Facetiae : Musarum deliciae, or, The Muses recreation, conteining ...

Facetiae : Musarum deliciae, or, The Muses recreation, conteining ... Facetiae : Musarum deliciae, or, The Muses recreation, conteining ...

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264 Epitaphs.Me thinks I see how Charons fingers itches,But he's deceived he cannot have his riches.163. Another on Hobson.Whom seek ye sirs ? Old Hobson ? fieuponYour tardinesse, the Carrier isgon,Why stare you so ? nay, you deserve to faile,Alas, here's nought, but his old rotten maile.He went a good-while since, no question storeAre glad, who vext he would not goe before :And some are grieved hee's gone so soone away,The Lord knows why he did no longer stay.How could he please youall ?I'm sure of this,He linger'd soundly, howsoe'r you misse ;But gone he is, nor was he surely wellAt his departure, as mischance befell :For he isgone in such unwonted kind,As ne'r before, his goods all left behind.164. Old Hobsons Epitaph.Here Hobson lyes among his many betters,A man unlearned, yet a man of Letters ;His carriage was well known, oft hath he goneIn Embassy 'twixt father and the sonne :There's few in Cambridge, to his praise be itspoken,But may remember him by some good Token.From whence he rid to London day by day,Till death benighting him, he lost hisway :

Epitaphs. 265His Team was of the best, nor would he haveBeen mir'd in any way, but in the grave.Nor is't a wonder, that he thus is gon,Since all men know, he long was drawing on.Thus rest in peace thou everlasting Swain,And supream Waggoner, next Charles his wain.165. Vpon John Crop, who dyed by taking a vomit.Mans life's a game at Tables, and he mayMend his bad fortune by his wiser play ;Death playes against us, each disease and soreAre blots, if the hit, dangeris the moreTo lose the game but an old stander ;byBinds up the blots, and cures the malady,And so prolongs the game ; John Crop was heDeath in a rage did challenge for to seeHis play, the dice are thrown, when first he drinks,Casts, makes a blot, death hits him with a Sinque :He casts again, but all in vain, for deathBy th'after game did win the prize, his breath.What though his skill was good, his luck was bad,For never mortall man worse casting had.But did not death play false to win from suchAs he ?no doubt, he bare a man too much.1 66. An honest Epitaph.Here lyes an honest man, Reader, if thou seek more,.Thou art not so thy selfe for ; honestyis store

264 Epitaphs.Me thinks I see how Charons fingers itches,But he's deceived he cannot have his riches.163. Another on Hobson.Whom seek ye sirs ? Old Hobson ? fieuponYour tardinesse, the Carrier isgon,Why stare you so ? nay, you deserve to faile,Alas, here's nought, but his old rotten maile.He went a good-while since, no question st<strong>or</strong>eAre glad, who vext he would not goe bef<strong>or</strong>e :And some are grieved hee's gone so soone away,<strong>The</strong> L<strong>or</strong>d knows why he did no longer stay.How could he please youall ?I'm sure of this,He linger'd soundly, howsoe'r you misse ;But gone he is, n<strong>or</strong> was he surely wellAt his departure, as mischance befell :F<strong>or</strong> he isgone in such unwonted kind,As ne'r bef<strong>or</strong>e, his goods all left behind.164. Old Hobsons Epitaph.Here Hobson lyes among his many betters,A man unlearned, yet a man of Letters ;His carriage was well known, oft hath he goneIn Embassy 'twixt father and the sonne :<strong>The</strong>re's few in Cambridge, to his praise be itspoken,But may remember him by some good Token.From whence he rid to London day by day,Till death benighting him, he lost hisway :

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