Priscus his love to Phillis more doth glow
With fervency then fire; hers cold as snow:
'Tis well, for if their flames alike did burn,
One house would be too hot to serve their turn.

288. In Quintum.

Quintus is burnt, and may thereof be glad,
For being poor he hath a good pretence
At every church to crave benevolence,
For one that had by fire lost all he had.

289. On a changeable Rayment.

Know you why Lollus changeth every day,
His Perriwig, his face, and his array?
'Tis not because his comings in are much,
Or 'cause hee'l swill it with the roaring Dutch;
But 'cause the Sergeants (who a Writ have had
Long since against him) should not know the lad.

290. On Guesse.

Guesse cuts his shooes, and limping goes about To have men think he's troubled with the Gout. But 'tis no Gout (believe it) but hard beere, Whose acrimonious humour bites him here.

291. On Stale-Batch.

For all night-sins with other wives unknown
Batch now doth daily penance in his own.

292. To sir Guilty.

Guilty, be wise; and though thou knowest the crim
Be thine I tax; yet do not own my rimes;
'Twere madnesse in thee to betray thy fame,
And person to the world, ere I thy name.

Luke that a man on horse-back met but late,

Would simply seem thus to equivocate,

And strong maintain 'gainst them, contend who dare 'Twas meerly but a Taylor and a Mare.

294. On Hugh.

Hugh should have gone to Oxford th'other day,
But turn'd at Tiburn, and so lost his way.

295. On a Painted Madam.

Men say y'are fair; and fair ye are, 'tis true,
But (Hark!) we praise the Painter now, not you.

296. On Barossa.

Barossa boasts his pedigree, although

He knows no letter of the Christ-Crosse row,
His house is ancient, and his gentry great,
For what more ancient e're was heard of yet
Then is the family of fools? how than
Dare you not call Barossa Gentleman ?

297. Experto credendum.

How durst Capritius call his wedlock whore,
But that he speaks it plusquam per narratum,
Nam ipse teste: what require you more,
Unlesse you'ld have it magis approbatum ?

298. On Jack Cut-purse.

Jack Cut-purse is, and hath been patient long, For hee's content to pocket up much wrong.

299. On Afer.

Afer hath sold his land and bought a horse,
Whereon he pranceth to the royall Burse,
To be on hors-back he delights; wilt know?
'Cause then his company he'd higher show:
But happy chance tall Afer in his pride,
Mounts a Gunnelly and on foot doth ride.

300. On Charismus.

Thou hast compos'd a Book, which neither age,
Nor future time shall hurt through all their rage;
For how can future times or age invade,
That work which perished as soon as made?

301. Facilis descensus Averni.

The way to hell is easie, th'other day,
A blind man thither quickly found the way.

302. Age and Youth.

Admire not youth, despise not age, although

Some young are grave, most old men children grow.

303. On Orus.

Orus sold wine, and then tobacco, now

He aqua-vitæ doth his friends allow.

What e're he had was sold to save his life,

And now turn'd Pander, he doth sell his wife.

Sneape has a face so brittle, that it breaks
Forth into blushes, whensoere he speaks.

305. On Acerra.

Tobacco hurts the brain Physitians say,
Doth dull the wit, and memory decay,
Yet fear not thou Acerra, for 'twill ne're
Hurt thee so much by use, as by thy feare.

306. Empta nostra.

Madam La Foy wears not those locks for nought,
Ask at the Shop else, where the same she bought.

Who private lives, lives well, no wonder then,

You doe absent you from the sight of men,

For out of doors you ne'r by day appear,
What, is a Sergeant such a huge Bug-bear?*

308. A Foolish Querie.

How rich a man is, all desire to know ;
But none inquires if good he be or no.

309. On the King of Swedens Picture. Who but the half of this neat Picture drew, That it could ne're be fully done, well knew.

310. B. F. answer to a Thief bidding him stand.

Fly villain hence, or by thy coat of steel,

I'le make thy heart my brazen bullet feel,
And send that thrice as theevish soule of thine
To hell, to wear the Devils Valentine.

311. Thiefs reply.

Art thou great Ben? or the revived ghost

Of famous Shakespeare ? or some drunken host?
Who being tipsie with thy muddy beer,

Dost think thy rimes shall daunt my soule with fear?

Nay know base Slave, that I am one of those

Can take a purse as well in verse as prose;
And when th' art dead write this upon thy herse,
Here lyes a Poet that was rob'd in verse.

* The fourth line in ed. 1641 runs thus:

Since last you lost i'th pillory your eare.