NEC TEMERE NEC TIMIDE  
I Clement cottrel Kt. Master of the Ceremonies    

HUMOURS ANTIQVE FACES.  
Drawn in proportion to his several antic gestures.  
LONDON Imprinted for Henry Rockett, and are to be sold at the long Shop under S. Mildred's Church in the Poultry. 1605.   

To the Reader.  
HE that to please all humours doth intend,  
May well begin but never make an end:  
S●nce every humour hath his several vain,  
Which in themselves strange objects do retain  
I then will write at random: hit as 'twill,  
If some be pleased, of some be impleased still.  
To him that likes it best, to him I send it,  
Mislike it not till you yourself can mend it.  
Then if my humour hath done humours wrong  
I'll rather mend it or else hold my tongue.  
Mean while comment but rightly on the text  
I will present strange fashions to you next.   

Prologue.  
Under the shadow of the gloomy night,  
When silent sleep arrests each mortal wight,  
When fairy Oberon and his night Queen  
In Cinthia's honour frisks over every green.  
Sleep, parting from me, gave invention light  
To find some subject for my pen to wright  
When musing how the world I best might fit,  
I saw how Poets humoured out their wit.  
Nay then thought I write all of what they list,  
Once in my days i'll prove a humorist.  
When on the Sudden as I thought the thing,  
I was encountered by the Fairy King.  
Mortal (quoth he) I charge thee to engage,  
Thy pen to scourge the humours of this age,  
Thou shalt not need to make a long relation,  
What thou canst get by tedious observation.  
Fairies have left their low infernal places,  
The several forms of humours in their faces.  
Take what, and where thou list while it is night,  
But send them home before the day be light.   

Epigram.  
O By your leave I pray you give them vent,  
Hear comes brave courtship gallant complement  
He meets his friend nay then he keeps a stur,  
Illustrious, generous, most accomplished Sur.  
Kisses his hand and sends it to his foot  
As if he ought some duty to his boot  
Phoebus bright lamp good half an hour might burn,  
Courtly contending, each doth keep his turn.  
Until their Courtship pester so the way,  
By comes a cart, and then dissolves the fray.  
Then out comes words more eloquent than Hermes,  
The quintessence of all your Inkchorne terms.  
As we are Aliens I am sorry thoe,  
'tis your defect Sir: you will have it so.  
Most admirable be the words they speak,  
T' express their minds plain english is to weak.  
To these strange words, which these brave gallants cog,  
A courtly congee is the Epilogue.  
For having now so frankly spent their store,  
Needs must they part when they can speak no more   

Epigram.  
A Handsome fellow and a proper Squire,  
A little hanging would promote him higher,  
A man I tell you of the better sort,  
Amongst his equals hath a good report,  
His dealings on the market day doth rall  
At newgate market, Cheap and Leadenhall.  
He is a taker, indeed is he so,  
I mean a taker up of Purses thee:  
This fellow coming lately down Cheapside,  
Afemall booty suddenly espied.  
'twas Market day, but quite out of his mind:  
For he had left his Instruments behind.  
But his conceit that is no barren spring,  
With little musing had bethought a thing.  
Was it the woman's luck or fortune whether  
That she should wear both purse and knife together?  
The Cutpurse swore and bound it with a curse,  
The woman's knife should cut the woman's purse,  
And did it too: good reason by my troth,  
For would you that a man should break his oath,  
'twas not for need I pray conceive the best,  
His humour was to cut a Purse in jest.   

Epigram.  
Room Sirs, I pray for Bacchus Cousin here,  
Whose paunch (the fatal tomb to all good cheer)  
Welters in tallow and huge cakes of grease,  
Such burly fellows make good men of peace,  
He is of such a huge insatiate size  
His whole days work nothing but gormandize.  
He has a belly circular and round,  
Is never full, O sir it is profound.  
He has a huge and dreadful fiery nose,  
God bless Paul's steeple when he puffs and blows,  
He dares not go ungirded not two meals,  
For then his guts would fall about his heels.  
Poor Painters were undone if he were dead,  
They lose the pattern of a Sarzens' head,  
I met him once riding down Holborn late,  
I surely thought the mouth at Bishopsgate  
Had been on progress, out in Oxfordshire  
For to devour all Mutton and porridge there.  
Well blame not him, he has a care to carve,  
For otherwise poor churchyard worms would starve.   

Epigram.  
Sweet Signior swash was late o'ercome with passion  
Because his life was quite worn out of fashion:  
For he protests, nay and you will, he'll swear  
That he hath been in London half a year.  
Yet all this while that he in London lay:  
'twas not his luck so much as see a play.  
Nay which is more, he hath not seen great Hunckes,  
Nor yet hath been in Shor-diteh 'mongst his Punks.  
And God forgive him he is not precise,  
Much to frequent any good exercise.  
Why this is strange a riddle not a rhyme,  
Where hath this gallant younker spent his time.  
To tell the jest I think 'twill make you smile,  
He hath been in the Counter all this while.   

Epigram.  
ONe told a Courser where he should repair,  
And find a field well fraught with praunsing wait  
Wither he went without let or denial  
Before he bought, thinking to steal a trial.  
Some two or three he backs, but doth rejourn,  
The dull paced jades they would not serve his turn,  
At last he backed one, whose heels did rebound,  
As if his vaultage seemed to scorn the ground.  
And though his rider kept him on the rack,  
Ran quite away, his chapman on his back:  
His courage was of such a fiery pitch,  
As boar the Courser over hedge and ditch.  
But seeing one he feared would reveal him,  
He reigned him in, he did not mean to steal him  
It was the owner, than he keeps a stir,  
Holds back his head, but gives his sides the Snurre.  
As if indeed he could not hold him still,  
But that he stole a Horse against his will.  
Nothing but this, yet he was hanged they say,  
Because the horse did carry him away.   

Epigram.  
Do you know this fellow in the velvet jacke?  
His first beginning was with, what do ye lack?  
But now indeed the man in age doth drop,  
Therefore unfit to keep a Tradesman's Shop.  
And he hath found the trade of bonds and libles,  
The Devil found it for his own Desciples.  
A Usurer, O Sir 'tis very true!  
A faithful unlaine and an honest jewe.  
He will not stick to lend his money forth,  
So he have pawn for five times more than worth.  
he'll send you money upon all your state,  
Be it in Lands, in jewels, or in plate.  
he'll smooth you up, and speak you wondrous fair,  
Pay when you can some weeks shall break no square.  
Trust not his kindness, than your case is evil,  
As good to be beholding to the Devil.   

Epigram.  
IF you to know this gallant do desire,  
He is the offspring of a covetous sire,  
No sooner is the Father dead, scarce cold,  
But his brave Son beguilds his purse with gold.  
Unto his Father's Closet doth he hie,  
In faith he longs to see these Angels fly.  
Where like some potent fellow in his fumes,  
Ruffles his feathers and displays his plumes.  
And for his signet takes his father's ring  
Angel his subjects; O most gallant King▪  
To whom as one to pity only bend,  
(Saith he) I long bewailed your prisonment.  
My father he kept you in slavery,  
But I am come to give you liberty,  
Next he takes care if he shall live or not,  
To spend the wealth his covetous Father got.  
Good faith 'tis true his worship lacks a man,  
he'll make a shift he'll spend it if he can.  
Ten pound a year he'll give, each day three meals,  
Only to carry gold after his heels.  
To bear forth presents, be his apple squire,  
To make allege, and say Ouy Mounsire.  
This being done out of the doors he throws,  
To seek companions my young Master goes.  
Some twenty pound this day he doth disburse,  
He scorns to bring home fragments in his purse,  
Ere long his father must be laid in clay,  
And then he swears he'll make that day a day,  
All the good Lands in England at the least,  
Must lend their presence for to grace his feast,  
Thus every day he revels and makes sport,  
Why he doth well his Kingdom is but short.   

Epigram.  
But who is this that cometh creeping here,  
That like the King of Hunger doth appear,  
O 'tis the brave resolved Gentleman,  
That taketh Physic therefore looketh wan,  
A strong purgation, he hath had of late,  
It purged his Purse and hath refined his state.  
His purpose is to live at rest and quiet,  
Therefore hath bound himself to keep a diet.  
For these a week he doth abstain to eat,  
Not for devotion, but for lack of meat,  
Alas good prodigal he knows not where to dine,  
His ordinary is amongst the swine.  
I was a fool (quoth he) to think this thing,  
That golden Angels had been lame of wing.   

Who dares not trust his wife before his eye:  
A horn plague meets him for his jealousy.  
Epigram.  
A Fellow once diseased in the head,  
Lived much in doubt that he was cuckoled,  
He asked counsel of his neighbour by,  
If any means there were the truth to try,  
His friend comes o'er him with a wondrous story,  
Of Saint Luke's share the Cuckolds consistory.  
And says if'ft please him thither to repair,  
All night to invocate that Saint with prayer,  
If it were so, he did assure him well,  
Ere morning come the Oracle would tell.  
Till night was come my fool lived in confusion,  
He was a fire to try this strange conclusion.  
Well he is shipped off at Lion kaye,  
For his boon voyage at Saint Lucas bay.  
He landed, doth unto the altar go  
Whereon amazed he saw great horns to grow.  
He makes his prayer, tells the post his plight,  
All a cold, long, and teadiouse winter night.  
And every night-Bird that he heard to creak,  
He still supposed the Oracle would speak.  
Mean while his friend (he did before importune)  
Supplied his room and gave my fool his fortune.  
Well, morn is come no voice that he can hear,  
He thanks the Saint that his good wife is clear.  
Having performed his obsequious rights,  
Forthwith is dubbed one of Saint Lucas Knights.  
'tis for his praise I hope, he hath ingroste,  
A pair of horns more on Saint Lucas post.  
Increased himself although his wit was worn,  
For he returned heavier by the horn.  
Well home he comes thinking to take a nap,  
Alas his head had quite out grown his cap.  
This made him wonder but his wife was clean,  
He rather thought Diana he had seen.   

Epigram.  
A Poor Slave once with penury afflicted,  
Yet to Tobacco mightily addicted  
Says, they that take Tobacco keeps their health,  
Are worthy fellows in a common wealth.  
For if (saith he) Tobacco were our cheer,  
Then other victuals never would be dear.  
Fie on excess it makes men faint and meek,  
A penny loaf might serve a man a week.  
Were we conformed to the Chameleons far,  
To live by smoke as they do live by air.  
O how our men oppress and spoil their sense,  
in making havoc of the elements.  
He can give reason for what he hath spoke,  
My Salamander lives by fire and smoke.  
Necessity doth cause him to repeat,  
Tobaccos praise for want of other meat.   

Epigram.  
A jolly fellow Essex borne and bred,  
A Farmer's Son his Father being dead,  
T'expel his grief and melancholy passions,  
Had vowed himself to Travel and see fashions.  
His great minds object was no trifling toy,  
But to put down the wandering Prince of Troy,  
London's discovery, first he doth decide,  
His man must be his Pilot and his guide.  
Three miles he had not past, there he must sit:  
He asked if he were not near London yet,  
His man replies, good Sir yourself bestir,  
For we have yet to go six times as far.  
Alas I had rather stay at home and dig,  
I had not thought the world was half so big.  
Thus this great worthy comes back thee with strife,  
he never was so far in all his life.  
None of the seven worthies: on his behalf,  
Say, was not he a worthy Essex Calf?   

The Humours that haunt a Wife.  
A Gentleman a very friend of mine,  
Hath a young wife and she is monstrous fine,  
she's of the new fantastic humour right,  
In her attire an angel of the light.  
Is she an Angel▪ I● it may be well,  
Not of the light, she is a light Angel.  
Forsooth his door must suffer alteration,  
To entertain her mighty huge Bom-fashion,  
A hoodes to base, a hat which she doth male,  
With bravest feathers in the Ostrich tail.  
She scorns to tread our former proud wives taces.  
That put their glory in their own fair face,  
In her conceit it is not fair enough  
She must reform it with your painter's stuff,  
And she is never merry at the heart,  
Till she be got into her leathern Cart.  
Some half a mile the Coachman guides the reins,  
Then home again, birlady she takes pains.  
My friend seeing what humours haunt a wife,  
If he wear lose would lead a single life.   

A Poor Man's policy.  
NExt I will tell you of a poor man trick,  
Which he did practise with a politic,  
This poor man had a Cow 'twas all his stock,  
Which on the Commons fed: where Cattles flock,  
The other had a steer a wanton Beast,  
Which he did turn to feed amongst the rest.  
Which in process although I know not how,  
The rich man's Ox did gore the poor man's Cow,  
The poor man hereat vexed waxed sad,  
For it is all the living that he had,  
And he must lose his living for a song,  
Alas he knew not how to right his wrong.  
He knew his enemy had points of law,  
To save his purse, fill his devouring maw,  
Yet thought the poor man how so it betid,  
I'll make him give right sentence on my side.  
Without delay unto the Man he goes,  
And unto him this feigned tale doth gloze,  
(Quoth he) my Cow which which your Ox did feed,  
Hath killed your Ox and I make known the deed.  
Why (quoth my Politic) thou shouldst have helped it rather,  
Thou shalt pay for him if thou wert my father.  
The course of law in no wise must be stayed,  
Lest I an evil precedent be made.  
O Sir (quoth he!) I cry you mercy now,  
I did mistake, you Ox hath gored my Cow.  
Convict by reason he began to brawl,  
But was content to let his action fall.  
As why? (quoth he) thou look'st unto her well,  
Can I prevent the mischief that befell?  
I have more weighty causes now to try.  
Might o'ercomes right without a reason why.   

Epigram.  
ONe of the damned crew that lives by drink,  
And by Tobacco's stillified stink  
Met with a Country man that dwelled at Hull  
Thought he this peasant's fit to be my Gull.  
His first salute like to the Frenchman's wipe.  
Words of encounter, please you take a pipe?  
The Country man amazed at this rabble,  
knew not his mind yet would be conformable.  
Well in a petty Alehouse they ensconce  
His Gull must learn to drink Tobacco once.  
Indeed his purpose was to make a jest.  
How with Tobacco he the peasant dressed.  
He takes a whiff, with art into his head,  
The other standeth still astonished.  
Till all his senses he doth back revoke,  
Sees it ascend much like Saint Katherins smoke.  
But this indeed made him the more admire,  
He saw the smoke: thought he his head's a fire,  
And to increase his fear he thought poor soul,  
His scarlet nose had been a fiery coal.  
Which circled round with Smoke, seemed to him  
Like to some rotten brand that burneth dim.  
But to show wisdom in a desperate case,  
He threw a Can of beer into his face,  
And like a man some fury did inspire,  
Ran out of doors for help to quench the fire.  
The Ruffian throws away his Trinidado,  
Out comes huge oaths and then his short poynado,  
But then the Beer so troubled his eyes,  
The country man was gone ere he could rise,  
A fire to dry him he doth now require,  
Rather than water for to quench his fire.   

Epigram.  
COme my brave gallant come uncase, uncase,  
Near shall Oblivion your great acts deface.  
He has been there where never man came yet,  
An unknown country, I, i'll warrant it,  
Whence he could Ballast a good ship inholde.  
With Rubies, Saphers, Diamonds and gold,  
Great Orient Pearls esteemed no more than moats,  
Sold by the peck as chandlers measure oats,  
I marvel than we have no trade from thence,  
O 'tis to far it will not bear expense.  
'tTwere far indeed, a good way from our main,  
If charges eat up such excessive gain,  
Well he can show you some of Lybian gravel,  
O that there were another world to travel,  
I heard him swear that he ('twas in his mirth)  
Had been in all the corners of the earth.  
Let all his wonders be together stitched,  
He threw the bar that great Alcides pitched:  
But he that saw the Ocean's farthest strands,  
You pose him if you ask where Dover stands.  
He has been under ground and hell did see  
Aeneas near durst go so far a he.  
For he hath gone through Pluto's Regiment,  
Saw how the Fiends do Liars there torment.  
And how they did in hells damnation fry,  
But who would think the traveler would lie?  
To dine with Pluto he was made to tarry,  
As kindly used as at his Ordinary.  
Hogsheads of wine drawn out into a Tub,  
Where he did drink handsmooth with Belzebub,  
And Proserpina gave him a golden bow  
'tis in his chest he cannot show it now.   

Of one that cozened the Cutpurse.  
ONe told a Drover that believed it not,  
What booties at the plays the Cutpurse got,  
But if 'ttwere so my Drovers wit was quick,  
He vowed to serve the Cutpurse a new trick.  
Next day unto the play, policy hied,  
A bag of forty shillings by his side,  
Which holding fast he taketh up his stand,  
If strings be cut his purse is in his hand.  
A fine conceited Cutpurse spying this,  
Looked for no more, the forty shillings his,  
Whilst my fine Politic gazed about,  
The Cutpurse featly took the bottom out.  
And cuts the strings, good fool go make a jest,  
This Dismal day thy purse was fairly blest.  
Hold fast good Noddy 'tis good to dread the worse,  
Your money's gone, I pray you keep your purse.  
The Play is done and forth the fool doth go,  
Being glad that he cozened the Cutpurse so.  
He thought to iybe how he the Cutpurse dressed,  
And memorise it for a famous jest.  
But putting in his hand it ran quite throw  
Dashed the conceit, he'll never speak on't now,  
You that to plays have such delight to go,  
The Cutpurse cares not, still deceive him so.   

A drunken fray.  
DIcke met with Tom in faith it was their lot,  
Two honest Drunkards must go drink a pot,  
'twas but a pot or say a little more,  
Or say a pot that, s filled eight times over.  
But being drunk, and met well with the lose,  
They drink to healths devoutly on their knees,  
Dick drinks to Hall to pledge him Tom rejecteth,  
And scorns to do it for some odd respects  
Wilt thou not pledge him that't a gull, a Scab,  
Wert with my manhood thou deservest a stab,  
But 'tis no matter drink another bout,  
we'll intot'h field and there we'll try it out.  
Let's go (says Tom) no longer by this hand,  
Nay stay (quoth Dick) let's see if we can stand.  
Then forth they go after the Drunken pace,  
Which God he knows was with a reeling grace,  
Tom made his bargain, thus with bonny Dick  
If it should chance my foot or so should slip,  
How wouldst thou use me or after what Size,  
Wouldst pair me shorter of wouldst let me rise.  
Nay God forbidden our quarrels not so great,  
To kill thee on advantage in my heat.  
Tush we'll not fight for any hate or so,  
But for mere love that each to other owe.  
And for thy learning lo I'll show a trick,  
No sooner spoke the word but down comes Dick,  
Well now (quoth Tom) thy life hangs on my sword,  
If I were down how wouldst thou keep thy word?  
Why with these hilts I'd brain thee at a blow,  
Faith in my humour cut thy throat or so,  
But Tom he scorns to kill his conquered foe,  
Lets Dick arise and to't again they go.  
Dick throws down Tom or rather Tom did fall,  
My hilts (quoth Dick) shall brain thee like a maul,  
Is't so (quoth Tom good faith what remedy,  
The Tower of Babelles fallen and so am I  
But Dick proceeds to give the fatal wound,  
It missed his throat: but run into the ground.  
but he supposing that the man was slain,  
Strait fled his country, shipped himself for Spain,  
Whilst valiant Thomas died drunken deep,  
Forgot his danger and fell fast a sleep.   

Epigram.  
WHat's he that stars as if he were affright  
The fellow Sure hath seen some dreadful sprite  
Mass rightly guest, why sure I did divine,  
he's haunted with a Spirit feminine.  
In plain terms thus, the Spirit that I mean,  
His martial wife that notable cursed quean,  
No other weapons but her nails or fist,  
Poor patiented Idiot he dares not resist,  
His neighbour once would borrow but his knife,  
Good neighbour stay (quoth he) i'll ask my wife.  
Once came he home Inspired in the head,  
He found his neighbour and his wife a bed,  
Yet durst not stir, but hide him in a hole,  
He feared to displease his wife poor sole.  
But why should he so dread and fear her hate,  
Since she had given him armour for his pate?  
Next day forsooth he doth his neighbour meet,  
Whom with stern rage thus furiously doth greet,  
Villain i'll slit thy nose, out comes his knife,  
Sirrah (quoth he) go to I'll tell your wife.  
Appalled at which terror meekly said  
Retire good knife my fury is all laid.   

Proteus.  
TIme serving humour thou wrie-faced Ape,  
That canst transform thyself to any shape:  
Come good Proteus come away apace,  
We long to see thy mumping antic face.  
This is the fellow that lives by his wit,  
A cogging knave and fawning Parrasit,  
He has behaviour for the greatest port,  
And he has humours for the rascal sort,  
He has been great with Lords and high estates,  
They could not live without his rare conceits,  
He was associate for the bravest spirits,  
His gallant carriage such favour merits.  
Yet to a Ruffian humour for the stews,  
A right grand Captain of the damned crews,  
With whom his humour always is unstable  
Mad, melancholy, drunk and variable.  
Hat without band like cutting Dick he go'es,  
Renowned for his new invented oaths.  
Sometimes like a Civilian 'tis strange  
At twelve a clock he must unto the Change,  
Where being thought a Merchant to the eye,  
He tells strange news his humour is to lie.  
Some Damask coat the effect thereof must hear,  
Invites him home and there he gets good cheer.  
but how is't now such brave renowned wits,  
Wear ragged robes with such huge ghastly slitts,  
Faith thus a ragged humour he hath got  
Whole garments for the Summer are to hot.  
Thus you may censure gently if you please,  
He wears such Garments only for his ease.  
Or thus, his credit will no longer wave.  
For all men know him for a prating knave.   

Epilogue.  
VAnish ye hence ye changelings of the night,  
For I descry your enemy the light:  
Fly through the western Gate see you dark gleams,  
Lest in the east you meet with Phoebus' beams  
Descend into your Orbs I say begun,  
And thank your gentle Master Oberon.  
Tell him how well your gestures fit our rhyme,  
being roughly modeled in so short a time.  
For what you see presented to your sight,  
I only writ to tyer out the night,  
Wherein if you delight to here me sing  
we'll have more traffic with the fairy King.  
E. M.  
FINIS.