NAPS UPON PARNASSUS.

A sleepy Muse nipt and pincht, though not awakened Such Voluntary and Jovial Copies of Verses, as were lately receiv'd from some of the WITS of the Universities, in a Frolick, dedicated to Gon­dibert's Mistress by Captain Jones and others.

Whereunto is added for Demonstration of the Au­thors prosaick Excellency's, his Epistle to one of the Universities, with the Answer; together with two Satyrical Characters of his Own, of a Tempo­rizer, and an Antiquary, with Marginal Notes by a Friend to the Reader.

Vide Jones his Legend, Drink Sack and Gun­powder, and so fall to't.

‘ [...], Hom. Iliad. α.’

‘Aliquando bonus dormitat Homerus.’

London, Printed by express Order from the WITS, for N. Brook, at the Angel in Cornhill, 1658.

An Advertisement to the READER.

Courteous Reader,

THough I willingly confess, that a Ti­tle Page without the Authours Name prefixt in Capitall Letters, shews like a Man in the Pillory without a Pa­per (to specifie his Crime) on his Forehead: nevertheless, thou art desired not to take is amiss, that these present Poems are defective in that particular; for there are divers, and sundry motives, which induced this imperfe­ction. As (1.) their Modesty; which commands them to stand Bare-headed (that is, without the Authours Name) in respect, and reverence to every Reader; although they cannot be uncovered (as I question not you will quickly finde.) (2.) The Authours Ingenui­ty prompted Him to this Stratagem of con­cealing his Name, to the end, that one and the same gross Obscurity. should equally triumph over his Name, as Poems: And now Reader, [Page] if neither of these two Reasons will satisfie thee, know in the third place, that I indeed do not know, neither can learn his Name. I found these Poems in a dark, blind Ale-house, where the Authour had with a cup too much, obnubula­ted his Muse, and so forgot, and left them be­hind. To speak truly, being unwilling to rob the world of so much Ingenuity, (I say) like the de­sperate St. George, redeem'd these Ethiopian Virgin-Poems, out of the Jaws of that fell Dragon, (the furious gaping Oven) which, (even when I had first bestridden thē threshold) yawn'd for them. Much adoe I had to recover Them out of the good Womans hands, who left the bottoms of her Pies (that baking) in very great jeopardy, for want of them: yet at last I did get them, as many as you see there are of them. I am apt to believe there were more once, but the injury of Fate ha's oblitera­ted the rest. As many as could be found, hast thou here (Reader) carefully collected, by the se­dulity and expences of

Thy loving Friend Adoniram Banstittle. alias Tinderbox.
Dated May 30. 1658. from the Apollo in Fleetstreet.

Naps upon Parnassus.

Ʋpon the Infernal Shades of the Authors Poems: or, The hooded Hawk.

ROom, room now for a lusty Poet,
That writes as high as any I knew yet,
What's Homer but a spewing Dog,
Who writes a fight 'twixt Mouse and Frog?
Of stout Achilles, and of Hector,
Which of them should be the Victor?
And yet forsooth This Fellow must
(With all his Iliads too) be thrust
Into a Nutshel. A great knack!
Our Poet, and's Books, into a Sack
Can hardly crowded be, and yet
If you will look on's Sense and Wit,
'Tis easie, and Ile make no bones
To put them in two Cherry-stones.
(1)
Then come along Boyes,
Valiant, and strong Boyes,
For here's a Poet I tell ye
That Naps on Parnassus
And (ô Heavens bless us)
Takes Deep-sleeps too out of Helicon.
(2)
Avaunt then poor Virgil,
Thou ne're drank'st a pure Gill
Of Sack, to refine thy sconce:
Thou stol'st all from Homer,
And rod'st on a low Mare,
Instead of Pegasus, for th'nonce.
3.
Let Martial be hang'd,
For Ile swear I'le be bang'd,
If he makes me ought else but sleepy;
He's onely at last
For a brideling cast,
And his Wit lies at th' end of his Epigrams.
4.
Then for Ovid,
Why? was not his Love hid
In's Book of Toyes, call'd Amorum:
Indeed there he wrote madly,
But in's Tristium sadly;
Our Poet's th' Apollo virorum.
5.
And then Flaccus Horace,
He was but a sowr-ass,
And good for nothing but Lyricks:
There's but One to be found
In all English ground
Writes as well; who is hight Robert Herick.
6.
Our Author's much better,
In every letter
Then Robin, and Horace Flaccus:
He is called Samuel,
Who ends well, and began well;
And if we'r not glad He can make us.
Come forth then great Poetique Imp,
Make not the Muses all to pimp,
Whilst thou with one of them do'st lie,
Making her 'crease and multiply,
[Page]Hoping that they too shall come after,
Thou mak'st the rest their teeth to water.
And hope the like sport that their Sister
Enjoy'd by thee, when e'rst thou kist her.
Thou'rt right my friend, and I've been told,
Thou alwayes hadst a Muse in hold:
And like Cock Hen thou wouldst her tread,
Our Au­thors fan­cy was al­way couch­ant, for he made all his Verses in Bed.
Making thy Verses still in Bed.
No wonder thou so 'obscure dost write,
Thou form'dst thy Verses all in th' Night.
Thou wer't up with th' Lamb, & down with th' Lark,
And onely lov'st Dealing in the Dark.
I love thee for it.— Whip Sir Davy.
I now have done.—I marry have I.

Incerti Authoris.
Ʋpon the Incomparable, and Inimitable Author, and his obscure Poems.

I'm not o'th' race of Poets, nor e're made
A Verse, without the help of Pump, or Spade.
And yet (so sweet is Fame! and to be big
Of Glory!) that rather then dye; I'le dig,
And labour for a Verse, (not You to praise,
Too great a task!) But mine own name to raise:
That my foul Beast may be kept in your Ark,
My Joan live with your Lady in the Dark.
Give me a prospect where a towring Hill,
Soar's higher then ever did the Eagles Quill;
[Page]On whose bald-pate still undisturbed sit
Old Characters, that Adam's Grandsire writ;
So high, so wondrous high, that th' light o'th' Sun
N'ere top's it, till the Day is neer half done:
And then a Cave so deep, that who so dives
To the' bottom, e're he reach it spend nine lives.
Dark as Cimmerian Cells; horrid with Rocks,
Wreath'd into one another like Els's-locks:
A lovely sight which more delight contains,
Then th' confus'd of the Plains:
All here are at a Gaze; none pass it by
Regardless; it bids stand to every eye.
Here men go softly, who (as if they'd fain
Be rid on't) ride a gallop o're the Plain.
Such is thy Book!—In it we plainly see
All the Dimensions of Poetry.
Prometheus-like, sometimes thou do'st aspire,
And warm'st thy Mule; at the Celestiall Fire;
And then thou usest (which let none despise)
Kitchin Similitudes on thy Mother's
See the Author on his Mo­ther's eyes
Eyes.
I know some Criticks say thou'rt Hard enough,
But 'tis a sign of Lasting to be tough.
I read a Verse of thine, then make an halt,
(For though I taste it not, I'm sure ther's Salt:)
And study for the meaning; and am vext;
I finde; cry [...]: and read the next.
It is (let none for Recreation look)
A very study t'understand thy Book.
Plainness is Russick, Thou art clear from that,
Who sayes a Poets Plain, sayes he is Flat.
W. P. A. M. W. C. Oxon.

To his Ingenuous Friend, the unknown Author of the following Poems.

COme forth at last, and enter on the stage,
Great Soul of Poesie, that this purblind Age,
May have the film peel'd off their Eyes, and see
How Thou do'st riot in obscurity:
In Thy abyss they'l dive, and grope to finde,
How Thy strong Wit, and Sense is so combin'd;
And when they've grovell'd a long time in vain,
Will say (because they'r blinde) Thou art not Plain.
Thus ignorant men will snarle at Thee; and why?
Because they'r clogg'd with earth, & can't soar high;
Their Eyes are lin'd with dimness, can't behold,
How Thou in pretty turnings dost infold
Thy self and Verse: How Thou dost fancy screw
Into each Line, and mak'st ev'n
The Au­thor hath borrowed several old Fancies out of Cleveland and others
Old seem new;
Wracking each word, and syllable for sense,
And tortring both to make an Eloquence.
Thus the un-usefull Grape, when crusht and prest,
Doth lavish out a Liquor of the best:
And Camomil, until it bruised be
Blows not out any sprightful fragrancy:
How many stroaks doth the rough marble bear,
Before it can be polisht trim and fair?
What would men say if Poets onely should
Be tyed to others's sense of words? not mould
A meaning of their own; they must ascend
Above the vulgar reach; their fancies blend
Into a wonder; make Confusion seem
As if it were distinct: their Brains must teem
[Page]With darkest issues, lest with too much light,
They dazzle the poor Common people's sight.
We most admire the Sun when he's bereav'd
Of lustre, wrapt in an Eclipse: Deceiv'd
Of all his Beams: when he recruits again
His former Rayes; we say, He's then too plain.
Ovid in his best Poem, let's his Muse
Begin first with a Chaos, most confuse.
The Gods when they descended from the Skies,
With Bodies vell'd their shining Deities.
The thundring voice of heaven (which speaks so loud)
Is both begot, and speaks too in a cloud.
The clear still Streams discover to the eye,
What filth and dirt do in the Bottom lie;
When th' muddy boistrous Sea keeps from our view
More Treasuries then mortals ever knew.
Homer the Prince of Poets was Dark 'cause blinde,
Our Author's like him, yet is more calcin'd.
We praise Propertius. Juvenal, Tibullus,
Horatius, Flaccus, Lucan, and Catullus,
Above all other petty Ballad-mongers,
Who are so lean, they'l scarce suffice our hungers:
But Ile forbear: who so shall read thy Book,
Will think a Sybil pen'd it, and will look
For some t'interpret it: thus then thou'lt puzzle
Thy Readers, 'cause thy Fancies thou do it muzzle.
I'le say but this: (Others have prais'd thee more, and better)
Thou writ'st in Characters, though with a common Letter.
S. T. A. M. W. C. Oxon.

To the Abstruse Authour on his Night-work Poems.

1
TO praise Thy Wit I cannot hope,
It is so dark, I ne're shall grope
It out, but by Ariadne's Rope.
2.
That I am covetous don't think,
For to illuminate Thy Ink
I'le six pence give to Boy with link
3.
In London sure thou couldst not scape,
On Ears, and Purse hee'd ma [...]e a rape,
Who in Lord Majors name, doth gape
4
And cry, Your Lanthorn, and your Light.
Thy Verses make it more then night,
Like Ghosts Thy Fancies us afright.
5.
As when rich Wines within a Cellar's
Simile.
Dark vaulted womb are welcome dwellers,
Men stagger, though they are but smellers:
6.
Thy subtle Wit so cheats our eyes,
None can discover where it lies,
And yet our Brains it doth surprize.
7.
Let us have leave ( Heroick Bard)
To ask Thee why Thou writ'st so hard?
None wear their Cloathes all welt and gard.
8.
Some one conceipt costs us a week,
The easiest asks of Dayes a Gleek:
Thou play'st with us at Hide and Seek.
9.
We are your friends, you can't do less
But send them quickly to the Press,
Their meaning then they will confess.
10.
And then (if Cookes do not bespeak 'um)
When I am big with
Acertain drug, dif­fering in color from Album Graecum.
Flavum Graecum,
Thy Book shall be my Vade Mecum.
The two first letters of the two last words, are the Christen and the Surname of him that made those Verses. Ʋ. M.

On Mr. Somebody's Poeticall Naps upon Parnassus.

THe Indians with Mundungo fumigate
Their brains, and all their senses opiate,
To comprehend their Gods: so must I make
My self dead drunk with Helicon, and take
A Nap upon Parnassus, to admit
Thy Muses, and dark Oracles of wit;
For thy obscure, dark foggy, misty strains
Can't be receiv'd but in as cloudy brains.
For they who such sublimities dispense,
Must finde out Souls free from the miste of sense,
[Page]And cataract of reason, which must be
(Like Him who put out's eyes that He might see.)
As dark as is Thy Book: for why i'th Night,
Owles (which are blinde by Day) have quickest sight.
Old Homer, Virgil, Lucan, and Catullus,
Pass for good Poet, as the Ancients tell us;
So Ovid, Claudian, Juvenal, and Martial,
Yet they compar'd with Thee'r not worth a fart all.
For they had One, and that no venial crime,
That they were understood by th'men o'th'time:
And what's more mean than That, which fault, if any,
Makes
Mat. Par­ker the Ballad­maker, Laureat of London.
Parker's Poems vend but for a Penny.
And Katharine Stubbs for three pence, when the women
Wo'nt grudge to pay a Crown for Jacob Behmen.
'Tis vulgar to be clear. 'Tis but a Quibble
To write a verse that is intelligible.
But Thy judicious Muse shun's this Offence,
And scorns the pedantry of writing Sense.
Thine are true Heights, for Thine invention
Confounds the Readers reason, and Thine own,
Thou (like to Him that shews the famous Sight
Of Bell & the Dragon) e're thou shew'st mak'st night.
The Heav'ns, by men that they so long have been,
Ador'd, ow't to the Clouds that are between:
So 'tis Thy Soot, and Smoak, makes us admire
Th' internal Flame, of thy Poetick Fire.
As Nature's Secret parts do not excite
So much when all go naked; so Thy wit,
If naked, had not tempted half so hotly,
As now in Peticoat and wastecoat Motly.
[Page]Through things transparent we dispatch our sight,
But gaze on those which terminate our light:
And while we view dark Objects, we ne're care
To take accompt of the perspicuous Air:
So had Thy Poetry transparent been,
We had in it no sense, no phansie seen;
But now 'tis so obscure, that twon't transmit
Our Rayes, we may suspect both Sense and Wit.
G. C. M. A. SOAC. Oxon.

Sonetto in Lode del Autore. Or in plain English, A Jews Letter in Ink to commend our Negro.

DIro del Bianco pie che l'herb 'inflora?
O Della Bianca man che l'arboscelli
Impera, inostra e'ndora?
O
A Scotch title for the Devil.
Del bel vis' humano, humile e piano?
O Delle Dolc' Angeliche Parole?
Questi l'alba ne rec' e quell'il sole;
Quelle l'eterno ciel, co'centi Tuoi;
Ma Quant' al Tuo Tacer, che non m'annoi.
Alexandro Amidei Fiorentino.

Drollery.
Upon the most Illustrious, (though most Ob­scure, Dark, Black, Misty, Cloudy Poems of the Authour: Or the Aquila in Nubibus.

EVery
A Maxime.
thing would live, Cuckows, and Owles,
Would fly abroad, as well as other Fowles;
And sometimes whoop and screetch, and tear their throats,
With their dire voice, and think them Angels notes.
A minore ad majus.
Rise then, take wing ( fledg'd Poet) let men know
If these Birds shew their heads, much more mayest Thou.
I cannot praise Thy Works not worth a fart.
What shall I speak, what shall I say Thou art?
Such Metaphysicks Thou writ'st as transcends
Our low, if not thine own Intelligence.
Yet, as they say the greater Prophets, when
Fully wrapt up with Revelations, then
Spake things they understood not, and yet are
Canonicall: Thou art still good, and rare.
Give me a Poet wrapt in a thick Cloud,
Thunder without Lightning, one whose dark, loud
Voice disdains Flashes, and 's enough to startle
Our proudest Wits, from Head even to the
Well rhym'd Tutor, Brains and Stairs!
Ankle:
Thou imitat'st the World, whose first (we read)
Was a spiss Chaos, and untempered. [...]
Thou whor'st Obscurity like Ixion
Cling'st to a Cloud, and gender'st thereupon.
A Race of Centaures, such hard-headed Monsters,
As neither mine, nor thy brain but misconsters.
A Scholars Gown should be Dark and Divines
Put on black Caps; even so do all Thy Rimes.
Black Bags help Beauty, naked things show Wist.
And Phoebus shews twice bigger through a Mist.
The Sun we never gaze so much upon,
As when a black Eclipse is thrown thereon.
Keep then thy Sense. The Earth doth onely show
Her Common Stones,
Where note she conceals her. preci­ous stones, and the more mo­dest she.
which many times do throw
Us down: she shows us trifling grass, that's brave,
The twinkling of an eye; then findes a grave:
She hides her treasure, and will sooner feel
Her Bowels ripe, then show her Gold and Steel.
The deepest Streams are dark, and glide along
With a smooth, gentle motion; while the throng
Of shallow waters brooking no such stay,
Disclose their bottoms, murmuring away.
In brief Thou art our Oracle, dark, and much
Reserv'd, but do not cease, That should be Such.
Let others call for Sun-shine, and Day-light,
Our Rest is from Thy Shadow, and Thy Night.
But I have done: onely I'le tell the Readers,
One line of Thine hath more then all thy Leaders,
Ovid, and Virgil, Homer, and the rest,
Who spake but seldom Wit, and good at best:
Whose thrift of Brains was such, they needs must know
What, and to whom, how much, nay when, and how▪
[Page]Thy Lines are liberal, they have a Mine
Of
Lofty, because high, and high be­cause no body can reach them
lofty Metaphors, else they'r not Thine.
Thy Muse condense's Wit, which others beat,
And rarifie out into many a sheet.
Thine's Gold in th' Ore, others but in a Leaf,
In theirs we Glean, from Thee each plucks a Sheaf.
Thou art no Ape of others: never riflest
Old thred-bare Poets: for thou never triflest.
Homer's spew makes Thee drunk: [...]
Empties Thy Maw more then e're did Good Friday.
Thou scorn'st to imitate, or read; such helps
May serve for squemish Brains, and stupid Whelps,
Whose theeving hands (yet not Mercuriall) pick
Here a line, and there a word; some one stick
Or two, out of a Neighbours Hedge, and then
Faggot them for next town, and are fine men.
But 'tis not so with Thee: O mighty Stock!
Thy Head hews all out of its own great Block,
Ʋnletter'd Scholar! that weav'st
An old Bodge.
all, and some
From Thy own fruitful Bowels, and vast womb.
Poets are born so, not made: and Thou art
Of Poets a Naturall, and not by Art.
G. I. M. A. W. C. Oxon.

Carmen Proverbiale Exclamatorium in laudem Authoris. Pars prior

O Decus Anglorum! Vates famose tuorum,
Cujus pars nona facit Oxen-ford Helecona.
Saepe ego Te vidi, fecisti me quoque ride-
re, cum dixisti certe nil, sed tacuisti:
At loqueris jam nunc, & rideo plus ego quam tunc.
Cùm videam Librum (qui non sensit modò cri­brum)
Et Carmen nigrum, sed & ingenium neque pi­grum;
Non quòd ego sperno Librum quem abs lumine cerno,
(Estque Liber clarus) est Author, & undique ra­rus)
Haec ratio non est quià rideo, my meaning's
No false position in English good Sir!
honest.
Carminis ô Fulchrum! spernit tua Musa sepul­chrum!
Naviget Aethiopas inter Tuus (ô Bone) linter,
Quis (que) ibi amat
For co­lorem, by a piece of an Aphaeresis, and a piece of Syncope
c'lorem libri, & monstrabit amo­rem.
Tu bonus, & magnus, & candidus, ut niger agnus
Est pedibus fama tua fortior omni Dama!
O digne! O docte! O nigrior ipsâ nocte!
Omnibus ô Pastime! O vates!
Sic exclamavit. T. F. nuper N. C. Oxon. Soc.

The second Part in the Authours Language,
Being a Verse Panegyrick in Praise of the Author's transcendently delicious, Poeticall dainties, in­clos'd in the You may read it▪ Wodden▪ Wicker-Basket of his Critique Poems.

SIR.
IN that small inch of time I stole, to look
On th'abstruse Depths of Your Mysterious Book;
Heav'ns bless mine eye-sight! what strains did I see?
What Steropegeretick Poetry!
What Hieroglyphick words? what Riddles? all
In Letters more then Cabalisticall.
Perhaps our fingers may Your Verses scan,
But all our Noddles understand them can
No more, then read that Dung-fork't Pot-hook's Hand,
Which in Queens Colledge Library doth stand.
The cutting Hanger of your Wit I can't see,
For that same Scabberd that conceals yours Fancy▪
Thus a black velvet Casket hides a Jewel,
And a dark Wood-house wholesome winter fuel;
Thus John Tredeskin starves our greedy eyes,
By boxing up his new found Rarities.
Thus were Philosophers content to be
Renown'd, and famous in Obscurity.
[Page]We fear Actaeons horns dare not look on,
When you do
But, when he does so, he verifies the Pro­verb, viz. Aethopem lavat.
scowr your skin in Helicon.
We cannot ( Lynceus-like) see through the wall
Of your strong mortred Poems, nor can all
The small shot of our Brains make one hole in
The Bulwark of your Book, that Fort to win.
Open your meanings Door: ô do not lock it!
Undoe the Buttons of your smaller Pocket;
And charitably spend those Angels there;
Let them enrich, and actuate our Sphere:
Take off our Bongraces, and shine upon us,
Though your resplendent Beams should chance to
O were your verses stol'n, that so we might ( tan us.)
Hope in good time to see them come to light!
But felt I not a strange Poetick heat
Glowing therein (which reading makes me sweat)
Vulcan should take 'um, and I'de not exempt 'um,
Because they be things.— Quibus lumen ademptum.
I thought to have commended something there,
But all exceeds my commendations far:
I hope some Wit, when he your honour hears,
Will praise your Mothers Eyes Turpentine tears:
For my part, I can but stand still, and stare,
And cry O wondrous! strange! profound! and rare!
Vast wits must fathom you, better then thus;
You merit more then all they:—As for us,
The Beetles of our Rhymes shall drive full fast in
The wedges of your worth to everlastin.
[ g] Au­fertur in fine, per Apocopen
T F. lately F. N. C. Oxon.

A Son amice, l' Autheur de cette Liure sur son Obscuritie.

N'Import (grand Poete)
Si tes vers sont obscures;
C'est estre imperfecte,
Si serroient toutes pures.
L' estime cest à choses
Qui sont pluis difficiles;
L' espine fait les roses
Non paroistre viles.

Ʋpon the same.

WHat means thy Pegasus to take this flight?
Thy Book is forth, but when wil't come to light
Are the nine Girles recluse? and art thou he
Wilt turn Parnassus to a Nunnery?
'Twas alwayes Mountainous; but, by what spell
Hast thou now made it inaccessible?
Fountains are clear; but if Thou thus go on,
Thou'lt make a Puddle of thy Helicon.
Yet Darkness is thy vertue; were thy sense
But legible to our intelligence;
We might prophane thy fancy, or despise;
Thus Persians hide their King from vulgar eyes,
They that entail a game at Chess upon
Their families to time's succession,
[...] [...]
[Page]Making each Pawn out-live an Army; see
The Bishops move but once a Jubilee;
And Check ne're comes without a Comet, they
Might take thy Book to task instead of play.
Were Archimedes living; ten to one,
He'd make each Verse a Proposition;
And pore as long upon't; but I dare say
Without all hopes of crying [...]
Might none be Judges of thy Wit, but such
As understand it, t'will abide the touch.
I me sure we know it not: then who can blame us
To bring Thee in, onely our
A Law­term a Ju­ry brings in, when it can't de­termine of a Case.
Ignoramus.
H. L. W. C. C.

Ʋpon the Gurmundizing Quagmires, and most Adiaphanous Bogs, of the Author's obnubilated Roundelayes.

THou that dwarft'st mountains into molehill sense
With Ell-broad Marrow-bones of Eloquence;
Causing thy Eel-skin'd Glasses seem to be
But North-wind Blasts of Mahomet's Nunnery.
Breath forth great Argos mast into my hand,
That I may bob for Whales upon dry land?
Send down the Mesenterick Huckle-bone
Of Crest-faln Pancakes which do cry and grone,
That ovall millstones are like tarbax't Stars,
Spher'd so on purpose by Saturn, and eke Mars.
[Page]'Tis true indeed Saturn did leave his Miter,
To be Sow-gelded by 's God-son Jupiter.
What then? should Dunsmore's Bulls fall from the sky?
And Cart-ropes into Princes secrets pry?
No sure: we mortals then may fall asleep
On feather'd Dripping-pans, playing Bo-peep.
But that's a work onely befits the Gods,
To Weather-cock their Eyes with fishing-rods.
Sail then (great Poet!) thither, where the mode is
To wear Black-pudding- Points, at th' Antipodes:
Rush forth into that Stage; and then it may be
Thou'lt Crakanthorp thy Muse with dull Farnaby.
Open our eyes with marble pick-tooths, then,
To see thy bed-rid Beetles turn to Men:
Grinde out thy Verses into meal-mouth'd Rhimes,
With Camomil'd Horse-plum-trees of the times.
Break out thy Muse's teeth; but be no caitiff,
To nickname Lobsters with the case Ablative:
Then, we shall see great Whiting mops in shrouds,
And Planets bounce Canundrums in the Clouds:
Then shall we see thee pass the Gallow Tyburn,
Creeping on Carret-tops, and bawl out, I burn,
I burn (great Jove)—with that, he staid his pace,
And heard a Lady call out thus, with grace;
Dame Gargamel bids hye you home to supper,
For great
In English, a Grandvifier, a grand Statesman in Turky.
Grangowsier's Mule ha's broke his crupper.
T. C. of Q. K. C.

[Page]To his ingenuous Friend, the Author, on his imcomparable Poems. Carmen Jocoserium.

WEr't not my friend, the world should know
How I could praise thy Works [I trow]
Sounding hence to Constantinople,
Poetique strains, I'le wage a
or 6s. 8d.
Noble;
But since 'tis so, (Oh! Oh, the pity!)
I must laud thee in Obscurity;
Making thy Verses this the Better,
Because like thine in Word, and Letter.
Nor are they therefore to be blam'd,
They will be lighter if enflam'd:
Never till then, expect a Riddle
To be explain'd with
An Eng­lish saw inver'st.
faddle fiddle.
Such Lines as these were none before,
Since the cruel fight of Sir Eglamore.
And in a word; that I may end all,
Better were never made by
A fa­mous Scoth Poet I think he was.
Kendall.

Once again.

IF I may guess at Poets in our Land,
Thou beat'st them all above, and under hand;
Nay under leg too, for thy feet out-run 'um,
As far as is from Oxford unto Lon'on:
Nay, give them half in half, thou creepest faster
Then Scottish Posts, that in the greatest haste are;
Nor in thy Speed alone do lie thy Glories,
But thou 'rt so sweet, that done, thou tastest Morish.
Who e're (I wiss) did see one, like thee, handy?
And Rhymes deliciouser then Sugar candy?
[Page]To thee compar'd, our English Poets all stop,
And vail their Bonnets, even Shakespear's
It should have been Falstaff, if the rhyme had per­mitted it.
Falstop.
Chaucer the first of all was'nt worth a farthing,
Lidgate, and Huntingdon, with Gaffer Harding.
Non-sense the Faëry Queen, and Michael Drayton,
Like Babel's Balm; or Rhymes of Edward Paiton,
Waller, and Turlingham, and brave George Sandys,
Beaumont, and Fletcher, Donne, Jeremy Candish,
Herbert, and Cleeveland, and all the train noble
Are Saints-bells unto thee, and thou great Bow-bell.
Ben Johnson 'tis true shew'd us how he could hit
Each humour now; and then be out of it;
Nor could he alwayes keep his Muse a gallop,
With curb, or whip, but sometimes had but small (hope.)
Cowly alack's too plain; his Davideis,
But fit for boyes to read, like Virgil's Enaeis;
And for his Mistress, and his other Poems;
Anacreontique, and Pindarique Theams,
They have no Method in 'um, and are not worth
One pin to kindle fires, and set on hot broth;
None like to Thee, but the Writer of ƲRANIA,
Or Friar John the Poet of Normannia;
With Pagan Fisher, who e'rst made a speech,
To shew that he could versifie, and preach;
And put it in the News-books too, for all
To know, how he was jeer'd in Christs-Church Hall.
Thou bee'st a brave Boy, trust me if thou be'nt,
The best that ever eat salt fish in Lent;
Which makes thy Verses too to be so witty,
Because Thou seasonest so well each Ditty.
S. W. W. C. C. Oxon.

An Autoschediastique
To the Ingenuous Authour, on his Poems so Miscellaneous.

CAll not these
Why? who calls 'um so but you?
Miscellaneous Poems; why?
What shall we call them then? a Rhapsody.
So our Grammarians Homer's Iliads name;
And you your self do verifie the same;
The difference onely stands in this, that He
A Grecian: Poet, You an English bee.
We stile Him Father: but when that is done,
We must acknowledge you to be his Son:
Him Plato (notwithstanding all His Wit)
Into his Commonwealth would not admit:
We never deem our selves more happy then,
When we enjoy the writings of such men.
If He were blinde (pardon me what I say)
You are so too; yet in another way:
So have I seen Dame Justice regent sit
With Eyes blind-folded to discern what's fit.
Your Eyes were shut, when Verses you did make:
(What would you've done if you had been awake?)
No wonder then that you are so abstruse,
That had to do in darkness with your Muse.
What though our Poets sometimes Liars are?
Each one in this hath not a common share:
Nor doth the formal reason of Poetry
Consist in this, that it must be a Lie.
What hinders but a man may laugh, and rhime,
And speak the truth too at the self same time?
[Page]Tears have their Fallacies, but who e're knew
A man, a merry Poet, and not true?
Legends abundance have I read in Prose,
In Verse but onely one Metamorphose:
Besides, all do not see the truths that lie
Couch't in the bowels of Mythology.
You truth have spoken; and withall so plain,
That one would think Luoilius come again;
And yet your stile is so mysterious,
As that of Juvenal, or Persius.
Briefly, if any may be said to be
An Hieroglyphick Poet, You are He.
True are your Eulogies; your Satyrs keen;
Sad are your Elogies; your Silvae green.
Others have spoken this before; for me,
I cannot praise (for wondring) what I see.
Philosophers, and Poets best are new,
Your Work commends it self, and so 't must You.
N. F. C. W. F. Oxon.

Ʋpon the nebuligerous, tenebricosiform'd Wit, of the Authour, absconded in the nigricated Womb of these Poems.

O! For the cutting knife now of Sow-gelder,
To rip thy Womb, and see thy Hans en Kelder.
Thy Wit as yet is wrapt in's Secundinae;
Which must be launc't, or else we ne're shal find ye.
[Page]D'ee think we can see Boy wrapt up in Mantle?
For my part, how to do't surely I can't tell.
When I thy Verses read, like in's shell Tortoise,
Thy Wits in them as Wine in quart is;
We can't see either of them until open'd,
Which if they be not, they'r not worth a Rope end.
Within thy Book I'de ha' thee put a Comment,
We may then understand peradventure some on't;
Else we shall ne're do't; for now as the case stands,
When we but read it, we are put to base stands;
And then we thresh, and beat, and keep a quar­ter;
Then rest; then fall again on: just like Carter
Upon his Horses poor, tugging, and plucking
To get his Wain out, that the Mire is stuck in.
VVe sweat, and pull; but cùm omne venit ad omne,
The wit within thy Verse we cannot come nigh.
VVe may as soon our brains knock out, as knock in
Thy mystick sense, 'cause thou writ'st still a fog in.
Go on brave Son of Tartar, black as Pluto,
Take some work else in hand, and fall a new to
Some lofty strain, that may even puzzle Jupiter
To understand: then surely thou wilt shut it o're
Our weaker mindes; and make the God of Wisdom
To fret, and fume, because it was not his doom,
To have thy Poets body, and to swallow
Such things as hee'l ne're do whil'st hee's Apollo.
O all you mighty Poets, whether Hebrew,
Greek, Latine, Persian, Caldee, and all the Brewers
of Italian verse, French, English, German,
If you'r compar'd to Him, you'r all but poor men.
[Page]I'le say no more but this, Thou art the man, Sir,
That better art then all our former Grandsiers.
Adoniram Bitefig of Utopia.

To his highly esteemed Friend the Authour: on his inspired Poems.

CAst down your Baies (fond Poets) girt his brow,
To whom Poetick Raptures homage owe;
Whose nobler soul is onely fit to be
The standard to all kinde of Poetry.
Fancy lay breathless, and that sacred fire
Rak'd up in its own ashes did expire.
The Fount dri'd up; nor did the Jovial Crew
Of Sisters meet, as they were wont to do:
Apollo gone Shepheards obtain'd the Spring,
And Poets onely went a wool-gathring:
But You (my friend) from whose moist brain doth flow
A better Helicon then that we owe
(To th' Horse's stamp) scorning so long to see
The God thus baffled by Obscurity;
Regain'd the Fort, and by thy lofty strains,
Recover'dst mountain, spring, and neighbring plains.
H. W. W. C. C. Oxon.

[Page] Ʋpon the light-footed, though dark Poems of the Au­thour, so nimble, that they skip out of the Rea­ders sight, though he hastes never so fast to overtake them.

COme blow the Trumpets, make 'um cry tarrara;
And from hence sound as far as is
A Pro­vince in Italy.
Ferrara;
That they may hear the worth there of these Po­ems,
Which were begot in high, and not in low
A Scotch word for a Belly.
Wembs▪
The Authours brain; when once he did but knock it,
Verse would pour out, as water out of Bucket.
But first I'le tell the way that he accustom'd
To generate his verse▪ His head then was tomb'd
Within a Cap of linned, or of woollen,
And then within the Bed his feet would pull in.
And all day long in it He would lie naked,
As hot as though in Oven He were baked:
There would He have both cruel Pangs and Tor­tures,
As if He had been pounded in ten Mortars:
Just like the Pangs that Women have in travel,
When they cry out, Back, Belly, Bones, and Navel;
Till at the last He would be unto Bed brought
Of Verses few: and all that while He fed not:
Soon as He was deliver'd, He would lick 'um
Over, and o're, as Bears do Cubs; and stick 'um
With pen, and ink on paper. What then? wot ye
That these were Verses bad? They were not snotty.
[Page]When He had made 'um clean: no they were brave ones,
This Verse is somewhat of the longest size.
There could not be such made again, though writ with quils of Ravens.
Rare we must think them, that are made on bolsters,
(A kinde of Cushion that's sold by Ʋpholsters.)
For all day long He did consult on pillow,
Which made him write in Thunder, not in stile low.
If you ask why his Wit is dark. and can't see't,
Alwayes He hid himself, and writ i'th' sheet.
But I have done, he that shall next come after,
May make you serious, we create you laughter.
Dón John Puntaeus. [...].

To the unknown Author.

I That ne're spoke in Verse, am come
To adde my Farthing to Thy Sum;
What if I strain a Line or so,
Thy Verses Feet can make me go,
If Leg or Arm be broke: 'tis true
He is a Poet, right, true blue;
And whether or no I crack my brain,
True blue I'me sure can never stain.
Nay, his incomparable Verse,
Would raise me, were I in my Herse:
His Line's so mystique, so profound,
No Treasure buried under ground
[Page]Were worth so much at comming forth,
Wer's Verses sold to half their worth:
Some one perhaps may in a puff,
Say they are pittifull enough;
Or that they would be more meet,
To make his Grandam a Winding-sheet?
Let such with their Balladian Rhymes
Exhaust their oyl, and spend their times
To seek for Arts not yet reveal'd;
But let His Verses live conceal'd.
For I'le avouch't by Jove they'r good,
Had we more plenty of the Brood.
R. F.

Ʋpon the Blackness of Darkness: the Authours Poems.

SOme say Mathematicks are hard to know;
Some say the School-men are difficult too:
One complains of Arabick, 'tis not easie;
Another of Coptique, it cannot please me.
One sayes that Homer was a blinde Poet,
And so was Persius, and Cleaveland: I know it.
Some say that Night is Dark, others agen
Will swear that dark Rooms are fit for mad men.
Let 'um say what they will: I'm sure there's none
If thou bee'st but in place, deserves the Throne;
The Kingdom of Darkness is all thine own.
[Page] Euclide is easie, and Scotus is plain,
If eithers compared with thy darker strain,
Arabique too; and any other Tongue,
May sooner be known then Thy plainest Song.
Cleaveland, and Homer, and Persius to boot,
Are clear and smooth, if compar'd with thy foot:
Yea, the Night it self, or the Grave (as some say)
I'th' midst of thy Clouds would be a Milkie-way.
Therefore the Proverb lye's, if ever it tell,
Dark Rooms are for Mad-men; for in such to dwell,
Thy Wit, and Thy Fancy, do hold it full well.
Timothy Tinderbox of Jamaica.

Ʋpon the Author's incomparable Hogan Mogan Mysteries lockt up in the duskie shady Chest of his Poems: or, Jack in a Box:

OH! that I had a quill that's snatcht from Eagle,
That I may write thy praise: or th' mouth of Beagle,
To throat thy worth out, for thy Verses gallant,
(Of which within thy Book there is no small want)
In which there Fancy lies up to the Elbows,
And Satyrs keen as are the Spanish Bilboes.
If thou wouldst write (as we say) plain as Dunstable;
We might then apprehend thee; but not Constable
Now can do't, nor to boot all his Watch-men,
Although it be their Calling to Attach men.
[Page]Thou scorn'st to write in stile that's call'd down-right
Because (say'st thou) to this age 'twill not sound right;
Therefore dost swear thou must things above Moon write.
I'le bid defiance now to Po'et Boquendo,
Such Verse as his ofttimes Ballad-Women do
Make; yes, and better too, his Turkish Turbat
Fits not our English heads; his Verses are but
Such as may be made by your Jack or your Gill;
Our Poet makes as good as ev'r did Virgil.
His title tells us, that upon Parnassus
He nap't to make some Verse, but as the case is,
Men scarce will credit; yet why not? f'r ought I know,
He took deep sleeps ex fonte Caballino.
For he that reads his Book will swear he dream'd sure,
Else never such dark Poems had he teem▪d sure.
Yet ought not men to think u'm sad 'cause obscure,
They'le give you mirth I warrant, and all sobs cure.
At th' end of his Book in jerking Character,
Antiquity lies bruis'd, he hath so thwack't her.
Nor 'scapes from his Description Temporizer,
Who when he sees himself lasht so, will Miserere
mei Domine cry.—But Readers haste in
To view the Lines of Poet—
Read'um I pray, for I will swear th'are good ones,
And cannot mended be by a whole brood on's:
Because, if ever we intend to do it,
We must drink Foggie Ale, and so fall to it.
W. G. C. W. C.

[Page] Ʋpon the Author's Mystery of Babylon.

MY infant tender Muse can't praise thy tongue,
As well as others of the learned throng.
He's perfect man and wit, whose larger brain
Can comprehend, and praise thy lowest strain.
A Hue and cry
With swiftest pace,
And nimblest race,
If it should try
And ride to spy,
Would hardly trace
Thy sense, and finde
Thy mystick minde.
I cannot say thou writ'st instead of Ink
With juice of Lemons, that's too sharp a drink,
And quick; but yet as that conceals what's writ,
Writes well enough, but then
Blots out as fast agen;
And so by riddling play
Brings night in midst of Day,
And none must hope to see
What's written, though there it be.
Just so thou jugglest, speak'st good sense and wit,
Yet so obscure in every part of it,
As that it disappears
From all our eyes and ears,
And we must use implicit faith to see't.
Yet do not cry,
Nor be angry.
And thy friends fly,
[Page]As if they did abuse thee
Thy body's opacous
But do'nt thou mistake us,
Nor pluck thy Mystachios,
If ever thou wouldst use me:
Because ev'ry Letter,
Is far much the better,
That wants
t. inseri­tur per E­penthesin.
Interpretter,
And much doth amuse me.
I thought to have praised some of thy Coppies,
And shew'd how far th' excell'st other Puppies;
But thy meaning is deep,
And in it to peep,
I fear my head will turn giddy.
Thy Ale is so strong,
And bottled so long,
And close, that now 'tis so heady;
As that it's mouth
I would be loath
To open: 'tis so froppish
I know it will fly,
And smite my eye,
And make my brains quite sottish.
J. D. W. C. C.

[Page] Ʋpon the imcomparably-high-fancied Poems of the Author, so monstrously Obscure.

GIve me some ink fetcht from the Muses stream,
Lull me asleep in a Poetique Dream;
Inspire me with a rapture, let my Breast
By sacred Fury be possest.
Reach me a quill drawn from an Eagles wing,
Teach me the way to write i'th' Moon, and bring
All the world to read, and hear
What in thy praise I shall write there.
Hence you Poetique Dablers, hide your heads
In Clouds and Darkness, here's one better leads
Poor undeceived mortals, and displaies
To undiscovered Lands of Poetry,
Which hitherto did unknown lie;
And will be ever so, far nearer wayes.
Let Homer vanish hence, lest by the Pain
Of hearing him, he vomit once again.
Let Virgil feed on bread, leave him the Spring
From which the Poets their originall bring:
Let Ovid write more Tristia's; break his quill,
He's banish'd once more from Parnassus Hill.
Hence ye poor Ants that on that Mountain sit,
Hence, and give place to a more majestique wit.
He comes, fly off, lest you his triumph meet,
Cast down your Pens, and onely use your Feet.
Let's see your backs, h'as purchased all the Mount;
Here's no room left for men of your account:
Here's not one Turf under your Heads to lie,
After your death, unless you from Him buy.
[Page]I saw the Bargain, when the Muses gave
To him all right, which in that place they have.
Thou hast exposed to the common sight
Thy Poems, yet I can't say brought to light.
Thy modest Muse puts on a mask between
Our sight and it, sees all, and is not seen.
Thy Verses rise above the vulgar flight,
And draw themselves out of my wandring sight;
Soar up to heaven to make a brighter day,
Unless they meet the fire by the way.
Prick up your ears Mortality, and hear
The highest Lines that ever Paper bear:
Bring your Five Senses hither, all won't do
(I think) to read and understand him too.
Put on your Spectacles, and wipe your eyes,
And then you'l see where the deep Fancy lies:
Attend these sacred Rimes; see, they begin
To knock at your Brains door, and can't come in.
Think you within the small space of your Brain
To conceive that which the world can't contain?
He's greater far then to be chain'd to Sense;
Or held within that strait Circumference.
Divinity scorns sense, and Angels ne're
Can be confined to that Sphere.
Oracles ne're did descend to be
Easie and plain to each capacity;
But hover'd in a mystick Cloud,
Seldom conceiv'd, yet sounding loud.
The Gods when they came from above
To live with men, did chuse a Grove:
A place in its own native darkness wrapt,
Where they the sight of vulgar eyes escap't.
[Page]The holiest place was wondred at, not seen:
The Priest himself might onely enter in:
God to prophaner eyes denied the view,
Lest they contemned what they knew.
Poets should have Elijah's mantles, till the day
They go to heaven, and then cast them away.
The Suns bright beams, unless they look behinde
A cloud, there wondring lookers on do blind.
None that Divine, or Angels hand,
Which with a sudden trembling did affright▪
The Babilonesh Kings delight;
Unless interpreted could understand.
Should you religion shew to common eyes,
You from adoring teach them to despise:
The Temple had its vail, which checkt the light
Of Divine Mysteries from Prophaner sight.
The Turkish mosques are darkned by their law,
To strike Beholders with Majestick awe.
Curtains fit those that on Parnassus Dream,
Or near the Bublings of the sacred stream.
Poets a'nt pictured in transparent lawn,
But in a mantle cast about them, drawn.
They that are crown'd with laurel boughs,
The leaves give shaddow to their Brows.
The true Poetick fire should have its smoak;
Which might or blinde, or choak
Those that approach too near; the sun
Can Draw up mists from Helicon.
Light things or top of waters are first spied;
Those of more w [...]t down to the bottom slide.
We take to get most precious things more pains,
The best things are least obvious and plain.
[Page]The eye, which in it self's all light,
In various coats is wrapt up from our sight.
The choicest Fruits which nature liketh best,
From injury in divers shells are drest.
The purest Earth which least of mixture tast's
Lies far removed near the center plac't.
Best things may be obscure; thus was the Cloud
On th' one side light, on th' other in a shrowd.
Thus the North and Southern Pole
On which celestial Bodies rowl;
Which all the Earth doth come between,
Are never both together seen.
But if One gives the Saylours light,
The Other is hid from their sight.
Thus mountains in the unthrift moon,
Without the help of glasses, can't be shewn.
Thou Hieroglyphick Poet! whose deep wit
Cannot be known without expounding it.
The Turks, as many Commentatours throw'd
As might at once two hundred Camels load,
Into the waves: should all those thee expound,
They'de leave thee just as deep as first they found.
The expositions on thy Mysteries
To such a numerous off-spring shall arise,
As will put down the ignorant Rout
Of those that blindely doat about
Aquinas Sums, and Lombard's cobweb stuffe;
Yet swear at last they han't explain'd enough:
Persius may hang himself, for now he ha's lost
The Darkness which he onely once ingrost;
That clowdy Poet, if compared to thee,
By A B C Boyes understood may be.
[Page]The Devil (had Barbarus thy Verses seen)
But by some Aenygmatick notion took
From the great abysse of thy Book.
Or some deep Fancies in thy Brain that swim,
Ile lay my life on't they'de have orappled him.
Poets (as Aeolus the windes in caves)
By loading words in Fetters make them slaves:
You yours in an eternal Dungeon keep,
( Darker far then that of Ink,)
Onely it wants the stink:
Through which not one small Beam of light can creep.
Fetch me Augustus eyes, or Tamerlane's,
Whose sight could give intelligence to their Brains
In thickest Darkness; or his that could spie
The enemies Fleet in Carthage Road to lie
Three hundred Leagues off; and it may be they
In this thy profound night will finde some day.
They that from new made Characters can finde,
And pick at last the mystick minde
Of him that made them, would be more put to't,
To search the meaning of thy fancy out.
Should we attempt to hunt thy wit,
As men do Hares by th' impress of it's feet:
Be sure we never should it take,
It doth so many subtle windings make.
Thy Book's a Labyrinth, which doth infold
It self in many turnings, that do flie
The curious Diligence of the Readers eye;
And yet it doth no Monsters hold.
Like those that writ in wax, thy wit
Is closed and sealed, as soon as writ.
I've sometimes seen those that do bathe
[...] [...]
[Page]Themselves in our Suns waters, first to swathe
Their Bodies in some shrowds for fear
Lest any misbecoming nakedness appear:
So thou when dipt in Helicon, comest out
Hid and clouded from the vulgar rout:
Yet thou by hiding of thy light,
Compliest with the weakness of our sight.
For shouldst thou to our mortal eyes
With all thy Beams and luster on, arise;
Th' exceeding brightness of that day
Would make us blinde and grope our way.
Go forth great spirit, let me see
What the next age will think of thee.
Dazle the world, shew that their sight
Is not so piercing as it might.
Make Antiquaries work in the next age,
T' unty the Gordian knots of every page;
Let them admire the Ocean of thy wit,
Whilst all their leaden heads can't fathom it.
Till the Phenix of the world,
Into its funeral flame is hurl'd;
To comprehend thy depth let none aspire,
Till all our Bodley's there shall burn,
And th' ashes be closed in one urn,
Till thy Book is enlightened by that fire.
T. S. W. C. F. Oxon.

The Epistle Dedicatory made by the Authour (upon some dislike) and presented to his now adopted Mother, the University of Cambridge.

Dearest Dam,

I Could now with sorrow wish, that I had hang'd on the tawny Ʋdders of your Charity instead of your Sister Oxfords, that I might from thence have sucked the silver Milk of Education with the now leaden Lips of my Appre­hension. However, since it cannot now be, that I should re-initiate my self; yet be it not presumpti­on in me to present you the first Ears of that Corn which I could be glad were of some standing in your Fields, though I had hazzarded the ploughing and harrowing of my Posteriors for it. And indeed I must tell you, that as for the Poems I here give you, for ought I know, you need not reject them: I am sure they are good; and yet (thus ever Envy sneaks after [Page] Vertue's heels) I have overheard them undervalued: yet such is my patience, that I can with much facili­ty slight unmeritted aspersions, onely desirous, that they who will not commend them, would come and mend them. I am not ignorant also, that some shallow, ditch-brain'd fellows scruple much at my Ocean-like profundity; little knowing what Lam­prils of Wit, and Grigs of Fancy are oftentimes inveloped in the mud of obscure Sentences; Grigs, which scorn to bite at any hook, but what is baited with the Vermilion Worm of a most perspicacious, and inquisitive Brain. Mother, I hope it will be no incest to rely upon you, in hopes to beget a gallant come-off with my Poetry: if that design fail, I fear me, my Poetick vein will look blew, and come off so too. A little of your Candour, (like a Beggars bo­dy-louse) will go a great way. Dear Mother, verifie this unto me, and let your Approbation accompany my Endeavours, even as a venerable Budget doth a travailing Tinker; and when at any time you shall have occasion to peruse this my little Book, deny not your loving Son these two favours. First, to sit Cross-leggd while you read. And secondly, to tie up the Dog of your Censures with the halter of Discre­tion at the Dining-room door of your Affection. Nor would I have you at all wonder, that so many of my Friends are pleased to empty the Quivers of their Ingenuity against the Buts of my Poems, to Descant on me, and Paraphrase on my Text with their se­veral harmless Glosses; for we all know, 'tis the fa­mous Don Quixot's highest honour to have Gayton's Festivous Notes written on Him: Thus the sur­rounding [Page] Ivy infinitely commends its solitary Inha­bitant, whose Majestick Loneliness is abundantly pleas'd to see th'exuberant mirth which the merri­ly-dispos'd Birds create to themselves, at the sight of his sullen gravity. Let the Enammel of their praises, and Encomiums who ( here honour me) set off the Medal of my Muse; and the Aggat handle of their Applause, commend the keen Blade of my sharp­edg'd Verses. Truly, think the world what it list, I think my self much indebted to them that have so nobly commended me in their Poetry before my Book: And I scorn ever to be conscious of so great puselanimity, as to refuse to persecute my subject to the uttermost, where such gallant Captains have lead me the way. Believe me I am in earnest, and restless to rest

Your Dutiful Son K. Q.

The Answer to that Epistle which I sent runs thus.

My Dearest, Adopted Biern▪

THe noise, and news of your Obscurity, and Poetry; the latter whereof you seconded with a Letter; have ex­torted from me such proofs, and reproofs, as I do very seldome use to send any of my Sons: and now, something must precede be­fore I can proceed. I have lately somewhat over-much indulg'd my Canine Appetite, and eaten somewhat that lies at my Stomach as heavy as a load of Lead; the Crudities where­of have sent up such Vapours into my Head, as if the Fenns had broken wind backward; such Fumes, that they make me foam like a Bedlame: insomuch, that I think my self now in the same pickle, wherein the Poets tell us Madam Tellus was, when Phaeton took Her [Page] for a Witch, and set Fire about her ears: Yet (my Boy!) for thy sweet fake Ile do, as she did, heave my self in the midst of my Collique fits; nay, and I will answer thine Epistle, though there were no other Pen to be had then A Pestil. And now Son (for so you say you would gladly be) let me give you good counsel. I am serious. In the whole series of your Letter, I finde a great many Metaphors, things, which some count Absolute; but I tell you, they are Ob­solete, and do advise you by all means not to love them, but to leave them: I would have you take a Word, and Twang it; then listen how it sounds; observe diligently its Rever­beration, mark its Eccho, and if that chance to bring into your minde any other Consonant word, apprehend it be sure, in spite of all the repugnancy which a dissonant Vowel, or two may make. Take but this Course, and you shall have all my Blessing, and none of my Curse. But now ( Son) to particulars. I won­der why you should call me [Dam;] truly, I thought [ Madam] would have better be­fitted your mouth; or rather Eve then A­DAM. Then agen, I am certain you could not have found a word Odder then that same [ Udder:] think you that I can't [...] with­out [Page] being call'd A-Cow? But 'tis no great matter; courage▪ my Lad! whatsoever dis­contents may arise, or you can raise to your self, are all to no purpose, if you will but pro­pose to your self the Fame you shall acquire by this your Book. But I must have done: I am at this instant, in Post-haste. Take my minde in a few words. I applaud your Ob­scurity, and commend your Darkness a­mongst the Light Whimsies of this Age. I shall easily grant those your two reason­able Requests. Your Friends I esteem very highly of. Your self, because you are a Foot-soldier to the Muses; when you Die, Ile banish Musquets, and Pistolls, and I'le Cannonize you with a thundring Volley of loud Elogiums; so that astonisht Europe shall take notice how much I set by

My dutiful Son
K. Q.

THE AUTHORS OWN Verse and Prose.

VVith Marginall Illustrations on his OBSCURITIES, by a Friend, to the Reader.

Semel in anno ridet Apollo.
[figure]

Printed by the same Order.

Sic Incipit.
The Author's humble Opinion concerning his Book.

THey'r Dog-dayes now: he that appears in Print,
To coin his words must first finde out a Mint.
I deal not by retail, nor eke by stealth,
To make of this my Book
A Book much esteem'd by the Author.
Wit's Commonwealth:
Then buy my Wit in cleanly words well drest,
Wit dearest bought is alway counted best.

Ʋpon one buried after He was Dead.

WIth Eye-bright water wash thy face,
Since Here there lies a Babe of Grace:
Why should
Not hot in effect, but in operation.
Hot waters scald thine eye?
The Darling of the Gods did dye.
Why weep you for him, and lament?
Pluto long since hath
The de­vil a bit he h [...]'s▪
broke up Lent.
And feeds on flesh both day and night,
By a base carnall Appetite.
[Page]At
( Viz.) Pluto's.
this soul's glory▪ none can guess,
Who doth [...] in happiness▪
[...] in this Dust bed,
[...]

On another▪ serv'd after the same cruel manner.

THe fates of late have made a Mint,
And [...] pale▪ fac't Image in't:
We'r all their Tenants, and must pay
Our lives for Rent: Souls are their prey;
Sickness is their Apostle, sent
For to possess their Tenement▪
Death did abbreviate his life,
And bequeath'd Glory for his Wife.

Ʋpon one who died, and never lived after it.

PUt on thy mourning Clothes my Muse, come cry,
If thou canst weep for Him in sympathy▪
Tears have their Tunes▪ whose musick in sad cries
Is warbled forth by watry Elegies.
Nature hath giv'n our Organs leave to play
Loth to depart, Loth to depart away:
But all in vain; Death ha's long since compounded
For
Higgle­dy piggle­dy.
Clergy-Lay, both Cavalier, and Round-head.

A New-years Gift.

Sing this to the dismal Tune of the Lady and Blackamore.
NO Venus Gloves, or Lady's
Viz. A switch­lock.
Lock,
I here present to thee:
I give a Damask Rose of Love,
Mine Heart, keep it for me.
Hearts are best New-year's Gifts 'mongst friends,
In giving mine I'le please;
Return me yours, then so shall I
From You receive
A flower that sel­dom grew in the Au­thors gar­den.
Heart's-ease.

On a Royall Person that disguis'd himself.

GIve
The Au­thor was going to dinner when he made these
thanks my Muse, let Bells the Changes
Charles is made Secretary to the King.
My Faith is huddled up in sense, I see ring:
A Revelation in this Mysterie.
Here's sweet meats for all hungry
[Eyes] for [tongues] a very Fi­gure:
Eyes, come feed,
First bless your food, and then rehearse your Creed.
The clearest Vision in a drouzie Trance,
Wisdom inwrap't in dusky Ignorance:
A Coppy of a King, which sure was writ
In Bastard hand; part true, part counterfeit.
In a Jew's coat a Gentile, change the stile,
And on his face you may throw Cross, and Pile.
A Prince shrivell'd to a great-man, in a Damp
Of spirits he's shrunk to one of Nabal's stamp.
[Page] Majesty droops by a fantastick Wile;
The Holy Ci [...] imprison'd in a Tile▪
Jew Christianiz'd▪ ô! that he should (
A won­derful thing, that▪ a King should be a man.
a man)
Be bound up like to Mahomets Alkoran!
My prating eyes tell tales; how can I write?
A Devout Saint, an hotehpot Hypocrite!
His Habit preach't to us, and did dispense
The holy Scriptures in a doubtful sense;
Art, by its Sophistry did him deface,
Making him cast a Deuce upon an Ace.
Bring here an Heralds Grammar; shew the Rules,
Why Sables makes a Comment upon Gules?
When Stuart could not fly from Charles, then he
Through Arts temptation acts Adultery
With his own self; and so in fine I rate
Him base begot, though most Legitimate.
When I look up, with him my thoughts commence,
Who by tranfiguration parted hence.
Mutation strange! None e're did read of this
In
And a good rea­son too; for the King liv'd a little▪ while af­ter Ovid.
Poet Naso's Metamorphosis.
Like as the Sun, before it sets, that shrowds,
And muffles up its brighter face in Clouds:
Those loyal Mourners that attend its fall,
And go in
What should they go in else? in Blues?
Blacks unto his Funeral:
Even so did he o'recast the Heavenly Lamp
Of's Countenance by glozing a new stamp
For Charles the King; and so appear'd to be
A Bird of Prey, Plum'd like a
A strange Bird hard­ly to be found in Paradise.
Pharisee.
Could I but pip my Phrase, I should not sin
To say, the Mixt Assembly's met in Him:
My saucy Muse ha's fed so on his face,
Pardon (great Sir) if I forget my Grace.

The Common Fire.

The Au­thor is teaching his Muse to swim, and so gives her good coun­sel.
HOld up thy head my Muse, and walk aloof
I'th Spanish mode; here's Boyes are armour proof▪
Against all petty Pistol Rimes; do'nt venter
Them to assail with such: for they'l not enter.
First levy all thy force, then give thy Darts
License to tope the Gravy of their Hearts.
Turn Mountebank for once; command my Pen
Which nature Squir'd to
Now he barks, bow wow.
mouth out Gentlemen
In various colours: such is this noble Rout,
I must speak often, yet not speak them out.
Like an unskill'd Carver, who can't hit the point,
Unless he first doth Cuckold the poor Joynt.
Tune then some Janus Rimes, that two fac't Wit
Ey'd on both sides such fashion'd heads doth fit,
Whose profound learning none can roundly praise,
Unless his Verses
Back­stroke, and forestroke, like a bell.
sound alikc both wayes.
Saint now the Devil Poet which doth fence
Bis Cloven Rimes with an united Sense.
That Grecian Eccho which hous'd in the Roof
Of Him, which did ev'n stone it with reproof,
Did sound, and build up it's cur'st Landlords name,
By frequent repetitions of the same;
This, this it is which must be crown'd with Bayes,
And all your names with much advantage raise.
The fore-front man starts me, whose head is letter'd
1.
With Attick Characters, not with them fetter'd
[Page]Like those clogg'd Pates, whose mute wants are
exprest
By th' loud tongu'd Pastboard hung before their Mother,
brest.
That proud Greek sister-hood, which disclaim'd their
Quickly fell out, and would not own each other.
See they shake off their Mam's old clothes, as fetters
But
I think he means [effemina­ted] 'tis a difficult place this!
petticoat themselves with different Letters;
Shifting their Dialects, (even as Proteus he
New-fac'd himself with Form's variety.)
Hence cruel Wars were nurs'd: until it's quill
In making Peace it's dearest blood did spill:
Nor may I chain him up to words: He's one
Cut out for Rhetorick's living Mansion.
If Ages could retreat, and sum their store
Of elegant Aires to hatch an Oratour.
If
A short expression for [look­ing cun­ningly.]
squinting Time could backwards run, and bring
Up in it's front, those wits, which once did spring;
Should all conspire to Man-midwife a spirit,
They could not reach one of his worth, and merit?
For why? more Rhetoricians meet in Him
Then e're at once did in our Tripos Limbe.
Face about now (my Muse) and view the next;
2.
Expound him fully, but don't name the Text;
One
Some read it [doublet­ted.]
coated up in Mists, we can't a Glance
Of Him, unless we'l pry through Ignorance;
Thus the world's Goggle Eye sometimes appears
At the first sight, strait swaddled up in tears.
Thus pale-fac'd Cynthia black-bagg'd in Clouds,
Doubles her form when she her self unshrowds.
That changeling soul mov'd slow pac't: but his skips
Through all the
Datur penetratio dimensio­num ergò falleris.
Bodies of letter'd Manuscripts,
[Page]Of Tongues of Babel paramount in Him,
In Judgement He outvies the Sanhedrim;
String then his Judges, hang them on his fist,
That glittring Bracelet well becomes his Wrist.
Call an high Court of
For [Arts and Sciences] by a Fi­gure call'd Metathesis
Sciences and Arts,
In full mouth'd praises let them breath their parts.
One to whom Nature ha's bequeath'd her store,
And Godmother'd his tongue an Oratour,
Ʋnlike to him whose found-lung'd Eloquence,
Doth often gape for a full pointed sense:
I speak him faintly, si'th I am not fed
With th'
☜ 3.
Pamper'd Air, that Rome's vast Rostrum bred;
An health to that merry Boy, who tunes the spheres,
And makes my soul lie listning in my ears:
Orpheus reviv'd, 'fore whom the Air doth prance,
And Musicks
In plain English Fiddles.
wooden, Carcasses do dance▪
Knowledge ingrost! whose soul is fit to be
A sprightful seed-plot of all History;
I may not bless Him, as I've blest the rest;
For He holds nought in Common with the rest.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * 4. * * * Caetera desiderantur. * * *

Ʋpon my Mothers running Eyes; presented to her for a New-years Gift.

LEt your eyes drop, he that for
Sucking bottles for new-borne pigs.
Bottles seeks,
Shall find two Twins a hanging in your Cheeks;
Which Nature bare, and whilst she lay abed,
Venus a Nurse became, and colour'd Red,
[Page]You heart's fire stills the moisture of your brain,
Through your Eyes Liimbeck which doth drop
al. An Ocean.
amain:
And whil'st your lungs the fire doth gently blow,
Eye-water drops into your
He mea­neth her blinde cheeks.
Cheeks below.
The running of your Eyes doth sure maintain,
That you within have got a Curdled Brain.
Within those Windows Fancy oft was fed,
In which that Spider spins a watry web;
Your Eyes are pregnant with those drops, and cry
Out for your help in their Delivery:
Their circled motion turns each beam-like thred
Into a skain of spirituall white-brown-thred;
Which Nature's Semstress uses when she knits
Each object to her in fantastick fits.
Their Still may leak; but ne're those waters can
Quite overflow your little
His mo­thers belly
Isle of Man.
Scollars want Gold, therefore their Brains they
sift,
To strain for friends the finest New-year's-gift:
And so want I; therefore my wit I
Thats' a nasty word.
poop
The mellow Apples of your Eyes to scoop
With this my Pen, which in your brine I sop,
Which Dripping bast's your raw cheeks while they
drop.
If for your sins, then let Susanna's eye
Drop more such Beads for Heaven's Rosary.

On a Blackamore Maid courting me▪
A Dialogue.

KEep
The Ket­tle calls the Pottage­pot burnt arse.
off, thy Chimney hue offends,
From which (like smoke) thy breath ascends.
Author.
My Breath is smoke; hence is my smart,
Black­more.
That fire within burns up mine Heart.
The Fire of Love I cannot see,
A.
Aegyptian darkness hinders me.
This Darkness will soon pass away,
B.
If thy Sun but afford one Ray.
My Sun of Beauty is not seen,
A.
If thy dark Body comes between.
My Body's dark, but if thy Light
B.
Shine clear, it cannot force a night,
When I would view thy Sloe-like eyes,
A.
Mists from thy Moorish face do rise.
Clear dayes of Love these Mists foretell;
B.
For Heat of Love shall them expell.
But thou art Black, and wilt disgrace
A.
The pure whiteness of my face.
I'me Black, then let it be my lot,
B.
To serve for you a Beauty spot.
Thou art both Black, and what is worse,
A.
Thou'rt clouded in thy Countrey's curse.
The best clothes Nature to thee gave,
Are but sad Emblemes of a Grave.
I'me clad in Black; Black's mine aray,
B.
Hence I go mourning every day.
[Page]Flay my black coat, apparel me
With thy white Robe of Purity.
I am thine Ʋmbra, take delight
To diaper my black with white.
Come then, let's crisp, and curle in pleasure,
A.
Our spotless loves shall keep no measure.
Thy comely blackness doth much grace
The sober sadness of thy face,
Thy black is subtle, thin; and rare,
A Film-hood (such Queen
His [...] ha's now hopt into a Costard­mongers Basket▪
Apples wear
To hide a Blush!) a Cobweb'd skreen,
Through which thy luster's clearly seen.
Thou'rt veil'd and shadowed in my sight,
Ile dapple o're thy shade with light.
Let's twist our souls then: one spickled ray
B.
Will force for us a Wedding day.
Make haste my Love: my panting soul
Dies, if we still live on Parol.

On a Reputed Courtezan.

To the Tune of the Mad Mans Morris.
SOme say that you a Book have been
Handled in sheets. Aha!
Then sure I cannot
But he might ride by Sea thither.
go by Sea
To your Virginea.
A Man in your Moon there hath been,
Hence men disdain your scorns:
[Page]Your Moon of Beauty is at
Not at Empty.
full,
And hath late shed its horns.
Let Incubus ride thy Hackney-soul,
Till death doth claim its share.
In thee: And mayest thou ever serve▪
For a Common Thorow-fare.

On a Gentleman that gave me a Bent Sixpence.

HEnce ye Tin-Merchant Poets: quickly hence,
You who pay silver by your Cornish pence.
Thus Hypocrites golden favours represent
By a Bath-yellow-sandy Complement:
But he that would your kindness full express,
Must first know how to swell in golden verse.
'T would pose an whole-sale Poet for to fit
Me with fine Phrase out of his store of wit,
To set your favour off: but his Art fails,
Where nought but all the Muses power prevails.
Could I but mouth it stoutly, then perhaps
I'de flash in wit, and crack in Thunder-claps
Of Rimes, as Ʋshers to a show'r of verse.
But that shall be your debtour to your Herse.
My left-handed success to raise my state,
Shall never vote your good will out of Date.
I do pursue your favour by the
Brave Jowlet▪
scent,
And finde it in your bosome resident.
[Page]He that by words seeks you to recompence;
Soils Diamonds with a Bristol Eloquence.

The Drone's Indictment of the Bee.

THe Bee arreign'd at Natures
Not Gum wa­ter.
Size,
For robbing Flora's Paradise,
Tuning his humms in goodly sort,
Makes a dayes journey to the Court.
Where with his Life-guard he appears,
And all the Drone's Indictments hears.
Enter Drone.
Indict. 1.
She ransackt gardens, and by stealth,
Did fill her bag with Flora's wealth;
And (lest it should be searched for)
Turns Coats: her Argent into Or.
Indict. 2.
She did deflower the beautious fields;
And tyth'd the Crop which Ceres yields.
Indict. 3.
She watcht where Flora's childe did lie
And stole 'way her
And that was a fire bit.
Virginity.
Indict. 4.
She Counterfeits Dame Nature's mold,
And guilds her Coin with yellow Gold.
At Nature's Bar this pretty Elf
Turns Lawyer, and pleads for it self.
Plea. 1.
Whilst Cloris liv'd, to me she sold
The Gardens for a Copy-hold:
And when Deaths Bed did her embrace
With the Green Sickness in her face;
Her Love being dead, my Landlady
By a Fee simple gave't to me.
Plea. 2.
The Fields for Commons, and her Bed,
Plea. 3.
To take her Daughters
Female, with Fe­male! sure­ly this Bee had a Pego
Maiden-head.
Plea. 4.
'Ere since, I Natures Student try
Mine Art in natural Chymistry.
At this the Drone pluckt in his head,
The Bees did hum, and humming fled.
[Page]The Mistress now being all alone,
Doth sue an Out-law for the Drone;
Who said he stole, and brake the Peace,
'Cause he held Land by Parol Lease.

Well then.

This Natures Leveller now returns,
To lie with Flora's Maid she burns:
She flames with lust, and void of strife,
Doth lead a most licentious life.
What a devilish Lecher was this Bee?
Every Maiden flower she meet,
She ravishes whilst that she greets,
She breaks into Diana's grove,
And all about the Woods doth rove:
Her wings turn Fans to cool her face,
Whilst that by Zeal she courts her grace.
She woes her Virgins to the Springs,
And them defiles; whilst that she sings,
The expans'd sweetness that doth lie
Wrapt up in Flora's Library.
In every Folio Schollar-wise
She doth her use Epitomize.
She extracts Honey from the Bay
[ Horse,] and makes a Blur where was a Gay.
Here's nothing but who­ring and drinking.
She turns a Tapster to the Vine,
And quaffs the best of Flora's Wine.
The Woodbines pulse by a sense he feels,
Tippling in Pleasure till he reels.
The Indian sweets he tastes, and strains
Free quarter on th' Arabian Plains.
All the day long he swills delight,
Till th' evening cools his Appetite.

Ʋpon Mr. John Cleeveland, my quondam Chamber-fellow.

Dear Jack!
COme on brave spirit; help me thy name to dress;
Lest I blaspheme thee with my home-spun verse▪
Reach me a deep-mouth'd Quill; and let me write
Thee out at
Thus; (viz. t-h-c-e.
length: a short-breath'd Epithite
Will not suit you: He that would sound thy praise,
Must court in Aristophanes his phrase;
Whose words command a Parliament of Letters;
That lie imprison'd in their Attick Fetters.
Shelton's short cramped fist, can ne're grasp thee,
Who far excel'st all such Semigraphy.
Text onely
Where note the Texttakes some; and the Devil takes others.
takes you. He that doth dispence
With that short-handed new found Eloquence,
Bespeaks but a poor Brieve for thy large praise;
And makes thee go a begging for thy Dayes.
Call him th' Muses Metaphysick Reader,
Of all the Poets Troup stile him the Leader;
Who with rare Novelties baffles the Sense
Of the busie pated Weeks intelligence,
For the Diurnal's kin doth scrutiny,
Makes it possess its rug'd Genealogy.
We date not higher, lest I my Ink should spill,
And force his try'd Committee to my Quill,
Whose blockish heads may they Cambado'd be
With Leather patcht claim their leir legs property,
And still wear Caps cut out of some Bulls Coat,
Thong-buckled under their conscientious Throat.
[Page]Beside (Great Sir) good wit in these our times,
With wisdom must be cloath'd as well as Rimes:
The Muses sure will worship at thy shrine,
Who are well man'd by thee: for since the Nine
Drunk in thy spirits, which trickled through thy quill,
Bald-pate
It want­ed a Pe­riwig.
Parnassus is a Cuckold-Hill,
And hugs his Horns, waxing most proud, that he
Cornuted was by such an one as thee.
I must needs falter now: Negations are
The best sad clothes that ever Angels wear;
These now are dumb, if not he scorns their speeches,
Having cast off such precise Logick Breeches,
Spun of old
A new kinde of Stuff, a-la mode.
Ignorance, which can't him unwind,
Unless he'l be penuriously defin'd.
Those gaudy Negatives which titely dress
A living spirit, him onely dead express:
His shame-fac'd wit its countenance doth shroud,
Like as the Sun when mantled in a Cloud.
'Tis dark, and veil'd, till the illustrious sense
Wrapt in Ink Clouds by a wise Intelligence
Is quite unbodied; then it shews its face
Through that black mask of Letters with much grace.
Thou'rt gon men say, this is no news to me,
I deem this Land far too hide-bound for thee,
Who strides to Heaven in one Poetick story,
And makes the world but a scant Promontory.
Let that
al. The Pocky Ec­cho.
French Eccho, which preaches out of holes
And makes long-winded Sermons to All Souls
Which thither throng; let that extend thy merit,
Not as 'tis inspir'd by a common spirit;
Mean while your silenc'd
Mark that well.
Minister Ile be.
Since Learning's Body is condens'd in Thee.

On the ingenuous Poet Mr. Cowley.
A Pyndarique Ode.

I Can't now comprehend unless I'me taught
To write a strein above my self, aloft:
If that my Muse would honour him with a Song,
It must first learn to chat in th' Hebrew tongue.
Stand off thou
One Bil­lingsley wrote a Martyro­logy in Verse, Anno 1657.
Poetaster from the Press,
Who pygni'st Martyrs with thy dwarf-like verse
Whose white, long bearded flame of Zeal aspires,
To wrack their Ashes, more than did their Fires.
Confine not this our Poet to thy Black, durty Ink,
Lest thou bespot his name, and make it stink.
Hand then at Quill that's plundred in the fight
Of Mercury, whil'st he beat's by flight.
He muster'd up the Forces of his Armes,
Ordred each Wing for to escape the charms
Of the easie conquer'd Air, and shall not I
Alarum now the Muses Chevalry?
And beat up the Head-quarters of my strength,
Whose power drawn out, may help my soul at length,
To finde his Ambuscado'd Verses out,
Which on all sides besiege me round about.
2.
I here condemn plain Seneca's crumpled style,
And Sentence, Cicero's longer by a mile.
For neither span'd him; none can speak his worth
More fully, then a stiff-neck't Holder forth,
[Page]Who draws his mouth at large, spins out his lungs
And ne're is tir'd with tuning holy Songs,
Whose surly Ela's note he far exceeds,
For body'd Angels cloth'd in Ladies
In con­tradistin­ction to Ladies Flowers.
weeds
Can only throat him, whose virtues cannot brook
A spirit's knowledge through a single look.
That vaste Triumvirate's Poetique hand
Which dig'd graves for lost sense in words, is damn'd
By Him, and must at last grant His the better,
Who buries Mysteries in every letter.
3.
Antiquity is fettred in their Verses:
O baw­dry!
Long hangers on each side the Printer Presse's,
Rais'd on the Publique Faith, for the defence
Of their benighted, and most doubtfull sense:

But stay!

That jolly Trine if any Eye will round,
A
Sure the Authour's wits went on wool­gathering here.
flock of Books in sheep's clothes may be found:
But his Muse mounts enrob'd in Noon-day glory,
Candied with light, as if his head were heary.
First dipped in those sacred streams with thee,
And when grown up coated with purity.
His Fancy in
Now he conjures.
Black-art mourning owns the name
Of a dark lanthorn'd Dungeon to a flame.
Whilest I the letters, and the clear sense finde;
My weaker Eye can't reach the Soul behinde.
So that in reverence my head is bow'd,
Thinking of Juno clothed in a Cloud.
Like that dunc't wit, how does my willing hand
Scribble that out, which I
Sanat confessio crimen.
can't understand I
[Page]For feigned ill Husbandry let none thee mock,
VVho ever heard that Poets e're did smock
Their naked coin in Napkins: frank they be
Both of their Jests, and of their Money free.
4.
That Ethnick Priest which did attire his Pelf
All this I don't un­derstand.
VVith th' same Trunk-breeches which he wore him­self.
VVhilst in his wooden Pulpit stuff apparel'd
Did seem a Hogshead in an Hogshead barrel'd:
Had he but known the Grecian would disjoynt,
And burst in two stout Vulcan's Iron point,
VVhich tied th' luxurious placquet of his Chest
In th' Italian Mode, that deifi'd it might rest
Coop't up t' one master: that subtle Cub
Had strait unbutton'd the Codpiss of his Tub,
And brok up his soon cooled Zeal in haste
To save his Gold from running out in th'waste,
I dare not Poet christen him by birth,
VVho Atheist like ador'd that guilded Earth;
This onely common I hold fast with thee,
I scorn such dirt, and worship Poetrie.
A Knocking
A Ring for the Author—
Poet sure, who joyntly beds
Nine lusty Girles, which bow their Maiden-heads
To Him, and straightway left the Sacred Hill
For to attend upon his sainted Quill.
Could my weak fluttring soul to heaven flie,
Through the shuffled Clouds of Maskt Divinity,
Begot by him; there then my Muses
Olet lucernam.
taper
Breathing its last, would from its socket caper;
To see a vision of him in a sound,
VVould in deep contemplation my soul drown'd.

Against froathy Wits.

I Like not such, who do not fear
By Juno's Pantofles to swear;
Yea, even by Styx, to brag most cruel,
That a Quart of Ceres Water-grewel
Will make their Wits to run so fleet,
That they'l spue Verses without
Here the Authours Muse is not trou­bled with corns.
feet.

Against stealing Wits.

I Dislike those make Mercury their Chief,
Clodius accusat Maechos.
And quote him, as their Captain Thief;
Under whose colours they commence
Masters of pilfer'd Eloquence.
To cheat mens Works they've got a trick
By Handy Dandi'd Rhetorick:
Who wit in Tympany do spawl,
Like a big belly'd Corporal,
Whose girded waste while it doth hope
For a far larger Horoscope,
At drinking time doth quite disjoynt,
And crack in twain his
Made of a piece of pack-thred
Codpiss-point:
So they like to the women train,
With crisped ties hair-lace their Brain;
And cap their Blocks, lest that their wits
should run a gadding in mad fits:
But ne'retheless they cry [ more scope,]
And slack their brains for want of Rope,
[Page]To raise their Jests, whilest they would spand
A world of wit, with their short hand.
The doun of Proteus woolen Pelt
Made up in fashion of a felt;
Wilt suit their bald-pates, which do rig
Each mans hair for a Perriwig;
To hide their shame, but do not cry,
Or startle at
That is stealing of Books.
Book Felony,
Such er'wig'd theives, that lie in lurch,
We'l yirk with the Mercurian Birch;
And put their ranging wits in pound,
For breaking into others ground.
But if they'l not corrected be,
We'l hang them on the Daphnean-tree

Against Antiquarians.

I Like not time observers of our age,
VVho bring up
'Tis plain here, that he means the Prae­adamitae.
Adam on the Stage;
And by their too long wasted crime,
Blab what was done before his time.
If you'l but crown their heads with Bayes,
They'l publish th' Acts of Joan Popes dayes:
They raise up Antiques from the Grave,
To fright away the wit they have.
They tell of Ixion in a fog
And a blinde tale of Tobits
They had read the Apocrapha
Dog.
They worship every Ancients shrine,
And kneel before the Grecian wine.
They've top'd so much old Massick Ale,
Their running wits are now grown stale.

[Page]On the Death of his good old Tutour, Mr. G. S. of W. C.

I Keep a Fast day: now mine eyes repent,
A shower of tears falls from my
Read it funda­ment.
Firmament:
Come paint him out (my Muse) let tears now blush,
And force his sable Cheeks to wear
A kinde of wear like black Skarlet.
gules Plush.
Come scan your sobs; come steep your eyes in
That's a good way to be blind indeed.
Brine,
My eyes shall weep for him red Musca-[dell]-dine.
But here (alas) the dew that oft doth fall
From th' region of mine Eyes
Where note, that tears are not Aqua vitae.
cannot recall
Him unto life: since he hath try'd the mote
Round Pluto's house in Charon's Ferry-boat.
His gozling soul long sate in's bodies Tree,
VVhilest that the fates hist at's felicity:
At length being fledg'd by Age, it soon got loose,
Dropt into Styx, and turn'd a gagling Goose.
Now grazing pleasure in the Elisian Fields,
It reaps that bliss that Jove's green medow yields.
The Popes base breasts of sin he did not nurse,
Though he adjur'd him by his triple Curse.
Of's learning let none doubt, he's dead and gone,
VVho was whilst here a
Now he's a dead Helicon it seems.
living Helicon.
To the Pegasides he was a Groom,
The Muses made his Head their Dining-room.
The Synagogue of Arts he did adore,
But now no
No, nor Science neither.
Art can him to life restore.
Great Rhetorician sure: and now we see,
That death doth prove to him a
Because you know Syncope tollit de medio: there's the wit.
Syncope.
Praise is his debt: his debts I care not for,
Since Death by right was his Executor.

[Page] Ʋpon an Hermophradite seen in Cornwall, who went under the shape of a Woman, and yet was no Woman: is not that strange

MAn's of the
So are some wo­men too.
Common Gender: no strange sight,
That Homo's split into Hermophradite.
Nature coyn'd Male and Female in a spleen,
So her first stamp was purely Epicene.
Both kindes (in vertue) she in man did twist,
And now here's one turn'd Adam's Formalist.
She did allow the Banes; and so this Elf
Can't commit Fornication with her self.
Stay Hymens Priest, here is no need of you,
Since Nature finisht that which you should do.
O rare Artess! your fingers sure did itch,
When that you wrought this piece in
Other­wise cal'd Rugwork, or, stript. carpetting
Irish stitch.
Spread-Eagle like, whose members all do wed
In one body, a Separatist in's head.
VVhilst Venus for most share in it did fight,
Mars stepping in half stew'd it Heteroclite.
John claims a right in Jone's
Meum & tuum.
crackt Maiden-head;
Zeal them betroth'd, and time them married.
Like man and wife in concord they agree;
From Mars and Venus sprang sweet Harmony,
In Morpheus reign when Nature seem'd to slumber,
It kept in Sex, what then it lost in number.
Venus let fall her Garter in a Plot,
To tie these two in one true Lovers knot.
Nature did change its own command, and feature,
VVhen it did weave this linsie-woolsie creature,
[Page]Great Boreas blustres in a sweat, when he
Casts up the Spanish Genet's Pedegree,
Whose Compater he is, and now's grown bold
To
The Au­thour ex­cepts fart­ing.
cough, and sneeze, since that he catcht a cold.
A furious North-wind from my mouth will blow:
Yea more then Boreas I shall puff, and blow,
If I should undertake to state the Nation,
From whence first came this coddled generation.
As for this Bastard brood which is our Theme,
The mother did conceive it in a dream,
Whil'st that the
Surely he means the night­wizzard, for a witch is a wo­man, and a woman can't—
night-witch rid her, and so she
Produc'd of Sexes a Plurality.
She clucking for to sit, the wandring God
Sent his Night-raven for to have her trod.
And whil'st she cackling to his God-head pray'd,
An Egg with two crowns tipt she kern'd, and laid,
And so hatch't it, by whose heat in the shell,
'Twas half sod Hen; half poach't a Cockerell;
And though nick-nam'd, a Female it doth go,
Yet 'mongst the Cocks it hath a man-like Crow.
By the strange motion of the Sun and Moon,
She rose, and went to bed at Tillain-noon.
All Coin is naught with Parents, 'less it cary
The perfect Image of
Gram­mercy Mr. Cleveland
Philip and Mary;
And that they still might bear this in their minde,
Nature it mint's and payes them in their kinde.
O happy Soul! Cynthia will ne're scare thee
With Bug-bear words, for Cod-piss thievery.

The Close of all; being an Admo­nition to the Reader, not to envy his Poems.

LEt no Christian that hath true grace,
View these with a
'Tis no matter with what Eyes he look on't.
Malignant face;
But pray that Heaven their lights would snuff,
'Cause Satan playes at Blind-man-buff
With men, and hood's their Intellects,
Casting up Cock-all for those Sects.
By which the Au­thor means the end of the Book. FINIS.

TWO EXACT CHARACTERS, One of a Temporizer.

The other of an Antiquarian.

— Notus nimis omnibus Ignotus moriar mihi.—
[figure]

Printed by the same Order.

THE CHARACTER OF A Temporizer.

HE is One, that is alwayes in fa­shion; though Time puts on New Clothes every Day. He is divided from none more then himself. He is a Spawn of Janus the name of a fish, yclepped, A Cods­head. Janus, who prefac't His Old Vi­sage with a New mode, according to the season of the Year; or as some would have it, shifted His Countenance against Quarter Day. If I would speak him fully, I must Weather-cock my Phrase, to wait upon the unconstant Wind. What He but now ap­plauded, He strait snarles at, and with Ri­gour condemns. Like that Stout Letter'd [Page] If any one can bring the sense of this to the Cryer, he shall be well paid for his pains Trencher Man, who for Theevery burnt the Innocent Board, which before by its harsh Pa­rent was branded, though He himself allowed of the action, as appeared by the Clergy of Let­ters, written in fair Characters on the Accu­sants, Frontispice, that backt with a full Sto­mach Where note, Mi­nerva's stomack is in her back. Minerva did plead for the Damn'd In­strument, meerly passive in the Fellony. Look in his face, and you may see what a Clock 'tis though the Sun don't Shine: When He holds up His noddle, then 'tis towards Noon­day Glory with him. When He casts it downwards, and doubles His Shadow (for He himself's no better) then you may guess, that the Sun is declining upon him. He hath enacted materia prima, Queen Regent of all Forms, whilst he personally stands Her Ri­val Probationer, and proves himself capable to be crowned with every one of them, un­less it bee a Rational one. To name Him Proteus is too much to All to whoop him. hallow Him: for He Turn-Coats Himself, facing the Ancient Mat­ter with a New fashion'd shape, which flatly fall's out with the former: But our Theam new moulds it self yet to the sight remains the Old man still. We'l coat Him for one with Aeneus Gift, who is already Winter­clothed with Rapes from others of all kinds, [Page] and may at length stretch for them, if He timely betakes not himself to Long-Lane for a Larger, and A Clook in Folio. deeper volum'd Cloak to cover His Knavery. This Temporizing Turky-Cock, he charges His wing'd Forces, and mounts His Crescent Tail, as Hannibal did His half- moon'd Motley Army, against all that appear in Scarlet, unless they be of his own In th' Author's country there are Scarlet Turky­cocks. Gender. A Babel of opinions lie grip't up in this Religions Amsterdam'd He means Cobler. Translator, who, if we consider as new Sold, with his Leathern converted Ears, is alwayes Cat­terwouling for Union: though he himselfe proves a Breeder of discord. His Judgement and Conscience are great Separatists one from another; what the one approves of, the other by are flect Act in greatest detestation bannes back again; in which He murders the Intention of the wise One, who hath plac't a rectified Intellect in the Fore-front of the soul, to guide the underlin faculties in their Actions. But why talk I of a Rectifi­ed Judgement to Him, who is from Heaven curst with its contrary: so that 'tis no wonder that those Twins, which are familiar Cronies in others, turne Aliens in Him. He can pa­tiently put on the gaudy Materiality of a Bi­shoprick, but as for the Formality of it, down with that Bloody Whore of Babylon. He [Page] begets a brood which are ready to pick out his very eyes, like to those Church-going Ethnick souls, who viewing their Mistresses▪ do ( as I may say with modesty) Forni­cation is no immo­dest A­ction. commit forni­cation with the Virgin Pewes; which com­mon actions makes Nature sometimes in her operations Shitt. work backward, and the Males bring forth a spurious off-spring of Retrograding Animals, which in a short time do attempt Orestes-like, the devouring of their Tweak­ers by Jove▪ rampant Genitals, Misconstrue me not, gentle Reader, I challenge any car­ping Paedagogue of them all, to Wrymouth this last sentence into prophanenesse; yet in that point I cannot match him, who is Religions Litter'd The Dutch­womens issue of the DIL­DO. Sooterkin kindled by the Stove of his own counterfeit Zeal. If this prodigious Shark had appeared in Thessaly▪ mounted on one of the winds Spanish race, the silly people with more reason had Cen­taur'd the Epithite in Surnaming him Mon­strous. Certainly when Nature pen'd him out, she had an eye to the Exampler of Di­velish A De­scription of this Chara­cter. Nonsence, written on Queens Col­lege Library's Dutch paper Walls. She hath so articulately pointed him out the Coppy, that the confus'd Original seems in him in some measure understood: she begun with his Feet, those gouty emblems of his Hands, [Page] where she finger'd his Toes; from thence she ascends, and makes his Knees wear Points▪ and so upwards she Comma's every bending joynt, till towards the ending of her work she infers his long sentenc't Nose within the Hairy Parenthesis of his Eye-brows; so she proceeds stopping the course of his ram­bling Eyes with a Colon, which with Sir re­verence. Reve­rence behold his wide gaping Mouth, where Nature wisely makes a full stop, else she had never enjoyed Rest all her life time. He hath no valour and yet hee'l vie with That is when he gave Da­nae a clap, not a thunder clap: now this same Jupiter was a de­vilish whorema­ster, &c. see Far­naby upon O­vid Met. Ju­piter to ruffle in a Golden storme, so that he may Bride his Love and wear such glittering apparrel on Holy dayes. I cannot Nick-name him, if I Epicaene the Press, and Godfather hic et haec Homo, a A Dog and Bitch. Hee and shee Man. He is a Candidate capable of no other, but In­fant Moderne Nobility which savours too much of Parchment, and Shrivels into no­thing, even as the Matter deceases out of which it was created. He's a right Anti­quarian in this, that he loves to pursue Ru­ines. And because I'me hardly intreated by a One Jack Sa­turday. Friend, I shall attempt the description of an Antiquarian: neither shall I much vary from the Matter in Hand, if I proceed from a Fool to an A Wit▪ Antique.

THE CHARACTER OF AN Antiquarian.

HE is a Cornish Pedling Historian; for as that Country's Dwarf Merchant, grow great Stone­cutters. monumental Trades­men by degrees, with picking their scattered livings from Quarries; so our Theme blisters to a considerable Historian, by rifling the stones for History. Nay such is his fletch't Impiety, that the pure Ashes of the Dead do not scape his Inquisition; hence 'tis he vexes the Tombs for almost mortified Inscrip­tions, and sacril [...]giously steals that away from them, which did both cover and compre­hend them. That A cer­tain kind of Ver­mine that hath ne're a letter in his name. unletter'd Vermine which [Page] daily Diets and waxes fat on Letters, de­vours more learning in his progress through a Book, than he by all his jumbling produ­ctions begets, of his own, in his whole life time. That ceremonious Soul which idola­trously worship't the Gentlewomans thred­bare Garment, might have quietly kist her Rear, which questionless was the senior of the two, wip'd his Mouth with her Petticoated Antiquity, and so had escap'd without a dry'd jeer and like a good Husband have sa­ved his prodigal Breath to cool his Pottage. I wonder, as there is an Order for the ex­tirpation of Papists out of this Land, that Antiquarians are not inserted amongst that Roman zealous crew; for they are both sin­ners of the same stock, (viz.) Worshippers of Graven-Images; and without equivocation, breakers of the second Commandement. With what reverence do they put off their Heads to any old broken-snooted similitude▪ but that sacred Antiquated Table to whom they ought devoutly to doff their Fe [...]ts The poorer sort of the Author's country­men wear caps upon their shoes, to conceal the holes at their toes. Caps, they slightly pass by, without the least Ethick Nod of due respect, had not a reverent Madam prov'd a shee patron to some Zealots in this Doctrine: Had not other more noble Learning club'd to the [Page] preservation of his memorable name, cer­tainly it long e're this had been buried with his Beard-shavings, in Oblivion. Praise­worthy onely this, that by Art he confines a Cluster of Ages into the narrow Compass of his own. Like that Artificer which but­ton'd up a full Dozen of Silver Spoons in a Diminutive Box. But more like that Peo­ple, which teach their Beds contraction, whose drouzy Pates may be truly said to lie in their Pockets all the Day. Now I think on't, how verily do my two Theams agree? 'Tis no wonder, good Wits alwayes jump: Like Castor and Pollux, Brethren in Ini­quity, how do they crisp embraces? They both keep a general meeting in this, that they are Men of the Times; a pair of petty Haberdasher'd Chronologers, which keep a cir­cumspect Mysteries all! notary of Novelties, that so he may the better see which way the Winde fits. But Characters should be short-handed, therefore take this for a parting blow. May the Beasts once cast off those thick skin'd Vapours, which smoaking upwards, do shadow their dull brains. Or were they by some Chymist Hat-maker extracted, those reaking fumes by the Artist condens'd, and modified, would very handsomely beaver [Page] their Blocks, and fit them as neatly, as e're the ancient Black-capt Cloud did the Divine Temple.

My Muses feet would surely have slipt, if I had (as I was desired) attempted these Rocks in Verse, without a liberal expence of Vinegar'd The Au­thour doth not accu­stome him­self to piss in his stan­dish. Ink, the defect of which (cry mer­cy) I might have supply'd out of the Foun­tain-head of their sower Looks.

Sic explicit Antiquarius.
FINIS.

BOOKS PRINTED FOR Nath. Brook, And are to be sold at his Shop at the Angel in Cornhill.

Courteous Reader, These Books following are print­ted for Nath. Brook, and are to be sold at his Shop at the Angel in Cornhill.

Excellent Tracts in Divinity, Controversies, Sermons, Devotions.
  • THe Catholique History collected and ga­thered out of Scripture, Councils, and Ancient Fathers, in Answer to Dr. Vane's Lost Sheep returned home: by Edward Chesensale, Esq Octavo.
  • 2. Bishop Morton on the Sacrament, in Folio.
  • 3. The Grand Sacriledge of the Church of Rome; in taking away the sacred Cup from the Laity at the Lords Table; by Dr. Featley, DD. Quarto.
  • 4. The Quakers Cause at second hearing, being a full answer to their Tenets.
  • [Page]5. Re-assertion of Grace: Vindiciae Evangelii, or the Vindication of the Gospel: a Reply to Mr. Anthony Burghess Vindiciae Legis, and to Mr. Ruth­ford, by Robert Town.
  • 6. Anabaptists anatomized and silenced: or, a Dispute with Mr. Tombs, by Mr. J. Grag; where all may receive clear satisfaction in that Contro­versie. The best extant, Octavo.
  • 7. A Glimpse of Divine Light, being an Expli­cation of some passages exhibited to the Commis­sioners at White-Hall for Approbation of Publique Preachers, against J. Harrison of Land Chap. Lanca.
  • 8. The zealous Magistrate; a Sermon by T. Threscos. Quarto.
  • 9. New Jerusalem, in a Sermon for the Society of Astrologers, Quarto, in the Year 1651.
  • 10. Divinity no enemy to Astrology. A Sermon for the Society of Astrologers, in the Year 1643. by Dr. Thomas Swadling.
  • 11. Britannia Rediviva. A Sermon before the Judges, August 1648. by J. Shaw Minister of Hull.
  • 12. The Princess Royal, in a Sermon before the Judges, March 24. by J. Shaw.
  • 13. Judgement set, and Books opened, Religion tried whether it be of God or Man, in several Ser­mons; by J. Webster. Quarto.
  • 14. Israels Redemption, or, the Prophetical Histo­ry of our Saviors Kingdom on Earth; by K. Matton.
  • 15. The Cause and Cure of Ignorance, Error, and Profaneness; or, a more hopeful way to Grace and Salvation; by K. Young. Octavo.
  • 16. A Bridle for the Times, tending to still the [Page] murmuring, to settle the wavering, to stay the wan­dring, and to strengthen the fainting: by J. Brins­ley of Yarmouth.
  • 17. Comforts against the fear of Death; where­in are discovered several Evidences of the work of Grace: by J. Collins of Norwich.
  • 18. Jacobs Seed; or, the excellency of seeking God by prayer, by Jer. Burroughs.
  • 19. The sum of Practical Divinity; or, the grounds of Religion in a Chatechisticall way, by Mr. Christopher Love late Minister of the Gospel: a useful piece.
  • 20. Heaven and Earth shaken; a Treatise shew­ing how Kings and Princes, their Governments are turned and changed, by J. Davis Minister in Dover, admirably useful, and seriously to be considered in these times.
  • 21. The Treasure of the Soul; wherein we are taught, by dying to sin, to attain to the perfect love of God.
  • 22. A Treatise of Contestation, fit for these sad and troublesome times, by J. Hall Bish. of Norwich.
  • 23. Select thoughts; or, choice helps for a pious spirit, beholding the excellency of her Lord Jesus: by J. Hall Bishop of Norwich.
  • 24. The Holy Order, or Fraternity of Mourners in Zion; to which is added, Songs in the night, or chearfulness under afflictions: by J. Hall Bishop of Norwich.
  • 25. The Celestial Lamp, enlightening every di­stressed Soul from the depth of everlasting darkness: by T. Fetisplace.
Admirable, and Learned Treatises of Occult Scien­ces in Philosophy, Magick, Astrology, Geomancy, Chymistry, Physiognomy, and Chyromancy.
  • [Page]26. Magick and Astrology vindicated by H. Warren.
  • 27. Lux Veritatis, Judicial Astrology vindicated and Demonology confuted; by W. Ramsey Gent.
  • 28. An Introduction to the Teutonick Philoso­phy; being a determination of the Original of the Soul: by C. Hotham Fellow of Peter-House in Cam­bridge.
  • 29. Cornelius Agrippa, his fourth Book of Occult Philosophy, or Geomancy; Magical Elements of Peter de Abona, the nature of spirits: made English by R. Turner.
  • 30. Paracelsus Occult Philosophy, of the My­steries of Nature, and his secret Alchimy.
  • 31. An Astrological Discourse with Mathema­tical Demonstrations; proving the influence of the Planets, and fixed Stars upon Elementary Bodies: by Sir Chri. Heydon Knight.
  • 32. Merlinus Anglicus Junior; the English Merlin revived, or, a Prediction upon the Affairs of Christendom, for the year 1644. by W. Lilly.
  • 33. Englands Propheticall Merlin; foretelling to all Nations of Europe, till. 1663. the actions de­pending upon the influences of the Conjunction of Saturn and Jupiter, 1642. by W. Lilly.
  • 34. The Starry Messenger, or an Interpretation of that strange Apparition of three Sunnes seen in [Page] London, the 19. of November 1644. being the Birth­day of King Charles; by W. Lilly
  • 35. The Worlds Catastrophe; or, Europes ma­ny Mutations, until 1666. by W. Lilly.
  • 34. An Astrological Prediction of the Occur­rences in England; part of the Years 1648, 1649. 1650. by W. Lilly.
  • 37. Monarchy or no Monarchy in England; the Prophesie of the White King, Grebner his Prophesie, concerning Charles, Son of Charles, his Greatness; illustrated with several Hieroglyphicks; by W. Lilly.
  • 38. Annus Tenebrosus, or the Dark Year; or, Astrological Judgements upon two Lunary Eclipses, and one admirable Eclipse of the Sun in England, 1652. by W. Lilly.
  • 39. An easie and familiar Method, whereby to judge the effects depending on Eclipses; by W. Lilly
  • 40. Supernatural Sights and Apparitions seen in London, June, 30. 1644. by W. Lilly. As also all his Works in a Volume.
  • 41. Catastrophe Magnatum: an Ephemerides for the Year 1652. by N. Culpepper.
  • 42. Teratologia; or, a discovery of Gods Won­ders, manifested by bloody rain and Waters; by J. S.
  • 53. Chyromancy; or the Art of divining by the Lines engraven in the hand of Man, by dame Na­ture, in 198. Genitures; with a Learned Discourse of the Soul of the World; by G. Wharton Esq
  • 44. The admired Piece of Physiognomy, and Chyromancy, Metoposcopy, the Symmetrical Pro­portions, and Signal Moles of the Body, the In­terpretation of Dreams; to which is added the [Page] Art of Memory; illustrated with Figures: by Rich. Sanders, in Folio.
  • 45. The no less exquisite then admirable Work, Theatrum Chemicum, Britannicum; containing se­veral▪ Poetical Pieces of our famous English Philo­sophers, who have written the Hermitique Myste­ries in their own ancient Language; faithfully col­lected into one Volume, with Annotations thereon: by the Indefatigable industry of Elias Ashmole, Esq illustrated with Figures.
Excellent Treatises in the Mathematicks, Geometry, of Arithmetick, Surveying, and other Arts, or Mechanicks.
  • 46. The incomparable Treatise of Tactometria, seu Tetagmenometria; or, the Geometry of Regu­lars, practically proposed, after a new and most ex­peditious manner, together with the Natural or Vulgar, by way of Mensural comparison) and in the Solids, not onely in respect of Magnitude or De­mension, but also of Gravity or Ponderosity, ac­cording to any Metal assigned: together with use­ful experiments of Measures and Weights, Observa­tions on Gauging, useful for those that are practi­sed in the Art Metricald; by T. Wybard.
  • 47. Tectonicon, shewing the exact measuring of all manner of Land, Squares, Timber, Stone, Stee­ples, Pillars, Globes; as also the making and use of the Carpenters Rule, &c. fit to be known by all Surveyors, Land-meters, Joyners, Carpenters, and Masons: by L. Diggs.
  • [Page]48. The unparallel'd Work for ease and expedi­tion, intituled, The exact Surveyor: or, the whole Art of Surveying of Land, shewing how to plot all manner of Grounds, whether small Inclosures, Champain, Plain, Wood-lands, or Mountains, by the Plain Table; as also how to finde the Area, or Content of any Land, to Protect, Reduce or Di­vide the same; as also to take the Plot or Cart, to make a Map of any Mannor, whether according to Rathburne, or any other Eminent Surveyors Me­thod; a Book excellently useful for those that sell, purchase, or are otherwise employed about Build­ings; by J. Eyre.
  • 49. The golden Treatise of Arithmetick, Natu­ral and Artificial, or Decimals; the Theory and Practice united in a simpathetical Proportion, be­twixt Lines and Numbers, in their Quantities and Qualities, as in respect of Form, Figure, Magnitude, and Affection; demonstrated by Geometry, illu­strated by Calculations, and confirmed with variety of Examples in every Species; made compendious and easie for Merchants, Citizens, Sea-men, Ac­comptants, &c. by Th. Wilsford Corrector of the last Edition of Record.
  • 50. Semigraphy, or the Art of Short-writing, as it hath been proved by many hundreds in the City of London, and other places, by them practised, and acknowledged to be the easiest, exactest, and swiftest method; the meanest capacity by the help of this Book, with a few hours practice, may attain to a perfection in this Art; by J. Rich Author and Teach­er thereof, dwelling in Swithings-Lane in London.
  • [Page]51 Milk for Children; a plain and easie Me­thod teaching to read and write, useful for Schools and Families, by J. Thomas D. D.
  • 52. The Painting of the Ancients; the History of the beginning, progress, and consummating of the practise of that noble Art of Painting; by F. Junius.
Excellent and approved Treatises in Physick, Chy­rurgery, and other more familiar Experiments in Cookery, Preserving, &c.
  • 53. Culpeppers's Semiatica Ʋranica, his Astro­logical judgement of Diseases from the decumbi­ture of the sick, much enlarged: the way and man­ner of finding out the cause, change, and end of the Disease; also whether the sick be likely to live or die, and the time when Recovery or Death is to be expected, according to the judgement of Hipocra­tes and Hermes Trismegistus; to which is added Mr. Culpeppers censure of Urines.
  • 54. Culpeper's last Legacy, left to his Wife for the publick good, being the choicest and most pro­fitable of those secrets in Physick and Chyrurgery; which whilst he lived, were lockt up in his breast, and resolved never to be published till after his death.
  • 55. The Torkshire Spaw; or, the vertue and use of that water in curing of desperate diseases, with directions and rules necessary to be considered by all that repair thither.
  • 56. Most approved Medicines and Remedies for [Page] the diseases in the body of Man: by A. Read Dr. in Physick.
  • 57. The Art of Simpling: an introduction to the knowledge of gathering of Plants, wherein the definitions, divisions, places, descriptions, differen­ces, names, vertues, times of gathering tempra­tures of them are compendiously discoursed of: also a Discovery of the Lesser World, by W. Coles.
  • 58. Adam in Eden, or, Natures Paradise: the History of Plants, Herbs, and Flowers, with their several original names, the places where they grow, their descriptions and kindes, their times of flou­rishing and decreasing; as also their several signa­tures, anatomical appropriations, and particular physical vertues; with necessary Observations on the Seasons of planting and gathering of our En­glish Plants. A Work admirably useful for Apothe­caries, Chyrurgeons, and other Ingenuous persons, who may in this Herbal finde comprised all the En­glish physical simples, that Gerard or Parkinson, in theis two voluminous Herbals have discoursed of, even so as to be on emergent occasions their own Physicians, the ingredients being to be had in their own fields and gardens; Published for the general good, by W. Coles, M. D.
  • 59 The Compleat Midwives practice, in the high and weighty concernments of the body of Man­kinde: or perfect Rules derived from the experien­ces and writings, not onely of our English, but the most accomplisht and absolute practices of the French, Spanish, Italians, and other Nations; so [Page] fitted for the weakest capacities, that they may in a short time attain to the knowledge of the whole Art: by Dr. T. C. with the advice of others, illu­strated with Copper Figures.
  • 60. The Queens Closet opened: incomparable Secrets in Physick, Chyrurgery, Preserving, Candy­ing, and Cookery; as they were presented to the Queen by the most experienced persons of our times; many whereof were honoured with her own Practice.
Elegant Treatises in Humanity, History, Ro­mances, and Poetry.
  • 61. Times Treasury, or Academy, for the ac­complishment of the English Gentry in Arguments of Discourse, Habit, Fashion, Behaviour &c. all summed up in Characters of Honour, by R. Brath­wait Esq.
  • 62. Oedipus, or, the Resolver of the secrets of Love, and other natural Problems, by way of Que­stion and Answer.
  • 63. The Admirable and most impartial History of New England, of the first plantation there, in the yeart 1628. brought down to these times: all the material passages performed there, exactly related.
  • 64. The tears of the Indians: the History of the bloody and most cruel proceedings of the Spani­ards in the Island of Hispaniola, Cuba, Jamaica, Mexico, Peru, and other places of the West-Indies; in which to the life are discovered the tyrannies of [Page] the Spaniards, as also the justness of our War so suc­cessfully managed against them.
  • 65. The Illustrious Shepherdess. The Imperious Brother: written originally in Spanish by that in­comparable wit, Don John Perez de Montalbans; translated at the requests of the Marchioness of Dorchester, and the Countess of Stafford, by E. P.
  • 66. The History of the Golden Ass, as also the Loves of Cupid and his Mistress Psiche: by L. A­pulcius translated into English.
  • 67. The Unfortunate Mother: a Tragedy by T. N.
  • 68. The Rebellion: a Tragedy by T. Rawlins.
  • 69. The Tragedy of Messalina the insatiate Ro­man Empress: by N. Richards.
  • 70. The floating Island: a Trage-Comedy, acted before the King, by the Students of Christs-Church in Oxon; by that renowned wit W. Strode, the songs were set by Mr. Henry Lawes.
  • 71. Harvey's Divine Poems, the History of Ba­laam, of Jonah, and of St. John the Evangelist.
  • 72. Fons Lachrymarum, or, a Fountain of tears; the Lamentaions of the Prophet Jeremiah in Verse, with an Elegy on Sir Charles Lucas; by I. Quarles.
  • 73. Nocturnal Lucubrations, with other witty Epigrams and Epitaphs; by R. Chamberlain.
  • 74. The admirable ingenuous Satyr against Hy­pocrites.
Poetical, with severall other accurately iugenuous Treatises, lately Printed.
  • [Page]75. Wits Interpreter, the English Parnassus: or a sure Guid to those admirable Accomplishments that compleat the English Gentry, in the most ac­ceptable Qualifications of Discourse or Writing. An Art of Logick, accurate Complements, Fancies, Devices, and Experiments, Poems, Poetical Ficti­ons, and A la mode Letters: by J. C,
  • 76. Wit and Drollery; with other Jovial Po­ems: by Sir J. M. M. L. M. S. W. D.
  • 77. Sportive Wit, the Muses Merriment; a new Spring of Drollery; Jovial Fancies, &c.
  • 78. The Conveyancer of Light, or, the Com­pleat Clerk, and Scriveners Guide; being an exact draught of all Presidents and Assurances now in use; as they were penned, and perfected by diverse Learned Judges, Eminent Lawyers, and great Con­veyancers, both Ancient and Modern: whereunto is added a Concordance from King Richard the 3. to this present.
  • 79. Themis Aurea, The Laws of the Fraternity of the Rosie Cross; in which, the occult Secrets of their Philosophical Notions are brought to light: written by Count Mayerus, and now Englisht by T. H.
  • 80. The Iron Rod put into the Lord Protectors hand; a Prophetical Treatise.
  • 81. Medicina Magica tamen Physica; Magical but Natural Physick: containing the general Cures [Page] of Infirmities and Diseases belonging to the Bo­dies of Men, as also to other animals and domestick Creatures, by way of Transplantion: with a De­scription of the most excellent Cordial out of Gold; by Sam. Boulton of Salop.
  • 82. J. Tradiscan's Rareties, publisht by himself.
  • 83. The Proceedings of the High Court of Ju­stice against the late King Charles, with his Speech upon the Scaffold, and other Proceedings, Jan. 30. 1648.
  • 84. The perfect Cook; a right Method in the Art of Cookery, whether for Pastry, or all other manner of Al a Mode Kick-shaws; with the most refined wayes of dressing of flesh, fowl, or making of the most poinant Sawces, whether after the French, or English manner, together with fifty five wayes of dressing of Eggs: by M. M.
Admirable Ʋseful Treatises newly printed.
  • 85. The Expert Doctours Dispensatory: the whole Art of Physick restored to practice: the Apothecaries shop, and Chyrurgeons Closet open­ed; with a Survey, as also a correction of most Di­spensatories now extant; with a Judicious Censure of their defects; and a supply of what they are defi­cient in: together with a learned account of the ver­tues and quantities, and uses of Simples and Com­pounds; with the Symptomes of Diseases; as also prescriptions for their several cures: by that re­nowned P. Morellus, Physician to the King of France; a work for the order, usefulness, and plain­ness [Page] of the Method, not to be parallel'd by any Dis­pensatory, in what Language soever.
  • 86. Cabinet of Jewels, Mans Misery, Gods Mer­cy, Christs Treasury, &c. in eight Sermons; with an Appendix of the nature of Tythes under the Go­spel; with the expediency of Marriage in publique Assemblies, by J. Crag, Minister of the Gospel.
  • 87. Natures Secrets; or the admirable and won­derful History of the generation of Meteors; descri­bing the Temperatures of the Elements, the heights, magnitudes, and influences of Stars; the causes of Comets, Earthquakes, Deluges, Epidemical Dis­eases, and Prodigies of Precedent times; with pre­sages of the weather: and descriptions of the wea­ther-glass: by T. Wilsford.
  • 88. The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence; or, the Arts of Wooing and Complementing; as they are managed in the Spring Garden Hide Park the New Exchange, and other eminent places. A work, in which are drawn to the life the Deportments of the most Accomplisht Persons; the Mode of their Courtly Entertainments, Treatment of their Ladies at Balls, their accustomed Sports, Drolls and Fan­cies; the Witchcrafts of their perswasive Language, in their Approaches, or other more Secret Dis­patches, &c. by E. P.
  • 89. Helmont disguised; or, the vulgar errours of impercial and unskilful Practicers of Physick con­futed; more especially as they concern the Cures of Feavers, the Stone, the Plague, and some other Dis­eases by way of Dialogue, in which the chief rare­ties of Physick are admirably discoursed of, by I. T.
Books very lately Printed, and in the Press now printing.
  • 1. THe Scales of Commerce and Trade: by T. Wilsford.
  • 2. Geometry demonstrated by Lines and Num­bers; from thence, Astronomy, Cosmography, and Navigation proved and delineated by the Doctrine of Plain and Spherical Triangles; by T. Wilsford.
  • 3. The English Annals, from the Invasion made by Julius Cesar to these times: by T. Wils­ford.
  • 4. The Fool transformed: A Comedy.
  • 5. The History of Lewis the eleventh King of France: a Trage-Comedy.
  • 6. The Chaste woman against her will; a Co­medy.
  • 7. The Tooth-drawer; a Comedy.
  • 8. Honour in the end: A Comedy.
  • 9. Tell Tale; a Comedy.
  • 10. The History of Donquixiot, or the Knight of the ill-favoured face; a Comedy.
  • [Page]11. The fair Spanish Captive; a Trage-Co­medy.
  • 12. Sir Kenelm Digby, and other persons of Honour, their rare and incomparable secrets of Physick, Chyrurgery, Cookery, Preserving, Con­serving, Candying, distilling of Waters, extraction of Oyls, compounding of the costliest Perfumes, with other admirable Inventions, and select Experi­ments, as they offered themselves to their Observa­tions; whether here, or in forreign Countreys.
  • 13. The Soul's Cordial in two Treatises, the first teaching how to be eased of the guilt of Sin, the se­cond, discovering advantages by Christs Ascention; by that faithful Labourer in the Lords Vineyard, Mr. Christopher Love, late Parson of Lawrence Jury: the third Volume.
  • 14. Jacobs Seed, the excellency of seeking God by Prayer; by the late reverend Divine, J. Burroughs.
  • 15. The Saints Tomb-stone; or, the Remains of the blessed. A plain Narrative of some remark­able Passages, in the holy Life, and happy Death of Mistress Dorothy Shaw, Wife of Mr. John Shaw, Preacher of the Gospel at Kingston upon Hull, col­lected by her dearest Friends, especially for her sor­rowful Husband and six Daughters consolation and invitation.
  • 16. The accomplisht Cook, the mystery of the whole Art of Cookery, revealed in a more easie and perfect method, then hath been publisht in any Language: expert and ready wayes for the dressing [Page] of flesh, fowl and fish, the raising of Pastes, the best directions for all manner of Kick-shaws, and the most poinant Sauces, with the terms of Carving and Sewing: the Bills of fare, an exact account of all dishes for the season, with other Al a mode curio­sities, together with the lively illustrations of such necessary figures, as are referred to practice: appro­ved by the many years experience, and careful indu­stry of Robert May, in the time of his attendance on several persons of honour.
  • 17. The exquisite Letters of Mr. Robert Loveday, the late admired Translater of the Volumes of the famed Romance Cleopatra, for the perpetuating his Memory, Published by his dear Brother Mr. A. L.
  • 18. The so long expected Work, the New World of English Words, or, a general Dictionary, con­taining the Terms, Etymologies, Definitions, and perfect Interpretations of the proper significations of hard English words throughout the Arts and Sci­ences, Liberal, or Mechanick; as also other subjects that are useful, or appertain to the Languge of our Nation; to which is added the signification of Pro­per Names, Mythology, and Poetical Fictions, Hi­storical Relations, Geographical Descriptions of the Countreys, and Cities of the World; especially of these three Nations, wherein their chiefest Anti­quities, Battles, and other most memorable Passa­ges are mentioned: A Work very necessary for Strangers, as well as our own Countrey-men, for all persons that would rightly understand what [Page] they discourse, write or read. Collected an publish­ed by E. P. for the greater honour of those learn­ed Gentlemen and Artists that have been assistant in the most Practical Sciences, their Names are pre­fixed before the Book.
  • 19. The so much desired, and deeply learned Comentary, on Psalm the fifteenth, by that Reve­rend and Eminent Divine Mr. Christopher Cart­wright, Minister of the Gospel in York to which is prefixed a brief account to the Authours life, and of his Work, by R. Bolton.
  • 20. The way to bliss, in three Books, being a learned Treatise of the Philosophers Stone, made publique by Elias Ashmole Esq.
  • 21. Wit restored in several Select Poems, not formerly publisht by Sir John Mennis, Mr. Smith and others.
  • 22. The Judges charge, delivered in a Sermon before Mr. Justice Hall, and Mr. Sergeant Crook Judges of the Assize, at St. Mary Overies in South­wark by R. Purre M. A. Pastor of Camerwel, in the County of Surrey; a Sermon worthy of the per­usal of all such persons, as endeavour to be honest and just Practitioners in the Law.
  • 23. The Modern Assurancer, the Clerks Dire­ctory, containing the Practick Part of the Law, in the exact Forms and Draughts of all manner of Presidents for Bargains, and Sales, Grants, Feoffe­ments, Bonds, Bills, Conditions, Covenants, Join­tures, Indentures; to lead the use of Fines and Re­coveries, with good Proviso's, and Covenants to [Page] stand seized, Charter parties for Ships, Leases, Re­leases, Surrendets, &c. And all other Instruments and Assurances now in use, intended for all young Students and Practicers of the Law, by John Hern.
  • 24. Moor's Arithmatick, the second Edition much refined and diligently cleared from the for­mer Mistakes of the Press. A Work containing the whole Art of Arithmetick, as well in Numbers, as Species. Together with many Additions by the Author, to come forth at Machaelmas Term.

Likewise,

  • 25. Exercitatio Elleiptica Nova, or a new Ma­thematicall Contemplation on the Oval Figure, called an Elleipsis; together with the two first Books of Mydorgius his Conicks Analiz'd, and made so plain, that the Doctrine of Conical Secti­ons may be easily understood, a Work much desi­red, and never before publisht in the English Tongue; by Jonas Moor, Surveyor General of the great Level of the Fennes.
  • 26. The Joyes of Heaven, the Saints support in Gods Promises on Earth, Christs Sermons on the Beatitudes. An Exposition of the fifth Chapter of St. Matthew, delivered in several Sermons by Mr. Jeremiah Burroughs, the last Sermons he preacht a little before his Death, at St. Giles Cripple-gate, London.
  • 27. Naps upon Parnassus. A sleepy Muse nipt and pincht, though not awakened. Such voluntary and Jovial Copies of Verses as were lately receiv'd from some of the WITS of the Universities, in a [Page] Frolick; dedicated to Gondibert's Mistress, by Ca­ptain Jones and others. Whereunto is added for Demonstration of the Authors prosaick Excellen­cy's, his Epistle to one of the Universities, with the Answer; together with two Satyrical Characters of his own, of a Temporizer, and an Antiquary, with Marginal Notes by a Friend to the Reader.
FINIS.

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