Of Orpheus.

Orpheus hath wed a young lusty wife,
And all day long vpon his Lute doth play:
Doth not this fellow lead a merry life,
Who playes continually both night and day?

Of Fidens.

Fidens instructs young Gentlemen to play,
Who teach his wife, they get true fingring:
But she learnes to play false; no meruaile, they
Of a Maister, she of Schollers got her learning.

Of Lais.

Wanton young Lais hath a pretty note,
Whose burthen is, pinch not my petticoate:
Not that she feares close nips, for by the rood,
A priuy pleasing nip will cheare her blood:
But she which longs to tast of pleasures cup,
In nipping would her petticoate weare vp.

Of Torques.

Torques a Knight, and of indifferent liuing,
Is neyther free of house-keeping, nor giuing:
Yet stands he in the Debet booke vncrost:
Wonder not man, he keepes a whore to his cost.

Of Chrysogonus.

Chrysogonus each morning by his glasse,
Teacheth a wrinckled action to his face,
And with the same he runnes into the street,
Each one to put in feare that he doth meet:
I prythee tell me (gentle Chrysogone )
What needs a borrowed bad face to thine owne?

Of Arion.

Arions thoughts are growne so musicall,
That all his talke's of crotchets, and of quauers,
His very words to sembriefe time doe fall,
And blowing of his nose of musicke sauours:
Hee'le tell you of well fretting of a Lute,
Euen til you fret, and of the harmonie,
Is either in a still Cornet or Flute,
Of rests, and stops, and such like trumperie,
Yet loues he more, for all sweet musick sence,
His mistris belly, then these instruments.

Of Zeno.

Zeno would faine th'old widdow Æagle haue,
Trust me hee's wise, for shee is rich and braue:
But Zeno, Zeno , shee will none of you,
In my mind shee's the wiser of the two.

Of the same.

Pollio at length's fallne in my good conceit,
Not for his wanton face and curled haire,
Nor his fatte buttocke, nor that I delight
In his french Galliard, which is nothing rare,
Nor for that others thinke him to be so,
(For others credits cannot better me,)
But for he thinks himselfe a fine fellow,
For his owne state who better knowes then hee?

To Pollio.

Th'art a fine fellow trust me Pollio ,
And euery one reputes thee so to be,
Both for thy ingles face, and goodly show,
Of thyne apparraile and thy naperie:
Then, for thou pertly knowes to wagge thy head,
Like some old palsey-strucken vsurer,
Chiefely, for that this Christmas thou hast led
An vnthrifts life, (gramercy Creditor,)
But for this last thou must be faine to goe,
Into the country for a yeere or two.

Of Gnatho.

My Lord most court-like lyes in bed till noone,
Then, all high-stomackt riseth to his dinner,
Falls straight to Dice, before his meate be downe,
Or to disgest, walks to some femall sinner.
Perhaps fore-tyrde he gets him to a play,
Comes home to supper, and then falls to dice,
There his deuotion wakes till it be day,
And so to bed, where vntill noone he lies.
This is a Lords life, simple folke will sing.
A Lords life? what, to trot so foule a ring?