Ivvenilia :: :: University of Virginia Library

My Muse, that now hath done the best she can
To blaze corrupted Passion bred in man,
Goes further here, and meaneth to undoe
Another knot of ils hee's prone unto.
From which as out of the maine root there growes
All whatsoever evill, Mankind knowes.
With thousands of bad humors; of which some
Such as to minde by observation come;
As also such as are the proper crimes
Of these ungodly and disorder'd times)
She meanes to treat of. The chiefe heads be these,
Consider of them Reader if thou please.)

122

First, wanton and light-headed Vanity,
Next that, Chamelion-like Inconstancy;
Then, miserable Weakenesse; lastly this,
Damned Presumption, that so daring is.

But ere I doe begin this worke, that I
May speake to purpose with sincerity,
Lord, I beseeeh thee helpe me to explaine,
And teach me to contemne the thing that's vaine.
I have begun in thee this my endeavour,
And constancy vouchsafe me to persever:
My knowledge I confesse to be but weake,
Yet through thy Strength and Truth I hope to break!
These mires of sin, from which mankinde (kept under)
Must be let loose like beds of Eeles by thunder.

Then that I may mans pride the better see,
From all Presumption Lord deliver me.
Likewise disperse those foggie mists of sin,
That to my purpose have an hindrance bin:
And th' evill by thy wisedome I perceive,
Lord let thy mercy give me grace to leave:
That being free my selfe, I may not coldly
Tax others faults, but reprehend them boldly.

So having for this good assistance prai'd,
My Muse goes forward trusting to thine aide
To guide me through the wildernesse of sin,
Great Vanities Survey: for being in
I see now 'tis an intricate Mæander,
In which (I feare) I shall confus'dly wander.
It is a Labyrinth so full of waies,
And seemes so endlesse if my pen once straies,
As doth the Fisherman amazed stand,
That knoweth not which way to rowe to land,
When all alone in some close misty day,
Farre from the Haven he hath lost his way;

123

Knowing we may as well strike up the maine,
As turne unto the wished shore againe:
So I doe feare lest this may carry me
Into an Ocean where no Sea-markes be.
Because what way soere my course I bend,
There Vanity I see without all end.
Which hath not under her subjection gain'd.
Such things alone as are on earth contain'd,
Or underneath the Orbs of Aire and Fire,
But reaches further and encroches higher:
According to his meaning who said plaine,
That all things underneath the Sun were vaine.

But now I thinke it may a question be,
Whether the Sun, the Moon and Stars be free:
For sometimes false predictions they impart,
Or are belied by abused Art.
But of man onely here my Muse must tel's,
Who is by much more vaine than all things else.
For Vanity his reason over-swaies;
Not onely one some certaine Moneths and Daies,
But is at all times in him resident,
As if it were his proper accident.
Neither doth age in which he groweth on,
Any thing lessen the proportion
Of Vanity he had. But in the steed
Of some rejected follies there succeed
Others as bad. For we perceive when Boies
Begin to man (asham'd of childish toyes)
They then leave off their former idle chat,
And foolish games; but what's the cause of that?
For being ill; no rather they contemne
Those bad things, as not bad enough for them.

And as one poore plaies first for points and pins;
Once waxing rich, leaves that game and begins

124

To venter crownes, and so from day to day
Growes more and more asham'd of slender play
As he growes abler: So, young men forsake
The rope-ripe tricks, that their first age did take
Chiefe pleasure in; nor cause they wicked deem them,
But being men, they thinke twill not beseeme them.
Then hounds and hawks and whores are their delight
Quarrels and Brawles doe fit their humors right,
Disordred meetings, drunken Revellings,
Consuming Dice, and lavish Banquetings,
Proud costly Robes. This is the Youngmans veine:
Which he that elder is dislikes againe.
Not since ill neither: but because his yeeres
Him unto other Vanities endeares.
As Selfe-conceipt, much care for worldly pelfe,
Heaping up what he neare enjoyes himselfe.
Prone to Contentions, much desiring still,
Be it his weale or woe, to have his will.
Extreamly loving lies, and given to prate,
Yet making shew as if he both did hate.
Yea old men boast of what they did in youth,
Which none disprooving, we must take for truth:
And thousands more (or else they are belide)
Each age is pestred with; And yet beside,
Vanities proper unto each degree,
Millions of thousands I suppose there be.

Princes have these; They very basely can
Suffer themselves that have the rule of Man,
To be o'er-borne by villaines: so insteed
Of Kings they stand, when they are slaves indeed.
By bloud and wrong a heavenly Crown they'l danger
T'assure their State here (often to a stranger.)
They quickly yeeld unto the batteries
Of slie insinuating flatteries;

125

Most bountifull to fooles, too full of feare,
And farre too credulous of what they heare;
So given to pleasure, as if in that thing
Consisted all the Office of a King.

But if herein my harmelesse halting Rimes,
Were onely ti'd unto this Place and Times,
And should of none but of my Soveraigne tell,
Spight of her heart she could not speake but well.
For I suppose (the Truth I must confesse)
That Vanity no Prince ere harbor'd lesse
Than he hath done, unlesse corrupted stories
Rob former ages of deserved glories.

If any say, to sooth I now devise,
His heart I know will tell his tongue he lies:
And did not I thinke true what here I sing,
Iustice I would not wrong to please the King.

Great men are vaine too, in much seeking fames,
With Nimrod and his mates; they raise their names
By building Babels. Yea and they suppose,
Honour consists in titles and in showes.
They Thraso-like in Parasites delight,
That doe in presence claw, in absence bite.
They use their pleasures not as pleasures now,
Or recreations as 'twere fit: but how?
'Tis all their care; their chiefe and only joy;
In satisfying which they doe imploy
Both wealth and wit and all. If they would take
Something in hand for recreations sake,
They are with pleasures so o'er-cloid we see,
It must be that which their affaires should be:
A wondrous Vanity! And all their care
Is for rich raiment and the curious fare;
Pampring their flesh when all is but in vaine,
For dust it was and shall to dust againe.

126

Then sith their evils we seeme not to see,
(In vaine) they thinke that they well thought of be.
Tush; men doe spare their lewdnesse to repeat;
Why? cause th' are faultlesse; No, because th' are great.
But for their vices, though now none dare show them
Vnlesse they mend, another Age shall know them:
And therefore if they count their Honours deare,
Let them be good as well as great-men here.
Let them leave Vanity, and not suppose
The world will ever blinded be with showes.
For that great mighty Peere that died lately,
Ere while was mighty, powerfull and stately:
He was much croucht unto, and much implor'd;
Yea, almost, like a Demi-god ador'd.
He onely (as my selfe have heard some prate)
Was the upholder of the Britanes State.
And all the wit this Kingdome did containe,
Some thought was harbour'd in his little braine:
And had he liv'd (if all be true men say)
He might have well beene Pater Patriæ.
But now (alas) hee's gone, and all his Fame
You see not able to preserve his Name
From foule reproch: but each one breakes his mind:
Which shewes that though they winkt they were not blind
In spight of all his greatnesse, 'tis well known
That store of rimes and libels now are sown
In his disgrace. But I here divers say.
That they are slanders. (Then the more knaves they
That were the Authors) but if so it be
He were from those vile imputations free;
If that his vertue's paid with such a curse,
What shall they look for, that are ten-times worse

Well Nobles; I'l the Court ere long survay:
And if I finde among you such as stray

127

Through vanity or pride (unlesse they be
Offences flowing from infirmity)
If there be no man that dare tax you for't,
My Muse shall doe it; e'en to make me sport.
For though she keepe but a plaine hobbling forme,
She shall have wit enough to make you storme.
I will not spare you thus, till death doth fet yee;
But rub you whilst you are alive to fret yee.
Yet doe not think I meane to blaze your shame
In scattered libels that shall want a name:
No, I hate that: I'l tell the ils you doe,
And put my name for witnesse thereunto.
Then 'tis but fetching me ad Magistratum,
And laying to me Scandalum Magnatum:
Which though you prove not, rather yet than faile
You were best hang or clap me in to Iaile
To stay my tongue, so much you may doe to me,
And that's the worst I know that you can doe me.

But whither runs my over-sawcy pen?
There's vanity besides in Noblemen.
The Gentleman for some repute but vaine,
Beyond his power often times doth straine.
Our Yeomen too, that never Armes have borne.
To Gentilize it makes themselves a scorne:
But their gaine's envy, with a greater charge;
Yet of these fooles the Catalogue is large.

Then ere that lesson be halfe taken forth,
They must adde knight-hood, or 'tis nothing worth.
Mony may get it, therefore many sue it,
Although with shame and beggery they rue it.
And credit they expect in vaine thereby,
For it turnes rather to their infamy;
Because it is bestowed without deserts:
And yet in troth our Knights have done their parts:

128

For most have well deserv'd it; but as how?
Bravely in Field; e'en in a field at plow.

But why looke we in meere humanity,
For that which savours not of vanity;
Sith Divine mattars cannot quite be free,
But with the same must oft corrupted be?
Divines strive not so much how to impart
The truest doctrines; as to shew their art.
They grace their speech, more with vaine words for sound
Than with grave sayings needfull and profound,
But 'tis a vaine thing, wondrous full of shame,
And in my judgement highly merits blame,
To paint o'er that, whose beauty's never fuller
Than when it shines forth in its proper colour.

Againe, on Accidents they arguing sit,
And doe meane while the substance oft omit
Of most essentiall matters. And so they stand
(With many wrangling spirits in this Land)
Vpon such idle questions as they know
'Tis no great matter on which side they goe:
And such as best (in my conceit) befits
None but unquiet and seditious wits.

Here's my opinion: be they not the chiefe
Grounds of Religion, or the same Beliefe
Salvation comes by, that men goe about
By their new-fanglednesse to bring in doubt.
So't be not that they touch (as sure they dare not)
Let all the rest goe which way twill, I care not.

Have not our Lawyers many vaine delaies,
Vnnecessary Writs and idle staies,
To lengthen out mens suits, when they might foyle
The party faulty e'en with halfe that quoyle?
They'l for their fee relate some pretty Tale,
Like the wise story of old Iackei'th vale,

129

Which (if they once have thorowly begun)
Vndoes them quite that tarry til't be done,
Iacke Doe, Dicke Roe, with whom y'ad ne'er to doe,
They'l bring to help your cause, and God knows who
And for your benefit they can afford
Many a foolish, senselesse, idle word.
Which they I know will not account as vaine,
Sith that 'tis with a Vengeance brings them gaine.

Besides, as I suppose their Lawes are pend
In their old Pedlers French, unto this end
The Vulgar should no farther knowledge reach,
Than what shall please their Masterships to teach:
Or else they have the selfe-same policie
That mov'd those Patrons of the Papacy
Who Sacred Writ in forraine tongues conceal'd
Lest that their knavish tricks should be reveal'd.
But, can they not in our owne language finde
Words of sufficient force t'expresse their minde?
That cannot be denied: but tis a trouble,
So easie to counterfeit and double
In a knowne tongue; when the other but a few
Can understand, but that obstreperous Crew.

These make the Lawes almost to none effect;
Their courses are so wondrous indirect.
To them they favour they delaies can grant,
Though Iustice her due expedition want.
Sometimes upon one matter we may see,
That sundry judgements shall pronounced be:
Now there's a motion granted, next day crost,
So fee and labours to no purpose lost:
And still the Client shall be so deluded,
That when he hopes al's done, there's nought concluded
Nay though we heare the utmost sentence past,
Which by all course of Law should be the last,

130

Why then I say (though all seeme wholy ended)
Yet may the Execution be suspended:
And for some trifle to the poore mans terror,
Be cald in question by a Writ of Error.
So that the right oft yeelds unto the stronger,
When poore mens purses can hold out no longer.

Oh miserable state! What should we say?
May not the Country thinke themselves a prey
These Ravens live on? May we not suppose
By their delaies, and some such tricks as those,
They practise onely how to cheat and gull;
And on our ruines fill their gorges full?
Yes questionlesse, for they themselves doe raise
Vnto this height on other mens decaies;
Not their owne vertues. Oh, though'it be too late,
Yet let me wish that we had kept the state
And simple Innocence we once retain'd.
For then we had not of this ill complain'd;
Nor yet those movers of sedition knowne
(Now to a many-headed Monster growne.)
But sith that time is past we may complaine,
Yet must ne'er looke to see those daies againe.

We have good Lawes, but they (too) seem in vaine
Sith they according to each Lawyers braine
May be now wrested to and fro, to make
The matter good that he doth undertake.
I'l say it plainely and yet not belie them;
There's few but rich men can have justice by them.
And pray you judge if that Law be not vaine,
Which when it is enacted (to restraine
Some priviledge or custome that hath stood
As a great hindrance to the publike good)
Should of its vertue be so slightly gull'd,
As by a licence to be disanull'd.

131

Moreover there be some too much to blame,
Or Pœnall Lawes are onely made in vaine;
Made in terrorem tantum, to affright,
And not for execution of the right.
And I may liken them unto those logs
That Iupiter threw downe to rule the Frogs:
At first they come forth with such thundring terror,
That we doe tremble to commit an error:
But in a day or two they are so still,
For ought I see we may doe what we will:
Vnlesse that we be poore, or some despight us.
Then peradventure they'l go neere to fright us
A twelve-moneth after. If so long they last,
Twenty to one then all the furie's past.

Did you but note it, you would much admire
To see how strictly Iustices enquire
On daies of sitting, what abuses raigne:
How those they threat, that slackly doe complaine;
How they will raile, and fume, and chase, and storme,
As if all evils they will quite reforme
Within a moment. But things violent
Cannot you know be long time permanent.
Nor is their zeale, for surely (God amend it)
One twice-twelve houres will both begin and end it.

But why are they so earnest then? Oh know,
That the small springs within the daies below,
Glide gently on untill a Land-floud fils
Their empty channels from the higher hils,
And then they'l swell untill they can discharge
Their burthens in some plaine to runne at large:
So these low Magistrates would gladly sleepe,
And their owne easie crooked channels keepe;
But when that any streame of Iustice showers,
And comes downe to them from the higher powers,

132

Then peradventure they'l grow big a day,
And Iustice shall have course the nearest way:
Then in a little space she must be faine
To run within their winding banks againe.

Some falsely have affirmed Iustice blinde,
Yet I am sure she knoweth where to finde
(If that shee be disposed there to looke)
Who gives her day-workes by her counting-booke.
Nay she knowes Capon, Turkie, Goose and Swan,
And thee I warrant, from another man
What ere thou be. But whilest she sees so plaine,
It is no wonder we have Lawes in vaine.

Also when officers doe undertake
Their charge at first, Lord, what a quoyle they make,
A Drunkard cannot with his capring feet
Cut out indentures as he walkes the street,
But hee's straight stockt for it; or for his offence,
By fining to the poore he must dispence.

Then those perhaps that slackly doe frequent
Gods divine service, somewhat shall be shent;
And many other goodly deeds they'l doe,
But these grow quickly weary of them too.

Againe, sometimes comes out a Proclamation,
Which threatens on the paine of Confiscation,
That no Recusant doe presume to stay
Within ten miles oth' Court, from such a day.
Yet sure 'tis notwithstanding meant that some
Should dayly to the Presence-chamber come;
And shrowd within a furlong on't or two.
Some Great-ones may: and so I hope they doe,
And by their owne Authority no doubt.
May keepe the rest from danger thereabout.
Pish; they at such a matter will but scoff,
Cause they know surely how to put it off,

133

Yet I'l not say it is in vaine, for why?
The peoples heads are set on worke thereby:
And 'tis moreover for our satisfaction,
Who else might thinke the State were out of action.

But oh you noble English Senators,
Our Kingdomes Guard, and Princes Counsellors,
How can you see your labours so misus'd?
Or brooke to have your Soveraigne so abus'd;
Doe you suppose that it deserves no blame,
To make a Scar-crow of the Regall Name?
And to erect it on some common stall,
There to be gaz'd on, to no end at all:
Respect it more and use it not for course
Or fashions sake, but shew it hath some force.
Pluck out those vipers that for feare of harme
Their chilled spirits in your bosomes warme.
Perceive you not their stings? No danger feare yee;
Oh 'tis apparent let them not shrowd neare yee;
For if they doe, 'tis doubtlesse the conclusion,
If God prevent not, will be your confusion.
Yet all (for ought I see) should still remaine,
Were there not some, who (out of zeale to gaine
More than Religion, or their Countries weale)
Their scurvy base conditions to reveale,
In begging and in trifling of some few.
But they their owne corruptions rather shew
Than redresse any. More I here could utter
But I me thinks already heare some mutter,
As if I should be sure of Romes great curse:
But then I'me sure I shall be ne'er the worse.
Yea, let them goe to Rome, curse, ban and spare not,
I'l sit at home and laugh; because I care not.

But why do I of Lawes alone complaine,
Sith all man deales in, is in some sort vaine?

134

Religion is with Ceremonies stuft,
And with vaine-glory and presumption puft.
Now our Almes-deeds, and gifts of charity,
Are done for shew and with hypocrisie.

Yea, all's made vaine: for if you would but view
Our Vniversities, indeed 'tis true
There you may yet see, how that heretofore,
In better daies, have beene erected store
Of Palaces; (which curious built are still
A faire remembrance of the worke-mens skill)
Which, lest that knowledge in the land should fade,
Were by the Patrons of good learning made,
That there the Muses (shelter'd from the rages
Of former, present, and succeeding ages)
Might safely live, and not beholding be
To Pyren for his hospitality.
'Tis also true, there wants not to sustaine
Their proper needs, nor yet to entertain
Such as desire knowledge. There's enough;
The worthy Founders have provided so.
But of these profits why now make they stay?
Best sell't, or let some Courtier beg't away.
For publike gifts ere turn'd to private uses,
Faire Colledges are full of foule abuses.
And their Revenues I account as vaine,
Because they lazie Dunces do maintaine,
Who to themselves doe claime the profits, by
Nothing but witlesse Seniority.
Such as have Beard (with reverence be't spoken)
Of profound learning have not marke, nor token.

Good Founders dreaming not of these Abuses,
Gave them at first to charitable uses:
But we finde now all alter'd, and the due
Which should by right upon desert ensue,

135

Like sfioces in Court, is bought and sold:
And places may be had, but how? for gold.
There as elsewhere they now are growne so bad,
Without Quid dabis, nothing can be had.

'Tis strange to see what Avarice can doe.
But, are the Muses taken with it too?
Oh no: for they esteeme such gaine a losse;
And their high spirits scorne such earthly drosse.
How then? There are some Cormorants crept in,
Who in their youth pretended to have bin
Addicted unto knowledge; when alas,
'Tis well seene since that all their purpose was
To snort in ease; augmenting still their store,
Till they grew wealthy and their houses poore.
Foule Droanes whose voices must be hir'd with mony
Starving the bees while they devoure the hony.

But oh you birds of Athens, cleere your hals,
And drive those lazie Hornets from your stals.
Through them it is men thinke you covetous,
They make your groves and walks grow scandalous.
But how will you discerne them? marry thus
Sith they have made themselves notorious,
I'l point them out: And though their heads they shrowd
As Venus did Æneas in a cloud,
I'l so unmaske them; if their eares they show,
You shall be able to say, There they goe.

First note them, there are some by bribes and fees
Can soone passe thorow two or three degrees:
And if they sue for ought are not deni'd it,
When better Students must be put beside it.

Then there be others who their nests to feather,
Can keepe an Office nineteene yeeres together,
Enforcing many unto penury,
To have therewith to feed their luxury.

136

Note you not some at fifty winters study,
That have their wits so thin, and braines so muddy,
They must procure of other men to doe
Those exercises they were cal'd unto?
And sit there not of Dunces pretty store
From Sun to Sun at every Tradesmans dore?
Huge fat curmudgeons? Tell me (I thinke no)
Doe commons of three halfe-pence feed them so?
Or can such puffes so Humberkin-like set,
Into a Pulpet once in seven yeere get?
Sure if they doe, their memories so weake,
When they come there they know not what to speak.
Nor are they halfe so fit if't came to proofe,
To serve for Pastors as to hang at roofe.

It is no marvell then that blockish rout
Retaine their places and keepe better out;
For no good patron that doth conscience raake,
Will unto them the charge of soules betake,
Because, if such the flocke of Christ should keepe,
No question they would make but carrion sheepe.
Then they must stay; yet in their stay they'l be
A plague unto the Vniversitie.
For over and above the mischiefes nam'd,
The Vice for which the younger sort is blam'd
They are most guilty of. For forced to tarry,
Through want, and by their lawes forbid to marry:
Thence springs it that the Townesmen are reputed,
Thus by a common voice to be cornuted.
For I have knowne that such have daily beene
Where younger schollers never durst be seene.
And all (unlesse that they have eies like Moles)
May see those Foxes use the Badgers holes.

Nor hath their lewdnesse in the action staid,
But on the place a fouler blemish laid.

137

Which here indeed I doe forbeare to name,
Lest it be to the place I love, a shame.
And for because I feare some spitefull mate
May tax them with it who such dealing hate,
Brought in by them, for who is so impure,
But he that liveth like an Epicure?

Oh Muses, seeke in time to roote these weeds,
That marre your gardens and corrupt your seeds.
And you that are appointed Visitors,
Who ought to have bene strict inquisitors,
To search the foule abuses of these times
And see them punish'd; Oh let these my rimes
Move you to helpe reforme this villanie;
Or let the hate of damned perjurie
Stir up your zeal these evils to restraine,
It not for love of good for feare of paine.
Which else (though you set light as at your heele)
As sure as God is just your soules shall feele.

Doe you not see now, all the wondrous cost
Of worthy Benefactors vainly lost?
The Lands, Revenues, Customs, Charters, Rents
Which they have left for divers good intents,
Vainely imploi'd? See the Student poore
For whom it was ordain'd, stands at the doore
And may not enter; whilst the golden Asse
Is quietly admitted in to passe.
And shroud himselfe within those sacred gates,
Which were't not for commoditie, he hates.

You sacred Genii that did once attend
Those well devoted Patrons to their end;
Although your bodies be entomb'd in clay,
Since you survive (because you live for aye)
Looke downe on your abused gifts, and see
What ods twixt th' use and your good meanings be.

138

Come and behold, how the laborious sits
Sharing some hungry Commons, scarce two bits;
(And that but when a double gauday haps,
Full glad alas at other times with scraps)
While that the lazie Dunce on dainties feeds.
Oh come (I say) if you respect your deeds,
And fright them with some ghastly visions thence,
They may have more remorse for their offence.

If I could take on me some hideous forme,
I'de either make them their bad lives reforme,
Or feare them quick to hell. But I am vaine,
To call for your assistance or complaine,
Because I doubt this fault will ne'er be mended
Vntill all evill with the world be ended.

Learning is vaine too; or so made at least,
Consider it, I speake it not in jest:
Doe we not see that those who have consum'd
Halfe a mans age in Schooles, and have assum'd
Degrees of Art, and hourely overlooke
Many a leafe, many a wisemans booke,
Still study to know, fellowes that can,
As they themselves thinke put downe any man
That dares of Prædicables to dispute,
Yea, such as can too if need be, refute
Knowne truths; and that in Metaphysicall,
Much more I think, in matters Naturall
Seeme greatly read, doe we not see, I say?
That these from study being tane away
For some imployments in the Publike-weale,
Are such as it might shame them to reveale
Their simple cariage, sooner they'l speak Treason,
Than any thing that shall be law or reason.
Aske their opinion but of this or that,
They'l tell a tale they scarcely know of what:

139

And at the last, you must be well appaid,
With This the Poet, or This Tully said.
So other mens opinions shall be showne,
But very seldome any of their owne.

What is't to heare up a great multitude
Of words and sayings like a Chaos rude?
To say a Latine Disticke out of Cato,
Cite Aristotle or some peece of Plato.
And divers more, yet like a blockish Elfe,
Be able to say nought at all himselfe?
As if it were all well, and he had plaid it,
If he can once say, Such a man hath said it.

Then by their actions who gather can
They have more knowledge than another man;
Sith they doe worse absurdities commit
Than those that seeme their juniors in wit?
As if they thought it were enough to know,
And not with knowledge unto practise go.
Those may be learned, and of learning prate;
But for affaires of Country or of State,
In my conceipt they are as farre unfit
As fooles and madmen that have lost their wit:
And notwithstanding all their studious paine,
I count their Learning and their Knowledge vaine.

But thinke not that I Knowledge fruitlesse deem,
Or count those men who in the Academe
Doe spend their times, unfitting men to deale
About imployments of the Common-weale.
No; for I ever this account did make,
That there are those know best to undertake
Great Offices; and surely such as have
Both knowledge and desert: yet shall they save
But their owne credits. Th' other who are known
To have no gifts of nature of their own,

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For all their knowledge gotten in the Schooles,
Are worse by much ods than unlearned Fooles.

Now thou that wouldst know rightly these mens state
Goe but a while and talke with Coriate,
And thou wilt soone be able to maintaine,
And say with me, that Learning's some-where vaine,

Then if there were ordain'd no other place,
Where now despised-vertue should have grace,
She were vaine too, and those that lov'd her best,
Were to be counted vaine above the rest.
For they be sure of all these worldly crosses,
That whosoever gaine, their's must be the losses,
Iustice is wanting so: for if that men
Commit an ill the Law gives smart; but when
They doe performe a vertuous deed (tis hard)
There's no Law here that gives them a reward.

Nay, if a man by wrong suspition be
Brought into any wofull misery,
If he be rackt and tortur'd so, that Death
May pleasure him by stopping of his breath:
And if at last by proofes it doth appeare.
That he of the suspected crime is cleare,
Onely he may his life by that meanes save,
But shall no other satisfaction have.
Yea, and he must be glad and well content
He hath his life for being innocent:
Where of he would full glad have ridden bin,
To scape the torments they had plung'd him in.
'Tis meere Injustice. And I say againe,
In this Age to be good it were in vaine.
But that it one day shall rewarded be
By heavens Chiefe-Iustice, with Eternity.
I will not here endeavour to reveale,
The vaine Trades crept into our common-weale:

141

Onely I say (and so I thinke will any,)
Would lesse there were for such there be too many.

But I must needs declare their vanity
Who build their treasure and felicity
On things meere frivolous as honour, strength,
Pleasure and wealth and beauty; which at length,
Yea in short time must fade. High Titles plac'd
Without desert are not alone disgrac'd,
And lose that reputation of their owne;
But shame them too, on whom they are bestowne.

What's Noblenesse of birth but meerely vaine?
Vnlesse that in the linage there remaine
Some noble qualities, which in them bred,
They have deriv'd from predecessors dead?

What's honour, but e'en smoke and idle fame?
A thing consisting onely in a name;
Which if you take away then you take all,
For Alexanders glory was not small:
Yet were he namelesse, what would then remaine,
His honourable Titles to retaine,
Sith that his best part from the earth is fled,
And th' other, though remaining here, now dead?

Then if that honour no advantage bring
To soule nor body, but doth wholly cling
Vnto the name who care or paines would take,
(If he be wise) a Trophie vaine to make
Vnto the same, which may enjoyed be
By many thousand other men; whilst he
Rots. And which three mens vertues (I'l maintaine)
Grace not so much, as one mans vice shall staine?

Were't onely for a name that men did well,
And strove in vertues others to excell,
What good had Simon the Apostle gain'd
More than the wicked Sorcerer obtain'd?

142

And how should we give each of them his fame,
Who living, being two, had but one name?
Were outward honour all that vertue got,
He were a wise man that esteem'd it not.
But shee's the bodies comfort till it die,
And soules companion to eternity.

Vulgar Repute; what is thereby acquir'd?
Why is't so glorious, and so much desir'd?
But I doe chiefly marvell what they ment,
That have preferr'd it before their owne content.

I hold it vaine and wondrous frivolous,
Extreamely foolish and ridiculous,
That any man should stand in greater feare
What he doth unto other men appeare
Than to himselfe; or strive so much (poore Elves)
To seeme to other Gods; when to themselves,
Th' are worse than divels. Why, I say, should they
With vaine repute be so much born away?
And why boast men of strength that last no longer
And seeing the bruit creatures are farre stronger.
A woman may blind Sampson with her charmes,
And little David slay a man at armes;
For God doth make (as holy Scriptures speake,)
Strong things to be confounded by the weake.

Then some are vaine in pleasures; like to him
Who for because he in delights would swim,
(In these our daies) to please his bestiall senses,
Made twenty hundred crownes one nights expences,
I onely doe forbeare to tell his name,
Lest he should hap to vaunt upon the same.

But why in Beauty should men glory so;
As well we may perceive there's many do;
Sith 'tis no better than a fading flower,
That flourishes and withers in an hower?

143

It would not save the good King Davids sonne,
From being justly by his foes undone:
Nay there's scarce any that enjoy the same
Can keepe unto themselves an honest Name.

We see moreover men vaine-glorious grow,
In building and apparell; all's for shew;
And yet the Prince that's gorgious in array,
Must lie as naked as his Groome in clay.
And though that men to build so curious be,
How worthy of contempt it is we see,
In that th' arch-King of heaven, earth and all,
Was very well contented with a Stall.
What minde are they in, who suppose to raise
By such a vanity an endlesse praise?
When as they daily see by observation,
Time utterly decaies the strong'st Foundation.

Where are those wonderous high Pyramides,
That were admired at in former daies?
And of those huge Colossi what remaines?
(Which to erect now were an endlesse paines)
Nothing almost; no scarce his name that spent
The paine and cost of such a Monument:
If that be so, how much more vanity
Is it to hope for Fames eternity,
By such slight trifles whose ground-worke needs mending
Before the roofe be brought unto an ending?

Again, some thinke how ere their lives they spend,
Yet if they can attaine to in the end
A glorious Funerall and be interr'd
With idle pompe and show, or be preferr'd
In a bald Sermon for some one good deed
They did the Common-wealth, for their own need:
Or by their owne, or friends procurement have
On their unworthy scarce-deserved grave

144

A goodly Epitaph; they thinke al's well.
Alas poore silly men! what can they tell
How long 'twill stand before't be razed downe?
But say it bide a while; what faire renowne
Can in a peece of Carved Marble be?
What can a gilded Tombe then profit thee?
Preserve thy fame, I know it cannot passe
The wondrous heape that once erected was,
And yet e'en at this present doth remaine
Not farre from Sarum on the Westerne plaine.
Yet who can say directly (or what story
Doth absolutely mention) for whose glory
That first was founded? or by whom? or why?
And if a deed of such great wonder die.
Dost thou suppose by a few carved stones,
(Scarcely enough to cover o'er thy bones)
To be immortall if thou long to live
After thy death, let noble vertue give
And adde that living glory to thy name.
Let her sound forth the trumpet of thy fame,
And it shall last. For she knowes how to place it:
Where Time nor Envy shall have power to race it.
I say, endeavour to be vertuous here,
So shall thy sacred memory be deere
To those that live; and whilst thy body lies
Entomb'd on earth, thy soule shall mount the skies.

But if in pleasure thou hast lived long,
And tooke delight in seeking bloud and wrong:
When that the evill day shall come to end thee,
The curse of the oppressed shall attend thee,
Thy soule shall pray for't, and the selfesame grave
Thou for thy honour didst suppose to have,
Shall be thy shame; for those that travell by it,
Shall often curse it, yea deride, defie it;

145

And to each other say, There doth he lye,
That acted such or such a villany.

Then why should gay clothes be delighted in
Sith they are but a badge of our first sin?
And yet 'tis strange to know how many fashions
We borrow now adaies from other Nations.

Some we have seene in Irish trouzes goe,
And they must make it with a codpeece too,
Some (as the fashion they best like) have chose
The spruce diminutive neat French-mans hose.

Another lik't it once but now he chops,
That fashion for the drunken Switzers slops.
And cause sometimes the fashions we disdaine
Of Italy, France, Netherland and Spaine,
Weele fetch them farther off. For by your leaves,
We have Morisco gownes, Barbarian sleeves,
Polonian shooes, with divers far-fetcht trifles,
Such as the wandring English Gallant rifles
Strange Countries for. Besides our Taylors know
How best to set apparrell out for show.
It either shall be gathered stitcht or lac'd,
Else plaited, printed, jagd, or cut and rac'd,
Or any way according to your will,
For wee have now adaies learn'd much vain skill.

But note you, when these gue-gawes once be made,
And that this cunning Master of his Trade
Must bring it home. For, there lies all the jest,
To see when the poore slave hath done his best
To mend what faults he can (for by his trade,
He can set right what Nature crooked made)
When he hath fitted to his power, and trickt,
Whom he would please when he hath brusht & pickt
E'en till he sweat againe: Yet (though he spies
Scarce any fault) You rogue, the Gallant cries,

146

A plague confound thee; looke here how this sits;
Zounds, 'tis a mile too wide, where were thy wits?
See, this is halfe too long, that halfe too short,
'Sblood I could find in heart to knocke thee for't.
Then for the faults behind he lookes in Glasse:
Strait raves againe; and cals his Taylor Asse,
Villaine, and all the Court-like names he can,
Why I'l be judg'd (saies he) here by my man,
If my left shoulder seeme yet, in his sight,
For all this bumbast, halfe so big's the right.

How is he serv'd? This day he should have went
With such a Lord or Lady into Kent;
To Hampton-Court to morrow comes the Queen,
And there should he with certaine friends have been
Villaine (he cries) goe instantly and mend it:
And see with all the speed you can, you send it:
Or by his sword the Gallant sweares, he will
Make thee to wait twice twelve-months with thy bill
If ere he pay thee. Then the other takes it,
Carries it home againe, turnes, rubs and shakes it,
Lets it lie still an houre or so, and then
As if 'twere alter'd, beares it back againe;
Then 'tis so fit, our Gallant cannot tell,
That ere he had apparell made so well.
Ere while saies he, faith I was angr'd sore,
Why couldst thou not have done it thus afore?
With many gentle speeches in amends,
And so these two, vaine fooles, grow quickly friends

What shall I say of our superfluous fare?
Our beastly veine, and to excessive care
To please the belly? We, that once did feed
On homely roots and hearbs, doe now exceed
The Persian Kings for dainties. In those Cotes
A man would thinke they liv'd with Hay and Oates

147

The Diet they are growne unto of late,
Excels the Feasts that men of high estate
Had in times past. For, there's both flesh and fish;
With many a dainty new devised dish.
For bread, they can compare with Lord and Knight,
They have both, raveld, manchet, browne and white,
Of finest Wheat. Their drinks, are good and stale:
Of Perry, Cider, Mead, Metheglin, Ale,
Or Beere they have abundantly. But then
This must not serve the richer sort of men.
They with all sorts of forraigne Wines are sped;
Their cellars are oft fraught with White and Red,
Be't French, Italian, Spanish, if they crave it:
Nay, Grecian or Canarian, they may have it.
Cate, Pument, Vervage (if they doe desire)
Or Romney, Bastard, Capricke, Osey, Tire,
Muscadell, Malmsey, Clarey; what they will,
Both head and belly each may have their fill.

Then if their stomacks doe disdaine to eate
Beefe, Mutton, Lambe, or such like Butchers meat:
If that they cannot feed of Capon, Swan,
Ducke, Goose, or common houshould Poultry; then
Their store-house will not very often faile,
To yeeld them Partrich, Phesant, Plover, Quaile,
Or any dainty fowle that may delight
Their gluttonous, and beastly appetite.
So they are pampred whilst the pooreman starves.
Yet there's not all; for Custards, Tarts, Conserves,
Must follow too; And yet they are no let
For Suckers, March-panes, nor for Marmalet;
Fruite, Florentines, sweet Sugar-meates and spices,
(With many other idle fond devices)
Such as I cannot name, nor care to know.
And then besides, the taste, this made for show.

148

For they must have it colour'd, gilded, printed,
With shapes of beasts and fowles: cut, pincht, indented
So idlely, that in my conceit 'tis plaine,
They are both foolish and exceeding vaine.
And howsoe'er they of religion boast,
Their belly is the God they honour most.

But see whereto this daintinesse hath brought us,
The time hath beene that if a Famine caught us,
And left us neither sheepe, nor Oxe, nor Corne,
Yet unto such a diet were we borne,
(Were we not in our Townes kept in by th' Foe)
The woods and fields had yeelded us enough
To content Nature: And then in our needs
Had we found either leaves, or grasse, or weeds,
We could have liv'd as now there doth and can
With good contentment many an Irish man.
But in this age if onely wheat doe rise
To any extraordinary prize:
Or if we have but cheese or butter scant,
(Though almost nothing else that is, we want)
Yord how we murmur, grumble, fret and pine,
As if we would upbraide the Powers Divine!
Tea, daily to provoke God, as the Iewes
Did in the wildernesse is now no newes.

But you that are so like to sterve in plenties,
Because you are a little barr'd your dainties:
Leave off your Luxurie, let me intreat;
Or there will come a Famine shall be great;
When soule nor body neither shall have food,
Or any thing to comfort them that's good.

We talke of scarcity: yet here there came
No want this twenty ages worth the name
Of Famine, but our gentle God hath bin
Exceeding mercifull unto our sin,

149

Wheat at ten shillings, makes no dearth of bread,
Like theirs where once (we read) an Asses head
Cost fourescore silver peeces: Doves dung
Was highly priz'd: and Mothers eate their young.
There Famine raign'd. Pray in the like we fall not
If we can fast with Ninivie we shall not.
But truly much I feare the same; unlesse,
We doe leave off our gluttonous excesse.
For though we quaffe and swill much time away,
Yet three set-meales will scarce suffice a day
To satisfie our lust; whereas but one
Suffic'd our Predecessors, sometime none
It were a worke too tedious here to quote
The sundry Vanities that we may note
Sprung from this Greedinesse. As our Long sitting.
A custome, rather, in my minde, befitting
Pagans and Epicures, than honest men,
But 'tis a use now common growne. And then,
This Foolery we have: We nothing deeme
That merits our desiring, or esteeme,
Save that which we have either dearely bought,
Or far-away from forraigne kingdomes brought.
Yea notwithstanding here in this our Land,
Those things be better and more neere at hand;
Yet we out of an idle humour are
So much more pleased with all forraine ware
Than with our owne that we the same detest;
And this our vainenesse doth not onely rest
In meats and in apparell; but 'tis shown
In many things we least affect our owne.

Our home-made cloth, is now too course a ware,
For Chyna and for Indian stuffs we are.
For Turkey Grow-graines Chamblets, silken Rash,
And such like new devised forraine trash.

150

Yea, though our native Country-men excell
In any Trade, we like them not so well
As we doe Strangers: and (in very deed)
I thinke for vaine inventions they exceed.

And then more over; when we doe not want
Any good wholesome, Hearb, or Fruit, or Plant,
That may be necessary, fit or good,
Either to serve for Physick or for food,
Yet, those we sleight, as if we did abhor them,
And send to seeke in other Kingdomes for them,
So, while we onely make our use of them;
Our better home-bred Simples we contemne.
(Oh Vanity) our Country yeelds enough,
What need we Græcian or Arabian stuffe?
Why send we for them to those Countries thus?
'Twas planted there for them, and not for us.
What though it helpe them of diseases there?
The Climate, yea, and our complexions are
So different (for ought that I can gather,)
Here't may not helpe our griefes, but poyson's rather,
That Opium which a Turk in safety will
Devoure at once, two Englishmen would kill.
And as I've heard experienc'd men to say,
That which will salve their wounds within a day
Who of the farthest Easterne Countries be,
Will not re-cure an Englishman in three.
Then sure if we should use that med'cine here,
It would not helpe nor cure us in a yeere.
Trust me; I think, this over-much respecting
Of forraigne drugs, and foolishly neglecting
Our native simples, is the cause that we
So little better for our Physick be.

Some in their writings praise Tobacco much:
Perhaps the vertue of it may be such

151

As they have said; where first the simple grew.
But, if it be re-planted here a new,
From it owne soile where Natures hand did place it;
I dare not with those properties to grace it
Which there it had: Nor can the vertue bide,
When 'tis transported to our Region dri'd.
Yet, 'tis almost a wonder to behold,
How generally now both young and old
Suck on that Foraine weed. For so they use it,
Or rather (to speake right) so they abuse it,
In too oft taking; that a man would thinke
It were more needfull than their meat or drink:
But what's their reason? Doe not aske them why,
For neither can they tell you that, nor I:
Vnlesse't be this: So they have seene some doe:
And therefore they forsooth must use it too.

Nay wonder not: The Sun lights not a Nation
That more affecte hapish imitation,
Than doe we English. Should we some man see
To weare his doublet where his hose should be,
Pluck gloves on's feet, and put his hands in's shooes,
Or weare his Rings or Iewels on his toes;
And come so tired to our English Court,
Attended in some strange prepost'rous sort.
Some of our Courtiers would make much ado,
But they would get into that fashion too.

For they so idle are that if they see
Those that with Rhume a little troubled be,
Weare on their faces a round Mastick patch,
Their fondnesse I perceive is apt to catch
That for a fashion. Nay, we cannot name
That thing so full of Barbarisme and shame
That they'l not imitate. Witnesse this smoake,
Which, though at first it was enough to choake

152

Or stifle up the sense; though twere unpleasing
In tast and savour; oftentimes diseasing
The takers bodies. Yet, like men halfe mad,
(Not knowing neither what effect it had)
Onely because a rude and savage Nation
Took't for some unknowne need, they'l make't a fashion.

Alas, what profit England at thy need
Hast thou attain'd to, by this Indian weed?
What hath it lengthen'd life, or maintain'd health,
Or hath it brought thee more increase of wealth?
It dries superfluous moisture, doth't indeed?
Tane with discretion it may stand in need:
And surely it deserves to be excus'd,
Being with honest moderation us'd.
But I doe greatly wonder what they ment,
That first did tak't in way of Complement.
For now it is as common at each meeting,
As how'd yee, or God save yee, for a greeting.
Hee's no good fellow that's without the Pox,
Burnt pipes, Tobacco and his tinder-box.
And there, there be some who scarce abide it,
Yet alwaies will for company provide it:
With whom (though they alone the same eschew)
They'l take it ill they spet and cough and spue.
Me thinks they may as well sith this they'l doe,
At all their meetings take purgations too.

There's not a Tinker, Cobler, Shepheard now,
Or rascall Ragamuffin that knowes how,
In a blinde Alehouse to carouse a pot,
Or swagger kindly, if he have it not.
You shall have some among them will not sticke
To sweare that they are for Tobacco sick;
When by their raged out-sides you would gather
It were for want of bread or victuals rather.

153

And so I tak't. But now if you deny
Th' affecting forraigne drugs, a vanity,
Yet you I hope will grant (because 'tis plaine)
The using of Tobacco thus is vaine:
I meane in those that daily sit and smoake
Alehouse and Taverne, till the windowes roake.
And you must yeeld that we now justly sumus
E'en as the old verse sayes, flos, fœnum, fumus.

Some vainly much Acquaintance seeke to get,
And often in a Strangers cause will sweat:
Yet these, where their best services are due,
So much their charity will scarsely shew.

The love of men some labour to attaine,
And they have just the travell for their paine.
For what's the favour or the love of Men?
A thing long getting and soone lost agen.
Him I have knowne whose company hath seem'd
In the appearance to be so esteem'd
By many that in shew he hath appear'd
To be more nearely to their soules indear'd
Than their owne bloud. And surely for the time,
(But that Inconstancie's a humane crime)
He hath beene so: For when he hath departed,
As if his absence inwardly had smarted,
Out of their eies full oft against their will,
I have seene sorrow look and teares to trill.
And yet againe hath my Experience seene
The selfe-same Man that hath so made of beene,
Even of those men he hath beene so respected,
After some absence, either much neglected,
Wholly forgotten or they so estranged,
As if their love and good conceit were changed.
Which having found, weighed well the end,
And thought them vaine that on the like depend.

154

Also, me thinks it makes me pretty sport
To note the vainenesse of the greater sort:
How full of congees, courtesies and greetings,
Embracements, and kind words they are at meetings;
And oft what memorandums past betweene,
Of great good turnes, that nere perhaps have been,
What commendations and Ioyes there be,
For one anothers good prosperity;
When howsoever they their malice smother,
They care not what becomes of one another.
To see me well, hee's glad at heart one cries,
When 'tis well known, that in his heart he lies.
Another bids me welcome to my face,
When he would leave my presence for my place.
Yea, and to sweare it too, he will not tremble,
Although he knowes I know he doth dissemble.
Which in my judgement is a vanity
Too full of shamelesse grosse absurdity;
And I much wonder men delight to spend
Time that's so precious, to so little end,
As to consum't in idle complement,
And not so much as to a good intent:
Crouching and kneeling, when each peasant knowes,
Much courtesie, much craft, the Proverb goes.
A quality beseeming men I deeme't,
Ay to be courteous and I much esteem't:
Yet sure, without good meaning 'tis unfit,
And extreame vaine when men are cloyd with it.

When some mans Table's furnished with stole,
Of dainties that a Prince can have no more,
Hee'l bid you welcome, though that by your cheare
It doth not (as hee'l say himselfe) appeare:
And yet he sees and knowes well that his Board.
Have what the Water, Earth and Ayre affords:

155

With Pray ye eate, I drink t'yee, nay be merry,
And such like words; I oft have beene as weary
To thanke, to pledge, and say I doe not spare,
As ere was Sommers of his trotting Mare.

I often have observed in our Feasts,
A vanity which each free minde detests;
And this it is; when any one intends
For merriment to entertaine his friends,
And for them all things needfull doth prepare,
That they may well perceive they welcome are;
He marres the bounty of his loving feast
By his ill chusing some untastefull guest.
For so it often haps he doth invite
Some lofty State-man or proud neighboring-Knight
Who marres their freedome by his expectation
Of more than necessary observation.
And he must be a slave unto that guest,
Contenting him, though he displease the rest.
This folly is: Were I as he; my Board
Should never entertaine the Knight or Lord
In way of feasting, that allow'd not mee
To be as merry and as blith as hee:
Or that through his disdaine would think amisse
To beare some jests of mine, as I beare his:
For who but fools would while their guest is baiting
Stand with bare-heads, like Ale-house keepers waiting
(As if they were some strangers wanted chearing)
In their owne houses, while they domineering
Say what they list. Be therefore rul'd by me,
Bid none but equals if you'l merry be.
At least let them be such as can abide,
To lay Superiority aside.

Moreover (if they have the providence
To bid their friends and keep their Mar-feasts thence)

156

They are too lavish and doe much devise,
How the they appetite may best suffice.
But 'tis a signe their understanding's small
That can afford them no discourse at all,
It shewes a shallow pate and muddy braine,
When men have nothing else to entertaine
Their friends withall, but whiffes of smoke, or drink,
Or curious fare; as if that they did think
They could not shew their honest love unlesse
They did abound in Gluttonons excesse.

But there be many greedy-guts indeed,
That will finde fault unlesse their Cates exceed.
Such Socrates shewes how to answer best;
Who having for his friends prepar'd a feast,
And hearing one to discommend his store,
Told him directly, Friend, there needs no more:
For be they vertuous, here's enough for such;
If otherwise (quoth he) there is too much.

A fitter answer we can never find
For such nice Gluttons; differing in mind
From certaine deare and learned Friends of mine;
Whom when I late requested had to dine
Or sup with we one night would not agree,
Vnlesse I dresse what they appointed me,
I will, said I, and not a bit beside:
Why then (quoth they) we charge thee to provide
One dish, no more. (We love not him that crams:)
And let our second course be Epigrams.
So much they found with more good mirth & laughing
Than those that had their dainties and their quaffing.

Who can declare what vanity man shewes
In hearing and reporting idle newes?
The foolish tales and lies, that he doth faine,
Are more than any numbers can contain.

157

And now I think on that same lying-evill,
(A mischiefe first invented by the Devill)
I cannot chuse but greatly wonder why
Men should delight so in that Vanity.
It is not onely vicious and base,
But also doth their credits quite deface.
And Truth out of their mouthes is mis-esteem'd,
Because, oft lying, they are lyers deem'd.
I mean not any falshoods to maintain,
No though they be Officious or for gain.
Yet worse do like them, who their wits do bend
To coyn new tales unto no other end
But to provide the company some talk,
And cause they love to heare their own tongues walk.

Some I have known (judge of their vanity)
That have told tales to their own infamie,
And yet untrue, 'tis like they have small care
Of others credits, when they will not spare
To wrong themselves. Another crew beside
Among these Lyars I have also spide,
Who (as it may appeare) did like so well
Strange news and matters past beleefe to tell,
That notwithstanding they do surely know
It makes not onely modest eares to glow,
But that 'tis known they lie, yet still they dare
Gainst Truth, their own, & all mens knowledge sweare:
Yea, when they may as well, and speak as right,
Swear that each man is blinde, and all crows white.
Which is a daring and a lew'd offence,
Sprung from a brazen, hellish impudence.

Then there's a number too, that do suppose,
All that beyond their little reason growes
Is surely false; And vainly do uphold,
That all reports which Travellers unfold

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Of forreigne Lands are lies, because they see
No such strange things in their own Parish be;
If that I may not tearme such fellows vain,
Ile say they're dull, and of a shallow brain:
And him I count no wise man that imparts
To men of such base misconceiving hearts
Any rare matter, for their bruitish wit
Will very quickly wrong both him and it.
For thus the saying goes, and I hold it so,
Ignorance onely is true wisdomes foe.

Then thou art vain that wilt vouchsafe to spend
Thy breath with witlesse people to contend
In weighty matters; when it is well known
They'l like of no opinions but their own:
Ever disabling what thou didst recite,
Yea, notwithstanding it be ne'er so right.
And be their own case false, and all amisse,
They'l prove it true, How? Thus, Because it is.
So if there be no more wise-men in place,
Thou bear'st the shame, and they'l have all the grace

And yet the mischiefe hath not there an end:
For tell me, you that ever did contend
With such; is not their wayward disputation
A meer confusion, and a strong vexation?
I know 'tis so, for I my selfe have tride it,
And since that time could never yet abide it.
But let those follow vanity together
With purblinde ignorance; and Ile send thither
To keep them company those that take pleasure
In tedious discourse; they be at leasure:
And those that love to heare their own tongues walk
Still seeking opportunity of talk,
Shall not stay from them. Yet I have beheld
More vanities which must not be conceal'd:

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As foolish wishes. Many a silly Asse
Covets those things that cannot come to passe.
Another, that in wishing is as heedlesse,
Desires some trifling bables which are needlesse.
Nay I have heard without regard or shame
Such beastly wishes as I blush to name.
What damn'd infernall curses can each brother
In every angry fit wish one another?
When such as these their jesting words they'l make yee,
A Pox, a Pestilence, and a Murraine take yee.
Which if the Lord should in his justice send them,
Their own vain wishes would e're long time end thē

Some free-born men I have observed too,
Who are thought wise, yet very vainly doe.
These, as if they lack'd troubles of their own,
For other men are slaves and drudges grown.
I tax not such as honestly have stood
In the maintaining a poore neighbours good;
But rather those who are so out of measure
Enur'd to be for other men at leasure,
That they can finde almost no time to be
Employd about their own commoditie.
Others there are more knavish, and as vain,
Who seeming carefull of anothers gain,
Intrude themselves into their actions; when
'Tis not for any good they wish the men,
But for this cause, and sure for nothing more,
In each mans Boat they love to have an Oare.
'Tis good to look to their affaires; but yet
I hold it for a vain thing and unfit
We should be vexed with such extream care
In following them, as many times we are:
For, unto me it seems, the greatest part,
Take businesse not in hand now, but in heart.

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What mean our wealthy Vsurers to hoord
More up for others than they can afford
Vnto themselves? Whereas they do not know
Whether it shall be for a friend or foe,
Sure such me thinks should be deservedly.
Recorded for their sottish vanity.
Now, as the most of wealth too-well do deem,
So others make thereof too-small esteem,
As of a thing whose use were of no weight,
But both are led away with vain conceit.

Then some mans care is, that when this life ends,
He dying, may be buried with his friends;
As if he fear'd his foes had not forgotten
To do him mischiefe though their bones were rotten

Others extreamly are distempered,
To think what men will do when they are dead;
And vainly sit (more wit God one day send)
Lamenting what they know not how to mend.

For worthlesse matters some are wondrous sad:
Whom if I call not vain, I must terme mad.
If that their noses bleed some certain drops,
And then again upon the sudden stops:
Or if the babling fowl we call a Iay,
A Squirrell, or a Hare but crosse the way:
Or if the salt fall towards them at table,
Or any such like superstitious bable,
Their mirth is spoil'd, because they hold it true
That some mischance must thereupon ensue.
But I do know no little numbers be
Seduced with this foolish vanitie.
And questionlesse although I discommend it,
There want not some that stoutly will defend it!
But all their proofe is onely this I know,
By daily triall they do finde it so,

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Indeed 'tis true, God often by permission,
To see if they will trust to superstition
More than to him, doth willingly supply
What they so look'd for by their Augurie.

Then some to be esteemed men of state,
Of nothing but the Court affaires do prate
If they but come amongst us Countrey-men,
Lord, what Magnificoes they will be then!
Yea, though they blow but the Kings Organ-bellows,
We must suppose them Earls and Barons fellows
Or else we wrong them. 'Twas my chance to light
In a friends house, where one of these that night
Took up his lodging; at the first I deem'd him
A man of some great place, and so esteem'd him;
And he took me for some soft Countrey gull,
Thinking my wit (as 'tis indeed) but dull.
But I perceiv'd his pride, I must confesse,
And seem'd as if I had a great deale lesse.
I made him more fine Congees by a score,
Than e're he had at Court in's life before,
The worship and the honour too I gave him,
But from the charge of either I dare save him.
Yet my high termes so pleas'd the Courtiers vein,
That up he rips the news of France and Spain,
Of Germany, of Denmark, and of Sweed;
And he had French store, therefore I took heed.
Then next he tells me all their life at Court,
Relates S. Georges showes, and Christmas sport,
With such like talk; which I in shew desir'd,
And (as I ne'er had seen't before) admir'd:
Which he perceiving falleth to devise
More strange reports, and tells me sundry lies,
Which still I wondred at; and in his talk
I noted, though his tongue did ever walk

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He never spake of others than the best:
For Earls, and Lords, and Ladies were the least
I heard him mentioning; when sure the foole
Is but some servant to the Groom 'oth stoole.
But howsoever for this once he passes,
To shew the nature of his fellow-Asses.

I am afraid 'twill be to little end,
If I should words and precious leasure spend
To tell our Gallants what vain frivolous
Discourse they have, and how ridiculous
They are at meetings. I have been for laughter
Often beholding to them a week after.
And trust me, Ile not give a Cue so soon
To see an Ape, a Monkey, or Baboon
Play his forc'd tricks; as I would give a Tester,
To come and view them and their Apish gesture,
When they are either frolike in their Cans,
Or courting of their light-heel'd Curtezans.

They think themselves fine men (I know they doe)
What will they give me and Ile think so too?
And yet I shall not sure, do what I can,
They have so little in them that is man
For my few yeares have noted many fruits
Producted in fine silks and satten sutes
Worth observation: I could now recite
Their brave behaviour in their Mistresse sight:
But sure they'l ne'er endur't, they cannot do't,
Yet if I list now I could force them to't.
But lo I spare them, th' are beholding to me,
And may (perhaps) as great a favour do me.

But faith I may not, nor I cannot hold:
To keep in all their vanities untold,
At least one humorous trick I must not misse,
Which lately I observ'd, and that was this;

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Two Lads of late disposed to be merry,
Met at a town not far from Canturbury.
Where though their businesse scarce would let them stay,
They'd frolike out a night and then away.
So there they supt and slept; where I let passe
To tell their mirth in what good fashion 'twas:
But as I heard, the parish-clock strook one
Before their merry-mad-conceits were done:
And then they went to bed, where I dare say
They'd more devotion to go sleep than pray.
Next morn th' one waking suddenly upstart,
And lightly girt out such a boistrous—
It wak'd his fellow, who surpriz'd with wonder,
Leapt up amaz'd, and swore he heard it thunder.
Now whether storme there were or no, 'twas sed,
The Chamberpot o're-flow'd and drown'd the bed.
But, having pray'd a curse or two, th' one rises,
Then of his businesse with himselfe devises,
And thereupon doth like a carefull man,
Sweare he will thence with all the speed he can.
Come prethee rise (quoth he) and let's be gon,
Yes, yes (quoth th' other) I will come anon.
Zounds hark, I think the clock striks eight. Why when!
Oh, soon enough to break my fast by ten.
Then Chamberlain, one call's aloud, do'st heare,
Come, bring us up a double-jug of Beer.
So either having drunk a good carouse,
Down come the Gallants to discharge the house.
But taking leave, oh, what d'ye think they mist
Their Hostesse (pretty woman) must be kist.
Then up shee's call'd, and in her night attire,
Down claps she on a stoole before the fire;
Where having bid her welcome from her nest,
Come say (quoth one) what wine is't you like best?

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Truely (quoth she) I use to drink no wine,
Yet your best mornings-draught is Muskadine.
With that the Drawer's call'd to fill a quart,
(Oh! 'tis a wholsome liquor next the heart.)
And having drunk it whilst their heads were steady,
They bad the Hostler make their horses ready:
Nay (quoth the Hostesse) what needs all this hast?
In faith you shall not go till dinner's past?
I have a dish prepared for the nones,
A rich Potato-Pie, and Marrow-bones;
Yea, and a bit which Gallants, I protest
I will not part with unto every guest.
With that the Punics lay aside their cloaks,
The glasses walk, and the Tobacco smoaks,
Till dinner comes, with which when they are fraught
To get on horse-back by and by 'tis naught,
As having supp'd, 'tis good to walk a mile,
So after dinner men must sit a while.
But what? will they sit idle? 'twere a shame,
Reach them the Tables, they must play a game,
Yet, set them by again, for now I think
They know not when to leave: they'll rather drink
A health or two to some especiall friend,
And then ifaith they mean to make an end.
Then one calls, Drawer: he cries, What d'yee lack?
Rogue, bring us up a Gallon more of Sack.
When that's turn'd up, Zounds one wil drink no more
But bids the Hostler bring his horse to dore:
The fellow might perform it without stay,
For why? they had been bridl'd up all day.
Then like good husbands without any words,
Again they buckled on their cloaks and swords;
But stepping out of dore their Hostesse meets them,
And with a full-fill'd boule demurely greets them.

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This was her Pinte, but they'll give her the tother,
Which drew the third down, and the third another
Vntill these Gallants felt their heads so addle,
Their bodies scarce could sit upright i'th saddle.
Then more to settle their unsteady brain,
They fell to their Tobacco once again:
At which they suck'd so long, they thought no more
On the poore jades which they left ty'd at dore:
Till that the Sunne declin'd unto the West.
Then starting up, th' one swore he thought 'twere best
That they went thence; and to his fellow said,
Come, we shall be benighted I'me afraid.
What if we be (quoth tother) by this light,
I know the time when I have rid all night:
By twelve a clock Il'e be at home, I vow,
Yet Hostesse, by this kisse, I'le sup with you.
And so they did; but after Supper th' one
Hastens the other that they may be gone.
Nay, be advised (quoth his copesmate) harke,
Let's stay all night, for it grows pestlence dark.
I marry (quoth the Host) perswaded be,
There's many murthers now, I promise yee.
Ile bid my servants to shut up the gate,
No guests shall go out of my house so late.
No surely (quoth their Hostesse) by Saint Anne
You may be mischieft; stay and save a man.
Well, they'l be rul'd for once; but sweare they'l go
The following morning ere the Cock do crow:
In troth at farthest, e're the day gives light.
Then, having kist their Hostesse over-night,
To bed againe these roystring Youngsters went,
Forgetting whereto they before were bent.
But when the Morn her turne again did take,
And that it grew high time for them to wake;

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Then up they bustled, and began to lay
The fault from one th' other of their stay.
For this (the first said) we may thank your sloth;
(But I think therein they were guilty both)
Nay (quoth the other) might you have your will,
You'd drink Tabrcco and be quaffing still.
Who I (quoth he) I weigh it not two chips:
I could not get you from my Hostesse lips.
You do me wrong (saith th' other) for I sweare
I seldome touch'd them: but you still hung there.

To beare the burthen he grew discontent,
And swore he would not drink before he went.
But call'd; Our horses Ostler, and our wands,
And, Sirrah Tapster, water for our hands.
Yet (quoth the other) thou'lt be rul'd I think,
Prethee let m'intreat thee now to drink
Before thou wash; Our fathers that were wise,
Were wont to say, 'Twas wholesome for the eyes.

Well; if he drink, a draught shall be the most,
That must be spiced with a nut-brown tost.
And then 'twere good they had a bit beside,
For they considered they had far to ride.
So he that would not drink a-late for haste,
Is now content to stay and break his fast.
Which e'er 'twere ended, up their Host was got;
And then the Drunkard needs must have his pot,
And so he had: but I commend my Cozen,
The Cuckolds one Can, cost the fools a dozen.

But then perceiving they began to stay,
Quoth Guts, My Bullies, bark ye, what d'yee say
Can you this morning on a rasher feed?
Oh, yes, say they, that's kingly meat indeed.
They ask'd it, and they had it, but this cheere
Quickly drew down a dozen more of Beere:

167

Which being drunk they had got out of towne,
But that their Hostesse newly was come down;
With whom they spent e'er they could get away,
In kissing and in quaffing halfe that day.
And five times, as I heard, they took the pain
To get on horseback, and come off again.
But at the last, just as the clock strooke two,
They were the sixt time horst with much adoe.

But then (as 'tis the Drunkards use) they sate
Tipling some hower and a halfe at gate:
So that the night drew on apace, and then
Thither came riding other Gentlemen,
And ment to lodge there. They had friendship shown,
Th' other were stale guests, and their money flown:
Their honest Host for all their large expence,
And former kindenesse quickly got him thence.
Yea, their sweet Hostesse that so worthy deem'd them
Slunk out of sight, as if she nought esteem'd them.
And as most will that meet with such a crew,
Left them old Guls, to enterleague with new;
Who at their parting purpos'd to have kist her,
But were so drunken that they never mist her.
For there they quaft so long they did not know
Which way, nor whither, nor yet when to go;
That some suppose, yea, and they think so still,
Their horses brought them thence against their will.
For, if so be their beasts had wanted wit
To come themselves, the fools had been there yet.

If you 'twas made by read with discontent,
You are too blame; none knows by whō twas meant:
There is no cause you should dislike my rime,
That learns you wit against another time.
When others are thus vain, could you forbeare it,
And note the follies in't, you would forsweare it,

168

And so that those who thus you entertain,
Will flout and use the next as well for gain,

Now what do you unto these Gallants say?
Were they not pretty witty ones, I pray?
It may be they will frown at this to see't,
And I am very sorry for't: but yet
One humour more which I have noted vain,
Here to be told of they must not disdain.
It may annoy them if they do not mend it,
Yea notwithstanding they so much defend it.
'Tis this; They too much of their valour vaunt,
And so extreamly for vain-glory haunt,
That to procure themselves a valiant name,
Or peradventure one halfe houres fame,
They'l hazard life and limb, yea, soule and all,
Rather than in their bravery they'l let fall
A vain repute. Oh silly senselesse men!
What will the breath of fame availe you, when
You lie in dust, and moulded up in clay?
Perhaps you shall be spoken of a day
In some poore Village where your bodies lie:
To all the earth besides your fame shall die.
And it may be whereas you look for glorie,
You shall but serve to make more long the story
Of hair-brain'd fools; & such (how e'er some deem you
Men that have understanding will esteem you.

But yet there is a crew that much annoyes
The Common-weal, some call them Roaring-boyes
London doth harbour many at this time,
And now I think their Order's in the prime
And flourishing estate. Divers are proud
To bee of that base brotherhood allow'd.
And reason too: For why? they are indeed
No common fellows, for they all exceed:

169

They do so, but in what things are they think ye?
In villany, for these be they will drink ye,
From morn till night, from night till morn again,
Emptying themselves like Conduits, and remain
Ready for more still. Earth drinks not the showers
Faster than their infernall throats devours
Wine and strong liquors. These be they will sweare
As if they would the veile of heaven teare,
And compell God to heare their blasphemy.
These are the Patrons of all villany;
Whores Champions: deceit and trecherie,
With the most lothsome vice of lechery
Is all their practice. Thunder when it roars,
Ioyn'd with the raging waves that beat the shoars
Together with the windes most rude intrusion,
Make not a noyse more full of mad confusion
Than do these Hell-hounds where they use to house,
And make their most uncivill Rendevouze:
For a more godlesse crew there cannot well
Be pick'd out of the boundlesse pit of Hell.
Yet these base slaves (whose lewdnesse I confesse
I cannot finde words able to expresse)
Are Great-mens darlings; (as some understand)
The absolutest Gallants in this land,
And onely men of Spirit of our time;
But this opinion's but a vulgar crime;
For they which understanding have, see plain,
That these, and all their favourites are vain:
And sure 'twere good if such were forc'd to give
A strict account by whom and how they live.

Thus have I brought to light as well's I can
Some of the vanities I finde in Man.
But I do feare in taking so much pain,
I have but shown my selfe to be most vain;

170

Because I have spent time and reprehended
That which will ne'er the sooner be amended,
But yet there's hope it may; and therefore I
Say thus much more, that this foule Vanitie
Consisteth not alone in words and works,
It hath tane root within, and also lurks
About the heart: and if it there be sought,
I know it also may be found in thought.
And that is it makes one man sit and plot
What is by trasticke with Virginia got:
What it may cost to furnish him a Fleet
That shall with all the Spanish Navy meet;
Or how he may by art or practice finde
A nearer passage to the Eastern-Inde,
When as perhaps (poore foole) besides his coat,
He is not worth a Portsmouth passage boat:
Nor never means to travell so much Sea,
As from Hith-ferry to South-hampton-key.

Another Woodcock is as fondly vain,
And to no purpose doth molest his brain,
To study if he were a Nobleman,
What kinde of cariage would befit him then.
How, and in what set words he would complain
Of the Abuses that he now sees reigne:
Where he would make his place of residence,
How he would keep his house with providence,
And yet what plenty daily at his doore
Should be distributed unto the poore.
What certain sheep and oxen should be slain,
And what provision weekly to maintain
His Lordly port. How many Servingmen
He meant to keep; and peradventure then
What pleasure he wil have, what hawks, what hounds
What game he will preserve about his grounds.

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Or else he falls to cast what profits cleare
His gifts and bribes will come to in a yeare;
How hee'l put off his hat, cause people then
Shall say, he is a courteous Nobleman.
Then upon this again he falls to plot,
How when that he the peoples love hath got,
If that the King and all his kindred die,
And if none may be found that will supply
The Regall office, the respect they beare him
Vnto that Princely dignity may reare him.
Then doth his thoughts on that estate so feed,
That he forgetteth what he is indeed.

And if a man could hit so just a time,
To come upon him when his thought's in prime,
And give him unawares a sudden knock,
Conceit his understanding so would lock,
That I suppose (because it stands with reason)
He would go neare to start, and call out Treason:
For oftentimes mens hearts are so annoy'd
With those vain thoughts wheron they are imploy'd,
That for a time they so forgetfull grow,
As what they are or where they do not know.

But now, sith you may see there doth remain
Nothing in man but in some sort is vain;
And sith I must be driven to confesse,
His vanities are great and numberlesse,
Ile go no farther in this large Survay,
For feare discourse should carry me away:
And peradventure so I may become
Lesse pleasing and more tedious unto some.
Which to avoid, though I no end espie,
Yet here I end to treat of Vanity.