_Trebius_, friend of the epicure Lucullus; cp. Juv. v. 19.

378. TO HIS VALENTINE ON ST. VALENTINE'S DAY.

Oft have I heard both youths and virgins say Birds choose their mates, and couple too this day; But by their flight I never can divine When I shall couple with my valentine.

382. UPON M. BEN. JONSON. EPIG.

After the rare arch-poet, Jonson, died, The sock grew loathsome, and the buskin's pride, Together with the stage's glory, stood Each like a poor and pitied widowhood.

The cirque profan'd was, and all postures rack'd; For men did strut, and stride, and stare, not act.

Then temper flew from words, and men did squeak, Look red, and blow, and bl.u.s.ter, but not speak; No holy rage or frantic fires did stir Or flash about the s.p.a.cious theatre.

No clap of hands, or shout, or praise's proof Did crack the play-house sides, or cleave her roof.

Artless the scene was, and that monstrous sin Of deep and arrant ignorance came in: Such ignorance as theirs was who once hiss'd At thy unequall'd play, the _Alchemist_; Oh, fie upon 'em! Lastly, too, all wit In utter darkness did, and still will sit, Sleeping the luckless age out, till that she Her resurrection has again with thee.

383. ANOTHER.

Thou had'st the wreath before, now take the tree, That henceforth none be laurel-crown'd but thee.

384. TO HIS NEPHEW, TO BE PROSPEROUS IN HIS ART OF PAINTING.

On, as thou hast begun, brave youth, and get The palm from Urbin, t.i.tian, Tintoret, Brugel and c.o.xu, and the works outdo Of Holbein and that mighty Rubens too.

So draw and paint as none may do the like, No, not the glory of the world, Vand.y.k.e.

_Urbin_, Raphael.

_Brugel_, Jan Breughel, Dutch landscape painter (1569-1625), or his father or brother.

_c.o.xu_, Michael van c.o.xcie, Flemish painter (1497-1592).

386. A VOW TO MARS.

Store of courage to me grant, Now I'm turn'd a combatant; Help me, so that I my shield, Fighting, lose not in the field.

That's the greatest shame of all That in warfare can befall.

Do but this, and there shall be Offer'd up a wolf to thee.

387. TO HIS MAID, PREW.

These summer-birds did with thy master stay The times of warmth, but then they flew away, Leaving their poet, being now grown old, Expos'd to all the coming winter's cold.

But thou, kind Prew, did'st with my fates abide As well the winter's as the summer's tide; For which thy love, live with thy master here, Not one, but all the seasons of the year.

388. A CANTICLE TO APOLLO.

Play, Phbus, on thy lute; And we will all sit mute, By listening to thy lyre, That sets all ears on fire.

Hark, hark, the G.o.d does play!

And as he leads the way Through heaven the very spheres, As men, turn all to ears.

389. A JUST MAN.

A just man's like a rock that turns the wrath Of all the raging waves into a froth.

390. UPON A HOa.r.s.e SINGER.

Sing me to death; for till thy voice be clear, 'Twill never please the palate of mine ear.

391. HOW PANSIES OR HEART'S-EASE CAME FIRST.

Frolic virgins once these were, Over-loving, living here; Being here their ends denied, Ran for sweethearts mad, and died.

Love, in pity of their tears, And their loss in blooming years, For their restless here-spent hours, Gave them heart's-ease turn'd to flowers.

392. TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, SIR EDWARD FISH, KNIGHT BARONET.

Since, for thy full deserts, with all the rest Of these chaste spirits that are here possest Of life eternal, time has made thee one For growth in this my rich plantation, Live here; but know 'twas virtue, and not chance, That gave thee this so high inheritance.

Keep it for ever, grounded with the good, Who hold fast here an endless livelihood.

393. LAR'S PORTION AND THE POET'S PART.

At my homely country-seat I have there a little wheat, Which I work to meal, and make Therewithal a holy cake: Part of which I give to Lar, Part is my peculiar.

_Peculiar_, his own property.

394. UPON MAN.

Man is compos'd here of a twofold part: The first of nature, and the next of art: Art presupposes nature; nature she Prepares the way for man's docility.

395. LIBERTY.

Those ills that mortal men endure So long, are capable of cure, As they of freedom may be sure; But, that denied, a grief, though small, Shakes the whole roof, or ruins all.

396. LOTS TO BE LIKED.

Learn this of me, where'er thy lot doth fall, Short lot or not, to be content with all.

397. GRIEFS.

Jove may afford us thousands of reliefs, Since man expos'd is to a world of griefs.