Short Poems

To mine approued and beloued friend Mr Richard Chambers tutor to the Lo. Percy.

S ith all mens births are like, yet borne vnlike;
Some borne to state and some are state to seeke,
Small state serues Natures neede, if hart be meeke;
Then (the meane's best); blowne bubbles soonest breake.

To my beloued Mr. Iohn Hoskins.

I OHN of all Iohns, if I should stile thee so
Thou might'st except against it; sith it points
But at some sott. Then art thou such a one? No:
Thy witt (good Iohn's) too nimble in the ioynis
To stand for such; but for witt thou maist bee
Iohn of all Iohns; at least, so held of mee.

To my louing and beloned friend Mr Harthalomeus Gyffard.

Thou " God with vs": that's neere as man with men
May be like God for worthynesse of minde;
Thou last of thy most worthy brethern
That dyde in Honors bedd, wherein they shin'd;
'To thee these lines are stretched, from his loue
Which thou shalt finde all thine when thou shalt proue.

To the most open handed, great-hearted and truly noble-minded knight, Sir Iohn Wentworth.

M AGNIFICK spirit, true heroe, glorious knight.
Bounties o'reflowing fovnt to moist the dry
Faint soules of Armes and Art, now drouping quite:
To thee I say but this, Were I (poore I)
The hand of Fortune to dispose of hers,
Thou shouldst haue all that place men with the starres.

To myne ancient friend and kinde countryman Mr Philip King-man.

Why King-man Philip? Whist, and me attend;
Ile answer for thee, sith thou art my friend;
Thou art a king in ruling thy desires,
And man for doing that which reas'n requires:
So do (good Phillip) still, the good is thine;
And so shalt still bee, thy good friend, and myne.

To myne intirely beloued Mr Iohn Sandford

O V'R of the world! go, get thee hence away;
What makst in heil with so much honesty?
Yet keepe it (Iohn), perhapps another day
I will do thee good; meanewhile thy friend (poore I)
Will sweare for Arte and Nature th art as good
As whomesoe're, if made of flesh and bloud.

To most ingenious Mr Francis Beaumont

Some that thy name abreulate, call thee Franck;
So may they well, if they respect thy witt;
For like rich corne (that some fools call too ranck)
All cleane Wit reapers still are griping it;
And could I sow for thee to reape and vse,
I should esteeme it manna for the Muse.

To my louing and iuditious friend Mr Francis Wye.

Wye was the nimphe neere which I first did breath.
And Wye's the man with whome I loue to liue;
The first, is apt to nourish life and death,
The last, but comforts sweete, to life doth giue:
Then Wye I pree thee runne with righter course
To mee then Wye doth wandring from her sourse.

To my deere friend, countryman, and expert Master in the liberall science of Musick, Mr Thomas Warrock

One citty brought vs forth, and brought vs vp;
Then drinke I in this Heliconian cup
To thee an health: but if the liquor bee
Not halfe so pleasing as I wish for thee,
That fault he mine; for thou deseru'st the best
For thy rare hand, head, heart, and louing brest.

To my worthy friend, Robert Poyntz Esquire

Thy name is antient; then some still haue beene
T' vphold the branches while they flourisht greene;
Thou art a branch so full of pith and sap
That in thy house thou stopst each little gap
Mistake me not, my meaning's most sincere,
As now thou art, and thy forefathers were