Detail View: LUNA: Folger Manuscript Transcriptions Collection: A book of verses collected by me, R. Dungarvan [manuscript].

Digital Image File Name: 
142172
Source Call Number: 
V.a.125
Source Title: 
A book of verses collected by me, R. Dungarvan [manuscript].
Image Details: 
Part I. When reading Part I, Part II is inverted and reversed.
Source Creator: 
Burlington, Richard Boyle, Earl of, 1612-1698, compiler.
Source Created or Published: 
ca. 1630
Physical Description: 
folio 19 verso || folio 20 recto
Digital Image Type: 
FSL collection
Hamnet Catalog Link: 
http://hamnet.folger.edu/cgi-bin/Pwebrecon.cgi?BBID=229445
Transcription: 
That is descended to endure what pains, The Diuel can thinke or his disciples brains. Noe more my greife in Such profane abuses Good whippes makes better verses then th e muses. Awaie & looke not backe, awaie whilst yet The church is Standing, whilst th e benefit Of Seeing it remaines ere long you Shall Haue th a t rot downe & & cal'd apocryphall. And in some barne here cited manie an autor Kate Stubs , Anne Ascue , or th e Ladyes daughter. Which shall bee vrg'd for fathers stop disdaine, When Oxford once appear, Satyr restraine. Neighbour how hath our anger thus out go'ne Is not S t Giles this, & this S t Iohn s. Wee are return'd but iust with soe much ore As Rawleigh from his voyadge & noe more. R. C. page break 20. On greate Tom . Bee dumb you infante chines thump not your mettle That ne're outrang a Tinker & his kettle. Cease all your pettie larums for to day Is great Toms' resurrection from th e clay And know when Tom rings out his loudest knels The best of you will bee but dinner bels. Old Tom's groune young againe th e fierie caue Is now his cradle th a t was er'st his graue. Hee grew vp quiclee from his mother earth For all you see was but an howers birth. Looke on him well my life I doe engage You ne're saw prettier babie of his age. Braue constant Spirit none could make th e turne Though hang'd drawen, quarterd till they did thee burne Nor yet for this nor ten times more bee Sorrie Since thou werte Martyrd for th e churches glorie. But for thy meritorious Sufferinge Thou shortly Shalt to Heuen in a String. And though wee green'd when thou werte thumpt & bang'd Weele all bee glad great Tom to see th e hang'd. R. W.
Credit: 
Transcriptions made by Shakespeare's World volunteers (shakespearesworld.org), participants in EMROC classes and transcribathons (emroc.hypotheses.org), participants in Folger paleography classes and transcribathons, and Folger docents.