A Medicinable Morall that is, the two Bookes of Horace his Satyres, Englyshed accordyng to the prescription of saint Hierome. The Wailynges of the Prophet Hieremiah, done into Englyshe verse. Also Epigrammes. T. Drant |
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The seuenth Satyre.
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 | A Medicinable Morall |  |
The seuenth Satyre.
IT IS GOOD AND PROFITABLE, for the Maister somtymes to heare, the true, and honest instruction and aduertisment of his seruant. In olde tyme, seruantes might speake in the moneth of December, whilest Saturnes feastes were solemnised, frankly and at randon. The Poet bryngeth in Dauus, detectyng his maysters practises.
Ere whyles, I listned to your wordes,
and sumthinge woulde haue sayde,
But, I a scruaunte, and Dauus,
was halfe, and more a frayde.
Dauus, a true, and trustie page,
so much as sence will geue.
A frende sir, so farre vnto you,
as I my selfe may lyue.
Simo.
Becawse our auncitours so woulde,
the freedom of decembre
Enioy speake out, all things amisse,
that, thou doste nowe remembre.
Dauus.
Some men do stifflye sticke to voyce,
and still pursue theire praye,
Sum, to, and fro, now well now woorse,
and kepe no common stay.
Lyke Priscus, chaunginge of his ringes,
who such attyre had boughte,
And chaungde his suites, so ofte a day,
him selfe hathe chaungde to noughte.
His house, and lande, to morgage layde,
yea, neede dothe him compell,
In simple cotage to abyde,
where scarce a slaue woulde dwell.
At Athins, verye studente lyke,
at Rome, a lustie lad,
I maruaile, what vnstable starres
what byrthsygnes, once he had.
Volauery, stickes to, one trade,
for gowte, he can not ryse,
And therefore nowe he fees a man,
to caste for him the dyse.
Such constaunte folke, be better, then
those chaunglings in and oute,
Who plunge in euerye follye which
theire heades can bringe aboute.
Wilte thou not say, thou stretche hempe, thou
whome thou meanes in thy pratlynge?
Dauus.
I meane euen the
Si.
How so sir knaue?
Da.
For, thou wilte still be tatling.
In praysinge, state of forayn tymes,
but, if that thou mighste chuse,
And god would place the in those worldes,
no doubte, thou wouldste refuse.
Or thou in hearte didste neuer thincke,
whiche thou in worde hast sayde,
Or thou not stoutlie cleauiste to
the truth as halfe vnstayde.
Scarce fullie yet resolude, to plucke,
thy foote out of the myer.
At Rome thou loues to be abrode,
abrode thou doste desyre
To cum to Rome, and doste extoll,
that lyfe aboue the skye.
If thou beeste no mans geste abrode,
then doste thou magnifye,
The priuate cleare, as thoughe thou wouldste.
be bounde to lyue so still:
And thinckes it well, that thou ne goste,
to tipple, and to swill.
But if sum bid the cum indede,
thou lins, not then to crie,
Oyle, water, haste my seruants haste,
awaye, thou doste the hye.
Full manie sillie seruiters,
that wayte with emptie paunche,
Say to them selues, when will this churle,
his glutton stomake staunche?
I am a smelfeaste bellygod,
idle and full of slouthe
A greedie gut, and at a worde,
a seruaunte to my tothe.
and worse to, in thyne harte,
Howe durst thou fyrst begynne with me,
as though thou better wart?
Thou canste disguyse thy synne with woordes,
thy wyckednesse vnfoulde,
Thou arte more foole, then I, which earste,
for fyftye grotes was soulde.
Explaine thy browes, restraine thy handes.
alay thyne anger fell,
What Cryspins porter, toulde of the
I will make boulde to tell.
(Quod he) Dauus, that sillye foole,
hathe not his masters caste,
His harte, is euer in his toungue,
for if the facte be paste:
He takes no sounder reste, whileste he,
hath chatterde oute the thinge,
Then dothe the swyne, that hathe her groyne
new wounded with a ringe.
In open day, in open streets,
he praunces, and he prates.
He makes the younkers, all a flote,
to breake the brothells gates.
His acts, are euer euydente,
and therefore, ryfe in talke,
Because, he doth not make pretence,
nor vnder coler walke.
His master, goes in sage attyre:
that geues a sober shue.
His master, solempne in his wordes:
that makes him seme so true.
Dauus in sighte of all the worlde,
dothe as I sayd before.
Simo, dothe all that pryuilye
much willinge, to do more.
for goulde hath this by kynde,
To louse or tye the tongues of men,
and to contente their mynde.
Simo maye be a goose, a sheepe,
a noddie, and a daw,
And haue not giftes, or qualities,
to counterpeyse a straw:
Yet Parasytes, will tearme him good,
and wyse, at all assayes.
I wisse, redde goulde, can make a doulte,
a paragon of prayse.
If Dauus do but talke amisse,
a cockescombe, or a bell,
Such badges, mighte beseeme oft tyme,
the masters very well.
The reyster weares not alwaye plumes,
nor yet the deuill a tayle,
If euery foole did were a bell,
there would be iollye sayle.
Simo can laye to vsurie,
and yet by plea of sleighte,
He will persuade the thinge to be,
a sinne of little weighte.
So drunckennesse, is felowship,
furye, is manhood boulde,
Fondnesse, is francknesse, and scarcehead,
for thriftynesse, is houlde.
In fyne, no cryme, no vyce, no sinne
in Simo, muste be knowne:
No faulte in Dauus, but forthwith
with trumpet, it is blowne.
Yea, Simo can cloke leacherie,
or clepe it, by such name
That nowe, it seemes, a neyghborhood,
a thinge of little blame.
He slaundered me, (Dauus my man,
I am no leacher, I.
Dauus.
Nor I a theefe, though, I woulde steale,
and yet for feare passe by
A peece of plate, but this I say,
take punishemente awaye:
Nature woulde breake her brydle straighte
vnrulye without staye.
Canste thou, be calde my gouernoure,
which arte to vyces thrall,
To fansyes, pleasures, wrathe, and teene
sythens, I shun them all?
If all the customes of our courte,
woulde franchyse thee in libertie,
Thy feare of gooddes, wold make the slaue,
and keepe the still in villanie.
Also, an other argumente:
if, that your customes all,
A seruantes man, a substitute,
or fellowe seruaunte call,
What am I, respecte of you?
for thou haste rule on me,
A wretche, a subiecte, to thy luste,
as anye wretche can be.
My master, to a sencelesse blocke,
thats moued, by others mighte,
Pufte vp with pleasures plungie puffes,
may be resembled ryghte.
Simo.
Who then is free?
Da.
The wyse, that can
his owne affections stay.
Whom, neyther, neede nor death, nor grefe
of massye gyues can fraye.
Who, can be lorde vppon his lustes,
and hawghtie roumes dispyse,
Stronge, and sufficyente, in him selfe,
in full and perfitte wyse.
commoditye, or gaine:
On whom fortune, his heuie frende,
doth make assaulte in vayne.
Canste, thou not note, by these fewe thinges
who maye be coumpted free?
Admit, an harlotte, pickde thy purse,
and much abused the,
And calls the to her house againe:
from yoke, and seruyle snare,
If thou beeste free, ridde then thy selfe,
thou canste not quenche thy care:
In dede, a tyraunte forces the,
and broaddes the forwarde still,
Doth twyne thy chappes and pricke the forth
full sore againste thy wyll.
When, thou doste gase, on womans shape,
by Pausies hand portrayde:
And I of other painters, workes,
my stedfaste lookes haue layde?
(To marke the rankes, the warlyke troupes
in letter lymmed playne:
And, howe they stryke, and how they warde,
and how they take their bayne:)
Thou altogether womannishe.
her portrature doste viewe:
Who sinneth more, or thou, or I?
speake soothe, say me trewe.
Dauus, is counted slacke, and slowe,
if he do them suruey:
Simo, doth loue antiquities,
and iudgeth well they say.
They counte me naughte, if that I doe,
but make a little cheare:
It is a vertue thoughte in the
to banket all the yeare.
so hurtefull vnto me?
Becawse, my backe dothe beare the blowes,
if oughte displeaseth the.
How, doste not thou deserue the whip
that costlie cates doste bye,
And eates, and drinkes, and reuells still
Without all modestie?
Dainties, becum no daintie thinges,
where, there is naughte, but cheare,
Thy stackeringe stumpes, thy corsey corps
at lengthe will hardlie beare:
The seruante, if he steale but grapes,
is streighte attachde of felonie:
My master, sells his landes for meate
doth he not sinne in gluttonie?
A gaine thou arte not with thy selfe,
thou neuer arte at leasure,
Thou canste not reste, nor take a pause,
nor muse at thinges of pleasure.
Thou shunste, to reason with thy sowle,
her counsaile thou doste hate,
Per consequens, thou shunnes thy selfe
(full lyke a runnagate.)
Thou thinkes by sleepe, and bibbinge wyne
to banishe out all woes
Dauus.
Ah sirre, where myghte I get a staffe?
Simo.
wherefore? Simo: or ells a stone?
Dauus.
My master maddes, or maketh rymes,
he museth so alone.
Simo.
Excepte thou wilte be trudginge hence,
and make no more delayes,
Thou shalte goe to my manour place,
to woorke this nyne longe dayes.
| A Medicinable Morall | |