, and there's more need to add  
New light unto't, than t'have it darker made.  
And y'have a Beauty, that's so fair and bright,  
It is enough to make a day of night.  
Beauty's a Heavenly thing, and those who would  
hid that, would hid Heaven from us, if they could!  
Not to be guilty of that envious sin,  
Unmask your Mask, and let your Face be seen.  
Or, if you needs will hid it, you may find  
A speedier way, show it, and strike us blind.  
That were a nobler way for you and us,  
You to be hidden, and we blinded thus.   

Of a fair Lady ill spoken of.  
AS 'tis a Godlike disposition,  
To judge and speak the best of every one:  
So 'tis a spirit diabolical,  
To judge the worst, and to speak ill of all.  
All have their faults, and those who have the least,  
We should account the happiest and the best.  
Tis the condition of Humanity,  
None in this World without some faults can be;  
And who'd have those, with none at all, must go  
To th'World above, there's none in this below.  
And what are those faults now they find with you?  
Of which themselves are not as guilty too.  
Less Beauty be a fault, and then who would  
Not gladly be as guilty, if they could?  
As midnight Dogs then bark against the Moon,  
Whilst she her bright conspicuous course goes on;  
So do you well, and then let them speak ill,  
The more their shane, the more your honor still.   

Upon one who slandered a fair Lady.  
THou enemy of all that's fair and bright,  
As Fowls of darkness, are unto the light.  
Monster of Monsters! Basilisk of spite,  
That kill'st with tongue, as t'other does with sight.  
Sland'rer of Ladies, and of them the best,  
Th hast done an act, which all men must detest.  
Beauty's a thing divine, and those who would  
Wrong that, would wrong divinity, if they could.  
Who takes my Purse, does but as robbers do,  
Who takes my famed, robs me and kills me too;  
And with his venomous tongue, and poisonous breath,  
Does all he can to kill me after death:  
But I mistake, it is no calumny,  
To be ill spoken of by such as thee;  
Thou rather praisest them against thy will,  
As he who cured by chance, whom he would kill;  
For 'tis the same thing rightly understood,  
To be disprais'd by th'bad, as praised by th' good.   

To a Noble Friend of his in the country.  
WHilst Men and Manners here, are all so bad,  
As every one by example's worse made.  
You're happy Sir, who in the country are,  
And nothing see but good example there.  
Passing your time amongst the country sports,  
More harmlessly than we in Towns or Courts.  
Who just as silly sheep, 'mong bushes stray,  
Whilst every bush takes part o'th' Fleece away,  
So never abroad 'mongst company do come,  
But we lose somewhat still we had at home;  
Not onely our ease, our quiet and content,  
But we receive far greater detriment:  
Our morning thoughts are Gold, by noon th'are led,  
And all turned dross before we go to Bed.  
And every hour we worse and worse grow,  
Mixture of company does abase us so.   

On the Noble Company at Melchbourn.  
MElchborun a happy place, to whom is given  
This privilege by special Grace of Heaven,  
As in no other place you e'er shall see  
More noble, nor more easy Company.  
Whose Lord and Lady of a Dove-like kind,  
Live so united with one Soul and Mind,  
Betwixt them never yet was other strife,  
But who should kindest be of Man or Wife;  
Or with like emulation again,  
Who should do greater good to other men.  
All Freedom, Nobleness, and Kindness he;  
All Sweetness, Gentleness, and Mildness she:  
No Weather-cocks of humour apt to change,  
To day familiar, and to morrow strange;  
But constant to their goodness, and their way,  
The same to morrow, as they were to day.   

On a Ladies blushing, when the King looked upon her.  
SO Roses blushy, when looked on by the Sun,  
As she, when by the King she's looked upon.  
And so of all fair things, we nothing see,  
More fair in Nature, than the Rose and she.  
If things take name from their original,  
We well her Blushes Royal ones may call;  
And if we'ave lost the Royal Purples slain,  
It in her Cheeks may well be found again.  
Mean time as 'tis a sign the Sun draws near,  
When fair Aurora blushing does appear,  
To see her blushing, when the King does come,  
You'd say she were Aurora, he the Sun.   

The Pourtract.  
SUch a Statue as we call,  
Nor too low, nor yet too tall;  
And each part from head to foot,  
With a just proportion to't.  
Such a fair and beauteous face,  
As adds to all the rest a Grace.  
Hair so black and skin so white,  
Never was a fairer sight,  
And her fairer yet to make  
Eyes and Eye-brows too as black:  
forehead smother than the Glass,  
Where she sees her Beauteous Face:  
Cheeks, where naturally grows  
The lilies, and the blushing Rose.  
Lips all other Lips excelling,  
Th'are so ruddy, and so swelling,  
Voice that charms you, 'tis so sweet,  
Made more charming by her wit.  
Whilst in none you e'er shall find,  
〈…〉 more fair and virtuous mind.  
●… f you'd know who this may be,  
Name Bellasis, it is she.   

On a Famous Running Horse.  
LEt F●bulous Antiquity no more  
Boast of the Running Horses th'had before,  
Here is a Horse, to whom they'd all seem lame,  
Who ran i'th' Isthmos or Nemaean game:  
Surpassing far the Horses of the Sun,  
So many thousand miles a day do run;  
Or Ginnets of the Adulasian kind,  
For swiftness far out-strips their fire the Wind.  
Whom we had praised before, but that there's none  
Had time to do it, till the race was done.  
But now we well without hyperbolly,  
May s●y, he does not seem to run but fly.  
Talk then no more of Pegasus, nor yet  
Of t'other Flying Horse or Pacolet,  
Whilst we have Tancred here, we well may say,  
We have our Flying Horse, as well as they.   

To an Enemy.  
FOr shane give over, and let's be friends again,  
And still remember w'are not Beasts but Men.  
●… his baiting one another, is but just  
●… ike Bear-baiting, where those who seem the most  
Delighted with't, nor love the Dog nor Bear,  
●… ut onely th'savage sport they make them there:  
●… nd what Man's he, himself would harm or hurt,  
Onely as Beasts do, to make others sport?  
●… or shane give over then, let's be friends again,  
●… nd still remember w'are not Beasts, but Men.   

On a little pretty Person.  
SHe is pretty, and she knows it,  
She is witty, and she shows it;  
●… nd besides that, she's so witty,  
●… nd so little, and so pretty,  
●… h'has a hundred other parts,  
●… or to take and conquer hearts.  
●… 'mongst the rest, her Air's so sprightful,  
●… nd so pleasant and delightful,  
With such Charms and such Attractions,  
●… n her words, and in her Actions,  
●… s who e'er does hear and see,  
●… ay there's none does charm but she.  
But who have her in their arms,  
Say sh'has hundred other charms,  
And as many more Attractions,  
In her words, and in her actions;  
But for that, suffice to tell ye,  
'Tis the little pretty Nelly.   
The End of the Anominal Eprigrams.   

THE FOURTH BOOK OF EPIGRAMS.  

On his Accession to the Poetical Academy in ITALY: Under the Presidency of the Lord Duke of Buckingham.  
'TIs so indeed, here's a free Mart and Faire,  
I now perceive, of all poetic ware,  
No Tax, Gabel, nor Imposition, none  
On any Merchandise, but every one  
Brings what he please, and from the Lord o'th' place  
Free passport for it, and safe conduct has.  
Mean time, all sort of rich commodities,  
Are here instal'd to take the curious eyes.  
Pictures o'th' mind, so lively drawn, and like,  
They put down Holbeen, Titian, and Vandike.  
Damasks and Tissues of Parnassus work,  
Surpass the Chinan, Persian, and the Turk.  
in on's richer vain, and sparkling wit contends,  
With Gold and Jewels, either India sends.  
tother again for softer phrase puts down,  
The Wool o'th' Beaver, or the Swans soft down:  
Onely as I have heard objected, there's  
Great want amongst the rest of such small wears.  
Your Ped●ers use to bring unto a Fair,  
Amongst your richer, and more precious Ware:  
And for such petty toys, that none may lack,  
I'm come to fit them, with my peddlers Pack.   

Something upon an excellent Poem of Nothing.  
OF nothing, nothing's made, they say, but he  
disproved that saying, Poem, who made thee.  
And proves himself maker of Verses right,  
could out of nothing, bring such ones to light.  
Which I( as Creatures him who does create)  
Onely on somewhat dully imitate.  
Mean time, I hope, say all they can agin't,  
They needs must say, at least, there's somewhat in't.  
Or granting it as good, as nothing be,  
The greater honor still for it and me.   

On Doctor Cornuto.  
WHoso famous was of late,  
He was with th' finger pointed at;  
What cannot Learning do, and single state?  
Being married he so famous grew,  
As he was pointed at with two,  
What cannot Learning and a Wife now do?   

Upon one sweeting in Cornelius Tub.  
WHo's this that lives so like Diogenes,  
For he lived in a Tub, and so does this?  
Some Anchorit perhaps who here does dwell,  
In solitary Tub instead of Cell?  
Or some Tub-Preacher, who does take such pain,  
To Preach 'gainst Babel, as he sweats again.  
Pox! Now I know 'tis one i'th' case he's in,  
Sweats more for's own, than Eves or Adam's sin;  
And's in so sweet a pickle, I suppose,  
He's glad himself, that he has never a nose.  
Yet he's so far from railing against Women,  
And from repentance of his former sinning.  
He calls it still the sweet sin of the flesh,  
Although't be rather powdered now, than fresh.  
And as for Woman says, howe'er th'ave s●rv'd him,  
A Woman made him, and a Woman marred him.   

In Small-Beer.  
HOw could am I? with Drinking of this Small-  
Beer we may well the Devils over call;  
distilled from Lembeck of some Lapland Witch,  
With North-winds Bellows blowing in her Breech,  
Or stale of some could Hag o'th'Marshes, who  
Than Water never better liquour knew;  
A penitential drink for none, by right,  
But those ' th' morning, who were drunk over night.  
Sure 'twas the poison Antiquaries think  
They g●ve condemned Socrates to drink:  
Or that the Macedonian drank so could,  
As nothing but an Asses Hoeff would hold.  
We are deceived it was not Neobe's moan,  
But drinking Small-Beer turned her unto ston.  
And that infa●libly, which since has made  
All Charity so could, and th'World so bad.  
If then Divines wou d mend it, let them Preach  
'Gainst Small-Beer onely, and no doctrine Teach;  
But Drinking Wine, and then we soon should see  
All in Religion easily would agree;  
There would be no dispute, nor factious Brother,  
To rail against the State, and damn each other.  
This were a l●bor, worthy of their heat,  
And furious beating th' Pulpit till they sweat.   

In the Small Pox.  
'MOngst all diseases of Pandoras Box,  
Was none more fowl and ugly than the Pox.  
Not that for honors sake, the Great we call,  
But that more fowl and ugly one the Small.  
The greatest enemy that Beauty has,  
And very Goth and Vandal of a face.  
On which it makes as fowl, or fowler work,  
Than's Cosin-German Measles upon Pork.  
One of those Devils which in ancient time,  
Cast out of Man went to the Herd of Swine;  
And giving them the Pox, is come again  
To play the Devil as it did with Men,  
To wish the Plague upon it now, that curse  
'T anticipates already for 'tis worse,  
Or Great Pox on it, we should curse but ill,  
For 'tis more Great, in being the Small Pox still.  
Since then 'tis in its self, so great a curse,  
There's onely one way left to make it worse.  
Let Doctor— undertake its cure,  
And with a vengeance that will do't I'm sure.   

The Patrons Lives to the Lord M.  
MY, Noble Lord, if you would tell  
How to live, and to live well.  
Please you but attention give,  
I'll tell you how the Patrons live.  
First of all, they never c●re,  
Nor for Clock, nor calendar:  
Next they never desire to know  
How affairs o'th'World do go,  
Above all they never resort,  
To the Busie-Hall, nor Court.  
Where most part do nothing else,  
But trouble others and themselves:  
All the business they look after,  
Onely is their sport and laughter,  
With a Friend, and cheerful Cup,  
Merrily to Dine and Sup;  
Hear good music, see a Play,  
Thus they pass the time away.  
And if you like our living thus,  
Come, my Lord, and live with us.   

Of an Epicure.  
AN Epicure is one of those,  
No God, besides his Belly knows;  
And who besides his Bill of Fare,  
Does for no other Scripture care.  
Who for his palate, and his Gust,  
Has quiter forgot all other Lust,  
And hugs a Bottle as he would  
A Mistress, if the Wine be good.  
Who lays about him like a Giant,  
When he meets a Morsel Friand;  
And so long has crammed his Gut,  
He's nothing else from Head to Foot.  
When you such an one do mere,  
Or in Tavern, or in Street;  
By his bulk you may be sure,  
He is a perfect Epicure.   

In Pravos Aulicos.  
IF as they say Courts, are like Heaven, and Kings  
Like Gods, sure Courtiers should be holy things;  
Like Angels, from which state, when once they fall  
As Devils did, the Devil take them all.   

Consolation to Porters.  
COmfort poor Porter, every one must bear  
Their load and burden, whilst they tarry here;  
And every one, be who they will, are free  
As well as thou o'th' Porters Company:  
Nor is't so base a trade perh●ps, as thou  
Imagin'st it, since if that saying be true,  
Great Honors are great burdens, we may call  
The Porters trade th'honorablest one of all.   

To one who spake ill of him.  
THe same advantage thou hast over those,  
Who have some famed, while thou hast none to lose:  
As gamesters have, who play o'th' tick with one  
Who has some money, while themselves have none.   

On simplo.  
simplo made much ado, and much offence  
He took for saying, He scarce had common sense,  
Till saying He had, and very common too.  
simplo was pleased, and made no more ado.   

Of Friends and Foes.  
TWo Painters, Friend and Fo, once went about  
To draw Antigones, whose one eye was out,  
At half face either; t'one in friendly wise,  
Painted him so, you'd think h'had both his eyes;  
T'other o'th' contrary did paint him so,  
You'd doubt where he had any eyes, or no.  
So betwixt Friends and Foes, Men are expressed,  
By halfs set forth, whilst they conceal the rest.  
None as their Friends & Foes depaint them would,  
being ever half so bad, or half so good.   

On your Cross-haters.  
WHo will not be baptized, onely because  
In Baptism they make the Sign o'th' across;  
And hates all Christendom in such a manner,  
Because they bear the Sign o'th' across for Banner.  
Who with the across makes as unchristian work,  
Where e'er he comes, as Pagan, Jew, or Turk.  
And chiefly h●tes the Papists, as he does  
For making as they do, the Sign o'th' across.  
To show in fine, how well the Devil and he  
In hating of the Sign o'th' across agree.  
Seeing how every one in Swimming does  
Stretch forth their Arms, and makes the Sign o'th' across,  
Were he to Swim sooner than make I think  
The Sign o'th' across, he'd rather choose to sink,   

To his Horse at Grass in a Friends Park.  
AFter my hearty commendations,  
Hoping thou hast nor Bots, nor Fashions;  
But art in good health, and as pleasant,  
As I'm at writing of this present.  
This is to let thee understand,  
I sh●ll be with thee out of hand;  
In the mean time, be sure thou fly  
All such unruly company,  
May led thee over Hedge and Ditches,  
As they had briars in their Breeches,  
Till thou in doleful dumps beest found  
Half starved, at last, in country pound.  
I need not bid thee now beware  
Of playing Horse tricks there with mere.  
For th'art by him, they call Sow-gelder.  
quiter marred for getting Hans in Kelder;  
And so long there is no great danger,  
Thou shouldst, or Stallion prove or Ranger.  
'Bove all, if Serving-man or Groom  
To take thee up, does flattering come.  
With Bridle in hand, and Oats in Sieve,  
Run from them fast as thou canst drive;  
For if they once but get that haunt,  
employment thou shalt never want.  
Grey Flecknoe here, Grey Flecknoe there,  
Grey Flecknoe must go every where;  
And unto every one does back thee,  
At last become the common Hackney:  
So hoping in my absence, that  
Th'wilt feed so well, and grow so fat,  
As to recover strength and force,  
That I may say Gramercy Horse.  
●… arewel Good Cut, as I remember  
The Three and twentieth of September.   

On Madam Tumbril in Burlesque Verse.  
TO tell you what Dame Tumbril was,  
For Beauty both of Person and Face;  
Without any long and tedious preamble,  
As Poets use when they run on the ramble.  
Her face was good, if for goodness, at least,  
●… t goes, as in Bucklers, the broadest the best;  
And person fair, if for fairness it goes  
●… n such as she, as in Bullocks it does.  
●… n plain terms, without mincing the matter,  
She had a face as broad as a Platter,  
And person, such as to see it, you'd fancy  
Some huge Dutch Jug were come from beyond Sea.  
Then an Arithmetician 'twould trouble,  
To count her Chins, th'were so many fold double;  
Which made her look like a Bawd or a Widwife,  
Or old Madam Bennet, or Ursly the Pigwife.  
As for the qualities of her interior;  
They say to the rest, are nothing inferior:  
I le●ve them to those, who better do know her  
Interior than I, and so I give over.   

On your Justices of Peace's making Marriages.  
NOw just as 'twas in Saturn's reign,  
The Golden Age is return'd again.  
And again Astrea amongst us is come,  
When every thing by Justice is done.  
Who now not onely in Temporal matters,  
But also in Spiritual looks to our waters:  
And person and Vicar, have nothing to do,  
Now Justice has making of Marriages too.  
Before, of Wedlock they made but a mock,  
When once th'had the trick of picking the Lock;  
And Marriage Bonds so slightly were tide  
Their running knot, would easily slide.  
And at the worst, when ever 'twas slipped  
For pennance, perhaps they onely were whipped.  
But now there is no slipping the Halter,  
●… ut straight they are hanged, if any do falter.  
●… o every thing does fall out right,  
And, that old Proverb is verified by't,  
That marriage and hanging both go together.  
When Justice shall have the ordering of either.   

On Married Ministers.  
IF both i'th' Spiritual and Temporal War,  
Their Wives but Baggages i'th' Armies are:  
We well may say, Your Ministers who mary  
Whilst others fight, do with the Baggage tarry.   

In Invideum.  
WHen e'er thou seest me take delight,  
In any thing, thou bursts with spite;  
And so thou dost at every thing  
That does me any profit bring  
Thou bursts with spite to see that I  
Am still in Noble Company,  
And honor I receive from them,  
Does make thee burst with spite again.  
If then my profit, my delight,  
And pleasure, makes thee burst with spite:  
And all my good does prove thy ill,  
I prithee burst with spite of't still.   

On Madam  
OF Madam, it may well be said,  
That Madam's Head has little wit;  
When Madam's Husband is her head,  
And Madam makes a fool of it.   

On a Hector, Pitifully beaten and dragged away by the Watch and Constable.  
STill to be dragged still to be beaten thus?  
Hector, I fear, thy name is ominous,  
And thou for fighting, didst but ill provide  
To take thy name thus from the beaten side.  
To have the Watch, like Band of Mirmidons,  
Beat thee with Halberts down, and break thy bones,  
And every Petty Constable thou meets  
Achillis-like to drag thee through the streets.  
Poor Hector! When th'art beaten blind and lame,  
I hope thou't learn to take another name.   

On an Avaricious Person.  
WHo wholly spends his life in getting wealth,  
And to increase his store, consums himself;  
To me does verier Fool than him appear,  
Who sold his Horse, to buy him Provender.  
Money's like Muck that's profitable, while  
'Tis spread abroad, and does enrich a soil.  
But when 'tis heaped and hoarded up, methinks  
'Tis like a dunghill that lies still and stinks.   

On his dim Sight.  
I Who in former times could never brook,  
On any thing, but what was great to look.  
Mine eyes grown dim, this by't, at least, do get,  
I nothing now can see, but what is great;  
A hundred other benefits beside,  
I've gotten now by being so dimly eyed.  
The greatest Beauties now I mind no more,  
Than e'er I did the meanest ones before.  
And vanities of the World, I so pass by  
With a neglective irretorted eye.  
Of all its pleasures I have Ambition none,  
●… o careless, and so unconcerned I'm grown.  
Let whose list then, complain of want of sight,  
For me I've got so great a benefit by't.  
As rightly weigh d, and rightly understood,  
I would not now see better, if I could.   
The End of the Fourth Book of Drolling Epigrams.   

Divine and Moral EPIGRAMS, DEDICATED TO HER MAJESTY, catherine● OF PORTUGAL, Queen of Great Britain, &c.   

MADAM,  
AS never any stranger was more obliged than I, unto the King Your Majesties Father; so never any had greater desire than I, to make acknowledgement of it to Your Majesty: But living in obscurity, retired from the Light of Court, and making no Figure there, I imagined it would have no Grace for such a shadow and cipher as I, to present myself unto Your Majesty; and other presents I had none, but onely such as this, which by its Littleness, shows the Greatness of my desire to declare myself,  
Madam, Your Majesties In all Humility and Devotions Rich. Flecknoe.   


To Her Majesty. Of the Dignity and Efficacy of Prayer.  
AS by the Sun we set our Dials, so,  
Madam, we set our Pieties by You;  
Without whose light, we should in darkness be,  
And nothing truly good, nor virtuous see.  
You in the Temple so assidual are,  
Your whole life seems but one contrived prayer,  
And every place an Oratory you make,  
When from the Temple Y'are returned back.  
Like vapours Prayers ascend, and Heaven in Rain  
Of Blessings, showers them down on us again;  
And if Heaven suffers violence, from whence,  
But onely prayer, proceeds this violence?  
O mighty prayer that canst such wonders do,  
To force both Heaven, and the Almighty too I  
Fools were those Giants then, since, if instead  
Of heaping Hills on Hills, as once they did,  
They had but heaped up prayers on prayers as fast,  
They might have easily conquered Heaven at last.   

On the Birth of our B. S.  
AFter the glory given to God on high,  
Upon this day at his Nativity;  
If any one be curious to know,  
What peace it was, was given to Men below.  
That peace of God, infallibly it was,  
All mortal understanding does surpass;  
Onely the low and humble do obtain,  
Whilst by the proud and high, 'tis sought in vain.  
Seek then to know no farther, but be wise,  
This is the Mystery of Mysteries  
After which, none that any Reason hath  
Can doubt of any Mystery of Faith;  
That God's a Man, and's Mother Virgin is,  
What can be more miraculous than this?   

On the Magiis following the Star.  
OTher Astrologers of opinion were,  
That all the World was lesser than a Star;  
But these, it seems, believed it alone,  
Who straight left all the World, to follow one.   

On the Circumcision of our B. S.  
HOw soon, O Lord, to day didst thou begin,  
To  shed thy precious Blood, when first was seen  
Spring forth the Fountain of that precious Blood,  
Which in thy Passion, ended in a flood?   

On the Death and Passion of our B. S.  
O Blessed Lord! And wouldst thou die  
For such a wretched worm as I!  
This of thy love's so great a proof,  
Angels can never admire enough;  
And all the love by far transcends  
Of Parents, and of dearest Friends.  
To have such a benefit bestowed,  
would undo any, but a God;  
And Love itself, make Bankrupt oo,  
By leaving't nothing more to do.  
Had any King done this for me,  
What wondering at it, would there be!  
And wondering at it, now there's none,  
When by a God himself 'tis done.  
Strange blindness! Man should more esteem  
A benefit bestowed on him,  
By Earthly Kings, than what is given  
Unto him, by the King of Heaven!   

Of Easter and christmas.  
OF Easter, a great word was said,  
This is the day the Lord has made.  
Of christmas, yet a greater word,  
This is the day that made the Lord.   

On these words of our B. S. O Woman, great is thy Faith!  
O Lord, when shall our Faiths be praised thus,  
And we deserve t'have these words said of us?  
Others count all things possible to thee,  
We nothing possible, but what we see.  
They more to Faith, than sense do credit give,  
We more our Sences, than our Faith believe:  
They believe all, we but believe by halfs,  
Their Faiths are Giants, ours but onely Dwarfs.   

On these words of our B. S. Be perfect, &c.  
YOu bid us to be perfect Lord, and we  
Conti●ue still imperfect as we be.  
What show d we say, O Lord, but onely this,  
Give what you bid, and bid us what you please.   

On these words of our B. S. I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  
THou art the Way, the Truth, and Life, thou sayst,  
As well thou mayst.  
What Fool is he then would forsake the Way,  
And go astray?  
What fool is he who would the Truth refuse,  
And falsehood choose?  
But above all, what fool and Madman's he,  
would forsake thee?  
The onely Eternal Life, and choose to die  
Eternally?   

On these words of the Apostle. Nihil ex me possum facere, & omnia possum meo qui me confortat.  
HAppy are those who doubly armed are,  
Against presumption, and against despair;  
By the Apostles words, who first does say that Man  
Without Gods help of himself nothing can.  
And next, that he can all things do again,  
By Gods assistance, and his helping him.   

The saying of a certain Holy Man.  
MY God and I, can all things do said one,  
And if it seems too great presumption,  
To name himself with God, 'tis without doubt  
Greater, for Man to name himself without.   

On our B. S. curing the Leper.  
O Lord, thou know'st how most infirm I am,  
Blind unto Truth, and unto virtue lame.  
O therefore thou who makes the Blind to see,  
And Lame to go; help my infirmity.  
I know, O Lord, thou onely needst to say,  
Be cured, as thou to th' Leper, didst to day;  
And thou dost know, so great's my misery,  
As I've a fouler leprosy than he;  
For mine's not onely in the outward skin,  
But in the very heart and mind within.  
And does not onely make the Body soul,  
But even infects, and taints the very soul.  
Thou then who onely miracles canst do,  
O Lord, as thou cur'dst him, so cure me too.   

On the Picture of a Weeping Magdalen.  
ARt as well as Nature, could  
Have made a speaking if it would,  
As well as weeping Magdalen;  
But that it is the nobler way  
In those who truly love, they say,  
To suffer, and never to complain.   

On the rooting out of 'vice.  
'vice is in Man, as Weeds in Gardens are,  
Which less we daily take especial care  
To root up as they grow, do sprout fast,  
We should be quiter o'ergrown with them at last.  
More shane for us, that every gardener then,  
should take more care to keep his Garden clean;  
Than we ourselves, and with a hand more nice  
Purge it from Weeds, than we ourselves from 'vice.   

The Harm of Procrastination.  
THey say, Repentance never comes too late,  
But let not sinners be deceived with that.  
How many sinners, have unto their sorrow,  
Lost Heaven, by putting't off, until to morrow:  
And Hell is full of those who sinning cried,  
To morrow still, till unawares they dyed.  
Don't then those Croaking-Ravens imitate,  
Who cry Cras, Cras, until it be too late;  
But leaving of this damned cry, lets say,  
To morrow is too late, begin to day.   

On the hearing of the Word of God.  
IF onely those as Scripture makes it clear,  
Who have the Spirit of God, Gods Word will hear,  
We well may doubt what spirit makes abode,  
In those who will not hear the Word of God.  
Since long Discourses they'll not harken to,  
I make these short, to see what that will do.   

On Sin  
WHo would but think, when th'are about to sin,  
O'th pains that sinners for't, in Hell are in:  
theyed sooner choose to burn i'th' Fire w'have here  
A thousand times, than in the Fire th'ave there.  
This, if thou dost believe, I see not how  
Thou canst a sinner be, and if that thou  
Dost not believe it, then I do not see,  
How thou canst possibly a Christian be.   

On the same.  
THou fearest the sight of Men, when thou dost ill,  
Why not the sight of God, who sees thee still?   

Of Death.  
DEath like a thief will come i'th'night, they say,  
And unawares will steal our lives away.  
●… f imports us then to stand upon our guard,  
●… or fear it come and take us unprepared:  
●… nd since it waits for's every where, 'tis fit  
We likewise every where should wait for it.   

On the same.  
HAppy was he, who every night did go  
To Bed, as 'twere unto his Grave, and so  
Got such a habit oft at last, he did  
Go to his Grave, but as he went to Bed.   

Of judgement.  
DEath terriblest of terriblest they call,  
But hear behold the terriblest of all;  
For none fear Death, but those who judgement fear,  
Without which, t'other but a pastime were.  
life but a prison, we the prisoners are,  
And Death, the Jaylor, brings us to the Bar.  
Where God, the Righteous Judge, to judgement comes,  
And gives to every one their several dooms.  
Happy the whilst, who in that dreadful day,  
With good Hylarion may securely say,  
Go forth my Soul, this many, and many year,  
Th'hast served the Lord thy God, why dost thou fear?  
The good and vertuo us wish for death; the bad,  
And vicious onely are of death afraid.   

The Pleasure of doing Good.  
DO good with pain, this pleasure in't you find,  
the pain's soon past, the good remains behind.  
Do ill with pleasure, this y'have for your pains,  
The pleasure soon is past, the ill remains.   

On a Ladies Beauty suddenly decayed.  
O Heavens! Is this that face that yesterday  
We so admired for Beauty, and to day  
'S so changed, we can't perceive in all her face,  
Least sign that ever any Beauty was?  
If this the end of Mortal Beauty be,  
O thou Immortal, rather unto thee,  
That ever lasts, and never can decay;  
Let me my Vows, and my Devotions pay,  
Than such frail Idols, which while we adore  
To day are here, to morrow are no more.   

How to bear Neglects.  
LEt it not trouble thee, if any would,  
Put a neglect upon thee, if they could;  
But mind it not, and thy neglect will be  
More great of them, than theirs can be of thee.   

Of a Happy Life.  
WHo e'er would live a happy life, indeed,  
And wholly be from care & trouble freed,  
Must first stand well with God, and then with Man,  
Must have as little business as he can;  
Must care for nothing that he cannot have,  
And nothing others can deprive him of:  
Must all his Passions in subjection bring,  
And over himself, at least, must be a King;  
Must nothing do, his Conscience may offend,  
But every day must think upon his end,  
Until, at last, h'has such a habit got.  
T' expect Death every hour, but fear it not.   

On the same out of Ronsard.  
CE luy n'est pas heureux qu'on monster par la Rue,  
queen le people cognoit, queen le people salve,  
Mais heureux est celuy queen la gloire n'espoint,  
queen ne cognoit person & qu'on ne cognoit point.   

The same in English.  
HE is not haypy they point at i'th' streets,  
Whom the people does know, and salutes when it meets:  
But happy is he who Ambition has none,  
Nor others to know, nor by others be known.   

Of GOD.  
IN vain we seek to know what God is since,  
He's a vast circled, whose Circumference  
●s no where, and his Center every where;  
Where e'er we seek him then, we find him there;  
●… ut what he is, he were not God, if he  
By human thought could comprehended be.  
Go seek the Heavens above, th' Abyss below,  
And World about, and all these we may know,  
●… ut God, who nor beginning has, nor end,  
How can we know? how can we comprehend?  
Well then did that Philosopher of old,  
Who did the Ebb and Flow o'th' Sea behold;  
●… nd restlessly did seek to comprehend  
●… he reason of it, thus cry out i'th' end.  
●… ince I can't comprehend thee, thou at least  
Comprehend me; and I shall be at rest.   

On a Fair and virtuous Lady.  
TO your fair Sex, y'are best example still  
Of following virtue, and declining ill,  
Who never stir a foot upon the way,  
Without first asking, What will people say?  
●… eaching th'unwary, if they walk not clean,  
●… he fault's not in the World, so much as them,  
Whilst you as pure, and as unblemished go,  
As Stars in Heaven, or ermines on the Snow;  
By which great circumspection, this y'have got  
To silence rumour, and stop slanders throat,  
That's always barking after those who do,  
Not walk with such great wariness as you.  
Continue then the Ornament and Grace,  
You, and your Sister of your noble Race;  
You for a matchless Virgin, she a Wife,  
The great examples of a virtuous Life.   

Of Charity.  
O Charity! Thou eldest Child of Heaven,  
To whom th'inheritance is chiefly given,  
Whilst other virtues have no part nor share,  
But onely as to thee, they servants are.  
T'one bears the Light before thee, t'other waits  
Against thou comest to open thee the Gates.  
Even prayer without thee, nothing can obtain,  
And whosoever hopes, does hope in vain:  
Nay, Faith itself, unless thou sets it forth,  
Is but a bootless thing, and nothing worth.  
Thou at the latter day, when all the World  
Into the flaming Furnac● shall be hurled,  
As the Refiner several Mettles does,  
To try out which is pure, and which is dross  
Shalt just like Gold, that's in the Furnace tried,  
Come out from thence, more bright and purified  
Whilst all the rest shall perish and expire,  
In smothering smoke, and in consuming fire.   

On a Noble Ladies embracing a Religious Life, Eclogue-wise.  
A Gentle Shepherdess, as e'er did tread  
Upon the Plains, whereon her Flocks were fed;  
inspired by him, who all good thoughts inspires,  
Felt in her breast, till then unfelt desires  
To taste Heavens pleasures, seeing Earth had none,  
A Soul in longing, long could feed upon;  
But changing one, a weary of the first,  
She found the latter pleasure always worst.  
And so went still deluded in her mind,  
Seeking for that which she could never find.  
This tender thought with pious care she fed,  
And with Religious Education bread,  
Giving it now an Aspiration,  
After that Blessed Life to feed upon;  
And now a Sigh, and now a Tear again,  
●… or Sorrow she never knew it until then,  
Avoiding carefully those Rocks and Shelves,  
On which so many Souls had wracked themselves.  
Those two extremes, on which so many fall  
To undertake too much, or nought at all:  
●… or 'tis with new-born Children of desire,  
●… s 'tis with sparks you kindle unto fire,  
starved with too little fuel, 'twill not light,  
oppressed with too much, 'tis extinguished quiter:  
And now she's all a fire, happiness be,  
Fair Virgin to thy best desires and thee.  
So great, so high, so full a happiness,  
As nothing can be more, that is not less;  
Nothing beyond, but down the Hill again,  
And all addition, rather loss than gain.  
By glad experience, mayst thou find all store  
Of hearts contentment, thou expects and more;  
And learn that magic of Religion there,  
Makes every thing quiter contrary appear,  
To you, than unto us, Rich Poverty,  
Triumphant Sufferance; Brave Humility,  
Soft Hardness, greater difficulties slight,  
Sweet Bitterness, and heaviest burdens Light;  
Ease in your labour, Pleasure in your Pain,  
A Heaven on Earth, and all things else but vain.   

On a Dim Sight.  
HE who in former times could never brook,  
On any thing but what was great to look:  
His Eyes grown Dim, this by ●t, at least, does get,  
He nothing now can see, but what is great.  
This makes him ever since his eyes were dim,  
Think all this World, a little darksome thing;  
And often unto Heaven cast up his sight,  
In search of greater things, and greater light:  
This makes him too just like a Seeled Dove,  
More capable of seeing things above.  
And he more fit for Contemplation, is  
Of t'other World, the less he sees of this.  
Let who's list then, complain of want of sight,  
So great a benefit h'has gotten by't;  
As rightly weighed, and rightly understood,  
He would not now see clearer though he could.   

The Resolution.  
I Who in former times observed have been,  
Never to talk, but of some King or Queen;  
Nor in discourse ever t'have mention made,  
But of what such a Duke or duchess said;  
The whilst my chiefest study was to know,  
The best and noblest of this World below:  
Am now resolved to study in some Cell,  
Those of the other World to know as well.  
That whilst I 'm known enough to those are here,  
I may not die unknown to those are there;  
And may before I die, so happy be,  
To leave the World, before the World leave me.  
In which resolves, we just like Mothers are,  
Who feel some pain, the whilst they children bear;  
But all the pain they felt, at last does turn  
To joy and gladness, when the Child is born.   
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
PAg. 16. Line 4. red convertit for convers't.  
Pag. 36. l. 7. red presence for company.  
Pag. 48. ult. red self for mask.  
page. 17. lines the two last.  
And leave them darkly shadowed, and hide  
Under those Heads as t'other Painted did.   

Characters Made at Several Times on Several Occasions.  
By Richard Flecknoe.  
London, Printed in the Year. 1673.   

To his worthy Friend, Mr. Richard Flecknoe, UPON His Characters.  
FLecknoe, thy Characters are so full of Wit  
And Fancy, as each word is thronged with it;  
Each Lines's a volume, and who reads would swear  
Whole Liberaries were in each Character:  
Nor Arrows in a Quiver stuck nor yet  
Lights in the Starry Skies are thicker set;  
Nor quills upon the Armed Porcupine,  
Than Wit and Fancy in this work of thine.  W. NEWCASTLE.  

To the same, On the same Characters.  
FLecknoe, who reads thy Characters will find,  
That they not onely entertain the Mind;  
But with the Mind, even every sense has part,  
Being like rich Cordials to rejoice the heart:  
Or moved Air, that music does excite,  
With numerous sounds to give the Ear delight;  
Or odoriferous Essences, that gain  
A gentle passage to refresh the Brain.  
Whilst they with such variety are dressed,  
As every palate finds a Plenteous Feast.  
And th' sighing Lover does refuse to look  
On's Mistress Eyes, when he beholds thy Book.  W. NEWCASTLE.  

Of these Characters.  
I Have done by these Characters, as one who plucks down an old house to build a new, used some of the former Materials, and that is all. The subject of them is taken from the observations of several Natures, Humors, and Dispositions; and whilst I name no body, let no body name themselves, if they be wise. They differ from Pourtracts, in that they are onely Pictures of Mind, abstracting from the Body, and from Essays, in that they discourse not, but give you onely the heads of things in general, and that so briefly, as every Line is a Sentence, and every two a Period, to avoid all superfluity in Words and Matter. Mean time, I study more to contract, than to dilate; and like that Giant with his Iron Bed, cut off all that are too long, without Racking out those that are too short for it, to gain the double advantage by it, That those who like them not, may be glad they are no longer; and those who do, may be sorry they are so short.  

Of a Running Head.  
HE has so many wild fancies in his Brain, as he is perpetually distracted, and more wild when joined with the distractions of the day. His thoughts are like a swarm of Bees buzzing up and down his head, without Consistance, Coherence, and Consequence; and there is hardly any means to settle them. His head is a Leaking Fountain, and would be wholly dry, but for the continual currant of his Running Thoughts: And finally, the Figures of his Mind are all broken and disjointed, like those of agitated Water, and it is scarcely ever so calm to represent them perfectly; onely as you have seen colours confusedly laid, contracted into some figure by the Art of Prospective; so sometimes you may make somewhat of them in Writing, when on Paper, as in a Net he catches his flying thoughts; and then you may see they have more of Democrates than Heraclitus in them, that they more laugh than cry, are more merry than sad; And finally, make sport with the World, not for any ill will, but for its good, and with those in it, for their amendment, not their shane. A pattern of all which, you have in these Characters.   

Of a Bilk Courtier.  
A Bilk Courtier is one who has no business at Court, but onely stands in the way of those who have; he goes thither onely, that he may say he has been there, and talks as familiarly of all that is said and done there, as if it were not onely of the Court, but Council too; at first he kept back and made one of the common crowd, but after put forward, and became ridiculous: And if I might advice him, having no parts nor qualities to make himself considerable, he should rather remain in obscurity than appear in light of Court; and be a Cipher any where, rather than make no Figure there. Above all, I would council him to hold his peace before the Prince, whose ears are too delicate for his rude Praying, who like the Ass in the Fable, seeing others familiar with his Lord, thought he might be so too. Mean time I have more wondered at the desperate boldness of such as he, who having nothing worthy hearing, dare venture on Princes Ears, than at those who having no skill in swimming, dare throw themselves into the sea. For my part, I look upon it as a thing beyond my depth, and follow that Italian Rule.  
Il Cortegian inante al signior tace,  
Ou sia presto a dir cosa che piace.  
Before their Prince, let Courtiers hold their peace,  
Or nothing say, but onely what may please.   

Of one who turns Day into Night, &c.  
HE is the Antipodes of the country where he lives, and with the Italian, begins his day with the first hour of night, he is worse than those who call light darkness, and darkness light, for he makes it so, and contradicts that old saying, That the day was made for Man to labour in, and the night to rest; Saying, It was meant onely by Day-Laborers. He thinks that Sentence of Solomon nothing concerning him, that all is vanity underneath the Sun; for all his is underneath the Moon; for the Suns rising serves him onely to go to Bed by; and as formerly they measured Time by Water, he measures it onely by Fire and Candlelight; he alters his Pater noster, and as others pray for their Daily he preys for his Nightly Bread, mean time he fears neither Death, nor judgement; for Death is said to come like a thief by night, and then he sits up and watches, and judgement by day, and then he is a Bed and sleeps; And if they charge him for ill expense of time, he onely changes and it, change is no robbery; so as, in fine, If he have no other sins than that, there is none would have less to answer for, than he.   

Of our Modern Censurers.  
WE have a sort of Modern Censurers, far worse than those they censure, who would have every one better than themselves, and look so much to others faults, as they have no leisure to mind their own; who have zeal perhaps, but want discretion to govern it; and having red, That the wisdom of this world, is but folly before God, would have it a scruple to be wise; who when they talk of Religion, make others wish they had none at all, rather than be so troublesone with it as they are, and cry out, That of all Devils, those who play the Devil for Gods sake, are the worst; who finally, are as unfit to judge of the Affairs of the World, as the Blind of Colours, or Clowns of Automicks, who see the motion of the Dials hand without, but not the Wheels and Resorts by which it is moved within. These I would advice to leave judging others, till they have more judgement, and their zeal too, until they have more discretion to make better use of scruples, and be scrupulous for themselves; and first mend themselves, before they undertake to mend the World; and finally, to consider how the times, by which they take their measures are so changed, as they now a days, may well be counted Saints, who are not wholly sinners, as those who are not wholly knaves, may be counted honest men.   

Of a Common Newsmonger.  
HIs word is, What news! What news! And he may well be added to the cries of London, with that word in his Mouth; he is an excellent Embrotherer of Lies, for any ground serves him to work on; and for a need he can do it, without any ground at all. He deals more with Conjectures than almanac Makers, and will venture the repute of a liar twenty times, for that of a Prophet once. He wishes more for ill news, than engrossers of Corn do for dear years, and is sorry with Caligula, when none happens in his time. He runs faster away with a rumour, than a Pack of Hounds do with a full Scent, and warrants it for true, though it be never so great a lie for his public news; the Gazette with some Comments of his own, are his Pourliens; and the Coffee-House, the place where he vents it afterwards: But for his Avisi secreti, or secret Advice, he has some other Authors who deserve to be whipped for their pains, and he too for divulging it, it being commonly the defaming some Noble Persons, taxing of the State, or Rumors tending to Sedition.   

On a Dutch Frow.  
SHe is cleanly in her House, though not in her ●elf, and kee●s all her household-stuff so neat, as if it were rather for Ornament than use: You may as soon get her to set the House on fire, as make fire in any Room, but the kitchen. As or her own Chimney, it is under her Coats in her Lul-pot, with which she so Bemackerels her Thighs, as you would take her for a Mermaid, Half Fish, half Flesh; by which unnatural heat she brings forth nothing but Zooterkins. She never travels without her Basket of Provant, or Stivers worth of Nuts or Shrimps, to be cracking or nibbling with on the way. Returned home she puts up all things in the Cup board, her Band, her Huke, and self too, when she goes to Bed; where betwixt want of Air and Foggines, she stinks like a Fitchock. On Worky days, she keeps the Shop, and Huswives every thing to the best; but on Holidays, the Silver Chain and Appurtenances goes on, and her best clothes too, or she will go to the lombard for it. In fine, she keeps home all day, but at night takes occasion to fetch her Husband home from the Tavern, onely to drink her self, where they sip and sip so long, till they are both Maudlin Drunk, and then they go lovingly home to Bed, and sleep like Pigs.   

Of a French lackey.  
HE is as mischievous all the year, as a London apprentice on Shrove-Tuesday, and devilish valiant with his Rapier on, but a poor Devil when it is off; and his Master at any time may beat him as far as Cent coups de baston amounts unto. He lies with the Dogs, and they are so often mentioned together, as they call him nothing else, and he answers to it, as to his Christian name. Whatever colour his Livery is on, he wears Mourning linen still and he is no shifter in that, though in every thing besides. He swears and lies naturally, but steal●… nothing onely all he can lay hands on; and i●… you lay not hands on him the sooner, runs away with it when he has done; yet for running, it i●… the worst quality he has: In lieu of which, he vaults up behind the Coach, with as great facility as an Ape or Tumbler behind his Master. Wha●… chiefly has marred his running, is his running so often to the Burdel, which so Peppers him at last as he hates Pepper ever after, and makes him so pest and give himself so often to the Devil, as he take him at his word at last; and so they go together and agree as well as Devil and 'vice did in ou●… ancient Comedies.   

Of a Dutch wagoner.  
HE converses with Beasts so much, as he is become one himself, with onely this difference, that he is a Beast paramount; and to see him mounted on his Fore-horse like a Dril, you would take him for a Cart-Centaure, or Beast two stories high: He understands nothing above the elevation of his Pole, and talk of the Papists what you will, there is none speaks the Language of the Beast, but he. They were much out, who feigned a wagoner in Heaven; when with much more reason they might have feigned one in Hell; for he is more churlish than Charon, more exacting for his fare, and his wagon is just like Hell, where they are crowded together in perpetual pain, and he lays about him like a Fury with his Whip; onely in this he is like Phebus, or the Chariter of the day, that he always brings night with him to his journeys end. In fine, he is a very tyrant when he gets you in his wagon once, and sets as many Taxes and Impositions on his Passengers, as they on their Subjects, amongst the rest, one called Drink guelt, which he levies on the first four places: and were you forty, he promises to you all. Now whether this be a Flemish or Holland wagoner, there lies the Riddle, onely this last looks big, and keeps more state, as one who may be one of Mine Heer the states in time, while the other will never be but one of the Rascal Rout.   

Of a Novice of a certain Religious Order.  
HE is a young Lover, and his order is his Mistress, who to try his Constancy, makes a fool of him, and puts him to a hundred Probations, the more doz'd and be moaped he is, the better still; it is a sign he is right, and has a true vocation; and if he have any wit or judgement of his own, they cry out on him, and count him a very Reprobate. He hates all Women, and calls a Petticoat, Leviathan, and a Smock, but blanching on a hedge, Astarosh, or the foul Devil of Fornication; he walks with his eyes as fixed in his head, as a dead Hares in a Poulterers Shop, and crumples up like a Hog-Lowse for fear of effusion: He makes as many stops as he goes, as an old Rusty Jack, and winds up himself as often to rectify his intention. He says his Our Fathers, as devoutly as others their Our Father, and counts the Patron of his Order, the greatest Saint in Heaven. He is as lively after a Discipline, as an Ape after a whipping, and takes a Reprehension with a Deo Gratias. In fine, his Noviciat passes like a Spiritual Dream, and towards the end of it he wakes, when he finds nature was onely stund and not dead in him all the while.   

Of a will Devote.  
SHe has such a care of her Virginity, as she takes the wind of Men when she goes abroad, for fear of being got with child, as Spanish Gennets are, and brushes her self carefully when she comes home, ever since she understood that Man is but made of dust. She is a professed enemy of vanity, and to destroy the brood of 'vice, she knocks the tentation on the head, before it is hatched; for the World, she has one foot out of it already; for the Flesh, she mortifies it so, not onely in her self, but in her hotchpot too, and gives it so strong an alloy of Carrots and Turnips, as there is no danger of its Insurrection; and for the Devil, she knows his tricks so well, as that Devil must rise betimes who couzens her. She holds her Confessor, and the Pa●… ron of his Order, the greatest Saints; and salutes all the rest, even to the dog of the house, with a Beati qui Inhabitant; she goes as demeurly as a Cow in a Bongrace, and dares not cast an eye aside ●… or fear of transgressing the Rules of Modesty. In fine, of her Faith there is no doubt, and for her good works, you may have a pattern of them when ●… ou please, for she is the best point and Lacemaker ●… n all the Parish; of which, she gives the Tenth to ●… he Church, the Pater has the Gleanings, and the ●… est is reserved for her own maintenance.   

Of a French Dancing Master.  
A French Dancing Master or Baladin, think●… himself a very Paladin of France, when h●… comes into England once, where he has the Regimen of the Ladies Legs, and is the sole Pedagogue o●… their Feet; teaching them the French Language, a●… well as the French place, as Coupez, Passez, Le vez &c. which they understand as perfectly as English He fetches them up in their Courrant, with a he courage, as a Carter does his horses with a whip●… and makes as many antic postures the while, as 〈…〉 Bowler whilst his Bowl is a trundling. Mean tim●… he lives a merry life and a long, for they all danc●… after his Fiddle, and his dancing days are neve●… done. In fine, he is a brave fellow all the year, bu●… on a Ball, or grand Ballet night, without compare Now what a Devil 'tis should make us so dote o●… these French, I do not know, that we should thin●… nothing well done, but what they do? unless it b●… onely their being French, for which reason w●… may commend the Pox as well, nor will it eve●… be otherwise, till some such zealous Patriot as he, ris●… up again, who hearing them talk of the Frenc●… Pox, bid them call it the English, with a Po●… to them, saying, We had as good of our own, as th●… French had any.   

Of a very Widow.  
SHe shoots off Husbands as fast as Boys Pellets out of Pot-Guns; and one discharged, all her care is to charge again. She counts her self not so much Widowed for her bosom as her Bed, and takes care that should be warm still, when her Husband is scarcely could. Her veil serves rather to hid her Joy, then show her Sorrow; and she is so curious in her Mourning Dress, as if she rather courted a new Husband, than mourned for the old. Yet before company, she squeezes out a Tear or two, and makes lamentable moan, nor can she be comforted in public; but in private, she and her woman laughs at it, and all their discourse is, Who is the properest Man, and who would make the best Husband? Mean time she never remembers her former Husband, but as a Spur unto the latter. With God be with him, he would have done this and this; and if you do not the like, is as ready to bid God be with you: Nor is there any Love lost betwixt them, for they study onely to couzen one the other, and most commonly are cozened both, she having made a conveyance of her estate before hand, and he being altogether as much behind hand with his.   

Of Poetry and its abuse.  
POetry was anciently styled the Language of the Gods, because it instructed Men in virtue and Religion; and then Poets were in high Esteem and Reverence, until by degrees it was so profaned by some, who taught nothing but 'vice and Impiety, as they converted the Language of the Gods, into the Language of the Devil, and lost all the Reverence and Esteem they had before; deserving more the coercion of the Magistrate, and punishment of the Laws than common poisoners; for those poison onely the Body, but these the Soul and Mind; they onely the Inferior, but these the Superior part of Man: More shane for us the while, that the very Heathens should burn their Writings, banish their Persons, and brand their Memories with Infamy, whilst we cherish and applaud them as we do: Nor does it avail to allege for their excuse the corruption of the times, since it is their parts to mend, not mar them as they do; nor to corrupt their own manners by complying with other Mens. For my part, I dare not venture so far, as that Poet in marshal did; and to conclude, should be sorry and ashamed, since the Itch of lascivious Love is but the Scab of Poetry, that any one should justly say of me, I with my scratching, had exulcerated it.   

Of a Talkative Lady.  
SHe makes you wish, that either you were deaf or she were dumb; for there is no hearing her under pain of the headache, and ringing in your Ears a fortnight after. She has an admirable art of Expanding Matter to such an airy thinness, as to make it nothing but words, and you would say she were a voice and nothing else; since it is onely a noise she makes, and the labour of her Tongue nor Brain; for she never considers what she says, and her Tongue moves with as great facility, as Leaves shaken by the Wind, or rather as atoms in the Air; for it is quiter unhung and depends neither on Nerve nor Imagination, but goes at random; and there is as much difference betwixt hers, and a voluble Tongue, as betwixt an excellent Vaulter, who moves by Art, and one who Artlesly precipitates himself. So as in fine, a machine with as constant a motion as her Tongue, would be as good as a Purling Brook, or Bubbling Fountain to make you sleep; and she wants onely the faculty of talking in her sleep, to make the perpetual motion with her Tongue.   

Of a Taciturnos Person.  
HE is the contrary extreme, and knows as little to talk as the other, to hold her Peace. friar Bacons Head was a talkative one to his, and betwixt what he says and nothing, is little difference. The Wheels of his Tongue, like those of a Rusty Jack, want oiling, and are perpetually at a stand: He is like Pharacesiui's Picture, all Curtain; and those who think there is any thing under it, like Zeuxes, are deceived; yet we have a certain sort of Spiritual Pithagorians, with whom Silence is in Precept, and such Mutes in veneration, who count dullness Wisdom, and whose Wisdom is good cheap, if it onely consists in being silent: For how can we distinguish betwixt Fools and their Wisemen, if either hold their peace? But since they will needs have it so, to do them a courtesy, I will believe this once, That he hath some what in him, since I could never yet see any thing come out of him.   

Of an unconstant Disposition.  
HEr life is a perpetual contradiction; she would, and she would not; and do such a thing, yet do not neither, is her ordinary dialect, she differs from the irresolute; in that, he is always beginning, and she never makes an end; she writes and blots out again, whilst he is deliberating what to writ; and the one is a resty, the other a restless pain: So you can tell what to make of the ones Negative, and how two Negatives make an Affirmative; but of her yea and nay together, you know not what to make, but onely that she knows not what to make of it her self. She never considers, nor looks to the end of things, but onely to the beginning; nor ever stands still, but is in perpetual motion. So as those who are of one mind to day, and an other to morrow, are constant unto her, and Saturns Revolution compared unto the Moons. For, in fine, you know not where to have her a moment, and whosoever would hit her thoughts, must shoot flying, and fly themselves whosoever would follow her.   

Of an Irresolute Person.  
HE hovers in his choice like an empty balance, for want of Weight of judgement, to incline him to either Scale: He begins nothing withou●… consideration, and when he considers once, never makes an end; so, as he, of all Creatures living would be wiser if he never considered at all. H●… hath some dull daemon that whispers to him still, D●… not, do not, as oft as he goes about to do any thing▪ and he plays at, shall I, shall I, so long till he loses the opportunity of doing it, when as he committed the fault, he repents at leisure He always dislikes the present choice of things, a●… Scoggan did the three he was to be hanged on, and is an Enemy to Resolution: For the rest, if he be scrupulous withal, though it be on the safer side o●… Omission, rather than Commission; and he a Negative, rather than a positive Sinner; his Irresolution puts him in so many doubts, as to avoid the perplexity he is in; his best course is, if he could resolve upon it, to live under the obedience of a Superior, and so to have every thing resolved unto his Hand.   

Of a Valiant Man.  
HE is onely a Man, the Rash, and Coward; but Tame and Savage Beasts. He is always the same, and drink cannot make him more, nor danger-less valiant than he is, who knows no degree beyond clear Courage. He counts boast the Cowards valor, unworthy a valiant Man, and is onely Coward in this, That he dares not do a dishonourable action. Having signalized his valor by some brave action, he sits still, till as brave an one calls him forth again; and as formerly they used the emblem of an eye on a Princes sceptre, so they may upon his Sword, who never fights but when he sees just occasion. Onely in his Princes and Countreys service, he fights with blind obedience, knowing it his part to obey, and not dispute; and it is equal honor to him, whether he lives or dies in it. In fine, he is as much Courtier in the Chamber, as Soldier in the Field; and a hundred times more esteemed by Ladies, than your Effeminate Cowards are; who whilst he defends their honors, do but dishonour them.   

Of a professed Coward.  
HE sets up an Academy of cowardice, and is himself the Principal Professor of it. He hath fo●… scholars, a many Bookmen, and but for shane, a●… many Sword-men would follow them. He decrye●… Valor, and cries up cowardice, saying, This hath done all the good, the other all the harm in the World; that this hath peopled the World, the other unpeopled it; that the Devil invented Powder and Fire Arms first, and the invention of forging other Arms, came from Hell: That famed and Hono●… were onely names invented, like Drum and Trumpet to make people fight; and that Soldiers, like Gladiators, onely fight to make others sport. Viva l●… Poltronerie, then says he, Et Guarda l'individuo Live Poltronerie, and take care of the Individuum and so he means to do, let King and country do what they will; and let whose list die for them, h●… says, he sees not what good he can do when he i●… dead, mean time others say they see not wha●… good he does alive, who only lives for himsel●… as Vermines do: That, who prefers a dishonourable life, to an honourable death, deserves not to live at all; and that his life, at the highest rate, deserve●… not the hundreth part of the care he takes for it.   

Of an Importunate Visitant.  
HE is the onely persecutor of Ladies, and next to the Ten he is the greatest persecutor: He visits them a Mornings before they are up, and a Nights after they are a Bed; and there is no place so secret, nor time so unseasonable, but he will trouble them; no excuse of business, sickness, nor taking physic, will serve the turn; nor that you are not within, though you yourself should tell him so. He enters every where, and a Guard of Swiss, cannot keep him out, and so haunts you as to Exercise, and cast him out, surpasses the Irish friars skill. Within he is their trouble, without their molestation, and every where their Disease. So as whomsoever could rid them of him, would soon be richer than Majern. Many remedies have been sought, but all in vain. Ill usage will not do it, the keeping handsome waiting women redoubles but the access, nor will he take warning by Marigny. Mean time, what you will more wonder at, all this trouble is without design, or hope of obtaining least favour from them, who are all as chased as Ice, as pure as crystal; and they may as soon be drunk in a crystal Fountain, as satisfy their Lustful Thirst in their Company. All which you will more easily believe, when I shall tell you; they are the Brusse●s Ladies, whom for Honors sake I name.   

Of a miserable old Gentlewoman.  
HEr word is, Pitty any thing should be lost, and others is, Pitty any thing should be saved, as she saves it; for she hoards up Candles ends, scrapes up greece, and is so rich in Kitching-stuff, as she and her clothes are almost nothing else. Mean time, you see so much sordid thrift in her house, as would make you forswear all thriftiness; and every thing is kept in it, till it be moldy, even she her self. You enter her house with no less horror, than that the Witches keep their Sabbath in; for she sits purring like a melancholy Cat, and mumping like an old Ape, when she would show you good countenance; and when she would regal you indeed, she fe●ches down a Bottle of Sack as everlasting as the Widdows Cruse of oil, that had served a Twelve month all Strangers that came to the house, with a Box of Marmalad, so old and dry, as the Flies had quiter given it over, in despair of ever extracting any more sweetness out of it. At sight of which, I went away examining myself what sins I had committed deserving punishment of coming there, and fully resolved never to commit the like again.   

Of a Gamestress.  
SOme say she was born with Cards in her hands, others, that she will die so; but certainly it is all ●… er life, and whether she wakes or sl●eps, she thinks ●… f nothing ●lse. She u●derstands the langu●ge of ●… he Game she plays at, better than the l●ngu●ge of ●… he country where she was born, and c●n less en●… ure a Solicism in that than this. She knows no ●… udge but the Groom Porter, nor Law, but the Law ●… f the Game, in which she is so perfect, as in ab●… ence of the other, they appeal to her. She loves ●… inter more then Summer, because it affords more ●… amesters, and christmas more than any other ●… me, because there is more game. She gives more ●… illingly to the ●utlers than Poor-F●lks Box, and ●… s never more Religious, than when she preys that ●… he may win. In fine, she would play like Nero with ●… he Town on Fire, or Archimedes when it were a ●… acking, rather than interrupt her Game; and it 〈…〉 all her life, and as she lives, so she hopes to die, ●… nd go to the Gamesters paradise, where she may ●… ay Per omnia secula seculorum.   

Of a Gallant French Monsieur.  
SEe you this Gallant Hermophredit, more valiant than Man in the Field, and more Effeminate than Woman in the Chamber. To give you the descr●ption of his life, to the shane of all ou●… country Bumpkins: He rises a Mornings, and having spent some two or three hours in adjusting himself with help of his tailor, Barber, and Linnener; he goes to the Church of Gallantry, where instead of his Prayer-Book, out goes the Tortois●… Co●b; the little whisper, and jolly word unto hi●… Mistress, supplies the place of jaculatory Prayers▪ And for one Pater Nost●r, he says Ten Miserere●… unto her. Then waiting on her to the Coach, and the assignation made for after dinner, he goes hom●… and dines; after he dresses again, till it be time to go to the Promenade or tower a la Mode, where h●… salute● with Bon mien, and has a hundred jolly ran-counters on the way; then to the Ball, where he dances with better grace than any, and utters such douceurs and delicate things, as it is a very Banque●… for L●dies e●rs. Thus have you his whole Dyarium or sum of his life, till he be old, if he die not i●… some Duel, or of some French Epidemical disease whilst he is young.   

Of a mere Libertine.  
SHe walks on the Brink of Precipices and never fears, and goes as far as any honest Woman may do. She admits Gallants freely, the more the merrier, and lest suspicion grow up to rumour, and rumour to scandal, and never cares. She counts famed and Honor, names onely invented to fright Women, as Bugbears Children, and should be ashamed to be afraid of them. She does what she pleases, and never cares what people say; Sups publicly in Taverns, goes to private assignations, and is talked of for it, she would be sorry else: Mean time, he who h●s the Coach, may carry her any where; and who treats her, may entreat any thing of her, except the last favour which she reserves for him, who is to mary her, if any be so mad. So passes she merrily the Spring and Summer of her age, till towards Autumn; she grows melancholy, and fearfully apprehends the leading Apes in Hell, which is the best office she can expect when she comes there.   

Of a Coquette, or an affencted Beauty.  
SHe is the common Courting-stock of the Town, and more glories in the multiplicity of her Gallants, than a Lawyer of his Clients, or physician of his Patients. She constitutes the point of Honor, in Beauty, and of Beauty, in being courted and gallanted. She Paints so palpably, as if she rather sought colour to show, then hid it, and used the Trowel, instead of the Pencil. She is as dexterous at the Fan, as a Butcher at the Fly-flap, and ever and anon the little Glass goes out, to see if her Face needs no reparation, which requires as much Patching and Plaisterings, as an old Loam Cottage that is crumbling away for age; and so in time does she. when her Beauty holding out no longer. She affects the Reputation of good, and turns Prude or Beate, or takes up in a cloister, and so makes Virtue of Necessity.   

Of an English Inn.  
AN English Inn is a House of so ancient standing, as it is ready to fall down again; and all its gallantry without consists in its Sign, and Painted Sign-Post; within it is a great machine of four Wheels, Ostler, Cook, Tapster, and Chamberlain, with mine Host and Hostice, the main Springs that move all the rest. For its Diet I will not much commend it, because indeed it deserves no great commendations, and its attendance less; onely for the Lodging, it is a great Feather-bed, into which you Flounce over Head and Ears, when you go to Bed, and there lye drowned till morning when you rise. Of mine Hostice, I say nothing, onely if she be handsome, she makes the reckoning but the dearer. For mine Host, he was a jovial Companion in the days of mirth and jollity, but now stumd Wine and Religion has marred all his mirth, onely he will make shift to be half drunk every day, and on Market-days out-right, when he is wondrous kind to his guests, which he expresses in a Pint of Sack to the Master, and Double Jug to the Serving-man, all in order to the reckoning, which discharged once, as a Warning Piece, or great Piece of Artillery, there follows a whole volley of welcomes like Small shot shrilly discharged from every side, and you are discharged too.   

Of a Curious Glutton.  
HE counts the Italian, the onely wise Nations for understanding the Pallet so well, and calling a Wiseman Huomo di Buongusto, or Man of a good taste; he glories much in his skill in Cookery, and makes Sauces, Ragonts & intermesses himself, which you must praise whilst you eat, or he will think you have no taste at all: He knows when every Meats in season, and keeps a calendar of it, which he observes as devoutly as the catholics do their calendar of Saints. He tells you not onely what you are to eat, but how to eat it too; and is angry if you eat not his dainties leisurely, and drink not his Wine as Chickens do their Water, with ever and anon lifting up their eyes to Heaven. He is of a quiet Nature and Disposition, hating all disputes, since there is no dispute of Tastes, and for disputation of Religion, so they allow but of eating and drinking, he is indifferent for any one. In fine, it is a perpetual Feast with him as long as he lives, and when he dies, he onely regrets that they have left off Funeral Feasts, else he should have the pleasure in imagination of one Feast more, even after Death, which he cannot endure to hear of, because they say there is no eating nor drinking in the other World.   

Of a Common Acquaintance.  
HE wears out his Bosom with embracing every one, and durties his Palm with shaking them by the hand. Like a Spaniel he fawns on every one he meets, and will needs know them, whether they will, or no. If you but look on him, he smiles one you; and smile on him, and the acquaintance straight is made. He picks acquaintance out of every face he has but seen once before, and calls every one he has but seen twice, a friend. So little difference he makes betwixt friends and acquaintances, though there be as much as betwixt Diamonds and pebble Stones; of which, you find enough in every street, whilst the other is to be sought all the world over and counted a Cabinet-Piece when he is found, but he never goes so far, who knows not the dignity of a friend, but onely your common acquaintances suffices him. For my part, I follow that Rule a making acquaintances, omnia probate, &c. to prove all, but choose the best. For your acquaintances, it is true, are the materials, out of which friends are made, as statues out of Wood. But, Non ex omni ligno fit Mercurius.   

Of a Make-bait, or sour of dissension.  
HE is the Devils Day-Laborer▪ and sows his Tares for him, or Seeds of dissension, by telling you this and that, such an one said of you, when you may be sure it is either wholly false, or never wholly true; he so alters it with his reporting it. He goes a Fishing for secrets, and tells you those of others onely to hook yours out of you, baiting Men as they do Fishes, one with another. He is like your villainous Flies, which always leave sound places to light on sore; and are such venomous ones, as even to make sound places sore, with their Fly-blowing them. In fine, they would set dissension betwixt Man and Wife the first day of their marriage, and Father and Son the last day of their lives. Nor will innocence be ever safe, or conversation innocent, till such as they be banished human Society; and if I would afford them Being any where, it should be with Anisto's Discord amongst mine enemies: Mean time, my Prayer is, ●od bless my Friends from them.   

Of a Complimenter.  
THe French give you a good etymology of him. A Complimenter is an Accomply Menteur, say they, or an Accomplished liar; who lies with better grace and more flourish than other men, and he is well described in this Quatrain.  
He is a certain cringing thing that stoups,  
Just like a Tumbler, when he Vaults through Hoops,  
Or Daw or magpie, when at Fruit it pecks.  
Alternatly their Tails above their Becks.  
He is the Rack of Conversation, that sets every ones joints a stretching where he comes, and had been banished Sparta infallibly, for adding so many superfluous words unto the Dialect; it is a new Language added to that of Babel, for our greater confusion, to be understood by contraries, so whilst they say, They are glad to see you well, they would be gladder to see you hanged; and while they tell you they are your Servants, think themselves better men than you. Mean time, all the compliments of our honest Ancestors, was a hearty welcome or farewell with shaking you by the hand, and open countenance, instead of the others dissembling smiles Nor will it ever be well with us, till we return to their honest simplicity again, and leave compliments to your more subtle and crafty Nations, who use them onely to deceive and couzen us.   

Of a Young E●amorist.  
HAving left the Scho●l and schoolboys Toys, next Toy he gets, is a Mi●●ress, whom he courts out of Ovid, or some other latin Poet; and talks so much Phoebus and Cupid, with so many other Gods and Goddesses, as he seems some Pagan never converted to Christianity. If this do not, he whines and cries outright, and sighs like a dry Pump or Broken winded Bellows, till he be quiter out of breath, whilst his Misterss laughs at him, and still becomes more coy; for it is in love, as it is in War, which declared once you are to expect nothing but hostility; and it is with Lovers, as it is with Anglers, who feed Fishes till they are caught, but caught once, feed on them. So it will be long enough ere she bite at the b●it, unless he has more to bait her with, than fine words or lamentable complaints, which make them but more ridicu●ous, and teaches Women to deny, by not knowing how to demand as they ought to do: And for my part, I am wanting in my instructions, who h●ving never been an Enamorist myself, can onely tell them they are out, but know not how to put them in.   

Of a dull country Gentleman.  
BY the instructions of his Mother, he comes up to Town to get a Wife, hearing how many rich Citizens Daughters there are to mary; and when he is here, knows not what to say to them; for he sits nodding in company, like a person overwatched, whence they commonly call him the drowsy Esquire; and ask him any thing, and he stars upon you, and thinks you'd sell him a Bargain; nor can you ask him any thing he understands, except about his Horses, or his Mothers Cows; yet returned to his Lodging, he and his Man John have many a dry Dialogue about Wiving and good Husbandry: For he is so miserable, as he abhors the mention of the Park, or the Garden, or going to Plays, or the New Exchange, &c. And never gives his Mistress any thing above a Bottle of Ale, a Cheescake, or Pound of Cherries, when they are at cheapest. So, unless he be very rich, it will be long enough before he get a Wife; and if he be, a hundred to one, but some Wife or other gets him, and makes an Ass, if not an Ox of him.   

Of an extreme vicious Person.  
HIs mind is a Room all hung with Aretine Postures, and he is so full of the Species, as h●… is incapable to imagine how any man can be honest or woman chased. He is so bravely vicious, as h●… would give any one a good reward to find him out 〈◇〉 sin he knew not, and he would be ashamed not to commit it, when he knew it once. He is so immersed in the flesh, as all spirit is suffocated in him, and h●… lives not but possessed by some wicked spirit, that incites him to all wickedness. To say nothing of his deboichery or peccadillioes, and sins of lesser note●… he out-goes an Atheist in unbelief; for profanenes●… has no parallel, and I should offend all pious ears to mention his impiety. I will say no more then, no●… to be thought falsely to tax the age, with producing Monsters of Men, whose Vices no Water can purge, no Fire expiate; and whose wickedness were able to call down destruction on a Nation, if it were no●… averted by some pious in it yet; whose virtues, though they equal not the others vices, yet with the allowance of human frailty, help somewhat to aleviate the wight at least.   

Of a School Boy.  
HIs Parents may well say of him, as one did of his son unto his Wife, That she had prayed for a Boy so long, as he was like to prove one all his life; ●… o which, much confers their breeding in these Common Shools, where they converse so much with Boys, as they are marred for our being Men. He speaks in the same tone he recites his Lesson in, and ask him any question out of it, and he looks an other way, and knows not what to answer you. He has nothing so ready as his Hat at his Fingers ends, which he twirls about in mighty agony, when he is out and scrapes you such a Leg as Jack of the Clockhouse does when he goes about to strike: of his manners I say nothing, for he has none at all; nor is their hope, that he will ever learn, whose head is so dozed with beating, and breech hardened with whipping, as he has neither fear nor wit, so, as had I a son I loved, I had rather sand him to School to Parish Garden, to learn tricks with the Ape there, than such miching tricks they learn at School, which is not to be understood by our Grammar Schools, the Fountains of Learning, but of such Puddle ones, of which we have but too many in the country.   

Of one ridiculously Proud of his Estate.  
HE thinks himself as great a signor for a little Land he has, as the Grand signor with all his Dominions; by which he shows the littleness of his mind, who can think such petty things great, whilst Alexander thought all the world too little. He counts every Lordship he has, a several Province, and altogether a Kingdom, his Tenants his Subjects, and himself a very King. He esteems and admires no Qualities but Riches; when every cobbler by parsimony and industry, may be as rich as he. He imagines a Landlord the highest Title of Honor, and looks the Clowns, his Tenants, should honor him for it, as if he were some mighty Prince. Yet for a little addition, he would be content to be first Minister of State, imagining he could govern the country as well as he does his House in the country, and is not a little discontented that others are not of his opinion. But however the World goes, it is his comfort he is a Mamamucho yet, which is next degree to the Grand signor, at least; in which, whilst he glories and makes himself ridiculous, his friends are sorry, and the rest laugh at it to see him as drunk with talking of his estate, as ever any one was with drink.   

Of a Modern fanatic Sectary.  
HE is bread out of the Corruption of Religion, as Maggots out of Cheese; and since our last Wars, England swarms with them. He Preaches nothing but Sedition and Infatuation, and whilst others People Heaven with their Sermons, he Peoples onely Bedlam and the Common Goal. They agree in nothing but their hatred to the Church, and all Civil Order and government: They are more familiar with the Lord, than to stand on Ceremonies with him any more, and so hate Gentlemen, they cannot endure God should be served like one. They call themselves Saints, but the Apostles, onely Paul and John, and there are more Saints amongst them, than honest men. They all pretend to interpreting the Scripture, and by their mis-interpreting it, justify the prohibiting such, as they the reading it. In fine, they call themselves pure like him, who being all over dirt from head to foot, boasted, that he had never a spot on him; and thank God with the Pharisee, that they are not like other men; and in that they say true, for they are worse than they.   

Of a Green-Sickness Girl.  
SHe is like a Mouse in a Holland-Cheese, her Diet and Lodging all the s●me; of which she eats so long, till she fulfil that old saying at last, The weakest goes to the walls: For her diet she outdoes any Minume or Carthusian, and no Nunnery would hold her; for she can eat her self out of it, and with the ostrich help, break enclosure presently. She seems Pigmalions Image half enlivened; and had Niobe been of her Complexion, she had more easily been turned into ston. She seems not of the same day, or read Earth Adam was made of, but of some Whiter Mould, as Chalk or Marl, and would make good manure for a Husband-man, if any would venture on her, with such a quality, as if she hold but on, she would soon eat him out of house and home; onely a Miller might safeliest venture on her: For besides, she is white and much of his Complexion, the Boards of his Windmill are not comprised in her Bill of Fare.   

Of an Eager Disputant.  
HE has left off Learning, to betake himself to controversy, and comes from breaking Priscians head, to breaking yours. He thinks it brave to have his discourse composed of several pieces of Greek and latin, when it is onely clothing Eloquence in motley. He confounds himself with distinctions, and his adversary with noise, and thinks to carry it by raisi●g his voice a tone higher than his, whilst he labours more to maintain his opinion than the truth. Impatient of contradiction, and contradicting every one, he grows outrageous at last; and from question of things, comes to question of names, and at last to the misnaming them, calling every indifferent one, Superstition, Idolatry, and Abomination; they being, in fine, such Disputants as these, who have so Rent the Church with their Disputations, and made the breach so wide, as that, which at first, like North and South, was onely separated perhaps by an Individual Line, is become at last the whole Heavens distant by their undiscreet going to the extremity of either Pole.   

Of one who is excellent Company.  
HE is all Spiritual and his words like Lightning p●ss to the Interior, without resting in the Ext●rior. He inspires you with a secret joy and cheerfulness beyond all outward mirth, and is as f●r above Laughter, as the Element of Fire above Squibs and Crack●rs. He is like the leading voice in a choir; not all the music, but there is no music without him: And as the other makes choice of the best voices▪ so doth he of the best company, to whom he is so grateful and acceptable, as they strive more for his company, than in the days of jousting and tornament, they did for the prise. Such a Jewel they ●steem him, and so great a Treasure they have of him, who is all that they call pleasant and delightful in ●onversation, there being never any disputing where he is, nor passing the third reply; but all compliance without flattery, and all compliance without assentation; so as the nobler sort are all ravished wi h his company; the wiser delighted, and every one bet eared by it. And he, in fine, deservedly esteemed company for a King, and companion for 〈◇〉 Pr nce.   

Of a troublesone Kindness.  
HE asks you with a great deal of joy, when he meets you, Whether you be, there or no? And though you have never so great business, makes you stay till he hath asked you so often how you do, as to make you doubt at last, whether you be well, or no. He shakes you by the hand, till he hath almost shaked it out of joint; and if he embrace ●ou once, and gets you but in the hug, you had as good fall into the hands of a Cornish wrestler; when he hath you at home, he is troublesone at Table with carving you, and making you eat whether you will or no, and often drinking to you, with a hundred rememb●ances: But if you be si●k, he is troublesomest of all, with praying you to be well, and prescribing you physic accordingly; so as you'd give as much to be rid of his visit, as you are forced to give the Physician for his. And this most commonly is all the thanks they get, who over do, and make you cry out at l●st, that half the kindness would suffice, as he did, whose friend helping him up on horse back, gave him such a lift, as threw him quiter over on t'ot●er side.   

Of your English Papist Ass.  
KIng James, of famous memory, was wont to say the Papist was his Honest Ass, he might lay what load he would upon him, and he would bear it patiently; but the Presbyterian was such a skittish Jade, as he kicked and winched at least load laid on him. Certainly, if persecution be not the nighest way to Heaven, he goes the farthest way about; for every one persecutes him, and he bears the burden of every one. Nor will they allow him the privilege of Balaams Ass, to speak when he is beaten; but like Horace's, he must onely be patient, and shake his ears. Mean time, as one said wittily,[ In the Assembly Man, p 18] They rail at Popery, when the Land is almost lost in Presbytery, and cry out Fire, fire in Noahs flood. And though the wiser know them innocent, yet the simpler sort take the poor Ass, for some terrible Monster of the See of Rome; as the mayor of huntingdon did a Colt for a Sturgeon. But let them say what they will of him, he is a poor honest Ass, who never failed his Master at time of need, as many of his enemies have done.   

Of a Modern Casuist.  
HE is your onely Conscience-Monger, and frames it wide or straight as he lists himself. He can make any thing good with a distinction, and mar it again with another. So as his solutions are just like Jugglers knots, you never know whether they be fast or loose; he leaves no Usury, whilst he makes all Usurers, and takes away the sins of the World; but makes more sinners, than there were before. Amongst the rest, he is so indulgent to his own country Vices, as Fornication is but a Peccadlio with the Spaniard and Italian, and Drunkenness with the Dutch; and could he but make the keeping Mistresses as lawful as Wives, he would have the Benediction of all our young Gallants, and Married Men. Mean time, the ignorance of what he writes, makes Men more virtuous than the reading it; for it being only a rapsady of all Vices in general, it must needs make particular men more vicious than they were. And here I say nothing of Confessors, though they differ no more than Mason and Architect; the one builds onely according to the others directions, but onely let them look to it, when they come to die, least they meet with some such ignorant Devils as that Lawyer did, who could not make him understand his fine and nice distinction for his heart; but he would needs carry him to Hell, whether he would or no.   

Of a Gentleman turned Clown.  
HE hath wholly forgot he was ever a Gentleman by living in the country, and keeping Clowns company, with the rest he lives so unsociable a life, as he seems no more a part of the Universe, than a loose ston in a Wall a part of the Building or edisice. He is so earthly minded, as Sisera was not more nailed unto the Ground; and the highest you can screw him too, is onely some country Farmer, who talks of nothing but fatning Beasts, and dunging Land. He is niggardly in his house, churlish in his language, and rustic in his apparel and behaviour; and is, in fine, so wholly transformed in every thing, as he indears on Clownishness itself, who formerly past for a pretty Gentleman; so as there are many things one knows not what they are good for, but if ever there were any good for nothing, it is he. Onely, as when Horses of Manage are grown old, they are onely fit to be made Stalions of, so he sits at home in the country, and does nothing but get Children; the playing with whom, is all his recreation. And so I leave him with them, as unfit for any other company.   

Of one who falsely stiles himself Colonel.  
NOt to be Soldier, he made himself Colonel at first, and to escape fighting, hath continued so ever since. Whence he is a Superlative without Positive, and like a Hovel all Roof, without Foundation. He drank formerly when he should be fighting, and now talks of fighting onely in his drink; mean time his Sword can so little boast its Blood, as all its Gentility lies in the Hilt and Belt, and it derives its honor more from the Scabbard, then the Blade. But as Poor Men, when they would seem rich, put themselves to a hundred shifts, to maintain their reputation of wealth, so does he of valor; boasting most impudently of valiant acts he had done, when robbing and plundering was all that ever he did. Another shift he hath, is by going clothed like a Soldier in Buff and Feather, like Aesops Crow, or the Ass in the Lions skin; out of which, when you strip him once, he becomes as contemptible, as he was formidable before. And now they have found him out, every one laughs at him, nor dares he resent it otherwise, than onely by going grumbling away, and saying, He cares no more for them, then they do for him; and if so, He is the happiest Man I know of; for no Man lives more free from care than he.   

Of a Nice City Dame.  
SHe is one your Cockneys call a Beauty, onely because like a sick turkey, she looks a little Blew about the Gills, and is much of the colour of Flaten Milk. All the advantage she hath of a course country Lass is, That her Complexion is the unwholsomer of the two, and her Skin the apt to break forth in Scabs She is so Dowbak'd, and her Complexion so raw, as those who have any mind unto her, must have the Green-sickness, or be half Cannibals at least; for her Blood is all Whey, which she clarifies with taking physic still; whence instead of Children, she brings forth nothing but Curds and Creem-Cheeses, which never last. She is always complaining she knows not wherefore, and would fain be sick if she knew of what, giving that physician more who finds her a new disease, then others would those who cured them of an old. She always longs whether she be with child or no, and her chiefest longing it to be of the fashion; which she must be presently, or there starts up a new disease▪ and her Husband presently cures her of it, finding by dear experience the Mercers Book, less chargeable than the Apothecaries, or the physician. So betwixt her being sick and well, he is never quiet with her, nor will she ever be so until she be in the Grave.   

Of a Bold Abusive Person.  
HE talks madly Dash, Dash, without any fear or wit, and cares not whom he bespators, nor how he defiles himself. He is the perpetual satirist of the time, whence every one fears and hates him for it. His language is rather Railing than Raillery; and he is so far from his qualifying terms of making things better, as he makes every thing worse; and they who bluntly called every thing by their right names, were civil and complimental, compared to him. It is an argument of their worth, whom he speaks ill of; and of some 'vice or other, when he speaks well of them. He is worse than Fools and Buffoons, for they use their wits to delight others, he to displease; they to make them merry, but he to make them mad. Mean time, though their be small hope to make him better, yet those who applaud him, but make him worse; and though he be cowardly of himself, yet he may be hist on to mischief others: Best way then is to take no notice, but discountenance him, & he would soon desist. In fine, he abuses every one with his broad jesting till he meet at last with some as choleric as he is abusive, who beats him for his pains, when you will see he will go grumbling away, and say, They understand not jest, when indeed it is rather he.   

Of an Exceptions Person.  
SHe is the Exception of her Sex, not comprehended in any general rule, nor can any particular one be given of her. She is a Sea without North Star and so full of shifting hands, as there is no sailing in it, without the Plummet still in hand. What chiefly makes her so, is her suspicious nature, apt to take exceptions at every thing: And when she begins to suspect once, she never makes an end, but like French Post-horses, when they stumble, never leave till they are down. Mean time, she will never be well whilst she has any thing lies on her heart, nor will she ever discharge her mind of it, and such are least fit for friendship; for a suspicious body, like Weapons loose in the Hilts, can never be used with any confidence; and that clear Understanding which should be with friends, can never be with her; who loses herself in the midst of her suspicions, and her friends, by mistaking them for her enemies.   

Of one of your New Reformers.  
BY his demure Countenance, and demurer place, his short Hair, and long Beard, which he lets grow to Seed; and finally, his clothes nigh Querpo, and Voice in Faubourdon, you would take him for an antic, and perpetual subject of satire and Ridiculousness; and what adds unto it, is his scrupulousness in Religion; for he refines upon the old, and is scandalized for their leaving so many Churches standing still, and so many Crosses and Cross-stiles to stumble the Brethren: But above all, the abomination of abominations is, to see so many Popish Signs remaining of Popes and Bishops Heads, mitres, Cardinals Hats, and triple Crowns, friars, Nuns, Beads, Agnus Dei's, and the like, which makes London look like a very Babylon. Amongst the rest, in the late times, he pretty well began by changing the Salutation of the Angel and Blessed Virgin, into that of the Soldier and Citizen, and the catherine● Wheel into the Cat and Wheel; nor had the Cat and Fiddle escaped him, if they could but have heard it play; so as there wanted onely the Dragon to kill S. George, and Devil to tweak S. Dunstan by the Nose, to make the Reformation complete. With such little ridiculous things, they busy their Heads, and would make us, if they could, as ridiculous as themselves.   

Of a busy Body.  
HE is too busy a Body to have any head fo●… business, yet he will have a hand in every thing. Chaucer seems to have Prophesied of him long since, when he said, 
A busier Man there was,  
And yet he seemed more busy than he was.  He always makes it Holiday for others, and Working-day for himself, by undertaking all the business and like Aesops Fellow servants, leaves others nothing to do whilst he will needs do all himself. He commends Wives, Servants, and Horses to you; for which, most commonly, you wish him hanged when you have but tried them once. He labours like a Horse for you, and then complains of weariness▪ when no body bid him, nor thanks him for his pains He boasts of those who employ him, and shows their Letters to him, for his own credit, more than theirs. Mean time, he is so greedy of business, as if he should never have enough, when the wise know that of all Surfeits, that of Business is the worst. In fine, he is so restless, as they can scarce writ hic Requiescet on his Grave, and if ever any's Ghost walk after they are dead, it will be his.   

Of a Tepid Timorous Christian.  
HE is not so good a Christian as Nicodemus, who went to our B. S. by night, for he never goes at all, and will venture nothing for his Religion. Like lazy people, who though they lye uneasily, are loathe to rise: He would fain go to Heaven, but will not take the pains; he knows enough, would he but practise half that he knows; and would have others do all, whilst he will do nothing himself. Mean time, he has as many scruples, as a Hedghog Prickles, and just like that shrinks up himself when he feels his prickly brood, and makes the delivery of them more painful, by avoiding of the pain; when with one brave effort he might be delivered of it. So he fearfully apprehends the Parable of the Fig-Trees not bearing Fruit, and applies to himself his Nausious Estate, who was neither hot nor could, and would not die so for a World, and yet lives as does. In fine, he does nothing of a Christian, but lies in the Ditch and cries Lord help him, without striving to help himself. So the best we can say of him, is, He is a Christian in his heart.   

Of a Flatterer.  
HIs Flattery or Dog-fawning, is chiefly for hi●… Belly, and he is one of your lowest sort of Flatterers. He is all for him who has best Wine, and fair Body and Soul, and all, even to be of the same Religion with him too, though he be especially for the Patron. He commends the Cook, shakes the Butler by the hand, and is familiar with all the rest of the Serving-men, calling one Father, the other Son, as they are of age or office in the house. Then for the Women-kind, he tells the Lady he honors her above all the Women in the World; and the Waiting-woman the like; and not so much as the Chamber-Maid, but has some sprinkling of his Flattery too. All still in order to his Belly, so passes he his time, which is onely Dinner and Supper time with him; and never dreams a nights, nor thinks a days of any other thing: So we may well say of him, His Belly is his God, and all his devotion is in serving it.   

Of some who are troubled with every thing.  
WHo are troubled with every thing, are like those weak and crazy stomacks; who convert all the food they take into dsease, and who trouble themselves with conditionary thoughts, are like those who are sick with bare imagination, they know not how to fear moderately, but run to the extremity in every thing; and when they might make their lives easy, by taking every thing by the best handle, they make them uneasy by taking them by the worst. He who cried, when it was fair weather, and laughed when it was foul, was but half a fool compared to them, who always cry out, whether it be fair or foul. Of such stuff as this, the ignoranter sort of people are made; who for want of knowing how much care and thought they are to bestow on things, are so prodigal, as to bestow all they have on every thing; and so becoming Bankrupt at last, they make their lives miserable and irksome to them, and find when it is too late, the truest wisdom is to know how much care and thought we are to bestow on every thing.   

Of a Mischievous Disposition.  
HE never finds a breach, but he makes a hole of it; nor a hole in your Garment, but he tears it quiter; and where he finds a loose ston in a Wall, he never leaves till he has made a ruin of it. He had been put to death by the ancient Spartans, and would be stoned by the Turks now for his cruelty to Beasts and Birds; but all his chiefest malice is to Man. In whose way he lays stumbling blocks when he goes, to make him fall, and makes his Horse start when he rides onely to break the Riders Neck. Mean time, he is worse than those who at Hotcockles strike you behind your back, and then stand so demeurely, you would think it were not they; for those delight onely in the subtlety, but he in the malice of it. And is worse than the Goblins in ancient time, who would do you shrewd turns out of sport and merriment; but this does it in good earnest. And finally, he is worse than the envious and malicious, for they have some motive for their envy and malice, and it is onely personal; but this through particular persons, strike at all human kind in general. So as, in fine, he is not onely a Misantropos a Man-hater, but a Lycantropos a Manwoolf, and King Lucius, were he alive again, would give more for killing him alone, than for all the Wolves together.   

Of Wit.  
WIt is Le point de l' Eprit, as the French call it; or the Point of the Spirit, which without it, would be dull. It is no solid food of life, but an excellent sauce or seasoning, if it be not unseasonably used; it is but the outside of wisdom, and the flaying matter onely for the words, is but taking the paring, and leaving the Fruit behind. Whence jesting is but onely the sportive use thereof, and not to be used on all occasions. Mean time, though it seems to confer but little to the more serious part of life, yet to men of business it is like music to Devotion; which though it divert for the present, yet makes them fitter for it afterwards. In fine, Wit like Beauty has somewhat in it of divine, and they profane either who abuse them to vicious ends, nor acquired by Art, but by Nature and Conversation, somewhat above expression, and so voluble a thing, as it is altogether as voluble in the abstract to describe, onely in the concrete, I will tell you what a witty person is.   

Of a Witty Person.  
HE is the Sparkling liquour of the company, others but Dregs and Lees, and the life and spirit of it, that else would be dull and dead. He is never dry nor pumping, but always full and flowing with conceit; and when he meets with one who can but uphold aside as at Shuttlecock, you would be delighted to see how handsomely they keep it up. He is a good Man, as well as a good Companion, scorning as some do, to owe their Wits unto their 'vice, and so far a good fellow to take a cheerful Cup or two; for Wine is a good Whetstone of Wit, so they take not so much to whet the edge of it quiter away. Mean time, he counts it rather befiting a Bravo, than Gentleman to use his Wit, as hi●… Weapon to the offence of any, and thinks Wit in those who have not Wisdom to govern it, like a Fool on horseback, or putting a Sword into a Madmans hands. And such as he are onely Wit●… indeed, whilst those whom the vulgar usually ca●… so, are rather out of their Wits, such as I shall describe you next.   

Of one who Zanys the Good Companion.  
HE is a Wit of an under Region like Jack Puddin, grossly imitating on the Lower Rope, what the other does neatly on the Higher; and is onely for the laughter of the Vulgar, whilst the wiser sort can hardly smile at him. All the Wit he has, chiefly consists in Jests broken twenty times before, or Stories worn threadbare, with often telling them, with nothing in them of his own; besides the faces which you must laugh at, or you spoil them too, and put him out of countenance: Mean time, he is never in his Element but in a Coffee-house or Tavern, the Bedlam of Wits, where Men are mad rather than merry; and there is onely noise instead of mirth; and there he triumphs with reciting Play-Scraps and singing bawdy Songs; with so many Parenthesis of Oaths between, as he can never come to the sense he would be at. In fine, he is a Buffoon rather than a Wit, and with his broad jesting, abuses men so long, till meeting with some or other as choleric as he is abusive, they beat him for his pains when he goes muttering away, and says, They understand not Wit, when indeed it is he himself.   

Of a shrewd old catholic Gentlewoman.  
SHe goes to Confession, and leaves off all her old Shrewishness to begin a new; and after she has sufficiently thumed over her Hours and Rosary, thinks she has privilege to be as Shrewish as ever she was before; she chides with the same zeal, as she preys, and beats her breasts at Mass, and Maids, after with the same ferver and devotion; her chiefest devotion consists in Fasting, and it is thought she hates the sin of the Flesh so much only, because she loves Fish so well. Her next devotion is making a Caudle for the Goodman, which he eats as devoutly and preys for Benefactors. In fine, she imagines no business can be done without chiding, and her prayers being onely Lipstuff, and wearing out the Tongue, you would wonder how it holds out so well; but we are never a weary of that we take pleasure in, as she does in chiding, though her Maids take so little pleasure in it; as what betwixt their leaving her, and her turning them away, you may go twice into the House, and never twice into the same House again.   

Of an Honest Man.  
HE is that Verus Israelita, or true Israelite, in whom there is no deceit; and you may as safely take his word, as an others Bond. He says as he thinks, and does as he says, and means well and honestly in every thing. His chiefest care is to conserve a good belief towards God, a good repute with his neighbour, and a good Conscience in himself; and for all the World, would not do a dishonest action, though there were none but his own conscience to witness it. He exactly fulfils that precept of holy Scripture, To do by others, as he would others should do by him: And when there is question to do or suffer wrong, rather chooses to suffer it; mean time, he may suffer determent in his Fortune, but not in himself by it; and he had rather be a Sheep amongst the Wolves, and be in danger to be preyed upon, than prey upon others, and be a wolf amongst Wolves. And though finally, your Knaves count him a Fool for it; yet they shall find in the end, for all their knavery, the onely Wisdom is to be an Honest Man.   

Of a Rich Miser.  
ALl his thoughts are on getting Wealth, and he thinks all others of his mind, like him, who hearing how Methusalem lived more than Nine hundred years, cried out, He must needs have been a very rich man; another would have said, He must needs have been a very good, a very wiseman, &c. But he thinks all is comprised in being rich. He thinks Liberality, in place of Covetousness, one of the Seven deadly sins, and that saying but apocrypha, Beatius est dare quam accipere, It is better to give, than to take, being resolved for his part, never to give any thing away. This makes him so miserable, as he counts Money his very Heart-Blood, and to pluck any out of his Purse, were to pluck a Tooth from him. So as, were he as Costive in his Body, as in his Purse, Manna nor Rhubarb could never purge him, or make him soluble. To conclude, I know not whether Midas more deserved his Asses Ears, for preferring Pan's music to Apollo's, or Gold, to all other things: But this, I am sure, he and I shall never agree well together; for he looks to he worshipped for his wealth, and I of all other Idols, cannot adore the Golden Calf.   

Of one who is never content.  
HIs mind is like those sick bodies who turn themselves perpetually in their Beds, and find rest no where, because they always carry their unrests along with them; and if content be that which makes a happy life, he who is never contented, must needs live a most unhappy one. He dislikes every thing, and it is not judgement but disease in him, nor is he curious, but fastidious. And it is like giving one drink in a dropsy to humour him, yet you must, or he is not contented with you. Think then, how uneasy and unquiet lives they must needs live, who are to observe and humour him; a work much like making a Garment for the Moon, who changing perpetually, you must perpetually change your measures too. Which endless labour, that I may not be obliged unto, nor to follow his Wild-Goose Chase, loving mine ease and quietness as I do, I am resolved hereafter not to be whirled about perpetually like a Weather-Cock, with every wind of his humour, though I love his person, to abstain from his company.   

Of Kindness.  
THe first Earl of Bristol was wont to say, Tha●… Kindness was a Fruit which grew no where but in England; nor had any other Language a word to express it by. And( to say nothing of Love) Civility, and courtesy, are names derived from Court and City, and are but extrinsical denominations, friendship, and familiarity from Friends, and those of the same Family, but Kindness from those of the same Soul and Mind, and is so intrinsical a thing, as you must penetrate the very heart to find it out. It is the fire that melts hearts like Soft Wax unto one another, and the tenderest part of the Soul d●stilled into kindness, kind looks, and kind words, are but the signs of it, not the thing signified, and kindred is nothing to it, nor benefits any thing without it. It is the Bond of Charity, and if that be too spiritual, of Love of Friendship, and all human Society  
In fine, it hath its root in good nature, and produces nothing but good offices; and this we had once, when we might well say, That England was happy if it but knew its own happiness; but now we have wholly lost it, and onely retain the empty name. All other Nations having more Kindness, and agreeing better amongst themselves than we, thanks to the difference of Religion, which has wholly extirpated it Roof and Branch. But I say no more, least I should be thought too partial to other Nations, & too injurious to ours, to exprobate to it the want of it.   

Of the Parliament, In answer to the Ignorant Objections of some Strangers.  
THe Parliament of England( whatever others are in other Countreys) is onely in nature of an humble Friend or faithful counselor to His Majesty, to Counsel and advice Him for His own and Kingdoms good, as often as He shall please to Assemble them: Nor is this more to limit or bound His Royal Power, than the Sands or Short does that of the Ocean, but onely for its own, and others conservation, or more to derogate from it, than the impuissance of doing harm or evil, does from that of Almighty God; which on the contrary, is one of His most Godlike Attributes. They are deceived then, who think nothing great, but what is monstrous, or that to reign Courteously, is but to reign at others Courtesies: The King of England is as absolute as any Monarch, nor is the Parliament such a kerb or Clog to Him as they imagine. There are certain things which seem heavy and burdensome, as the Wings of Birds, Wheels of Chariots, and the like; which on the contrary make the burden but the lighter and easier; and one of these things is the Parliament of England to the King; and both together composing that Harmony of Government, which renders it sweet and pleasant, both to command and to obey.    

POSTSCRIPT.  
THe Idea which I have framed of these Characters, is to spin them out into as fine a thread as I can, and then wove them into a handsome stuff. Of which, I find I have fallen so far short in many of them, as though it pleased the Duke of gloucester, of glorious memory, to say, Some of them were the best as ever he had red. Did I not hope to mend them in another Impression, I should be ashamd to let them pass in this. I pass then my Thoughts through finer and finer Sieves of first Writing, then Printing, and lastly Reprinting them before I have done with them; and after all, to think to clear them of all their faults, were to think to sweep an Earthen Floor to the last Grain of Dust. I onely then shall undertake the more obvious, and leave the rest— But I say no more, least I should be thought one of those who had rather err, and confess it afterwards, than provide beforehand not to err at all.  
FINIS.