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But now the're gulled, for present fashion sayes,
Dick Tarlton's part gentlemens breeches plaies
In every streete where any gallant goes,
The swaggring sloppe is Tarlton's clownish hose.


Alas, Delfridus keepes his bed, God knowes,
Which is a signe his worships very ill,
His griefe beyond the grounds of phisicke goes;
No doctor that comes neare it with his skill,
Yet doth he eate, drinke, talke, and sleepe profound,
Seeming to all mens judgment healthfull found,

gesse the cause he thus to bed is drawnė,
What thinke you so may such a hap procure it.
Well tis very true, his hose are out at pawne,
A breechlesse chaunce is coine he must endure it,
His hose to Brokers jayle committed are,
His singular and only velvet paire.


Uni si possim placere sat est.

Printed at London, for F. B. dwelling at the Flower de Luce and Crowne, in Pauls Church Yard. 1606."

This collection of Epigrams is not mentioned by Warton. It is inscribed by the author “ To his no little respected Friend, little John Buck, I dedicate this my little.”

EPIG. 11.

Brutus, that brave and compleat Cavalier,

Who thus of late in Fleet Street flourished,
Thought then no pleasure or expence too deare;

But see how moon the case is altered,
As that constrained to divide the streete,

He now betakes himselfe unto the Fleete.

EPIG. 14.

Faunus for feates of fencing beares the bell,

For skill in musick on each instrument,
For dancing, carving, and discoursing well,

With other sundry gifts more excellent ;
But striving still to make his credit stronger,

The taylor will not trust him any longer.

EPIG. 32.

Persuade not Romulus to take a wife,

Who is to wedlock sworne an enemie,
And ever vowes to lead a single life,

Which he accompts most honest purity.
Besides a thousand reasons that coustraines him,
Amongst the rest, a marchants wife maintains birn,

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Paulus, a pamphlet doth in proze present

Unto his Lord, “ The Fruites of idle Time,"
Who far more carelesse then therewith content,
Wished he would convert it into rime,


Which done, and brought him at another season,
Said now tis rime, before nor rime nor reason.

EPIG. 86.

The wicked


what other men do sowe, But cuckolds are excepted, that you know,


This Poet is not mentioned by Ritson, or any of our poetical Biographers, but he was the author, among other works, of the following:


Written by John Heath, Bachelour of Arts, and Fellow of New Colledge in Oxford.

Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas,

Gaudia, discursus; nostri farrago libelli est.

London. Printed by John Windet. 1610."

EPIG. 17.

I tooke the wall, one thrust me rudely by,
And told me the highway did open lie;
I thankt him that he did me so much grace,
To take the worse, leave me the better place;
For if by th' owners we esteeme of things,
The walks a subjects, but the ways the kings.

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Fisher, by being the Popes humble thrall,
Missed not much of being Cardinall;
A cap there was prepared, a Legate sent,
T'invest his brow with that pure ornament;
But see how thinges fell out, see how he sped,
Before his cap came he had lost his head.

BOOK 2d.

EPIG. 9.

Health is a jewel true, which when we buy,
Physicians value it accordingly.

EPIG. 14.

Some of Alvmus friends met purposely T’extol his worth, did praise him for to bee Well timberd, and to give him the more grace, One of them said he had a wainscot face; Another thinking sure to strike the stroke, Reported that he was all hart of oke. Commend they him this way, the best they can, Yet shall they make him but a woodden man.

EPIG. 38.

Ad M. Brewer, Medicum.

This phrase to drinke a health is onely trew, Of drinke which men of your profession brew.




EPIG. 40.

Our common Parents straight upon their fall,
Made breeches fit to hide their shame withall;
And as we read both alike were them then,
Now females weare the breeches more than men.

EPIG. 92.


We buy the driest wood that we can finde,
And willingly would leave the smoke behinde;
But in tobacco a thwart course we take,
Buying the hearb onely for the smokes sake.

EPIG. 99.

PORUS, the onely Sloven of our dayes,
Is, for I dare avouch it to his praise,
No punie scholler, wonderfully read
As any of his time that beares a head,
Yet of all the authors common here with us,
It seemes he ne're heard of GO-CLENIUS.


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