A MISCELLANY OF Epigrams, Sonnets, Epitaphs, and such other Verses, as were found written with the Poem aforegoing.

The acts of Ages past doth Clio write. The Tragedies', Melpomene's delight. Thalia is with Comedies contented. Euterpe, first, the Shepherd's Pipe invented. Terpsichore doth Song and Lute apply. Dancing Erato found Geometry. Calliope on loving Verses dwells. The secrets of the stars, Urania tells. Polyhymnia, with choice words, the speech doth trim And great Apollo shares with all of them. Those thrice three Feminines, we Muses call; But that one Masculine is worth them all!

First, he the strong Nemæan lion slew; The many-headed Hydra, next, o'erthrew. The Erymanthian Boar he, thirdly, foils, Then of his golden horns, the Stag he spoils. The foul Stymphalian birds he, fifthly, frayed: Next, he, the Queen of Amazons o'erswayed. Then cleansed Augias' stalls, with filth so full; And, eighthly, tamed the untamed Bull. He slew proud Diomedes with his horses. From triple Gerion, his rich beard he forces. He slew the Dragon for the fruit of gold: And made black Cerberus the day behold.

Fair England, in the bosom of the seas, Amid her two and fifty Provinces, Sits like a glorious Empress, whose rich throne Great Nymphs of Honour come to wait upon. First, in the height of bravery, appears Kent, East and South and Middle Saxon Shires; Next Surrey, Berkshire and Southampton get, With Dorset, Wilton, and rich Somerset. Then Devon, with the Cornish promontory, Glou'ster and Worc'ster, fair Sabrina's glory! Then Salop, Suffolk, Norfolk large and fair: Oxford and Cambridge, that thrice learned pair! Then Lincoln, Derby, Yorkshire, Nottingham, Northampton, Warwick, Stafford, Buckingham, Chester and Lancaster with herds well stored, Huntington, Hertford, Rutland, Hereford. Then Princely Durham, Bedford, Leic'ster and Northumber-, Cumber-, and cold Westmoreland. Brave English Shires! With whom, loved equally, Welsh Monmouth, Radnor, and Montgomery Add all the glory, to her train, they can: So doth Glamorgan, Brecknock, Cardigan, Carnarvon, Denbigh, Merionethshire, With Anglesea, which o'er the sea doth rear Her lofty head. And the first, though last, Flint, Pembroke, and Caermarthen might be placed. For all of these, unto their power, maintain Their mistress, England, with a royal train. Yea, for Supporters, at each hand hath she, The Wight and Man, that two brave islands be. From these, I, to the Scottish Nymphs had journeyed; But that my friend was back again returned: Who having kindly brought me to his home, Alone did leave me in his dining-room; Where I was fain (and glad I had the hap!) To beg an entertainment of his Map.

Let none suppose this relic of the Just Was here wrapped up, to perish in the dust! No, like best fruits, her time she fully stood, Then, being grown in Faith, and ripe in Good (With stedfast hope that She, another day, Should rise with Christ), with Death, here down she lay. And, that each part which Her in life had graced, Preserved might be, and meet again at last; The Poor, the World, the Heavens, and the Grave, Her Alms, her Praise, her Soul, her Body have.

Beneath this marble stone doth lie The subject of Death's tyranny; A Mother, who, in this close tomb, Sleeps with the issue of her womb. Though cruelly inclined was He. And, with the Fruit, shook down the Tree; Yet was his cruelty in vain! For Tree and Fruit shall spring again.

So, now, is come our joyful'st feast; Let every man be jolly! Each room with ivy leaves is drest; And every post, with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine; Round your foreheads, garlands twine! Drown sorrow in a cup of wine; And let us all be merry! Now, all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas blocks be burning; Their ovens, they with baked meats choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door, let sorrow lie! And if, for cold, it hap to die; We'll bury it in a Christmas pie, And evermore be merry! Now, every lad is wondrous trim, And no man minds his labour; Our lasses have provided them, A bagpipe and a tabor. Young men and maids, and girls and boys, Give life to one another's joys; And you, anon, shall by the noise, Perceive that they are merry. Ranking misers, now, do sparing shun; Their Hall, of music soundeth! And dogs thence, with whole shoulders run; So all things there aboundeth. The country folk themselves advance; For Crowdy-Mutton's come out of France! And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry. Ned Swash hath fetched his Bands from pawn, And all his best apparel; Brisk Nell hath bought a Ruff of Lawn With droppings of the barrel: And those that hardly, all the year, Had bread to eat, or rags to wear, Will have both clothes and dainty fare; And all the day be merry. Now poor men, to the Justices, With capons make their arrants: And if they hap to fail of these, They plague them with their warrants. But, now, they feed them with good cheer, And what they want, they take in beer; For Christmas comes but once a year! And then they shall be merry. Good farmers in the country, nurse The poor that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse On lust and pride in London. There, the roist'rers they play: Drab and Dice their lands away; Which may be ours, another day, And therefore let's be merry! The client now his suit forbears, The prisoner's heart is eased. The debtor drinks away his cares, And, for the time, is pleased. Though others' purses be more fat; Why should we pine, or grieve thereat? Hang Sorrow! Care will kill a cat! And therefore let's be merry! Hark, how the wags abroad do call Each other forth to rambling! Anon, you'll see them in the Hall, For nuts and apples sc[r]ambling. Hark, how the roofs with laughter sound! Anon, they'll think the house goes round; For they, the cellar's depth have found, And, there, they will be merry. The wenches, with their wassail bowls, About the streets are singing; The boys are come to catch the owls; The Wild Mare in is bringing: Our kitchen boy hath broke his box; And to the dealing of an ox, Our honest neighbours come by flocks; And, here, they will be merry. Now Kings and Queens, poor sheepcots have, And mate with everybody; The honest, now, may play the Knave And wise men play at Noddy. Some youths will now a Mumming go, Some others play at Rowland-hoe, And twenty other gameboys moe Because they will be merry. Then, wherefore, in these merry days Should we, I pray! be duller? No! let us sing some Roundelays To make our mirth the fuller! And whil'st, thus inspired, we sing; Let all the streets with echoes ring! Woods and Hills, and everything, Bear witness we are merry!

Here lie the bones of him, that was, of late, A churlish Porter of a Prison gate! Death, many an evening, at his lodging knocked; But could not take him, for the door was locked! Yet, at a tavern, late one night, he found him; And getting him into the cellar, drowned him. On which the world (that still the worst is thinking) Reports abroad that "He was killed with drinking!" Yet let no Prisoner, whether thief or debtor, Rejoice, as if his fortune were the better! Their sorrow's likely to be ne'er the shorter! The Warden lives! though Death hath took the Porter.

Now gentle sleep hath closèd up those eyes, Which waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe; And free access unto that sweet lip lies, From whence I long, the rosy breath to draw. Methinks, no wrong it were, if I should steal From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss! None sees the theft, that would the theft reveal! Nor rob I her, of ought which she can miss! Nay, should I twenty kisses take away, There would be little sign I had done so! Why then should I, this robbery delay? O, she may wake! and therewith angry grow! Well, if she do: I'll back restore that one; And twenty hundred thousand more for loan!

Beware, thou look not who hereunder lies! Unless thou long to weep away thine eyes. This man, as sorrowful report doth tell us, Was, when he lived, the Prince of all Good Fellows. That day he died, it cannot be believed How, out of reason, all the Alewives grieved. And what abominable lamentation They made at Black Boy, and at Salutation. They howled and cried, and, ever more, among, This was the burden of their woful Song. Well, go thy ways! thy like hath never been! Nor shall thy match again be ever seen! For, out of doubt, now thou art dead and gone, There's many a Taphouse will be quite undone! And Death, by taking thee, did them more scath Than yet, the Alehouse Project done them hath. Lo, such a one but yesterday, was he; But now, he much is altered, you do see! Since he came hither, he hath left his riot; Yea, changed both his company and his diet; And, now, so civil lies, that, to your thinking, He neither for an Alehouse cares, nor drinking.

Her, who, beneath this stone, consuming lies, For many virtues, we might memorise; But, most of all, the praise deserveth she In making of her words and deeds agree. For she so truly kept the word she spake; As that with Death, she promise would not break. "I shall," quoth she, "be dead, before the mid Of such a month!" And, as she said, she did.

Here lies, within a cabinet of stone, The dear remainder of a Pretty One. Who did in wit, his years so far out-pass; His parents' wonder, and their joy he was: And by his face, you might have deemèd him To be on earth, some heavenly Cherubim. Six years with life he laboured; then deceast To keep the Sabbath of eternal rest: So that, which many thousand able men Are labouring for till threescore years and ten; This blessed child attainèd to, ere seven: And, now, enjoys it with the saints of heaven.

Now, Young Man! Thy days and thy glories appear Like sunshine and blossoms in Spring of the year; Thy vigour of body, thy spirits, thy wit, Are perfect, and sound, and untroubled yet. Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Mispend not a morning, so excellent clear! Never, for ever, was happiness here! Thy noontide of life hath but little delight; And sorrows on sorrows will follow at night! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! That Strength, and those beauties that grace thee to-day; To-morrow may perish, and vanish away! Thy Wealth, or thy Pleasures, or Friends that now be, May waste, or deceive, or be traitors to thee! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Thy joints are yet nimble, thy sinews unslack! And marrow, unwasted, doth strengthen thy back! Thy Youth from diseases, preserveth the brain; And blood, with free passage, plumps every vein! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! But, trust me! it will not for ever be so! Those Arms, that are mighty, shall feebler grow! And those Legs, so proudly supporting thee now, With age, or diseases will stagger and bow! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Then all those rare Features, now graceful in thee, Shall, ploughed with Time's furrows, quite ruinèd be! And they who admired and loved thee so much, Shall loathe, or forget thou hadst ever been such! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Those tresses of Hair, which thy youth do adorn, Will look like the meads in a winterly morn; And where red and white intermixed did grow, Dull paleness, a deadly Complexion will show! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! That Forehead imperious, whereon we now view A smoothness and whiteness, enamelled with blue, Will lose that perfection, which youth now maintains; And change it for hollowness, wrinkles, and stains! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Those Ears, thou with music didst oft entertain, And charm with so many a delicate strain; May miss of those pleasures wherewith they are fed, And never hear Song more, when youth is once fled! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Those Eyes, which so many, so much did admire, And with strange affections set thousands on fire; Shut up in that darkness which Age will constrain, Shall never see mortal, no, never again! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Those Lips, whereon Beauty so fully discloses The colour and sweetness of rubies and roses; Instead of that hue, will ghastliness wear: And none shall believe what perfection was there! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Thy Teeth, that stood firmly, like pearls in a row, Shall rotten, and scattered, disorderly grow! Thy Mouth, whose proportion, earth's wonder was thought; Shall robbed of that sweetness, be prizèd at nought. Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! That Gait and those Gestures, that win thee such grace, Will turn to a feeble and staggering pace; And thou, that o'er mountains ran'st nimbly to-day; Shall stumble at every rub in the way! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! By these imperfections, Old Age will prevail. Thy marrow, thy sinews, and spirits will fail! And nothing is left thee, when those are once spent, To give, or thyself, or another content! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Those Fancies that lull thee with Dreams of Delight, Will trouble thy quiet, the comfortless night! And thou that now sleepest thy troubles away; Shalt hear how each cockerel gives warning of day! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! Then Thou, that art yet to thousands so dear, Of all, shalt despised or neglected appear! Which, when thou perceiv'st, though now pleasant it be, Thy life will be grievous and loathsome to thee! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! That Lust, which thy youth can so hardly forego, Will leave thee! and leave thee Repentance and Woe! And then, in thy folly no joy thou canst have; Nor hope other rest than a comfortless grave! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! For next, shall thy Breath be quite taken away; Thy Flesh turned to dust, and that dust turned to clay! And those, thou hast lovèd, and shared of thy store; Shall leave thee, forget thee, and mind thee no more! Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above! And yet, if in time thou remember not this, The slenderest part of thy sorrow it is! Thy Soul, to a torture more fearful, shall wend, Hath ever, and ever, and never an end. Now then, O now then, if safety thou love; Mind thou, O mind thou, thy Maker above!

When bright Phœbus at his rest, Was reposèd in the West; And the cheerful daylight gone, Drew unwelcome darkness on: Night, her blackness wrapt about me; And within, 'twas as without me! Therefore on my tumbled bed, Down I laid my troubled head; Where, mine eyes inured to care, Seldom used to slumbering were: Yet o'ertired of late, with weeping; Then, by chance, they fell asleeping. But such visions, me diseased, As in vain that sleep I seized; For I sleeping Fancies had, Which, yet waking, make me sad. Some can sleep away their sorrow! But mine doubles every morrow. Walking to a pleasant grove, Where I used to think of love, I, methought, a place did view Wherein Flora's riches grew; Primrose, hyacinth, and lilies, Cowslips, vi'lets, daffodillies. There, a fountain close beside, I, a matchless Beauty spied. So she lay as if she slept, But much grief, her waking kept. And she had no softer pillow Than the hard root of a willow. Down her cheeks, the tears did flow, Which a grievèd heart did shew; Her fair eyes, the earth beholding, And her arms, themselves enfolding; She (her Passion to betoken), Sighed as if her heart were broken. So much grief, methought, she shewed, That my sorrow, it renewed: But when, nearer her I went, It increased my discontent; For a gentle Nymph she proved, Who, me (long unknown) had loved. Straight on me she fixed her look; Which, a deep impression took, And "Of all that live," quoth she, "Thou art welcomest to me!" Then (misdoubting to be blamèd), Thus she spake, as half ashamèd. "Thee! unknown, I long affected And, as long, in vain expected, For I had a hopeful thought Thou would'st crave, what others sought! And I, for thy sake! have stayed Many wanton Springs, a Maid." "Still, when any wooèd me, They renewed the thought of thee! And, in hope thou would'st have tried! Their affections, I denied. But a lover forced upon me By my friends, hath now undone me." "What I waking, dared not shew; In a dream, thou, now, dost know! But to better my estate, Now, alas, it is too late! And I, both awake and sleeping, Now consume my youth with weeping." Somewhat, then, I would have said; But replyings were denied. For, methought, when speak I would, Not a word bring forth I could: And as I, a kiss was taking; That I lost too, by awaking.