Skialetheia Or, A shadowe of Truth, in certaine Epigrams and Satyres [by Edward Guilpin] |
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| 5. | Satyra Quinta. |
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 | Skialetheia |  |
Satyra Quinta.
Let me alone I prethee in thys Cell,
Entice me not into the Citties hell;
Tempt me not forth this Eden of content,
To tast of that vvhich I shall soone repent:
Prethy excuse me, I am not alone
Accompanied with meditation,
And calme content, vvhose tast more pleaseth me
Then all the Citties lushious vanity.
I had rather be encoffin'd in this chest
Amongst these bookes and papers I protest,
Then free-booting abroad purchase offence,
And scandale my calme thoughts with discontents.
Heere I conuerse with those diuiner spirits,
Whose knowledge, and admire the world inherits:
Heere doth the famous profound Stagarite,
With Natures mistick harmony delight
My rauish'd contemplation: I heere see
The now-old worlds youth in an history:
Heere may I be graue Platos auditor;
And learning of that morrall Lecturer,
To temper mine affections, gallantly
Get of my selfe a glorious victory:
And then for change, as we delight in change.
(For this my study is indeede m'Exchange)
Heere may I sit, yet walke to Westminster
And heare Fitzherbert, Plowden, Brooke, and Dier
Canuas a law-case: or if my dispose
Perswade me to a play, I'le to the Rose,
Or Curtaine, one of Plautus Comedies,
Or the Patheticke Spaniards Tragedies:
If my desire doth rather wish the fields,
Some speaking Painter, some Poet straitway yeelds
A flower bespangled walk, where I may heare
Some amorous Swaine his passions declare
To his sun-burnt Loue. Thus my books little case,
My study, is mine All, mine euery place.
Entice me not into the Citties hell;
To tast of that vvhich I shall soone repent:
Prethy excuse me, I am not alone
Accompanied with meditation,
And calme content, vvhose tast more pleaseth me
Then all the Citties lushious vanity.
I had rather be encoffin'd in this chest
Amongst these bookes and papers I protest,
Then free-booting abroad purchase offence,
And scandale my calme thoughts with discontents.
Heere I conuerse with those diuiner spirits,
Whose knowledge, and admire the world inherits:
Heere doth the famous profound Stagarite,
With Natures mistick harmony delight
My rauish'd contemplation: I heere see
The now-old worlds youth in an history:
Heere may I be graue Platos auditor;
And learning of that morrall Lecturer,
To temper mine affections, gallantly
Get of my selfe a glorious victory:
And then for change, as we delight in change.
(For this my study is indeede m'Exchange)
Heere may I sit, yet walke to Westminster
And heare Fitzherbert, Plowden, Brooke, and Dier
Canuas a law-case: or if my dispose
Perswade me to a play, I'le to the Rose,
Or the Patheticke Spaniards Tragedies:
If my desire doth rather wish the fields,
Some speaking Painter, some Poet straitway yeelds
A flower bespangled walk, where I may heare
Some amorous Swaine his passions declare
To his sun-burnt Loue. Thus my books little case,
My study, is mine All, mine euery place.
What more variety of pleasures can
An idle Citty-walke affoord a man?
More troublesome and tedious will I know
T'will be, into the peopled streets to goe,
Witnes that hotch-potch of so many noyses,
Black-saunts of so many seuerall voyces,
That Chaons of rude sounds, that harmony,
And Dyapason of harsh Barbary,
Compos'd of seuerall mouthes, and seuerall cries,
Which to mens eares turne both their tongs & eies.
There squeaks a cart-wheele, here a tumbrel rumbles
Heere scolds an old Bawd, there a Porter grumbles.
Heere two tough Car-men combat for the way,
There two for looks begin a coward fray,
Two swaggering knaues heere brable for a whore,
There brauls an Ale-knight for his fat-grown score.
An idle Citty-walke affoord a man?
More troublesome and tedious will I know
T'will be, into the peopled streets to goe,
Witnes that hotch-potch of so many noyses,
Black-saunts of so many seuerall voyces,
That Chaons of rude sounds, that harmony,
And Dyapason of harsh Barbary,
Compos'd of seuerall mouthes, and seuerall cries,
Which to mens eares turne both their tongs & eies.
There squeaks a cart-wheele, here a tumbrel rumbles
Heere scolds an old Bawd, there a Porter grumbles.
Heere two tough Car-men combat for the way,
There two for looks begin a coward fray,
Two swaggering knaues heere brable for a whore,
There brauls an Ale-knight for his fat-grown score.
But oh purgation! yon rotten-throated slaues
Engarlanded with coney-catching knaues,
Whores, Bedles, bawdes, and Sergeants filthily
Chaunt Kemps Iigge, or the Burgonians tragedy:
But in good time, there's one hath nipt a bong,
Farewell my harts, for he hath marrd the song.
Engarlanded with coney-catching knaues,
Chaunt Kemps Iigge, or the Burgonians tragedy:
But in good time, there's one hath nipt a bong,
Farewell my harts, for he hath marrd the song.
Yet might all this, this too bad be excusd,
Were not an Ethicke soule much more abusd,
And her still patience choakt by vanitie,
VVith vnsufferable inhumanitie:
For whose gall is't that would not ouerflow,
To meete in euery streete where he shall goe,
With folly maskt in diuers semblances?
The Cittie is the mappe of vanities,
The marte of fooles, the Magazin of gulles,
The painters shop of Antickes: walke in Poules,
And but obserue the sundry kindes of shapes,
Th' wilt sweare that London is as rich in apes
As Affricke Tabraca: One wries his face.
This fellows wrie necke is his better grace.
He coynd in newer mint of fashion,
With the right Spanish shrugge shewes passion.
There comes one in a muffler of Cad z-beard,
Frowning as he would make the world afeard,
VVith him a troupe all in gold-dawbed sutes,
Looking like Talbots, Percies, Montacutes,
As if their very countenaunces would sweare,
The Spanyard should conclude a peace for feare:
But bring them to a charge, then see the luck,
Though but a false fire, they theyr plumes wil duck
What maruell, since life's sweete? But see yonder,
One like the vnfrequented Theater
Walkes in darke silence, and vast solitude,
Suited to those blacke fancies which intrude,
Vpon possession of his troubled breast:
But for blacks sake he would looke like a ieast,
For hee's cleane out of fashion: what he?
I thinke the Genius of antiquitie,
Come to complaine of our varietie,
Of tickle fashions: then you iest I see.
Would you needs know? he is a malecontent:
A Papist? no, nor yet a Protestant,
But a discarded intelligencer,
Here's one lookes like to a king Arthurs fencer,
VVith his case of rapiers, and suted in buffe,
Is he not a Sargeant? then say's a muffe
For his furrd sattin cloake; but let him goe,
Meddle not with him, hee's a shrewd fellow.
Were not an Ethicke soule much more abusd,
And her still patience choakt by vanitie,
VVith vnsufferable inhumanitie:
For whose gall is't that would not ouerflow,
To meete in euery streete where he shall goe,
With folly maskt in diuers semblances?
The Cittie is the mappe of vanities,
The marte of fooles, the Magazin of gulles,
The painters shop of Antickes: walke in Poules,
And but obserue the sundry kindes of shapes,
Th' wilt sweare that London is as rich in apes
As Affricke Tabraca: One wries his face.
This fellows wrie necke is his better grace.
He coynd in newer mint of fashion,
With the right Spanish shrugge shewes passion.
There comes one in a muffler of Cad z-beard,
Frowning as he would make the world afeard,
VVith him a troupe all in gold-dawbed sutes,
Looking like Talbots, Percies, Montacutes,
As if their very countenaunces would sweare,
The Spanyard should conclude a peace for feare:
Though but a false fire, they theyr plumes wil duck
What maruell, since life's sweete? But see yonder,
One like the vnfrequented Theater
Walkes in darke silence, and vast solitude,
Suited to those blacke fancies which intrude,
Vpon possession of his troubled breast:
But for blacks sake he would looke like a ieast,
For hee's cleane out of fashion: what he?
I thinke the Genius of antiquitie,
Come to complaine of our varietie,
Of tickle fashions: then you iest I see.
Would you needs know? he is a malecontent:
A Papist? no, nor yet a Protestant,
But a discarded intelligencer,
Here's one lookes like to a king Arthurs fencer,
VVith his case of rapiers, and suted in buffe,
Is he not a Sargeant? then say's a muffe
For his furrd sattin cloake; but let him goe,
Meddle not with him, hee's a shrewd fellow.
Oh what a pageant's this? what foole was I
To leaue my studie to see vanitie?
But who's in yonder coach? my lord and foole,
One that for ape tricks can put Gue to schoole:
Heroick spirits, true nobilitie
Which can make choyce of such societie.
He more perfections hath than y'would suppose,
He hath a wit of waxe, fresh as a rose,
He playes well on the treble Violin,
He soothes his Lord vp in his grosest sin,
At any rimes sprung from his Lordships head,
Such as Elderton would not haue fathered:
He cries, oh rare my Lord, he can discourse
The story of Don Pacolet and his horse,
(To make my Lord laugh) sweares and iest,
And with a Simile non plus the best,
(Vnlesse like Pace his wit be ouer-awde)
But his best part is he's a perfect Bawde,
Rare vertues; farewel they. But who's yonder
Deep mouth'd Hound, that bellows rimes like thunder
He maks an earthquake throughout Paules churchyard,
Well fare his hart, his larum shall be heard:
Oh he's a puisne of the Innes of Court,
Come from th' Vniuersity to make sport
With his friends money heere: but see, see,
Heere comes Don Fashion, spruce formality,
Neat as a Merchants ruffe, that's set in print,
New halfe-penny, skip'd forth his Laundres mint;
Oh braue! what, with a feather in his hat?
He is a dauncer you may see by that;
Light heeles, light head, light feather well agree.
Salute him, with th' embrace beneath the knee?
I thinke twere better let him passe along,
He will so dawbe vs with his oyly tongue,
For thinking on some of his Mistresses,
We shall be curried with the briske phrases,
And prick-song termes he hath premeditate,
Speake to him woe to vs, for we shall ha'te,
Then farewell he. But soft, whom haue we heare?
What braue Saint George, what mounted Caualiere?
He is all court-like, Spanish in's attyre,
He hath the right ducke, pray God he be no Frier:
Thys is the Dictionary of complements,
The Barbers mouth of new-scrapt eloquence,
Synomicke Tully for varietie,
And Madame Conceits gorgeous gallerie,
The exact patterne which Castilio
Tooke for's accomplish Courtier: but soft ho,
What needs that bownd, or that curuet (good fir)
There's some sweet Lady, and tis done to her,
That she may see his Iennets nimble force:
VVhy, would he haue her in loue with his horse?
Or aymes he at popish merrit, to make
Her in loue with him, for his horses sake?
To leaue my studie to see vanitie?
But who's in yonder coach? my lord and foole,
One that for ape tricks can put Gue to schoole:
Heroick spirits, true nobilitie
Which can make choyce of such societie.
He hath a wit of waxe, fresh as a rose,
He playes well on the treble Violin,
He soothes his Lord vp in his grosest sin,
At any rimes sprung from his Lordships head,
Such as Elderton would not haue fathered:
He cries, oh rare my Lord, he can discourse
The story of Don Pacolet and his horse,
(To make my Lord laugh) sweares and iest,
And with a Simile non plus the best,
(Vnlesse like Pace his wit be ouer-awde)
But his best part is he's a perfect Bawde,
Rare vertues; farewel they. But who's yonder
Deep mouth'd Hound, that bellows rimes like thunder
He maks an earthquake throughout Paules churchyard,
Well fare his hart, his larum shall be heard:
Oh he's a puisne of the Innes of Court,
Come from th' Vniuersity to make sport
With his friends money heere: but see, see,
Heere comes Don Fashion, spruce formality,
Neat as a Merchants ruffe, that's set in print,
New halfe-penny, skip'd forth his Laundres mint;
Oh braue! what, with a feather in his hat?
He is a dauncer you may see by that;
Light heeles, light head, light feather well agree.
Salute him, with th' embrace beneath the knee?
He will so dawbe vs with his oyly tongue,
For thinking on some of his Mistresses,
We shall be curried with the briske phrases,
And prick-song termes he hath premeditate,
Speake to him woe to vs, for we shall ha'te,
Then farewell he. But soft, whom haue we heare?
What braue Saint George, what mounted Caualiere?
He is all court-like, Spanish in's attyre,
He hath the right ducke, pray God he be no Frier:
Thys is the Dictionary of complements,
The Barbers mouth of new-scrapt eloquence,
Synomicke Tully for varietie,
And Madame Conceits gorgeous gallerie,
The exact patterne which Castilio
Tooke for's accomplish Courtier: but soft ho,
What needs that bownd, or that curuet (good fir)
There's some sweet Lady, and tis done to her,
That she may see his Iennets nimble force:
VVhy, would he haue her in loue with his horse?
Or aymes he at popish merrit, to make
Her in loue with him, for his horses sake?
The further that we walke, more vanitie
Presents it selfe to prospect of mine eye,
Here sweares some Seller, though a known vntruth,
Here his wife's bated by some quick-chapt youth.
There in that window mistres minkes doth stand,
And to some copesmate beckneth her hand,
In is he gone, Saint Uenus be his speede,
For some great thing must be aduentured:
There comes a troupe of puisnes from the play,
Laughing like wanton schoole-boyes all the way.
Yon goe a knot to Bloome is Ordinary,
Friends and good fellowes all now, by and by
Thei'le be by the eares, vie stabs, exchange disgraces,
And bandie daggers at each others faces.
Presents it selfe to prospect of mine eye,
Here sweares some Seller, though a known vntruth,
Here his wife's bated by some quick-chapt youth.
And to some copesmate beckneth her hand,
In is he gone, Saint Uenus be his speede,
For some great thing must be aduentured:
There comes a troupe of puisnes from the play,
Laughing like wanton schoole-boyes all the way.
Yon goe a knot to Bloome is Ordinary,
Friends and good fellowes all now, by and by
Thei'le be by the eares, vie stabs, exchange disgraces,
And bandie daggers at each others faces.
Enough of these then, and enough of all,
I may thanke you for this time spent; but call
Henceforth I'le keepe my studie, and eschew,
The scandall of my thoughts, my follies view:
Now let vs home, I'me sure tis supper time,
The horne hath blowne, haue done my merry rime.
I may thanke you for this time spent; but call
Henceforth I'le keepe my studie, and eschew,
The scandall of my thoughts, my follies view:
Now let vs home, I'me sure tis supper time,
The horne hath blowne, haue done my merry rime.
| Skialetheia | |