University of Virginia Library

Q. HORACE FLACCVS HIS SECONDE BOKE OF SATYRES.

The firste Satyre.

Trebate.
My sonne, if that thou write to sharpe,
no doubte thou shalte not lyue,
Some one or other, wyll to thee
Thy fatall wounde ygeue.

Horace,
Why? Lusill lyude, who euer vsde,
all fayners to detect,
With satyres sharpe, and quippies rounde,
of deathe he neuer reckt.
But blamed those, whiche outwardly
doo geue a shynynge shoe,
And inwardly are chargde with synne,
that vnnethes they can goe.
Good Lelie dyd not hate his witte,
nor he that got renown
For pollicie, and pruice too,
For beatyng Carthage downe.
I say they were not myscontent,
That lewde Metellus once,

Metellus and Lupus noble men, yet reprehended for vyce. Scipio and Lilius not repyning.

And lowtishe Lupus were reformde,
with Satyres for the nonce.
He woulde not spare the officers,
nor priuate men to blame.
A frende to none saue honestie,
and those that vsde the same.
With doughtie stoute duke Scipio,
and Lelie learnde and wyse,
He woulde ieste very iocundly,

One pointe of wysedom, not to be merye amongeste amultitude.

and frankly in his guyse,
At meales, when he sequestred was
frome the vnlettred sorte.
What so I am, though farre I wote,
from Lusils witte and porse.
Yet enuie selfe can not denye,
but I haue ledde my life,
Amongst the best, though some men thynke
me dedicate to stryfe:
Me thynks my grounde, is good and sure,
excepte you frende Trebate,
By lawe, doo disalowe of it,
I will pursue my state.

Trebate.
Beware, beware, the warinde may lyue,
be circumspect and slawe,
Leste you by wordes vndoo your selfe,
through ignorance of lawe.
For who that writeth slaundrously,
we lawyers muste amende hym:

Horace.
And who that wryteth true and well,
our Cesar muste defende hym,
If that a man speake of a zeale,
And blame the bad alone,
Dispatche youre rowles, there is no gayne,
the Lawyer may be gone.

The second Satyre.

Tracit.
(Saythe tauntyng Tracy) maye not I
lay out my coyne at wyll?
My rentes come to me thicke and thicke,
my want is foyson styll,
Not three kynges can dispende with me,
who sayth, I may not spende?

Poet.
Therfore, the surplus of thy goodes
applye to better ende.
Why want the silly needie soules
refreshyng at thy hande?
Why doo the temples of the godds,
without repayryng stande?
Thou corsye carle, thy countrey dere,
from hougie substance, suche
Shall she haue naught? wylt onely thou
deuoure alone so muche?
O ieste, vnto thy very foes,
For, whether may haue more,
(If fortune frowne, and grefes growe on)
esperance to his store?
Thou: whiche was maried to thy mucke,
and freshe in gay attyre,
Or he: that dreading chaunce to cum,
a litle dothe desyre
And keepes it well, and warylye
to helpe in hopelesse tyde,
Lyke as the wyse, in golden peace
for stormye warre prouide.
For more beleefe in this behalfe,
I then a little boy
Can now reporte, that Ofellus,
put not so greate a ioy.
Nor pleasured so, in his cheefe wealthe,

Ofels talke in prosperytie

as in his worste decay.
This was a common talke of his
when he bare greateste sway.
Als one to me: on woorkyday
I neuer coulde be taken
With better meate, in feelde or towne,
then roots or chimnye bacon.
I, and my sonnes, keepe thus in feilde,
our cattell seelde forsaken.
But if old acquaintaunce cum,

Horace. A more honest kynde of literalitye.

Who hath bene longe away
Or sum good honest neyghboure els,
through sleetie drisling daye,
Do cease from woorke, we mery make
not with suche costlie fyshe,
But with a chicken, or a kyd,
and grapes our seconde dishe,
A nutte, or els sum kynde of figge,
the table tayne awaye
We drincke about, and afterwarde
for Ceres giftes we pray.
So, flye awaye the freating cares,
that bringe the wimpled age,
Let furiouse fortune frowne and fume,
and roste hyr selfe in rage,
She can not much empyre our cates:
my seruaunts haue not founde.

Umbrenus a souldier who had ye grounde geuen him by Augustus.

Their cheare much woorse sence Umbrenus
hath gotte away our grounde.
It matters not for nature gaue
not me this proper lande,
At firste, nor him, nor any els,
he chaste vs forth with hande,
His beastelynes will chase him out,
or sum expulsiue lawe,
Or els his heire that shall suruiue,
when he muste couche full lawe.
Now Umbrens grounde, of late Ofells
(a thing not very stable)
Now myne, now thyne, so muste we take,
the worlde as variable.
Let nothing cause your courage quayle,
in care be constante stille,
And bende your brestes to beare the blawes
of fortune that be ille.

The thirde Satyre.

Damasip.
You write so seldom vnto me,
that fowre tymes in a yeare
Scarse cums a pen within your hande,
perusinge written geare.
Halfe angrie with your selfe I weane,
that drente in wyne and slepe,
You spendinge time in sylente pause,
of Satyres beres no keepe.
Performe thy promis once at lengthe,
goe too, what shall we haue?
Thou coms from Saturnes feaste I trow,
from drinke thy selfe to saue.
Will nothing be? You blame your muse,
so do you Poets all,
Accuse your pen, when to your mynde,
your sentence will not fall.
When thou camste to the countrye towne,
to lyue a parte from strife,
Thy visage gaue, as thoughe thou wouldste
haue written bookes for lyfe.
Menander, and dan Platos woorkes,
why do they on you wayte?
Why broughte you Eupolis to towne,
and Archilog his mate?
You meane for feare of spytefull folke,
all vertue to disclame,
Thou caitife shalte cum to contempte,
shun idle ioyes for shame:
Or els surrender all suche praise,
as thou haste got before:
By woorke of witte, in full intente

The Poet contente to be reproued but not at suche a peuishe Marchaunte as [OMITTED]

to mell with it no more.
For this sage counsaile, (Damasipe)
the heauenly goddes I pray,

this stoicke damasip.

To sende a barber speedelye,
to wype your berde awaye.

Horace.
In deede, and knowe you me so wel,
how cums it so to passe?

Damasip.
I sufferde shipwracke of my gooddes,
whilste I a merchaunte was.
And therefore now can spare an eye,
the worlde to ouervewe.
Then was I plunged in affaires,
as they me droue and drewe,
To know what vauntage by exchaunge,
to clippe and washe my goulde,
By subtilties in mineralles,
my state for to vphoulde.
By suche lyke sorte came I to haue,
an ample wealthie snare
To purchasse orchardes for mine ease,
and bowers bryghte and fayre.
My witte so deepe soe sore to deale,
such lucke, to win or saue,
That me a Mercurialiste,
to surname then they gaue.

Horace.
I know it well and maruaile much,
If that be ridde and gone:
Excepte thou haste sum worse diseas
whiche needes will rayne alone.
As Phisikes cure from heade to breste,
diseases can conuey,
As by excesse of much madnes,
dryue lythergie away.
Perchaunce you setting fraude a parte,
the mad mans part will play.

Dama.
Frende Horace, you are mad lykewyse.
And so is euerye foole,
If stoicke Stertin taughte vs once,
true doctrine in his schoole.
Of whome, I learnde this trade of lyfe,
no trewande in my lore,
He dubde me then a stoick sage,
and bad me morne no more.
Though all the worlde shoulde go to wracke,
(for from a brydge I mente
All headlonge to haue horlde my selfe
so things againste me wente.)
Approchinge nygh. O do not so,
frende Damasip (quod he)
What thirlinge throwes doth twitche thy harte?
what shame confoundeth the?

The stoicke. Startine supplyeth with his talke almoste all the satyre folowinge.

The people cawle the giddishe mad,
why, all the worlde is so:
If thou be mad, and thou alone:
be drounde: I lette the goe.
But what is madnes to defyne?
Crysip, that noble clarke,
Cals all fooles mad, and all whose mindes,
are duskde with errors darke.
This rule, makes mad a noumberouse swarme,
of subiects and of kinges,
And none exemptes, saue those in whome,
the well of wysdome springes.
Now leane thyne eares, and listen well,
perceaue howe all be mad,
Yea those who earste to make the woorse,
such mockeryes haue had.
Admit there be through darkesum wood,
a speedie footepathe way,
On ryghte syde same, on lefte syde sum:
and all do go a stray.
Through wilsumnes of wildernes:
the error is all one,
Though through miswandringe diuerslye,
they diuerslye haue gone.
Thou maist be mad, (frende Damasip)

A reason to proue al mad, whiche treade not in one true footepathe of wisedome.

thou maiste be muche vnwyse,
Thy mockers staringe mad also,
though in an other guyse.
One manner frensie is, to feare
when nothinge is a misse,
As hilles on plaines, or seas on mountes,
this kynde of buggor this:
An other like a desperate,
nothinge at all to feare,
To trudge through deepe, high, hoate, and coulde,
to prease vppon a speare.
His frendes reclames his sister deare,
his parentes and his wyfe,
Theirs rockes, theirs Seas greate dread (say they)
sweete kinseman saue your lyfe.
He will not heare, for all their crye,
no more then Fusie coulde,
When he through force of drowsie drincke,
was falne in slumber coulde.
He shoulde recyte the drunkards parte,
he druncke his parte away,
The people egde him for to speake,
he wiste not what to say.
One way or other all are mad,
as Damasip, which oulde
Pictures did bye, was mad, and he,
that lente to him the goulde.
Moste mad is he, that takes a truste,
not hauynge hope to pay:
Moste mad is he, which may make boulde
and dare not his assay.
Assay (quod you) but who woulde truste,
for now the worlde is suche,
That lende a man, a thousand crownes,
or more, or nye so muche,
And take a bill of his hande wryt,
an obligation make,
So lawyer lyke, so clarklie drawne,
that none coulde it mistake,
And bynde him strayte, to kepe a day,
in payne of marks and poundes,
Shew witnes write, and what thou canste,
or lowse, or shake thy groundes
The one will he do: lyke Proteus,
to shapes ychaunged, he
Somtime a bore, a birde, a stone,
and when he liste a tree.
No doubte he will attempte all shiftes,
to shifte him selfe from the.
If wyse men vse for to do well,
and fooles for to do ill,
What say you to our creditor,

Petill vsurer

our vsurer Petill?
Is he not mad? who when he lendes,
for increase asketh more,
Then the pore debter can performe,
though he shoulde swelt therfore.
Ye lecherouse, luxuriouse,
ye supersticiouse:
Ye shottishe, dotishe, doultishe dawes,
that nothing can discusse.
Drawe on my Clyents one by one,
be not agreiste ne sad,
Stande still in stounde; kepe whishte (I say)
whilste I doe proue you mad.
I charge you, you ambitious,
and you that mucker good,
To gerde your gownes, to sytt and harcke,
whilste I doe proue you wood.
The couetouse, of Helibore:
the greater parte muste haue,

One parte of a mad man, to seeke, vayne glorye after his deathe.

Or rather all the pilles, for the head
as they which moste do raue.
The executours of Staberie,
engraylde on his graue,
What were his ample legaces,
and what to them he gaue.
For so he bad in testament,
and if they woulde not so,
That then to maintayne sworde players
moste of his gooddes shoulde go.

Areus superuisor of ye wil.

Arrey did superuise this will,
who shoulde geue them in wheate,
To preserue sporte, as muche as halfe
a countrye coulde well eate.

Staberie..

What though I did (misiudge me not,

Stoicke.

I had a wittie meaninge.
No doubte you had, to this intente,
was all his gylefull gleaninge.
To haue his heyres, entayle in stones
his honnorable will:
Neade was to him a wickednes,
yea an vngodly ill.
Therefore in deede full dreedefullie,
he wayed it as goddes curse:
If at his death, then in his lyfe,
one dodkin he were worse.
For all and euerie thinge (quod he)
vertue, renoumne, and fame,
The corpes, the goste, doth crouche to coyne,
and serue vnto the same.
Which who so hath all at his luste,
him needes no further thinge,
He maye be famouse, stonte, and iuste,
a wyseman and a kynge.
And this is euen as good as if
by vertue he vp grue:
But Staberie or Aristippe,

Aristippe a Philosopher that flattered Alexander.

of lykely, iudge not true.
Who trauaylinge in Lybie coste
his golde caste away,
Because it did from iorneyinge,
his men a litle stay.
Whiche is the madder of the twaine?
but we ne can, ne will
Sample, againste example bringe,
to samples that be ill.
If that a man bye instruments,
and horde them in a place,
Him selfe not weyinge of the sounde,
nor forcinge musikes grace:
If that a man shoulde bye him stuffe,
and tooles to sett vp shop:
Or bye him sayles to hange in ship
to hale her by the top:
And neuer meane to practise oughte,
is he not staringe mad?
Why is not this our couetouse
as much in frensye clad?
Who hoordes his monye, and his gould,
and vnneth dare auouche it,
Because it is so preciouse,
to peepe at it, or touche it.
If that a man an hudge heape
of corne shoulde euer keepe,
With stretched arme, and club in hande,
for feare berefte of sleepe,
And beinge owner, durste not take,
one graine, (misdreadinge waste),
Eatinge most bitter rootes and leaues,
vnmilde vnto the taste:
If, one haue manie vessels full,
a thousande tun of wyne,
And drincke nothing but vinaiger,
vntastie and vnfyne:
Goe to, if one of fyue score yeares
do lye on couche of grounde,
And haue his downe, and fetherbeddes,
(where he mighte sleepe full sounde)
Stufte vp in chestes, for wormes and mothes:
sum will not houlde them mad,
Because the moste of wealthie men,
be now as vyle and bad.
O hatefull head, forlorne to God,
spares thou for tyme to cum?
Na, na, thou spares that thy lewde childe
may spende the totall sum.
Eche day will spende sum portion,
(thou thinckes) if thou do spende
Oyle to annointe, oyle for thy borde,
mongste thy meates to blende.
Further, thou sayste, it is the beste,
to lyue vppon a small
Why doste thou then forsweare thy selfe,
and filtche in places all?

Testie anger a kynde of madnes.

Haste thou the wittes, that beates thy men,
because nothinge can please the?
Which thou with purse, haste purcheste deare,
to ayde the and to ease the.
When thou doste poyson thy parentes,
and strangle vp thy wyfe,
Arte thou not mad, though in Arge towne,
thou droue not out her lyfe
Nor yet with sworde as Oreste did,
or do not it inacte?
Yes, yf for hope of gaine thou haste,
but thoughte vppon thy facte.

A mā is mad at the first cōcept of mischiefe.

Was he not mad before his blade
had brusde his mothers baine?
Or forthwith, as this cruell fitte,
Was crepte into his braine?
Synce that Orestes hath bene clepte
giddie and mad by name,
After the cryme, he hath not done,
a facte, of haynouse blame.
His syster deare, nor Pylades,
he neuer stroke with sworde.
To him, and her sumtimes he gaue,
a foule vntowarde worde.
Her feende him woorse, as him to speake,
his pearsinge choler woulde:
But thou in harte kilste all thy frendes,
that thou mightes haue their goulde.

Opimie.
The penyfather Opimie,
who had so muche in store,
Who holyday and workyngday,
did toyle whilste he were sore,
Was troubled so with lythergie,
for sleepe he coulde not stere,
His heyre wente rounde aboute the chestes,
with blythe and iocaunte cheare:
A frendlye quicke Phisition,
to make, Opymie starte,
Contriude it thus: he bad them bringe,
a borde into the place
A sorte, eeke to vnseale the bagges,
and tell the coyne a pace.
He rearde the sickman from his bed,
Syr (quod he) houlde it faste
Or els no doubte, those will haue all,
and sparple all at laste.
In my life tyme?

Phi.
awake betime,
be lyuely then in deede.

Opimie.
What shall I doe?

Ph.
fall to thy meate,
there is no way but feede.
Els, will thy spirits be for faynte,
thy vigour fall away,
Thy stomake weake and languishinge,
will bringe the to decay.

Op.
You geue me naughte.

Ph.
drincke vp forthewith,
this Ptysande made of ryce.

Op.
What shall I pay?

Ph.
a small

Op.
how much.

Ph.
Two pence.

Op.
alacke, the pryce.
Such costes is woorse, then sworde or theefe,
cum death I will not ryse.

Damasip.
Now who is mad?

Sto.
Eche foolish man,
what is the couetouse?

Dam.
A foole and mad.

St.
what if a man
be nothinge rauenouse,
Eftsones shall he coumpted sounde?
no:

Dam.
Stoicke tell me why?

Sto.
Put case the restlesse paciente,
full ill at ease shoulde lye,
His pulse doth shew, he hath no stitche,
nor straininge at his harte:
Is that ynough to warraunte him,
forth of his coutche to starte?
Sharpe panges may twitch him in the reynes,
and twitche him in the syde:
So, though one be not couetouse,
yet may he swell with pryde.
They neade no salue, to say a sooth.
that vse not for to lye,
Nathelesse the testie may take pilles,
to purge melancolye.
Almoste as ill to hoorde thy goodes,
that they geue no releefe,
As if thou shouldste bestow them on,
an arraunte pilferinge theefe.

Oppidie.
Olde Oppidie two manors kepte
of longe in Cauufe towne
Entailde to him by due descente
who sicke, and lyinge downe,
On deade bed then calde for his sonnes,
(which were no more but twaine)
And thus to speake vnto them both,
the parente woulde him paine.

A pretie note for parents.

Aulus, my sonne, when thou in youth,
counters in purse didste beare,
And francklie on thy playfeers wouldste,
bestow them here and theare
Tyber my sonne when thou thy nuttes
wouldste tell and tell againe,
By this I gatherd, that in you,
two diuers sinnes woulde raine:
That Aulus would be ryotouse,
that Tyber naught would spende,
Wherfore, for gods own loue deare sonne
vnto my lore attende.
Aulus, looke thou diminishe not,
not Tyber thou increase.
That, which your father thoughte ynoughe
to mantayne you in peace.
And, that which nature lymiteth:
Leste, ticklinge glorie may
Incense your heartes, take here an othe,
before I passe away:
That which of you shall sewe in Rome,
for roume or for degree,
Shall take him selfe, as most deteste,
and quyte accurste of me.
Alas, Aulus (mine elder childe)
to geue the giftes of pryce,
So deale amongste the Citizens,
that they gainste the may ryse
That thou maiste walke in pompe and porte,

Lyke Agrippa.

thy statues stande in brasse,
What vayleth that? when all is gone
what vayleth that (alas.
Excepte to win a princes fame,
and plausible estate,

Esops his foxe.

Lyke foxe: thou weare a lyons skin
to seeme a lyons mate.

Insolence noted in princes in Agamemnons personage.

What, though thou warte a prince in deede?
in pride thou mighte offende,
As Agamemnon, in whose wordes
most princes wordes are pende.

Tucer.
Syr kinge, why maye not Aiax be
enterred in his graue?

Agamemnon.
I am a kinge, my lusts a lawe,
your answer (lo you haue.

Tucer.
Moste puissaunt prince, my suite is iuste,
if anie can say nay,
Without all stop, or ieoperdie,
his sentence let him say.
God graunte, your noble maiestie,
to see your natyue soyle.
Leege prynce, take pause a space, and then,
my pore demaunde assoyle.

Agam.
Demaunde at once?

Tew:
shall duke Aiax,
the nexte to fearse Achill,
Who famouse was, by sauinge greakes,
vntombed tarrye still?
That Priame, and his folke may ioy,
to see him lacke his graue:
By whome their Troiane younkers slayne,
no countrie toumbe coulde haue?

Agamemn.
A thousande sheepe, he slewe in rage,
the famouse Vlixes
Menelaus and me with sworde
he thoughte he did disease.

Tucer.
When thou in Auled for a cowe,
didste slay thy louing childe,
And salte her heade on alter stone,
waste thou then mad or mylde?
In what degree did Aiax rage?
what did he? slay the sheepe.
From lemans bayne, and daughters baine,
his blade he coulde ykeepe
Perchaunce he curste and bande at large,
the, and thy brother to:
With me, nor Vlixes his foe,
he neuer had to doe.

Agamemnon.
The lingering shippes, that they might sayle,
from hauen where they stoode,
Of purpose good, I pacifyed,
the wrothefull goddes with blood.

Tucer.
With blood of thyne, thou mad kinge, thou,
with mine, but I not mad.

Agam. Stoicke.
Who doth confounde things good and ill
(as you) is euen as bad.
To folow shewes, and vttershapes,
to gesse but at the good
Is follie leude: as is the deede,
that coms of angrie moode.
Aiax he slew the sillie lambes,
therfore, distraughte of witte:
And thou for tytles, and renoume,
fell murther doste commit.
(Hast thou thy wittes? or arte thou good,
all swelled vp with pryde?
If in a couche, a fyne fleesde lambe,
a kinge shoulde cause to ryde,
And geue it rayments neate, and gay,
and geue it maydes and goulde,
And call it pugges and pretye peate,
and make as though he woulde,
In woorthy wedlocke it bestowe:
the pretor woulde fordoe it,
And make his frendes looke to his witte,
for feare he shoulde forgoe it:
What if a kynge, for a doumbe sheepe,
his daughter sacrifice,
I wene the kyng will graunte himselfe,
not to be verye wyse.
Fondnesse is madnesse, so is sinne,
and who that huntes for name
Is lyke Bellona chafinge dame,

Bellona goddesse of warr.

that loues to see a mame:
Who scales faines forte ofte times doth see,
dyre feates and vse the same.

Againste the riotouse, as he promised.

But now a crashe at Nomentane
to reuellers a whyle,
No reason is this foultishe flocke
from madnes to exile.
The prodigall, by witte worde hath
ten talentes: in his heate,
He biddes the costerdmongers, and
thappothycaries neate.
Foulers, fishers, sculls, podingwrightes,
the trulls of Tuscus streate,
All cookes and all the shambles eeke,
to morow him to meate
At home. How are they occupyde
when they are mette in one?
The baude (as spokes man for the reste)
its thine (sayth he alone,
What so all those or I, possesse,
at home or anie wheare,
Demaunde it (master when you will.
now syr, vnto this geare,
Harke, how our younker frames his tale,
Ah trustie frendes (saith he)
The fouler wades through froste and snowe
that he may banquet me.
The tysher drawes the wyntrye seas,
whylste I doo sytte at ease,
In faythe, good felowes, fayne woulde I,
your great turmoylyng please:
Take thou some thynge, take tenne tymes more,
take thou as muche agayne,
And thou threfolde, because with me,
your wyfe hath taken payne.
Younge Aesope, snatchde a ryng awaye,
from madame Metells eare:

Metells, a lady of Rome.

The pearle well worthe fyue hundreth crownes,
He dronke in vinigeare:
He as much besydes hym selfe
as braynlesse in this case,
As yf he hadde it drent in flood
or in some vyler place.
The broode of Quinctus Arius,

Arius, a noble man of Rome.

the famous brethren twayne.
Through lewd conceites, and babysh pranks
do make theyr stomacke fayne
And lyuely with the lynnets fleshe,
that be of costly price.
Be these men, wene you, well in wytte?
be these men madde or wyse?
To buylde an house of chippes and cardes,
to watche the trappe for myse:
To playe at euen and odde, to ryde
cockhorse in chyldyshe guyse:
If these shoulde please a bearded syre,
the foole myght haue a hood,
Muche more, to haunte an harlots house,
dothe proue an olde man wood.
An olde man, for to spyll his teares,
to please a womans mynde,
Is as an olde man shoulde in duste,
go taue, and toyes out fynde:

Palamon.
I woulde haue all these naughty packes
to doo lyke Palamon:
As he for shame vppon a tyme,

A fondlinge knowē by his ensignes.

With drynke all ouergon,
The badges of a fondlynge, as,
braue napkyns, braceletts, rynges,
He layde away, and went to schoole,
to learne more sober thynges.
Commaunde a chylde, to eate a peare,
he wyll not eate a byt:
Commaunde hym, not to eate the peare,
the chylde wyll long for yt.
So fares it, with oure fondlyng (lo)
though he desyres to go,
And woulde this coyishe paramour,
vnbodden wende vnto.

Phedria.
Yea when she daygnes to sende for hym,
then mammeryng he dothe doute,
What should I go, as suppliaunt?
or beare my sorowes stoute?
She shutte me out, she sendes for me,
shoulde I come there agayne?
No, though she shoulde vpon her knees,
Praye me, to take the payne.

Stoike.
Me thynkes the seruaunt Parmeno.
hath muche the better brayne.

Parmeno.
The thynge mayster, that hathe in it
no measure, nor aduice,
By reason, can not well be rulde:
Loue hath in it muche vyce.
Theres stormy warre, and caulmie peace,
whiche (passyng as a blaste,
And flotynge on, in blynde successe)
Who seeketh to make faste,
Shall take in hande, an harde attempte,
miraculous, and geason:
As yf he woulde at once be madde,
and haue his perfite reason.

Stoicke.
A man that faultreth in hys speache,
for age, and yet is gladde,
To playe at quoytes, or spancounter,
may well be counted madde:
A man, that faultreth in his speache,
and wyll by sworde and myght,
Obteyne his loue, or murther her
in cruell blooddy plyght:
As Marrius slewe Hilade,

Marius a knowen Romane: esprisede with the loue of Hilade. Oulde dotage mere madnesse. Supersticion proued madnes.

and slewe hymselfe also,
Because she sought by godly meanes,
his dotage to vndo.
This perturbation maye be calde,
a wodnesse of the mynde:
Suche wyckednes and madnes, haue
no dyuers names by kynde.
An olde man late enfraunchised,
in dawnynge of the day,
With hāds fair washt, wold walk the stretes
and moste deuoutlye praye.
The more deale was to this effecte:
O Godds aboue, (for you
Can doo the thyng) lette me ylyue
in earthe where I am nowe:
This man was sounde enoughe in corps,
in mynde I thynke hym madde,
Except his maister lyke not that,

In ould time, if anie sould a seruaunte, who afterwarde proued mad, it turned to the sellers endamage.

who soulde hym of a ladde.
Suche folke, so supersticious,
Chrysip doothe greatly charge,
And pleades by ryght, that they should sayle
in madame Madnesse barge.
O Ioue, whiche bothe canst eke and ease,
all dolour and all teene,
Rue on my chylde (the mother crieth)
who nowe fiue weekes hathe bene,
With feuer quartayne, felly toste,
yf thou wylte heale my sonne,
Byd me to faste, what day thou wylt,
thy great wyll shall be donne:
My sonne lykewyse recouerde once,
in Tyber flood shall stande,
If thou wylt send hym helpe by chaunce,
or by phisitions hande.
And so she will (to kepe her vowe)
her chyld in Tyber sette:
The boye through chille benummednesse,
his ague worse shall gette.
This woman maddeth of her selfe,
or by the will of God.

Damasip.
Thus Stertin theyght wyse man of Grece,
taught me, and gaue a nod:
As to his frende, at knittynge vp:
this armour he me gaue:
If any man be busye nowe,
his guardon he shall haue.
Who so that calls me wood or madde,
maye learne his propre lacke,
And knowe the ferdle of his faultes,
that hange behynde his backe.

Stoicke.
Frende Damasip, though you haue loste
your trafficke and your ware:
Yet may you gayne, for some will geue
that you theyr faultes maye spare.

Damasip.
Because thers many kyndes of madde,
in what sorte doo I dote?
Yet to my selfe I seme not madde,
nor from my witte a iote.

Stoicke.
No more semed Agaue to her selfe,
when she of dolefull chylde,
The head detruncte dyd beare about,
she thought her selfe full mylde.
If soothe it be, that I am madde,
yet stoicke tell me this,
What vice is it, through whiche I seeme
so muche to doo amys?

Stoicke.
Thou arte a very little man,
scarce three small cubites hye,
And yet thou buyldes a hautie house,
and makes it threate the skye.

Turbo.
Thou laughste at Turbo sworde player,
a little dandie prat,
To see hym stoute: thou lesse, and stoute:
I deeme thee madde for that.
Thynks thou, to buyld lyke lorde Mæcene,
to doo, what he shall doo?
A matche vnmete betwixte you twayne,
and yll appoynted too.
The mother frogge vppon a tyme
abrode to feede, or playe:
A Calfe kylde all her young, with foote,
but one, that scapde awaye:
Which brought the tydynges to her damme,
howe suche a myghtie beaste,
Had slayne her noble progenie,
(to tell a blouddie feast.)
Canste thou with swellyng make thy selfe,
(quod tholde) as bygge as he?
The yong assayde, it woulde not proue

The texte applyeth the willing rather to the old frogge but it skillech not so resumption be eschueed in olde and younge.

(quod tholde) so lette it be.
Nowe moralise this fable, and
iwys it toucheth thee,
That styll wyll swell, and make thy matche
aboue thyne owne degree.
Besydes, thy pratlynge Poemes to,
be matter playne and clere,
To proue thee madde, in poemes madde,
yf euer any were.
It is a madnesse, thee thy coyne,
so frankly to disburse.
(Frende Damasip, abate thy spence,
be counsailde by thy purse.

Damasip.
Well Stoicke, thou haste taught vs playne,
that moste of men be wood:
As not to proue me so, agayne,
I praye thee be so good.

The fourthe Satyre.

Horace.
From whence, and whether Catius?

Catius.
I haue no tyme, farewell,
To teache a schoole of newe preceptes,
not suche as doo excelle,
Pythagoras, or Socrates,
or lettred Dan Plato.

Hor.
I graunt my gylte, at yll aspecte,
to speake vnto you so:
Nathelesse, I hope your maystershyppe,
Wyll beare with me thys ones,
Some dayntie doctrine of your secte,
and nouell for the nones
Propounde, of nature, or of arte,
for you in bothe doo passe.

Cati.
Yea syr, to speake of matters all,
that aye my commynge was:
And for to speake accordyngly,
of rude and homely matter.

Horace.
A Romayne, nor an Alyen,
that taughte you so to clatter?

Catius.
I wyll disclose his mysteries,
but not bewray his name:
Least some, myslykyng his preceptes,
the author selfe myght blame.

The Epicure his schoole.

Egges longe and whyte, be nutritiue
muche better then the rounde:
Egges rosted harde, be costiue, yea
vnholsome and vnsounde.
The gardeyne herbes be not so swete,
As those on mountaynes bee:
The watrye soyle, the vertue slakes,
that it is not so free.
The moushrom that doth spring in meades,
or in a supple grounde:
Is beste, for suche as growe els where,
moste noysome haue ben founde.
If guestes come to thee at vnwares,
in water myxte with wyne,
Souse thou thy henne, she wyll become,
shorte, tender, neshe, and fyne.
Who after meate, eates Mulberies,
soone ryped of the sonne:
Shall lyue in health and iolytie,
whylste many sommers ronne.
Aufidius, myxt heddy wyne,

Aufidius, an yll scholer for the Epicure his dyete.

and honey all in one,
No craftesman he: for symple wynes
doo breede a force alone,
A louely force in symple wynes:
Meathe, vrine doothe prouoke,
The Muge fushe, and the Muscles cheape,
In purgynge beare a stroke.
So Coos wyne, with sorell meynt,
hath vertue to expell.
Shelfyshe, in growynge of the moone,
is beste to eate or sell:
Not euery sea, hath fyshe a lyke:
Pelore in Lucrin growes,
The Murer fishe from Baiæ cums,
whence purple coloure flowes
From Circes choppynge oysters newe,
From Micen vrchen fishe,
Of sealed Scalop, Tarento
bragges, as her proper dyshe.
To furnyshe well a feast, is harde,
a thynge not learnde in haste:
He that woulde doo it gorgious,
must haue a practisde taste.
Its not enough to fraight the boorde
with sea fyshe out of measure:
There muste be brothe for squaymous folke,
and spices all of pleasure.
In Vmbria the maste fedde bores,
doo charge the vessels greate:
Uessells, whiche haue not in them borne,
the common sortes of meate.
The bore is yll in Laurente soyle,
that feedes on reakes and reeds,
Somtymes, frome goodly pleasant vine,
a sower tendrell speedes.

The Epicure a Benefactor to the Calat.

Who lykes to eate the fruitfull hare,
her forepartes are the beste,
The choyce and vse of fyshe and fleshe
by me fyrste were expreste.
I made them so delicious,
so welcome to the taste:
Some can vouchesafe theyr wittes and paynes
in pastrye for to waste:
It is not muche commendable,
to knowe a knacke or twayne:
As if in brewinge spyced wynes,
thou shouldst bestow muche paine:
And sauce thy meate with foystie oyles,
thy gesse wooulde the disdaine.
If thou wilte purge mounteflascon wynes,
and make them pure and cleare,
Set them abrode in open ayre,
when many starres appeare.
The greuouse smell, by force of ayre,
will passe and fade away:
Through streyning of them through a clofhe,
the good smell woulde decay.
To mingle in thyne egge at meales,
a litle sacke and saulte,
Doth mende the yelke or whyte therof,
if it haue anye faulte.
With Africke cocles or with shrimpes,
he that is cloyed may,
Be freshe againe: in stomacke sharpe,
the lettise it doth play.
The stronge may eate good looshiouse meate,
in kytchins whiche be dreste,
The kitchin phisicke, is for them,
simplye, the very beste.
It is behouable to knowe,
of sauce a double kynde,
The one, of simple olyue oyle,
as we in arte do fynde.
The compounde hath that goes therto,
Constantinoble bryne,
Herbes shred, and minced very thicke,
some kynde of compounde wyne:
An oyle from Uenefratuum broughte,
(Lo) that is passinge fyne.
Moste commonly, that fruite is beste,
that lyketh best the eye.
Some grapes may be conserude by meanes,
some pressed by and by,
I taught the waye, to kepe them greene,
without all ylde or faulte,
To eate hearryng with iuyce of grapes,
white pepper, and blacke saulte.
All those I badde, for to be borne,
In vessels of greate pryde.
A fayre brode fishe muste aye be borne,
in vessells large and wyde.
To lashe out all, is not the beste,
it can not be denyde.
Muche thynge dothe hurte the stomake muche,
as if thy boye or mayde

The Epicure cannot fynde in his hart to eate with a pore man nor to haue hym eate or drinke in his companye.

Hathe eate in syghte, or haue thy cuppe,
With slauyshe hande assayde.
Or in some creuysse motes do stycke,
vnmoued to or fro:
Therfore broomes, napkyns, must be bought,
Wyth many trinkets mo,
It is a filthy ouersyghte,
yf all thynges be not cleane:
To rubbe thynges with thy purple cloths,
Iwis it woulde them steane.
To haue suche necessary thynges
is hansome, and lesse deare,
Seclude neatenesse, and then no waste,
Can make delitefull cheare.

Poet.
Sir Catius, for Goddes dere loue
and myne, my prayer is,
An other tyme, to leade me, where
I maye heare more of this.
Though well I wote, you coulde for skille,
haue played the maisters parte,
Yet nothyng lyke the Epicure,
the father of the arte.
Besydes his graue and modeste lookes,
and reuerent attyre,
Woulde make one heare him muche the more,
with zeale, and great desyre.
Whome you perchance esteme the lesse,
because you happie stille,
Enioye his syght: but I doo wishe
to go vnto my fill,
The christall fountaynes harde to fynde,
and there from vertues rife,
To take and practise perfecte rules,
of pure and blessed lyfe.

The fyfte Satyre.

Vlisses.
Tyretia , at my request,
tell me a little more,
Howe maye I be, so riche a man,
as I was once before?
By what meanes, or what pollicie?
(prophete) why doste thou smyle?
O suttill pate, arte thou not well,
from shypwracke, and exile,
To haue escapde, thy housholde goddes,
and Ithacke Isles to see?

Vlisses.
O prophete soothefaste in thy speche,
alas) but seest thou me,
How bare and beggerly I cum,
into my natiue lande?
(Thou hauyng so foretoulde my fate)
nothinge in plyghte doth stande?
The wooers spende vp all my gooddes,
and howses do defyle.
My stocke and vertue, withoute gooddes,
are thoughte as thinges most vyle.
To cut of talke, since pouertie
thou doste abhorre in harte,
Now harken how from deepe distresse,
a wittie man maye starte.
By sending, pretie presents still,
be sewer thy giftes to geue,
Unto the wealthie ritch mans house,
that is not lyke to lyue.
The turtle doue, the orcharde fruite,
the honours of the feelde,
The rich must haue before goddes selfe,
what so thy grounde doth yeelde.
Who though he be a periurde man,
of currishe kyndred borne,
All gored in his brothers blood,
a runagate forlorne:
Yet coortsye him, and woorship hym,
and if he woulde it so,
Thou maiste not stay to wayte on him,
in place where he shall go.

Vlixes.
Can I becum a page to slaues,
to get a sillie catch,
Who, erste in Troye, euen with the beste,
was wonte to make my matche?

Tire.
Therfore, still poore. Applie the worlde,
and beare it as it is,

Vlixes.
Yes, I haue borne, and can abyde,
thinges waightier then this.
(Good wysarde) tell a speedie way,
and driue me of no more:
Howe maye I fyll my pouches full,
as they were heretofore?

Tyre.
I sayde, and eftsoones saye to thee,
be pregnaunt aye in guyle,
Thou muste be forgynge olde mens wylles,
And if that in thy wyle,
Thou arte perceyude, yf none wyll byte,
but all from hooke doo flye:
Though ones deceyude, dispaire not tho,
persyste thyne arte to trye.
If there be in arbiterment,
a matter great or small,
Inquyre vpon the parties bothe,
and circumstances all.
If thone be ryche, and chyldrenles,
though all the grounde of stryfe
Procede of hym, sette thou in foote,
and pleade his cause of lyfe.
The other, if he haue a wyfe,
or hope of progenye,
Thoughe all the worlde proclaym hym good
lette thou his quarell lye.
Do clepe the other, by his names,
(fayre wordes with fooles take place:)
Right worshipfull, your vertues (saye)
hath made me pleade your case.
I haue some practise in the lawe,
to parle and maynteyne plea,
In faythe, I rather woulde myne eyes
were drenched in the sea,
Then any of these fyled tongues,
Your worshyppe shoulde abuse:
Or spende yonr goodes. Well go you home,
and cease you thus to muse.
Plucke vp your hearte, leaue all to me,
trye what a frend can doo.
In heate or colde, I am your owne
to ryde or els to go.
Assay the consequence hereof,
some one or other wyll,
Name thee, an heartie frendly man
a man of witte and skyll.
Thy hunger shall be great excesse,
thy wante muche wealthe at ease,
The Tunnye and the whale wyll be,
scarce presentes thee to please,
But here a caution for the, least
some shoulde replye agayne,
That thou doest good to sole olde men,
as gapyng after gayne.
If thou canst spye a wealthie man,
that hath a wearyshe chylde,
There, shewe thy selfe officious,
muche debonaire and mylde:
And caste out talke as though thou couldst,
proue thee, his seconde sonne,
Then plye the olde man, so to saye
perchaunce, when he hath done,
The chylde may dye, then, who but thou?
make entrie on thy right,
Suche loose begynnynges, oftentymes,
growe vp to force and myght.
If, that the olde man offer thee
his testament to reade,
Make, as thou coulde not, for great grefe,
put it awaye with speede:
But take a superficiall syght,
if thou muste all possesse:
Or dyuers mo cooparteners:
them thou with crafte muste dresse.
By threatnynges or by flatterie,
by smothe talke gette thou all,
As Esops foxe allurde the dawe,
to lette her breakefaste fall.
As Corauus with suche lyke sorte,
deceyued Scipio.

Vlixes.
Why art thou mad, or mockst for nonce,
for doomyng harde thynges so?

Tyre.
Laertes sonne, what so I say,
muste be, or ells not be,
For great Apollo hath bestowde.
a prophetes gyfte of me.

Vlixes.
Unfolde this fable vnto me,
this mysterie bewraye.

Tyre
What tyme this yong man, feare of Parths,
begynnes to beare a swaye,
(Augustus Prince) by lyne extract
from duke Aeneas race,
When he shall beare the countenance,
and welde the wreakefull mace,
A noble dame to Corauus,
shall Scipio the bolde
Dispouse, and yet for couetyse
her dowrie large withholde,
Corauus shall a feoffement force,
and eke the writyng seale,
A cuttyng wrytte for Scipio,
whiche he ne shall repeale.
I geue thee furthermore in charge,
yf any dotynge syer,
Be ruled by his mayde or man,
thralled to theyr desyre,
Acquainte thy selfe, forthwith with them,
Praise them, that thee awaye,
With gratefull praise, and lyke for lyke,
they may agayne repaye.

A worldly rule to seeke acquaintaunce at or better: A safe rule Cum æquali æquale tibi uis erit.

But what of them? seeke euer to
the chiefest, and the beste,
Prayse hym, laude hym, so shalte thou be,
in tyme a welcome gueste.
In case the carle be leacherous,
his byddyng doo not byde:
Bryng hym thy chaste Penelope,
to whome thou waste affyde.

Vlix.
Penelope, so temperate,
so continent a dame,
Whome suche a route of reuellers,
coulde neuer stayne with shame.

Tyr.
Those younkers came not for to geue,

Prostitution practised for couetise.

but hunger for to staunche,
They came for lucre, not for loue,
to paumper vp the paunche.
But this (lo) were a present waie,
for her and thee to lyue.
Losse made your dame, so temperate,
Her trouthe to none to geue.
I (beynge then well elderly)
at Thebes, there was a wyfe,
Who charged strayghtly her assignes,
whylste she was yet in lyfe,
That they shoulde noynte, and hold her fast,
if she could wraste away,
That then their hope shoulde want his hyre,
and mis his wyshed praye.
These shewe to thee, that he that woulde,
ryse vp by deade mens bones,
Muste play the bawde, the slaue, and loute,
and paynfull for the nones.
Beare well thy selfe, serue in suche sorte,
that naught maie be amended:
The testie, tethye, waspishe churle,
with pratlynge is offended.
Yet sumtymes that thou merelie,
lyke Dauus in the play,
Abate thy lookes, as thoughe the man
with presence did the fray.
Be euer duckinge downe to him:
if all things be not warme,
Besech him thou, to keepe him close,
leste haplie cum sum harme.
Be stille, and whishte, whilste he speakes oughte,
stretch out thy listninge eare,
And neuer cease to magnifye,
whatsoeuer thou doste heare.
In case he will be blasoned,
sounde and resounde his prayse
Forge and deuyse, puffe vp his harte
by any kynde of wayes.
What time the wretche drawes to his ende,
releasinge the of paine,
Then will he say, geue Vlixes,
a quarter of my gayne:
Of all my substaunce of this worlde.
which voice, then thou doste heare,
Alas (say thou) Dama my frende,
shall he no more appeare?
O Dama frende, wilte thou be gone?
how maye I haue so good,
So trusty true and stedfaste frende?
howle, crye as thou werte woode.
Weepe, if thou canste, a litle crashe,
dissemble all thy ioy,
Uppon his toumbe, an hansom coste,
and laboure eeke employ,
That neighbours maye commende thy facte,
and yet, a further note:
If one of thy cooparteners gin,
to rutle in the throte,
Take him asyde, and salue him fayre,
and tell him if he please,
He shall by howse, an lande of you,
for vse, or for his ease.
Muche more (as thou doste lyke of this)
to the I coulde haue sayde
But, I muste to my hellishe taske
perforce my toungue is stayde.
Proserpina, our tyraunte Quene,
so vengefull, and so fell,
Dothe hayle me hence, to byde the smarte,
with smouldred soules in hell.
Ye, worldlinges make suche shiftes as those,
adew, and fare you well.

The sixte Satyre.

People.
Good master, (you do know those goddes
because of neare accesse)
Must we to warre on Dasia,
our selues in armoure dresse?

Horace.
I harde it not.

Peo.
By gisse, (Horace)
you wil not leave your mockinge:

Hor.
Then on my heade (in stiddie wyse,)
let all the goddes be knocking.

Peo.
Cesar, made promisse he woulde geue
his souldiers grounde to tyll:
In Scycilie, or Italie?
Sir, what is Cesars will?

Horace.
Me swearinge, that I know nothinge,
they maruaile, as at one,
Of famouse taciturnitie,
and secret gyfte alone.
In cile, thus I spende my dayes,
in muche recourse of care:
O manor place, when shall I see,
thy groues so freshe, and fayre?
When shall I soundlye plye my booke,
and at my vacante howers
C (ut from the worlde) profoundlye sleepe,
amid the fragraunte flowers?
Pithagoras, when shall thy beanes,
or colewoorte sybbe of kynde,
Refreshe, my hungry appetyte.
whilste I haue supte or dynde?
O nightes, and suppers of the goddes,
in whiche both I and myne.
Make cheare, at home: my iollie men
do feede so cleane, and fyne?
Of all the townishe delicates,
of what, so lykes them beste,
My straungers francklye take repaste,
with lyuelye harte, at reste.
When, that our sobre companye,
begins to warme with drincke,
Of purchasinge, or supplantinge,
we do not eftsones thinke:
In trothe, our talke it multyplyes,
but not of baude, or queane,
Or who dothe friske it beste in daunce,
no, it is chaste, and cleane.
Of knowledge, most behoueable
as if in ryches be,
Or in vertue, the chefest good,
(I clepde felicitie.)
If frendship springe of vse, or gaine,
or do to vertue tende
What is the good calde soueraigne,
what is her verye ende.
If any praysinge hurtefull goodes,
of ignoraunce do fayle,
Our neyghbour Seruie, hearing that,
steppes in to tell his tale:
Full gosseplike, the father sage,
beginnes his fable then:

Fable toulde.

The countrye mouse, did enterteyne,
within her homelie den,
The citie mouse, the olde hostesse,
her olde acquainted frende,
Doth welcum, loth to sparple muche:
and yet for to vnbynde,
The corsey anguishe of her geste,
with syghtes of daintie fare:
Not hurded pulfe, nor longe stalkd otes,
(the prodigal) doth spare.
She serues in mouth the curnell drye,
the gobbets chewde of larde,
To please her geste, with cheefeste meates,
was cheeflie her regarde:
(Her geste that tasted on eche thinge
with toth of muche disdaine)
The rurall mouse eate new thrushde chaffe,
and put her selfe to paine:
Reseruing wheate, and cockle flower,
(two dishes of muche ioy)
Unto the fyne fed citizen,
a straunger all to coy.
At lengthe bespeakes, the cytie mouse,
my frende why lyke you still,
To lyue in countrye fastynglye,
vppon a craggie hill?
How say you? can you fynde in hearte
to haunte, and set more by
The citie, then the saluage woodes?
marche on, be boulde to trye.
Our earthelie soule is ruinouse,
not possible to flye,
From dinte of death, by any meanes,
the longeste liude muste dye.
Wherfore good sister, whilste thou maiste,
do bayth they selfe in blisse,
Remember aye, how shadowye,
and shorte this lyfe tyme is.
These sayings, moued the rusticall,
full lightlie leapeth she,
They both begin this gay exployte,
the citye for to see.
Benighted cum they to the towne:
(for, midnighte then did hyde
The midle parte of roumie skye)
when both at equall tyde,
Did presse their foote, in pallas proude:
where scarlet vestures reade,
On Iuery beddes, did glose with gleames,
as it were glowing gleade.
Muche was the noble remainder,
or gorgiouse supper paste,
Whiche was bestowed in baskets shutte,
not clasped very faste.
Therfore, this straunger (countrie mouse)
on purple quishion set,
The townishe dame (as nurturde well,)
her noble cattes doth fette.
A feaste, of much varyatie.
she like a seruinge page,
Dyd daine to go to bring, to taste,
in proper personage.
The trauailer, dothe lyke her chaunge,
and quyte deuoyde of feare,
As dedicate to feaste, and wealthe,
doth glade her selfe with cheare.
All sodeynly, the clappynge dore,
doth fraye them into flore,
Affrighted sore, a rounde they trip,
Dismayed more, and more.
Also the vaste, and ample house,
of mastie dogges did sounde,
The mowse, beset in sorye wyse,
doth shape her answere rounde:
Farewell. I neade not suche a lyfe:
the harmelesse wood, and caue,
Can comforte me, with fatche, and tare,
and so my bodye saue.

The seuenth Satyre.

Dauus.
Ere whyles, I listned to your wordes,
and sumthinge woulde haue sayde,
But, I a scruaunte, and Dauus,
was halfe, and more a frayde.
Dauus, a true, and trustie page,
so much as sence will geue.
A frende sir, so farre vnto you,
as I my selfe may lyue.

Simo.
Becawse our auncitours so woulde,
the freedom of decembre
Enioy speake out, all things amisse,
that, thou doste nowe remembre.

Dauus.
Some men do stifflye sticke to voyce,
and still pursue theire praye,
Sum, to, and fro, now well now woorse,
and kepe no common stay.
Lyke Priscus, chaunginge of his ringes,
who such attyre had boughte,
And chaungde his suites, so ofte a day,
him selfe hathe chaungde to noughte.
His house, and lande, to morgage layde,
yea, neede dothe him compell,
In simple cotage to abyde,
where scarce a slaue woulde dwell.
At Athins, verye studente lyke,
at Rome, a lustie lad,
I maruaile, what vnstable starres
what byrthsygnes, once he had.
Volauery, stickes to, one trade,
for gowte, he can not ryse,
And therefore nowe he fees a man,
to caste for him the dyse.
Such constaunte folke, be better, then
those chaunglings in and oute,
Who plunge in euerye follye which
theire heades can bringe aboute.

Simo.
Wilte thou not say, thou stretche hempe, thou
whome thou meanes in thy pratlynge?

Dauus.
I meane euen the

Si.
How so sir knaue?

Da.
For, thou wilte still be tatling.
In praysinge, state of forayn tymes,
but, if that thou mighste chuse,
And god would place the in those worldes,
no doubte, thou wouldste refuse.
Or thou in hearte didste neuer thincke,
whiche thou in worde hast sayde,
Or thou not stoutlie cleauiste to
the truth as halfe vnstayde.
Scarce fullie yet resolude, to plucke,
thy foote out of the myer.
At Rome thou loues to be abrode,
abrode thou doste desyre
To cum to Rome, and doste extoll,
that lyfe aboue the skye.
If thou beeste no mans geste abrode,
then doste thou magnifye,
The priuate cleare, as thoughe thou wouldste.
be bounde to lyue so still:
And thinckes it well, that thou ne goste,
to tipple, and to swill.
But if sum bid the cum indede,
thou lins, not then to crie,
Oyle, water, haste my seruants haste,
awaye, thou doste the hye.
Full manie sillie seruiters,
that wayte with emptie paunche,
Say to them selues, when will this churle,
his glutton stomake staunche?
I am a smelfeaste bellygod,
idle and full of slouthe
A greedie gut, and at a worde,
a seruaunte to my tothe.
Synce thou arte euen as yll, as I,
and worse to, in thyne harte,
Howe durst thou fyrst begynne with me,
as though thou better wart?
Thou canste disguyse thy synne with woordes,
thy wyckednesse vnfoulde,
Thou arte more foole, then I, which earste,
for fyftye grotes was soulde.

The satyre altered.

Explaine thy browes, restraine thy handes.
alay thyne anger fell,
What Cryspins porter, toulde of the
I will make boulde to tell.
(Quod he) Dauus, that sillye foole,
hathe not his masters caste,
His harte, is euer in his toungue,
for if the facte be paste:
He takes no sounder reste, whileste he,
hath chatterde oute the thinge,
Then dothe the swyne, that hathe her groyne
new wounded with a ringe.
In open day, in open streets,
he praunces, and he prates.
He makes the younkers, all a flote,
to breake the brothells gates.
His acts, are euer euydente,
and therefore, ryfe in talke,
Because, he doth not make pretence,
nor vnder coler walke.
His master, goes in sage attyre:
that geues a sober shue.
His master, solempne in his wordes:
that makes him seme so true.
Dauus in sighte of all the worlde,
dothe as I sayd before.
Simo, dothe all that pryuilye
much willinge, to do more.
Simo, is ryche and rubbes it out:
for goulde hath this by kynde,
To louse or tye the tongues of men,
and to contente their mynde.
Simo maye be a goose, a sheepe,
a noddie, and a daw,
And haue not giftes, or qualities,
to counterpeyse a straw:
Yet Parasytes, will tearme him good,
and wyse, at all assayes.
I wisse, redde goulde, can make a doulte,
a paragon of prayse.
If Dauus do but talke amisse,
a cockescombe, or a bell,
Such badges, mighte beseeme oft tyme,
the masters very well.
The reyster weares not alwaye plumes,
nor yet the deuill a tayle,
If euery foole did were a bell,
there would be iollye sayle.
Simo can laye to vsurie,
and yet by plea of sleighte,
He will persuade the thinge to be,
a sinne of little weighte.
So drunckennesse, is felowship,
furye, is manhood boulde,
Fondnesse, is francknesse, and scarcehead,
for thriftynesse, is houlde.
In fyne, no cryme, no vyce, no sinne
in Simo, muste be knowne:
No faulte in Dauus, but forthwith
with trumpet, it is blowne.
Yea, Simo can cloke leacherie,
or clepe it, by such name
That nowe, it seemes, a neyghborhood,
a thinge of little blame.

Simo.
He slaundered me, (Dauus my man,
I am no leacher, I.

Dauus.
Nor I a theefe, though, I woulde steale,
and yet for feare passe by
A peece of plate, but this I say,
take punishemente awaye:

Masters the more dissolute for defaulte of correction.

Nature woulde breake her brydle straighte
vnrulye without staye.
Canste thou, be calde my gouernoure,
which arte to vyces thrall,
To fansyes, pleasures, wrathe, and teene
sythens, I shun them all?
If all the customes of our courte,
woulde franchyse thee in libertie,
Thy feare of gooddes, wold make the slaue,
and keepe the still in villanie.
Also, an other argumente:
if, that your customes all,
A seruantes man, a substitute,
or fellowe seruaunte call,
What am I, respecte of you?
for thou haste rule on me,
A wretche, a subiecte, to thy luste,
as anye wretche can be.
My master, to a sencelesse blocke,
thats moued, by others mighte,
Pufte vp with pleasures plungie puffes,
may be resembled ryghte.

Simo.
Who then is free?

Da.
The wyse, that can
his owne affections stay.
Whom, neyther, neede nor death, nor grefe
of massye gyues can fraye.
Who, can be lorde vppon his lustes,
and hawghtie roumes dispyse,
Stronge, and sufficyente, in him selfe,
in full and perfitte wyse.
Nor passe vppon externall thinges,
commoditye, or gaine:
On whom fortune, his heuie frende,
doth make assaulte in vayne.
Canste, thou not note, by these fewe thinges
who maye be coumpted free?
Admit, an harlotte, pickde thy purse,
and much abused the,
And calls the to her house againe:
from yoke, and seruyle snare,
If thou beeste free, ridde then thy selfe,
thou canste not quenche thy care:
In dede, a tyraunte forces the,
and broaddes the forwarde still,
Doth twyne thy chappes and pricke the forth

Appetyde as tyraunte.

full sore againste thy wyll.
When, thou doste gase, on womans shape,
by Pausies hand portrayde:

Pausie a copaynter.

And I of other painters, workes,
my stedfaste lookes haue layde?
(To marke the rankes, the warlyke troupes
in letter lymmed playne:
And, howe they stryke, and how they warde,
and how they take their bayne:)
Thou altogether womannishe.

Synne in for uewing effeminate pictures.

her portrature doste viewe:
Who sinneth more, or thou, or I?
speake soothe, say me trewe.
Dauus, is counted slacke, and slowe,
if he do them suruey:
Simo, doth loue antiquities,
and iudgeth well they say.
They counte me naughte, if that I doe,
but make a little cheare:
It is a vertue thoughte in the
to banket all the yeare.
Why, is the pampringe of the paunche,
so hurtefull vnto me?
Becawse, my backe dothe beare the blowes,
if oughte displeaseth the.
How, doste not thou deserue the whip
that costlie cates doste bye,
And eates, and drinkes, and reuells still
Without all modestie?

One commoditie of glotonie.

Dainties, becum no daintie thinges,
where, there is naughte, but cheare,
Thy stackeringe stumpes, thy corsey corps
at lengthe will hardlie beare:
The seruante, if he steale but grapes,
is streighte attachde of felonie:
My master, sells his landes for meate
doth he not sinne in gluttonie?
A gaine thou arte not with thy selfe,
thou neuer arte at leasure,
Thou canste not reste, nor take a pause,
nor muse at thinges of pleasure.
Thou shunste, to reason with thy sowle,
her counsaile thou doste hate,

A verye hard thing to heare our faultes without coller

Per consequens, thou shunnes thy selfe
(full lyke a runnagate.)
Thou thinkes by sleepe, and bibbinge wyne
to banishe out all woes

Dauus.
Ah sirre, where myghte I get a staffe?

Simo.
wherefore? Simo: or ells a stone?

Dauus.
My master maddes, or maketh rymes,
he museth so alone.

Simo.
Excepte thou wilte be trudginge hence,
and make no more delayes,
Thou shalte goe to my manour place,
to woorke this nyne longe dayes.

The eyght Satyre.

Horace.
Howe doo you lyke the Epicures
repaste, so ryche, and gay?
This other daye, I sent for you,
and then I dyd heare say,
You dynd abrode.

Fund.
In faith, my frend
it lyked me so muche,
That ere this tyme, I doo beleue,
there neuer was one suche.

Horace.
If, that it be not tedious,
nor doo not you displease,
What meate was fyrst, your angrye mawe,
that gan for to appease?

Fundanus.
Fyrst, had we brawne from Lucanie
the Father of the feaste,
Sayde, he was slayne, when southerne wynde
his blusteryng blastes releaste.
Rapes, radishe, lettice, Sherwicke rootes,
brothes tarte in taste, and quicke
Came next, to make our stomake slowe,
more vrgently to pricke.
Fayre trenchers then was calde for straight,
the purple carpett dreste
Eche man desyres to sytte nexte hym,
that tauntyngly can ieste:
Ribauldes and cockescombes are in dede,
a sauce vnto our feast.
Fooles haue with vs a priuiledge
to tell who, what, and when,
Fooles speake ofte tymes, the very thoughtes
of wyse and wittie men.
There was the costly cullices,
the Turbut, and the Pyke,
The Porpose and the Porpentyne,
with many suche the lyke.
Pygge, partrige, peacocke, sparrowe, whale,
so many of a rowe,
That scarce the eater leaueth roome,
to fetche his wynde, or blowe.
All thynges, so formally brought in,
so solemnely assayde,
As though on alters to the Goddes,
the bankette had bene made.
What drinke you maisters (quod our hoste?)
Gascoyne, or Rennyshe wyne?
We haue of all sortes in this howse,
bothe lately brochde, and fyne.
Then, when that wyne had wonne the field,
and maisterde all our guesse,
Lorde, what it was a ioye to see,
howe some it downe dothe presse:
Lyke as the thynge that heauy is,
of Nature so is made,
(Excepte the same by violence
forholden be, and stayde)
To fall to grounde: lyke as the oke,
of substance styffe and stoute,
Cums downe, when he with dyntyng axe
is hewed rounde aboute:
So doo our hoglynges synke foorthewith,
(theyr heade a Baccus barge)
Wyne, is I tell you burdeynous,
and passyng full of charge.
Some synges of loue, and louers fittes,
and howe Cupides darte
Dyd smyte hym gentyll sowle amysse,
so beautyfull an harte.
Some mourne and blame their sorie fate,
why Fortune shoulde be suche,
That they suche blouddes, shoulde nothynge haue,
and others ouermuche.
Some chyde, some chatte, some raue, some reele,
and some can take the payne,
Of curtesye to geue myne hoste,
his supper vp agayne.
Some wyll vnfould bygge mysteries,
and frame his matter so,
As though he had aboue the reste,
gotte Phebus by the toe.
Some, wyll lament the state of tymes,
and howe that all is nought,
Howe thynges be rysen in theyr price,
and howe they haue ben bought.
Some sweare, that they haue lyued yll,
and howe to morowe daye,
They will accorde with all the worlde,
and gynne an other playe.
Howe Uertue is a perelesse dame,
howe fewe doo her imbrace:
This will they preache in gestryng wyse,
as though in publike place
The thynge were done (lo Horace lo)
our suppers and our cheare:
We spare no coste, we may not aske
if it be cheape or deare.
We keepe a troupe of seruynge men,
a crewe of lusty brutes,
And these for our great honours sake,
muste cutte it in theyr sutes.
These be our handye instrumentes,
to woorchen all our will,
Not scrupulous for to inquire
yf it be good or yll.
So many, so officious,
that not one heare may lye
Amisse on vs, but he or he,
will spye it by and by.
We laugh at those, when then are drunke,
those make a sporte alone:
To scoffe at straungers, when as they
with drinke are ouergone.

Horace
So, so, no more Cupide can not
from hyue of honey lycke,
But one or other bee, forthewith
will sting hym with her prycke.
The world, the hyue, the combes, the welth
whiche who so dothe assaye,
Pleasure in face, poyson in tayle,
Lyke Scorpion they wyll paye.
The stynges, that pricke, be chokyng cares
These hony tasters haue:
Whilst they are toste within them selues,
to seeke, or howe to saue.
Wealthe is a thynge moste venomous,
and fewe or none we fynde,
But pleasure hath lyke Circes cuppes
yturnde them from their kynde.
Why shoulde the wyse esteme so muche,
a rowte of waytyng men?
Who, in theyr age moste commonly,
what are they? beggers then.
Brought vp so lewde, contynue lewde
retchelesse, and ydell swaynes:
Not knowyng arte, or handycrafte,
nor able to take paynes.
To kepe them braue, doothe euen as muche
thyne honour true vpholde,
As yf thou shouldste make thee a tayle,
and gylde the same with golde.
Is hospitalitie in those,
in feedyng any suche?
In kepyng stronge and heddy drynkes,
in beluynge ouermuche?
Lyke spunges neuer satisfied,
and lyke Ulisses foes,
From meate to bed, from bed to meate,
and so their circle goes.
Deuisers of all wantonnesse,
what should I tell you more?
Good, to increase and multiplye,
their lorde or maysters skore.
I do suppose, that yf mens wealthes,
shoulde answere to theyr wylles,
That nyght and daye woulde scarse suffice,
to reuell out theyr fylles.
Eche man is counted of moste price,
and mete to be a lorde,
As he with dyshes can depaynt,
and ouercharge a borde.
No talke howe wyse, how vertuous,
or to take paynes howe able,
But yf he kepe great store of drynke,
or honourable table.
Therfore some people parasites,
that they may seeme to passe,
Wyll spende out maluesey, muscadell,
and fumyshe hypocrasse.
And make their cookes looshiously,
theyr delicates to dresse
Their very meates in insensiue,
broughte in, in suche excesse:
That I doo lothe them more in mynde,
as thynges more full of harme,
Then, if that witche, that Canadie,
had cursde them with her charme.