A World made by Atomes (Excerpt)
Small Atomes of themselves a World may make,
As being subtle, and of every shape:
And as they dance about, fit places finde,
Such Formes as best agree, make every kinde.
For when we build a house of Bricke, and Stone,
We lay them even, every one by one:
And when we finde a gap that's big, or small,
We seeke out Stones, to fit that place withall.
For when not fit, too big, or little be,
They fall away, and cannot stay we see.
So Atomes, as they dance, finde places fit,
They there remaine, lye close, and fast will sticke.
Those that unfit, the rest that rove about,
Do never leave, untill they thrust them out.
Thus by their severall Motions, and their Formes,
As severall work-men serve each others turnes.
The Hunting of the Hare (Excerpt)
Beetwixt two Ridges of land, lay Wat,
Pressing his Body close to Earth lay squat.
His Nose upon his two Fore-feet close lies,
Glaring obliquely with his great gray Fyes.
His Head he alwaies sets against the Wind;
If turne his Taile his Haires blow up behind:
Which he too cold will grow, but he is wise,
And keepes his Coat still downe, so warm he lies.
Thus resting all the day, till Sun doth set,
Then riseth up, his Reliefe for to get.
Walking about until the Sun doth rise,
Then back returnes, downe in his Forme he lyes.
Natures Cook (Excerpt)
Death is the Cook of Nature; and we find
Meat drest severall waies to please her Mind.
Some Meates shee rosts with Feavers, burning hot,
And some shee boiles with Dropsies in a Pot.
Some for Gelly consuming by degrees,
And some with Vlcers, Gravie out to squeese.
Some Flesh as Sage she stuffs with Gouts, and Paines,
Others for tender Meat hangs up in Chaines.
Some in the Sea she pickles up to keep,
Others, as Brawne is sous'd, those in Wine steep.
Some with the Pox, chops Flesh, and Bones so small,
Of which She makes a French Fricasse withall.
Some on Gridirons of Calentures is broyl'd
And some is trodden on, and so quite spoyl'd.
But those are bak'd, when smother'd they do dye,
By Hectick Feavers some Meat She doth fry.
In Sweat sometimes she stues with savoury smell,
A Hodge-Podge of Diseases tastcth well.
Braines dreit with Apoplexy to Natures wish,
Or swimmes with Sauce of Megrimes in a Dish.
