559. On Trigg.

Trigg having turn'd his sute he struts in state,
And tells the world he's now regenerate.

560. To Fortune.

Poets say Fortune's blind, and cannot see,
And therefore to be born withall, if she
Sometimes drop gifts on undeserving wights:
Be sure they are deceiv'd; she hath her sight,
Else could it not at all times so fall out,

That fools should have, and wise men go without.

561. On Biscus.

I pray you Sir give Biscus leave to speak,
The Gander loves to hear himself to creak.

562. On an English Ape.

Would you believe, when you this Monsieur see,
That his whole body should speak French, not he?
That he untravell'd should be French so much,
As French men in his company should seem Dutch?
Or hung some Monsieurs picture on the wall;
By which his damme conceiv'd him, cloaths and all?
No, 'tis the new French Taylors motion, made
Dayly to walk th'Exchange, and help the trade.

563. Possessions.

Those possessions short liv'd are
Into the which we come by warre.

564. Nulla dies sine linea.

By ever learning, Solon waxed old,

For time he knew, was better far than gold : Fortune would give him gold which would decay, But Fortune cannot give him yesterday.

565. In Cornutum.

One told his wife a Harts-head he had bought,
To hang his hat upon, and home it brought :
To whom his frugall wife, What needs that care?
I hope, sweet-heart, your head your hat can beare.

566. On More-dew.

More-dew the Mercer, with a kind salute,
Would needs intreat my custome for a suite :
Here sir, quoth he, for Sattins, Velvets call,
What e'r you please, I'l take your word for all.
I thank'd, took, gave my word; say than,
Am I at all indebted to this man?

567. Pari jugo dulcis tractus.

When Cacus had been wedded now three dayes, And all his neighbours bad God give him joy, This strange conclusion with his wife assayes, Why till her marriage day she prov'd so coy;

Fore God (saith he) 'twas well thou didst not yeeld
For doubtless then my purpose was to leave thee.
Oh Sir (quoth she) I once was so beguild,

And thought the next man should not so deceive me.
Now fie upon't (quoth he) thou breedst my wo.
Why man (quoth she) I speak but quid pro quo.

568. On Sims Marriage.

Six moneths, quoth Sim, a Suiter, and not sped?
I in a sev'n night did both woo and wed.

Who green fruit loves must take long pains to shake;
Thine was some down-fall, I dare undertake.

569. Vpon Sis.

Sis brags sh'hath beauty, and will prove the same; As how? as thus Sir; 'tis her Puppies name.

Clym cals his wife, and reckoning all his neighbors, Just halfe of them are Cuckolds, he avers.

Nay fie, quoth she, I would they heard you speak ; You of your self, it seems, no reckoning make.

Science puffs up, says Gut, when either Pease

Make him thus swell, or windy Cabbages.

572. On Womens faults.

We men in many faults abound,

But two in women can be found:

The worst that from their Sex proceeds;
Is naught in words, and naught in deeds.

573. To a Muck-worm.

Content great riches is, to make which true,
Your Heir would be content to bury you.

574. On Law.

Our Civil Law doth seem a Royall thing,
It hath more titles then the Spanish King:
But yet the Common-Law quite puts it down,
In getting, like the Pope, so many a Crown.

575. In Coam.

A nor will Coa espy,

Till she ascend up to the corner'd II.

576, Maids Nay's.

Maides nay's are nothing, they are shy,
But to desire what they deny.

577- De Ore.

Os of O, a Mouth, Scaliger doth make;

And from this letter, Mouth his name doth take:

And I had been of Scaligers belief,

But that I look'd in O, and saw no Teeth.

578. In Hugonem.

Though praise, and please, doth Hugo never none,
Yet praise, and please, doth Hugo ever one;
For praise, and please, doth Hugo himself alone.

Severus is extreame in eloquence,

For he creates rare phrase, but rarer sense:
Unto his Serving-man, alias his Boy,
He utters speech exceeding quaint and coy;
Diminutive, and my defective slave,
My pleasures pleasure is, that I must have
My Corps Coverture, and immediately,
T'insconce my person from frigidity.

His Man believes all's Welsh his Master spoke,
Till he rails English; Rogue go fetch my Cloke.

580. On Fulias weeping.

She by the River sate, and sitting there,
She wept, and made it deeper by a tear.

581. On a Gallant.

What Gallant's that, whose Oaths fly through mine ears?

How like a Lord of Pluto's Court he swears !

How Dutch-man like he swallows down his drink!

How sweet he takes Tobacco till he stink!
How lofty sprighted, he disdains a Boor!
How faithfull hearted he is to a -!