Those get the least that take the greatest pains, But most of all i' th' drudgery of the brains, A natural sign of weakness, as an ant Is more laborious than an elephant; And children are more busy at their play, Than those that wiseliest pass their time away. ON A CLUB OF SOTS. The jolly members of a toping club, Like pipestaves, are but hoop'd into a tub; And in a close confederacy link, For nothing else but only to hold drink. HOLLAND. A country that draws fifty feet of water, In which men live as in the hold of Nature; And when the sea does in upon them break, And drown a province, does but spring a leak; That always ply the pump, and never think They can be safe, but at the rate they stink; That live as if they had been run a-ground, And, when they die, are cast away and drown'd; That dwell in ships, like swarms of rats, and prey Upon the goods all nations' fleets convey; And, when their merchants are blown up and cracked, Whole towns are cast away and wrecked; That feed, like cannibals, on other fishes, And serve their cousin-germans up in dishes: A land that rides at anchor, and is moor'd, In which they do not live, but go a-board. WOMEN. The souls of women are so small, That some believe they've none at all; Or if they have, like cripples, still They've but one faculty, the will; The other two are quite laid by To make up one great tyranny; And though their passions have most pow'r, They are, like Turks, but slaves the more To th' abs'lute will, that with a breath Has sovereign pow'r of life and death, And, as its little int'rests move, Can turn 'em all to hate or love; For nothing, in a moment, turn To frantic love, disdain, and scorn; And make that love degenerate T' as great extremity of hate; And hate again, and scorn, and piques, To flames, and raptures, and love-tricks. EPIGRAMS OF EDMUND WALLEB. A PAINTED LADY WITH ILL TEETH. Were men so dull they could not see That Lyce painted; should they flee, Like simple birds, into a net, So grossly woven, and ill set, Her own teeth would undo the knot, And let all go that she had got. Those teeth fair Lyce must not show, If she would bite: her lovers, though Like birds they stoop at seeming grapes, Are dis-abus'd, when first she gapes: The rotten bones discover'd there, Show 'tis a painted sepulcher. OF THE MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS.