APHORISMS.

CVII.

TRUE FRIENDSHIP.

Wilt thou my true friend be?
Then love not mine but me.

CVIII.

CRUELTY BASE IN COMMANDERS.

Nothing can be more loathsome, than to see Power conjoin'd with Nature's cruelty.

CIX.

LITTLE AND LOUD.

Little you are; for woman's sake be proud; For my sake next, though little be not loud.

CX.

SHIPWRECK.

He who has suffered shipwreck, fears to sail Upon the seas, though with a gentle gale.

I must confess, distinction none I see
Between Domitian's Martial then and thee
But this I know, should Jupiter again
Descend from heaven, to re-converse with men;
The Roman language, full and superfine,
If Jove would speak, he would accept of thine.

CCCC.

TO HIS BROTHER-IN-LAW, MASTER JOHN

WINGFIELD.

For being comely, consonant, and free
To most of men, but most of all to me;
For so decreeing, that thy clothes' expense
Keeps still within a just circumference;
Then for contriving so to load thy board,
As that the messes ne'r o'rlaid the Lord;
Next, for ordaining that thy words not swell
To any one unsober syllable;

These I could praise thee for beyond another,
Wert thou a Wingfield only, not a brother.

ССССІ.

TO THE HANDSOME MRS. GRACE POTTER.

As is your name, so is your comely face
Touch'd everywhere with such diffused grace,
As that in all that admirable round,

There is not one least solecism found;
And as that part, so every portion else
Keeps line for line with beauty's parallels.

CCCCII.

TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, M. JO. WICKS.

Since shed or cottage 1 have none,
I sing the more, that thou hast one;
To whose glad threshold, and free door
I may a poet come, though poor,
And eat with thee a savory bit,
Paying but common thanks for it:
Yet should I chance, my Wicks, to see
An over leaven look in thee,

To sour the bread, and turn the beer
To an exalted vinegar;

Or should'st thou prize me as a dish
Of thrice-boil'd worts, or third days fish,
I'd rather hungry go and come,

Than to thy house be burdensome;

Yet, in my depth of grief, I'd be

One that should drop his beads for thee.

CCCCIII.

TO THE KING, UPON HIS TAKING OF LEICESTER.

This day is yours, Great Charles! and in this war
Your fate and ours alike victorious are.

In her white stole, now victory does rest,
Enspher'd with palm on your triumphant crest;
Fortune is now your captive; other kings

Hold but her hands; you hold both hands and wings.

CCCCIV.

TO HIS FRIEND MASTER J. JINCKS.

Love, love me now, because I place
Thee here among my righteous race;
The bastard slips may droop and die,
Wanting both root and earth, but thy
Immortal self shall boldly trust

To live for ever with my Just.

CCCCV.

TO THE LORD HOPTON, ON HIS FIGHT IN CORNWALL.

Go on, brave Hopton, to effectuate that
Which we, and times to come, shall wonder at:
Lift up thy sword; next, suffer it to fall,
And by that one blow set an end to all.

CCCCVI.

TO HIS SISTER-IN-LAW, M. SUSANNAH HERRICK.

The person crowns the place; your lot doth fall
Last, yet to be with these a principal:

How ere it fortuned, know, for truth, I meant
You a fore-leader in this testament.

CCCCVII.

TO THE EARL OF WESTMORELAND.

When my date's done, and my grey age must die; Nurse up, great lord, this my posterity;

Weak though it be, long may it grow, and stand, Shor'd up by you, brave Earl of Westmoreland.

MORAL AND PATHETIC.

R