Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Ben Jonson
Squire T U B.
This Tale of me, the Tub of Totten-Court,
A Poet first invented for your Sport.
VVherein the Fortune of most empty Tubs
Rowling in Love, are shewn; and with what Rubs
VV' are commonly encountred: VVhen the VVit
Of the whole Hundred so opposeth it.
Our petty Chanon's Forked Plot in chief,
Sly Justice Arts, with the High Constable's Brief,
And brag Commands; my Lady Mothers Care,
And her Pol-martin's Fortune; with the rare
Fate of poor John, thus tumbled in the Cask;
Got In-and-In to gi't you in a Masque:
That you be pleas'd, who come to see a Play,
VVith those that hear, and mark not what we say.
VVherein the Poets Fortune is, I fear,
Still to be early up, but ne'er the near.
T H E E N D.