The Whole Works of William Browne of Tavistock ... Now first collected and edited, with a memoir of the poet, and notes, by W. Carew Hazlitt, of the Inner Temple |
 | 1, 2. |
|
| 1. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 11. |
| 12. |
| 13. |
| 14. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| 1. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
|
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
 | The Whole Works of William Browne |  |
As in a picture limb'd vnto the life,
Or carued by a curious workmans knife,
If twenty men at once should come to see
The great effects of vntirde industry,
Each seu'rally would thinke the pictures eye
Was fixt on him, and on no stander by:
So as she (bawling) was vpon the banke,
If twice fiue hundred men stood on a ranke,
Her ill face towards them; euery one would say,
She lookes on me; when she another way
Had cast her eyes, as on some rocke or tree,
And on no one of all that company.
Her Nose (ô crooked nose) her mouth o're-hung,
As it would be directed by her tongue:
Her Fore-head such, as one might neere auow
Some Plow-man, there, had lately beene at plow.
Her Face so scorcht was, and so vilde it showes,
As on a Peare-tree she had scar'd the Crowes.
Within a Tanners fat I oft haue eyde
(That three moones there had laine) a large Oxe-hyde
In liquor mixt with strongest barke (for gaine)
Yet had not tane one halfe so deepe a staine
As had her skin: and that, as hard well-nye
As any Brawnes, long hardned in the stye.
Her Shoulders such, as I haue often seene
A silly Cottage on a Village greene
Might change his corner posts, in good behoofe,
For foure such vnder-proppers to his roofe.
Huswiues, goe hire her, if you yeerely gaue
A Lamkin more then vse, you that might saue
In washing-Beetles, for her hands would passe
To serue that purpose, though you daily wash.
For other hidden parts, thus much I say;
As Ballad-mongers on a Market-day
Taking their stand, one (with as harsh a noyse
As euer Cart-wheele made) squeakes the sad choice
Of Tom the Miller with a golden thumbe,
Who crost in loue, ran mad, and deafe, and dumbe,
Halfe part he chants, and will not sing it out,
But thus he speakes to his attentiue rout:
Thus much for loue I warbled from my brest,
And gentle friends, for money take the rest:
So speake I to the ouer-longing eare,
That would the rest of her description heare,
Much haue I sung for loue, the rest (not common)
Martial will shew for coine, in's crabbed woman.
Or carued by a curious workmans knife,
If twenty men at once should come to see
The great effects of vntirde industry,
Each seu'rally would thinke the pictures eye
Was fixt on him, and on no stander by:
So as she (bawling) was vpon the banke,
If twice fiue hundred men stood on a ranke,
Her ill face towards them; euery one would say,
She lookes on me; when she another way
176
And on no one of all that company.
Her Nose (ô crooked nose) her mouth o're-hung,
As it would be directed by her tongue:
Her Fore-head such, as one might neere auow
Some Plow-man, there, had lately beene at plow.
Her Face so scorcht was, and so vilde it showes,
As on a Peare-tree she had scar'd the Crowes.
Within a Tanners fat I oft haue eyde
(That three moones there had laine) a large Oxe-hyde
In liquor mixt with strongest barke (for gaine)
Yet had not tane one halfe so deepe a staine
As had her skin: and that, as hard well-nye
As any Brawnes, long hardned in the stye.
Her Shoulders such, as I haue often seene
A silly Cottage on a Village greene
Might change his corner posts, in good behoofe,
For foure such vnder-proppers to his roofe.
Huswiues, goe hire her, if you yeerely gaue
A Lamkin more then vse, you that might saue
In washing-Beetles, for her hands would passe
To serue that purpose, though you daily wash.
For other hidden parts, thus much I say;
As Ballad-mongers on a Market-day
Taking their stand, one (with as harsh a noyse
As euer Cart-wheele made) squeakes the sad choice
Of Tom the Miller with a golden thumbe,
Who crost in loue, ran mad, and deafe, and dumbe,
Halfe part he chants, and will not sing it out,
But thus he speakes to his attentiue rout:
Thus much for loue I warbled from my brest,
And gentle friends, for money take the rest:
So speake I to the ouer-longing eare,
That would the rest of her description heare,
Much haue I sung for loue, the rest (not common)
Martial will shew for coine, in's crabbed woman.
| The Whole Works of William Browne | |