Or what he doth with such a horse-tail locke ? When you behold his lookes, pale, thin, and poor, 147. Tom Baret. Into a barbars shop there came And asking for the boy Tom Baret, Said, give me a Turn-up to my Carret. 148. Friendship. A reall friend a cannon cannot batter. 149. On Giles and Ioane. Who sayes that Giles and Foane at discord be? No more would Foane he should. Giles rieth early, The like is Foane. And so is Foane. But turning home is sal, Oft times when Giles doh find Harsh sighs at home, Giles wishes he were blind : All this doth Foane: or that his long-yearn'd life In all affections she concurreth still; If now with man and wife to will and nill The selfe same things, a note of concord be; 150. To Gentlewomen with black bags. Tell mee, who taught you to give so much light I may conclude there's treason against men. Whil'st thus you onely do expose your lips, 'Tis but a faire and wantoner eclipse. Meant how you will, at once to shew and hide, At best its but the modestie of pride. 151. To a proud Lady. Is it birth puffes up thy mind? Women best borne, are best inclin'd. Is it thy breeding? no, I ly'd; Lay by thy clothes there's no such thing. Is it thy vertue, that's deny'd, Nay then walke on, I'le say no more, To draw faire fooles to this fowle ill. Panurgus pryes in high and low affairs, He talks of forraigne, and our civill state ; His neighbors faults straight in his face he'l find, 153. On Misus. They say the Usurer Misus hath a mill, What God commands, this wretched creature loathe He never names his Maker, but by oathes: And weares his tongue, of such a damned fashion, That swearing is his only recreation. In morning, even assoon as he doth rise, He swears his sleep is scarcely out of's eyes; Then makes him ready, swearing all the while, So takes his Oares, and swears he must make hast, 155. On a Mother and her son having but two eyes betwixt them, each one. A half blind-boy, born of a half blind mother. 156. To his quill. Thou hast been wanton, therefore it is meet, 157. Of Christ crucified. When red the Sun goes down, we use to say It is a signe, we shall have a faire day: Blood red the Sun of Heaven went down from hence And we have had faire weather ever since. 158. Vpon Thorough-good an unthrift. Thy sir name Thorough-good befitteth thee, 159. In Amorem. Love, if a God thou art, then evermore thou must If just thou be, O wherefore doth thy dart, Whiles she that for thy power cares not a fly, 160. On the new dressings. Ladyes that weare black cypresse vailes, Turn'd lately to white linnen railes, |