 | The poems of John Marston |  |
A man
, a man, a kingdome for a man.
Why how now currish mad Athenian?
Thou Cynick dogge, see'st not streets do swarme
With troupes of men? No, no, for Circes charme
Hath turn'd them all to swine: I neuer shall
Thinke those same Samian sawes authenticall,
But rather I dare sweare, the soules of swine
Doe liue in men, for that same radiant shine,
That lustre wherewith natures Nature decked
Our intellectuall part, that glosse is soyled
With stayning spots of vile impietie,
And muddy durt of sensualitie,
These are no men, but Apparitions,
Ignes fatui, Glowormes, Fictions,
Meteors, Ratts of Nilus, Fantasies,
Colosses, Pictures, Shades, Resemblances.
Why how now currish mad Athenian?
Thou Cynick dogge, see'st not streets do swarme
With troupes of men? No, no, for Circes charme
Hath turn'd them all to swine: I neuer shall
Thinke those same Samian sawes authenticall,
But rather I dare sweare, the soules of swine
Doe liue in men, for that same radiant shine,
That lustre wherewith natures Nature decked
Our intellectuall part, that glosse is soyled
With stayning spots of vile impietie,
And muddy durt of sensualitie,
These are no men, but Apparitions,
Ignes fatui, Glowormes, Fictions,
Meteors, Ratts of Nilus, Fantasies,
Colosses, Pictures, Shades, Resemblances.
| The poems of John Marston | |