University of Virginia Library

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To the young Authour upon his incomparable veine in Satyre and Love-sonnets.

Young Monster! born with teeth! that thus canst bite
So deep, canst wound all sorts at ten and eight.
Fierce Scythian Brat! young Tamerlan! the Gods
Great scourge, that kickst all men like skulls and clods!
Rough creature, born for terrour! whose stern look
Few strings and muscles mov'd is a whole book
Of biting Satyrs! who did thee beget?
Or with what pictures was the curtains set?
John of the Wildernesse? the hayry child?
The hispid Thisbite? or what Satyr wild
That thou thus satyrizest? Storm of wit
That fall'st on all thou meetst, and all dost meet!
Singest like lightening the Reverend furre
Of ancient Sages. Mak'st a fearfull stirre
With my young Maister and his Pædagog,
And pull'st by th'eares the Lads beloved Dog.
Then hast thy finger in Potato pies
That make the dull Grammarian to rise.
Anon advancing thy Satyrick Flail
Sweepst down the Wine-glasses and cups of ale.

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Nor yet art spent, Thy manly rage affords
New coyle against young wenches and old words,
Gainst Jos. and Tycho that stings down the spheares,
Like Will with th'wisp sitst on moyst Asses eares.
And now stept in, most quick and dexterous,
Boldly by th'elbow jogst Maurolycus,
Causing him in his curious numbrings loose
Himself. Tak'st Galilæo by the nose.
Another stroke makes the dry bones, O sinne!
Of lean Geometry rattle in her skinne.
New rage transforms thee to a Pig, that roots
In Jury-land or crumps Arabick roots.
Or els made Corn cutter, Thou loutest low
And tak'st old Madam Eva by the toe.
Anon thy officious phansie at randon sent
Becomes a Chamberlain, waits on Wood of Kent.
Sr much good do 't you, then the table throws
Into his mouth his stomacks mouth to close.
Another while the well drench'd smoaky Jew,
That stands in his own spaul above the shooe,
She twitcheth by the Cloak and thred bare plush,
Nor beats his moist black beard into a blush.

Mad soul! Tyrannick wit! that thus dost scourge
All Mortalls and with their own follies urge.

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Thou'rt young; therefore as Infant, Innocent,
Without regret of conscience all are rent
By thy rough knotted whip. But if such blows
Thy younger years can give; when Age bestows
Much firmer strength, sure thy Satyrick rods
May awe the Heavens and discipline the gods.