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Ambitious Gorgons, wide-mouth'd Lamians,
Shape-changing Proteans, damn'd Briareans,
Is Minos dead? is Radamanth a sleepe?
That yee thus dare vnto Ioues Pallace creepe?
what, hath Ramnusia spent her knotted whip?
That yee dare striue on Hebes cup to sip?
Yet know Apolloes quiuer is not spent
But can abate your daring hardiment.
Python is slaine, yet his accursed race,
Dare looke deuine Astrea in the face:
Chaos returne, and with confusion
Inuolue the world with strange disunion:
For Pluto sits in that adored chaire
which doth belong vnto Mineruas heire.
O Hecatombe! ô Catastrophe!

Huc vsque Xylinum.

From Mydas pompe, to Irus beggery.
Promethius, who celestiall fier
Did steale from heauen, therewith to inspire
Our earthly bodies with a sence-full mind,
whereby we might the depth of Nature find,
Is ding'd to hell, and vulture eates his hart
which did such deepe Philosophy impart
To mortall men. When theeuing Mercury
That euen in his new borne infancy
Stole faire Apollos quiuer, and Ioues mace,
And would haue filch'd the lightning from his place,
But that he fear'd he should haue burnt his wing
And sing'd his downy feathers new come spring;
He that in gastly shade of night doth leade
Our soules, vnto the empire of the dead.
When he that better doth deserue a rope
Is a faire planet in our Horoscope.
And now hath Caduceus in his hand
Of life and death that hath the sole command.
Thus petty thefts are payed, and soundly whipt,
But greater crimes are slightly ouerslipt:
Nay he's a God that can doe villany
with a good grace, and glib facility.

The harmles hunter, with a ventrous eye
When vnawares he did Diana spie,
Nak'd in the fountaine he became straightway
Vnto his greedy hounds a wished pray,
His owne delights taking away his breath,
And all vngratefull forc'd his fatall death.
(And euer since Hounds eate their Maisters cleane,
For so Diana curst them in the streame.)
When strong backt Hercules in one poore night
With great, great ease, and wondrous delight
In strength of lust and Venus surquedry
Rob'd fifty wenches of virginity.
Farre more then lusty Laurence. Yet poore soule
He with Acteon drinks of Nemis bole,
When Hercules lewd act, is registred,
And for his fruitfull labour Deified.
And had a place in heauen him assigned
When he the world, vnto the world resigned.
Thus little scapes are deepely punished,
But mighty villanes are for Gods adored.
Ioue brought his sister to a nuptiall bed,
And hath an Hebe, and a Ganemede,
A Leda, and a thousand more beside,
His chast Alcmena, and his sister bride:
Who fore his face was odiously defil'd
And by Ixion grosely got with child.
This thunderer, that right vertuously
Thrust forth his father from his empery
Is now the great Monarko of the earth,
Whose awfull nod, whose all commaunding breath
Shakes Europs ground-worke. And his title makes
As dread a noyse, as when a Canon shakes
The subtile ayre. Thus hell-bred villany
Is still rewarded with high dignity.
When Sisyphus that did but once reueale
That this incestious villane had to deale
In Ile Phliunte with Egina faire,
Is damn'd to hell, in endles black dispaire
Euer to reare his tumbling stone vpright
Vpon the steepy mountaines lofty height.
His stone will neuer now get greenish mosse
Since he hath thus encur'd so great a losse
As Ioues high fauour. But it needs must be
whilst Ioue doth rule, and sway the empery
And poore Astrea's fled into an Ile
And liues a poore and banished exile:
And there pen'd vp, sighs in her sad lament,
wearing away in pining languishment.
If that Sylenus Asse doe chaunce to bray,
And so the Satyres lewdnes doth bewray,
Let him for euer be a sacrifice;
Prick, spurre, beate, loade, for euer tyranise
Ouer the foole. But let some Cerberus
Keepe back the wife of sweet tongu'd Orpheus,
Gnato applaudes the Hound. Let that same child
Of Night, and Sleepe, (which hath the world defil'd
with odious railing) barke gainst all the work
Of all the Gods, and find some error lurke
In all the graces. Let his lauer lip
Speake in reproch of Natures workmanship,
Let him vpbraid faire Venus if he list
For her short heele. Let him with rage insist
To snarle at Vulcans man, because he was
Not made with windowes of transparant glas
That all might see the passions of his mind.
Let his all-blasting tongue great errors find
In Pallas house, because if next should burne
It could not from the sodaine perill turne.
Let him vpbraide great Ioue with luxury
Condemne the Heauens Queene of ielousie.
Yet this same Stygius Momus must be praysed
And to some Godhead at the least be raised.
But if poore Orpheus sing melodiously,
And striue with musicks sweetest symphonie
To praise the Gods, and vnaduisedly
Doe but ore-slip one drunken Deitie,
Forthwith the bouzing Bacchus out doth send
His furious Bacchides, to be reueng'd.
And straight they teare the sweet Musition,
And leaue him to the dogs deuision.
Hebrus, beare witnes of their crueltie,
For thou did'st view poore Orpheus tragedie.
Thus slight neglects are deepest villanie,
But blasting mouthes deserue a deitie.
Since Gallus slept, when he was set to watch
Least Sol or Vulcan should Mauortius catch
In vsing Venus: since the boy did nap,
Whereby bright Phœbus did great Mars intrap.
Poore Gallus now, (whilom to Mars so deere)
Is turned to a crowing Chaunteclere;
And euer since, fore that the sunne doth shine,
(Least Phœbus should with his all-piercing eyne
Discry some Vulcan,) he doth crow full shrill,
That all the ayre with Ecchoes he doth fill.
Whilst Mars, though all the Gods doe see his sin,
And know in what lewd vice he liueth in,
Yet is adored still, and magnified,
And with all honors duly worshipped.
Euge! small faults to mountaines straight are raised,
Slight scapes are whipt, but damned deeds are praised.

Fie, fie, I am deceiued all thys while,
A mist of errors doth my sence beguile;
I haue beene long of all my wits bereauen,
Heauen for hell taking, taking hell for heauen;
Vertue for vice, and vice for vertue still,
Sower for sweet, and good for passing ill.
If not? would vice and odious villanie
Be still rewarded with high dignity?
Would damned Iouians, be of all men praised,
And with high honors vnto heauen raised?

Tis so, tis so; Riot, and Luxurie
Are vertuous, meritorious chastitie:
That which I thought to be damn'd hel-borne pride
Is humble modestie, and naught beside;
That which I deemed Bacchus surquedry,
Is graue, and staied, ciuill, Sobrietie.
O then thrice holy age, thrice sacred men!
Mong whom no vice a Satyre can discerne,
Since Lust, is turned into Chastitie,
And Riot, vnto sad Sobrietie.
Nothing but goodnes raigneth in our age,
And vertues all are ioyn'd in marriage.
Heere is no dwelling for Impietie,
No habitation for base Villanie.
Heere are no subjects for Reproofes sharpe vaine,
Then hence rude Satyre, make away amaine;
And seeke a seate where more Impuritie
Doth lye and lurke in still securitie.

Now doth my Satyre stagger in a doubt,
Whether to cease, or els to write it out.
The subiect is too sharp for my dull quill.
Some sonne of Maya show thy riper skill.
For I'le goe turne my tub against the sunne,
And wistly marke how higher Plannets runne,
Contemplating their hidden motion.
Then on some Latmos with Endimion,
I'le slumber out my time in discontent,
And neuer wake to be maleuolent,
A beedle to the worlds impuritie;
But euer sleepe in still securitie.

If thys displease the world's wrong-iudging sight,
It glads my soule, and in some better spright
I'le write againe. But if that this doe please,
Hence, hence, Satyrick Muse, take endlesse ease.
Hush now yee Band-doggs, barke no more at me,
But let me slide away in secresie.