University of Virginia Library

Hange thy selfe Drusus, hast nor arms nor brain?
Some Sophy say, the gods sell all for paine,
Not so.
Had not that toyling Thebans steled back
Dread poysned shafts, liu'd he now, he should lack.
Spight of his farming Oxe-staules. Themis selfe
Would be casheir'd from one poore scrap of pelfe.
If that she were incarnate in our time
Shee might lusk scorned in disdained slime,
Shaded from honor by some enuious mist
Of watry foggs, that fill the ill-stuft list
Of faire Desert, ielous euen of blind darke,
Least it should spie, and at their lamenes barke.
Honors shade, thrusts honors substance from his place.
Tis strange, when shade the substance can disgrace?
Harsh lines cryes Curus, whose eares nere reioyce
But at the quauering of my Ladies voyce.
Rude limping lines fits this leud halting age,
Sweet senting Curus, pardon then my rage,
When wisards sweare plaine vertue neuer thriues,
None but Priapus by plaine dealing wiues.
Thou subtile Hermes, are the Destinies
Enamor'd on thee? then vp mount the skies.
Aduance, depose, doe euen what thou list,
So long as Fates doe grace thy iugling fist.
Tuscus, hast Beuclarkes armes and strong sinewes,
Large reach, full fedde vaines, ample reuenewes?
Then make thy markets by thy proper arme,
O, brawnie strength is an all-canning charme!
Thou dreadlesse Thracean, hast Hallirrhotius slaine?
What? ist not possible thy cause maintaine
Before the dozen Areopagites?
Come Enagonian, furnish him with slights.
Tut, Plutos wrath, Proserpina can melt,
So that thy sacrifice be freely felt.
What cannot Iuno force in bed with Ioue?
Turne and returne a sentence with her loue.
Thou art too duskie. Fie thou shallow Asse,
Put on more eyes, and marke me as I passe.
Well plainely thus, Sleight, Force, are mighty things,
From which, much, (if not most) earths glory springs.
If Vertues selfe, were clad in humane shape,
Vertue without these, might goe beg and scrape.
The naked truth is, a well clothed lie,
A nimble quick-pate mounts to dignitie.
By force, or fraude, that matters not a iot,
So massie wealth may fall vnto thy lot.

I heard old Albius sweare, Flavus should haue
His eldest gurle, for Flavus was a knaue.
A damn'd deep-reaching villaine, & would mount
He durst well warrant him to great account.
What though he laid forth all his stock & store
Vpon some office, yet he'le gaine much more,
Though purchast deere. Tut, he will trebble it
In some fewe termes, by his extorting wit.

When I in simple meaning went to sewe
For tonge-tide Damus, that would needs go wooe,
I praysd him for his vertue, honest life,
By God, cryes Flora, Ile not be his wife.
He'le nere come on. Now I sweare solemlie,
When I goe next, I'le prayse his villanie.
A better field to range in now a dayes,
If vice be vertue, I can all men praise.

What though pale Maurus paid huge symonies
For his half-dozen gelded vicaries.
Yet with good honest cut-throate vsurie,
I feare he'le mount to reuerent dignitie.
O sleight! all-canning sleight! all-damning sleight!
The onely gally-ladder vnto might.

Tuscus is trade falne, yet great hope he'le rise,
For now he makes no count of periuries.
Hath drawne false lights from pitch-black loueries,
Glased his braided ware. Cogs, sweares, and lyes.
Now since he hath the grace, thus gracelesse be
His neighbors sweare, he'le swell with treasurie.
Tut who maintaines, such goods ill got, decay.
No, they'le stick by thy soule, they'le nere away.

Luscus my Lords perfumer had no sale
Vntill he made his wife a brothell stale.
Absurd, the gods sell all for industrie?
When, what's not got by hell-bred villanie?

Codrus my well-fac'd Ladies taile-bearer,
(He that some-times play'th Flauias vsherer)
I heard one day complaine to Linceus,
How vigilant, how right obsequious
Modest in carriage, how true in trust,
And yet (alas) nere guerdond with a crust.
But now I see, he findes by his accounts
That sole Priapus by plaine dealing mounts.
How now? what droupes the new Pegasian Inne?
I feare mine host is honest. Tut, beginne
To set vp whore-house. Nere too late to thriue
By any meanes at Porta Rich' ariue;
Goe vse some sleight, or liue poore Irus life,
Straight prostitute thy daughter, or thy wife,
And soone be wealthy, but be damn'd with it,
Hath not rich Mylo then deepe reaching wit?

Faire age!
When tis a high, and hard thing t'haue repute
Of a compleat villaine, perfect, absolute,
And roguing vertue brings a man defame.
A packstaffe Epethite, and scorned name.

Fie how my wit flaggs, how heauily
Me thinks I vent dull sprightlesse poesie.
What cold black frost congeales my nummed brain?
What enuious power stops a Satyres vaine?
O now I know, the iugling God of sleights,
With Caduceus nimble Hermes fights,
And mists my wits. Offended that my rimes
Displaie his odious, world-abusing crimes.

O be propitious, powerfull God of Arts,
I sheathe my weapons and doe breake my darts,
Be then appeas'd, I'le offer to thy shrine,
An Heccatombe, of many spotted kine.
Myriades of beastes shall satisfie thy rage,
Which doe prophane thee in this Apish age.
Infectious blood, yee goutie humors quake
Whilst my sharp Razor doth incision make.