 | Favnvs and Melliflora |  |
A Prophesie of this present yeare, 1600.
------ Who liues past ninetie nine,
Shall afterward speake of a blessed time.
Shall afterward speake of a blessed time.
Then cease fond Satyres quipping Epigrammatists,
Slie scoffing Critickes, iearing Lucianists,
Sterne censuring Catoes, ful gorg'd Lucilians,
Enuie-swolne Cynickes al-eyde Epidaurians,
Vnringed routing hogges otter-toothd Rhamnusians,
Cease cease to bawle, thou wasp-stung Satyrist,
Let none so testy petulant insist:
Hold, stay thy lashing hand, and ierking rimes,
There is no lewdnesse in these Halcyon times.
By heauens poudred robe, and fiery element,
There is no sinne in Albion permament,
Vice lies deepe smothered in his darksome toome,
And Vertue takes possession of his roome,
All spotlesse pure, this first of Ianivere,
Propitiously began great Platoes yeare:
Deferre your rigorous envy-kindled rage,
Vntill some other stranger sinning age,
Let hell-borne sinne with your vntimely spight
Lie buried both in wombe of silent night.
Slie scoffing Critickes, iearing Lucianists,
Sterne censuring Catoes, ful gorg'd Lucilians,
Enuie-swolne Cynickes al-eyde Epidaurians,
Vnringed routing hogges otter-toothd Rhamnusians,
Cease cease to bawle, thou wasp-stung Satyrist,
Let none so testy petulant insist:
Hold, stay thy lashing hand, and ierking rimes,
There is no lewdnesse in these Halcyon times.
By heauens poudred robe, and fiery element,
There is no sinne in Albion permament,
Vice lies deepe smothered in his darksome toome,
And Vertue takes possession of his roome,
All spotlesse pure, this first of Ianivere,
Propitiously began great Platoes yeare:
Deferre your rigorous envy-kindled rage,
Vntill some other stranger sinning age,
Let hell-borne sinne with your vntimely spight
Lie buried both in wombe of silent night.
Prophet (whosoe're thou wert) heau'ns giue thee meede,
For this thy old-said saw, and truest reede,
If I but knew where lay thy senselesse vrne,
Vpon the same sweete odours I would burne,
And solemnize thy dated exequies,
Hoping to be inspir'd with prophesies,
That so I might the verriment vnfould,
What happen vs the next seuen hundred should:
For this thy old-said saw, and truest reede,
If I but knew where lay thy senselesse vrne,
Vpon the same sweete odours I would burne,
And solemnize thy dated exequies,
Hoping to be inspir'd with prophesies,
That so I might the verriment vnfould,
What happen vs the next seuen hundred should:
In euery nooke and angle now I burst,
To all assemblies boldly do I thrust,
To Paules, to plaies, to prizes, reuelings,
To dicing houses, Tauerne beuerings,
To bowling alleys, night-set merriments,
To Mile-end traynings, Tyburne dreriments,
To beare-baitings, and euery wonderment,
Each conduit-fray, and little blunderment.
Ennaunter some odde toyish fopperies,
Should he obscured from my searching eies.
But mong this rout I heare no foolish word,
In serious ernest, or in iesting bourd:
No scripture iests, no heau'n prophaning oaths,
No suddaine stabs, no French new-fangled cloaths.
To all assemblies boldly do I thrust,
To dicing houses, Tauerne beuerings,
To bowling alleys, night-set merriments,
To Mile-end traynings, Tyburne dreriments,
To beare-baitings, and euery wonderment,
Each conduit-fray, and little blunderment.
Ennaunter some odde toyish fopperies,
Should he obscured from my searching eies.
But mong this rout I heare no foolish word,
In serious ernest, or in iesting bourd:
No scripture iests, no heau'n prophaning oaths,
No suddaine stabs, no French new-fangled cloaths.
Gallus hath left his new-stampt blasphemies,
Rubrine disclaimes his damned heresies,
Writhled Sylene his gotish bitchery,
And Valodid his iugling witchery.
Baudy Melino needes not lust relieue,
With cordiall compounds, and preseruatiue,
Reine-running botches, pockes, are voided cleane,
Then Podelingus go and scrape againe,
In Florence stewes with lustfull Aretine:
Seale vp your Seringe, case vp your implements,
Trusse vp your trinckets, Leuca's instruments,
None vse in ioulting coaches hurried.
Rubrine disclaimes his damned heresies,
Writhled Sylene his gotish bitchery,
And Valodid his iugling witchery.
Baudy Melino needes not lust relieue,
With cordiall compounds, and preseruatiue,
Reine-running botches, pockes, are voided cleane,
Then Podelingus go and scrape againe,
In Florence stewes with lustfull Aretine:
Seale vp your Seringe, case vp your implements,
Trusse vp your trinckets, Leuca's instruments,
None vse in ioulting coaches hurried.
Now Lucia lookes like one twise buried:
Expecting hourly passage to her Graue,
No muddy mind no slimie dunghil slaue,
But hates with Pickt-hatch t'haue his name defaced,
Vices are loathd, and vertue is embraced,
Giue me a kingdome Cynicke, now I can
Shew thee a complete rightly perfect man.
Expecting hourly passage to her Graue,
No muddy mind no slimie dunghil slaue,
But hates with Pickt-hatch t'haue his name defaced,
Vices are loathd, and vertue is embraced,
Giue me a kingdome Cynicke, now I can
Shew thee a complete rightly perfect man.
O wakefull prophet that so farre away,
Could spie the dawning of this New yeares day!
And in thy true authentique prophesie,
Foretell that brutish sensuality,
Leopard-skind, soule-polluting Sodomy,
Dogges appetite, and damn'd impiety,
Should be transported into Italie
From England, this same yeare of Iubile:
Could spie the dawning of this New yeares day!
Foretell that brutish sensuality,
Leopard-skind, soule-polluting Sodomy,
Dogges appetite, and damn'd impiety,
Should be transported into Italie
From England, this same yeare of Iubile:
But tell me Satyres now in seriousnesse,
Why ript ye forth the guttes of vitiousnesse,
Or dipt your pens in puddle beastlinesse?
It is dishonor, and indignity,
Vnto a Poets great supremacy.
For by the worlds pure and immaculate
Selfe-yeelding-all Saturnus maidens state,
Not for a world of Indian treasury,
Would I the world in tearmes so villifie,
Or proue it in my wrangling poesie,
A Brokers shop of vile iniquitie:
Nor should my lauish and malignant tongue,
Teare out the bowells of sinnes hidden long,
Hooke out abhorring-nature strange delights,
Drownd in the red sea with the Sodomites,
For whilst such couered sinnes you do vnvaile,
Crabbde reprehension sets them but to sale.
Why ript ye forth the guttes of vitiousnesse,
Or dipt your pens in puddle beastlinesse?
It is dishonor, and indignity,
Vnto a Poets great supremacy.
For by the worlds pure and immaculate
Selfe-yeelding-all Saturnus maidens state,
Not for a world of Indian treasury,
Would I the world in tearmes so villifie,
Or proue it in my wrangling poesie,
A Brokers shop of vile iniquitie:
Nor should my lauish and malignant tongue,
Teare out the bowells of sinnes hidden long,
Hooke out abhorring-nature strange delights,
Drownd in the red sea with the Sodomites,
For whilst such couered sinnes you do vnvaile,
Crabbde reprehension sets them but to sale.
Not long agoe (by chance) these eares of mine,
Ore-heard yong Tusco reade a Satyres line,
And grauel'd (as it seem'd) stood censuring,
His eies fixt on a weather-cocke, misconstruing
The gloomie sence, and sembled thereupon,
Of fryes and puisnes a conuocation:
Slubbering the margent with their greasie thumbs,
They found no meant, till court-boy Brisco comes.
This agent patient in a moment spide
Light in this darke line. Tusco then replide:
I'me glad of this, I thought there had not bin
Such nouell pastimes, such a new found sinne:
And since in Paules (I walking) Tusco met,
And at his heeles I saw yong Brisco iet.
But by the sprightly essence of my soule,
My retchlesse lines shall Brisco not controule:
Nor rubbe the botch sore on his ridden side,
Nor gird the galled blisters on his hide:
That would but more his griefe exasperate,
And all the world by him exulcerate.
Sinne's like a puddle or a mattery sincke,
The more we stirre them, stil the more they stincke.
Ore-heard yong Tusco reade a Satyres line,
And grauel'd (as it seem'd) stood censuring,
His eies fixt on a weather-cocke, misconstruing
The gloomie sence, and sembled thereupon,
Of fryes and puisnes a conuocation:
Slubbering the margent with their greasie thumbs,
They found no meant, till court-boy Brisco comes.
This agent patient in a moment spide
I'me glad of this, I thought there had not bin
Such nouell pastimes, such a new found sinne:
And since in Paules (I walking) Tusco met,
And at his heeles I saw yong Brisco iet.
But by the sprightly essence of my soule,
My retchlesse lines shall Brisco not controule:
Nor rubbe the botch sore on his ridden side,
Nor gird the galled blisters on his hide:
That would but more his griefe exasperate,
And all the world by him exulcerate.
Sinne's like a puddle or a mattery sincke,
The more we stirre them, stil the more they stincke.
O could the circuit of my pulsiue braine,
Harbour but in it such a cinicke straine,
I would haue scourgde selfe-blind Brauortian,
Keeping in Newgate his lewd curtezan,
So lushiously with sacke, and marrow pies,
Whilst in the Fleete his Vnkle staruing lies,
There fleete, or sincke, or drowne, his care is more,
To snort in th' armes of his shape-altring whore.
Harbour but in it such a cinicke straine,
I would haue scourgde selfe-blind Brauortian,
Keeping in Newgate his lewd curtezan,
So lushiously with sacke, and marrow pies,
Whilst in the Fleete his Vnkle staruing lies,
There fleete, or sincke, or drowne, his care is more,
To snort in th' armes of his shape-altring whore.
When (for a coach) Malberia in a cart,
Was ioulted, then I crost the streetes athwart,
With rapiers pendant Minke and Mario ran,
After this fat luxurious Curtezan:
With draffie pispots still as she was crowned,
Minks wept for Loue, for Anger Mario frowned.
This would haue fazd a Satyres pisse-stept whip,
They scape my ierking rime or iocund quip.
Was ioulted, then I crost the streetes athwart,
With rapiers pendant Minke and Mario ran,
After this fat luxurious Curtezan:
With draffie pispots still as she was crowned,
Minks wept for Loue, for Anger Mario frowned.
This would haue fazd a Satyres pisse-stept whip,
They scape my ierking rime or iocund quip.
Though Cudro (not for kingdomes would I name him,
That were enough for euermore to shame him)
Maintaine his seruant, sister, and his whore,
And yet maintaine his sister and no more,
Should I vnvaile incestuous luxurie?
Nay rather Curtaine-or'e such brothelrie.
That were enough for euermore to shame him)
Maintaine his seruant, sister, and his whore,
Should I vnvaile incestuous luxurie?
Nay rather Curtaine-or'e such brothelrie.
Though Vicro bezzle on the ale-house bench,
Tills lacket's bawdie with the barmie drench:
And thereupon vnto his audience preach,
At euerie full poynt ysking forth a belch:
Slupping the Challice like a drunken Scale,
Where frothie lambs-woll swimmes in nappie ale:
And thence returne and guzzle off the Boule,
Tills eies gan startle in his iobber noule,
Tills lacket's bawdie with the barmie drench:
And thereupon vnto his audience preach,
At euerie full poynt ysking forth a belch:
Slupping the Challice like a drunken Scale,
Where frothie lambs-woll swimmes in nappie ale:
And thence returne and guzzle off the Boule,
Tills eies gan startle in his iobber noule,
Though Dario bragge, that for reward or fee,
He neuer made his Muse a mercenarie:
Yet written, giues her vnto Noble men,
And in exchange receiues their Angels then.
He neuer made his Muse a mercenarie:
Yet written, giues her vnto Noble men,
And in exchange receiues their Angels then.
Though Lacrion in a brauerie disburse,
For jingling spurs, the jingling of his purse,
He spurs not me, nor do his rowels pricke:
And wherefore then gainst Lacreon should I kicke?
Why should I Darios bragge reitterate,
Or damned Vicroes vice exaggerate.
For jingling spurs, the jingling of his purse,
He spurs not me, nor do his rowels pricke:
And wherefore then gainst Lacreon should I kicke?
Why should I Darios bragge reitterate,
Or damned Vicroes vice exaggerate.
Burno exclaimde, as Cicero wont to crie,
When Cateline did worke conspiracie:
O Times, O Manners lewd and impious,
When his owne Manners made the Time so vicious.
What beastlinesse by others you haue showne,
Such by your selues ti's thought that you haue knowne:
But Vice this yeare of Vertue makes an end,
Ill at the worst, doth alway gin to mend.
When Cateline did worke conspiracie:
O Times, O Manners lewd and impious,
When his owne Manners made the Time so vicious.
What beastlinesse by others you haue showne,
Such by your selues ti's thought that you haue knowne:
But Vice this yeare of Vertue makes an end,
Ill at the worst, doth alway gin to mend.
| Favnvs and Melliflora | |