Virgidemiarvm :: :: University of Virginia Library

Who dares vpbraid these open rimes of mine,
With blindfold Aquines, or darke Venusine?
Or rough-hew'ne Teretisius writ in th'antique vain
Like an old Satyre, and new Flaccian?
Which who reads thrise, & rubs his rugged brow,
And deepe indenteth euery doubtfull row,
Scoring the margent with his blazing stars
And hundreth crooked interlinears,
(Like to a merchants debt-role new defac't
When some crack'd Manour crost his book at last)
Should all in rage the Curse-beat Page out-riue,
And in ech dust-heapt bury mee aliue

Stamping like Bucephall whose slackned raynes,
And bloody set-lockes fry with seuen mens braines;
More cruell then the crauon Satyres Ghost,
That bound dead-bones vnto a burning post,
Or some more strait-lac'd Iuror of the rest,
Impannel'd of an Holy Fax inquest;
Yet well bethought stoops downe, and reads a new,
The best lies low, and loaths the shallow view,
Quoth old Eudemon, when his gout-swolne fist
Gropes for his double Ducates in his chist:
Then buckle close his carelesse lyds once more,
To pose the poore-blind snake of Epidaore.
That Lyncius may be match't with Gaulards sight,
That sees not Paris for the houses height;
Or wilie Cyppus, that can winke and snort
Whiles his wife dallyes on Mæcenas skort;
Yet when hee hath my crabbed Pamphlet red:
As oftentimes as PHILIP hath beene dead,

Bids all the Furies haunt ech peeuish line
That thus haue rackt their friendly readers eyne;
Worse then the Logogryphes of later times,
Or Hundreth Riddles shak't to sleeue-lesse rimes;
Should I endure these curses and dispight
While no mans eare should glow at what I write?
Labeo is whip't, and laughs mee in the face
Why? for I smite and hide the galled-place.
Gird but the Cynicks Helmet on his head,
Cares hee for Talus, or his slayle of lead?
Long as the craftie Cuttle lieth sure
In the blacke Cloud of his thicke vomiture;
Who list complaine of wronged faith or fame
When hee may shift it to anothers name?
Caluus can scratch his elbow, and can smile,
That thrift-lesse Pontice bites his lip the while
Yet I intended in that selfe deuise,
To checke the churle for his knowne couetise.

Ech points his straight fore-finger to his friend,
Like the blind Diall on the Belfrey end,
Who turns it homeward to say, this is I,
As bolder Socrates in the Comedie?
But single out, and say once plat and plaine
That coy Matrona is a Curtizan,
Or thou false Crispus chokd'st thy welthy guest
Whiles hee lay snoring at his midnight rest,
And in thy dung-cart did'st the carkasse shrine
And deepe intombe it in Port-esquiline;
Proud Trebius liu's for all his princely gate
Or third-hand suits, and scrapings of the plate,
Titius knew not where to shroud his head
Vntill hee did a dying widow wed;
Whiles shee lay doting on her deathes bed
And now hath purchas'd lands with one nights paine
And on the morrow woes and weds againe.
Now see I fire-flakes sparkle from his eies

Like to a Comets tayle in th'angrie skies,
His pouting cheeks puff vp aboue his brow
Like a swolne Toad touch't with the Spiders blow;
His mouth shrinks sideward like a scornfull Playse
To take his tired Eares ingratefull place:
His Eares hang lauing like a new-lug'd swine
To take some counsell of his grieued eyne,
Now laugh I loud, and breake my splene to see
This pleasing pastime of my poesie,
Much better then a Paris-Garden Beare
Or prating puppet on a Theatere.
Or Mimoes whistling to his tabouret
Selling a laughter for a cold meales meat;
Go to then ye my sacred Semones;
And please mee more, the more ye doe displease;
Care we for all those bugs of ydle feare?
For Tigels grinning on the Theater,
Or scar-babe threatnings of the rascal crue,

Or wind-spent verdicts of ech Ale-knights view,
What euer brest doth freeze for such false dread;
Beshrew his base white liuer for his meede;
Fond were that pittie, and that feare were sin,
To spare wast leaues that so deserued bin:
Those tooth-lesse Toyes that dropt out by mis-hap,
Bee but as lightning to a thunder-clap:
Shall then that foule infamous Cyneds hide
Laugh at the purple wales of others side?
Not, if hee were as neere; as by report,
The stewes had wont be to the Tenis-court.
Hee that while thousands enuy at his bed,
Neighs after Bridals, and fresh-mayden head;
While slauish Iuno dares not looke awry
To frowne at such imperious riualrie,
Not tho shee sees her wedding Iewels drest
To make new Bracelets for a strumpets wrest,
Or like some strange disguised Messaline.

Hires a nights lodging of his concubine;
Whether his twilight-torch of loue doe call
To reuels of vncleanly Musicall,
Or midnight playes, or Tauerns of new wine,
Hy ye white Aprons, to your Land-Lords signe;
When all saue tooth-lesse age or infancie,
Are summon'd to the Court of Venerie.
Who list excuse? when chaster dames can hyre,
Some snout-fayre stripling to their Apple-squire:
Whom slaked vp like to some stallion-steed
They keepe with Egs and Oysters for the breed;
O Lucine! barren Caia hath an heire
After her husband's dozen yeares despayre.
And now the bribed Mid-wise sweares apace,
The bastard babe doth beare his fathers face;
But hath not Lelia past her virgine yeares?
For modest shame (God wot) or penall feares.
He tels a Merchant tidings of a prise.

That tells Cynedo of such nouelties;
Worth litle lesse then landing of a whale,
Or Gades spoyles, or a churls funerall:
Go bid the banes, and poynt the bridall-day,
His broking Baud hath got a noble prey,
A vacant tenement, an honest dowre
Can fit his pander for her paramoure,
That hee, base wretch, may clog his wit-old head
And giue him hansell of his Hymen-bed:
Ho! all ye Females that would liue vnshent
Fly from the reach of Cyneds regiment;
If Trent be drawn to dregs, and Low refuse,
Hence ye hot lechour, to the steaming stewes.
Tyber the famous sinke of Christendome
Turn thou to Thames, & Thames rūn towards Rome,
What euer damned streame but thine were meete
To quench his lusting liuers boyling heat.
Thy double draught may quench his dog-daies rage

With some stale Bacchis, or obsequious page,
When writhen Lena makes her sale-set showes:
Of wooden Venus with fayre limned browes,
Or like him more some vayled Matrones face,
Or trayned prentise trading in the place:
The close adulteresse, where her name is red
Coms crauling from her husbands luke warme bed,
Her carrion skin be daub'd with odors sweet,
Groping the postern with her bared feet.
Now play the Satyre who so list for mee,
Valentine selfe, or some as chast as hee;
In vaine shee wisheth long Alchmænas night
Cursing the hasty dawning of the light,
And with her cruell Ladie-starre vprose
Shee seekes her third roust on her silent toes.
Besmeared all with loathsome smoke of lust
Like Acherons steemes, or smoldring sulphur dust,
Yet all day sits shee simpring in her mew

Like some chast dame, or shrined saynct in shew,
While shee lies wallowing with a westy hed
And palish carkasse, on his Brothel-bed,
Till his salt bowels boyle with poysonous fire,
Right Hercules with his second Deianïre:
O Eseulape! how rife is Phisicke made
When ech Brasse-basen can professe the trade
Of ridding pocky wretches from their paine,
And doe the beastly cure for ten-grotes gaine?
All these & more, deserue some blood-drawne lines,
But my sixe Cords beene of too loose a twine,
Stay till my beard shal sweepe mine aged brest,
Then shall I seeme an awfull Satyrist;
While now my rimes rellish of the Ferule still,
Some nose-wise Pedant saith; whose deep seen skill
Hath three times construed eyther Flaccus ore
And thrise rehears'd them in his Triniall floare,
So let them taxe mee for my hote-bloodes rage,
Rather then say I doted in my age.