Short Poems

To Mira.

Thou fearst I loue thee, for I prayse thee so:
Should I dispraise thee, what wouldst feare I trow?

Of Drus.

Drus for a Cuckold, and miserable's fam'd,
May not he well a hard-head then be nam'd?

De Ignoto.

There's an odd fellow, (ile not tell his name,
Because from my lines he shal get no fame:)
Reading mine Epigrams bathes euery limb,
In angry sweat swearing that I meane him:
Content thy selfe, I write of better men,
Thou art no worthy subiect for my pen.

To Mira.

Many aske Mira , why I nam'd thee so:
Let them aske Nature why she fram'd thee so.

Of Issa.

Issa from me to a player tooke her way,
No meruaile, for she alwaies lou'd to play.

Of Chrestina.

Talke bawdery and Chrestina spets and spals,
So much her chast thoughts hate it, tut that's false,
She loues it well, wherfore then should she spet?
Her teeth doe water but to heare of it.

To Women.

Yee that haue beauty and withall no pitty,
Are like a prick-song-lesson without ditty.

To Cotta.

Be not wrath, Cotta , that I not salute thee,
I vs'd it whilst I worthy did repute thee:
Now thou art made a painted Saint, and I
Cotta will not commit idolatry.

To the Reader.

Excuse me (Reader) though I now and than,
In some light lines doe shew my selfe a man,
Nor be so sowre, some wanton words to blame,
They are the language of an Epigrame.

Of Phrix.

Phrix hath a nose; who doubts what ech man knows;
But what hath Phrix know-worth besides his nose?