Tyros Roring Megge Planted against the walles of Melancholy. One Booke cut into two Decads [by T. Tyro] |
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| 2. | Decad 2. |
 | Tyros Roring Megge |  |
Decad 2.
Epig. 1.
A threed-bare prouerbe, Youth must haue a swing,For greener age flies with a wanton wing.
It was the sober season of the yeare,
When Pisces and Aquarius dominiere,
It's cleaped Lent. Tom Tyros itching legges
Aduertisde him to take his leaue of egges,
And get him flesh. The rake-hell strain'd his wit,
To compasse rost meate for the naked spit.
He gat him gone vnto a neighbour towne,
To see what pullen stragled vp and downe:
He went a thousand paces long and tall,
Ere he could spie one bird Domesticall:
At last he cast his eye vpon a gander,
That from his fellowes new began to wander:
He threw, and hat, and made a deadly hole,
In the true keeper of the Capitole.
An old old Beldame plodded there along,
Whose teeth did waggle faster then her tongue:
He ranne, she followed with a yelling sound,
And tucked vp her dirtie sauegard round.
But Tyro floated on the beaten way,
Like a swift vessell on the yeelding sea:
She faire and softly walkt in pausing moode,
And tract the felon by the Ganders blood.
The ruddie sunne forsooke our Hemispheare,
The new-faln droppes led this olde bloud-hound hie,
To an out-chamber, where she did espie &c.
The heauie accidents that then befell
My merry Muse may not abide to tell.
Yet thus much: Tyro stampt, and fret, and swore,
Neuer to prey on foolish goose-flesh more.
Epig. 2.
Tyro the dastard needs would learne to swim:Yet durst he not come nie the riuers brim.
He saw the tempting grauell through the cleere,
And yet he trembled like the heartles deere.
Pleasure a spur, and Danger was a reyne,
That prickt him forward, this did him deteyne.
But goodly well anon he can deuise
To checke himselfe for shamefull cowardize.
Crauen, he saies, pluck vp thy fainting heart:
Albe thou want renowned Digbies art,
Or swift Palæmons matchles facultie,
Yet mayest thou wade withouten ieopardie.
O minde degenerate, what needst thou feare?
Proud Thamis dashing sourges are not heere.
False-harted lad, go cut the cristall waue,
Fortune is with them that stout courage haue.
He laide him downe, and gan to be so bolde,
As feele the water whether hot, or colde:
Whether his head went first, the truth to tell,
I weene not certainly, but in he fell.
Let not the foote my tender shin-bon punch,
Whose dayly burthen gaue so loude a lunch.
Was neuer liuing eye saw finer tree,
His head the roote, his legges the branches bee.
And set him on his ten toes by and by.
He hid his chilling bare, and home he went,
And lay bed-ridden till sixe weekes were spent,
Since when he wisht the reason might be found,
How chance diue-dappers liue so long vndrownd.
Epig. 3.
Bvt ah, what meant I to forbeare this while,To tell of Tyros Steeple-climing stile?
Had sweete-lipt Tully slaunting Tyro seene,
Cratippus had not his sonnes Tutor beene:
Had mightie Philip knowne this wittie elfe,
Platos great scholler might haue hang'd himselfe.
The greater beare, and the still-standing light
He can demonstrate in a winter night.
And yet (I blush) three loaues of horses bread
Set bolt-vpright, are leuell with his head.
Time was when he that did the credite win,
Had store of excrement vpon his chin.
Now he that looketh with a visage graue,
Is hight a blocke, a stocke, a knaue, a slaue.
Time was, (and then it was the time of ioyes,)
When men were men, and prating lads were boies.
Epig. 4.
All white, all white: T'was uoisde amidst the streetes,That lechers two stood vp in sinfull sheets.
When Tyro knew the tydings to be stale,
He vp and told this prettie Poets tale.
Iunos lewd Husband sleeping in the night,
Begot a diuell that Agdistis hight.
And not his fellow-diuelles fauourite.
Wherefore the hel-hounds menaced amaine,
To prune the worthier member of the twaine.
The deede made good the word: without delay
They cut it off, and threw it quite away.
The needelesse part (forsooth) was presently
Transmewd into a fruitfull Almon-tree.
Heer's all. If leachers might such haruest reape,
Then Almon-butter would be better cheape.
Epig. 5.
The Lap-wing, when her nest is nothing neere,Deludes the boy, and cries, Its here, its here:
So Tyro. Deest fortasse quippiam.
Epig. 6.
Merry it was, when Tyro in a throng,Thus praysed Cherilus for skill in song.
Well sang the Bird that neuer sings amisse,
The Vocall musicke most delightfvll is.
When Cherils throate is swild with butterd beare,
He Syren-like inchaunts the tune-full eare.
Nay further, hee's the Nightingale alone,
That sings a Triple, or a three to one.
At large or long he will not come behinde,
So he may rest, for feare he loose his wind.
He can be breefe, ne thinks he it a crime
To sing a common song in minym time.
Cherils estate has bene at, ha now, ha,
Ere since he vsde vt, re, mi fa, sol, la.
Epig. 7.
When Tyro sawe faire pictur'd in a bookeThe gilt-hornd hart that swift Alcides tooke,
He tolde the standers by, he would not rest,
Vntill he caught a Swallow (in her nest.)
Epig. 8.
The wilfull Papist could not Syllogize,Yet, in his owne conceit, he only wise.
A very verbal youth, yet, like a man,
He magnified his father Campian.
Then Tyro thus.
Not Bellarmine the prim-rose of your sect,
With all his Sophistrie can me infect.
Nor Stapleton, that goodly branch of thyme
Whereon the Roman bees delight to clime.
Sir boy: know that my gall doth grate for teen,
That thy poore shankes with Ringes molested been.
Rings with a vengeance, for they cry clinke, clincke,
Yet when they come toth' brooke, they wil not drinke.
Now by Saint Tan thy tortled rings do shew
That olden Poets sober sawes be trew.
For why, beneath thy knees cast but an eye,
And there our Yron Age thou shalt espie.
Blamst thou thy rings? thou doest them wrong I wis:
A Circle the most perfect figure is.
If by a right lyne thou doe downward slide,
And the Tyburnian Triangle diuide,
The Maxime will prooue, sound. Wel, sirrah, mend,
And saue your selfe from such a doggish end.
Epig. 9.
A noble Student had a hauke at mew,And Robin Falc'ner for a weeke or two
Must needs be absent: so the bird must die.
It Tyro looke not to her carefully.
The wagge was loth, yet daring not say no,
He saide, good Robin, tell me, ere thou go,
What diet she does vse: now welaway,
Whether worms, or curdes be best I cannot say.
The Faulc'ner smil'd, and askt him if he iested,
And giuing Cut the rowell, him requested
To giue each meale a pigeon all but bones.
And pepper her, and see shee want no stones.
He gon, Tom Tyro looked all about,
And seeing nought but trees, these wordes burst out.
Stones? pepper? pigeons? pigeons? pepper? stones?
Faulcones six dishes, and I liue with bones?
Study, bookes, papers, burne you al in one:
Who buyes all Tully? take it: Ile be gone.
Yet ere I iournie Ile go see the Kyte:
Come, come bird, come: pox on you, can you mute?
I now conuaie my selfe incontinent
To'th shambles for this vermins nourishment.
Butcher, and freind: I pray thee let me see
A Bull, or Tup, or Oxe-calfe presently,
And cut his hangers off: pepper and these
The only fare that will a Faulcon please.
Wo ho: fall too: no pigeons can be got
But I haue bought thee better meate I wot.
Eate lesser bittes, for, if your haukeship choke,
My gowne and twelue pence for an honest cloke.
Epig. 10.
Mounting Elpenor had a simple fall,His braines were onely dasht against a wall
And Icarus that hieaspiring slaue,
Had but his corps sowst in a water graue.
Tyro, a word: lift not thy chinne so hie:
Tis shame that thy pen-featherd Muse should flie.
Were I as dumbe as a Seryphian frogge,
My signes should tell what doth my stomacke clogge.
Rather than at thy foolerie Ile winke,
My nose shall be my penne, the droppings inke.
| Tyros Roring Megge | |