Natures Embassie Or, The Wilde-mans Measvres: Danced naked by twelve Satyres, with sundry others continued in the next Section [by Richard Brathwait] |
 |
| 1. |
|
 |
|
| 2. |
|
|
|
 | Natures Embassie |  |
10
THE SECOND SATYRE. [OF PLEASURE.]
Pandora the inchantresse.
Pandora, shall she so besot thy mind,
That nothing may remaine for good instruction?
Shall she thy mind in chaines and fetters bind,
Drawing thee onward to thy owne destruction?
Be not so foolish, lest thou be oretaken,
And in thy shipwracke liue as one forsaken.
That nothing may remaine for good instruction?
Shall she thy mind in chaines and fetters bind,
Drawing thee onward to thy owne destruction?
Be not so foolish, lest thou be oretaken,
And in thy shipwracke liue as one forsaken.
For though that Nature which first framed thee,
Seeme to winke at thy crimes a day or two,
Yea many yeares, yet she hath blamed thee
For thy offences, therefore act no more.
Though she delay assure thee she will call,
And thou must pay both vse and principall.
Seeme to winke at thy crimes a day or two,
Yea many yeares, yet she hath blamed thee
For thy offences, therefore act no more.
Though she delay assure thee she will call,
And thou must pay both vse and principall.
She smileth at thy locks brayded with gold,
And in derision of thy selfe-made shape,
Who would beleeue (saith she) this is but mold,
Who trips the streets like to a golden Ape?
Nature concludes, that Art hath got the prize,
And she must yeeld vnto her trumperies.
And in derision of thy selfe-made shape,
Who would beleeue (saith she) this is but mold,
Who trips the streets like to a golden Ape?
Nature concludes, that Art hath got the prize,
And she must yeeld vnto her trumperies.
For I haue seene (saith Nature) what a grace
Art puts vpon me, with her painted colour:
How she Vermillions ore my Maiden-face,
Now nought so faire, though nought before was fouler;
Indeed I am indebted to her loue,
That can giue mouelesse Nature meanes to moue.
Art puts vpon me, with her painted colour:
How she Vermillions ore my Maiden-face,
10
Indeed I am indebted to her loue,
That can giue mouelesse Nature meanes to moue.
Thou black-fac'd Trull, how dar'st thou be so bold,
As to create thy selfe another face?
How dar'st thou Natures feature to controle,
Seeking by Art thy former to disgrace?
By heauens I loath thee for thy Panthers skin,
Since what is faire without is foule within.
As to create thy selfe another face?
How dar'st thou Natures feature to controle,
Seeking by Art thy former to disgrace?
By heauens I loath thee for thy Panthers skin,
Since what is faire without is foule within.
Indeed thou art ashamed of thy forme:
And why? because of beautie thou hast none;
Nay rather grace, by which thou may'st adorne
Thy inward part, which chiefly graceth one;
“Complaine of Nature (gracelesse) and despaire,
“Since she hath made thee foule, but others faire.
And why? because of beautie thou hast none;
Nay rather grace, by which thou may'st adorne
Thy inward part, which chiefly graceth one;
“Complaine of Nature (gracelesse) and despaire,
“Since she hath made thee foule, but others faire.
But yet thou wilt be faire, if painting may
Affoord thee grace and beautie in thy brow:
Yet what auailes this fondling? for one day
Painting will ceasse: though painting flourish now;
“Itch not then after fashions in request,
“But those that comeliest are, esteeme them best.
Affoord thee grace and beautie in thy brow:
Yet what auailes this fondling? for one day
Painting will ceasse: though painting flourish now;
“Itch not then after fashions in request,
“But those that comeliest are, esteeme them best.
Yet for all this, I pittie thee poore soule,
In that Dame Nature hath not giuen thee beautie:
Hang downe thy head like to a desart Owle,
Performe in no case to her shrine thy dutie:
Vnto her altar vow no sacrifice,
Nor to her deitie erect thine eyes.
In that Dame Nature hath not giuen thee beautie:
Hang downe thy head like to a desart Owle,
Performe in no case to her shrine thy dutie:
Vnto her altar vow no sacrifice,
Nor to her deitie erect thine eyes.
11
Thou hast good cause for to lament thy birth;
For none will court thee smiling at thy feature,
But prize thee as the refuse vpon earth,
Since on my faith thou art an vglie creature,
Yet ill wine's good when it is in the caske,
And thy face faire oreshadow'd with a maske.
For none will court thee smiling at thy feature,
But prize thee as the refuse vpon earth,
Since on my faith thou art an vglie creature,
Yet ill wine's good when it is in the caske,
And thy face faire oreshadow'd with a maske.
O be contented, with thy forme, thy feature,
Since it is good enough for wormes repast,
Yeelding thy due vnto the shrine of Nature,
The fairest faire must yeeld to death at last!
Thinke on thy mould, and thou wilt seriously
Receiue the charge of Natures Embassie.
Since it is good enough for wormes repast,
Yeelding thy due vnto the shrine of Nature,
The fairest faire must yeeld to death at last!
Thinke on thy mould, and thou wilt seriously
Receiue the charge of Natures Embassie.
| Natures Embassie | |