NAPS UPON PARNASSUS.  
A sleepy Muse nipped and pinched, though not awakened Such Voluntary and Jovial Copies of Verses, as were lately received from some of the WITS of the Universities, in a frolic, dedicated to Gondibert's Mistress by Captain Jones and others.  
Whereunto is added for Demonstration of the Authors prosaic Excellency's, his Epistle to one of the Universities, with the Answer; together with two satirical Characters of his Own, of a Temporizer, and an Antiquary, with Marginal Notes by a Friend to the Reader.  
Vide Jones his Legend, Drink Sack and Gunpowder, and so fall to't.  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, Hom. Iliad. α.  
Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus.  
London, Printed by express Order from the WITS, for N. Brook, at the Angel in Cornhill, 1658.   

An Advertisement to the READER.  
Courteous Reader,  
THough I willingly confess, that a Title Page without the authors Name prefixed in capital Letters, shows like a Man in the Pillory without a Paper (to specify his Crime) on his Forehead: nevertheless, thou art desired not to take is amiss, that these present Poems are defective in that particular; for there are divers, and sundry motives, which induced this imperfection. As (1.) their Modesty; which commands them to stand bareheaded (that is, without the authors Name) in respect, and reverence to every Reader; although they cannot be uncovered (as I question not you will quickly find.) (2.) The authors Ingenuity prompted Him to this Stratagem of concealing his Name, to the end, that one and the same gross Obscurity. should equally triumph over his Name, as Poems: And now Reader, if neither of these two Reasons will satisfy thee, know in the third place, that I indeed do not know, neither can learn his Name. I found these Poems in a dark, blind alehouse, where the author had with a cup too much, obnubulated his Muse, and so forgot, and left them behind. To speak truly, being unwilling to rob the world of so much Ingenuity, (I say) like the desperate St. George, redeemed these Ethiopian Virgin-Poems, out of the Jaws of that fell Dragon, (the furious gaping Oven) which, (even when I had first bestridden them threshold) yawned for them. Much ado I had to recover Them out of the good woman's hands, who left the bottoms of her Pies (that baking) in very great jeopardy, for want of them: yet at last I did get them, as many as you see there are of them. I am apt to believe there were more once, but the injury of Fate has obliterated the rest. As many as could be found, hast thou here (Reader) carefully collected, by the sedulity and expenses of  
Thy loving Friend Adoniram Banstittle. alias Tinderbox. Dated May 30. 1658. from the Apollo in Fleetstreet.   

Naps upon Parnassus.  

Upon the Infernal Shades of the author's Poems: or, The hooded Hawk.  

ROom, room now for a lusty Poet,  
That writes as high as any I knew yet,  
What's Homer but a spewing Dog,  
Who writes a fight twixt Mouse and Frog?  
Of stout Achilles, and of Hector,  
Which of them should be the Victor?  
And yet forsooth This Fellow must  
(With all his Iliads too) be thrust  
Into a nutshell. A great knack!  
Our Poet, and's Books, into a Sack  
Can hardly crowded be, and yet  
If you will look on's Sense and Wit,  
'Tis easy, and I'll make no bones  
To put them in two Cherry-stones.   

(1)  
Then come along boys,  
Valiant, and strong boys,  
For here's a Poet I tell ye  
That Naps on Parnassus  
And (O Heavens bless us)  
Takes Deep-sleeps too out of Helicon.   

(2)  
Avaunt then poor Virgil,  
Thou ne'er drankest a pure Gill  
Of Sack, to refine thy sconce:  
Thou stolest all from Homer,  
And rodest on a low Mare,  
Instead of Pegasus, for th'nonce.   

3.  
Let Martial be hanged,  
For I'll swear I'll be banged,  
If he makes me aught else but sleepy;  
He's only at last  
For a bridling cast,  
And his Wit lies at th' end of his Epigrams.   

4.  
Then for Ovid,  
Why? was not his Love hid  
In's Book of toys, called Amorum:  
Indeed there he wrote madly,  
But in's Tristium sadly;  
Our Poet's th' Apollo virorum.   

5.  
And then Flaccus Horace,  
He was but a sowr-ass,  
And good for nothing but lyrics:  
There's but One to be found  
In all English ground  
Writes as well; who is height Robert Herick.   

6.  
Our Author's much better,  
In every letter  
Than Robin, and Horace Flaccus:  
He is called Samuel,  
Who ends well, and began well;  
And if we're not glad He can make us.   

Come forth then great poetic Imp,  
Make not the Muses all to pimp,  
Whilst thou with one of them dost lie,  
Making her' crease and multiply,  
Hoping that they too shall come after,  
Thou mak'st the rest their teeth to water.  
And hope the like sport that their Sister  
Enjoyed by thee, when e'rst thou kissed her.  
Thou'rt right my friend, and I've been told,  
Thou always hadst a Muse in hold:  
And like Cock Hen thou wouldst her tread,  

* Our author's fancy was always couchant, for he made all his Verses in Bed.  Making thy Verses still in Bed.  
No wonder thou so' obscure dost write,  
Thou form'dst thy Verses all in th' Night.  
Thou were't up with th' Lamb, & down with th' Lark,  
And only lov'st Dealing in the Dark.  
I love thee for it.— Whip Sir Davy.  
I now have done.— I marry have I.    

Incerti Authoris.  
Upon the Incomparable, and Inimitable Author, and his obscure Poems.  

I'm not o'th' race of Poets, nor e'er made  
A Verse, without the help of Pump, or Spade.  
And yet (so sweet is Fame! and to be big  
Of Glory!) that rather than die; I'll dig,  
And labour for a Verse, (not You to praise,  
Too great a task!) But mine own name to raise:  
That my foul Beast may be kept in your Ark,  
My Joan live with your Lady in the Dark.  
Give me a prospect where a towering Hill,  
Soars higher than ever did the eagle's Quill;  
On whose baldpate still undisturbed sit  
Old Characters, that Adam's Grandsire writ;  
So high, so wondrous high, that th' light o'th' Sun  
Ne'er tops it, till the Day is near half done:  
And then a Cave so deep, that who so dives  
To the bottom, ere he reach it spend nine lives.  
Dark as Cimmerian Cells; horrid with Rocks,  
Wreathed into one another like Els's-locks:  
A lovely sight which more delight contains,  
Than th' confused of the Plains:  
All here are at a Gaze; none pass it by  
Regardless; it bids stand to every eye.  
Here men go softly, who (as if they'd fain  
Be rid on't) ride a gallop o'er the Plain.  
Such is thy Book!— In it we plainly see  
All the Dimensions of Poetry.  
Prometheus-like, sometimes thou dost aspire,  
And warmest thy Mule; at the celestial Fire;  
And then thou usest (which let none despise)  
kitchen Similitudes on thy Mother's 
* See the Author on his Mother's eyes  Eyes.  
I know some critics say thou'rt Hard enough,  
But 'tis a sign of Lasting to be tough.  
I read a Verse of thine, then make an halt,  
(For though I taste it not, I'm sure there's Salt:)  
And study for the meaning; and am vexed;  
I find; cry {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}: and read the next.  
It is (let none for Recreation look)  
A very study t'understand thy Book.  
Plainness is Russick, Thou art clear from that,  
Who says a poet's Plain, says he is Flat.   
W. P. A. M. W. C. Oxon.   

To his Ingenuous Friend, the unknown Author of the following Poems.  

COme forth at last, and enter on the stage,  
Great Soul of poesy, that this purblind Age,  
May have the film peeled off their Eyes, and see  
How Thou dost riot in obscurity:  
In Thy abyss they'll dive, and grope to find,  
How Thy strong Wit, and Sense is so combined;  
And when they've grovelled a long time in vain,  
Will say (because they're blind) Thou art not Plain.  
Thus ignorant men will snarl at Thee; and why?  
Because they're clogged with earth, & can't soar high;  
Their Eyes are lined with dimness, can't behold,  
How Thou in pretty turnings dost enfold  
thyself and Verse: How Thou dost fancy screw  
Into each Line, and mak'st even 
* The Author hath borrowed several old Fancies out of Cleveland and others  Old seem new;  
Wracking each word, and syllable for sense,  
And torturing both to make an Eloquence.  
Thus the unuseful Grape, when crushed and pressed,  
Doth lavish out a liquour of the best:  
And camomile, until it bruised be  
Blows not out any sprightful fragrancy:  
How many strokes doth the rough marble bear,  
Before it can be polished trim and fair?  
What would men say if Poets only should  
Be tied to others's sense of words? not mould  
A meaning of their own; they must ascend  
Above the vulgar reach; their fancies blend  
Into a wonder; make Confusion seem  
As if it were distinct: their Brains must teem  
With darkest issues, lest with too much light,  
They dazzle the poor Common people's sight.  
We most admire the Sun when he's bereaved  
Of lustre, wrapped in an Eclipse: deceived  
Of all his Beams: when he recruits again  
His former rays; we say, He's then too plain.  
Ovid in his best Poem, let's his Muse  
Begin first with a Chaos, most confuse.  
The Gods when they descended from the Skies,  
With Bodies velled their shining Deities.  
The thundering voice of heaven (which speaks so loud)  
Is both begot, and speaks too in a cloud.  
The clear still Streams discover to the eye,  
What filth and dirt do in the Bottom lie;  
When th' muddy boisterous Sea keeps from our view  
More Treasuries than mortals ever knew.  
Homer the Prince of Poets was Dark 'cause blind,  
Our Author's like him, yet is more calcined.  
We praise Propertius. Juvenal, Tibullus,  
Horatius, Flaccus, Lucan, and Catullus,  
Above all other petty Ballad-mongers,  
Who are so lean, they'll scarce suffice our hungers:  
But I'll forbear: who so shall read thy Book,  
Will think a Sibyl penned it, and will look  
For some t'interpret it: thus than thou'lt puzzle  
Thy Readers, 'cause thy Fancies thou do it muzzle.  
I'll say but this: (Others have praised thee more, and better)  
Thou writ'st in Characters, though with a common Letter.   
S. T. A. M. W. C. Oxon.   

To the Abstruse author on his nightwork Poems.  

1  
TO praise Thy Wit I cannot hope,  
It is so dark, I ne'er shall grope  
It out, but by Ariadne's Rope.   

2.  
That I am covetous don't think,  
For to illuminate Thy Ink  
I'll six pence give to Boy with link   

3.  
In London sure thou couldst not scape,  
On Ears, and Purse he'd ma●e a rape,  
Who in Lord major's name, doth gape   

4  
And cry, Your lantern, and your Light.  
Thy Verses make it more than night,  
Like Ghosts Thy Fancies us affright.   

5.  
As when rich Wines within a Cellar's 
Simile.   
Dark vaulted womb are welcome dwellers,  
Men stagger, though they are but smellers:   

6.  
Thy subtle Wit so cheats our eyes,  
None can discover where it lies,  
And yet our Brains it doth surprise.   

7.  
Let us have leave (heroic Bard)  
To ask Thee why Thou writ'st so hard?  
None wear their clothes all welt and guard.   

8.  
Some one conceit costs us a week,  
The easiest asks of days a Gleek:  
Thou playest with us at Hide and Seek.   

9  
We are your friends, you can't do less  
But send them quickly to the Press,  
Their meaning than they will confess.   

10.  
And then (if cooks do not bespeak 'em)  
When I am big with 
* ascertain drug, differing in colour from Album Graecum.  Flavum Graecum,  
Thy Book shall be my Vade Mecum.   

* The two first letters of the two last words, are the Christen and the Surname of him that made those Verses.  V. M.   

On Mr. Somebody's Poeticall Naps upon Parnassus.  

THe Indians with Mundungo fumigate  
Their brains, and all their senses opiate,  
To comprehend their Gods: so must I make  
Myself dead drunk with Helicon, and take  
A Nap upon Parnassus, to admit  
Thy Muses, and dark Oracles of wit;  
For thy obscure, dark foggy, misty strains  
Can't be received but in as cloudy brains.  
For they who such sublimities dispense,  
Must find out Souls free from the mist of sense,  
And cataract of reason, which must be  
(Like Him who put out's eyes that He might see.)  
As dark as is Thy Book: for why i'th' Night,  
owls (which are blind by Day) have quickest sight.  
Old Homer, Virgil, Lucan, and Catullus,  
Pass for good Poet, as the Ancients tell us;  
So Ovid, Claudian, Juvenal, and Martial,  
Yet they compared with Thee'r not worth a fart all.  
For they had One, and that no venial crime,  
That they were understood by th'men o'th'time:  
And what's more mean than That, which fault, if any,  
Makes 
Mat. Parker the Ballad-maker, laureate of London.  Parker's Poems vend but for a Penny.  
And Katherine Stubbs for three pence, when the women  
Won't grudge to pay a Crown for Jacob Behmen.  
'Tis vulgar to be clear. 'Tis but a Quibble  
To write a verse that is intelligible.  
But Thy judicious Muse shuns this Offence,  
And scorns the pedantry of writing Sense.  
Thine are true Heights, for Thine invention  
Confounds the Readers reason, and Thine own,  
Thou (like to Him that shows the famous Sight  
Of Bell & the Dragon) ere thou showest mak'st night.  
The heavens', by men that they so long have been,  
Adored, owed to the Clouds that are between:  
So 'tis Thy Soot, and smoke, makes us admire  
Th' internal Flame, of thy poetic Fire.  
As Nature's Secret parts do not excite  
So much when all go naked; so Thy wit,  
If naked, had not tempted half so hotly,  
As now in petticoat and waistcoat Motly.  
Through things transparent we dispatch our sight,  
But gaze on those which terminate our light:  
And while we view dark Objects, we ne'er care  
To take account of the perspicuous Air:  
So had Thy Poetry transparent been,  
We had in it no sense, no fancy seen;  
But now 'tis so obscure, that twoned transmit  
Our rays, we may suspect both Sense and Wit.   
G. C. M. A. SOAC. Oxon.   

Sonetto in Lode del Autore. Or in plain English, A Jews Letter in Ink to commend our Negro.  

DIro del Bianco pie che l'herb' inflora?  
O Della Bianca man che l'arboscelli  
Impera, inostra e'ndora?  
O 
* A Scotch title for the Devil.  Del bell vis ' humano, humile e piano?  
O Delle Dolc' Angeliche Parole?  
Questi l'alba ne rec' e quell'il sole;  
Quelle l'eterno ciel, co'centi Tuoi;  
Ma Quant' all Tuo Tacer, che non m'annoi.   
Alexandro Amidei Fiorentino.   

Drollery.  
Upon the most Illustrious, (though most Obscure, Dark, Black, Misty, Cloudy Poems of the author: Or the Aquila in Nubibus.  

EVery 
* A maxim.  thing would live, cuckoos, and owls,  
Would fly abroad, as well as other fowls;  
And sometimes whoop and screech, and tear their throats,  
With their dire voice, and think them Angels notes.  

* A minore ad majus.  Rise then, take wing (fledged Poet) let men know  
If these Birds show their heads, much more mayest Thou.  
I cannot praise Thy Works not worth a fart.  
What shall I speak, what shall I say Thou art?  
Such metaphysics Thou writ'st as transcends  
Our low, if not thine own Intelligence.  
Yet, as they say the greater Prophets, when  
Fully wrapped up with Revelations, then  
Spoke things they understood not, and yet are  
canonical: Thou art still good, and rare.  
Give me a Poet wrapped in a thick Cloud,  
Thunder without Lightning, one whose dark, loud  
Voice disdains Flashes, and 's enough to startle  
Our proudest Wits, from Head even to the 
* Well rhymed Tutor, Brains and Stairs!  Ankle:  
Thou imitatest the World, whose first (we read)  
Was a spiss Chaos, and untempered.   

Thou whor'st Obscurity like Ixion  
Clingest to a Cloud, and genderest thereupon.  
A Race of centaurs, such hard-headed Monsters,  
As neither mine, nor thy brain but misconstrues.  
A scholar's Gown should be Dark and Divines  
Put on black Caps; even so do all Thy rhymes.  
Black Bags help Beauty, naked things show witted.  
And Phoebus shows twice bigger through a Mist.  
The Sun we never gaze so much upon,  
As when a black Eclipse is thrown thereon.  
Keep then thy Sense. The Earth doth only show  
Her Common Stone's, 
* Where note she conceals her. precious stones, and the more modest she.  which many times do throw  
Us down: she shows us trifling grass, that's brave,  
The twinkling of an eye; then finds a grave:  
She hides her treasure, and will sooner feel  
Her Bowels ripe, then show her Gold and Steel.  
The deepest Streams are dark, and glide along  
With a smooth, gentle motion; while the throng  
Of shallow waters brooking no such stay,  
Disclose their bottoms, murmuring away.  
In brief Thou art our Oracle, dark, and much  
reserved, but do not cease, That should be Such.  
Let others call for sunshine, and daylight,  
Our Rest is from Thy Shadow, and Thy Night.  
But I have done: only I'll tell the Readers,  
One line of Thine hath more than all thy Leaders,  
Ovid, and Virgil, Homer, and the rest,  
Who spoke but seldom Wit, and good at best:  
Whose thrift of Brains was such, they needs must know  
What, and to whom, how much, nay when, and how▪  
Thy Lines are liberal, they have a Mine  
Of 
* Lofty, because high, and high because nobody can reach them  lofty Metaphors, else they're not Thine.  
Thy Muse condenses Wit, which others beat,  
And rarify out into many a sheet.  
Thine's Gold in th' Ore, others but in a Leaf,  
In theirs we Glean, from Thee each plucks a Sheaf.  
Thou art no Ape of others: never riflest  
Old threadbare Poets: for thou never triflest.  
Homer's spew makes Thee drunk: {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
Empties Thy Maw more than e'er did Good Friday.  
Thou scornest to imitate, or read; such helps  
May serve for squeamish Brains, and stupid Whelps,  
Whose thieving hands (yet not mercurial) pick  
Here a line, and there a word; some one stick  
Or two, out of a neighbour's Hedge, and then  
Faggot them for next town, and are fine men.  
But 'tis not so with Thee: O mighty Stock!  
Thy Head hews all out of its own great Block,  
unlettered Scholar! that weav'st 
* An old Bodge.  all, and some  
From Thy own fruitful Bowels, and vast womb.  
Poets are born so, not made: and Thou art  
Of Poets a natural, and not by Art.   
G. I. M. A. W. C. Oxon.   


Carmen Proverbiale Exclamatorium in laudem Authoris. Pars prior  
O Decus Anglorum! Vates famose tuorum,  
Cujus pars nona facit Oxen-ford Helecona.  
Saepe ego Te vidi, fecisti me quoque ride-  
re, cum dixisti certe nil, sed tacuisti:  
At loqueris jam nunc, & rideo plus ego quam tunc.  
Cùm videam Librum (qui non sensit modò cribrum)  
Et Carmen nigrum, sed & ingenium neque pigrum;  
Non quòd ego sperno Librum quem abs lumine cerno,  
(Estque Liber clarus) est Author, & undique rarus)  
Haec ratio non est quià rideo, my meaning's 
* No false position in English good Sir!  honest.  
Carminis ô Fulchrum! spernit tua Musa sepulchrum!  
Naviget Aethiopas inter Tuus (ô Bone) linter,  
Quisqueibi amat 
* For colorem, by a piece of an Aphaeresis, and a piece of Syncope  c'lorem libri, & monstrabit amorem.  
Tu bonus, & magnus, & candidus, ut niger agnus  
Est pedibus fama tua fortior omni Dama!  
O digne! O docte! O nigrior ipsâ nocte!  
Omnibus ô Pastime! O vates!  
Sic exclamavit. T. F. nuper N. C. Oxon. Soc.   

The second Part in the authors Language,  
Being a Verse panegyric in Praise of the Author's transcendently delicious, poetical dainties, enclosed in the 
* You may read it▪ wooden▪  Wicker-Basket of his critic Poems.  
SIR.  

IN that small inch of time I stole, to look  
On th'abstruse Depths of Your Mysterious Book;  
Heavens' bless mine eyesight! what strains did I see?  
What Steropegeretick Poetry!  
What hieroglyphic words? what Riddles? all  
In Letters more than cabalistical.  
Perhaps our fingers may Your Verses scan,  
But all our Noddles understand them can  
No more, then read that dung-forked Pot-hook's Hand,  
Which in Queen's college Library doth stand.  
The cutting Hanger of your Wit I can't see,  
For that same scabbard that conceals yours Fancy▪  
Thus a black velvet Casket hides a Jewel,  
And a dark Wood-house wholesome winter fuel;  
Thus John Tredeskin starves our greedy eyes,  
By boxing up his new found Rarities.  
Thus were Philosophers content to be  
Renowned, and famous in Obscurity.  
We fear Actaeon's horns dare not look on,  
When you do 
* But, when he does so, he verifies the Proverb, viz. Aethopem lavat.  scour your skin in Helicon.  
We cannot (Lynceus-like) see through the wall  
Of your strong mortred Poems, nor can all  
The small shot of our Brains make one hole in  
The Bulwark of your Book, that Fort to win.  
Open your meanings Door: o do not lock it!  
Undo the Buttons of your smaller Pocket;  
And charitably spend those Angels there;  
Let them enrich, and actuate our Sphere:  
Take off our Bongraces, and shine upon us,  
Though your resplendent Beams should chance to  
O were your verses stolen, that so we might (tan us.)  
Hope in good time to see them come to light!  
But felt I not a strange poetic heat  
Glowing therein (which reading makes me sweat)  
Vulcan should take 'em, and I'd not exempt 'em,  
Because they be things.— Quibus lumen ademptum.  
I thought to have commended something there,  
But all exceeds my commendations far:  
I hope some Wit, when he your honour hears,  
Will praise your mother's Eyes Turpentine tears:  
For my part, I can but stand still, and stare,  
And cry O wondrous! strange! profound! and rare!  
Vast wits must fathom you, better than thus;  
You merit more than all they:— As for us,  
The Beetles of our Rhymes shall drive full fast in  
The wedges of your worth to everlastin. 
* [g] Aufertur in fine, per Apocopen     
To F. lately F. N. C. Oxon.   

A Son amice, l' Autheur de cette Liure sur son obscurity.  

N'Import (grand poet)  
Si tes verse sont obscures;  
C'est estre imperfect,  
Si serroient toutes pures.   

L' estime cest à choses  
Qui sont pluis difficiles;  
L' espine fait les roses  
Non paroistre viles.    

Upon the same.  

WHat means thy Pegasus to take this flight?  
Thy Book is forth, but when wil't come to light  
Are the nine girls recluse? and art thou he  
Wilt turn Parnassus to a Nunnery?  
'Twas always Mountainous; but, by what spell  
Hast thou now made it inaccessible?  
Fountains are clear; but if Thou thus go on,  
Thou'lt make a Puddle of thy Helicon.  
Yet Darkness is thy virtue; were thy sense  
But legible to our intelligence;  
We might profane thy fancy, or despise;  
Thus Persians hide their King from vulgar eyes,  
They that entail a game at Chess upon  
Their families to time's succession,  
Making each Pawn outlive an Army; see  
The Bishops move but once a Jubilee;  
And Check ne'er comes without a Comet, they  
Might take thy Book to task instead of play.  
Were Archimedes living; ten to one,  
He'd make each Verse a Proposition;  
And poor as long upon't; but I dare say  
Without all hopes of crying {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}  
Might none be Judges of thy Wit, but such  
As understand it, 'twill abide the touch.  
I me sure we know it not: than who can blame us  
To bring Thee in, only our 
* A Lawterm a Jury brings in, when it can't determine of a Case.  Ignoramus.   
H. L. W. C. C.   

Upon the Gurmundizing Quagmires, and most Adiaphanous Bogs, of the Author's obnubilated roundelays.  

THou that dwarftest mountains into molehill sense  
With Ell-broad marrowbones of Eloquence;  
Causing thy eel-skinned Glasses seem to be  
But northwind Blasts of Mahomet's Nunnery.  
Breath forth great Argos mast into my hand,  
That I may bob for Whales upon dry land?  
Send down the Mesenterick hucklebone  
Of Crest-faln Pancakes which do cry and groan,  
That oval millstones are like tarbaxed Stars,  
Sphered so on purpose by Saturn, and eke Mars.  
'Tis true indeed Saturn did leave his mitre,  
To be Sow-gelded by 's godson Jupiter.  
What then? should Dunsmore's Bulls fall from the sky?  
And Cart-ropes into Prince's secrets pry?  
No sure: we mortals then may fall asleep  
On feathered Dripping-pans, playing Bo-peep.  
But that's a work only befits the Gods,  
To weathercock their Eyes with fishing-rods.  
Sail then (great Poet!) thither, where the mode is  
To wear Black-pudding-Points, at th' Antipodes:  
Rush forth into that Stage; and than it may be  
Thou'lt Crakanthorp thy Muse with dull Farnaby.  
Open our eyes with marble pick-teeth, then,  
To see thy bedrid Beetles turn to Men:  
Grind out thy Verses into meal-mouthed Rhimes,  
With camomiled Horse-plum-trees of the times.  
Break out thy Muse's teeth; but be no caitiff,  
To nickname Lobsters with the case Ablative:  
Then, we shall see great Whiting mops in shrouds,  
And Planets bounce conundrums in the Clouds:  
Then shall we see thee pass the Gallow Tyburn,  
Creeping on Carret-tops, and bawl out, I burn,  
I burn (great Jove)— with that, he stayed his pace,  
And heard a Lady call out thus, with grace;  
Dame Gargamel bids high you home to supper,  
For great 
* In English, a Grandvifier, a grand Statesman in Turkey.  Grangowsier's Mule has broke his crupper.   
T. C. of Q. K. C.   

To his ingenuous Friend, the Author, on his imcomparable Poems. Carmen Jocoserium.  

Were't not my friend, the world should know  
How I could praise thy Works [I trow]  
Sounding hence to Constantinople,  
Poetic strains, I'll wage a 
* or 6s. 8d.  Noble;  
But since 'tis so, (Oh! Oh, the pity!)  
I must laud thee in Obscurity;  
Making thy Verses this the Better,  
Because like thine in Word, and Letter.  
Nor are they therefore to be blamed,  
They will be lighter if inflamed:  
Never till then, expect a Riddle  
To be explained with 
* An English saw inverest.  faddle fiddle.  
Such Lines as these were none before,  
Since the cruel fight of Sir Eglamore.  
And in a word; that I may end all,  
Better were never made by 
* A famous Scoth Poet I think he was.  Kendal.    

Once again.  

IF I may guess at Poets in our Land,  
Thou beatest them all above, and under hand;  
Nay under leg too, for thy feet outrun 'em,  
As far as is from Oxford unto Lon'on:  
Nay, give them half in half, thou creepest faster  
Than Scottish Posts, that in the greatest haste are;  
Nor in thy Speed alone do lie thy Glories,  
But thou be so sweet, that done, thou tastest Morish.  
Who e'er (I wiss) did see one, like thee, handy?  
And Rhymes deliciouser than Sugar candy?  
To thee compared, our English Poets all stop,  
And veil their Bonnets, even Shakespeare's 
* It should have been Falstaff, if the rhyme had permitted it.  Falstop.  
Chaucer the first of all was'nt worth a farthing,  
Lidgate, and Huntingdon, with Gaffer Harding.  
Nonsense the fairy Queen, and Michael Drayton,  
Like Babel's Balm; or Rhymes of Edward Paiton,  
Waller, and Turlingham, and brave George Sandys,  
Beaumont, and Fletcher, Donne, Jeremy Candish,  
Herbert, and Cleeveland, and all the train noble  
Are Saints-bells unto thee, and thou great Bow-bell.  
Ben Johnson 'tis true showed us how he could hit  
Each humour now; and than be out of it;  
Nor could he always keep his Muse a gallop,  
With curb, or whip, but sometimes had but small (hope.)  
Cow alack's too plain; his Davideis,  
But fit for boys to read, like Virgil's Enaeis;  
And for his Mistress, and his other Poems;  
Anacreontique, and Pindaric themes,  
They have no Method in 'em, and are not worth  
One pin to kindle fires, and set on hot broth;  
None like to Thee, but the Writer of Urania,  
Or Friar John the Poet of Normannia;  
With Pagan Fisher, who e'rst made a speech,  
To show that he could versify, and preach;  
And put it in the News-books too, for all  
To know, how he was jeered in Christs-Church Hall.  
Thou be'st a brave Boy, trust me if thou be'nt,  
The best that ever eat salt fish in Lent;  
Which makes thy Verses too to be so witty,  
Because Thou seasonest so well each Ditty.   
S. W. W. C. C. Oxon.   

An Autoschediastique  
To the Ingenuous author, on his Poems so Miscellaneous.  

CAll not these 
* Why? who calls 'em so but you?  Miscellaneous Poems; why?  
What shall we call them then? a Rhapsody.  
So our Grammarians Homer's Iliads name;  
And you yourself do verify the same;  
The difference only stands in this, that He  
A Grecian: Poet, You an English bee.  
We style Him Father: but when that is done,  
We must acknowledge you to be his Son:  
Him Plato (notwithstanding all His Wit)  
Into his Commonwealth would not admit:  
We never deem ourselves more happy then,  
When we enjoy the writings of such men.  
If He were blind (pardon me what I say)  
You are so too; yet in another way:  
So have I seen Dame Justice regent sit  
With Eyes blindfolded to discern what's fit.  
Your Eyes were shut, when Verses you did make:  
(What would you've done if you had been awake?)  
No wonder then that you are so abstruse,  
That had to do in darkness with your Muse.  
What though our Poets sometimes Liars are?  
Each one in this hath not a common share:  
Nor doth the formal reason of Poetry  
Consist in this, that it must be a Lie.  
What hinders but a man may laugh, and rhyme,  
And speak the truth too at the self same time?  
Tears have their Fallacies, but who e'er knew  
A man, a merry Poet, and not true?  
Legends abundance have I read in Prose,  
In Verse but only one Metamorphose:  
Besides, all do not see the truths that lie  
Couched in the bowels of Mythology.  
You truth have spoken; and withal so plain,  
That one would think Luoilius come again;  
And yet your stile is so mysterious,  
As that of Juvenal, or Persius.  
Briefly, if any may be said to be  
An hieroglyphic Poet, You are He.  
True are your Eulogies; your Satyrs keen;  
Sad are your eulogies; your Silvae green.  
Others have spoken this before; for me,  
I cannot praise (for wondering) what I see.  
Philosophers, and Poets best are new,  
Your Work commends itself, and so 't must You.   
N. F. C. W. F. Oxon.   

Upon the nebuligerous, tenebricosiformed Wit, of the author, absconded in the nigricated Womb of these Poems.  

O! For the cutting knife now of sowgelder,  
To rip thy Womb, and see thy Hans en Kelder.  
Thy Wit as yet is wrapped in's Secundinaes;  
Which must be lanced, or else we ne'er shall find ye.  
D'ye think we can see Boy wrapped up in Mantle?  
For my part, how to do't surely I can't tell.  
When I thy Verses read, like in's shell Tortoise,  
Thy Wits in them as Wine in quart is;  
We can't see either of them until opened,  
Which if they be not, they're not worth a Rope end.  
Within thy Book I'd ha' thee put a Comment,  
We may then understand peradventure some on't;  
Else we shall ne'er do't; for now as the case stands,  
When we but read it, we are put to base stands;  
And then we thresh, and beat, and keep a quarter;  
Then rest; then fall again on: just like Carter  
Upon his Horses poor, tugging, and plucking  
To get his Wain out, that the Mire is stuck in.  
We sweat, and pull; but cùm omne venit ad omne,  
The wit within thy Verse we cannot come nigh.  
We may as soon our brains knock out, as knock in  
Thy mystic sense, 'cause thou writ'st still a fog in.  
Go on brave Son of Tartar, black as Pluto,  
Take some work else in hand, and fall a new to  
Some lofty strain, that may even puzzle Jupiter  
To understand: then surely thou wilt shut it o'er  
Our weaker minds; and make the God of Wisdom  
To fret, and fume, because it was not his doom,  
To have thy poet's body, and to swallow  
Such things as he'll ne'er do whilst he's Apollo.  
O all you mighty Poets, whether Hebrew,  
Greek, Latin, Persian, Caldee, and all the Brewers  
of Italian verse, French, English, German,  
If you're compared to Him, you're all but poor men.  
I'll say no more but this, Thou art the man, Sir,  
That better art than all our former grandsires.   
Adoniram Bitefig of Utopia.   

To his highly esteemed Friend the author: on his inspired Poems.  

CAst down your bays (fond Poets) girt his brow,  
To whom poetic Raptures homage owe;  
Whose nobler soul is only fit to be  
The standard to all kind of Poetry.  
Fancy lay breathless, and that sacred fire  
Raked up in its own ashes did expire.  
The Fount dried up; nor did the Jovial Crew  
Of Sisters meet, as they were wont to do:  
Apollo gone shepherds obtained the Spring,  
And Poets only went a-wool-gathring:  
But You (my friend) from whose moist brain doth flow  
A better Helicon then that we owe  
(To th' Horse's stamp) scorning so long to see  
The God thus baffled by Obscurity;  
Regained the Fort, and by thy lofty strains,  
Recover'dst mountain, spring, and neighbouring plains.   
H. W. W. C. C. Oxon.   

Upon the light-footed, though dark Poems of the author, so nimble, that they skip out of the Readers sight, though he hastes never so fast to overtake them.  

COme blow the Trumpets, make 'em cry tarrara;  
And from hence sound as far as is 
* A Province in Italy.  Ferrara;  
That they may hear the worth there of these Poems,  
Which were begot in high, and not in low 
* A Scotch word for a Belly.  Wembs▪  
The authors brain; when once he did but knock it,  
Verse would pour out, as water out of Bucket.  
But first I'll tell the way that he accustomed  
To generate his verse▪ His head then was tombed  
Within a Cap of linned, or of woollen,  
And then within the Bed his feet would pull in.  
And all day long in it He would lie naked,  
As hot as though in Oven He were baked:  
There would He have both cruel Pangs and Tortures,  
As if He had been pounded in ten Mortars:  
Just like the Pangs that Women have in travel,  
When they cry out, Back, Belly, Bones, and Navel;  
Till at the last He would be unto Bed brought  
Of Verses few: and all that while He fed not:  
Soon as He was delivered, He would lick 'em  
Over, and o'er, as Bears do Cubs; and stick 'em  
With pen, and ink on paper. What then? wot ye  
That these were Verses bad? They were not snotty.  
When He had made 'em clean: no they were brave ones,  

* This Verse is somewhat of the longest size.  There could not be such made again, though writ with quills of Ravens.  
Rare we must think them, that are made on bolsters,  
(A kind of Cushion that's sold by upholsters.)  
For all day long He did consult on pillow,  
Which made him write in Thunder, not in stile low.  
If you ask why his Wit is dark. and can't see't,  
Always He hid himself, and writ i'th' sheet.  
But I have done, he that shall next come after,  
May make you serious, we create you laughter.   
Dón John Puntaeus. {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.   

To the unknown Author.  

I That ne'er spoke in Verse, am come  
To add my Farthing to Thy Sum;  
What if I strain a Line or so,  
Thy Verses Feet can make me go,  
If Leg or Arm be broke: 'tis true  
He is a Poet, right, true blue;  
And whether or no I crack my brain,  
True blue I'm sure can never stain.  
Nay, his incomparable Verse,  
Would raise me, were I in my hearse:  
His Line's so mystique, so profound,  
No Treasure buried under ground  
Were worth so much at coming forth,  
Wer's Verses sold to half their worth:  
Some one perhaps may in a puff,  
Say they are pitiful enough;  
Or that they would be more meet,  
To make his Grandam a Winding-sheet?  
Let such with their Balladian Rhymes  
Exhaust their oil, and spend their times  
To seek for Arts not yet revealed;  
But let His Verses live concealed.  
For I'll avouch't by Jove they're good,  
Had we more plenty of the Brood.   
R. F.   

Upon the Blackness of Darkness: the authors Poems.  

SOme say mathematics are hard to know;  
Some say the schoolmen are difficult too:  
One complains of Arabic, 'tis not easy;  
Another of Coptique, it cannot please me.  
One says that Homer was a blind Poet,  
And so was Persius, and Cleaveland: I know it.  
Some say that Night is Dark, others again  
Will swear that dark Rooms are fit for mad men.  
Let 'em say what they will: I'm sure there's none  
If thou be'st but in place, deserves the Throne;  
The Kingdom of Darkness is all thine own.  
Euclid is easy, and Scotus is plain,  
If either's compared with thy darker strain,  
Arabic too; and any other Tongue,  
May sooner be known then Thy plainest Song.  
Cleaveland, and Homer, and Persius to boot,  
Are clear and smooth, if compared with thy foot:  
Yea, the Night itself, or the Grave (as some say)  
I'th' midst of thy Clouds would be a milky-way.  
Therefore the Proverb lies, if ever it tell,  
Dark Rooms are for madmen; for in such to dwell,  
Thy Wit, and Thy Fancy, do hold it full well.   
Timothy Tinderbox of Jamaica.   

Upon the Author's incomparable Hogan Mogan Mysteries locked up in the dusky shady Chest of his Poems: or, Jack in a Box:  

OH! that I had a quill that's snatched from Eagle,  
That I may write thy praise: or th' mouth of Beagle,  
To throat thy worth out, for thy Verses gallant,  
(Of which within thy Book there is no small want)  
In which there Fancy lies up to the Elbows,  
And Satyrs keen as are the Spanish Bilboes.  
If thou wouldst write (as we say) plain as Dunstable;  
We might then apprehend thee; but not Constable  
Now can do't, nor to boot all his watchmen,  
Although it be their Calling to Attach men.  
Thou scornest to write in stile that's called downright  
Because (Sayst thou) to this age 'twill not sound right;  
Therefore dost swear thou must things above Moon write.  
I'll bid defiance now to Po'et Boquendo,  
Such Verse as his ofttimes Ballad-Women do  
Make; yes, and better too, his Turkish Turbat  
Fits not our English heads; his Verses are but  
Such as may be made by your Jack or your Gill;  
Our Poet makes as good as e'er did Virgil.  
His title tells us, that upon Parnassus  
He nappee to make some Verse, but as the case is,  
Men scarce will credit; yet why not? f'r ought I know,  
He took deep sleeps ex fonte Caballino.  
For he that reads his Book will swear he dreamed sure,  
Else never such dark Poems had he teem▪ d sure.  
Yet ought not men to think 'em sad 'cause obscure,  
They'll give you mirth I warrant, and all sobs cure.  
At th' end of his Book in jerking Character,  
Antiquity lies bruised, he hath so thwacked her.  
Nor 'scapes from his Description Temporizer,  
Who when he sees himself lashed so, will Miserere  
mei Domine cry.— But Readers haste in  
To view the Lines of Poet—  
Read'um I pray, for I will swear theyare good ones,  
And cannot mended be by a whole brood on's:  
Because, if ever we intend to do it,  
We must drink foggy Ale, and so fall to it.   
W. G. C. W. C.   

Upon the Author's Mystery of Babylon.  

MY infant tender Muse can't praise thy tongue,  
As well as others of the learned throng.  
He's perfect man and wit, whose larger brain  
Can comprehend, and praise thy lowest strain.  
A Hue and cry  
With swiftest pace,  
And nimblest race,  
If it should try  
And ride to spy,  
Would hardly trace  
Thy sense, and find  
Thy mystic mind.  
I cannot say thou writ'st instead of Ink  
With juice of Lemons, that's too sharp a drink,  
And quick; but yet as that conceals what's writ,  
Writes well enough, but than  
Blots out as fast again;  
And so by riddling play  
Brings night in midst of Day,  
And none must hope to see  
What's written, though there it be.  
Just so thou jugglest, speak'st good sense and wit,  
Yet so obscure in every part of it,  
As that it disappears  
From all our eyes and ears,  
And we must use implicit faith to see't.  
Yet do not cry,  
Nor be angry.  
And thy friends fly,  
As if they did abuse thee  
Thy body's opacous  
But don't thou mistake us,  
Nor pluck thy Mystachios,  
If ever thou wouldst use me:  
Because every Letter,  
Is far much the better,  
That wants 
* t. inseritur per Epenthesin.  Interpretter,  
And much doth amuse me.  
I thought to have praised some of thy copies,  
And showed how far th' excellest other Puppies;  
But thy meaning is deep,  
And in it to peep,  
I fear my head will turn giddy.  
Thy Ale is so strong,  
And bottled so long,  
And close, that now 'tis so heady;  
As that its mouth  
I would be loath  
To open: 'tis so froppish  
I know it will fly,  
And smite my eye,  
And make my brains quite sottish.   
J. D. W. C. C.   

Upon the imcomparably-high-fancied Poems of the Author, so monstrously Obscure.  

GIve me some ink fetched from the muse's stream,  
Lull me asleep in a poetic Dream;  
Inspire me with a rapture, let my Breast  
By sacred Fury be possessed.  
Reach me a quill drawn from an eagle's wing,  
Teach me the way to write i'th' Moon, and bring  
All the world to read, and hear  
What in thy praise I shall write there.  
Hence you poetic dabblers, hide your heads  
In Clouds and Darkness, here's one better leads  
Poor undeceived mortals, and displays  
To undiscovered Lands of Poetry,  
Which hitherto did unknown lie;  
And will be ever so, far nearer ways.  
Let Homer vanish hence, lest by the Pain  
Of hearing him, he vomit once again.  
Let Virgil feed on bread, leave him the Spring  
From which the Poets their original bring:  
Let Ovid write more Tristia's; break his quill,  
He's banished once more from Parnassus Hill.  
Hence ye poor Ants that on that Mountain sit,  
Hence, and give place to a more majestic wit.  
He comes, fly off, lest you his triumph meet,  
Cast down your Pens, and only use your Feet.  
Let's see your backs, h'as purchased all the Mount;  
Here's no room left for men of your account:  
Here's not one Turf under your Heads to lie,  
After your death, unless you from Him buy.  
I saw the Bargain, when the Muses gave  
To him all right, which in that place they have.  
Thou hast exposed to the common sight  
Thy Poems, yet I can't say brought to light.  
Thy modest Muse puts on a mask between  
Our sight and it, sees all, and is not seen.  
Thy Verses rise above the vulgar flight,  
And draw themselves out of my wandering sight;  
Soar up to heaven to make a brighter day,  
Unless they meet the fire by the way.  
Prick up your ears Mortality, and hear  
The highest Lines that ever Paper bear:  
Bring your Five Senses hither, all won't do  
(I think) to read and understand him too.  
Put on your Spectacles, and wipe your eyes,  
And then you'll see where the deep Fancy lies:  
Attend these sacred rhymes; see, they begin  
To knock at your Brains door, and can't come in.  
Think you within the small space of your Brain  
To conceive that which the world can't contain?  
He's greater far then to be chained to Sense;  
Or held within that strait Circumference.  
Divinity scorns sense, and Angels ne'er  
Can be confined to that Sphere.  
Oracles ne'er did descend to be  
easy and plain to each capacity;  
But hovered in a mystic Cloud,  
Seldom conceived, yet sounding loud.  
The Gods when they came from above  
To live with men, did choose a Grove:  
A place in its own native darkness wrapped,  
Where they the sight of vulgar eyes escaped.  
The holiest place was wondered at, not seen:  
The Priest himself might only enter in:  
God to profaner eyes denied the view,  
Lest they contemned what they knew.  
poet's should have Elijah's mantles, till the day  
They go to heaven, and then cast them away.  
The sun's bright beams, unless they look behind  
A cloud, there wondering lookers on do blind.  
None that Divine, or angel's hand,  
Which with a sudden trembling did affright▪  
The Babilonesh Kings delight;  
Unless interpreted could understand.  
Should you religion show to common eyes,  
You from adoring teach them to despise:  
The Temple had its veil, which checked the light  
Of Divine Mysteries from profaner sight.  
The Turkish moschees are darkened by their law,  
To strike Beholders with majestic awe.  
Curtains fit those that on Parnassus' Dream,  
Or near the bubblings of the sacred stream.  
Poets ant pictured in transparent lawn,  
But in a mantle cast about them, drawn.  
They that are crowned with laurel boughs,  
The leaves give shadow to their Brows.  
The true poetic fire should have its smoke;  
Which might or blind, or choke  
Those that approach too near; the sun  
Can Draw up mists from Helicon.  
Light things or top of waters are first spied;  
Those of more w●●●t down to the bottom slide.  
We take to get most precious things more pains,  
The best things are least obvious and plain.  
The eye, which in itself's all light,  
In various coats is wrapped up from our sight.  
The choicest Fruits which nature liketh best,  
From injury in divers shells are dressed.  
The purest Earth which least of mixture tastes  
Lies far removed near the centre placed.  
Best things may be obscure; thus was the Cloud  
On th' one side light, on th' other in a shroud.  
Thus the North and Southern Pole  
On which celestial Bodies roll;  
Which all the Earth doth come between,  
Are never both together seen.  
But if One gives the saylours' light,  
The Other is hid from their sight.  
Thus mountains in the unthrift moon,  
Without the help of glasses, can't be shown.  
Thou hieroglyphic Poet! whose deep wit  
Cannot be known without expounding it.  
The Turks, as many commentators throw'd  
As might at once two hundred Camels load,  
Into the waves: should all those thee expound,  
They'd leave thee just as deep as first they found.  
The expositions on thy Mysteries  
To such a numerous offspring shall arise,  
As will put down the ignorant Rout  
Of those that blindly dote about  
Aquinas Sums, and Lombard's cobweb stuff;  
Yet swear at last they han't explained enough:  
Persius may hang himself, for now he has lost  
The Darkness which he only once engrossed;  
That cloudy Poet, if compared to thee,  
By A B C boys understood may be.  
The Devil (had Barbarus thy Verses seen)  
But by some Aenygmatick notion took  
From the great abyss of thy Book.  
Or some deep Fancies in thy Brain that swim,  
I'll lay my life on't they'd have orappled him.  
Poets (as Aeolus the winds in caves)  
By loading words in Fetters make them slaves:  
You yours in an eternal Dungeon keep,  
(Darker far than that of Ink,)  
Only it wants the stink:  
Through which not one small Beam of light can creep.  
Fetch me Augustus eyes, or Tamerlane's,  
Whose sight could give intelligence to their Brains  
In thickest Darkness; or his that could spy  
The enemy's Fleet in Carthage rode to lie  
Three hundred Leagues off; and it may be they  
In this thy profound night will find some day.  
They that from new made Characters can find,  
And pick at last the mystic mind  
Of him that made them, would be more put to't,  
To search the meaning of thy fancy out.  
Should we attempt to hunt thy wit,  
As men do Hares by th' impress of it's feet:  
Be sure we never should it take,  
It doth so many subtle windings make.  
Thy Book's a Labyrinth, which doth enfold  
Itself in many turnings, that do fly  
The curious Diligence of the Readers eye;  
And yet it doth no Monsters hold.  
Like those that writ in wax, thy wit  
Is closed and sealed, as soon as writ.  
I've sometimes seen those that do bathe  
Themselves in our sun's waters, first to swathe  
Their Bodies in some shrowds for fear  
Lest any misbecoming nakedness appear:  
So thou when dipped in Helicon, comest out  
Hid and clouded from the vulgar rout:  
Yet thou by hiding of thy light,  
Compliest with the weakness of our sight.  
For shouldst thou to our mortal eyes  
With all thy Beams and luster on, arise;  
Th' exceeding brightness of that day  
Would make us blind and grope our way.  
Go forth great spirit, let me see  
What the next age will think of thee.  
dazzle the world, show that their sight  
Is not so piercing as it might.  
Make Antiquaries work in the next age,  
T'untie the Gordian knots of every page;  
Let them admire the Ocean of thy wit,  
Whilst all their leaden heads can't fathom it.  
Till the phoenix of the world,  
Into its funeral flame is hurled;  
To comprehend thy depth let none aspire,  
Till all our Bodley's there shall burn,  
And th' ashes be closed in one urn,  
Till thy Book is enlightened by that fire.   
T. S. W. C. F. Oxon.    

The Epistle Dedicatory made by the author (upon some dislike) and presented to his now adopted Mother, the University of Cambridge.  
Dearest Dam,  
I Could now with sorrow wish, that I had hanged on the tawny udders of your Charity instead of your Sister Oxford's, that I might from thence have sucked the silver Milk of Education with the now leaden Lips of my Apprehension. However, since it cannot now be, that I should reinitiate myself; yet be it not presumption in me to present you the first Ears of that Corn which I could be glad were of some standing in your Fields, though I had hazarded the ploughing and harrowing of my Posteriors for it. And indeed I must tell you, that as for the Poems I here give you, for aught I know, you need not reject them: I am sure they are good; and yet (thus ever Envy sneaks after virtue's heels) I have overheard them undervalued: yet such is my patience, that I can with much facility slight unmeritted aspersions, only desirous, that they who will not commend them, would come and mend them. I am not ignorant also, that some shallow, ditch-brained fellows scruple much at my Ocean-like profundity; little knowing what Lamprils of Wit, and Grigs of Fancy are oftentimes enveloped in the mud of obscure Sentences; Grigs, which scorn to bite at any hook, but what is baited with the Vermilion Worm of a most perspicacious, and inquisitive Brain. Mother, I hope it will be no incest to rely upon you, in hopes to beget a gallant come-off with my Poetry: if that design fail, I fear me, my poetic vein will look blue, and come off so too. A little of your Candour, (like a beggar's bodylouse) will go a great way. Dear Mother, verify this unto me, and let your Approbation accompany my Endeavours, even as a venerable Budget doth a travailing Tinker; and when at any time you shall have occasion to peruse this my little Book, deny not your loving Son these two favours. First, to sit Cross-leggd while you read. And secondly, to tie up the Dog of your Censures with the halter of Discretion at the Dining-room door of your Affection. Nor would I have you at all wonder, that so many of my Friends are pleased to empty the Quivers of their Ingenuity against the butts of my Poems, to Descant on me, and Paraphrase on my Text with their several harmless Glosses; for we all know, 'tis the famous Don Quixot's highest honour to have Gayton's Festivous Notes written on Him: Thus the surrounding Ivy infinitely commends its solitary Inhabitant, whose majestic Loneliness is abundantly pleased to see th'exuberant mirth which the merrily-disposed Birds create to themselves, at the sight of his sullen gravity. Let the enamel of their praises, and Encomiums who (here honour me) set off the Medal of my Muse; and the agate handle of their Applause, commend the keen Blade of my sharp-edged Verses. Truly, think the world what it list, I think myself much indebted to them that have so nobly commended me in their Poetry before my Book: And I scorn ever to be conscious of so great puselanimity, as to refuse to persecute my subject to the uttermost, where such gallant Captains have lead me the way. Believe me I am in earnest, and restless to rest  
Your Dutiful Son K. Q.   

The Answer to that Epistle which I sent runs thus.  
My Dearest, Adopted Biern▪  
THe noise, and news of your Obscurity, and Poetry; the latter whereof you seconded with a Letter; have extorted from me such proofs, and reproofs, as I do very seldom use to send any of my Sons: and now, something must precede before I can proceed. I have lately somewhat overmuch indulged my Canine Appetite, and eaten somewhat that lies at my Stomach as heavy as a load of Lead; the Crudities whereof have sent up such Vapours into my Head, as if the fens had broken wind backward; such Fumes, that they make me foam like a bedlam: insomuch, that I think myself now in the same pickle, wherein the Poets tell us Madam Tellus was, when Phaeton took Her for a Witch, and set Fire about her ears: Yet (my Boy!) for thy sweet fake I'll do, as she did, heave myself in the midst of my colic fits; nay, and I will answer thine Epistle, though there were no other Pen to be had then A pestle. And now Son (for so you say you would gladly be) let me give you good counsel. I am serious. In the whole series of your Letter, I find a great many Metaphors, things, which some count Absolute; but I tell you, they are Obsolete, and do advise you by all means not to love them, but to leave them: I would have you take a Word, and Twang it; then listen how it sounds; observe diligently its Reverberation, mark its echo, and if that chance to bring into your mind any other Consonant word, apprehend it be sure, in spite of all the repugnancy which a dissonant Vowel, or two may make. Take but this Course, and you shall have all my Blessing, and none of my Curse. But now (Son) to particulars. I wonder why you should call me [Dam;] truly, I thought [Madam] would have better befitted your mouth; or rather Eve than ADAM. Then again, I am certain you could not have found a word Odder then that same [Udder:] think you that I can't {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman} without being called A-Cow? But 'tis no great matter; courage▪ my Lad! whatsoever discontents may arise, or you can raise to yourself, are all to no purpose, if you will but propose to yourself the Fame you shall acquire by this your Book. But I must have done: I am at this instant, in Post-haste. Take my mind in a few words. I applaud your Obscurity, and commend your Darkness amongst the Light Whimsies of this Age. I shall easily grant those your two reasonable Requests. Your Friends I esteem very highly of. Yourself, because you are a Foot-soldier to the Muses; when you Die, I'll banish muskets, and pistols, and I'll canonize you with a thundering Volley of loud eulogiums; so that astonished Europe shall take notice how much I set by  
My dutiful Son K. Q.   


THE AUTHORS OWN Verse and Prose.  
With marginal Illustrations on his OBSCURITIES, by a Friend, to the Reader.  Semel in anno ridet Apollo. 
Printed by the same Order.   

Sic Incipit.  
The Author's humble Opinion concerning his Book.  

THey're dog-days now: he that appears in Print,  
To coin his words must first find out a Mint.  
I deal not by retail, nor eke by stealth,  
To make of this my Book 
* A Book much esteemed by the Author.  Wit's Commonwealth:  
Then buy my Wit in cleanly words well dressed,  
Wit dearest bought is always counted best.    

Upon one buried after He was Dead.  

WIth Eye-bright water wash thy face,  
Since Here there lies a Babe of Grace:  
Why should 
* Not hot in effect, but in operation.  Hot waters scald thine eye?  
The Darling of the Gods did die.  
Why weep you for him, and lament?  
Pluto long since hath 
* The devil a bit he h●●'s▪  broke up Lent.  
And feeds on flesh both day and night,  
By a base carnal Appetite.  
At 
* (Viz.) Pluto's.  this soul's glory▪ none can guess,  
Who doth 〈…〉 in happiness▪  
〈…〉 in this Dust bed,  
〈…〉    

On another▪ served after the same cruel manner.  

THe fates of late have made a Mint,  
And 〈…〉 pale▪ faced Image in't:  
We're all their Tenants, and must pay  
Our lives for Rent: Souls are their prey;  
Sickness is their Apostle, sent  
For to possess their Tenement▪  
Death did abbreviate his life,  
And bequeathed Glory for his Wife.    

Upon one who died, and never lived after it.  

PUt on thy mourning Clothes my Muse, come cry,  
If thou canst weep for Him in sympathy▪  
Tears have their Tunes▪ whose music in sad cries  
Is warbled forth by watery Elegies.  
Nature hath given our Organs leave to play  
loath to depart, loath to depart away:  
But all in vain; Death has long since compounded  
For 
* Higgledy piggledy.  Clergy-Lay, both Cavalier, and Round-head.    

A new-year's Gift.  
Sing this to the dismal Tune of the Lady and blackamoor.  

NO Venus Gloves, or Lady's 
* Viz. A switchlock.  Lock,  
I here present to thee:  
I give a Damask Rose of Love,  
Mine Heart, keep it for me.  
Hearts are best New-year's Gifts 'mongst friends,  
In giving mine I'll please;  
Return me yours, than so shall I  
From You receive 
* A flower that seldom grew in the author's garden.  Heart's-ease.    

On a royal Person that disguised himself.  

GIve 
* The Author was going to dinner when he made these  thanks my Muse, let Bells the Changes  
Charles is made Secretary to the King.  
My Faith is huddled up in sense, I see ring:  
A Revelation in this mystery.  
Here's sweet meats for all hungry 
* [Eyes] for [tongues] a very Figure:  Eyes, come feed,  
First bless your food, and then rehearse your Creed.  
The clearest Vision in a drowsy Trance,  
Wisdom inwraped in dusky Ignorance:  
A copy of a King, which sure was writ  
In Bastard hand; part true, part counterfeit.  
In a Jew's coat a Gentile, change the stile,  
And on his face you may throw Cross, and Pile.  
A Prince shriveled to a great-man, in a Damp  
Of spirits he's shrunk to one of Nabal's stamp.  
Majesty droops by a fantastic Wile;  
The Holy Ci●● imprisoned in a Tile▪  
Jew christianized▪ o! that he should (
* A wonderful thing, that▪ a King should be a man.  a man)  
Be bound up like to Mahomet's Alkoran!  
My prating eyes tell tales; how can I write?  
A Devout Saint, an hotehpot Hypocrite!  
His Habit preached to us, and did dispense  
The holy Scriptures in a doubtful sense;  
Art, by its Sophistry did him deface,  
Making him cast a Deuce upon an Ace.  
Bring here an herald's Grammar; show the Rules,  
Why Sables makes a Comment upon Gules?  
When Stuart could not fly from Charles, than he  
Through art's temptation acts Adultery  
With his own self; and so in fine I rate  
Him base begot, though most Legitimate.  
When I look up, with him my thoughts commence,  
Who by tranfiguration parted hence.  
Mutation strange! None e'er did read of this  
In 
* And a good reason too; for the King lived a little▪ while after Ovid.  Poet Naso's Metamorphosis.  
Like as the Sun, before it sets, that shrowds,  
And muffles up its brighter face in Clouds:  
Those loyal Mourners that attend its fall,  
And go in 
* What should they go in else? in Blues?  Blacks unto his Funeral:  
Even so did he overcast the Heavenly Lamp  
Of's Countenance by glozing a new stamp  
For Charles the King; and so appeared to be  
A Bird of Prey, plumed like a 
* A strange Bird hardly to be found in Paradise.  Pharisee.  
Could I but pip my Phrase, I should not sin  
To say, the mixed Assembly's met in Him:  
My saucy Muse has fed so on his face,  
Pardon (great Sir) if I forget my Grace.    

The Common Fire.  


* The Author is teaching his Muse to swim, and so gives her good counsel.  HOld up thy head my Muse, and walk aloof  
I'th' Spanish mode; here's boys are armour proof▪  
Against all petty Pistol rhymes; don't venture  
Them to assail with such: for they'll not enter.  
First levy all thy force, then give thy Darts  
Licence to tope the Gravy of their Hearts.  
Turn Mountebank for once; command my Pen  
Which nature squired to 
* Now he barks, bow wow.  mouth out Gentlemen  
In various colours: such is this noble Rout,  
I must speak often, yet not speak them out.  
Like an unskilled Carver, who can't hit the point,  
Unless he first doth Cuckold the poor joint.  
Tune then some Janus rhymes, that two faced Wit  
Eyed on both sides such fashioned heads doth fit,  
Whose profound learning none can roundly praise,  
Unless his Verses 
* Backstroke, and forestroke, like a bell.  sound alikc both ways.  
Saint now the Devil Poet which doth fence  
Bis Cloven rhymes with an united Sense.  
That Grecian echo which housed in the Roof  
Of Him, which did even stone it with reproof,  
Did sound, and build up it's cursed landlord's name,  
By frequent repetitions of the same;  
This, this it is which must be crowned with bays,  
And all your names with much advantage raise.  
The forefront man starts me, whose head is lettered 
1.   
With Attic Characters, not with them fettered  
Like those clogged Pates, whose mute wants are  
Expressed  
By th' loud tongued pasteboard hung before their Mother,  
Breast.  
That proud Greek sisterhood, which disclaimed their  
Quickly fell out, and would not own each other.  
See they shake off their Mam's old clothes, as fetters  
But 
* I think he means [effeminated] 'tis a difficult place this!  petticoat themselves with different Letters;  
Shifting their Dialects, (even as Proteus he  
new-faced himself with Form's variety.)  
Hence cruel Wars were nursed: until its quill  
In making Peace it's dearest blood did spill:  
Nor may I chain him up to words: He's one  
Cut out for rhetoric's living Mansion.  
If Ages could retreat, and sum their store  
Of elegant airs to hatch an orator.  
If 
* A short expression for [looking cunningly.]  squinting Time could backwards run, and bring  
Up in its front, those wits, which once did spring;  
Should all conspire to Man-midwife a spirit,  
They could not reach one of his worth, and merit?  
For why? more Rhetoricians meet in Him  
Then e'er at once did in our Tripos limb.  
Face about now (my Muse) and view the next; 
2.   
Expound him fully, but don't name the Text;  
One 
* Some read it [doubleted.]  coated up in Mists, we can't a Glance  
Of Him, unless we'll pry through Ignorance;  
Thus the world's Goggle Eye sometimes appears  
At the first sight, straight swaddled up in tears.  
Thus pale-faced Cynthia black-bagged in Clouds,  
Doubles her form when she herself unshrowds.  
That changeling soul moved slow paced: but his skips  
Through all the 
* Datur penetratio dimensionum ergò falleris.  Bodies of lettered Manuscripts,  
Of Tongues of Babel paramount in Him,  
In Judgement He outvies the Sanhedrim;  
String then his Judges, hang them on his fist,  
That glittering Bracelet well becomes his Wrist.  
Call an high Court of 
* For [Arts and Sciences] by a Figure called Metathesis  Sciences and Arts,  
In full mouthed praises let them breathe their parts.  
One to whom Nature has bequeathed her store,  
And godmothered his tongue an orator,  
unlike to him whose found-lunged Eloquence,  
Doth often gape for a full pointed sense:  
I speak him faintly, si'th I am not fed  
With th' 
* ☜ 3.  pampered Air, that Rome's vast Rostrum bred;  
An health to that merry Boy, who tunes the spheres,  
And makes my soul lie listening in my ears:  
Orpheus revived, 'fore whom the Air doth prance,  
And music's 
* In plain English Fiddles.  wooden, carcases do dance▪  
Knowledge engrossed! whose soul is fit to be  
A sprightful seed-plot of all History;  
I may not bless Him, as I've blessed the rest;  
For He holds nought in Common with the rest.   
************** 
4. *** Caetera desiderantur.***   

Upon my mother's running Eyes; presented to her for a new-year's Gift.  

LEt your eyes drop, he that for 
* Sucking bottles for newborn pigs.  Bottles seeks,  
Shall find two Twins a hanging in your Cheeks;  
Which Nature bare, and whilst she lay a-bed,  
Venus a Nurse became, and coloured Red,  
You heart's fire stills the moisture of your brain,  
Through your Eyes Liimbeck which doth drop  

* al. An Ocean.  amain:  
And whilst your lungs the fire doth gently blow,  
Eye-water drops into your 
* He meaneth her blind cheeks.  Cheeks below.  
The running of your Eyes doth sure maintain,  
That you within have got a Curdled Brain.  
Within those Windows Fancy oft was fed,  
In which that Spider spins a watery web;  
Your Eyes are pregnant with those drops, and cry  
Out for your help in their Delivery:  
Their circled motion turns each beam-like thread  
Into a skein of spiritual white-brown-thred;  
Which Nature's sempstress uses when she knits  
Each object to her in fantastic fits.  
Their Still may leak; but ne'er those waters can  
Quite overflow your little 
* His mother's belly  Isle of Man.  
scholars want Gold, therefore their Brains they  
sift,  
To strain for friends the finest New-year's-gift:  
And so want I; therefore my wit I 
* That's' a nasty word.  poop  
The mellow Apples of your Eyes to scoop  
With this my Pen, which in your brine I sop,  
Which Dripping bastes your raw cheeks while they  
drop.  
If for your sins, then let Susanna's eye  
Drop more such Beads for Heaven's Rosary.    

On a blackamoor Maid courting me▪  
A Dialogue.  

KEep 
* The Kettle calls the Pottage-pot burned arse.  off, thy Chimney hue offends,  
From which (like smoke) thy breath ascends. 
Author.   
My Breath is smoke; hence is my smart, 
Blackmore.   
That fire within burns up mine Heart.  
The Fire of Love I cannot see, 
A.   
Egyptian darkness hinders me.  
This Darkness will soon pass away, 
B.   
If thy Sun but afford one Ray.  
My Sun of Beauty is not seen, 
A.   
If thy dark Body comes between.  
My Body's dark, but if thy Light 
B.   
Shine clear, it cannot force a night,  
When I would view thy Sloe-like eyes, 
A.   
Mists from thy Moorish face do rise.  
Clear days of Love these Mists foretell; 
B.   
For Heat of Love shall them expel.  
But thou art Black, and wilt disgrace 
A.   
The pure whiteness of my face.  
I'm Black, then let it be my lot, 
B.   
To serve for you a Beauty spot.  
Thou art both Black, and what is worse, 
A.   
Thou'rt clouded in thy country's curse.  
The best clothes Nature to thee gave,  
Are but sad emblems of a Grave.  
I'm clad in Black; Black's mine array, 
B.   
Hence I go mourning every day.  
Flay my black coat, apparel me  
With thy white Robe of Purity.  
I am thine Vmbra, take delight  
To diaper my black with white.  
Come then, let's crisp, and curl in pleasure, 
A.   
Our spotless loves shall keep no measure.  
Thy comely blackness doth much grace  
The sober sadness of thy face,  
Thy black is subtle, thin; and rare,  
A Film-hood (such Queen 
* His 〈◊〉 has now hoped into a costermongers Basket▪  Apples wear  
To hide a Blush!) a cobwebed screen,  
Through which thy lustre's clearly seen.  
Thou'rt veiled and shadowed in my sight,  
I'll dapple o'er thy shade with light.  
Let's twist our souls then: one spickled ray 
B.   
Will force for us a Wedding day.  
Make haste my Love: my panting soul  
Dies, if we still live on Parol.    

On a Reputed courtesan.  
To the Tune of the Mad man's Morris.  

SOme say that you a Book have been  
Handled in sheets. Aha!  
Then sure I cannot 
* But he might ride by Sea thither.  go by Sea  
To your Virginea.  
A Man in your Moon there hath been,  
Hence men disdain your scorns:  
Your Moon of Beauty is at 
* Not at Empty.  full,  
And hath late shed its horns.  
Let Incubus ride thy Hackney-soul,  
Till death doth claim its share.  
In thee: And mayest thou ever serve▪  
For a Common thoroughfare.    

On a Gentleman that gave me a Bent Sixpence.  

HEnce ye Tin-Merchant Poets: quickly hence,  
You who pay silver by your Cornish pence.  
Thus Hypocrites golden favours represent  
By a Bath-yellow-sandy compliment:  
But he that would your kindness full express,  
Must first know how to swell in golden verse.  
'T would pose an wholesale Poet for to fit  
Me with fine Phrase out of his store of wit,  
To set your favour off: but his Art fails,  
Where nought but all the muse's power prevails.  
Could I but mouth it stoutly, than perhaps  
I'd flash in wit, and crack in thunderclaps  
Of rhymes, as ushers to a shower of verse.  
But that shall be your debtor to your hearse.  
My left-handed success to raise my state,  
Shall never vote your good will out of Date.  
I do pursue your favour by the 
* Brave Jowlet▪  scent,  
And find it in your bosom resident.  
He that by words seeks you to recompense;  
Soils Diamonds with a Bristol Eloquence.    

The Drone's Indictment of the Bee.  

THe Bee arreigned at nature's 
* Not Gum water.  Size,  
For robbing Flora's Paradise,  
Tuning his hums in goodly sort,  
Makes a day's journey to the Court.  
Where with his lifeguard he appears,  
And all the Drone's Indictments hears.   Enter Drone. 

Indict. 1.  
She ransacked gardens, and by stealth,  
Did fill her bag with Flora's wealth;  
And (lest it should be searched for)  
Turns Coats: her Argent into Or.   

Indict. 2.  
She did deflower the beauteous fields;  
And tyth'd the Crop which Ceres yields.   

Indict. 3.  
She watched where Flora's child did lie  
And stole' way her 
* And that was a fire bit.  Virginity.   

Indict. 4.  
She Counterfeits Dame Nature's mould,  
And guilds her Coin with yellow Gold.  
At Nature's Bar this pretty Elf  
Turns Lawyer, and pleads for itself.   

Plea. 1.  
Whilst Cloris lived, to me she sold  
The Gardens for a copyhold:  
And when death's Bed did her embrace  
With the Green Sickness in her face;  
Her Love being dead, my Landlady  
By a Fee simple gave't to me.   

Plea. 2.  
The Fields for Commons, and her Bed,   

Plea. 3.  
To take her daughter's 
* Female, with Female! surely this Bee had a Pego  maidenhead.   

Plea. 4.  
‛ Ere since, I nature's Student try  
Mine Art in natural chemistry.   

At this the Drone plucked in his head,  
The Bees did hum, and humming fled.  
The Mistress now being all alone,  
Doth sue an outlaw for the Drone;  
Who said he stole, and broke the Peace,  
'Cause he held Land by Parol Lease.   
Well then.  

This nature's Leveller now returns,  
To lie with Flora's Maid she burns:  
She flames with lust, and void of strife,  
Doth lead a most licentious life.  

* What a devilish Lecher was this Bee?  Every Maiden flower she meet,  
She ravishes whilst that she greets,  
She breaks into Diana's grove,  
And all about the Woods doth rove:  
Her wings turn Fans to cool her face,  
Whilst that by Zeal she courts her grace.  
She woes her Virgins to the Springs,  
And them defiles; whilst that she sings,  
The expansed sweetness that doth lie  
Wrapped up in Flora's Library.  
In every Folio Schollar-wise  
She doth her use epitomise.  
She extracts Honey from the Bay  
[Horse,] and makes a Blur where was a Gay. 
* Here's nothing but whoring and drinking.   
She turns a Tapster to the Vine,  
And quaffs the best of Flora's Wine.  
The Woodbines pulse by a sense he feels,  
Tippling in Pleasure till he reels.  
The Indian sweets he tastes, and strains  
Free quarter on th' Arabian Plains.  
All the day long he swills delight,  
Till th' evening cools his Appetite.    

Upon Mr. John Cleeveland, my quondam Chamber-fellow.  
Dear Jack!  

COme on brave spirit; help me thy name to dress;  
Lest I blaspheme thee with my homespun verse▪  
Reach me a deep-mouthed Quill; and let me write  
Thee out at 
* Thus; (viz. thce.  length: a short-breathed epithet  
Will not suit you: He that would sound thy praise,  
Must court in Aristophanes his phrase;  
Whose words command a Parliament of Letters;  
That lie imprisoned in their Attic Fetters.  
Shelton's short cramped fist, can ne'er grasp thee,  
Who far excelest all such Semigraphy.  
Text only 
* Where note the Texttakes some; and the Devil takes others.  takes you. He that doth dispense  
With that short-handed new found Eloquence,  
Bespeaks but a poor Brieve for thy large praise;  
And makes thee go a begging for thy days.  
Call him th' muse's metaphysic Reader,  
Of all the Poets Troup style him the Leader;  
Who with rare Novelties baffles the Sense  
Of the busy pated Weeks intelligence,  
For the Diurnal's kin doth scrutiny,  
Makes it possess its rugged Genealogy.  
We date not higher, lest I my Ink should spill,  
And force his tried Committee to my Quill,  
Whose blockish heads may they cambadoed be  
With Leather patched claim their leir legs property,  
And still wear Caps cut out of some bull's Coat,  
Thong-buckled under their conscientious Throat.  
Beside (Great Sir) good wit in these our times,  
With wisdom must be clothed as well as rhymes:  
The Muses sure will worship at thy shrine,  
Who are well manned by thee: for since the Nine  
Drunk in thy spirits, which trickled through thy quill,  
baldpate 
* It wanted a Periwig.  Parnassus is a Cuckold-Hill,  
And hugs his Horns, waxing most proud, that he  
Cornuted was by such an one as thee.  
I must needs falter now: Negations are  
The best sad clothes that ever Angels wear;  
These now are dumb, if not he scorns their speeches,  
Having cast off such precise logic Breeches,  
Spun of old 
* A new kind of Stuff, a-la mode.  Ignorance, which can't him unwind,  
Unless he'll be penuriously defined.  
Those gaudy Negatives which tightly dress  
A living spirit, him only dead express:  
His shamefaced wit its countenance doth shroud,  
Like as the Sun when mantled in a Cloud.  
'Tis dark, and veiled, till the illustrious sense  
Wrapped in Ink Clouds by a wise Intelligence  
Is quite unbodied; then it shows its face  
Through that black mask of Letters with much grace.  
Thou'rt gone men say, this is no news to me,  
I deem this Land far too hidebound for thee,  
Who strides to Heaven in one poetic story,  
And makes the world but a scant Promontory.  
Let that 
* al. The Pocky echo.  French echo, which preaches out of holes  
And makes long-winded Sermons to All Souls  
Which thither throng; let that extend thy merit,  
Not as 'tis inspired by a common spirit;  
Mean while your silenced 
* Mark that well.  Minister I'll be.  
Since Learning's Body is condensed in Thee.    

On the ingenuous Poet Mr. Cowley.  
A Pyndarique Ode.  

I Can't now comprehend unless I'm taught  
To write a strain above myself, aloft:  
If that my Muse would honour him with a Song,  
It must first learn to chat in th' Hebrew tongue.  
Stand off thou 
* One Billingsley wrote a Martyrology in Verse, Anno 1657.  Poetaster from the Press,  
Who pygniest Martyrs with thy dwarf-like verse  
Whose white, long bearded flame of Zeal aspires,  
To wrack their Ashes, more than did their Fires.  
Confine not this our Poet to thy Black, dirty Ink,  
Lest thou bespot his name, and make it stink.  
Hand then at Quill that's plundered in the fight  
Of Mercury, whilst he beats by flight.  
He mustered up the Forces of his arms,  
Ordered each Wing for to escape the charms  
Of the easy conquered Air, and shall not I  
Alarum now the muse's chivalry?  
And beat up the headquarters of my strength,  
Whose power drawn out, may help my soul at length,  
To find his ambuscadoed Verses out,  
Which on all sides besiege me round about.   

2.  
I here condemn plain Seneca's crumpled style,  
And Sentence, Cicero's longer by a mile.  
For neither spaned him; none can speak his worth  
More fully, than a stiffnecked Holder forth,  
Who draws his mouth at large, spins out his lungs  
And ne'er is tired with tuning holy Songs,  
Whose surly Ela's note he far exceeds,  
For bodied Angels clothed in Ladies 
* In contradistinction to ladies' Flowers.  weeds  
Can only throat him, whose virtues cannot brook  
A spirit's knowledge through a single look.  
That vast Triumvirate's poetic hand  
Which digged graves for lost sense in words, is damned  
By Him, and must at last grant His the better,  
Who buries Mysteries in every letter.   

3.  
Antiquity is fettered in their Verses:  

* O bawdry!  Long hangers on each side the Printer Presse's,  
Raised on the public Faith, for the defence  
Of their benighted, and most doubtful sense:   
But stay!  

That jolly Trine if any Eye will round,  
A 
* Sure the author's wits went on wool-gathering here.  flock of Books in sheep's clothes may be found:  
But his Muse mounts enrobed in noonday glory,  
Candied with light, as if his head were hairy.  
First dipped in those sacred streams with thee,  
And when grown up coated with purity.  
His Fancy in 
* Now he conjures.  Black-art mourning owns the name  
Of a dark lanthorned Dungeon to a flame.  
Whilst I the letters, and the clear sense find;  
My weaker Eye can't reach the Soul behind.  
So that in reverence my head is bowed,  
Thinking of Juno clothed in a Cloud.  
Like that dunced wit, how does my willing hand  
Scribble that out, which I 
* Sanat confessio crimen.  can't understand I  
For feigned ill Husbandry let none thee mock,  
Who ever heard that Poets e'er did smock  
Their naked coin in Napkins: frank they be  
Both of their Jests, and of their Money free.   

4.  
That ethnic Priest which did attire his Pelf 
All this I don't understand.   
With th' same Trunk-breeches which he wore himself.  
whilst in his wooden Pulpit stuff apparelled  
Did seem a Hogshead in an Hogshead barreled:  
Had he but known the Grecian would disjoint,  
And burst in two stout Vulcan's Iron point,  
Which tied th' luxurious placquet of his Chest  
In th' Italian Mode, that deified it might rest  
Cooped up t' one master: that subtle Cub  
Had straight unbuttoned the Codpiss of his Tub,  
And broke up his soon cooled Zeal in haste  
To save his Gold from running out in th'waste,  
I dare not Poet christian him by birth,  
Who Atheist like adored that guilded Earth;  
This only common I hold fast with thee,  
I scorn such dirt, and worship poetry.  
A Knocking 
* A Ring for the Author—  Poet sure, who jointly beds  
Nine lusty girls, which bow their maidenheads  
To Him, and straightway left the Sacred Hill  
For to attend upon his sainted Quill.  
Could my weak fluttring soul to heaven fly,  
Through the shuffled Clouds of masked Divinity,  
Begot by him; there than my muse's 
* Olet lucernam.  taper  
Breathing its last, would from its socket caper;  
To see a vision of him in a sound,  
Would in deep contemplation my soul drowned.    

Against frothy Wits.  

I Like not such, who do not fear  
By Juno's Pantofles to swear;  
Yea, even by Styx, to brag most cruel,  
That a Quart of Ceres water-gruel  
Will make their Wits to run so fleet,  
That they'll spew Verses without 
* Here the authors Muse is not troubled with corns.  feet.    

Against stealing Wits.  

I Dislike those make Mercury their Chief, 
Clodius accusat Maechos.   
And quote him, as their Captain Thief;  
Under whose colours they commence  
Masters of pilfered Eloquence.  
To cheat men's Works they've got a trick  
By Handy dandied rhetoric:  
Who wit in Tympany do spawl,  
Like a big bellied Corporal,  
Whose girded waste while it doth hope  
For a far larger Horoscope,  
At drinking time doth quite disjoint,  
And crack in twain his 
* Made of a piece of packthread  Codpiss-point:  
So they like to the women train,  
With crisped ties hair-lace their Brain;  
And cap their Blocks, lest that their wits  
should run a-gadding in mad fits:  
But nevertheless they cry [more scope,]  
And slack their brains for want of Rope,  
To raise their Jests, whilst they would spanned  
A world of wit, with their short hand.  
The down of Proteus woollen Pelt  
Made up in fashion of a felt;  
Wilt suit their baldpates, which do rig  
Each man's hair for a periwig;  
To hide their shame, but do not cry,  
Or startle at 
* That is stealing of Books.  Book Felony,  
Such er'wiged thieves, that lie in lurch,  
We'll jerk with the Mercurian Birch;  
And put their ranging wits in pound,  
For breaking into others' ground.  
But if they'll not corrected be,  
We'll hang them on the Daphnean-tree    

Against Antiquarians.  

I Like not time observers of our age,  
Who bring up 
* 'Tis plain here, that he means the Praeadamitae.  Adam on the Stage;  
And by their too long wasted crime,  
Blab what was done before his time.  
If you'll but crown their heads with bays,  
They'll publish th' Acts of Joan Popes days:  
They raise up Antiques from the Grave,  
To fright away the wit they have.  
They tell of Ixion in a fog  
And a blind tale of Tobits 
* They had read the Apocrapha  Dog.  
They worship every Ancients shrine,  
And kneel before the Grecian wine.  
They've top'd so much old Massick Ale,  
Their running wits are now grown stale.    

On the Death of his good old tutor, Mr. G. S. of W. C.  

I Keep a Fast day: now mine eyes repent,  
A shower of tears falls from my 
* Read it fundament.  Firmament:  
Come paint him out (my Muse) let tears now blush,  
And force his sable Cheeks to wear 
* A kind of wear like black scarlet.  gules Plush.  
Come scan your sobs; come steep your eyes in 
* That's a good way to be blind indeed.  Brine,  
My eyes shall weep for him red muscadel-dine.  
But here (alas) the dew that oft doth fall  
From th' region of mine Eyes 
* Where note, that tears are not Aqua vitae.  cannot recall  
Him unto life: since he hath tried the mote  
Round Pluto's house in Charon's Ferry-boat.  
His gosling soul long sat in's bodies Tree,  
Whilst that the fates hissed at's felicity:  
At length being fledged by Age, it soon got loose,  
Dropped into Styx, and turned a gagling Goose.  
Now grazing pleasure in the Elysian Fields,  
It reaps that bliss that Jove's green meadow yields.  
The Pope's base breasts of sin he did not nurse,  
Though he adjured him by his triple Curse.  
Of's learning let none doubt, he's dead and gone,  
Who was whilst here a 
* Now he's a dead Helicon it seems.  living Helicon.  
To the Pegasides he was a Groom,  
The Muses made his Head their Dining-room.  
The Synagogue of Arts he did adore,  
But now no 
* No, nor Science neither.  Art can him to life restore.  
Great Rhetorician sure: and now we see,  
That death doth prove to him a 
* Because you know Syncope tollit de medio: there's the wit.  Syncope.  
Praise is his debt: his debts I care not for,  
Since Death by right was his Executor.    

Upon an Hermophradite seen in Cornwall, who went under the shape of a Woman, and yet was no Woman: is not that strange  

MAn's of the 
* So are some women too.  Common Gender: no strange sight,  
That Homo's split into Hermophradite.  
Nature coined Male and Female in a spleen,  
So her first stamp was purely Epicene.  
Both kinds (in virtue) she in man did twist,  
And now here's one turned Adam's Formalist.  
She did allow the Banes; and so this Elf  
Can't commit Fornication with herself.  
Stay Hymen's Priest, here is no need of you,  
Since Nature finished that which you should do.  
O rare Artess! your finger's sure did itch,  
When that you wrought this piece in 
* Otherwise called Rugwork, or, stripped. carpetting  Irish stitch.  
Spread-Eagle like, whose members all do wed  
In one body, a Separatist in's head.  
whilst Venus for most share in it did fight,  
Mars stepping in half stewed it Heteroclite.  
John claims a right in Jone's 
* Meum & tuum.  cracked maidenhead;  
Zeal them betrothed, and time them married.  
Like man and wife in concord they agree;  
From Mars and Venus sprang sweet Harmony,  
In Morpheus reign when Nature seemed to slumber,  
It kept in Sex, what then it lost in number.  
Venus let fall her Garter in a Plot,  
To tie these two in one true Lovers knot.  
Nature did change its own command, and feature,  
When it did weave this linsey-wolsey creature,  
Great Boreas blustres in a sweat, when he  
Casts up the Spanish Genet's pedigree,  
Whose Compater he is, and now's grown bold  
To 
* The author excepts farting.  cough, and sneeze, since that he catched a cold.  
A furious northwind from my mouth will blow:  
Yea more than Boreas I shall puff, and blow,  
If I should undertake to state the Nation,  
From whence first came this coddled generation.  
As for this Bastard brood which is our Theme,  
The mother did conceive it in a dream,  
Whilst that the 
* Surely he means the nightwizzard, for a witch is a woman, and a woman can't—  night-witch rid her, and so she  
Produced of Sexes a Plurality.  
She clucking for to sit, the wandering God  
Sent his Night-raven for to have her trod.  
And whilst she cackling to his godhead prayed,  
An Egg with two crowns tipped she kerned, and laid,  
And so hatched it, by whose heat in the shell,  
'Twas half sod Hen; half poached a cockerel;  
And though nicknamed, a Female it doth go,  
Yet 'mongst the Cocks it hath a manlike Crow.  
By the strange motion of the Sun and Moon,  
She rose, and went to bed at Tillain-noon.  
All Coin is nought with Parents, 'less it carry  
The perfect Image of 
* gramercy Mr. Cleveland  Philip and Mary;  
And that they still might bear this in their mind,  
Nature it mint's and pays them in their kind.  
O happy Soul! Cynthia will ne'er scare thee  
With bugbear words, for codpiss thievery.    

The Close of all; being an Admonition to the Reader, not to envy his Poems.  

LEt no Christian that hath true grace,  
View these with a 
* 'Tis no matter with what Eyes he look on't.  Malignant face;  
But pray that Heaven their lights would snuff,  
'Cause Satan plays at Blind-man-buff  
With men, and hoos their Intellects,  
Casting up Cock-all for those Sects.    

* By which the Author means the end of the Book.  FINIS.   


TWO EXACT CHARACTERS, One of a Temporizer.  
The other of an Antiquarian.  — Notus nimis omnibus Ignotus moriar mihi.— 
Printed by the same Order.   

THE CHARACTER OF A Temporizer.  
HE is One, that is always in fashion; though Time puts on New Clothes every Day. He is divided from none more than himself. He is a Spawn of 
* Janus the name of a fish, yclepped, A codshead.  Janus, who prefaced His Old Visage with a New mode, according to the season of the Year; or as some would have it, shifted His Countenance against Quarter Day. If I would speak him fully, I must weathercock my Phrase, to wait upon the unconstant Wind. What He but now applauded, He straight snarls at, and with Rigour condemns. Like that Stout lettered 
* If any one can bring the sense of this to the crier, he shall be well paid for his pains  Trencher Man, who for thievery burned the Innocent Board, which before by its harsh Parent was branded, though He himself allowed of the action, as appeared by the Clergy of Letters, written in fair Characters on the Accusants, frontispiece, that backed with a full Stomach 
* Where note, Minerva's stomach is in her back.  Minerva did plead for the damned Instrument, merely passive in the felony. Look in his face, and you may see what a Clock 'tis though the Sun don't Shine: When He holds up His noddle, then 'tis towards noonday Glory with him. When He casts it downwards, and doubles His Shadow (for He himself's no better) than you may guess, that the Sun is declining upon him. He hath enacted materia prima, Queen Regent of all Forms, whilst he personally stands Her Rival Probationer, and proves himself capable to be crowned with every one of them, unless it be a Rational one. To name Him Proteus is too much to 
* All to whoop him.  hallow Him: for He Turn-Coats Himself, facing the Ancient Matter with a New fashioned shape, which flatly falls out with the former: But our theme new moulds itself yet to the sight remains the Old man still. We'll coat Him for one with Aeneus Gift, who is already Winterclothed with Rapes from others of all kinds, and may at length stretch for them, if He timely betakes not himself to Long-Lane for a Larger, and 
* A Clook in Folio.  deeper volumed Cloak to cover His Knavery. This Temporizing turkey-cock, he charges His winged Forces, and mounts His Crescent Tail, as Hannibal did His half-mooned Motley Army, against all that appear in Scarlet, unless they be of his own 
* In th' Author's country there are Scarlet turkeycocks.  Gender. A Babel of opinions lie gripped up in this Religions amsterdamed 
* He means cobbler.  Translator, who, if we consider as new Sold, with his Leathern converted Ears, is always Catterwouling for Union: though he himself proves a Breeder of discord. His Judgement and Conscience are great Separatists one from another; what the one approves of, the other by are flect Act in greatest detestation bannes back again; in which He murders the Intention of the wise One, who hath placed a rectified Intellect in the forefront of the soul, to guide the underlin faculties in their Actions. But why talk I of a Rectified Judgement to Him, who is from Heaven cursed with its contrary: so that 'tis no wonder that those Twins, which are familiar Cronies in others, turn Aliens in Him. He can patiently put on the gaudy Materiality of a bishopric, but as for the Formality of it, down with that Bloody Whore of Babylon. He begets a brood which are ready to pick out his very eyes, like to those Church-going ethnic souls, who viewing their Mistresses▪ do (as I may say with modesty) 
* Fornication is no immodest Action.  commit fornication with the Virgin pews; which common actions makes Nature sometimes in her operations 
* Shitt.  work backward, and the Males bring forth a spurious offspring of Retrograding Animals, which in a short time do attempt Orestes-like, the devouring of their 
* Tweakers by Jove▪  rampant Genitals, Misconstrue me not, gentle Reader, I challenge any carping pedagogue of them all, to Wrymouth this last sentence into profaneness; yet in that point I cannot match him, who is Religions littered 
* The dutchwomens' issue of the DILDO.  Sooterkin kindled by the Stove of his own counterfeit Zeal. If this prodigious Shark had appeared in Thessaly▪ mounted on one of the winds Spanish race, the silly people with more reason had centaured the epithet in Surnaming him Monstrous. Certainly when Nature penned him out, she had an eye to the Exampler of devilish 
* A Description of this Character.  nonsense, written on Queen's College Library's Dutch paper Walls. She hath so articulately pointed him out the copy, that the confused Original seems in him in some measure understood: she begun with his Feet, those gouty emblems of his Hands, where she fingered his Toes; from thence she ascends, and makes his Knees wear Points▪ and so upwards she commas every bending joint, till towards the ending of her work she infers his long sentenced Nose within the Hairy Parenthesis of his eyebrows; so she proceeds stopping the course of his rambling Eyes with a Colon, which with 
* Sir reverence.  Reverence behold his wide gaping Mouth, where Nature wisely makes a full stop, else she had never enjoyed Rest all her life time. He hath no valour and yet he'll vie with 
* That is when he gave Danae a clap, not a thunder clap: now this same Jupiter was a devilish whoremaster, &c. see Farnaby upon Ovid Met.  Jupiter to ruffle in a Golden storm, so that he may Bride his Love and wear such glittering apparel on Holy days. I cannot nickname him, if I epicoene the Press, and Godfather hic et haec Homo, a 
* A Dog and Bitch.  he and she Man. He is a Candidate capable of no other, but Infant modern Nobility which savours too much of Parchment, and Shrivels into nothing, even as the Matter deceases out of which it was created. He's a right Antiquarian in this, that he loves to pursue ruins. And because I'm hardly entreated by a 
* One Jack Saturday.  Friend, I shall attempt the description of an Antiquarian: neither shall I much vary from the Matter in Hand, if I proceed from a Fool to an 
* A Wit▪  Antique.   

THE CHARACTER OF AN Antiquarian.  
HE is a Cornish peddling Historian; for as that Country's Dwarf Merchant, grow great 
* Stone-cutters.  monumental Tradesmen by degrees, with picking their scattered livings from Quarries; so our Theme blisters to a considerable Historian, by rifling the stones for History. Nay such is his fletched Impiety, that the pure Ashes of the Dead do not scape his Inquisition; hence 'tis he vexes the Tombs for almost mortified Inscriptions, and sacril●giously steals that away from them, which did both cover and comprehend them. That 
* A certain kind of vermin that hath ne'er a letter in his name.  unlettered vermin which daily Diets and waxes fat on Letters, devours more learning in his progress through a Book, than he by all his jumbling productions begets, of his own, in his whole life time. That ceremonious Soul which idolatrously worshipped the gentlewoman's threadbare Garment, might have quietly kissed her Rear, which questionless was the senior of the two, wiped his Mouth with her Petticoated Antiquity, and so had escaped without a dried jeer and like a good Husband have saved his prodigal Breath to cool his Pottage. I wonder, as there is an Order for the extirpation of Papists out of this Land, that Antiquarians are not inserted amongst that Roman zealous crew; for they are both sinners of the same stock, (viz.) Worshippers of Graven-Images; and without equivocation, breakers of the second commandment. With what reverence do they put off their Heads to any old broken-snooted similitude▪ but that sacred Antiquated Table to whom they ought devoutly to doff their Fe●ts 
* The poorer sort of the Author's countrymen wear caps upon their shoes, to conceal the holes at their toes.  Caps, they slightly pass by, without the least Ethick Nod of due respect, had not a reverent Madam proved a she patron to some Zealots in this Doctrine: Had not other more noble Learning clubed to the preservation of his memorable name, certainly it long e'er this had been buried with his Beard-shavings, in Oblivion. Praiseworthy only this, that by Art he confines a Cluster of Ages into the narrow Compass of his own. Like that Artificer which buttoned up a full Dozen of Silver Spoons in a Diminutive Box. But more like that People, which teach their bed's contraction, whose drowsy Pates may be truly said to lie in their Pockets all the Day. Now I think on't, how verily do my two themes agree? 'Tis no wonder, good Wits always jump: Like Castor and Pollux, Brethren in Iniquity, how do they crisp embraces? They both keep a general meeting in this, that they are Men of the Times; a pair of petty haberdashered Chronologers, which keep a circumspect 
Mysteries all!  notary of Novelties, that so he may the better see which way the wind fits. But Characters should be short-handed, therefore take this for a parting blow. May the Beasts once cast off those thick skined Vapours, which smoking upwards, do shadow their dull brains. Or were they by some chemist Hat-maker extracted, those reaking fumes by the Artist condensed, and modified, would very handsomely beaver their Blocks, and fit them as neatly, as e'er the ancient black-capped Cloud did the Divine Temple.  
My muse's feet would surely have slipped, if I had (as I was desired) attempted these Rocks in Verse, without a liberal expense of vinegared 
* The author doth not accustom himself to piss in his standish.  Ink, the defect of which (cry mercy) I might have supplied out of the fountainhead of their sour Looks.  
Sic explicit Antiquarius.   
FINIS.   


BOOKS PRINTED FOR Nath. Brook, And are to be sold at his Shop at the Angel in Cornhill.   

Courteous Reader, These Books following are printted for Nath. Brook, and are to be sold at his Shop at the Angel in Cornhill.  

Excellent Tracts in Divinity, Controversies, Sermons, Devotions.  
THe Catholic History collected and gathered out of Scripture, Councils, and Ancient Fathers, in Answer to Dr. Vane's Lost Sheep returned home: by Edward Chesensale, Esq Octavo.  
2. Bishop Morton on the Sacrament, in Folio.  
3. The Grand sacrilege of the Church of Rome; in taking away the sacred Cup from the Laity at the Lord's Table; by Dr. Featley, DD. Quarto.  
4. The Quakers Cause at second hearing, being a full answer to their Tenets.  
5. Reassertion of Grace: Vindiciae Evangelii, or the Vindication of the Gospel: a Reply to Mr. Anthony Burghess Vindiciae Legis, and to Mr. Ruthford, by Robert Town.  
6. Anabaptiss anatomised and silenced: or, a Dispute with Mr. Tombs, by Mr. J. Grag; where all may receive clear satisfaction in that controversy. The best extant, Octavo.  
7. A Glimpse of Divine Light, being an Explication of some passages exhibited to the Commissioners at White-Hall for Approbation of public Preachers, against J. Harrison of Land Chap. Lanca.  
8. The zealous Magistrate; a Sermon by T. Threscos. Quarto.  
9 New Jerusalem, in a Sermon for the Society of Astrologers, Quarto, in the Year 1651.  
10. Divinity no enemy to Astrology. A Sermon for the Society of Astrologers, in the Year 1643. by Dr. Thomas Swaddling.  
11. Britannia Rediviva. A Sermon before the Judges, August 1648. by J. Shaw Minister of Hull.  
12. The Princess Royal, in a Sermon before the Judges, March 24. by J. Shaw.  
13. Judgement set, and Books opened, Religion tried whether it be of God or Man, in several Sermons; by J. Webster. Quarto.  
14. Israel's Redemption, or, the Prophetical History of our saviour's Kingdom on Earth; by K. Matton.  
15. The Cause and Cure of Ignorance, Error, and Profaneness; or, a more hopeful way to Grace and Salvation; by K. Young. Octavo.  
16. A Bridle for the Times, tending to still the murmuring, to settle the wavering, to stay the wandering, and to strengthen the fainting: by J. Brinsley of Yarmouth.  
17. Comforts against the fear of Death; wherein are discovered several Evidences of the work of Grace: by J. Collins of Norwich.  
18. Jacob's Seed; or, the excellency of seeking God by prayer, by Jer. Burroughs.  
19 The sum of Practical Divinity; or, the grounds of Religion in a Chatechisticall way, by Mr. Christopher Love late Minister of the Gospel: a useful piece.  
20. Heaven and Earth shaken; a Treatise showing how Kings and Princes, their Governments are turned and changed, by J. Davis Minister in Dover, admirably useful, and seriously to be considered in these times.  
21. The Treasure of the Soul; wherein we are taught, by dying to sin, to attain to the perfect love of God.  
22. A Treatise of Contestation, fit for these sad and troublesome times, by J. Hall Bish. of Norwich.  
23. Select thoughts; or, choice helps for a pious spirit, beholding the excellency of her Lord Jesus: by J. Hall Bishop of Norwich.  
24. The Holy Order, or Fraternity of Mourners in Zion; to which is added, Songs in the night, or cheerfulness under afflictions: by J. Hall Bishop of Norwich.  
25. The Celestial Lamp, enlightening every distressed Soul from the depth of everlasting darkness: by T. Fetisplace.   

Admirable, and Learned Treatises of Occult Sciences in Philosophy, magic, Astrology, Geomancy, chemistry, Physiognomy, and chiromancy.  
26. Magic and Astrology vindicated by H. Warren.  
27. Lux Veritatis, Judicial Astrology vindicated and Demonology confuted; by W. Ramsey Gent.  
28. An Introduction to the Teutonic Philosophy; being a determination of the Original of the Soul: by C. Hotham Fellow of Peter-House in Cambridge.  
29. Cornelius Agrippa, his fourth Book of Occult Philosophy, or Geomancy; Magical Elements of Peter de Abona, the nature of spirits: made English by R. Turner.  
30. Paracelsus Occult Philosophy, of the Mysteries of Nature, and his secret alchemy.  
31. An Astrological Discourse with Mathematical Demonstrations; proving the influence of the Planets, and fixed Stars upon Elementary Bodies: by Sir Chri. Heydon Knight.  
32. Merlinus Anglicus Junior; the English Merlin revived, or, a Prediction upon the Affairs of Christendom, for the year 1644. by W. Lilly.  
33. England's prophetical Merlin; foretelling to all Nations of Europe, till. 1663. the actions depending upon the influences of the Conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter, 1642. by W. Lilly.  
34. The Starry Messenger, or an Interpretation of that strange Apparition of three suns seen in London, the 19 of November 1644. being the birthday of King Charles; by W. Lily  
35. The world's Catastrophe; or, Europe's many Mutations, until 1666. by W. Lilly.  
34. An Astrological Prediction of the Occurrences in England; part of the Years 1648, 1649. 1650. by W. Lilly.  
37. Monarchy or no Monarchy in England; the prophecy of the White King, Grebner his prophecy, concerning Charles, Son of Charles, his Greatness; illustrated with several hieroglyphics; by W. Lilly.  
38. Annus Tenebrosus, or the Dark Year; or, Astrological Judgements upon two Lunary Eclipses, and one admirable Eclipse of the Sun in England, 1652. by W. Lilly.  
39 An easy and familiar Method, whereby to judge the effects depending on Eclipses; by W. Lily  
40. Supernatural Sights and Apparitions seen in London, June, 30. 1644. by W. Lilly. As also all his Works in a Volume.  
41. Catastrophe Magnatum: an Ephemerides for the Year 1652. by N. Culpepper.  
42. Teratologia; or, a discovery of God's Wonders, manifested by bloody rain and Waters; by J. S.  
53. Chiromancy; or the Art of divining by the Lines engraven in the hand of Man, by dame Nature, in 198. Genitures; with a Learned Discourse of the Soul of the World; by G. Wharton Esq  
44. The admired Piece of Physiognomy, and chiromancy, Metoposcopy, the Symmetrical Proportions, and Signal Moles of the Body, the Interpretation of Dreams; to which is added the Art of Memory; illustrated with Figures: by Rich. Sanders, in Folio.  
45. The no less exquisite than admirable Work, Theatrum Chemicum, Britannicum; containing several▪ Poetical Pieces of our famous English Philosophers, who have written the Hermitique Mysteries in their own ancient Language; faithfully collected into one Volume, with Annotations thereon: by the Indefatigable industry of Elias Ashmole, Esq illustrated with Figures.   

Excellent Treatises in the mathematics, Geometry, of arithmetic, Surveying, and other Arts, or mechanics.  
46. The incomparable Treatise of Tactometria, seu Tetagmenometria; or, the Geometry of Regulars, practically proposed, after a new and most expeditious manner, together with the Natural or Vulgar, by way of Mensural comparison) and in the Solids, not only in respect of Magnitude or dimension, but also of Gravity or Ponderosity, according to any Metal assigned: together with useful experiments of Measures and Weights, Observations on Gauging, useful for those that are practised in the Art Metricald; by T. Wybard.  
47. Tectonicon, showing the exact measuring of all manner of Land, Squares, Timber, Stone, Steeples, Pillars, Globes; as also the making and use of the Carpenters Rule, &c. fit to be known by all Surveyors, landmeters, joiners, Carpenters, and Masons: by L. Diggs.  
48. The unparalleled Work for ease and expedition, entitled, The exact Surveyor: or, the whole Art of Surveying of Land, showing how to plot all manner of Grounds, whether small enclosures, Champain, Plain, Wood-lands, or Mountains, by the Plain Table; as also how to find the Area, or Content of any Land, to Protect, Reduce or Divide the same; as also to take the Plot or Cart, to make a Map of any manor, whether according to Rathburne, or any other Eminent Surveyors Method; a Book excellently useful for those that sell, purchase, or are otherwise employed about Buildings; by J. Eyre.  
49. The golden Treatise of arithmetic, Natural and Artificial, or Decimals; the Theory and Practice united in a simpathetical Proportion, betwixt Lines and Numbers, in their Quantities and Qualities, as in respect of Form, Figure, Magnitude, and Affection; demonstrated by Geometry, illustrated by Calculations, and confirmed with variety of Examples in every Species; made compendious and easy for Merchants, Citizens, seamen, Accomptants, &c. by Th. Wilsford Corrector of the last Edition of Record.  
50. Semigraphy, or the Art of Short-writing, as it hath been proved by many hundreds in the City of London, and other places, by them practised, and acknowledged to be the easiest, exactest, and swiftest method; the meanest capacity by the help of this Book, with a few hours practice, may attain to a perfection in this Art; by J. Rich Author and Teacher thereof, dwelling in Swithings-Lane in London.  
51 Milk for Children; a plain and easy Method teaching to read and write, useful for Schools and Families, by J. Thomas D. D.  
52. The Painting of the Ancients; the History of the beginning, progress, and consummating of the practice of that noble Art of Painting; by F. Junius.   

Excellent and approved Treatises in physic, chirurgery, and other more familiar Experiments in Cookery, Preserving, &c.  
53. Culpeppers' Semiatica Vranica, his Astrological judgement of Diseases from the decumbiture of the sick, much enlarged: the way and manner of finding out the cause, change, and end of the Disease; also whether the sick be likely to live or die, and the time when Recovery or Death is to be expected, according to the judgement of Hipocrates and Hermes Trismegistus; to which is added Mr. Culpeppers censure of Urines.  
54. Culpeper's last Legacy, left to his Wife for the public good, being the choicest and most profitable of those secrets in physic and chirurgery; which whilst he lived, were locked up in his breast, and resolved never to be published till after his death.  
55. The Torkshire spa; or, the virtue and use of that water in curing of desperate diseases, with directions and rules necessary to be considered by all that repair thither.  
56. Most approved Medicines and Remedies for the diseases in the body of Man: by A. Red Dr. in physic.  
57 The Art of Simpling: an introduction to the knowledge of gathering of Plants, wherein the definitions, divisions, places, descriptions, differences, names, virtues, times of gathering tempratures of them are compendiously discoursed of: also a Discovery of the Lesser World, by W. Coles.  
58. Adam in Eden, or, nature's Paradise: the History of Plants, Herbs, and Flowers, with their several original names, the places where they grow, their descriptions and kinds, their times of flourishing and decreasing; as also their several signatures, anatomical appropriations, and particular physical virtues; with necessary Observations on the Seasons of planting and gathering of our English Plants. A Work admirably useful for Apothecaries, chirurgeons, and other Ingenuous persons, who may in this Herbal find comprised all the English physical simples, that Gerard or Parkinson, in these two voluminous Herbals have discoursed of, even so as to be on emergent occasions their own Physicians, the ingredients being to be had in their own fields and gardens; Published for the general good, by W. Coles, M. D.  
59 The complete midwife's practice, in the high and weighty concernments of the body of mankind: or perfect Rules derived from the experiences and writings, not only of our English, but the most accomplished and absolute practices of the French, Spanish, Italians, and other Nations; so fitted for the weakest capacities, that they may in a short time attain to the knowledge of the whole Art: by Dr. T. C. with the advice of others, illustrated with Copper Figures.  
60. The Queen's Closet opened: incomparable Secrets in physic, chirurgery, Preserving, Candying, and Cookery; as they were presented to the Queen by the most experienced persons of our times; many whereof were honoured with her own Practice.   

Elegant Treatises in Humanity, History, Romances, and Poetry.  
61. Time's Treasury, or Academy, for the accomplishment of the English Gentry in Arguments of Discourse, Habit, Fashion, Behaviour &c. all summed up in Characters of Honour, by R. Brathwait Esq.  
62. Oedipus, or, the Resolver of the secrets of Love, and other natural Problems, by way of Question and Answer.  
63. The Admirable and most impartial History of New England, of the first plantation there, in the yeart 1628. brought down to these times: all the material passages performed there, exactly related.  
64. The tears of the Indians: the History of the bloody and most cruel proceedings of the Spaniards in the Island of Hispaniola, Cuba, Jamaica, Mexico, Peru, and other places of the West-Indies; in which to the life are discovered the tyrannies of the Spaniards, as also the justness of our War so successfully managed against them.  
65. The Illustrious Shepherdess. The Imperious Brother: written originally in Spanish by that incomparable wit, Don John Perez de montalban's; translated at the requests of the Marchioness of Dorchester, and the Countess of Stafford, by E. P.  
66. The History of the Golden Ass, as also the Loves of Cupid and his Mistress Psyche: by L. Apulcius translated into English.  
67. The Unfortunate Mother: a Tragedy by T. N.  
68 The Rebellion: a Tragedy by T. Rawlins.  
69. The Tragedy of Messalina the insatiate Roman Empress: by N. Richard's.  
70. The floating Island: a tragicomedy, acted before the King, by the Students of Christs-Church in Oxon; by that renowned wit W. Strode, the songs were set by Mr. Henry laws.  
71. Harvey's Divine Poems, the History of Balaam, of Jonah, and of St. John the Evangelist.  
72. Fons Lachrymarum, or, a Fountain of tears; the Lamentaions of the Prophet Jeremiah in Verse, with an Elegy on Sir Charles Lucas; by I. Quarles.  
73. Nocturnal Lucubrations, with other witty Epigrams and Epitaphs; by R. Chamberlain.  
74. The admirable ingenuous satire against Hypocrites.   

Poetical, with several other accurately iugenuous Treatises, lately Printed.  
75. Wit's Interpreter, the English Parnassus: or a sure guide to those admirable Accomplishments that complete the English Gentry, in the most acceptable Qualifications of Discourse or Writing. An Art of logic, accurate compliments, Fancies, Devices, and Experiments, Poems, Poetical Fictions, and A la mode Letters: by J. C,  
76. Wit and Drollery; with other Jovial Poems: by Sir J. M. M. L. M. S. W. D.  
77. Sportive Wit, the muse's Merriment; a new Spring of Drollery; Jovial Fancies, &c.  
78. The Conveyancer of Light, or, the complete Clerk, and scrivener's Guide; being an exact draught of all precedents and Assurances now in use; as they were penned, and perfected by diverse Learned Judges, Eminent Lawyers, and great Conveyancers, both Ancient and Modern: whereunto is added a Concordance from King Richard the 3. to this present.  
79. Themis Aurea, The Laws of the Fraternity of the rosy Cross; in which, the occult Secrets of their Philosophical Notions are brought to light: written by Count Mayerus, and now Englisht by T. H.  
80. The Iron Rod put into the Lord Protectors hand; a Prophetical Treatise.  
81. Medicina Magica tamen Physica; Magical but Natural physic: containing the general Cures of Infirmities and Diseases belonging to the Bodies of Men, as also to other animals and domestic Creatures, by way of Transplantion: with a Description of the most excellent Cordial out of Gold; by Sam. Boulton of Salop.  
82. J. Tradiscan's Rareties, published by himself.  
83. The Proceedings of the High Court of Justice against the late King Charles, with his Speech upon the Scaffold, and other Proceedings, Jan. 30. 1648.  
84. The perfect Cook; a right Method in the Art of Cookery, whether for Pastry, or all other manner of all a Mode Kick-shaws; with the most refined ways of dressing of flesh, fowl, or making of the most poignant sauces, whether after the French, or English manner, together with fifty five ways of dressing of Eggs: by M. M.   

Admirable useful Treatises newly printed.  
85. The Expert doctors Dispensatory: the whole Art of physic restored to practice: the apothecary's shop, and chirurgeons Closet opened; with a Survey, as also a correction of most Dispensatories now extant; with a Judicious Censure of their defects; and a supply of what they are deficient in: together with a learned account of the virtues and quantities, and uses of Simples and Compounds; with the symptoms of Diseases; as also prescriptions for their several cures: by that renowned P. Morellus, Physician to the King of France; a work for the order, usefulness, and plainness of the Method, not to be paralleled by any Dispensatory, in what Language soever.  
86. Cabinet of Jewels, man's Misery, God's Mercy, Christ's Treasury, &c. in eight Sermons; with an Appendix of the nature of tithes under the Gospel; with the expediency of Marriage in public Assemblies, by J. Crag, Minister of the Gospel.  
87. Nature's Secrets; or the admirable and wonderful History of the generation of Meteors; describing the Temperatures of the Elements, the heights, magnitudes, and influences of Stars; the causes of Comets, Earthquakes, Deluges, Epidemical Diseases, and Prodigies of Precedent times; with presages of the weather: and descriptions of the weatherglass: by T. Wilsford.  
88 The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence; or, the Arts of Wooing and Complementing; as they are managed in the Spring Garden Hide Park the New Exchange, and other eminent places. A work, in which are drawn to the life the Deportments of the most accomplished Persons; the Mode of their Courtly Entertainments, Treatment of their Ladies at Balls, their accustomed Sports, Drolls and Fancies; the Witchcrafts of their persuasive Language, in their Approaches, or other more Secret Dispatches, &c. by E. P.  
89. Helmont disguised; or, the vulgar errors of impercial and unskilful Practicers of physic confuted; more especially as they concern the Cures of fevers, the Stone, the Plague, and some other Diseases by way of Dialogue, in which the chief rareties of physic are admirably discoursed of, by I. T.     


Books very lately Printed, and in the Press now printing.  
1. THe Scales of Commerce and Trade: by T. Wilsford.  
2. Geometry demonstrated by Lines and Numbers; from thence, Astronomy, Cosmography, and Navigation proved and delineated by the Doctrine of Plain and Spherical Triangles; by T. Wilsford.  
3. The English Annals, from the Invasion made by Julius Cesar to these times: by T. Wilsford.  
4. The Fool transformed: A Comedy.  
5. The History of Lewis the eleventh King of France: a tragicomedy.  
6. The Chaste woman against her will; a Comedy.  
7. The Tooth-drawer; a Comedy.  
8. Honour in the end: A Comedy.  
9 Tell Tale; a Comedy.  
10. The History of Donquixiot, or the Knight of the ill-favoured face; a Comedy.  
11. The fair Spanish Captive; a tragicomedy.  
12. Sir Kenelm Digby, and other persons of Honour, their rare and incomparable secrets of physic, chirurgery, Cookery, Preserving, Conserving, Candying, distilling of Waters, extraction of oils, compounding of the costliest Perfumes, with other admirable Inventions, and select Experiments, as they offered themselves to their Observations; whether here, or in foreign countries.  
13. The Soul's Cordial in two Treatises, the first teaching how to be eased of the guilt of Sin, the second, discovering advantages by Christ's ascension; by that faithful Labourer in the Lord's Vineyard, Mr. Christopher Love, late Parson of Lawrence Jury: the third Volume.  
14. Jacob's Seed, the excellency of seeking God by Prayer; by the late reverend Divine, J. Burroughs.  
15. The Saints tombstone; or, the Remains of the blessed. A plain Narrative of some remarkable Passages, in the holy Life, and happy Death of Mistress Dorothy Shaw, Wife of Mr. John Shaw, Preacher of the Gospel at Kingston upon Hull, collected by her dearest Friends, especially for her sorrowful Husband and six daughter's consolation and invitation.  
16. The accomplished Cook, the mystery of the whole Art of Cookery, revealed in a more easy and perfect method, than hath been published in any Language: expert and ready ways for the dressing of flesh, fowl and fish, the raising of Pastes, the best directions for all manner of Kick-shaws, and the most poignant Sauces, with the terms of Carving and Sewing: the Bills of fare, an exact account of all dishes for the season, with other all a mode curiosities, together with the lively illustrations of such necessary figures, as are referred to practice: approved by the many years experience, and careful industry of Robert May, in the time of his attendance on several persons of honour.  
17. The exquisite Letters of Mr. Robert Loveday, the late admired Translater of the Volumes of the famed Romance Cleopatra, for the perpetuating his Memory, Published by his dear Brother Mr. A. L.  
18. The so long expected Work, the New World of English Words, or, a general Dictionary, containing the Terms, Etymologies, Definitions, and perfect Interpretations of the proper significations of hard English words throughout the Arts and Sciences, Liberal, or mechanic; as also other subjects that are useful, or appertain to the language of our Nation; to which is added the signification of Proper Names, Mythology, and Poetical Fictions, Historical Relations, Geographical Descriptions of the countries, and Cities of the World; especially of these three Nations, wherein their chiefest Antiquities, Battles, and other most memorable Passages are mentioned: A Work very necessary for Strangers, as well as our own countrymen, for all persons that would rightly understand what they discourse, write or read. Collected an published by E. P. for the greater honour of those learned Gentlemen and Artists that have been assistant in the most Practical Sciences, their Names are prefixed before the Book.  
19 The so much desired, and deeply learned commentary, on Psalm the fifteenth, by that Reverend and Eminent Divine Mr. Christopher Cartwright, Minister of the Gospel in York to which is prefixed a brief account to the authors life, and of his Work, by R. Bolton.  
20. The way to bliss, in three Books, being a learned Treatise of the philosopher's Stone, made public by Elias Ashmole Esq.  
21. Wit restored in several Select Poems, not formerly published by Sir John Mennis, Mr. Smith and others.  
22. The judge's charge, delivered in a Sermon before Mr. Justice Hall, and Mr. Sergeant Crook Judges of the Assize, at St. Mary Oueris in Southwark by R. Purre M. A. Pastor of Camerwel, in the County of Surrey; a Sermon worthy of the perusal of all such persons, as endeavour to be honest and just Practitioners in the Law.  
23. The Modern Assurancer, the clerk's Directory, containing the practic Part of the Law, in the exact Forms and Draughts of all manner of precedents for Bargains, and Sales, Grants, feoffments, Bonds, Bills, Conditions, Covenants, Jointures, Indentures; to lead the use of Fines and Recoveries, with good provisoes, and Covenants to stand seized, Charter parties for Ships, Leases, Releases, Surrendets, &c. And all other Instruments and Assurances now in use, intended for all young Students and Practicers of the Law, by John Hern.  
24. Moor's arithmetic, the second Edition much refined and diligently cleared from the former Mistakes of the Press. A Work containing the whole Art of arithmetic, as well in Numbers, as Species. Together with many Additions by the Author, to come forth at Machaelmas Term.   
Likewise,  

25. Exercitatio Elleiptica Nova, or a new mathematical Contemplation on the Oval Figure, called an Elleipsis; together with the two first Books of Mydorgius his conics analized, and made so plain, that the Doctrine of Conical Sections may be easily understood, a Work much desired, and never before published in the English Tongue; by Ionas Moor, Surveyor General of the great Level of the fens.  
26. The joys of Heaven, the Saints support in God's Promises on Earth, Christ's Sermons on the Beatitudes. An Exposition of the fifth Chapter of St. Matthew, delivered in several Sermons by Mr. Jeremiah Burroughs, the last Sermons he preached a little before his Death, at St. Giles Cripplegate, London.  
27. Naps upon Parnassus. A sleepy Muse nipped and pinched, though not awakened. Such voluntary and Jovial Copies of Verses as were lately received from some of the WITS of the Universities, in a frolic; dedicated to Gondibert's Mistress, by Captain Jones and others. Whereunto is added for Demonstration of the Authors prosaic Excellency's, his Epistle to one of the Universities, with the Answer; together with two satirical Characters of his own, of a Temporizer, and an Antiquary, with Marginal Notes by a Friend to the Reader.   
FINIS.