Natures Embassie Or, The Wilde-mans Measvres: Danced naked by twelve Satyres, with sundry others continued in the next Section [by Richard Brathwait] |
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THE SIXT SATYRE.
[OF ADULTERIE.]
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 | Natures Embassie |  |
28
THE SIXT SATYRE. [OF ADULTERIE.]
What
Clytemnestra, com'd so soone abroad,
Forth of Ægistus bed thy husbands foe!
What is the cause thou makest so short abode,
Is it because thy hush and wills thee so?
No it's because he's weary of thy sinne,
Which he once sought, but now is cloyed in.
Forth of Ægistus bed thy husbands foe!
What is the cause thou makest so short abode,
Is it because thy hush and wills thee so?
No it's because he's weary of thy sinne,
Which he once sought, but now is cloyed in.
What's that thou weares about thy downie necke?
O it's a painted heart, a Iewell fit,
For wanton Minions who their beauties decke,
With garish toyes, new Suiters to begit:
Thou hast a painted heart for chastitie,
But a true heart for thy adulterie.
O it's a painted heart, a Iewell fit,
For wanton Minions who their beauties decke,
With garish toyes, new Suiters to begit:
Thou hast a painted heart for chastitie,
But a true heart for thy adulterie.
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Speake on Adultresse, let me heare thy tongue,
Canst varnish ore thy sin with eloquence?
Silence; such sinnes should make the sinner dumbe,
And force his speech to teare-swolne penitence;
Do not then shadow thy lasciuious deeds,
For which the heart of Agamemnon bleeds.
Canst varnish ore thy sin with eloquence?
Silence; such sinnes should make the sinner dumbe,
And force his speech to teare-swolne penitence;
Do not then shadow thy lasciuious deeds,
For which the heart of Agamemnon bleeds.
Leaue of (foule strumpet: keepe thy husbands bed,
Thou hast no interest in Ægistus sheetes:
Infamous acts, though closely done are spred,
And will be blaz'd and rumour'd in the streetes.
Flie from this scandall, lest it soile thy name,
Which blemisht once, is nere made good againe.
Thou hast no interest in Ægistus sheetes:
Infamous acts, though closely done are spred,
And will be blaz'd and rumour'd in the streetes.
Flie from this scandall, lest it soile thy name,
Which blemisht once, is nere made good againe.
Is not thy husband worthy of thy loue?
Too worthy husband of a worthlesse whoore,
Then rather chuse to die then to remoue:
Thy chast-vowd steps from Agamemnons boore?
He's thine, thou his, O may it then appeare,
Where ere he is, that thou art onely there.
Too worthy husband of a worthlesse whoore,
Then rather chuse to die then to remoue:
Thy chast-vowd steps from Agamemnons boore?
He's thine, thou his, O may it then appeare,
Where ere he is, that thou art onely there.
But for Hyppolitus to be incited
By his step-mother, O incestuous!
And to his fathers bed to be inuited:
What fact was euer heard more odious?
But see (chast youth) though she perswade him to it,
Nature forbids, and he's asham'd to do it.
By his step-mother, O incestuous!
And to his fathers bed to be inuited:
What fact was euer heard more odious?
But see (chast youth) though she perswade him to it,
Nature forbids, and he's asham'd to do it.
You painted Monkies that will nere restraine,
Your hote desires from lusts-pursuing chase,
Shall be consumed in a quenchlesse flame,
Not reft of griefe, though you were reft of grace,
Bereft of grace, and buried in shame,
Regardlesse of your honour, birth, or name.
Your hote desires from lusts-pursuing chase,
Shall be consumed in a quenchlesse flame,
Not reft of griefe, though you were reft of grace,
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Regardlesse of your honour, birth, or name.
I can discerne you by your wanton toyes,
Your strutting like Dame Iuno in her throne,
Casting concealed fauours vnto boyes:
These common things are into habits growne,
And when you haue no fauours to bestow,
Lookes are the lures which draw affections bow.
Your strutting like Dame Iuno in her throne,
Casting concealed fauours vnto boyes:
These common things are into habits growne,
And when you haue no fauours to bestow,
Lookes are the lures which draw affections bow.
Trust me I blush, to see your impudence,
Sure you no women are, whose brazen face,
Shewes modestie ha's there no residence,
Incarnate diuels that are past all grace;
Yet sometimes wheate growes with the fruitlesse tares,
You haue fallne oft, now fall vnto your prayers.
Sure you no women are, whose brazen face,
Shewes modestie ha's there no residence,
Incarnate diuels that are past all grace;
Yet sometimes wheate growes with the fruitlesse tares,
You haue fallne oft, now fall vnto your prayers.
| Natures Embassie | |