Poem by Henry King, Bishop of Chichester

Epigram (He whose advent’rous keele ploughes the rough Seas)

Qui Pelago credit, mango se fænore tollit, &c

                Petronius Arbiter 

He whose advent’rous keele ploughes the rough Seas, 
Takes Interest of Fate for wealth’s increase. 
He that in Battaile trafficks, and pitch’t fields, 
Reaps with his Sword rich Harvests, which warre yeelds. 
Base parasites repose their drunken heads, 
Laden with Sleep and Wine, on Tyrian beds. 
And he that melts in Lust’s adult’rous fire 
Getts both reward and pleasure for his hire. 
But Learning only, midst this wanton heat, 
Hath (save it self) nothing to weare or eat; 
Faintly exclaiming on the looser Times, 
That value Witt and Artes belowe their Crimes. 

1. To My Sister Anne King, Who Chid Me In Verse For Being Angry
2. Another Of The Same, Paraphrased For An Antheme
3. Psalm I
4. On Two Children Dying Of One Disease, And Buried In One Grave
5. Sonnet. Dry those fair, those chrystal eyes

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