Why do I like a Taper in the night,
Consume my self still, to give others light?
If fortunes Minions I should celebrate,
All my reward were, to be flouted at.
Wit, as a thing above them, they cry down,
Rather they'll saginate a beefe brain'd clown.
To laugh at them, or like fond easie Snites,
Be flatter'd out of all by Parasites.
Cock-pits and revels share their store; Cards may
Shuffle away whole Lordships in a day:
But to a Poet charity's so cold,
They'l not afford the rust wip'd from their gold.
He that can frame a Morall glasse, whereby
To dresse them in the trim of honesty ;
He that can stick them in the starry sky,
And mate their glories with eternity,
Must live a recluse to all happinesse,
His vertues checkt, and clouded in distresse.
Avaunt then Muses nine, avaunt quick from me,
Now whilst my blooming years are growing on me
Phoebus his barren Laurell I'll refuse,
And the fat Olive with Minerva chuse.
Well Tasso shalt thou dine with me,
If thou wilt bring good meat with thee,
And lusty wine, and pleasant wit,
And iests, and mirth to season it:
Well shalt thou dine with me to day,
If thou wilt bring but what I say:
For thy Marulloes purse, heavens know,
Lies full of dust, and Spiders now.
But I will have my Doxy here,
And True-wit too, and Chanteclere
Shall run division on his Lute,
And make his voice together sute
Iu tunes of love, with other things,
As he can well: who when he sings,
Thou'lt wish (although thine own be long)
An asses eares to heare his song.
Pato came by me like a man possest,
Lugging his locks, and beating on his brest.
And O! he cryed, is any man like me?
I've buried my rich wife, yet live you see.
My Pato is right valiant; his wife gives
Two thousand pounds, and leaves him; yet he lives.
Torquato now drinks nothing but small beere,
Sack (he sayes) kils us: why what need we feare?
The Scots will cut our throats, if we dye not:
We shall but put a trick upon a Scot.
Excuse me Reader, though I now and than,
In some light lines, do shew my selfe a man ;
Nor be so sowre, some wanton words to blame
They are the language of an Epigram.
Battus doth brag he hath a world of books,
His studies maw holds more then well it may,
But seld' or never, he upon them looks,
And yet he looks upon them every day.
He looks upon their outside, but within
He never looks, nor never will begin :
Because it cleane against his nature goes
To know mens secrets, so he keeps them close.
Prues nose hangs down so low, one would suppose When ere she gapes, that Prue would eat her nose.
Gripe keeps his coin well, and his heaps are great,
For which he seems wise in his own conceit;
Be not deceiv'd Gripe, for ought I can see,
Thy bags in this senfe are as wise as thee.
When Man and Woman dyes, as Poets sung,
His heart's the last that stirs, of hers the tongue.
199. On Womans will.
How dearly doth the honest husband buy,
His wives defect of Will when she doth dy?
Better in death by Will to let her give,
Then let her have her will while she doth live.
200. Spangle the spruce Gul:
Spruce Spangle's like to a cynamon tree;
His outside is of much more worth then he.
Eat Toste, and Oyl, eat supple herbs and loos,
For thou look'st wondrous costive Charilus.
By lawful mart, and by unlawfull stealth,
Paulus from th'Ocean hath deriv'd much wealth:
But on the Land, a little gulfe there is,
Wherein he drowneth all that wealth of his.
Clitus goes oft time clad in Suits of Scarlet,
That els no colour had to play the Varlet.
Poetus with fine Sonnets painted forth
This and that foul Ladies beauties worth :
He shews small wit therein, and for his pains,
By my consent, he never shall reap gains;
Why, what needs Poets paint them, O sweet elves!
When ladies paint their beauties best themselves...
205. Of Shift the Sharker.
Shift swears he keeps none but good company,
For, though th'are such as he did never see,
Worse than himself he's sure they cannot be.
Pray wrong not (late coyn'd) give the man his right,
He's made a Gentleman although no Knight,
For now 'tis cloaths the Gentleman doth make;
Men from gay cloaths their pedigrees do take;
But wot you what's the arms to such mens house?
Why this hands chancing of a Rampant Louse.
Will with provisio wills you testifie,
Has made his Will, but hath no will to dye.
Wit, once thou said'st was worth thy weight in gold, Though now't be common for a trifle sold;
It dearer seems to thee that get'st not any, (When thou shouldst use it) for thy love or money.
Geta from wool and weaving first began,
Swelling and swelling to a Gentleman;
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