Feminine Valor Eminently Discovered, Encomium 11 – Prologue
To the Renowned Author, Master IAMES STRONG.
WHen first thy parts and person I did view,
I mean thy outward lineaments and hue,
Thy vaster bulk, thy grave and wise aspect,
And all with equal guise and beauty deckt,
I much admir'd, and to my self concluded,
(And well I ween'd, I could not be deluded)
Within that cask (and right it was defined)
Some nobler spirit sure must be inshrined:
Thus wondring as I stood, straight to mine eye
Were brought thy rarest Rhymes and Poesie.
Poor mortal, how agast! I read 'hem with wit so fraught,
That like to one who was of wits bestraught.
I stood amaz'd, astonisht let it be,
For much I fear'd the fate of Niobe;
Only this difference 'twixt us there had bin,
(Which to forget, I fear had been a sin.)
She, she, poor soul, through grief was petrify'd,
But I through admiration stupify'd,
But well; these pangs, and pantings being over,
After my self, I'gan for to recover.
Oh how I kist, embrac't, and hugg'd thy Verse?
And now nought else but Strong I could rehearse.
Nay, which is more, I'gan to love the times
That had occasion'd these thy happy Rhymes:
And blam'd those peevish wits, who oft had cry'd,
Since Abraham Frauner, and haughty Church-yard dy'd.
All Poesie is left, (indeed I know it,
Since they were gone till now, we scarce had Poet)
For now like Sun with clouds of sable hue,
Bedeckt, and cover'd, all's return'd in you.
No more let's now the much renowned trade
Of Ballading, too much of late decay'd,
As lost bewail, for from thy clearest spring,
Poets inspir'd each market day shall sing;
And stories now bedight in homely Prose,
Each morn in Rhyme and Meeter we'l expose
VntoUnto the greedy view of mortals, who
Shall own restored Poetry to you.
I must confess, when first I did but glance
VponUpon thy huger bulk, and that by chance,
I deem'd sure now a well proportion'd birth
From Teeming Mount: to mortals greatest mirth
Shall issue forth, 'twas even as I did guess it,
And now my Muse desires an acquiescit.
This only needs she I must for to rehearse,
Strong is thy name, but stronger is thy Verse.
Peter Jeffrey.
A gratulatory Poem to the Western Amazons, and to their Learned Bard.
WHich I should most admire, I know not yet,
The womens valour, or the Poets wit.
He made the Verses, and they threw the stones
(Verses you'ld swear were all made for the nonce)
O happy stones which those fair fingers grip'd!
But happier Muse, which their loud praises pip'd
Through nostrils oaten-reed, and sung so shril
That the whole Earth's Horizon 'broad they fill.
Miracles are not ceast, we see; for here
The weaker Sex, whom nature taught to fear
The face of death and danger, now out-dare
Ev'n valiant men in fight; nor do they spare
Their willing flesh. Here comes an Amazon,
And fearless treads th' assaulted Works upon:
With coats tuckt up, and tippet bolt upright,
Lap full of stone…, she fits her for the fight.
Two might have serv'd you'l think, but more she brings
Which 'mongst the Enemies heathen troops she flings;
And after them words, harder then the Pebbles,
She thunders 'gainst those Antichristian rebbels.
So do the rest, for planted all a-row
Fast as they can they joyntly curse and throw.
O had you seen them toyl, and swink, and sweat
With the same ardor they their husbands beat
When they came home at night, you'd then confess
These Western Saints had well deserv'd the press.
They've wrought a wonder too, and you shall know it,
They chang'd this Western Pug into a Poet.
Else had his mouldy brains ne'r been inspir'd
With rage Poetick, nor this all-admir'd
And sacred work ere seen the gladsom light.
For who'ld expect a Poem from a wight
Nurs'd up with Beans and Butter-milk, or on
Festival days, stale Bisket and Poor Iohn?
Strange dyet to train up a Muse, you'le say;
Yet see the luck on't; having view'd one day
A skirmish 'twixt those brave Virago's, and
Their Foes, a gray Goose quil he takes in hand
The omen pleas'd him well: (Quoth he) Of old
Strange stories have of these poor birds been told.
The Roman Capitol by Geese was kept,
They wak't, poor souls, when the dul Souldiers slept.
Alas! who now keeps Lime? poor female Cattel,
Who wake all night, labour all day in Battel,
Geese, as a man may call them, who do hiss
Against the opposers of our Countries bliss.
And by their seasonable noyse discover
Our Foes, when they the Works are climing over.
And shall such acts as these forgotten die
Unrecommended to posterity?
No, whilst I have a Muse that can afford
One verse, their names shall stand upon record.
Nor shall the cankred teeth of envious Time
Devour the story of besieged Lime.
Thus having spoke: He drencht his Virgin Quill
Ith' sable Flood, and did his Paper fill
With rich Invention, which if thou wouldst see,
Reader, disburse thy groat and happy be.
Toby Trundle.
Certain fit similitudes, whereby for to set forth the worth of this Poem.
AS little Bee in broyling heat
doth search the fields about,
So Authors best are drained quite,
And suck't by this learn'd lout:
As precious pearl in little room
shrouds vertues more then many,
So secret knowledge much is shew'd
in this Book, as in any.
As little sphear by tumbling round
doth Heavens high unfold,
So maist thou in this rumbling Book
things Heavenly behold.
As load-stone doth the iron hard
by secret force hold fast,
So little volume in despight
will envy make agast.
As glittering Sun with his bright hue,
doth other Stars make slink,
So where this Book doth once appear,
of others ne're you'll think.
As Crab-tree fair, both flower and fruit
doth bring forth without stay;
So fruitful is the Book to all
in time, and place alway:
Then honey taste, buy precious pearl,
view sphear that turneth fast,
Fear load-stones force, walk by Suns light,
eat fruit that aye doth last.
By the same Author.
Coriato Juniori.
ENter the Ring, all fear discard,
The womans grand Olympique Bard,
Th'ast foyl'd Apollo, and giv'n all
The weaker Muses a fair fall:
This Trophy of thy female verse
Shews how they did themselves disperse,
Some ran away on Badgers feet,
And some on Scotch-hops, not so fleet;
(Their airy motion quite forgot)
Need makes them in thy verses trot;
Coriat had once each Eastern lip
VponUpon his propatetique hip:
But thy Pug poem has in hug
Each western tongues virago dug,
Wits compass hath but two points blest,
Tom's lines ran East, and yours to West.
D. VV.
Al Autor.
LIsonjas introdu zidas
(Por error de las edades)
Vsurpan a las verdades,
El traje de ser creidas.
Yfrases encarecidas
(Lo mas incierto y lo mas vano)
Que yo en tu alaban ç a ufano,
Sin adornos de tal tira,
Iuzgo, milagro a tu Lyra,
Ya ti, divino, en lo humano.
J. D.
FLattery the greatest crime
Was ever introduc'd by time;
Usurps some truth, a whoreson thief
The more to Cunny-catch belief
With heightned language of a strain,
Ambiguous ever, yea and vain:
And therefore my plain-dealing Muse
Abhorrs that vices Arts to use.
Now this premis'd, thrice happy I,
For Zoylous none can say I lye
In saying thou'rt to be preferr'd
Before the blind or wanton Bard,
Or the best master of that trade
That ever Ode or Eglogue made.
(Phoebus his rays alas with thine
Appearing once, would lose their shine.)
Their Muses Pyes were and their songs
Ballads compar'd with those of Strongs:
Their Musick Reeds, their Harps of Wyre;
But to speak truth 'tis thine's the Lyre.
To the deserved Commendations of that well meaning Poem of the Western, but most Christian Amazons Ioanizareidos.
NO ravish'd Brain was e're since Homer spude
Heroique models, with a vein endude
Of such high consequence, to raise a stile
Out of the medley of the Lyre and File.
How strangely are thy thoughts and numbers met!
While in each line the Fancies rise and set.
This is (indeed) t' indite unto a Mint,
And to coyn current Rithms that run in Print.
Thy Epique White-pot is not like the prose
Are scand upon a snorting six foot nose:
Thy valiant Muse, that is so highly born,
Fears not the wrinkles of their nasal horn,
Who under a bent Brow's prophaner Bay
Men in their nostrils rugged ballance weigh;
Like nosewise Critiques striving to suspend
By judgement, what their wits can never mend.
Injoy thy Issues attributes, well known
By Pallas voted for the Muses Hone.
Rich pen! to light upon a blessed nest
Of Amazonian Worthies in the West:
That where the Wisemans Adage says a shrew
Should be sought ought to drive away the foe:
Thy she's, like silent men themselves behave
Not (Capitolian Geese) by kackling save;
And whereas female valour (apt to quail)
Is seldom seen to rise above the nail:
Here with the Phalanx of each Hand array'd
In natures files, they men at Arms invade.
Take heed henceforth you She-beat Royal Bands,
Who wave their mouths loud weapon in their Hands,
Will be (when all your feeble valours spent)
Most oriental in their Occident.
Aesculapius Menecraticus.
Ignoto novarum cruditatum Authori Scribendi Cacoethe laboranti S.
CArmina ronchissas balba de Nare Poeta,
Ad Rhombum resonans Maevius alter eris.
Sic glacit as mollem Calamo crepitante triumphum,
Scilicet ut fuso Palladis hasta fuit:
Exitus acta probat: Si nunc Cacophonia grata est
Sphyncteris occidui sibilus, omen erit.
Lectori.
Long as oscitationes trahenti,
Et vix sibi lecta paginâ
foreign severè spectanti,
haec mora
Epigrammatis morigeri:
In morosas, hujus Morologiae cruditates,
Per Authorem, virum moratum
Et summoperè morandum
Nuper editas;
Ac (O mores!) ex improviso
Excussas,
Etiam dum Remores auspicium vaticum
Moretis incusabat.
Attica Qui moriens obitér dicteria lusit,
Ille Morus, vibrans, Vtopiensis Olor;
Plebicolus que nigro Chiliadis Indice vultu,
Sacrans moríae pegmata pulchra Moro:
Arrident nostro, morum Diplomate Vati,
Quem tu morari dixeris Encomio.
Morion Colax minor
Cognomento Remora.
Custos Morii Poetici.
Helleboratus.
Cum Cicerone ad Atticum. Vultum tuum
Videre cuperem quùm haec legeres.
Authori Oscedinis & Orthopnoneae
Poeticeae gravidine deplorato
Alexipharmaca
Hygiae que Litatio.
Mandibulis prodest succis Oleaster amaris
Hinc Oscedo volans & satagentis opus.
Res. Iradices persilidis, optime succo,
Perdulcis Calami conde, superque sapis.
Os. Pennae (Scripturo) acri stet semper aceto
N…m musam ronchos ducere saepe, vet at.
POets (that have one) with a waking Nose
May make a scurvy shift to snort in Prose:
But here's the secret cunning of thy Art!
To snore so well in tune, and sing thy part.
The Greek, whose vomits dregs Thou seems to lap,
VVas wont sometimes in verse to take a nap:
But herein your Errata's are at odds,
His were short slips, and yours are thorow nods.
He Cepius-like, to his male friends did keep;
And thou dost only unto women sleep,
So loud; as if Th'adst hir'd Menippus cave
To be thy Muses long poetique grave.
VVere tart Lucilius but alive agen
To set a wiping nose upon his pen!
He would his own smart accent let alone,
Drive Hogs to Rumford in thy Muses tone.
The sneezings of thy Genius we wou'd call
(VVere there Familiars now) Socratical;
And though Thou hast such rites in smal repute,
VV'are bound those sacred omens to salute:
And do (as sympathetically drawn)
Grow nauseous, for to see thy Fancy yawn.
Larus Lucianus. Cognomento Implumis. Alias Ionathan. Rumford.
Physiognomical Conjectures at the unseen Author.
NAture hath seem'd to make our Faces terse,
In manner of a well-composed verse;
But sure, there's something in the ayr of Thine
Remarkable above the native line:
Thou'dst be by him could copy out thy look
By pencil, for a Crisp Abderite took.
A Prophet of the true Pierian race,
Bred on Parnassus forked Top; his Face
Should have the Jiggs and Fancies of his mind
Prickt down in Crotchets, and so interlin'd
With Clifts and Moods; it might be, for a Book
Of Physiognomy, or Musick took;
Not look like those, whose thoughts do suck their Dam
Through the close hurdle of an Anagram.
The wits Idea in thy Visage seen,
Works like Platonique capers on the spleen;
And brings Sardonian laughter into scorn!
VVere man's dull fivers made of Stoique horn,
The spruce aspect, could not introduce a gleek
Of Cynique Spasms into his dimpled cheek.
Such in his visages Dramatique map
VVas Rowley, when his look d…serv'd a clap:
VVho from the Thuscan stem derive their stile,
Oft by Arts magique, raise a humming smile:
But thine (a vertue of a higher bi…th)
Moves, so, an interjections shaking mirth,
(Had he seen Thee) Democritus had dy'd,
And Heraclitus eyes had soon been dry'd;
Sure mine (had I once enter'd at this door
Into thy mind) would never pain me more.
Since thy description made my midriff sprout,
And through my liver thrust these wilde figs out.
Had thy rich countenance e're blest the eye
Of my judicial Astrology;
I could have then, by vertue of a beam,
Have drawn thy Horoscope into a Scheam.
But fate has laid on me a harder task
To Physiognomize, as through a mask.
By the long stroaks and scratches of thy pen,
Thou shouldst be the seventh son of a white Hen.
Ianus de Indagine.
Pam mai garw blaen blewyn baf garfr yn pori kelyn kaled dan dy nhâd ei.
LYthyr wyfi yn myned nid oes ond un dyn am gwyr
Na egored neb honof fam selieda chwyr.
Nis gwyr ond un dyn y chwaith ibleu traf
Os dywed ynte i un dyn nid ydiw fo ond knaf.
Gwalcchmai fab Gwenllian ferch
Gwenhwyfar ferch Edynyfed
Fab Gronw ab Tudor fab
Angharad ferch Rhydderchap
Rhirid ben blaid.
Ai Kunt.
To her much honoured, though unknown Friend, the Author on his Spinning Poem.
FAncy cut out of a block,
First, hung spindle at a rock;
And so plodding wit brought in
The Peripatetique sin.
Wine set Poets to the wheel,
Made their warmed verses reel;
Sent them strong into the loom,
Thence, they scorn'd the peoples doom;
Women, here set up thy Gigg,
Make it spin into a Jigg
Of as high and great regard,
As the Pyrrhique Gallyard:
But ceasing to let it feel
The scourge of thy Brains flead Eel;
Thinking it had power to keep
(Town-top like) it self asleep;
Whirling put thee in a swoon,
So (alas) thy Gigg went down:
And we doubt 'twill be in vain
E're to set it up again.
Eve Spinster.
Rhodomontado Qackesalvo Bobadill de Montebanko the Hispanolized Emperique:
On the Great Don Deigo of Parnassus, Master Operator to the Muses, thus danceth his attendance by way of preamble, in the measures of the Spanish Pavin
OLd Erasistratus who thought!
That Nature did commit a fault
To give us Spleens were good for nought,
As he imagined.
He would have, sure, retriev'd his wit,
And found some pleasant use of it
Had he felt in thy Muses fit
Thy pulses.
For there he mought have found the strain
Of sweet Herophilus his vein,
Who unto Musicks living gain
The Shygmick moods did add.
His Systol' and Diastole
So with thy verses do agree,
That I must dance for company
Morisko.
Each line doth run so smooth away
They nor for sense nor reason stay,
And yet the Rhymes are very gay
And well breath'd for a course.
Sure Phoebus cut thy spleen from Thee
Thou mights the Muses Footman be,
And (Insect like) in Poetry
Be flying.
Hermophroditus Proselyta foeminili Poetae.
ANdrogynus nutans nec mas nec foemina, steti
Ambos sic sexus singere, Neuter eram;
Donec in Encomii requiescens auspice vatem
Hoc muliere virum vincere posse, tuli.
Demitto auriculas Epicoeni facta virago
Tiresiae venerem Martis alumna probo.
Some sprinklings of commendations on the fragrant and most aromatick Poem of Ja. Strong.
STow talks of Albions Amazons, I swear,
Mandeviles Pigmies to thy Haeroines hear:
How they mow down their mighty foes; protest
Meer clippings, to thy hacksters in the West.
Thy Mu…e (young Ovid) trumpets these Viragoes
To the utmost bounds of Indies, or Barbadoes:
That Sidneyes Zelman when she'l hear of you,
Will w…sh her counterfeiting gender true:
And Tomyris, (were she alive) not dead,
Had rather hold their trains then Cyrus head.
What miracle is this in sight of men,
When other folk did cry, nay howl and scream,
Put finger in the eye, and made great moans,
These should be pulling up, now throwing down stones.
They willingly imbrace the cornish hug,
At which the boldest Hectors shoulders shrug,
Like to light corks they beoy up gainst the tide,
Like Water-men, ne're work before they are ply'd:
Or as indeed (young Ovid) thou hast it best,
Like grapes ne're fallen till they were prest.
Let them wear buskings ever to their knees,
Or higher it, for (friend) thy verse all sees
That is in them, of vertuousness I mean,
Pray take my rime as I suppost, that's clean,
Let them have statutes made (like men) of stone,
Another wonder, which may be daily sh…wn,
And let thy pen contrive it, which must stand
Immovable, when stiffened by thy hand.
Bu…ly Ioans.
Ascunes motts ou verses sur les marveilous Gests del tresnoble puzeles en le West.
Provant auxi que le entrie de ses dits puzeles sur les
Cavalieres fuit bone per le Ley.
VOus avez icy (Mastres) verses scaches
De tresgrand faits de nostre Western lasses
Et ceo suppuose que il serra come Treason
Ou al pluis meindre il serra misprision
Si nostre Ley voile riens de ceo escrie
Ne voile reporter cielx femes Chivalry
Est en nous pris un Count nosme Devon-shire
Le scite & sinke de plusars Cavalire
Mes ceux bones Houswives vice le broom le weapon
Ad scoure ceo cleane & done al eux disseison
Et s' bone ley que quant home per tort enter
Le feme avera un briefe de inspiciend' venter.
John Perkins un sage Mastre de Ley. Reg. Ed. 6. ac Rotulo 1645.
To his honoured friend Mr. JAMES STRONG, on his excellent Poem.
HOw dost thou strain thy wits! thy thoughts perplex
With Stronger lines to court the weaker Sex!
He who in time to come shall read their story
Beyond Haec homo, or The Female glory,
Will (if no wiser than thy self) admire
Both them and thee: and think you did conspire
T' amaze the minds of men, more than to teach
The zeal you here present: For who can reach
The top of that gay garland, wherewith thou,
Like Whitson-Ladies hast bedeckt their brow.
S. W.
In ipsissimum Musarum melliculum, Phoebi germanum, & maxime Familiarem Dominum Presbyterum-IACOBVM cognomento STRONG, & pium ejus subuculare Carmen.
SAxa, virumque cano, gressus removete Prophani;
Haec ne, quisquis ades, tela lacesse volens.
Si sapis his credas, rapiat ne fide carentem
Turba loquax, captum at redime quam minim….
Certè Author caveat, novum ne augendo furorem,
Castratus miser, hinc audiat ipse male.
Io triumphe canunt petientes Penthea Bacchae.
Multae unum, minor est gloria Naso tuis.
Molle genus nobis pugnando restituit rem,
Saxa dabat testes nam retinere cupit.
Quam benè scripsisses novam Batromuomachyam?
Carmine avent repeti Nuxque Culexque tuo.
Dignaque quae melius describi, à Pollice dicti
Facta Equitis: faciunt quaeque stupenda grues.
O tibi si dominae reserasset scrinia Fotis,
Bubonem benè vix unctum abtisse puto.
Dicitur, ut memini, faecundis …latibus olim,
Lascivus celeres gignere ventus equos.
Quisve neget Zephyro nostrum praegnasse Poetam,
Talibus hic videas quem properare modis.
Ast animal quodcunque, asinus, fuit, anne caballus,
Nil moror, at mulum parturit egregium,
Cardo quod occiduus trahat hunc, sympathia quaedam ast;
Nasum Heliconiadis forte lavavit aquis.
Ridiculum caput est, vultuque, habituque perennis,
Risus sacra ferens, quemque vidisse sat est.
Nil prohibet sed si ridentem dicere verum,
Musarum huic crepitus aura jocosa tulit.
D. G.
Sonnet.
WHen first thy doughty verse I read,
O verse! no verse! but stranger thing;
And saw what wondrous mirth it bred,
I marvell'd how the Queen and King
Had mist this while thy high-strain'd note,
And thou the privileged Coat.
For as the Moon with crisped beams
Produceth flowers which please the sight;
And as the Sun amidst the streams
Doth make the waves stand bolt upright;
So thou, though by no Star allow'd,
Nor Planet lov'd, shin'st in the Crowd.
Ile not believe those tales, which say,
Apollo fed Admetus sheep,
His Cow, or Oxe, for by my say,
Since thou the number up dost keep,
The Herd was of, I dare protest,
Arcadia's more peculiar beasts.
And since the Lamiae all are pleas'd,
Their Gods should all be born by thee,
Thou of thy load shalt not be eas'd
By roses, though here plenty be;
One Apuleius was, they say,
But he I think did never bray.
Wherefore be thou secure, and now
To you whose blessed hap't shall be
This Syrian Goddess to to bow,
And dream some Fane, or great City;
I tell you plain, O Mortals, Mortals,
This Myndus is, look you secure the portals,
For there the jest lyes, but to thee
Again, my Meta-Virgil, terse
Thought of my end now driveth me;
For since thou wouldst live by thy verse,
How dare I hope a death in mine,
Aim'd for so just, so jump, like thine.
Richard Ionson, Salamanca.
A Character of the Author.
ME thynk it, Sirs, accordaunt to reason,
To tell you now all the condycion
Of thilke on, so as it semed me,
And what hem were, and of what degre,
And eke in what aray that he were in,
And all for forward by Saint Runnyon.
A Clerke of Oxenford he was tho,
That unto Logicke h…d long ygoe,
Of his complexion nothing sangyne
He is, but all swa sw…rt; and of Latyne
A few termes hath he, two, or thre,
That he han learned out of som degre:
His face is bald, and shines as any glas,
His mouth as great as is a furnas,
With scaled browes, blacke and pylled berde,
Of his visage children are sore afferde;
His voyce as smale as is a Gotes fare,
I trow he be a Geldyng or a Mare;
His here is by his eeres round yshorne,
His top is docked like a Priest beforne;
He is short sholdered, a thicke gnarre,
There nis no doore but he wol hede the bar,
Or breke it at a renning with his heed,
Dares none ones wyle him but he wol be deed,
Aye by his belt he bares a longe Pavade,
And, of a sword full trenchaunt is the blade,
To rage as twere a whelpe he is sayde,
Yet of his porte, as meke as is a Mayde:
Full longe he lokes, and thereto soberly,
Full thred-bare is his over Court py;
For he han yet getten him no benefice,
Ne is nought worthy to have none office,
And yet Saynt Iulyan is in's countre,
And the best begger of his house truly:
Full longe are his legges and full l…ne,
I lyke a staffe, there is no calfe ysene,
Of yedding he bares utterly the price,
Well loveth he garlike, onyons, and eke likes,
He holden a syde wemme for the none,
Full oft tyme he han the bourde begon,
No Crysten man soe oft in his degree,
And in Lyme at the siege had he be.
But soth to say he is somwhat squaimus
Of far…yng, and of speche dangerous.
Now is it not of God a sul fayre grace,
That such a lewde mans wit shal pace
The wisdome of an heape of lerned men?
But I must sayne, as that I farther twyn,
I weene he fares as doth an open…rs,
That ylke frute is ever lenger the w…rs,
Til it be rotten in molloke or in …re,
And so God save us al that here be.
J. Chaucer junior.
PROLOGUE.
GEntlemen, (in the Authors phrase) I come to chatter
My mind unto you, and think not I should flatter
At all our Penman; for, believe me, he
Will hardly read or hear me, willingly:
But some there be, I know, will ask why here
In Satans name a Prologue should appear?
Since they Drammatike Ushers still were known,
And this the world will for an Epic own.
I answer, sure our Author meant to raise
The first best instituted form of plays,
To its prime height: were one Narration took
The fore-top, and the toe of the whole Book.
One more Objection there will be, which is,
Why to so scarrifi'd a piece as this,
A merry Prologue, and a laughing name,
Are tender'd? Ye, fine Coxcombs, fye for shame,
Know ye not yet t' what sage Mimnermus stood?
That but what pleasant was nothing was good.
Our Authors of his mind and no man grieves
So far, but that he may laugh in his sleeves.
Think then you hear him now, and think anon,
How that you hear the swelling Lycophron
Chaunt, how the Trojan women stirr'd their bones,
To tumble down their walls huge massie stones;
For ours did so, yet wiser far then those,
These to repel, those to let in their foes,
Oh would himself now but his face make shine,
With daubing plaister, and the Lees of wine!
Ascend a Cart (as was the mode of old)
And through the streets himself this Poem trol'd.
Yould think if not Apollo fresh and young,
Because his hair is short, his ears are long.
Because Don Phoebus robes do loosly float,
And he alas has but a petti-coat:
Yet since he had paper got, by teaching School,
He had been sworn (you'd swear) Groom of his stool.
And this same Poem here which now you view,
Part of the excrements from thence which flew.
A year and half box'd up, (this is sad mirth)
From whence (like to an Elephantine birth)
Is dropt this wonder; Sirs, pray hold your noses,
Or hold some of my friends wits here for poses:
I doubt you'l snuff else, and like him, to whom
Admetus shew'd the Verse for his own tomb,
Admire the strangeness of it, but yet say,
You wish that you had seen it yesterday.
Richard Ionson. Si non dant Proceres, dabit Histrio.
Feminine Valour: OR THE Western Women.
COme Reader wilt thou see how Grace
Through Sable veil shews comeliest face:
Womens vertues in the West
Like Grapes ne'r drop till they were (a)The Author writes to chast ears.prest:
One rib of Adam there is grown
Like (b)The History is thus. A tooth-drawer having drawn Cadmus his teeth. sowed them on his belt, where they got him so much credit, and consequently practice, that in a short space he had adorned it all over with the frequent atchievements of his Art and Pincers. See Ovids Metam. translated by Gawen Duglas Bishop of Dunkelly, and Unkle to the Earl of Angus.Cadmus teeth when they were sown;
Almost an Army, they have spent
Prayers and praise for Parliament.
Could'st thou the parts of Devon trace
No *Milkstreet.via lactea, but thy race
Of blood would be, there see the field
Maintain'd by Women tho men yield:
Look round about and see, who can
But wonder if he see a man,
But stand and wonder more at this,
To see a (c)The word in the original Welch signifies the succession of women into mens breeches.Metampsukesis.
Mens (d)He means women turned to men; Pliny in his Natural History, lib. 7. affirms the like of Ha…es and Conies, our Author alludes to him.spirits lost have reinformed
Womens bodies, both's reformed:
Who could see the sword not daunting
A Womans heart, but stand still vaunting?
A Garrison in part defended
By Women, till the Quarrels ended,
And worn out men to be supply'd
By second strength of Women (e)Whose mettal has endured the Test.try'd,
And not acknowledge that 'tis true,
I give West Women what is (f)Benevolence.due.
Ia. St.