LIBERTY.

THOSE ills that mortall men endure,
So long are capable of cure,

As they of freedome may be sure:
But that deni'd; a griefe, though small,
Shakes the whole roofe, or ruines all.

LOTS TO BE LIKED.

LEARN this of me, where e'r thy lot doth fall;
Short lot, or not, to be content with all.

GRIEFES.

JOVE may afford us thousands of reliefs;
Since man expos'd is to a world of griefs.

UPON EELES. EPIG.

EELES winds and turnes, and cheats and steales; yet

Eeles

Driving these sharking trades, is out at heels.

THE DREAME.

By dream, I saw one of the three

Sisters of Fate appeare to me.

Close by my bed's side she did stand,

Shewing me there a fire brand;

She told me, too, as that did spend,
So drew my life unto an end.
Three quarters were consum'd of it;
Onely remain'd a little bit,

Which will be burnt up by and by;

Then Julia, weep, for I must dy.

UPON RASPE. EPIG.

RASPE playes at nine-holes; and 'tis known he gets Many a teaster by his game and bets:

But of his gettings there's but little sign,

When one hole wasts more then he gets by nine.

UPON CENTER, A SPECTACLE-MAKER, WITH A FLAT

NOSE.

CENTER is known weak-sighted, and he sells
To others store of helpfull spectacles.
Why weres he none? Because we may suppose,
Where leaven wants, there levill lies the nose.

CLOTHES DO BUT CHEAT AND COUSEN US.

AWAY with silks, away with lawn,
Ile have no sceans or curtains drawn ;
Give me my mistresse as she is,
Drest in her nak't simplicities.
For as my heart, ene so mine eye
Is wone with flesh, not drapery.

TO DIANEME.

SHEW me thy feet; shew me thy legs, thy thighes;

Shew me those fleshie principalities;

Shew me that hill, where smiling love doth sit,

Having a living fountain under it.

Shew me thy waste; then let me there withall,

By the assention of thy lawn, see all.

UPON ELECTRA.

WHEN out of bed my love doth spring,
'Tis but as day a kindling;

But when she's up and fully drest,

'Tis then broad day throughout the east.

TO HIS BOOKE.

HAVE I not blest thee? Then go forth, nor fear
Or spice, or fish, or fire, or close-stools here.
But with thy fair fates leading thee, go on
With thy most white predestination.
Nor think these ages, that do hoarcely sing
The farting tanner, and familiar king;
The dancing frier, tatter'd in the bush;
Those monstrous lies of little Robin Rush;
Tom Chipperfeild, and pritty lisping Ned,
That doted on a maide of gingerbred.
The flying pilcher, and the frisking dace,
With all the rabble of Tim Trundell's race,

Bred from the dung-hils and adulterous rhimes, Shall live, and thou not superlast all times?

No, no, thy stars have destin'd thee to see

The whole world die, and turn to dust with thee.

He's greedie of his life who will not fall,

When as a publick ruine bears down all."

OF LOVE.

I Do not love, nor can it be,

Love will in vain spend shafts on me;
I did this God-head once defie ;
Since which I freeze, but cannot frie.
Yet out, alas! the death's the same,
Kil'd by a frost or by a flame.

UPON HIMSELF.

I DISLIKT but even now,
Now I love I know not how.

Was I idle, and that while

Was I fier'd with a smile?
Ile to work, or pray; and then
I shall quite dislike agen.

ANOTHER.

LOVE he that will; it best likes me,
To have my neck from love's yoke free.

SKINNS, he din'd well to day; how do you think? His nails they were his meat, his reume the drink.

UPON PIEVISH. EPIG.

PIEVISH doth boast that he's the very first
Of English poets, and 'tis thought the worse.

UPON JOLLY AND JILLY. EPIG.

JOLLY and Jillie, bite and scratch all day,
But yet get children, as the neighbours say.
The reason is, though all the day they fight,
They cling and close some minutes of the night.

THE MAD MAID'S SONG.

Good morrow to the day so fair;
Good morning, sir, to you;

Good morrow to mine own torn hair,
Bedabled with the dew.

Good morning to this primrose too;
Good morrow to each maid;

That will with flowers the tomb bestrew,
Wherein my love is laid.