LIBERTY. THOSE ills that mortall men endure, As they of freedome may be sure: LOTS TO BE LIKED. LEARN this of me, where e'r thy lot doth fall; GRIEFES. JOVE may afford us thousands of reliefs; 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, 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 CLOTHES DO BUT CHEAT AND COUSEN US. AWAY with silks, away with lawn, 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, 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 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; UPON HIMSELF. I DISLIKT but even now, Was I idle, and that while Was I fier'd with a smile? ANOTHER. LOVE he that will; it best likes me, 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 UPON JOLLY AND JILLY. EPIG. JOLLY and Jillie, bite and scratch all day, THE MAD MAID'S SONG. Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morrow to mine own torn hair, Good morning to this primrose too; That will with flowers the tomb bestrew, |