WITS BEDLAM Where is had Whipping-cheer to cure the Mad. The BOOKE Those Epigrams faine would I owe Where euery Word is a Word and a Blow Reproses where they are Well deseru'd must be Well paide At LONDON Printed by G. ELD and are to be sould by Iames Dauies at the Red Crosse nere Fleete-streete Conduit 1617. To the Right noble Lord the Earle of Buckingham be much mirth permanent Pleasure and endlesse happinesse here and else where TO Thee whose Worth hath doubl'd good-hopes Cape Thrice in high pleasures Seas I send this Toy To mocke such Apes or Beasts in humane shape As giue vs cause of laughter and annoy Her 's Wit too ranke sith sprong from too much soyle Whereat such Apes as but Saintes counterfet Do mop and mox good sport in sport to spoile But iustest lerkes their wry-mouths right shall set If some Lines broader bee than long herein To make the lash with laughter lowd ech blow It is broad Faults to scourge with greater dyn To feare much more than hurt offenders so grieue Then when deare Lord great cares your greatnes Laugh at these Ierkes like Greatnes in your sleeue To the Printer PRinter here 's for thee yet 't is not for mee But cleane against mee for thei 'l ban my Birth Whose Crimes I scourge but that is good for thee For most will rather buy their Plague with mirth Than profit that with pleasure holds not Quarter Then still French-crowne me sith I am thy Martyr And yet least so I should no Martyr bee Giue mee the Fame take Gould and Blame to Thee Againe of my Selfe SOme not a few who long to raise their Name In Proems to their Bookes seeme foes to Fame Nay more than seeme who vow to grace their They publish Books for profit not for praise daies And hate all friendship held with pride or fame Though to their Bookes they vse to put their name But I am none of those dissembling so I le speake the truth And therfore All shall know That FAME and I haue beene too long in loue Now to be foes Nay still I le striue to prooue The vt'most of mine Vt'most for her sake Yea life forgoe ere She should me forsake And if She â—aue mee through my Fortunes wrack I le fly her so to binde her to my Backe For Men by Nature rather then thei 'le be Nothing of Something they desire to flee Vpon the Winges of euiternall FAME Beyond Decay and Bee though but in Name And be it that vnsanctified Wit With hellish Flashes may soone kindle it And make â—t burne in glory still yet lust I moâ—e for That than all that turnes to dust Say t is a burning feauer of the Soule To long for that which hurts not makes her whole And that that Aire is too too pestilent That makes the Sicknes much more violent Yea Water though from Castaly it came Is best forborne if it but oyles the Flame Yet can I not but say yea lowdly cry I loue nay doate on all Eternity Saue that which hath relation so to ill As makes Eternity abhord Yet fill My Muse a Bowle of Nectar drawne from thence Whence all Gods Stellifide haue influence And I le carouse so freely of the same That paine I le beare as pleasure 't were for Fame And though I reele beneath the Wheele of Fate Yet Fame shall follow me through loue or hate That if to higher Stiles I cannot climbe All Times shall Stile mee Taxer of my Time It 's a mad world my Maisters And a merry world my Mistrisses O Braines what Bounds are set to lymit you In madnesse wil you crack the Pan your fence Will you be mad with Reason are you true Vnto my Iudgement Soueraigne of your Sence Lo how you me expose to endles Spight To Censure that may Patience quel to beare it Will you interre my Name in datelesse Night And for your Glory must I Shame inherit Do you containe such Powrs as are of force To giue me Honor for Wit well imploid Yet make 'twixt Wit and Wisdome such diuorce As with Worlds-hate I shall bee still anoyd Put that hate in one Scale O Weight past Weight And in the other put Ayres worser name Cal'd same for Folly or a vaine conceit Wil This not light That heauy make my fame Shal aged Thoughts so doaâ— Shal Childhood now Inuade my Iudgement with so fierce assault That it to idle Fancies so should bow As still to beare the weight of Follyes fault And shall I sell my Birth-right for such Grewell As feeds but fattens not or fats but Fooles Will you to my good Name become so cruell As still to haue me whipt in Wisedomes Schooles Be quiet Wit leaue beating of my Braine To do the Worke of playing but on Crimes To Scourge the Follyes of the World is vaine If thy Whips Lines be nought but rotten Rymes Muses why sleepe ye Will ye see me sinke O're head and eares in shame who doe adore you Stretch out your hands what froÌ„ me do you shrink To drowne in deepe disgrace while I implore you Braines seek you glory of Herostratus To make your Findings curst to After-times Call in my Muse and check her thus and thus What do I now thus x x x crosse I out her Rimeâ—s VVho knowes how neere the Article of Death My Fame and I am Aud what ' compt I must Giue for each vaine and ill imployed breath I fetch for life To what then doe I trust My Fame Why that may dye before me Or My Pleasure That dies with mee VVhat i st then Makes me thus plague which I am forty for For hauing cause my selfe and other men Faults Faults nought but faire fowlest Faults Both in my selfe and others I espie Tush th' are nere mended with such mad Assaults As make them worse and many more thereby I hope of better Aretine whom Fame Stil'd Scourge of Princes such I leaue to such Kept them in awe So may an Epigram VVith other soft-brow'd Sinners doe as much But Oh I am too broad and that doth irke But how should I scourge broad sinnes otherwise Must I not make them bare before I ierke Who knowes not that Why then let that suffice VVhat Wit how now Hast ' suces for these scapes VVilt thou turne Foole yet wittily defend it Hast thou so many anticke formelesse Shapes Yet ween'st it such as Wisdome cannot mend it Where art thou Wisdome wilt thou suffer Wit To runne wilde now in mee and hauocke make Of all my Reason in a franticke fit O Heau'ns where am I Doe I sleepe or wake I yonder Sky the Skie Is that the Sunne Which I haue wakinge seene Is this the Earth Where safe I walkt and now will let me runne To breake mine Honors neck in brain-sick mirth Are these the Folke I foole with which I see Or shadowes Shadowes No. What else Madmen The greater number so will Martyre mee For whipping of but One and fearing
Scabbe be as poore as Iobâ— Nay now Ilye for Iob though he had nought Yet nought he ow'd but this poore pach is thought Much worse theÌ„ Nought with wrangling he is â—so Poorer then Iob for Iob but scabs did owe. Against Mâ—rnezetus the well knowne Sharker coâ—seâ—â—â—â— me of a Cloake Epig. 366. SIrrah Marnezetus me no more prouoak Go cheat els where with me y'haue shorn your sheep Y'haue Clok't y'â—r knauery so haue got a Cloake By câ—eating of your friend well safe it keepe Yet it restore to Cloake my Spleene and Mee Or lie vncloake thy name thy shame and Thee But maugre Spâ—ght thy Name and fame shall gaine A Place and Name with Stars call'd great Charles-waine Which stil I wish who doth't not desire Would they were nought as naught or Tow in Fire To the no lesse than most graue Counsellor of Counsellors Thomas Vicount Brackley Lord Chancellor of England Epi. 369. Y 'Aue past the Storms of Youth and Passion too And now in Calmes of Ages Hau'n remayne Now sees your Soule most clearely what to doe And those vndo that doe their Conscience straine In Summe for all that may your glory spread Your pain your Braine to ease please your Head To the true President of Honor William Earle of Pembroke Lord Chamberlain c. Epig. 370. DEare Lord to whom I wish a world of Good If so a World of Grace is vnderstood Agreeing to that World of Worth in Thee Too little Lord that great Worlds Lord to bee Grace Art and Nature still in thee doe striue Which most shall make thy praise Superlatiue And make thee most like Him that all things can And Phillip more than Mâ—cedonian Then â—â—ll be like thosâ— Two as now thou art And as thou hast so 〈◊〉 shalt haue my Heart To the Right noble and my much honored Lord Phillip Earle of Montgomery Epi. 371. A Mother sooner can forget her Child Than I Thee Lord of my best Memory Could I mind more thou shouldst be higher stil'd But this is all I can vnlesse to dye For Thee and thy most Noble House whereof I am an Exâ—rement not yet cut off To the true Patterns of Noblesse and Heroicall vertue Richard Earle of Dorset and Sir Edward Sackuill Knight of the â—ath his most nolle Brother Epigram 372. YOu Starres that in our States Spheare shine as bright As Suns fixt neere our Zenith daying Night Stil on such Dayes-eyes shine though planted low By Fortunes hand as turne to such as you To be set open when â—hey hid hang downe Their heads for want of Grace to make theÌ„ known I need not force the free you shine on such No Starres within our Hemispheare so much So much for that but this much more for you Though more you cannot haue then is your due You for your high Worthes Rayes I 'le Raise to be Castor and Pollux both to Heau'n and me To the Right noble Lord Theophilus Lord Walden Epigram 373. My Cunning sooner shall my right hand leaue Than not to giue where once it did receiue But Golden Ayre to giue for Golden Earth Is lesse Materiall and no cause of Mirth Yet Ca 〈…〉 Mâ—rth 〈◊〉 Papers do infold That I in 〈◊〉 do gieue thee for thy Gold But whâ—â— in earnest I would giue with mirth To thee is glory both in Heau'n and Earth To the Right Honorable Sir Francis Bacon Knight c. Epi. 259. THi'admired Sire was Wit Wisdomes Source And thou his Sonne resemblest him in those Thy Hand is open close is thy Discourse For much in few thy thy Iudgement doth inclose But when thou art disposed to set ope A Flood of Eloquence to Whaâ—t all Eares With head-long sway vnto thine vâ—mosâ— scope â—hen stubborn'st Rocks of Leâ—s it ouerbeares So thou do'st grace the Law as it doth Thee But of all Lawyers Thou alone for me To my much honored the Lord Hayes Epigram 375. THou do'st the Court Lord too much grace To be forgotten in this place Where I desire to praise such Ones As worthy are Court-Minions Then this thou art I dare auoâ—ch A Good Great Courtier seldome such That 's honest with due Complement Which is most noble in eâ—tent Heere sith no further Grace hath gon â—â—e put a Prick To driue It on To my Noble highly valued friend Pupill and Alyes Man Sir Edward Herbert of Montgomery Knight of the Bath Epi. 376. SIth thou thy Name and Nation honorest With Worth like Britains Crown past price at least Giue me leaue â—east worth of thy least Alyes To tell the World thus much and then it dyes For in this World where Grace doth liue by Sin Can nothing liue that is not dead within To my honorable ingenious worthy friend Sir Iohn Constable Knight Epâ— 377. DIdst thou but know deer Knight how much my heart Desires to Stellifie thee for thine Art And what e're else by Worth can be possest Thou would'st beleeue my Heart â—s thine at least TheÌ„ take my Heart which thus on thee is whorl'd And loue it so my Heart is worth a World To my much honored and intirely beloued Sir William Alexander Knight Epâ— 378. THy Peâ— which from some Angel is acquir'd With heauenly Grace to shew thy Wit skil So farre out-shines my poore Rookes ruder Quil That in it's beames mine seemes a Cole vnâ—ir'd But let them lie till they become intir'd Then thine shall mine with equall glory fill Yet so as knowne t' was so by thine attir'd That al the Glory thine may merit still Yet here my lauish Pen runs o're so much With blurring inck be blotting blacker Crimes That loosly it the Times too neere doth touch That is too brâ—adly blots these looser Times But sooth to say my Muse became thus loose Through vice at which she hisseth like a goose To my venerable friend Master Doctor Goade Epi. 379. THou art not lâ—ke but cu n a reall Goad Sharpe at one End thy Head to driue men on That are opprest with sad sinnes heauie Load Where they may rest from being weâ—beâ—gon Then he that will not goe when thou dost prick Is dull in sense or else an Halter-sick To my worthy and beloued friend Doctor Pierce Parson of Saint Christophers London Epigram 380. IN this but Froth of Wit to sowse your name Is but to soile it so incurre your blame These Purgings of my Braine become not you In any sort to See much lessâ— alowe You needs must say my Leisure I abuse To make these lests the Stasions of my Muse. What will you more deere Doctor I confesse I am all yours but not my Foolishnesse Yet Garce Art Wit and Worth and all diuine May make you bright Sun on this Dunghill shine Without defiling of your spotlesse Raies Then scowre my guilt with Birch but gilde my Baâ—â—s To my best beloued friend and aliz-man Master Iohn Sanford Epi. 381. IOhn thou art like a Hand that changeth not His Name or Nature clouched or dilated So thou art
there Here lies a Man that dyde a Beare On an Hermaphrodâ—te Epi. 2 HEre lies a Man and Woman too And yet wants One to make them Two On one Gwillim a common cryer of a Towne Epitaph 3. HEre lies the Common Cryer Gwillim So cryd for life till Death die still him On an Harlot call'd Meg-Mutton of Heref Epitaph 4. HEre lies Megmutton who could liue no longer To make Death a Glutton and true Mutton-monger Vpon a noted common-lyer Iack-ap Iack. Epitaph 5. HEre lies Iack-ap Iack and wot yee why A liue he still lyde anâ— dead still must lye Who in his life lyde willingly still But here in death lies against his will On the Woman that was burnt in Smithfield for killing her Master in her anger Epitaph 6. HEre good people in the Dust Truely Lieth Choller-adust Which kill'd through heate so burn'd with Dolor Then here lies truely Burned choller Vpon one borne blinde Epiâ—aph 7. HEre lies a man that ne're saâ— wo Being borne blind to feele it so Vpon Iohn of all Iohns IOhn of all Iohns here lies what than Were all Iohns honâ—r'd in this Man Yes that they were and wot yee why Cannot you tell in troth nor I. On one Wood a miser burnt by a Queane Epi. 9. REader reade and thinke thereon Hâ—re lies Wood beneath this Stone Who was harder than the higher Yet was burnt without a fier On one who built himselfe bankâ—roupt to keepe the poore on worke Epi 10. REader smile or else looke off For here lies the Peoples Scoff Who that Beggers well might do Built himsâ—lfe a Begger too On one that yeelded hiâ— Weapons in priâ—at fight the conceipt whereof after brake his heart Epi. 11. THis Stone conceales a Man almost Who by his Manhood Manhood lost On one that a Queane made to Father her Bastard begotten by his Man Epi. 12. HErâ— lâ—â—s a Man was got with Child By a Maid that him defilde Who made him when she was a Mother Father her Child got by another Vpon one Church-euill a debosh'd base Whore-hunter who dyed of the Pox. Epi. 13. HEre lies a Church tryumphant still in euill That neuer fought with sin the world nor Diuell But still with Flesh he changed friendly knocks And so to shun the Plague dyde of the Pox. On a common Drunkard Epi. 14. HEre lies a Man that ner'e saw Man For he ner'e lookt but in a Can. On an English stutting-Booke-seller who learned French to sell Bookes to French-men Epi. 15. HEre lies Sam although a Stutter Yet many a word in Print did vtter Yet had no Tonge at all to spare But one he bought to sâ—ll his Ware On Tarlton Epi. 16. HEre within this sullen Earth Lies Dick-Tarlton Lord of mirth Who in his Graue still laughing gapes Syth all Clownes since haue beâ—ne his Apes Earst he of Clownes to learne still sought But now they learne of him they taught By Art far past the Principall The Counterfet is so worth all On a rare Dyer of Silke Epi. 17. HEre lies one who lyu'd by dying Yet dyde truely till this lying On a selfe conceited Foole. Epi. 18. HEre lies a Man that was an Asse Then Is he better than he was On one who cheated his Father Epi. 19. HEre lies a Man who in a span Of life beyond his Father ran Epi. 20. HEre Iohn of Powles but hids his head For none can say good Iohn is dead On Iohn A-Stile Epi. 318. IF yee be men then stay a while And know here lyeth Iohn A Stile If yee know him not why then It s ten to one y' are honest men On Rauiliack who murdered Henry the fourth French-King 22. HEere lies Rauiliack the whole heauens vnder aboue the Earth Heau'n Earth Hels iust woÌ„der Thogh all these 3. most iustly wonder at him The thing procures more wonder that begat him For though that thing in Ill past all comparing Yet nought could ought beget so damd daring On George a Greene Pinder of Wakefield 23. HEere doth lie good George-a-Greene Nor tasted smelt felt heard or seene But yet when George at Wakefield dwelt Many did smell while him they felt On little Iohn HEere lies little Iohn not little some weene Yet now hee 's so little he cannot be seene Oâ— Billy Grime HEre lies Billy Gryme Who neuer was storer But first and last Slyme And euer a Roreâ— For though dead bee Will His Name roreth still On a Roring Boy calld Thing FIe vppo' nt it maddes me neere A stabbing Thiâ—g should stil lye heere Yet if now still lye he should not He must hang â—or stand he could not Of one Baudyman whose name and nature were one 27. IF I should tell you heere doth lye A Man perhaps you 'l say I lye But though a Beast ye proue him can Yet was at least a Baudy-man Of one R. Hand that died of the Poxe 28. NOw by this Hand I wrong him not Heere lies a Hand that dead doth rot And was to rotten ere hee dide That now he is lesse putrifide Vpon a Youngster who lay with a Maid at the Labour in vaine 29. WOuld you thinke it I thinke you would not Heere lies a youth that would but could not On a man borne dumbe 30. BEleeue it heere one dead doth lye Who in his life could neuer lye For he was dumbe then lye could nere But in his death he still lyes heere Vppon one Eleazer Death a good fellow Taylor 31. IF Death a Taylor bee why then He must prick Lice not Maids nor Men. Deaths Epitaph 32. HEere Death 's inter'd that liud by Bâ—ead Then all should liue now Death is dead On one Forgot a Pitman 34. HEere lyes but what that know I not Then Reader know it is Forgot And yet if it thou dost not know Read but That and it wil shew On a short spare man that wore alwayes an huge paire of Cloke-bag hose â—5 THat earth might dissolue the stâ—tches Heere lies rak't a paire of Breeches Nought could weare them sith they had Nought to weare them but a Shade On Iohn an Oakes Epitaph 36. HAlla my Mates here make a stand And read who lies here vnderstand It 's Iohn a Nokes the Lawiers foole Yet puts them still for Law to schoole One Ro Gose a light-headed wanton Epitaph 37. HEre lies a Sot that liu'd too loose Read soft then least yee wake the Goose. On a Sot that was held honest though such cannot bee so Epitaph 38. WOuld yee thinke it I thinke not Here doth lie an honest Sot Then let him lie still in his Graue Left this World make the Foole a Knaue On oâ—e N. Poâ— a dunkard who was stabb'd in an Ale-house Epitaph 39. REader though it's stincking stale Here lies spilt a Pot of Ale So he hath small reckning got Though he were the reckning Pot. On an idle prattler nickâ—named Words Epitaph 40. ALas that euer he was borne Here lies a Man to Nothing worme Yet is more than he was I