AN EPITAPH UPON A SOBER MATRON.
WITH blamelesse carriage I lived here,
To th' almost sev'n and fortieth yeare.
Stout sons I had, and those twice three,
One onely daughter lent to me:
The which was made a happy bride,
But thrice three moones before she dy❜d.
My modest wedlock, that was known
Contented with the bed of one.
TO THE PATRON OF POETS, M. END. PORTER.
LET there be patrons; patrons like to thee,
Brave Porter! Poets ne'r will wanting be.
Fabius, and Cotta, Lentulus, all live
In thee, thou man of men! who here do'st give
Not onely subject-matter for our wit,
But likewise oyle of maintenance to it.
For which, before thy threshold, we'll lay downe
Our thyrse for scepter, and our baies for crown.
For, to say truth, all garlands are thy due;
The laurell, mirtle, oke, and ivie too.
THE SADNESSE OF THINGS FOR SAPHO'S SICKNESSE.
LILLIES will languish, violets look ill;
Sickly the primrose, pale the daffadill;
That gallant tulip will hang down his head,
Like to a virgin newly ravished.
Pansies will weep, and marygolds will wither,
And keep a fast, and funerall together;
If Sapho droop, daisies will open never,
But bid good-night, and close their lids for ever.
LEANDER'S OBSEQUIES.
WHEN as Leander young was drown'd,
No heart by love receiv'd a wound;
But on a rock himselfe sate by,
There weeping sup'rabundantly.
Sighs numberlesse he cast about,
And all his tapers thus put out;
His head upon his hand he laid,
And sobbing deeply, thus he said :
Ah, cruell sea! and, looking on't,
Wept as he'd drowne the Hellespont.
And sure his tongue had more exprest,
But that his teares forbad the rest.
NONE goes to warfare, but with this intent;
The gaines must dead the feare of detriment.
FOURE THINGS MAKE US HAPPY HERE.
HEALTH is the first good lent to men ;
A gentle disposition then:
Next, to be rich by no by-wayes;
Lastly, with friends t' enjoy our dayes.
HIS PARTING FROM MRS DOROTHY KENEDAY.
WHEN I did goe from thee, I felt that smart
Which bodies do, when souls from them depart.
Thou did'st not mind it, though thou then might'st see
Me turn'd to teares, yet did'st not weep for me.
'Tis true I kist thee, but I co'd not heare
Thee spend a sigh, t' accompany my teare.
Methought 'twas strange, that thou so hard sho'dst
Whose heart, whose hand, whose ev'ry part spake love.
Prethee (lest maids sho'd censure thee) but say
Thou shed'st one teare when as I went away;
And that will please me somewhat; though I know,
And love will swear't, my dearest did not so.
THE TEARE SENT TO HER FROM STANES.
GLIDE, gentle streames, and beare
Along with you my teare
To that coy girle,
Who smiles, yet slayes
Me with delayes,
And strings my teares as pearle.
See, see, she's yonder set,
Making a carkanet
Of maiden-flowers!
There, there present
This orient,
And pendant pearle of ours.
Nor will I seek supply
Of them, the spring's once drie;
UPON ONE LILLIE, WHO MARRYED WITH A MAID CALLED ROSE.
WHAT times of sweetnesse this faire day fore-shows,
When as the Lilly marries with the Rose!
What next is lookt for, but we all sho'd see
To spring from these a sweet posterity?
AN EPITAPH UPON A CHILD.
VIRGINS promis'd when I dy'd,
That they wo'd each primrose-tide,
Duly morne and ev❜ning come,
And with flowers dresse my tomb.
Having promis'd, pay your debts,
Maids, and here strew violets.
SCOBBLE, for whoredome whips his wife; and cryes, He'll slit her nose: but blubbering, she replyes, Good sir, make no more cuts i' th' outward skin, One slit's enough to let adultry in.
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