Short Poems

Breathe, Julia, breathe, and Ile protest,
Nay more, Ile deeply sweare,
That all the Spices of the East
Are circumfused there.

Thou hast promis'd, Lord, to be
With me in my miserie;
Suffer me to be so bold,
As to speak, Lord, say and hold.

It is sufficient if we pray
To Jove, who gives, and takes away:
Let him the Land and Living finde;
Let me alone to fit the mind.

God, as He is most Holy knowne;
So He is said to be most One.

When ere my heart, Love's warmth, but entertaines,
O Frost! O Snow! O Haile forbid the Banes.
One drop now deads a spark; but if the same
Once gets a force, Floods cannot quench the flame.
Rather then love, let me be ever lost;
Or let me 'gender with eternall frost.

Cuffe comes to Church much; but he keeps his bed
Those Sundayes onely, when as Briefs are read.
This makes Cuffe dull; and troubles him the most,
Because he cannot sleep i'th'Church, free-cost.

To Bread and Water none is poore;
And having these, what need of more?
Though much from out the Cess be spent,
Nature with little is content.

Look how our foule Dayes do exceed our faire;
And as our bad, more then our good Works are:
Ev'n so those Lines, pen'd by my wanton Wit,
Treble the number of these good I've writ.
Things precious are least num'rous: Men are prone
To do ten Bad, for one Good Action.

Thou sail'st with others, in this Argus here;
Nor wrack, or Bulging thou hast cause to feare:
But trust to this, my noble passenger;
Who swims with Vertue, he shall still be sure
(Ulysses-like) all tempests to endure;
And 'midst a thousand gulfs to be secure.

Goes the world now, it will with thee goe hard:
The fattest Hogs we grease the more with Lard.
To him that has, there shall be added more;
Who is penurious, he shall still be poore.