PRIDE ALLOWABLE IN POETS. As thou deserv'st, be proud; then gladly let A VOW TO MINERVA. GODDESSE, I begin an art; Offer'd ON JONE. JONE wo'd go tel her haires; and well she might, Having but seven in all; three black, foure white. LETCHER was carted first about the streets, For false position in his neighbour's sheets; Next, hang'd for theeving: Now, the people say, His carting was the prologue to this play. UPON DUNDRIDGE. DUNDRIDGE his issue hath; but is not styl'd For all his issue, father of one child. TO ELECTRA. 'Tis ev'ning, my sweet, And dark; let us meet; Long time w'ave here been a toying; And never, as yet, That season co'd get, Wherein t'ave had an enjoying. For pitty or shame, Then let not Love's flame Be ever and ever a spending ; Since now to the port The path is but short, And yet our way has no ending. Time flyes away fast, Our houres doe waste; The while we never remember, How soone our life here, Growes old with the yeere, That dyes with the next December. DISCORD NOT DISADVANTAGEOUS. FORTUNE no higher project can devise, Then to sow discord 'mongst the enemies. ILL GOVERNMENT. PREPOSTEROUS is that government, and rude, When kings obey the wilder multitude. TO MARYGOLDS. GIVE way, and be ye ravisht by the sun, TO DIANEME. GIVE me one kisse, And no more : If so be this Makes you poore; To enrich you, Ile restore For that one, two Thousand score. TO JULIA, THE FLAMINICA DIALIS ; OR, QUEEN-PRIEST. THOU know'st, my Julia, that it is thy turne The chaplet and 1inarculum here be, With the white vestures all attending thee. This day the Queen-Priest thou art made, t'appease One chiefe transgression is, among the rest, ANACREONTIKE. BORN I was to be old, And for to die here; Long for to lye here. Still I be bousing; There's no carousing. 1 A twig of a pomgranat, which the Queen-priest used to weare on her head at sacrificing. MEAT WITHOUT MIRTH. EATEN I have; and though I had good cheere, LARGE BOUNDS DOE BUT BURY US. ALL things o'r-rul'd are here by chance; UPON URSLEY. URSLEY, she thinks those velvet patches grace AN ODE TO SIR CLIPSEBIE CREW. HERE we securely live, and eate And keep eternal fires, By which we sit, and doe divine, As wine And rage inspires. |