Virgidemiarvm :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Satyre should be like the Porcupine,
That shoots sharp quilles out in each angry line,
And wounds the blushing cheeke, and fiery eye,
Of him that heares, and readeth guiltily;
Ye Antique Satyres, how I blesse your daies,
That brook'd your bolder stile, their owne dispraise,
And wel-neare wish; yet ioy my wish is vaine,
I had beene then, or they were now againe:
For now our eares beene of more brittle mold,
Then those dull earthen cares that were of olde:
Sith theirs, like anuilles bore the hammers head,
Our glasse can neuer touch vnshiuered.

But from the ashes of my quiet stile
Hence forth may rise some raging rough Lucile,
That may with Eschylus both finde and leese
The snaky tresses of th'Eumenides:
Meane while, sufficeth mee, the world may say
That I these vices loath'd another day,
Which I haue done with as deuout a cheere
As he that rounds Poules-pillers in the eare,
Or bends his ham downe in the naked Queare.
T'was euer said, Frontine, and euer seene,
That golden Clearkes, but wooden Lawyers bene;
Could euer wise man wish in good estate
The vse of all things indiscriminate?
Who wots not yet how well this did beseeme,
The learned maister of the Academe?
Plato is dead, and dead is his deuise
Which some thought witty, none thought euer wise;
Yet certes Mæcha is a Platonist,

To all, they say, saue who so do not list;
Because her husband a farre-trafiq;'d man,
Is a profest Peripatecian,
And so our Grandsires were in ages past,
That let their Lands lye all so widely wast,
That nothing was in pale or hedge ypent,
Within some prouince or whole shires extent;
As Nature made the earth, so did it lye,
Saue for the furrows of their husbandry;
When as the Neighbour-lands so couched layne,
That all bore show of one fayre Champian:
Some head-lesse crosse they digged on their lea,
Or rol'd some marked Meare-stone in the way,
Poore simple men! For what mought that auayle,
That my field might not fill my neighbours payle?
More then a pilled sticke can stand in stead,
To barre Cynedo from his neighbours bed,
More then the thred-bare Clients pouerty;
Debarres th'Atturney of his wonted fee?

If they were thriftlesse; Mote not, we amend?
And with more care our dangered fields defend:
Ech man can gard what thing he deemeth deere,
As fearefull Marchants doe their Female heyre,
Which were it not for promise of their welth,
Need not be stalled vp for feare of stelth;
Would rather sticke vpon the Belmans cries
Tho proferd for a branded Indians price:
Then rayse we muddy bul-warkes on our banks
Beset around with treble quick-set rankes;
Or if those walls be ouer weake a ward,
The squared Bricke may be a better gard:
Go to my thrifty Yeoman, and vpreare,
A brazen wall to shend thy land from feare,
Do so; and I shall praise thee all the while,
So be, thou stake not vp the common stile;
So be thou hedge in nought, but what's thine owne
So be thou pay what tithes thy neighbours done,
So be thou let not lye in fallowed plaine.

That which was wont yeelde Vsurie of graine,
But when I see thy pitched stakes do stand
On thy incroched peece of common land,
Whiles thou discommonest thy neighbours keyne,
And warn'st that none feed on thy field saue thine;
Brag no more Scrobius; of the mudded bankes,
Nor thy deepe ditches, nor three quickset rankes:
Oh happy daies of olde Deucalion.
When one was Land-Lord of the world alone,
But now whose coler would not rise to yeeld,
A pesant, halfe-stakes of his new-mowne field
Whiles yet he may not for the treble price
Buy out the remnant of his royalties:
Go on and thriue my pety Tyrants pride
Scorne thou to liue if others liue beside,
And trace proud Castile that aspires to be
In his old age a young fift Monarchie
Or the red Hat that tries the lucklesse mayne,
For welthy Thames to change his lowly Rhene.