University of Virginia Library

The thirde Satyre.

Damasip.
You write so seldom vnto me,
that fowre tymes in a yeare
Scarse cums a pen within your hande,
perusinge written geare.
Halfe angrie with your selfe I weane,
that drente in wyne and slepe,
You spendinge time in sylente pause,
of Satyres beres no keepe.
Performe thy promis once at lengthe,
goe too, what shall we haue?
Thou coms from Saturnes feaste I trow,
from drinke thy selfe to saue.
Will nothing be? You blame your muse,
so do you Poets all,
Accuse your pen, when to your mynde,
your sentence will not fall.
When thou camste to the countrye towne,
to lyue a parte from strife,
Thy visage gaue, as thoughe thou wouldste
haue written bookes for lyfe.
Menander, and dan Platos woorkes,
why do they on you wayte?
Why broughte you Eupolis to towne,
and Archilog his mate?
You meane for feare of spytefull folke,
all vertue to disclame,
Thou caitife shalte cum to contempte,
shun idle ioyes for shame:
Or els surrender all suche praise,
as thou haste got before:
By woorke of witte, in full intente

The Poet contente to be reproued but not at suche a peuishe Marchaunte as [OMITTED]

to mell with it no more.
For this sage counsaile, (Damasipe)
the heauenly goddes I pray,

this stoicke damasip.

To sende a barber speedelye,
to wype your berde awaye.

Horace.
In deede, and knowe you me so wel,
how cums it so to passe?

Damasip.
I sufferde shipwracke of my gooddes,
whilste I a merchaunte was.
And therefore now can spare an eye,
the worlde to ouervewe.
Then was I plunged in affaires,
as they me droue and drewe,
To know what vauntage by exchaunge,
to clippe and washe my goulde,
By subtilties in mineralles,
my state for to vphoulde.
By suche lyke sorte came I to haue,
an ample wealthie snare
To purchasse orchardes for mine ease,
and bowers bryghte and fayre.
My witte so deepe soe sore to deale,
such lucke, to win or saue,
That me a Mercurialiste,
to surname then they gaue.

Horace.
I know it well and maruaile much,
If that be ridde and gone:
Excepte thou haste sum worse diseas
whiche needes will rayne alone.
As Phisikes cure from heade to breste,
diseases can conuey,
As by excesse of much madnes,
dryue lythergie away.
Perchaunce you setting fraude a parte,
the mad mans part will play.

Dama.
Frende Horace, you are mad lykewyse.
And so is euerye foole,
If stoicke Stertin taughte vs once,
true doctrine in his schoole.
Of whome, I learnde this trade of lyfe,
no trewande in my lore,
He dubde me then a stoick sage,
and bad me morne no more.
Though all the worlde shoulde go to wracke,
(for from a brydge I mente
All headlonge to haue horlde my selfe
so things againste me wente.)
Approchinge nygh. O do not so,
frende Damasip (quod he)
What thirlinge throwes doth twitche thy harte?
what shame confoundeth the?

The stoicke. Startine supplyeth with his talke almoste all the satyre folowinge.

The people cawle the giddishe mad,
why, all the worlde is so:
If thou be mad, and thou alone:
be drounde: I lette the goe.
But what is madnes to defyne?
Crysip, that noble clarke,
Cals all fooles mad, and all whose mindes,
are duskde with errors darke.
This rule, makes mad a noumberouse swarme,
of subiects and of kinges,
And none exemptes, saue those in whome,
the well of wysdome springes.
Now leane thyne eares, and listen well,
perceaue howe all be mad,
Yea those who earste to make the woorse,
such mockeryes haue had.
Admit there be through darkesum wood,
a speedie footepathe way,
On ryghte syde same, on lefte syde sum:
and all do go a stray.
Through wilsumnes of wildernes:
the error is all one,
Though through miswandringe diuerslye,
they diuerslye haue gone.
Thou maist be mad, (frende Damasip)

A reason to proue al mad, whiche treade not in one true footepathe of wisedome.

thou maiste be muche vnwyse,
Thy mockers staringe mad also,
though in an other guyse.
One manner frensie is, to feare
when nothinge is a misse,
As hilles on plaines, or seas on mountes,
this kynde of buggor this:
An other like a desperate,
nothinge at all to feare,
To trudge through deepe, high, hoate, and coulde,
to prease vppon a speare.
His frendes reclames his sister deare,
his parentes and his wyfe,
Theirs rockes, theirs Seas greate dread (say they)
sweete kinseman saue your lyfe.
He will not heare, for all their crye,
no more then Fusie coulde,
When he through force of drowsie drincke,
was falne in slumber coulde.
He shoulde recyte the drunkards parte,
he druncke his parte away,
The people egde him for to speake,
he wiste not what to say.
One way or other all are mad,
as Damasip, which oulde
Pictures did bye, was mad, and he,
that lente to him the goulde.
Moste mad is he, that takes a truste,
not hauynge hope to pay:
Moste mad is he, which may make boulde
and dare not his assay.
Assay (quod you) but who woulde truste,
for now the worlde is suche,
That lende a man, a thousand crownes,
or more, or nye so muche,
And take a bill of his hande wryt,
an obligation make,
So lawyer lyke, so clarklie drawne,
that none coulde it mistake,
And bynde him strayte, to kepe a day,
in payne of marks and poundes,
Shew witnes write, and what thou canste,
or lowse, or shake thy groundes
The one will he do: lyke Proteus,
to shapes ychaunged, he
Somtime a bore, a birde, a stone,
and when he liste a tree.
No doubte he will attempte all shiftes,
to shifte him selfe from the.
If wyse men vse for to do well,
and fooles for to do ill,
What say you to our creditor,

Petill vsurer

our vsurer Petill?
Is he not mad? who when he lendes,
for increase asketh more,
Then the pore debter can performe,
though he shoulde swelt therfore.
Ye lecherouse, luxuriouse,
ye supersticiouse:
Ye shottishe, dotishe, doultishe dawes,
that nothing can discusse.
Drawe on my Clyents one by one,
be not agreiste ne sad,
Stande still in stounde; kepe whishte (I say)
whilste I doe proue you mad.
I charge you, you ambitious,
and you that mucker good,
To gerde your gownes, to sytt and harcke,
whilste I doe proue you wood.
The couetouse, of Helibore:
the greater parte muste haue,

One parte of a mad man, to seeke, vayne glorye after his deathe.

Or rather all the pilles, for the head
as they which moste do raue.
The executours of Staberie,
engraylde on his graue,
What were his ample legaces,
and what to them he gaue.
For so he bad in testament,
and if they woulde not so,
That then to maintayne sworde players
moste of his gooddes shoulde go.

Areus superuisor of ye wil.

Arrey did superuise this will,
who shoulde geue them in wheate,
To preserue sporte, as muche as halfe
a countrye coulde well eate.

Staberie..

What though I did (misiudge me not,

Stoicke.

I had a wittie meaninge.
No doubte you had, to this intente,
was all his gylefull gleaninge.
To haue his heyres, entayle in stones
his honnorable will:
Neade was to him a wickednes,
yea an vngodly ill.
Therefore in deede full dreedefullie,
he wayed it as goddes curse:
If at his death, then in his lyfe,
one dodkin he were worse.
For all and euerie thinge (quod he)
vertue, renoumne, and fame,
The corpes, the goste, doth crouche to coyne,
and serue vnto the same.
Which who so hath all at his luste,
him needes no further thinge,
He maye be famouse, stonte, and iuste,
a wyseman and a kynge.
And this is euen as good as if
by vertue he vp grue:
But Staberie or Aristippe,

Aristippe a Philosopher that flattered Alexander.

of lykely, iudge not true.
Who trauaylinge in Lybie coste
his golde caste away,
Because it did from iorneyinge,
his men a litle stay.
Whiche is the madder of the twaine?
but we ne can, ne will
Sample, againste example bringe,
to samples that be ill.
If that a man bye instruments,
and horde them in a place,
Him selfe not weyinge of the sounde,
nor forcinge musikes grace:
If that a man shoulde bye him stuffe,
and tooles to sett vp shop:
Or bye him sayles to hange in ship
to hale her by the top:
And neuer meane to practise oughte,
is he not staringe mad?
Why is not this our couetouse
as much in frensye clad?
Who hoordes his monye, and his gould,
and vnneth dare auouche it,
Because it is so preciouse,
to peepe at it, or touche it.
If that a man an hudge heape
of corne shoulde euer keepe,
With stretched arme, and club in hande,
for feare berefte of sleepe,
And beinge owner, durste not take,
one graine, (misdreadinge waste),
Eatinge most bitter rootes and leaues,
vnmilde vnto the taste:
If, one haue manie vessels full,
a thousande tun of wyne,
And drincke nothing but vinaiger,
vntastie and vnfyne:
Goe to, if one of fyue score yeares
do lye on couche of grounde,
And haue his downe, and fetherbeddes,
(where he mighte sleepe full sounde)
Stufte vp in chestes, for wormes and mothes:
sum will not houlde them mad,
Because the moste of wealthie men,
be now as vyle and bad.
O hatefull head, forlorne to God,
spares thou for tyme to cum?
Na, na, thou spares that thy lewde childe
may spende the totall sum.
Eche day will spende sum portion,
(thou thinckes) if thou do spende
Oyle to annointe, oyle for thy borde,
mongste thy meates to blende.
Further, thou sayste, it is the beste,
to lyue vppon a small
Why doste thou then forsweare thy selfe,
and filtche in places all?

Testie anger a kynde of madnes.

Haste thou the wittes, that beates thy men,
because nothinge can please the?
Which thou with purse, haste purcheste deare,
to ayde the and to ease the.
When thou doste poyson thy parentes,
and strangle vp thy wyfe,
Arte thou not mad, though in Arge towne,
thou droue not out her lyfe
Nor yet with sworde as Oreste did,
or do not it inacte?
Yes, yf for hope of gaine thou haste,
but thoughte vppon thy facte.

A mā is mad at the first cōcept of mischiefe.

Was he not mad before his blade
had brusde his mothers baine?
Or forthwith, as this cruell fitte,
Was crepte into his braine?
Synce that Orestes hath bene clepte
giddie and mad by name,
After the cryme, he hath not done,
a facte, of haynouse blame.
His syster deare, nor Pylades,
he neuer stroke with sworde.
To him, and her sumtimes he gaue,
a foule vntowarde worde.
Her feende him woorse, as him to speake,
his pearsinge choler woulde:
But thou in harte kilste all thy frendes,
that thou mightes haue their goulde.

Opimie.
The penyfather Opimie,
who had so muche in store,
Who holyday and workyngday,
did toyle whilste he were sore,
Was troubled so with lythergie,
for sleepe he coulde not stere,
His heyre wente rounde aboute the chestes,
with blythe and iocaunte cheare:
A frendlye quicke Phisition,
to make, Opymie starte,
Contriude it thus: he bad them bringe,
a borde into the place
A sorte, eeke to vnseale the bagges,
and tell the coyne a pace.
He rearde the sickman from his bed,
Syr (quod he) houlde it faste
Or els no doubte, those will haue all,
and sparple all at laste.
In my life tyme?

Phi.
awake betime,
be lyuely then in deede.

Opimie.
What shall I doe?

Ph.
fall to thy meate,
there is no way but feede.
Els, will thy spirits be for faynte,
thy vigour fall away,
Thy stomake weake and languishinge,
will bringe the to decay.

Op.
You geue me naughte.

Ph.
drincke vp forthewith,
this Ptysande made of ryce.

Op.
What shall I pay?

Ph.
a small

Op.
how much.

Ph.
Two pence.

Op.
alacke, the pryce.
Such costes is woorse, then sworde or theefe,
cum death I will not ryse.

Damasip.
Now who is mad?

Sto.
Eche foolish man,
what is the couetouse?

Dam.
A foole and mad.

St.
what if a man
be nothinge rauenouse,
Eftsones shall he coumpted sounde?
no:

Dam.
Stoicke tell me why?

Sto.
Put case the restlesse paciente,
full ill at ease shoulde lye,
His pulse doth shew, he hath no stitche,
nor straininge at his harte:
Is that ynough to warraunte him,
forth of his coutche to starte?
Sharpe panges may twitch him in the reynes,
and twitche him in the syde:
So, though one be not couetouse,
yet may he swell with pryde.
They neade no salue, to say a sooth.
that vse not for to lye,
Nathelesse the testie may take pilles,
to purge melancolye.
Almoste as ill to hoorde thy goodes,
that they geue no releefe,
As if thou shouldste bestow them on,
an arraunte pilferinge theefe.

Oppidie.
Olde Oppidie two manors kepte
of longe in Cauufe towne
Entailde to him by due descente
who sicke, and lyinge downe,
On deade bed then calde for his sonnes,
(which were no more but twaine)
And thus to speake vnto them both,
the parente woulde him paine.

A pretie note for parents.

Aulus, my sonne, when thou in youth,
counters in purse didste beare,
And francklie on thy playfeers wouldste,
bestow them here and theare
Tyber my sonne when thou thy nuttes
wouldste tell and tell againe,
By this I gatherd, that in you,
two diuers sinnes woulde raine:
That Aulus would be ryotouse,
that Tyber naught would spende,
Wherfore, for gods own loue deare sonne
vnto my lore attende.
Aulus, looke thou diminishe not,
not Tyber thou increase.
That, which your father thoughte ynoughe
to mantayne you in peace.
And, that which nature lymiteth:
Leste, ticklinge glorie may
Incense your heartes, take here an othe,
before I passe away:
That which of you shall sewe in Rome,
for roume or for degree,
Shall take him selfe, as most deteste,
and quyte accurste of me.
Alas, Aulus (mine elder childe)
to geue the giftes of pryce,
So deale amongste the Citizens,
that they gainste the may ryse
That thou maiste walke in pompe and porte,

Lyke Agrippa.

thy statues stande in brasse,
What vayleth that? when all is gone
what vayleth that (alas.
Excepte to win a princes fame,
and plausible estate,

Esops his foxe.

Lyke foxe: thou weare a lyons skin
to seeme a lyons mate.

Insolence noted in princes in Agamemnons personage.

What, though thou warte a prince in deede?
in pride thou mighte offende,
As Agamemnon, in whose wordes
most princes wordes are pende.

Tucer.
Syr kinge, why maye not Aiax be
enterred in his graue?

Agamemnon.
I am a kinge, my lusts a lawe,
your answer (lo you haue.

Tucer.
Moste puissaunt prince, my suite is iuste,
if anie can say nay,
Without all stop, or ieoperdie,
his sentence let him say.
God graunte, your noble maiestie,
to see your natyue soyle.
Leege prynce, take pause a space, and then,
my pore demaunde assoyle.

Agam.
Demaunde at once?

Tew:
shall duke Aiax,
the nexte to fearse Achill,
Who famouse was, by sauinge greakes,
vntombed tarrye still?
That Priame, and his folke may ioy,
to see him lacke his graue:
By whome their Troiane younkers slayne,
no countrie toumbe coulde haue?

Agamemn.
A thousande sheepe, he slewe in rage,
the famouse Vlixes
Menelaus and me with sworde
he thoughte he did disease.

Tucer.
When thou in Auled for a cowe,
didste slay thy louing childe,
And salte her heade on alter stone,
waste thou then mad or mylde?
In what degree did Aiax rage?
what did he? slay the sheepe.
From lemans bayne, and daughters baine,
his blade he coulde ykeepe
Perchaunce he curste and bande at large,
the, and thy brother to:
With me, nor Vlixes his foe,
he neuer had to doe.

Agamemnon.
The lingering shippes, that they might sayle,
from hauen where they stoode,
Of purpose good, I pacifyed,
the wrothefull goddes with blood.

Tucer.
With blood of thyne, thou mad kinge, thou,
with mine, but I not mad.

Agam. Stoicke.
Who doth confounde things good and ill
(as you) is euen as bad.
To folow shewes, and vttershapes,
to gesse but at the good
Is follie leude: as is the deede,
that coms of angrie moode.
Aiax he slew the sillie lambes,
therfore, distraughte of witte:
And thou for tytles, and renoume,
fell murther doste commit.
(Hast thou thy wittes? or arte thou good,
all swelled vp with pryde?
If in a couche, a fyne fleesde lambe,
a kinge shoulde cause to ryde,
And geue it rayments neate, and gay,
and geue it maydes and goulde,
And call it pugges and pretye peate,
and make as though he woulde,
In woorthy wedlocke it bestowe:
the pretor woulde fordoe it,
And make his frendes looke to his witte,
for feare he shoulde forgoe it:
What if a kynge, for a doumbe sheepe,
his daughter sacrifice,
I wene the kyng will graunte himselfe,
not to be verye wyse.
Fondnesse is madnesse, so is sinne,
and who that huntes for name
Is lyke Bellona chafinge dame,

Bellona goddesse of warr.

that loues to see a mame:
Who scales faines forte ofte times doth see,
dyre feates and vse the same.

Againste the riotouse, as he promised.

But now a crashe at Nomentane
to reuellers a whyle,
No reason is this foultishe flocke
from madnes to exile.
The prodigall, by witte worde hath
ten talentes: in his heate,
He biddes the costerdmongers, and
thappothycaries neate.
Foulers, fishers, sculls, podingwrightes,
the trulls of Tuscus streate,
All cookes and all the shambles eeke,
to morow him to meate
At home. How are they occupyde
when they are mette in one?
The baude (as spokes man for the reste)
its thine (sayth he alone,
What so all those or I, possesse,
at home or anie wheare,
Demaunde it (master when you will.
now syr, vnto this geare,
Harke, how our younker frames his tale,
Ah trustie frendes (saith he)
The fouler wades through froste and snowe
that he may banquet me.
The tysher drawes the wyntrye seas,
whylste I doo sytte at ease,
In faythe, good felowes, fayne woulde I,
your great turmoylyng please:
Take thou some thynge, take tenne tymes more,
take thou as muche agayne,
And thou threfolde, because with me,
your wyfe hath taken payne.
Younge Aesope, snatchde a ryng awaye,
from madame Metells eare:

Metells, a lady of Rome.

The pearle well worthe fyue hundreth crownes,
He dronke in vinigeare:
He as much besydes hym selfe
as braynlesse in this case,
As yf he hadde it drent in flood
or in some vyler place.
The broode of Quinctus Arius,

Arius, a noble man of Rome.

the famous brethren twayne.
Through lewd conceites, and babysh pranks
do make theyr stomacke fayne
And lyuely with the lynnets fleshe,
that be of costly price.
Be these men, wene you, well in wytte?
be these men madde or wyse?
To buylde an house of chippes and cardes,
to watche the trappe for myse:
To playe at euen and odde, to ryde
cockhorse in chyldyshe guyse:
If these shoulde please a bearded syre,
the foole myght haue a hood,
Muche more, to haunte an harlots house,
dothe proue an olde man wood.
An olde man, for to spyll his teares,
to please a womans mynde,
Is as an olde man shoulde in duste,
go taue, and toyes out fynde:

Palamon.
I woulde haue all these naughty packes
to doo lyke Palamon:
As he for shame vppon a tyme,

A fondlinge knowē by his ensignes.

With drynke all ouergon,
The badges of a fondlynge, as,
braue napkyns, braceletts, rynges,
He layde away, and went to schoole,
to learne more sober thynges.
Commaunde a chylde, to eate a peare,
he wyll not eate a byt:
Commaunde hym, not to eate the peare,
the chylde wyll long for yt.
So fares it, with oure fondlyng (lo)
though he desyres to go,
And woulde this coyishe paramour,
vnbodden wende vnto.

Phedria.
Yea when she daygnes to sende for hym,
then mammeryng he dothe doute,
What should I go, as suppliaunt?
or beare my sorowes stoute?
She shutte me out, she sendes for me,
shoulde I come there agayne?
No, though she shoulde vpon her knees,
Praye me, to take the payne.

Stoike.
Me thynkes the seruaunt Parmeno.
hath muche the better brayne.

Parmeno.
The thynge mayster, that hathe in it
no measure, nor aduice,
By reason, can not well be rulde:
Loue hath in it muche vyce.
Theres stormy warre, and caulmie peace,
whiche (passyng as a blaste,
And flotynge on, in blynde successe)
Who seeketh to make faste,
Shall take in hande, an harde attempte,
miraculous, and geason:
As yf he woulde at once be madde,
and haue his perfite reason.

Stoicke.
A man that faultreth in hys speache,
for age, and yet is gladde,
To playe at quoytes, or spancounter,
may well be counted madde:
A man, that faultreth in his speache,
and wyll by sworde and myght,
Obteyne his loue, or murther her
in cruell blooddy plyght:
As Marrius slewe Hilade,

Marius a knowen Romane: esprisede with the loue of Hilade. Oulde dotage mere madnesse. Supersticion proued madnes.

and slewe hymselfe also,
Because she sought by godly meanes,
his dotage to vndo.
This perturbation maye be calde,
a wodnesse of the mynde:
Suche wyckednes and madnes, haue
no dyuers names by kynde.
An olde man late enfraunchised,
in dawnynge of the day,
With hāds fair washt, wold walk the stretes
and moste deuoutlye praye.
The more deale was to this effecte:
O Godds aboue, (for you
Can doo the thyng) lette me ylyue
in earthe where I am nowe:
This man was sounde enoughe in corps,
in mynde I thynke hym madde,
Except his maister lyke not that,

In ould time, if anie sould a seruaunte, who afterwarde proued mad, it turned to the sellers endamage.

who soulde hym of a ladde.
Suche folke, so supersticious,
Chrysip doothe greatly charge,
And pleades by ryght, that they should sayle
in madame Madnesse barge.
O Ioue, whiche bothe canst eke and ease,
all dolour and all teene,
Rue on my chylde (the mother crieth)
who nowe fiue weekes hathe bene,
With feuer quartayne, felly toste,
yf thou wylte heale my sonne,
Byd me to faste, what day thou wylt,
thy great wyll shall be donne:
My sonne lykewyse recouerde once,
in Tyber flood shall stande,
If thou wylt send hym helpe by chaunce,
or by phisitions hande.
And so she will (to kepe her vowe)
her chyld in Tyber sette:
The boye through chille benummednesse,
his ague worse shall gette.
This woman maddeth of her selfe,
or by the will of God.

Damasip.
Thus Stertin theyght wyse man of Grece,
taught me, and gaue a nod:
As to his frende, at knittynge vp:
this armour he me gaue:
If any man be busye nowe,
his guardon he shall haue.
Who so that calls me wood or madde,
maye learne his propre lacke,
And knowe the ferdle of his faultes,
that hange behynde his backe.

Stoicke.
Frende Damasip, though you haue loste
your trafficke and your ware:
Yet may you gayne, for some will geue
that you theyr faultes maye spare.

Damasip.
Because thers many kyndes of madde,
in what sorte doo I dote?
Yet to my selfe I seme not madde,
nor from my witte a iote.

Stoicke.
No more semed Agaue to her selfe,
when she of dolefull chylde,
The head detruncte dyd beare about,
she thought her selfe full mylde.
If soothe it be, that I am madde,
yet stoicke tell me this,
What vice is it, through whiche I seeme
so muche to doo amys?

Stoicke.
Thou arte a very little man,
scarce three small cubites hye,
And yet thou buyldes a hautie house,
and makes it threate the skye.

Turbo.
Thou laughste at Turbo sworde player,
a little dandie prat,
To see hym stoute: thou lesse, and stoute:
I deeme thee madde for that.
Thynks thou, to buyld lyke lorde Mæcene,
to doo, what he shall doo?
A matche vnmete betwixte you twayne,
and yll appoynted too.
The mother frogge vppon a tyme
abrode to feede, or playe:
A Calfe kylde all her young, with foote,
but one, that scapde awaye:
Which brought the tydynges to her damme,
howe suche a myghtie beaste,
Had slayne her noble progenie,
(to tell a blouddie feast.)
Canste thou with swellyng make thy selfe,
(quod tholde) as bygge as he?
The yong assayde, it woulde not proue

The texte applyeth the willing rather to the old frogge but it skillech not so resumption be eschueed in olde and younge.

(quod tholde) so lette it be.
Nowe moralise this fable, and
iwys it toucheth thee,
That styll wyll swell, and make thy matche
aboue thyne owne degree.
Besydes, thy pratlynge Poemes to,
be matter playne and clere,
To proue thee madde, in poemes madde,
yf euer any were.
It is a madnesse, thee thy coyne,
so frankly to disburse.
(Frende Damasip, abate thy spence,
be counsailde by thy purse.

Damasip.
Well Stoicke, thou haste taught vs playne,
that moste of men be wood:
As not to proue me so, agayne,
I praye thee be so good.