Skialetheia :: :: University of Virginia Library

What a scald humour is this iealous care,
Which turnes a man to a familiare?
See how Trebatio yonder haunts his wife,
And dares not loose sight of her for his life:
And now there's one speakes to her, mark his grace,
See how he basts himselfe in his owne greace:
Note what a squint askew he casts, as he
Already saw his heads hornd-armory.
Foule weather ielousie to a forward spring,
Makes weeds grow ranke, but spoyles a better thing:
Sowes tares (gainst haruest) in the fields of loue,
And dogged humor Dog-dayes-like doth proue:
Scorching loues glorious world with glowing tong;
A serpent by which loue to death is stung,
A fire to wast his pleasant sommer bowres,
Ruine his mansions, and deface his towres.

Yonder goes Cælius playing fast and loose
With his wiues arme, but not for loue God knowes,
Suspition is the cause she well doth know,
Can she then loue him that doth wrong her so?
If she refuse to walke vvith him hee'le frowne,
Fore-vvearied both, they rest, he on her gowne
Sits for his ease she saith, afrayd in hart,
Least sodainly she should giue him the start:
Thus doth he make her prisoner to his feare,

And himselfe thrall to selfe-consuming care.
A male-kind sparrow once mistooke his nest,
And sled for harbour to faire Liuias breast:
Her husband caught him with a iealous rage,
Swearing to keepe him prisoner in a Cage:

Then a poore flye dreading no netty snare,
Was caught in curled meshes of her haire,
Humming a sad note for's imprisonment;
When the mad beast, with ruder hands doth rent
That golden fleece, for hast to take the flie,
And straight-wayes at a vvindow gins to prie,
Busie, sharp-sighted blind-man-hob, to know
Whether t'were male or female taken so,

Marke how Seuerus frigs from roome to roome,
To see, and not to see his martirdome:
Peeuish disease which doth all foode distast,
But what kils health, and that's a pleasing feast:
Like Weauers shuttles which runne to and fro,
Rau'ling their owne guts with their running so.

He which infects these with this lunacy,
Is an odd figgent iack called Iealousie,
His head is like a vvindmils trunk so bigge.
Wherin ten thousand thoughts runne whirligigge,
Play at barly-breake, and daunce the Irish hay
Ciuill and peacefull like the Centaures fray
His body is so fallen away and leane,

That scarce it can his logger-head sustaine.
He hath as many hundred thousand eyes
As Argus had, like starres plac't in the skies,
Though to no purpose, for blinde loue can see
Hauing no eyes, farther then Iealousie.
Gulfe-brested is he, silent, and profound,
Cat-footed for slie pace, and without sound,
Porpentine backed, for he lies on thornes,
Is it not pitty such a beast wants hornes?
Is it not pitty such a beast should so,
Possesse mens thoughts, and timpanize with woe
Their bigge swolne harts? for let Seuerus heare,
A Cuckow sing in Iune, he sweats for feare:
And cōming home, he whurries through the house,
Each hole that makes an inmate of a mouse
Is ransackt by him for the cuckold-maker,
He beates his wife, & mongst his maides doth swagger
T'extort confession from thē who hath been
Familiar with his wife, wreeking his teene
Vpon her ruffes and iewels, burning, tearing,
Flinging and hurling, scolding, staring, swearing.
Hee's as discreet, ciuill a gentleman,
As Harry Peasecod, or a Bedlam man,
A drunken captaine, or a ramping whore,
Or swaggering blew-coate at an ale-house doore.

VVhat an infection's this, which thus doth fire

Mens most discreetest tempers, and doth tire
Their soules with furie? and doth make them thirst
To carouse bolles of poyson till they burst?
Oh this it is to be too wise in sin.
Too well experienst, and skilld therein:
“For false suspition of another, is,
“A sure condemning of our owne amisse.
Vnlesse a man haue into practise brought
The Theoricke art of loue which Ouid wrote,
Vnlesse his owne lewd life haue taught him more
Then Aretines aduenturous wandring whore,
Vnlesse he haue an antient souldiour beene,
Brags of the markes, and shewes the scarres of sinne,
How could he be so gorgde with louing hate,
As to thinke women so insaciate?
How could he know their stratagems and shifts,
Their politicke delayes and wilie drifts?
No no, tis true, he hath beene naught himselfe,
And lewdnes fathereth this wayward elfe,
Then take this for a Maxim generall rule,
No iealous man, but is or knaue, or foole.