The people thee applauding, thou shalt stand,
Guiding the harmless pigeons with (thy) hand.
Young men and women shalt thou lead as thrall,
So will thy triumphs seem magnifical;
I, lately caught, will have a new made wound,
And captive like be manacled and bound,
Good meaning shame, and such as seek loves wrack
Shall follow thee, their hands tied at their back.
Thee all shall fear, and worship as a king
Io, triumphing shall thy people sing.
Smooth speeches, fear and rage shall by thee ride,
Which troops have always been on Cupid's side:
Thou with these soldiers conquer'st gods and men.
Take these away where is thy honor then?
Thy mother shall from heaven applaud this show,
And on their faces heaps of roses strow,
With beauty of thy wings, thy fair hair gilded,
Ride golden love in chariots richly builded.
Unless I err, full many shalt thou burn,
And give words infinite at every turn.
In spite of thee, forth will thy arrows fly,
A scorching flame burns all the standers by.
So having conquer'd Ind, was Bacchus hue,
Thee pompous birds and him two tigers drew';
Then seeing I grace thy shew in following thee,
Forbear to hurt thyself in spoiling me.
Behold thy kinsman Cæsar's prosperous hands,
Who guards thee conquered with his conquering hands.
JOHN DAVIES AND CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE.
Epigrammes and Elegies, by J. D. and C. M. At Middlebourgh. 8vo. [no date.]
These productions are ascribed to Davies and Marlowe, but as it is impossible to determine with accuracy the portions belonging to each, and as moreover the volume is extremely rare it has been thought best to reprint the whole.
FLY merry Muse unto that merry town,
Where thou may'st plays, revels and triumphs see,
The house of fame and theatre of renown,
Where all good wits and spirits love to be.
Fall in between their hands, that love and praise thee, And be to them a laughter and a jest:
But as for them which scorning shall approve thee,
Disdain their wits, and think thine own the best.
But if thou find any so gross and dull,
That think I do to private taxing lean:
Bid him go hang for he is but a gull,
And knows not what an epigram does mean.
Which taxeth under a particular name,
A general vice which merits public blame.
Oft in my laughing rhymes, I name a gull,
But this new term will many questions breed,
Therefore at first I will express at full,
Who is a true and perfect gull indeed.
A gull is he who fears a velvet gown,
And when a wench is brave, dares not speak to her : A gull is he which traverseth the town,
And is for marriage known a common wooer.
A gull is he, which while he proudly wears,
A silver hilted rapier by his side,
Indures the lies, and knocks about the ears,
Whilst in his sheath, his sleeping sword doth bide.
A gull is he which wears good handsome clothes,
And stands in presence stroking up his hair,
And fills up his imperfect speech with oaths,
But speaks not one wise word throughout the year:
But to define a gull in terms precise,
A gull is he which seems, and is not wise.
Rufus the Courtier, at the theatre,
Leaving the best and most conspicuous place,
Doth either to the stage himself transfer,
Or through a grate, doth shew his double face.
For that the clamorous fry of Inns of court,
Fills up the private rooms of greater price,
And such a place where all may have resort,
He in his singularity doth despise.
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