 | The poems of John Marston |  |
111
SATYRE. III. Redde, age, quæ deinceps risisti.
It's good be warie whilst the sunne shines cleere
(Quoth that old chuffe that may dispend by yere
Three thousand pound) whilst hee of good pretence
Commits himselfe to Fleet to saue expence.
No Countries Christmas: rather tarry heere,
The Fleet is cheap, the Country hall too deere.
But Codrus, harke, the world expects to see
Thy bastard heire rotte there in misery.
What? will Luxurio keepe so great a hall
That he will proue a bastard in his fall?
No, come on fiue, S. George, by heauen at all,
Makes his catastrophe, right tragicall;
At all, till nothing's left, Come on, till all comes off,
I haire and all, Luxurio, left a scoffe
To leaprous filthes: ô stay, thou impious slaue,
Teare not the lead from off thy Fathers graue,
To stop base brokage, sell not thy fathers sheete,
His leaden sheete, that strangers eyes may greete
Both putrefaction of thy greedie Sire,
And thy abhorred viperous desire.
But wilt thou needes shall thy Dads lackie brat
Weare thy Sires halfe-rot finger in his hat?
Nay then Luxurio waste in obloquie,
And I shall sport to heare thee faintly cry,
A die, a drab, and filthy broking knaues,
Are the worlds wide mouthes, all deuouring graues.
Yet Samus keepes a right good house I heare;
No, it keepes him, and free'th him from chill feare
Of shaking fitts; How then shall his smug wench,
How shall her bawd, (fit time) assist her quench
Her sanguine heate? Linceus, canst thou sent?
Shee hath her Monkey, & her instrument
Smooth fram'd at Vitrio. O greeuous misery!
Luscus hath left his female luxurie.
I, it left him; No, his old Cynick Dad
Hath forc'd him cleane forsake his Pickhatch drab.
Alack, alack, what peece of lustfull flesh
Hath Luscus left, his Priape to redresse?
Grieue not good soule, he hath his Ganimede,
His perfum'd shee-goate, smooth kembd & high fed.
At Hogsdon now his monstrous lust he feasts,
For there he keepes a baudy-house of beasts.
Paphus, let Luscus haue his Curtezan,
Or we shall haue a monster of a man.
Tut, Paphus now detaines him from that bower,
And claspes him close within his brick-built tower.
Diogenes, th'art damn'd for thy lewd wit,
For Luscus now hath skill to practise it.
Fayth, what cares he for faire Cynedian boyes?
Veluet cap'd Goates, duch Mares? tut common toies.
Detaine them all, on this condition
He may but vse the Cynick friction.
(Quoth that old chuffe that may dispend by yere
Three thousand pound) whilst hee of good pretence
Commits himselfe to Fleet to saue expence.
No Countries Christmas: rather tarry heere,
The Fleet is cheap, the Country hall too deere.
But Codrus, harke, the world expects to see
Thy bastard heire rotte there in misery.
What? will Luxurio keepe so great a hall
That he will proue a bastard in his fall?
No, come on fiue, S. George, by heauen at all,
Makes his catastrophe, right tragicall;
At all, till nothing's left, Come on, till all comes off,
I haire and all, Luxurio, left a scoffe
To leaprous filthes: ô stay, thou impious slaue,
Teare not the lead from off thy Fathers graue,
To stop base brokage, sell not thy fathers sheete,
His leaden sheete, that strangers eyes may greete
Both putrefaction of thy greedie Sire,
And thy abhorred viperous desire.
But wilt thou needes shall thy Dads lackie brat
Weare thy Sires halfe-rot finger in his hat?
Nay then Luxurio waste in obloquie,
And I shall sport to heare thee faintly cry,
A die, a drab, and filthy broking knaues,
Are the worlds wide mouthes, all deuouring graues.
112
No, it keepes him, and free'th him from chill feare
Of shaking fitts; How then shall his smug wench,
How shall her bawd, (fit time) assist her quench
Her sanguine heate? Linceus, canst thou sent?
Shee hath her Monkey, & her instrument
Smooth fram'd at Vitrio. O greeuous misery!
Luscus hath left his female luxurie.
I, it left him; No, his old Cynick Dad
Hath forc'd him cleane forsake his Pickhatch drab.
Alack, alack, what peece of lustfull flesh
Hath Luscus left, his Priape to redresse?
Grieue not good soule, he hath his Ganimede,
His perfum'd shee-goate, smooth kembd & high fed.
At Hogsdon now his monstrous lust he feasts,
For there he keepes a baudy-house of beasts.
Paphus, let Luscus haue his Curtezan,
Or we shall haue a monster of a man.
Tut, Paphus now detaines him from that bower,
And claspes him close within his brick-built tower.
Diogenes, th'art damn'd for thy lewd wit,
For Luscus now hath skill to practise it.
Fayth, what cares he for faire Cynedian boyes?
Veluet cap'd Goates, duch Mares? tut common toies.
Detaine them all, on this condition
He may but vse the Cynick friction.
O now yee male stewes, I can giue pretence
For your luxurious incontinence.
Hence, hence, yee falsed, seeming, Patriotes,
Returne not with pretence of saluing spots,
When here yee soyle vs with impuritie,
And monstrous filth, of Doway seminary.
What though Iberia yeeld you libertie,
To snort in source of Sodom vilanie?
What though the bloomes of young nobilitie,
Committed to your Rodons custodie,
Yee Nero like abuse? yet nere approch,
Your newe S. Homers lewdnes heere to broch.
Tainting our Townes, and hopefull Accademes,
With your lust-bating most abhorred meanes.
For your luxurious incontinence.
Hence, hence, yee falsed, seeming, Patriotes,
Returne not with pretence of saluing spots,
When here yee soyle vs with impuritie,
113
What though Iberia yeeld you libertie,
To snort in source of Sodom vilanie?
What though the bloomes of young nobilitie,
Committed to your Rodons custodie,
Yee Nero like abuse? yet nere approch,
Your newe S. Homers lewdnes heere to broch.
Tainting our Townes, and hopefull Accademes,
With your lust-bating most abhorred meanes.
Valladolid, our Athens gins to tast
Of thy ranck filth, Camphire and Lettuce chast,
Are cleane casheird, now Sophi Ringoes eate,
Candid Potatoes, are Athenians meate.
Hence Holy-thistle, come sweet marrow pie,
Inflame our backs to itching luxurie.
A Crabs bak'd guts, a Lobsters buttered thigh,
I heare them sweare is blood for venerie.
Had I some snout faire brats, they should indure
The new found Castilian callenture:
Before some pedant-Tutor, in his bed
Should vse my frie, like Phrigian Ganimede.
Nay then chast cells, when greasie Aretine
For his ranck Fico, is surnam'd diuine:
Nay then come all yee veniall scapes to me,
I dare well warrant you'le absolued be.
Rufus, I'le terme thee but intemperate,
I will not once thy vice exaggerate,
Though that each howre thou lewdly swaggerest,
And all the quarter day, pay'st interest
For the forbearance of thy chalked score.
Though that thou keep'st a tally with thy whore.
Since Nero keepes his mother Agrippine,
And no strange lust can satiate Messaline.
Of thy ranck filth, Camphire and Lettuce chast,
Are cleane casheird, now Sophi Ringoes eate,
Candid Potatoes, are Athenians meate.
Hence Holy-thistle, come sweet marrow pie,
Inflame our backs to itching luxurie.
A Crabs bak'd guts, a Lobsters buttered thigh,
I heare them sweare is blood for venerie.
Had I some snout faire brats, they should indure
The new found Castilian callenture:
Before some pedant-Tutor, in his bed
Should vse my frie, like Phrigian Ganimede.
Nay then chast cells, when greasie Aretine
For his ranck Fico, is surnam'd diuine:
Nay then come all yee veniall scapes to me,
I dare well warrant you'le absolued be.
Rufus, I'le terme thee but intemperate,
I will not once thy vice exaggerate,
Though that each howre thou lewdly swaggerest,
And all the quarter day, pay'st interest
114
Though that thou keep'st a tally with thy whore.
Since Nero keepes his mother Agrippine,
And no strange lust can satiate Messaline.
Tullus goe scotfree, though thou often bragg'st
That for a false French-crowne, thou vaulting hadst
Though that thou know'st for thy incontinence
Thy drab repay'd thee, true French pestilence.
But tush, his boast I beare, when Tegeran
Brags that he foystes his rotten Curtezan
Vpon his heire, that must haue all his lands:
And them hath ioyn'd in Hymens sacred bands.
Ile wincke at Robrus, that for vicenage
Enters commen, on his next neighbors stage,
When Ioue maintaines his sister, and his whore:
And she incestuous, iealous euermore,
Least that Europa on the Bull should ride:
Woe worth when beasts for filth are deified!
That for a false French-crowne, thou vaulting hadst
Though that thou know'st for thy incontinence
Thy drab repay'd thee, true French pestilence.
But tush, his boast I beare, when Tegeran
Brags that he foystes his rotten Curtezan
Vpon his heire, that must haue all his lands:
And them hath ioyn'd in Hymens sacred bands.
Ile wincke at Robrus, that for vicenage
Enters commen, on his next neighbors stage,
When Ioue maintaines his sister, and his whore:
And she incestuous, iealous euermore,
Least that Europa on the Bull should ride:
Woe worth when beasts for filth are deified!
Alacke poore rogues, what Censor interdicts
The veniall scapes of him that purses picks?
When some slie, golden-slopt Castilio
Can cut a manors strings at Primero?
Or with a pawne, shall giue a Lordship mate,
In statute staple chaining fast his state?
What Accademick starued Satyrist
Would gnaw rez'd Bacon, or with inke black fist
would tosse each muck-heap for som outcast scraps
Of halfe-dung bones to stop his iawning chaps?
Or with a hungry hollow halfe pin'd iaw
Would once a thrice-turn'd bone-pick'd subiect gnaw
When swarmes of Mountebancks, & Bandeti
Damn'd Briareans, sincks of villanie,
Factors for lewdnes, brokers for the deuill,
Infect our soules with all polluting euill.
The veniall scapes of him that purses picks?
When some slie, golden-slopt Castilio
Can cut a manors strings at Primero?
Or with a pawne, shall giue a Lordship mate,
In statute staple chaining fast his state?
What Accademick starued Satyrist
Would gnaw rez'd Bacon, or with inke black fist
would tosse each muck-heap for som outcast scraps
Of halfe-dung bones to stop his iawning chaps?
Or with a hungry hollow halfe pin'd iaw
115
When swarmes of Mountebancks, & Bandeti
Damn'd Briareans, sincks of villanie,
Factors for lewdnes, brokers for the deuill,
Infect our soules with all polluting euill.
Shal Lucea scorne her husbands luke-warme bed?
(Because her pleasure being hurried
In ioulting Coach, with glassie instrument,
Doth farre exceede the Paphian blandishment)
Whilst I (like to some mute Pythagoran)
Halter my hate, and cease to curse and ban
Such brutish filth? Shall Matho raise his name,
By printing pamphlets in anothers name,
And in them praise himselfe, his wit, his might.
All to be deem'd his Countries Lanthorne light?
Whilst my tongue's ty'de with bonds of blushing shame
For feare of broching my concealed name?
Shall Balbus, the demure Athenian,
Dreame of the death of next Vicarian?
Cast his natiuitie? marke his complexion?
Waigh well his bodies weake condition?
That with guilt sleight he may be sure to get
The Planets place, when his dim shine shall set?
(Because her pleasure being hurried
In ioulting Coach, with glassie instrument,
Doth farre exceede the Paphian blandishment)
Whilst I (like to some mute Pythagoran)
Halter my hate, and cease to curse and ban
Such brutish filth? Shall Matho raise his name,
By printing pamphlets in anothers name,
And in them praise himselfe, his wit, his might.
All to be deem'd his Countries Lanthorne light?
Whilst my tongue's ty'de with bonds of blushing shame
For feare of broching my concealed name?
Shall Balbus, the demure Athenian,
Dreame of the death of next Vicarian?
Cast his natiuitie? marke his complexion?
Waigh well his bodies weake condition?
That with guilt sleight he may be sure to get
The Planets place, when his dim shine shall set?
Shall Curio streake his lims on his dayes couch,
In Sommer bower? and with bare groping touch
Incense his lust, consuming all the yeere
In Cyprian dalliance, and in Belgick cheere?
Shall Faunus spend a hundred gallions,
Of Goates pure milke, to laue his stallions,
As much Rose iuyce? O bath! ô royall, rich
To scower Faunus, and his salt proude bitch!
And when all's cleans'd, shall the slaues inside stinck
worse then the new cast slime of Thames ebb'd brink?
Whilst I securely let him ouerslip?
Nere yerking him with my Satyrick whip?
In Sommer bower? and with bare groping touch
Incense his lust, consuming all the yeere
In Cyprian dalliance, and in Belgick cheere?
Shall Faunus spend a hundred gallions,
Of Goates pure milke, to laue his stallions,
As much Rose iuyce? O bath! ô royall, rich
To scower Faunus, and his salt proude bitch!
116
worse then the new cast slime of Thames ebb'd brink?
Whilst I securely let him ouerslip?
Nere yerking him with my Satyrick whip?
Shall Crispus with hipocrisie beguile,
Holding a candle, to some fiend a while?
Now Iew, then Turke, then seeming Christian,
Then Athiest, Papist, and straight Puritan,
Now nothing, any thing, euen what you list,
So that some guilt may grease his greedy fist?
Holding a candle, to some fiend a while?
Now Iew, then Turke, then seeming Christian,
Then Athiest, Papist, and straight Puritan,
Now nothing, any thing, euen what you list,
So that some guilt may grease his greedy fist?
Shall Damas vse his third-hand ward as ill,
As any iade that tuggeth in the mill?
What, shall law, nature, vertue, be reiected,
Shall these world Arteries be soule infected,
With corrupt blood? Whilst I shal Martia taske?
Or some young Villius, all in choller aske,
How he can keepe a lazie waiting man,
And buy a hoode, & siluer-handled fan
With fortie pound? Or snarle at Lollios sonne?
That with industrious paines hath harder wonne
His true got worship, and his gentries name
Then any Swine-heards brat, that lousie came
To luskish Athens, and with farming pots,
Compiling bedds, & scouring greazie spots,
By chaunce (when he can like taught Parrat cry
Dearely belou'd, with simpering grauitie)
Hath got the Farme of some gelt Vicary,
And now on cock-horse, gallops iollilie
Tickling with some stolne stuffe his sencelesse cure,
Belching lewd termes gainst all sound littrature.
Shall I with shaddowes fight? taske bitterly
Romes filth? scraping base channell rogarie?
Whilst such huge Gyants shall affright our eyes
With execrable, damn'd impieties?
Shall I finde trading Mecho, neuer loath
Frankly to take a damning periur'd oath?
Shall Furia broke her sisters modestie,
And prostitute her soule to brothelrie?
Shall Cossus make his well-fac'd wife a stale,
To yeeld his braided ware a quicker sale?
Shall cock-horse, fat-paunch'd Milo staine whole stocks
Of well borne soules, with his adultering spots?
Shall broking pandars sucke Nobilitie?
Soyling fayre stems with foule impuritie?
Nay, shall a trencher slaue extenuate,
Some Lucrece rape? and straight magnificate
Lewd Iouian lust? Whilst my satyrick vaine
Shall muzled be, not daring out to straine
His tearing paw? No gloomie Iuvenall,
Though to thy fortunes I disastrous fall.
As any iade that tuggeth in the mill?
What, shall law, nature, vertue, be reiected,
Shall these world Arteries be soule infected,
With corrupt blood? Whilst I shal Martia taske?
Or some young Villius, all in choller aske,
How he can keepe a lazie waiting man,
And buy a hoode, & siluer-handled fan
With fortie pound? Or snarle at Lollios sonne?
That with industrious paines hath harder wonne
His true got worship, and his gentries name
Then any Swine-heards brat, that lousie came
To luskish Athens, and with farming pots,
Compiling bedds, & scouring greazie spots,
By chaunce (when he can like taught Parrat cry
Dearely belou'd, with simpering grauitie)
Hath got the Farme of some gelt Vicary,
And now on cock-horse, gallops iollilie
Tickling with some stolne stuffe his sencelesse cure,
117
Shall I with shaddowes fight? taske bitterly
Romes filth? scraping base channell rogarie?
Whilst such huge Gyants shall affright our eyes
With execrable, damn'd impieties?
Shall I finde trading Mecho, neuer loath
Frankly to take a damning periur'd oath?
Shall Furia broke her sisters modestie,
And prostitute her soule to brothelrie?
Shall Cossus make his well-fac'd wife a stale,
To yeeld his braided ware a quicker sale?
Shall cock-horse, fat-paunch'd Milo staine whole stocks
Of well borne soules, with his adultering spots?
Shall broking pandars sucke Nobilitie?
Soyling fayre stems with foule impuritie?
Nay, shall a trencher slaue extenuate,
Some Lucrece rape? and straight magnificate
Lewd Iouian lust? Whilst my satyrick vaine
Shall muzled be, not daring out to straine
His tearing paw? No gloomie Iuvenall,
Though to thy fortunes I disastrous fall.
| The poems of John Marston | |