From noise of scare-fires rest ye free, From murders _Benedicite_. From all mischances that may fright Your pleasing slumbers in the night, Mercy secure ye all, and keep The goblin from ye while ye sleep. Past one o'clock, and almost two! My masters all, good-day to you. _Scare-fires_, alarms of fire. 300. BASHFULNESS. Of all our parts, the eyes express The sweetest kind of bashfulness. 301. TO THE MOST ACCOMPLISHED GENTLEMAN, MASTER EDWARD NORGATE, CLERK OF THE SIGNET TO HIS MAJESTY. EPIG. For one so rarely tun'd to fit all parts, For one to whom espous'd are all the arts, Long have I sought for, but could never see Them all concentr'd in one man, but thee. Thus, thou that man art whom the fates conspir'd To make but one, and that's thyself, admir'd. 302. UPON PRUDENCE BALDWIN: HER SICKNESS. Prue, my dearest maid, is sick, Almost to be lunatic: Æsculapius! come and bring Means for her recovering; And a gallant cock shall be Offer'd up by her to thee. _Cock_, the traditional offering to Æsculapius; cp. the last words of Socrates; cp. Ben Jonson, Epig. xiii. 303. TO APOLLO. A SHORT HYMN. Phœbus! when that I a verse Or some numbers more rehearse, Tune my words that they may fall Each way smoothly musical: For which favour there shall be Swans devoted unto thee. 304. A HYMN TO BACCHUS. Bacchus, let me drink no more; Wild are seas that want a shore. When our drinking has no stint, There is no one pleasure in't. I have drank up, for to please Thee, that great cup Hercules: Urge no more, and there shall be Daffodils given up to thee. 306. ON HIMSELF. Here down my wearied limbs I'll lay; My pilgrim's staff, my weed of gray, My palmer's hat, my scallop's shell, My cross, my cord, and all, farewell. For having now my journey done, Just at the setting of the sun, Here I have found a chamber fit, God and good friends be thanked for it, Where if I can a lodger be, A little while from tramplers free, At my up-rising next I shall, If not requite, yet thank ye all. Meanwhile, the holy-rood hence fright The fouler fiend and evil sprite From scaring you or yours this night. 307. CASUALTIES. Good things that come of course, far less do please Than those which come by sweet contingencies. 308. BRIBES AND GIFTS GET ALL. Dead falls the cause if once the hand be mute; But let that speak, the client gets the suit. 309. THE END. If well thou hast begun, go on fore-right; _It is the end that crowns us, not the fight_. 310. UPON A CHILD THAT DIED. Here she lies, a pretty bud, Lately made of flesh and blood: Who as soon fell fast asleep As her little eyes did peep. Give her strewings, but not stir The earth that lightly covers her. 312. CONTENT, NOT CATES.