English

Of Procus.

Procus insteede of more fitting discourse
To entertaine his Mistris eares withall,
Tells her a long tale of a rosted horse,
Of a great brabble did to him befall;
When she demaunds the occasion of the braule,
He in a gallant brauery, gull-like swore,
The reason that he foorth with him did fall,
Was, for the other grutcht him of his whore:
(Ye who doe loue your loues better conceit,)

To Candidus.

Friend Candidus , thou often doost demaund,
What humours men by gulling vnderstand:
Our English Martiall hath full pleasantly,
In his close nips describde a gull to thee:
I'le follow him, and set down my conceit
What a Gull is: oh word of much receit!
He is a gull, whose indiscretion,
Cracks his purse strings to be in fashion;
He is a gull, who is long in taking roote
In barraine soyle, where can be but small fruite:
He is a gull, who runnes himselfe in debt,
For twelue dayes wonder, hoping so to get;

Of Faustus.

Faustus in steede of grace, saith Fuscus rimes,
Oh gracelesse manners! oh vnhallowed times!

Of Curio.

Curio threats my death in an Epigrame,
Yfayth hee'le eate his word, he is too blame,
And yet I think hee'le write; then ware of bleeding,
Nay feare not, he writes nothing worth the reading.

Oc Lodius.

Clodius oft sayth he hath chaleng'd beene by many,
But neuer tells me he hath answered any.

Of Riuus.

Once Riuus saw a pretty lasse,
And liquorous tooth'd desir'd to tast,
But knowing not how to bring't to passe,
He vow'd to hange himselfe in hast:
I feard him not, the wench was gone,
And he was loth to hang alone.

Of Zeno.

Zeno desirous of the idle fame
Of Stoicke resolution, recklesly
Seemes to esteeme of good report or blame;
So prouing himselfe dull, most foolishly,
To euery thing he heares, he saith he cares not:
He cares not for his booke, nor yet for wit,
For pleasant catch-fooles in like sort he spares not
To sweare hee's carelesse, carelesse to forget
Or thinke vpon his dutie, soules comfort;

To Licus.

Licus , thou often tell'st me iestingly,
I am a fine man, and so tyrannously
Hast thou now tired that phrase, that euery one
Is a fine man in thine opinion:
In thine opinion? no it's but thy word,
Which doth that fine addition affoord:
And yet I see no cause but many may,
Be euen as fine as Licus euery way;
In dauncing, vaulting, and in riming too,
In theyr conceits there are as good as you.
Then wherein is't that you so farre surpasse
Other plaine iades, like Lucius golden Asse?

Of the same.

I saw not Cotta thys halfe yeere before,
When he was angry that I spoke not to him,
He hath no reason to take it so sore,
Being so painted that I did not know him.

Of Cotta.

Behold a wonder, neuer seene before,
Yonder's Cotta's picture, dauncing trenchmore.