 | The Mastive, or Young-Whelpe of the Olde-Dogge |  |
SATYRS.
Magnis, peccata minus.
Yee nimble Satyrs, that with howling straine,Belch out the poysoned' Canker yee containe
Of Earths pollution, and the worlds offence,
Maskt and obscur'd with secret vile pretence;
You that delight to torture men aliue,
And through the channels of destruction diue;
Avaunt, dispatch, and looke yee not protract,
To bring to light, each hainous horrid act.
What? Stand yee fearfull of mens outward features?
Or dread ye shadowes but of painted Creatures
Whose seeming outsides onely made for showe
Assume the substance which themselues not know;
Or is't because you scorne to dignifie
The leawde ambition of prowd bastardie;
Where can yee finde within Earths continent,
Men of that rare refined Element
Who fearing to be damnd or checkt for blame,
Are more lesse subiect vnto sinne then shame;
But so delight in lewdness to excell,
As they prooue Diuells before they come to Hell;
Drunck with the dregges of sinnne insatiate,
Appearing Monsters most adulterate.
Carelesse of Blisse, of Conscience, or of Soule,
Till glut of guiltines their deedes controule:
And they with Vleers so infected are,
As euery limme is blemisht with a skarre
Of shamelesse, leawde, and loath'd iniquitie,
Sprung from the loynes of lust and infamie.
Which thus hath made them Chiildren for the Diuell.
And now swolln bigge with blushlesse Impudence,
Presume their greatnes may with Ioue dispence.
prescribing to themselues those rules of reasons,
As must accord with their owne times and seasons.
What's hee that's drunck, or sursets (hauing wealth)
But will alledge t'is Physicke for his health.
That Uenus sports and Carnall appetite
Are for euacuation requisite.
That murder rape and incest (threatning ruth)
Are all but held as idle toyes of Youth.
Mischiefes that pleasures bring who would preuent,
Ther's tyme (say they) hereafter to repent.
Or that their best of deedes are done too late,
If to be damnd it be predestinate.
Some Woolues in Sheep-Skinnes wrapt gainst such men barke,
And care not what themselues doe in the darke.
Yet chiefly are ordaind to rule the rout,
Because their Office herein beares them out.
Who knowes not Greatnes may dispence with Lawes,
Thers no resistance in a rich mans cause.
For those bewitching Obiects, Golde and pleasure,
Are Plutoes Agents that augments his treasure.
And do perswade vs, there's no Hell but feare,
No life, nor ioy, nor paine, but this life here.
The weake ones wanting grace streight follow this,
Credulitie in ill, robbs man of blisse.
Man wrongs his Maker by his want of merit,
Sinne giues a sharpe edge to a Satyrs spirit.
Pyde Uanitie, th' inticing bayte for Fooles,
Muffles our Knowledge, to intrappe our Soules.
The world growne Aged, should prepare to end,
But Nature so gainst reason doth contend.
And to be vertuous now is held a crime.
For those seuen Sciences their grounds of Arts,
Haue euermore possest their sacred parts.
Which seuen wide steppes vnto Damnation,
Deciph'red are in order one by one.
First, Selfe-lou'd Pride, the Idoll of the Court,
Is Plutoes Agent drest to make him sport.
And that mis-shapen Monster Drunkennesse,
Is his sworne Taster to the Furies messe.
Next horrid Murder, makes his veynes to swell,
And is as Butcher to the King of Hell.
Couetousnesse is his chief'st Officer,
And Enuie forreine-States Interpreter.
Sloath is his Chamber-groome, and makes the Bed
To Lust, his Sodomitick Ganymed.
Thus Pluto spends the TIME amidst those Reuills,
That first for pleasure were deuizde by Diuells.
Who surfetting at length, made drunk with myrth,
Casts vp those Monsters to defile the Earth
That with weake Frailtie, lickes those vomits vp,
For Plutos Nectar, which must fill his Cuppe.
These Hellish States-men, these soule-killing sinnes,
To follow here on Earth who so beginnes.
And meanes to practise, as they come but neare him,
Well may hee know GOD, but hee cannot feare him.
Trahit sua quemque Uoluptas.
Howle on yee Satyrs, whilst I sit and marke,How wolfish-Enuie at my Muse doth barke.
Backbite, detract, rayle, slaunder, and reuile,
With words of hatred and vnciuill stile,
And many better Bookes hee passing ouer,
By chaunce findes this, whereon he reades a while,
Then bytes the lippe, then frownes, then giues a smile,
And to the Seller sayes such fiery braines,
Should warme the prison to reward their paines.
Becomes it any man of his profession,
Reproue vs of our manners or transgression?
Away goes hee; Next comes my gallant Dycer,
His ordinarie stomacke is more nicer,
Who asks for new Books; this the Stationer showes him:
Streight sweares t'is nought vnles the Poet knows him.
Nor will hee read a Line: this Fortunes Mynion,
Likes forsooth nothing but his owne opinion.
The mending Poet takes it next in hand,
Who hauing oft the Verses ouer-scand.
O filching streight, doth to the Stationer say,
Heer's foure lines stolne from forth my last New-play.
And that hee'l swere euen by the Printers Stall,
Although hee knowes tis false hee speakes in all.
Then comes my Innes-of-Court-Man, in his Gowne,
Cryes Mew, what Hackney, brought this wit to towne,
But soone againe my gallant Youth is gon,
Minding the Kitchin more then Littleton.
Tut, what cares hee for Law, shall haue inough,
When's Father dyes, that Cankard Miser-Chuffe.
Put him a Case in Ploydon then who will,
That being his, plod you on Law-Bookes still.
Next comes by my Familiar, yet no Spirit,
Who forceth me his Friendship to inherit.
He sees my Booke in Print, and streight hee knowes it,
Then asketh for the Booke, and the Boy showes it.
Then reades a while and sayes, I must commend it,
But sure, Some Frend of his for him hath pend it.
For well I wote t'was nere his Occupation.
Besides by Checquer-Clarks, that oft haue seene him,
I nere could heare of Schollership was in him.
Twere good to poze him but to haue it knowne,
Or t'is no matter, let it euen alone.
Next after him, your Countrey-Farmer viewes it,
It may be good (saith hee) for those can vse it.
Shewe mee King Arthur, Beuis, or Syr Guye,
Those are the Bookes he onely loues to buye.
Well, that he likes and walkes. Then comes a Diuell,
With sober countenance, and Garments ciuill.
A Puritane, or pure one, choose you whether,
(For both as one makes selfe-same sense together.)
Hee lookes on some, and finding this the next,
With very sight therof his minde is vext.
Fye ont't (saith he) that any man should buye,
Such Bookes prophane of fained Poetrie,
That teacheth vice, worse then your Playes on Stages,
And is a shame to olde and future Ages.
To louing Brother-hoods Communitie,
That are defilde by such impuritie.
Away retires my fained Publican,
And after him next comes my Seruing-man.
Who calls for new Bookes, heres one sayes the Boy,
He reads, and tells him, tut, this is a toy,
And nere will please our Maides that take delight,
In bookes of Ladies or some valiant Knight.
Those wittie workes buyes hee, and thence he passes,
Next him comes my Scholaris, mongst those Asses;
Who scarce vouchsafes his eyes thereon to glance,
Or reading but a line or two by chance.
Must on it streight way striue to breake a iest,
(As who shall know hee's wiser then the rest.)
Ile nere allow that good which hath no Lattin.
Besides, how'euer I disdaine to read him,
Vnles I knew what House or Colledge bred him.
Lo thus my Batchellour of little Artes,
Will needes (presage t'is naught) and so departs.
At length comes-by my Mungrell home-spun Clarke,
Whose Antique gesture I beseech you marke.
No sooner this my Booke in hand he seeth,
But rubs his elbow, showes his butter teeth,
And sayes, Is't English? then let him alone,
For other language (tells you) learnt he none.
But knowes by whome this Epigram was made,
Hee's iust saith hee a man of mine owne Trade.
Then on the sudden falls his courage downe,
Finding a Clarke translated from a Clowne.
Which hauing read, n'ere asks him how they fell,
But steales away, and shames to bid Farewell.
Last comes my scoffing Friend of scowring wit,
Who thinks his iudgement boue all Arts doth sit.
He buyes the Booke, and hastes him to the Play,
Where, when he coms, and reads, Heer's stuffe doth say.
Because the lookers on may hold him wise,
He laughs at what he likes, and then will rise,
And takes Tobacco; Then about will looke,
And more dislike the Play, then of the Booke.
At length is vext hee should with charge be drawne,
For such slight sights to lay a Sute to pawne.
A Number more like Addle braines as these,
I could giue Physicke to for their disease.
But better subiects shall employ my penne,
Then the Low-minded muddy drosse of men,
That wrong our labours by their duller spirits,
And iudge vs by their hate, not by our merits.
That can finde fault at my Satyricke Rimes.
Good men will loue mee, whiles the bad I lose.
Hee that speakes alwayes truth, is sure of Foes.
Sic Transit gloria Mundi.
Marke & you loue me, who's yond marching hither,Some braue Low-countrey-Captain, with his feather
And high-Crownd-hat, see into Paules he goes,
To showe his Doublet and Italian Hose.
The whiles his Corporall walkes th' other Ile,
To see what simple Gulls he can beguile,
In hope of purchase, for if such he meet,
They follow must his Captaine through the Street.
Where the poore Gulls before this Leader stand,
With lowly reuerence, and their Hats in hand.
Houering an Idoll, for true worth it selfe,
Because he keeps him braue with wrong got-pelfe.
But note this Gallants Genealogie,
Then shall you see his byrth and progenie.
His Father liu'd by gaming to defraude,
His Mother was an Ale-wife and a Bawde.
Yet doth this Outside so deceyue mens sight.
As oftentimes hee's taken for a Knight.
But Farewell Captaine, and now note this man,
This griping Mammon that doth all he can
To bee on Earth Great Plutoes-Treasurer,
And when he dies, in Hell an Officer.
This Slaue in Cash hath forty thousand pound,
Yet such a wretch there breaths not on the ground.
His Parents in their liues, gaue him their state,
But he returnd their loues with matchlesse hate.
He nourisht was by sucking of their blood.
And now possest of all they had before,
Vnnaturally against them shuts his Dore.
Yet now this Monster liues to doe more euill,
Lurking here still a Ledger for the Diuell.
The next to him comes Prodigalitie,
A Townesmans Heire strowting in brauerie.
This Foole makes Suppers for Whores, Bawds, & Cheators,
Yea, lends them money, but to call them Debtors.
Nere lookes to hate' againe: Cousnage defeat him,
When he wants Money at his neede, they beate him.
No wonder, for hee more deserues by halfe,
Tis good enough for such a golden Calfe.
Of whom a man may trulie prophesie,
His ende will be diseased Beggerie.
Next a penurious Miser wretch comes forth,
That owes his bellie more then he is worth.
Yea, faine would seede out of the Prisoners basket,
Wert not for feare, or shame, he durst not aske it.
Yet hath his Shoppe and Cellers stufft with Wares,
Which to make profite of hee onely cares.
Nere breakes the interest that thence redounds,
But is as prouident in pence as pounds.
Who to saue charges faine would woolward goe,
But that he doubts the world thereof should know.
Tut, penny sau'de (saith hee) is penny got,
Spend they that meane to begge, I like it not.
If labour or preuention can it let,
Heel' not in Fleete or Counter lye for Debt.
No, no, such Husbands as are worldly wise,
Will spend no more then nature shall suffise.
As not to drinke more then their braynes can carie,
For feare their iudgements from their wits should varie.
To make him proue a damned Vsurer.
Adding still Interest to the principall,
Till in the ende hee hang himselfe for all.
But note what sober Citizen comes next,
That like a Preacher will expound a Text.
And tell what danger comes by doing euill,
Speake like a Saint, and doe worse then a Diuell.
For Golde heel' wrong his Father, cheat his Brother,
And yet these faults reproues hee in an other.
Who vnder cloake of Ciuill pollicie,
Presumes to couer all his villanie.
Pluto takes pride to see these plants so flourish,
Who as his Children hee desires to nourish,
And takes them home when they haue spent their prime
Least tarrying long they should corrupt more time.
But wherefore rippe I vp those dregges of men,
That wrongs true labour and a Satyrs pen.
To treat of Warres or Actions to be done,
Let next the Current of your Channells runne.
A Paradox in praise of Warre.
Peace thou Corrupter of Mortalitie,Mother of shame and base securitie.
Whose beggerd wombe so many Bastards brings,
Three parts must starue, the rest like demie Kings,
Raigne ore their Brothers, all maligne their byrth,
To haue one Father, yet are Slaues on Earth.
Aide mee ye powers, whose influence got you Fame,
To rippe the wombe of peace, and shewe her shame.
Peace makes a faire showe, but tis fowle within,
Peace like to Riuers, feedes a Sea of sinne.
And in a iust cause mans renowne increase.
T'is wholsome Warre dissolues the course of sinne,
Men best repent, when dangers neere beginne
To shew their Faces'; but whiles peace doth hold,
Our strength is weake, and our Deuotion cold.
Safety from worldly danger makes men thinke,
They that stand fast on earth shall neuer sinke.
The Countrey-Myser that his gold preserues,
To feede him fatte whiles many thousand starues,
Is thus occasiond by this slothfull peace,
Which lessens vertue to make vice increase.
T'is fearelesse Peace makes pleasure mans chiefe God,
We want both sight and feeling of Warres rodde.
That Land more happie is that Warre doth nourish,
Causing the world in better state to flourish.
For danger makes vs feare a sudden ende,
Feare saddes the soule because it did offend.
The feare of danger makes each man prepard,
And of his ill past life to haue regard.
Danger calls Conscience to a strict account,
Repentance makes a heauie soule to Mount.
Tis soft securitie lulls men in sinne,
That onely couet but Earths ioyes to winne.
Tis idle Peace that breedes in vs such faction
As kills at home, for want of Forraine action.
The Valiant man doth hence his Fame increase,
Maintaines himselfe by warres, growes poore by peace!
Hence flowes the fountaines of detected vice,
Sloath, Lust, Deceipt, and filthie Auarice.
Extortion, Usurie, and gaines Excesse,
Gryping the Liuing of the Fatherlesse.
So they by vse or fraude their bagges may fil.
In show of goodnes they'l commit all ill.
And make them poore by Law, that such dares crosse.
For this all-wishing-Golde is of that force,
As muffles Iustice, and exiles Remorce.
Golde in these times can turne the wheele of Fate,
And make them best belou'd deserues most hate.
Golde can make peace ioyne hands of deadly Foes,
Gold can make warre again wound peace with blowes:
T'is peace that makes this Indian Golde ador'd
This golden Calfe Idolatrizde, abhor'd.
Golde in the soule breedes such an alteration,
As men desire it more then their saluation.
Some cut mens throats for Golde, commit all euils,
Gold makes them Gods on Earth, and in Hell Diuels.
T'is pursie Peace that makes it of such price,
And is the Mother of all sinne and vice.
Making vs prone to all securitie,
Which thus proceedes through times securitie.
Peace makes Religion faint, and not regarded,
Uertue a Beggar, Learning vnrewarded.
Strange new Damnations, drowzie Peace beginnes,
And now the world well knowes the worst of sinnes,
Which through securitie doe so increase,
As endlesse plagues are matched still with Peace.
Plura sequerentur.
| The Mastive, or Young-Whelpe of the Olde-Dogge | |