A Nights Search :: :: University of Virginia Library

With searching in my course, I spy'd at last
A monstrous sight, which made me much agast;
She was a woman once, but since she fell
Into a humour to resemble hell.
She seem'd to have been scorched with the flame,
And straind with Art, to cover o're the shame.
She being prodigall of Venus store,
Had gotta wound, and plaistred up the sore.
She was in bed, her husband lying by,
And low enough; but still her mind was high.
He had been happy, had he liv'd without her;
Now all his ease is, he has wit to flout her.
Me thought he lay a breathing time to crave,
Arm'd with a charge, to watch her in her grave.

Her corps with stinking searcloth was o're-spread,
Shames her alive, but 'twould preserve her dead.
Her breasts were dawb'd with salve, her armes both are
(So farre as she doth dayly keep 'em bare)
Rowld up in paste; her neck wore lether bands,
Her face was mask'd; sh' had gantletts on her hands.
The colour of this plaister was like pitch;
I thought at first, 't had been to kill the Itch;

But I conceiv'd (when I went further in)
It was to draw the tawnie from her skin:
And make the wrinkles smooth, and colour fresh
Her corps decay'd; which was like parboyl'd flesh.
She's pickel'd up; her upper parts do show
As clad in mourning: but she's bare below.
This sight compar'd with the unsavoury stench,
The lust of any Incubus might quench.
Gentilitie with this is all her pride,
She envies nature, 'cause she hath deni'd
Her comelinesse; and now she strives to be
A patterne of the worlds deformitie.
Dame Nature knew her once; but as she's now,
She scornes to owne her, nor will she allow
Her any praise: sh' has brought a new fowle in
Into the world; and she's as foule within.

She lying thus in pickle, all the roome
Did seeme to be allotted for her tombe:
Me thought it had a savour of the slime;
An earthy show! and stunk before its time.
If't had been thus, the worms being weak and blind,
Had been constrain'd to enter her behind:
Or else below; but they would never rest,
Till they had suck'd the plaisters from her brest.
This sight would fright them, if they could but see't;
(To sute the rest) had she but cloven feet,
They durst not touch her: faine I'de see her rise,
Make a sack-posset, let her wash her neyes,
And pull the patches off; and rince her skin:
Then let me see if any blood's within;
Set her the glasse, that she may dresse her head,
Aske whe're she'll please to paint, or white, or red;
See how she sets her face, and how she e'll change,
Now shee'll be modest, and extremely strange,

Then shee'll be merrie; by and by shee'll grieve,
Then bridle up her head; you'll not believe,
How she will turne her postures, and her shape;
When all is done, she's but bare Natures Ape.
This colour is too red, and that's too white;
Or if it lyes too thick, 'twill shame her quite.
But being finely temper'd, then 'twill do;
Now if her taile were seene, she'd paint that too;
One lock of haire lyes wrong: she'd crisp againe,
But that will melt the colour from the graine.

She's ready for to day had she but pray'd,
But now it is too late, the cloth is layd;
And guests are come to accommodate this sinner,
With wanton jests and tales, whilst she's at dinner.

When dinner's done, they'll passe the time away
In gaming, or with chat, untill the play
Is ready to begin; and there her coat,
And painted face, do make her one of note.
Shee'll praise a love-sick fancie, but shee'll vex,
If any word, or act, doe touch her sex;
She's powder'd sweetly, which may gaine delight;
But coming home, she stinks agen at night:
Her face is spoyl'd: her dressings are laid by;
She's coffin'd up agen. My Muse and I,
With joynt consent, did then her absence crave:
And left her as a restlesse living grave.