Ivvenilia :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now swift devouring, bald and ill-fac't Time.
Dost not thou blush to see thy selfe uncloak't?
Oh that I knew but how to laugh in Rime!
Faith I would doe it, though thou wish't me choakt.
Didst thou but see how thy faire antique shape,
Is now transformed to a shapelesse hew:
How like thou look'st to some Barbarian Ape,
And could'st thine owne deformities ore-view,
Thou would'st be Metamorphosed anew,
Run quite away, and either all amend;
Or wish thy selfe, and all things at an end.

And yet despaire not Time, though thou art ill;
(The worst that o'er (I thinke) was knowne to be,)
Thou shalt not thus deform'd, continue still,
For I much better dayes, yet hope to see.
When Vice, and Wrong, and Malice, acted haye,
Their furious parts upon confusions stage;
Faire Vertue shall be raised from her grave,
And bring along with her a golden age,
Then we will laugh to scorne the worlds vaine rage.
And sit and tell with joy, what stormes are past.
And what faire daies we hoped for at last.

Epigram. 2.

I heare that some aske how I dare so plaine,
Taxe the Abuses that I now see raigne;
I muse as much they dare say ill unto it,
Or dare to aske me how I dare to doe it.

3. To the Stranger.

Thou that wert so unhappy first to breath
Without the compasse of great Britaines power
And blest againe that Fate did thee bequeath,
The knowledge of so rich a tongue as our;
If (understanding) thou dost hap to read
This Booke, wherein thou secst my Nations shame,
Yet doe not thou against my Countrey plead;
For thine (thou know'st) doth merit greater blame:
Our faults are many, this indeed is true;
But were they moe; we are no worse than you.

4. To the Satyro-mastix.

Oh Lord Sir, y'are deceiv'd; I'm none of those
That write in Anger or malicious spleene;
I have not taken Pepper in the Nose,
Nor base inventer of false libels beene.
Such ones there be indeed such I have seene;

I envy no man for his greatnesse; I,
Nor seeke I any honest mans disgrace:
I joy in every ones prosperity;
I'l not the credit of a dogge deface,
My adversary shall not prove the case.

Then stand back (sirrah Whip-jack) with your scourge
Doe not incense my Satyr for thy life:
Hee's patient enough unlesse thou urge,
Contentions now a daies are growne too rife,
And He, is very backward unto strife.

If you esteeme your peace provoke not me.
For whilst I finde good cause and reason why,

In spight of all that foes to Satyrs be;
He shall (if I list) taxe iniquity,
And tis a matter of necessity.

What? you would faine have all the Great ones freed;
They must not for their vices be controld.
Beware; that were a saucinesse indeed:
But i the Great ones to offend be bold,
I see no reason but they should be told.

Yea and they shall; their faults most hurtfull be,
And (though I will not put them to that shame)
No great injustice in it I did see,
If they were taxed by their proper name.
For no sin can on earth have her full blame.
Then Scourge of Satyrs hold thy whip from mine
Or I will make my rod, lash thee and thine.

To the gald Reader.

Sir, he that's night-gald, or hath cornes on's toes;
May blame the Shoomaker and curse his shooes,
But those that are acquainted with the fault,
Can tell the reason wherefore he doth halt:
So thou maist think (perpaps) these Satyrs sting thee,
Where only thine own guiltinesse doth wring thee.
For if thou wert from these diseases free,
Thou would'st be quiet as some others be.
But 'tis well knowne a ticklish beast hath ticks:
And the old Proverbe saith A gald Iade kicks.
But I'l advise thee; if thou feele it smart,
Be rul'd by mee and play not the fooles part;
Keep't to thy selfe, and there are few shrill know
If thou art touched in this Booke or no.
Thou seest thou neither art mark't out nor nam'd;
And therefore onely to thy selfe art sham'd:

Now if thou stirre, at best thou shalt but make
The Countrey of thy faults more knowledge take:
And (as indeed it justly may) divine,
The worst faults that I write against are thine.
Then sith to be reproved seemes a curse,
And to be moved makes the matter worse,
Either to amend thy wicked life have care,
Or like a pack-horse and an Asse still beare.

To the impartiall Author.

George , I did ever thinke thy faithfull breast
Contain'd a minde beyond the common sort;
Phy very looke and honest heart exprest,
And seem'd an awfull mildnesse to import.
Poets may vaunt of smooth and lofty straines;
Thine with thy subject fitly doe agree.
But then thy Muse a better praise obtaines,
For whilst the greatest but Time-pleasures be,
Thou unappald and freely speak'st the truth;
Not any one for feare or lucre sparing:
A vertue rare in age more rare in youth;
Another Cato but I thinke more daring.
Well maist thou speed in these tempestuous times;
Thou soone beginst to make the world thy foe,
Yet I so well doe like thine honest Rimes,
That I could wish all Poets would write so:
For thou the way of truth so rightly tend'st,
I hold them double prais'd whom thou commend'st.

Thy deare friend, Th. C.

THE FIRST BOOK

THE OCCASION of this WORKE.

When nimble time that all things over-runs
Made me forsake my tops and eldren guns,
Reaching those yeeres in wch the schoole-boyes brag,
In leaving off the bottle and the bag:
The very Spring before I grew so old,
That I had almost thrice five Winters told;
Noting my other fellow-pupils hast,
That to our English Athens flockt so fast:
Lest others for a Truant should suspect me,
That had the selfesame Tutor to direct me,
And in a manner counting it a shame
To under-goe so long a Schoole-boyes name,
Thither went I. For though I'l not compare
With many of them that my fellowes were;
Yet to my Teachers praise (I speake it now)
I all the formes in schoole had quite run through,
And was no whit, for Grammer Rules to seeke,
In Lillies Latine, nor in Camdens Greeke;

But so well grounded, that another day,
I could not with our idle Students say
For my excuse, I was not enter'd well,
For that I was so, can my fellowes tell.
And therefore since I came no wiser thence;
I must confesse it was my negligence:
Yet daily longing to behold and see
The places where the sacred Sisters be;
I was so happy, to that Foard I came
Which of the laboring Oxe doth beare the name,
It is a spring of knowledge that imparts
A thousand severall Sciences and Arts,
A pure cleare Fount, whose water is by ods
Farre sweeter than the Nectar of the Gods:
Or rather (truly to entitle it)
It is the wholesome nurcery of Wit.

There once arriv'd, in yeeres and knowledge raw,
I fell to wondring at each thing I saw:
And for my learning made a month's Vacation,
In noting of the places situation,
The Palaces and Temples that were due
Vnto the wise Minervaes hallowed crew,
Their Cloysters, Walks, & Groves; all which survei'd,
And in my new admittance well apaid;
I did (as other idle Freshmen doe)
Long to goe see the Bell of Osney too:
And yet for certainty I cannot tell
That e'er I dranke at Aristotles Well.
And that perhaps may be the reason why
I know so little in Philosophy.
Yet old Sir Harry Bath was not forgot,
In the remembrance of whose wondrous shot
The Forrest by (Believe it they that will)
Was nam'd Shot-over, as we call it still.

But having this experience, and withall,
Atchiev'd some cunning at the Tennis-ball;
My Tutor (telling me I was not sent
To have my time, there vaine and idly spent)
From childish humours gently cal'd me in,
And with his brave instructions did begin
To teach, and by his good perswasion sought
To bring me to a love of what he taught.

Then after that he labour'd to impart,
The hidden secrets of the Logicke Art;
In stead of Grammar rules he read me then,
Old Scotus, Seton, and new Keckerman.
He shew'd me which the Prædicables be,
As Genus, Species, and the other three:
So having said enough of their contents;
Handles in order th' ten Prædicaments;
Next Post-prædicamenta with Priorum,
Perhermenias and Posteriorum.
He with the Topickes opens; and descries
Elenchi, full of subtile fallacies:
These to unfold (indeed) he tooke much paine,
But to my dull capacity in vaine:
For all he spake was to as little passe,
As in old time unto the vulgar was
The Latine Masse, which (whether bad or good)
The poore unlearned never understood;
But of the meaning were as farre to seeke,
As Coriats horse was of his masters Greeke,
When in that tongue he made a Speech unto him;
That he the greatnes of his strength might shew him.
For I his meaning did no more conjecture,
Than if he had beene reading Hebrew Lecture.
His Infinites, Individuities,
Contraries, and Subcontrarieties,

Divisions, Subdivisions, and a crew
Of tearmes and words, such as I never knew,
My shallow understanding so confounded,
That I was gravell'd, like a ship that's grounded;
And in despaire the Mystery to gaine,
Neglecting all tooke neither heed nor paine.
Yea, I remain'd in that amazed plight,
Till Cynthia six times lost her borrowed light:

But then asham'd to finde my selfe still mute,
And other little dantiprats dispute,
That could distinguish upon Rationale,
Yet scarcely heard of Verbum Personale;
Or could by heart (like Parrots) in the Schooles,
Stand pratling, these (me thought) were pretty fooles,
And therefore in some hope to profit so,
That I like them (at least) might make a show;
I reacht my Bookes that I had cast about,
To see if I could picke his meaning out:
And prying on them with some diligence,
At length, I felt my dull intelligence
Begin to open; and perceived more
In halfe an houre, than halfe a yeëre before.
And (which is strange) the things I had forgot,
And till that very day remembred not,
Since first my Tutor read them; those did then
Returne into my memory agen:
So, that with which I had so much to doe,
A weeke made easie, yea, and pleasing too.
And then not therewith thorowly content,
I practic'd to maintaine an argument:
And having waded thorow Sophistrie,
A little lookt into Philosophie,
And thinking there the Ethicks not enough,
I had a further longing yet to know

The cause of Snow, Haile, Thunder, Frost and Rain.
The Lightnings, Meteors, and what here 'twere vain
For me to speake of, sith I shall but show it,
To those that better than my selfe doe know it.
Then from the causes of things naturall
I went to matters Metaphysicall.
Of which when I a little newes could tell,
I (with the rest in Schooles to wrangling fell.)
And (as example taught me) to disgrace her,
When I oppos'd the Truth, I could out-face her.

But now ensues the worst; I getting foot,
And thus digesting Learnings bitter root:
Was ready to have reacht the fruit and thought
I should a calling in that place have sought,
I found that for other ends ordain'd,
Was from that course perforce to be constrain'd.
For Fortune that full many a boone hath lost me,
Thus in the reaping my contentment, crost me.

You sir (quoth she) that I must make my slave,
For whom in store a thousand plagues I have,
Come home I pray and learne to hold the plough,
For you have read Philosophy enough.
If wrangling in the Schooles be such a sport,
Goe fee those Ploydens at the Innes of Court:
For (aske your parish-neighbours who can tell)
Those fellowes doe maintaine contention well.
For art in numbers, you no coyle need keepe.
A little skill shall serve to tell your sheepe.
Seeke not the Starres thy evils should relate,
Lest when thou know them thou grow desperate;
And let alone Geometry ('tis vaine)
I'l finde you worke enough to marre your braine:
Or would you study Musick? else 'twere pitty,
And yet it needs not, you shall finde I'l fit ye:

I'l teach you how to frame a song, and will
Provide you cares to be the subject still.

This, Fortune or my Fate did seeme to tell me,
And such a chance, indeed, ere long befell me.
For ere my yeares would suffer me to be
Admitted to require the low'st degree:
By Fates appointment (that no stay can brooke)
The Paradise of England I forsooke
To Art and Study both, I bad farewell,
With all that good my thoughts did once foretell:
The sweetest of my hopes I left and went
In quest of Care, Despaire, and Discontent.
For seeing I was forc'd to leave those Mountaines.
Fine groves, faire walks, & sweet delightful Fountains
And saw it might not unto me be granted
To keepe those places where the Muses haunted,
I home returned somewhat discontent,
And to our Bentworth beechy shadowes went,
Bewailing these my first endeavours lost,
And so to be by angry fortune crost,
Who though she daily doth much mischiefe to me,
Can never whilst I live a greater doe me,
Yet there, e'er she on me procur'd her will,
I learn'd enough to scorne at fortune still:
Yea, use had made her envy seeme so vaine,
That I grew almost proud of her disdaine:
And having through her first malice worne,
Began to take a pleasure in her scorne.

But after I returned as is said,
And had a season in the Countrey stai'd,
I there perceiv'd (as I had long suspected)
My selfe of some unjustly ill-affected:
And that e'en those whom I had truly loved,
Had foes unto my good ungently proved,

I found though they in shew my friends had been,
(And kept their hidden malice long unseene,
With such faire shewes as if they sought my good,)
None my advancement with more spight withstood.
For, (seeming kinde) they often did perswade
My friends to learne me some Mechanick Trade,
Vrging expence (perhaps) and telling how
That Learning is but little made of now;
When 'twas through malice, cause they fear'd that I
Might come to understand my selfe thereby,
Exceed their knowledge and attaine to doe
My selfe more good than they would wish me to:
Some such, or worse, at best a wicked end,
Thus mov'd this selfe-conceited crew to bend
Their spightfull heads by secret meanes to crosse
My wisht desire and propagate my losse.

But having noted this their hollownesse,
And finding that meere Countrey businesse
Was not my Calling; to avoid the spight,
(Which at that season was not showne out-right)
And to escape the over-dangerous smiles,
Of those new-found up-landish Crocodiles;
Vpon some hopes I soone forsooke againe
The shady Grove and sweet delightfull plaine,
To see the place of this great Iles resort,
And try, if either there or at the Court.
I might by good endeavour action finde,
Agreeing with the nature of my minde.

But there I view'd another world me thought;
And little hope or none of that I sought.
I saw I must (if there I ought would doe)
First learne new fashions, and new language too.
If I should hang'd have beene I knew not how
To teach my body how to cringe or bow,

Or to embrace a fellowes hinder quarters,
As if I meant to steale away his garters;
When any stoopt to me with conges trim,
All I could doe was stand and laugh at him
Blesse me tought I, what will this Coxcomb doe,
When I perceiv'd one reaching at my shooe.
But when I heard him speake, why, I was fully
Possest, we learn'd but-barbarisme in Tully.
There was nor street, nor lane, but had a Wench,
That at once cōming could have learn'd them French
Grecians had little there to doe (poore soules,)
Vnlesse to talke with beggermen in Pauls.
All our Schoole-Latine would not serve to draw
An Instrument; adjudged good in law:
Nay which is more, they would have taught me faine
To goe new learne my English tongue againe;
As if there had beene reason to suspect
Our ancient-used Hampshire Dialect.
There I perceiv'd those brutish thronging swarmes,
That were transformed by lew'd Cyrces charmes,
There heard I wanton Syrens tune the lay,
That worke th' unwary travellers decay.
The cruell Lycanthropi walkt in sight,
So did the beastly loose Hermaphrodite.
I saw Chimera's, Furies fearefull things,
And fiends whose tongues are such envenum'd stings,
As plague not onely bodies that have breath,
But make a wound that oft uncur'd by death;
The next in bloud doth poyson and goes nigh
To ruine a mans posterity.
There I saw Guls that have no braine at all,
And certaine Monsters which they Gallants call;
New brood of Centaures that were onely proud
Of having their beginning from a Cloud.

These with a thousand other creatures more,
Such as I never saw the like before,
In stranger shaps, and more deform'd and vile,
Than ever yet appear'd to Mandivile,
Flockt there; that I almost to doubt began,
How I might passe the straights of Magalan,
Or gotten on the sudden (with such case)
To see the wonders at th' Antipodes.
O Lord thought I, what doe I meane to runne,
Out of Gods blessing thus into the Sunne!
What comfort or what goodnesse here can I
Expect among these Anthropophagi,
Where like the droves of Neptune in the water,
The lesse are made a prey to feed the greater!
Certaine it is I never shall be able,
To make my humour suit to please this rabble;
Better it were I liv'd at home with wants,
Than here with all these strange inhabitants,
Whose natures doe with me so disagree,
I shall scoffe at them though they ruine me:
Yet being loth to turne till I had try'd,
What fate my new adventure would betide,
I staid for my experience and withall
Flattered my selfe, with hope there would befall,
Something unto my share well worth my sute,
Which honesty might serve to execute,
Without respecting how to please the rude,
And Apish humours of this multitude.
But all in vaine I that preferment sought,
Ill fortune still my hopes confusion wrought.
Which though for ominous some understood,
Yet I presum'd upon some future good;
And (though I scarce am wish't so well of some)
Beleeve there is a happy time to come:

Which when I have most need of comfort, shall
Send me true Ioy to make amends for all.
But say it be not whilst I draw this aire,
I have a heart (I hope) shall ne'er despaire;
Because there is a God, with whom I trust,
My soule shall triumph when my bodie's dust.
Yet when I found that my endeavours still
Fell out as they would have't that wisht me ill;
And when I saw the world was growne so coy,
To curbe me as too young then to imploy:
And that her greatnesse though she did not want me,
Or found no calling bad enough to grant me:
(And having scap't some envies which to touch,
Vnto this purpose appertaines not much)
Weighing both that and therewith also this;
How great a shame and what reproach it is
To be still idle; and because I spy'd
How glad they would be that my state envi'd,
To finde me so although the world doth scorne
T'allow me action, as if I were borne
Before my time; yet e'en to let her see,
In spight of Fortune I'd employed be;
Casting preferments too much care aside,
And leaving that to God that can provide;
The actions of the present time I ey'd,
And all her secret villanies descry'd:
I stript Abuse from all her colours quite,
And laid her ugly face to open sight.
I labour'd to observe her waies, and then
In generall the state and tricks of men.
Wherein although my labour were not seene,
Yet (trust me) the discovery hath beene
My great content: and I haue for my paine,
Although no outward yet an inward gaine.

In which because I can with all my heart,
Allow my Countrey-men to share my part,
And cause I thinke it may doe some a pleasure,
One opportunity Ile now take leasure.
And summon up my Muse to make relation;
I may b'imployd ere long, now's my Vacation.

An Jntroduction.

Come then Invention, and call Iudgement in,
Knowledge and Reason fie where have you bin?
Goe whistle of my Muse that wanton,
With Epigrams, Love-Sonnets, Roundelayes,
And such like trifling gaine: bid her come on,
I have found braver prey to seize upon.
Some new inspired power warmes my heart,
And addes fresh courage unto every part:
New bloud hath fild up all my Love-dride veines,
A sacred Fury hath possest my braines:
Something there is swels in my troubled brest,
Till it be utter'd I expect no rest;
For full with matter like a Sibyl Nun,
I shall grow furious if't be long undone.

Then rouse thee Muse, each little Hobby plies,
At Scarabes, and painted Butterflies:
Leave thou such trash, it is not now for us
To flie for pleasure; wee'l in earnest trusse
Leave base attempts to buzzards or the kite,
And checke the bravest in their proudest flight.

But thou me thinks seem'st sickly feathered,
As if thy sprightly heart extinguished,
Had left thee nothing of the same thou wert,
Dejection hath possessed every part,

And thou look'st dull unfit for lofty-things,
As if thy wanton flight had tir'd thy wings.
Lest therefore thou should'st faint, forsake the first,
And turne thy selfe into a Satyrist;
Not of the roughest; nor the mildest sort:
Be most in earnest, but sometimes in sport.
What e'er thou finde to speake be not affraid,
But for assistance crave th' Almighties aide.
And to that grace and power which he shall daigne,
Adde all thy best endeavours to attaine
So thriving an event that men may see,
Heauen had decreed to helpe and favour thee.
Looke to thy taske for know thou must unfold
The strangest nature that was ever told:
Lanch that foule deepe impostumated sore:
Which shamelesse time hath so well skinned ore.
As ripping up thereof some smart will be:
Yet strike it home, and none shall hinder thee;
Search if thou canst, till thou the bottome sound,
Set not too farre lest thou thy selfe confound,
And (by too neere inquirie) smothered lye,
In the unfathom'd depths of villany;
For (doe not mis-conceive what I intend)
No message to th' Antipodes I send:
Nor have I any meaning thou should'st goe
To search th' Earths center, what lies hid below,
Or undermine it for rich Minerals:
Thou shalt not have to doe with Vegetals.
Strange natures have both stones, trees, herbs & plants
Which let them seeke for that imployment wants.

There is a Herbe some say whose vertue's such,
It in the pasture onely with a touch
Vnshooes the new-shod Steed. Within the North
The Scottish Iles eal'd Orcades bring forth

Trees, (or else Writers faine it) from whose seeds,
A certaine kinde of water-foule proceeds.
The Loadstone also drawes the steele unto it,
Yet hath no ginne nor instrument to doe it:
Rare powers in Nature; and yet none of these,
Nor what lies hidden in the vast wilde Seas,
Meane I to speake of: I no knowledge have,
What monsters play with Neptunes boystrous waves:
Nor quality of birds, or beasts I sound,
For soone their open natures may be found:
Mans wisdome may, with little inquisition
Finde out the brutish creatures true condition.
For by experience we for certaine know
The Elephant much love to man will show.
The Tygers, Wolves, and Lions, we doe finde,
Are ravenous, fierce, and cruell even by kinde.
We know at carryon we shall finde the Crowes,
And that the Cock the time of midnight knowes:
By a few daies experience we may see,
Whether the Mastife curst or gentle be.
And many other natures we finde out,
Of which we have no cause at all to doubt:
But there's another Creature called Man,
Note him who will, and tell me if he can,
What his condition is; observe his deeds,
His speech his raiment, yea, and how he feeds,
Try him a yeere, a month, an age, and when
You have so try'd him; say, what is he then?
Retaines he either unto Præster Iohn,
Or else unto the whore of Babylon?
If that you know not which of them to grant,
Is he a Brownist, or a Protestant?
If in an age you cannot finde out whether,
Are you so much as sure that he is either?

Is his heart proud or humble? know you where
Or when he hates, or loves, or stands in feare?
Or who can say (in Conscience I thinke none)
That this mans words and deeds, & thoughts are one
Where shall you him so well resolved finde,
That wants a wandring and a wavering?
Nay he of whom you have most triall, when
You see him dying will you trust him then?
Perhaps you may yet questionlesse he leaves you
A minde misdoubting still that he deceives you.
And no great wonder, for he's such an elfe,
That ever is uncertaine of himselfe,
He is not semper idem in his will,
Nor stands on this or that opinion still,
But varies; he both will and will not too,
Yea even the thing he thinkes and sweares to doe
He many times omits and not alone
Hath from anothers expectation gone,
But least to any one he should prove just,
Himselfe he guiles if in himselfe he trust.

But this same diverse and inconstant creature,
That is so contrary in his owne nature,
'Tis he that now my Muse must here devise,
Whilst he is living to Anatomize;
'Tis his Abusive and ill-taught condition
(Although it be beyond all definition)
She must discover with the boundlesse rage,
Of the unbridled humours of this age
Yet 'tis a mighty taske, whose undertaking,
Would make all Argus eyes, forget their waking:
And I doe feare I may attempt as well,
To dragge againe to light the dogge of hell.
For all Alcides toiles had not beene more,
Though his twice-sixe had beene twice-sixty-score.

So infinite is this I must unfold;
That I might write and speake till I were old,
I know that I should leave unspoken then,
Most of those humours I ave seene in Man;
And still confesse in him that hidden be
Thousands of humors more than I can see,
Somewhat he hath to doe would trace him out
In every action that he goes about:
Or but looke after him and see the path,
He trtades, what contraries it hath.
To finde him by his words were to assay,
To seeke a fish out by his watry way;
Or chase the Swallow to her home at night,
Through all the pathlesse windings in her flight,
But to observe him in his thoughts were more
Than all the labours mentioned before.
The never ending, winding, turning way
That the unbounded minde of man doth stray,
So full of wonder is that admiration
Hath nigh confounded my imagination
With too much musing thereupon: but yet
Sith either want of yeeres or want of wit,
Or lacke of worke, or lacke of all, hath brought me
To be more needfull than a number thought me;
Sith it some time and study too hath cost me,
And many an humour of mine owne hath lost me;
Sith it hurts none and sith perhaps some may
Be benefited by't another day:
Though as I said, the taske be not alone,
Too huge to be perform'd by any one,
But more than all the world can well dispatch;
Looke what I could by observation catch,
And my weake memory well bare away,
I registred against another day:

Nor will I ought that I remember spare,
Save things unfit and such as needlesse are;
Here I will teach my rough Satyricke Rimes
To be as madde and idle as the times
Freely I will discover what I spy,
And in despight of curiosity,
Maske in a homely phrase as simply plaine,
As other men are mystically vaine;
I'l breake the closet of mans private sin,
Search out the villanies conceal'd therein;
And if their sight may not infectious be,
Draw them to view in spight of secrecie;
Greatnesse and Custome shall not have their will
Without controule so to Authorize still,
That though much be amisse, yet no man dare
Seeme to take notice that offences are.
Weele brand them, and so brand them all shall see,
We durst not onely say such faults there be;
But startle those who had securely long
Slept senselesse of all shame and others wrong.
None will I spare for favour or degree,
My verse like death shall so impartiall be,
If that my father or my brother halt,
Though I spare them, I will not spare their fault:
No, mine owne follies that are most belov'd,
Shall not escape their censures unreprov'd,

Now some will say, fit 'twere I held my tongue,
For such a taske as this I am too young:
I ne'er had dealings in the world with men,
How can I speake of their conditions then?
I cannot, they conclude: strong reason, why,
Know none how market goes but such as buy?
We finde that it is oft and daily seene
When a deceitfull shifting knave hath beene

Playing at Cards with some unskilfull gull,
Whose purse is lin'd with crownes and penny-full,
He by some nimble passage may deceive,
Which though the simple Gamester nere perceive
Another may the Cheaters craft espie
That is no Player, but a stander by.
So I aloofe may view without suspition,
Mens idle humors and their weake condition,
Plainer perhaps than many that have seene
More daies and on Earth stage have actors beene.
And tis no marvell: for imployments takes them
Quite from themselves, & so dim-sighted make them
They cannot see the fooleries they doe,
Nor what ill Passions they are subject to:
Then who e'er carpe, the course I have begun,
If God assist me spight of them I'l runne:
And lest the Exordium hath too tedious bin,
What I intended loe I now begin.

Of Man.

Mounted aloft on Contemplations wings,
And noting with my selfe the state of things
I plainly did perceive as on a Stage,
The confus'd actions of this present age;
I view'd the World, and viewing saw my fill,
Because that all I saw therein was ill.
I weigh'd it well, and found it was the Scene
Of Villanie, of Lust, and all uncleane
And loath'd Corruption. Seeing which, my minde,
(That by some inspiration gan to finde
The place was not in fault for this) search't on
To finde the cause of this Confusion.
And noting every creature there, I found
That onely man was the chiefe spring and ground
Of all this uprore: Yea, I soone did see,
Hee there was all in all, and none but Hee.

Then having also a desire to know
Mans true condition; I began to grow
Yet more inquisitive. An old Record
At last I hapt upon, which did afford
Much sacred light. It shew'd, He was a Creature,
First made by God, just and upright by nature.
That in his likenesse fram'd he was compounded
Of Soule and Body: That, this last was founded

Of earth: The first, infus'd by inspiration.
And that, the finall cause of his creation
Was to set forth the glory of his Maker;
And with him to be made a joynt-partaker
Of endlesse happinesse. Growne much amaz'd
To read this of him, for a time I paus'd.
And finding now in Man no mark or signe
That ere he was a Creature so divine;
I knew not what to thinke unlesse the same
Should meane some other creature of that name:
But prying further on, I there found out
The resolution of my present doubt:
I saw the cause of's fall; How with Free-will,
He fell from his first goodnesse unto ill:
I saw how he from happinesse did slide,
Through disobedience and unthankfull pride:
Yea, and I found, how by that cursed Fall
He was bereaved and quite stript of all
That so adorn'd him. His first holinesse
Was chang'd to a corrupted filthinesse;
Then he began to draw a painfull breath,
And was a slave, made captive unto Death:
His body was expos'd to labour, sweat,
And much disquieting. He got his meat
With sorrow, care, and many perturbations,
And then his soule grew subject unto Passions
And strange distempratures. Moreover, he
So perfect miserable grew to be,
That if he had not a Re-generation,
Nothing was left him but meere desperation.

This, having seen, I made no question than,
But it was spoken of that Creature Man,
Which I sought after. Searching further yet,
On some Apocryphall Records I hit.

The works of wise Philosophers; from whence
I yet received more intelligence
Concerning him: for there they do unfold
Each part about his body, and have told
Secrets of nature very rare to finde.
They have considered also of the Mind
The Vnderstanding part: and do relate
The nature of his Soule, and her estate.
Deep Mysteries they be: but seeing, I
Have never searched that Philosophie,
So far as those: And sith, I shall but tell
Such things, as no man can explain so well
As they themselves: I leave you to their books.
In which, who ere with good advisement lookt,
Shall finde it largely handled. As for me,
I mean to speak but what I know, and see
By tri'd experience; which perhaps may give
(Although I have but now begun to live)
Some profitable notes. First, I avow
What-ever Man hath been; that, he is now
A reasonable living Creature; who
Consisteth of a Soul and Body too.
His Body flesh and bloud, to sinne subjected,
And from his very birth therewith infected,
Grows riper in uncleannesse. Then his Soule,
A pure and lasting substance, is made foule
Through th' others filthinesse, and much supprest
By divers hurtfull passions, which molest
And hinder her proceedings: yea, hee's this,
A Creature that exceeding wretched is:
And that he may be sure no fault to want,
Vain, Fickle, Weak, and wondrous Arrogant
And though his nature heretofore were pure,
Now nothing is more fading or unsure.

But Ile omit at this time to relate
The courses I've observ'd in's outward state:
For though the Body that before the Fall
Sustain'd no sorrow, were it ne're so small,
Doth now feel hunger, with heat, thirst, and cold,
A feeble birth, defects in being old,
With thousands more; & though each gasp of breath
In misery he draw untill his death:
Yet all this outward change which I do finde,
Is nothing when I do behold the minde.
For, there inordinate and brutish Passion
Keeps umpire; and hath got predomination.
Full many a pensive thought doth now molest
His troubled minde, whose conscience slept in rest.
His best contents but discontentments are:
His chiefe of pleasures are so mixt with care,
And with so little comfort he obtains them;
Or with such smart, and danger, he retains them;
Or with such feare of losing them, enjoyes them;
That those distastings, in the taste, destroyes them.

Amongst his own desires do hourely rise
So many wondrous Contrarieties,
And vain repentings of what's done before;
As all his good, makes but his ill the more.
This day hee's cheerefull, and to morrow sad,
E'ne from the same occasion made him glad.
The Minde, which sometime harbor'd so much good,
That evill but in name, was understood;
Knows ill so well, as of that good bereft,
The name of goodnesse now is scarcely left.
And unto me a wonder 'tis become
To see, what glories man is fallen from.
The best are bad, yet I observed still,
There are degrees amongst men in their ill.

The basest creatures that here breathe on earth,
(Inheriting corruption by their birth,)
In the condition of their life, are farre
Lesse different from what the worst men are,
Than they are from the best. Perhaps the shapes
(Vnlesse it be some strange disguised Apes)
Remain alike: but their poore soules are quite
Exchang'd to that which we call Appetite.
For, who can name of reasonable give,
To what is made but meerely sensitive?
It was a throne where Vertue ruling sate,
Ioyntly with Reason, her beloved mate:
And they two under sweet obedience, then,
Kept that fair place, th' unblemish't Ile of Man:
But sith with Good vie learn'd to know the Ill,
In stead of Reason, wee have set up Will.

The minde is nothing but a mint of jarres,
Or Little-world of mad domestique warres:
Vertue's depos'd thence, and Vice rule obtaines;
Yea, Vice from Vice there by succession reignes:
Expelling those whom Vertues presence graceth,
And in their steads these hurtfull Monsters placeth;
Fond Love, and Lust, Ambition, Enmitie,
Foolish Compassion, Ioy and Iealousie,
Feare, Hope, Despaire and Sadnesse, with the Vice
Call'd Hate, Revenge, and greedy Avarice,
Choler and Cruelty: which I perceiv'd
To be the onely causes Man's bereav'd
Of quietnesse and rest. Yea, these I found
To be the principall and onely ground
Of all pernicious mischiefs that now rage,
Or have disturbed him in any age.
These losing Reason, their true Prince, began
To breed disturbance in the heart of Man.

Each laid a severall claim (forsooth) and hee
Would be the Monarch in this Emperie
Ruine had got the upper hand, and they
Would be Commanders, that were made t'obey.
Love, (whē as Reason rul'd) you would have thought
Would never have been forc't or drawn to naught.
When God, the Chaos did divide; then he
Set it to look things should not disagree;
And taught it sweetly how to move the minde,
Both for increasing and preserving kinde.
But now, the bound it had, contenteth not;
A vein of domineering it hath got.
And the whole Man is held in slavery,
Within the compasse of that Tyranny.
Such apishnesse it now hath entertain'd,
That all the credit which it had is stain'd.
Yea, 'tis as far from what it was, as we
From our more honour'd ancient English be,
And so unlike unto it selfe doth prove,
We fearce dare give it now the name of Love.

Ambition, that erst gently mov'd Desire
To nought else but to good things to aspire;
Now must be Lord of Mis-rule, and will force
The Minde beyond her bound, from bad to worse,

Revenge doth claim a Princedome, and will be
The sole Commander in this Seignorie.
That cruell Ruffian, that in vain doth strive,
His Of-spring from true Valour to derive.

Despaire and Feare (two Rake-hels more) that Man
Had never knowledge of, till Sinne began;
With mighty troops of terrours, play their part,
To overthrow th' weak fortresse of the heart.
Yea, every Passion strives that onely he
Might Ruler in that Microcosmos be.

Ev'n Hope, (that when this discord first fell out,
Was sent to keep Despaires rude forces out,
And be a comfort to this troubled state,)
Becomes an Actor in this foule debate.
And when she had got footing in his brest,
Vnder the colour of procuring rest,
Built Castles in the ayre; from whence did grow;
Another meanes of Reasons overthrow:
Yea, Choler, jealousie, black Envy, Hate,
And bloudy Cruelty aim'd at this state.
Ioy, (though fare shew it made of discontent,)
And kinde Compassion (though she weeping went,)
Made private means to sway all to their wils,
Without the least care of ensuing ills.
That by their discord (I perceive) began
All whatsoever is amisse in Man.
And therefore I do here intend to show,
Ere I go farther, what ill humours flow
From these fore-named: and I will declare,
To what Abuses most men subject are,
Through every of them: for, when I took view,
Although I saw not all, I found a few.
And here because I will not order break,
I will asunder of each Passion speak.

Of the Passion of Love.

Satyre 1.

First Love, the same I here the first do call,
Because that Passion is most naturall;
And of it selfe could not be discommended,
Wert not with many a foule Abuse attended.
Or so much out of measure, as we see
By those in whom it reignes it oft will be.
For, look where't grows into extremity,
It soon becometh Vertues Lethargie;
Makes them set light by Reasons sound direction,
And beares them headlong by untam'd affection.
Counsel's in vain; cause when this fit doth take them,
Reason and Vnderstanding both forsake them,
It makes them sometimes merry, sometimes sad;
Vntam'd men milde, and many a milde man mad.
To fools it wisedome gives, and makes the witty
To shew thēselves most fools (the more's the pitty.)

Some it makes purblinde, that they do not know
The snow-white Cygnet from the cole-black Crow.
And one to gold compares his Mistris haire,
When 'tis like Fox-fur; and doth think shee's faire,
Though she in beauty be not far before
The swart West-Indian or the tawny Moore.

Oh, those faire star-like eyes of thine! one saies,
When to my thinking, she hath look't nine waies;

And that sweet breath; when I think (out upon't)
Twould blast a flower if she breathed on't.

Another having got a dainty peece,
(Prouder than Iason with his golden Fleece)
Commēds her vertues (which must needs have many
Because she never maketh use of any;)
Yea, swears shee's chast, and takes her for no lesse,
When all that know her, know her ficklenesse.

Another groweth carelesse of his health,
Neglects his credite, and consumes his wealth;
Hath found a pretty Peat, procur'd her favour,
And sweares that he, in spight of all, will have her;
Well, let him take her, sith they are contented,
But such rash matches are the soon'st repented.

Then there is one who having found a peere
In all things worthy to be counted deere,
Wanting both art and heart his minde to break,
Sits sighing (Woe is me) and will not speak.
All company he hates, is oft alone,
Growes melancholy, weeps, respecteth none,
And in despaire, seeks out a way to dye,
When he might live and finde a remedy.

But how now; Wast not you (sayes one) that late
So humbly begg'd a Boon at Beauties gate?
Was it not you that to a female Saint
Indited your Philaretes complaint,
With many dolefull Sonnets? was't not you?
Sure twas, saies he: but then how comes it now
You carp at Love thus in a Satyr's vain?
Take heed you fall not in t'her hands again:
Sure if you do, you shall in open Court,
Be forc't to sing a Palinodia for't.
What? are your brains drie, or your bloud grown cold?
Or are you on a sudden waxen old,

To flout at Love, which men of greatest wit
Allow in youth as naturall and fit?
What reason have you for't else? what pretence
Have you to make excuse for this offence?

To him I answer, That indeed, even I
Was lately subject to this maladie:
Lik't what I now dislike; imploy'd good times
In the composing of such idle Rimes
As are objected: From my heart I sent
Full many a heavy sigh, and sometimes spent
Vnmanly teares. I thought, I must confesse,
If she I lov'd had smil'd, no happinesse
Might equalize it, and her frown much worse
(O God forgive me!) than the Churches curse.

I did (as some do) not much matter make,
To hazard soule and body for her sake.
Having no hope, sometime I did despaire,
Sometime (too much) built Castles in the aire.
In many a foolish humour I have been
As well as others. Look where I have seen
Her (whom I lov'd) to walk when she was gone,
Thither I often have repair'd alone;
As if I thought the places did contain
Some poore contentment, (Oh exceeding vain!)

Yet, what if I have been thus idly bent,
Shall I be now ashamed to repent?
Moreover I was in my Childehood then,
And am scarce yet reputed for a man.
And therefore neither cold, nor old, nor dry,
Nor cloy'd with any foule disease am I,
Whereby the strength of nature is declin'd,
'Tis no such cause that made me change my minde:
But my affection, that before was blinde,
Rash, and unruly, now begins to finde

That it had run a large and fruitlesse race,
And thereupon hath given Reason place.
So that by Reason, what no Reason might
Perswade me from before, I have out-right
Iustly forsaken; for because I see
'Twas vain, absurd, and nought but fooler
Yet for all this, look where I lov'd of late,
I have not turn'd it in a spleen to hate;
No; for 'twas first her vertue and her wit,
Taught me to see how much I wanted it.
Then as for Love, I do allow it still,
I never did dislik't, nor never will;
So it be vertuous, and contain'd within
The bounds of reason: but when 'twill begin
To run at randome, and her limits break,
I must, because I cannot chuse but speak.

But I forget my selfe: Wherefore am I
So tedious in my own Apologie?
It needed not at all; I'le on again,
And shew what kinde of Lovers yet remain.

One sort I finde yet of this loving crew,
Whose quality I think, is known to few;
These seek by all the means they can to gain
Each Virgins liking: Sometime not in vain.
The thing they would, they have, but when 'tis got.
Sorry they are, and wish they had it not:
For peradventure they have plac't their love,
So as it cannot, or it must not move.
And yet if they should faile but to procure it,
'Twould grieve them so they hardly would endure it.
Yea, though in shew (at least) they have said nay,
Their loves with like affection to repay,
If they perceiv't abate, as it will doe,
Both this and that will make them sorry too.

But such as do into that weaknesse fall,
Vnsteady and unconstant I may call.

Moreover, some such humours do infect,
That the same man doth diversly affect:
Now he the Faire approves, anon the grace
Appeares not in the colour of a face.
He spies the Brown, and then that most esteems,
Cause the proportion much more pleasant seems.
Then, he the Wanton likes; then modest Eyes;
Then loves the simple Lasse; and then the Wise:
One for her pase; and for her gesture one
Must be the Mistresse he adores alone;
Yet peradventure ere a little while,
Another wins her from him with a smile.

This, with a look nigh languishing, moves pitty:
That, he commends because shee's bold and witty.
And longs for what anon again he loaths.
Because she seem'd faire in her gaudy clothes.

True worth moves few: but sure I am, not many
Have for bare Vertues sake affected any.
Wealth wins the most, yet they by triall prove,
Though it breeds liking, yet it gains not love.

Then to obtain his Mistresse one man tries
How he can strain his wits to Poetize:
His Passion to relate, his skill he proves?
But in this blockish age it little moves:
Nor do I wonder much true meaning fails,
And wit so little in this case avails,
Sith Dunces can have Sonnets fram'd, and send them
As their inventions, when some others pen'd them.

Another seeks by valour to obtain
His wished prize; but now that triall's vain.

The third brings wealth, and if he do not speed,
The Woman's worth the suing for indeed.

Then he that's neither valorous nor wise,
Comes ruffling in with shamelesse brags and lies,
Making a stately, proud, vain-glorious show
Of much good matter, when tis nothing so.
In stead of lands, to which he neere was heire,
He tells her tales of Castles in the ayre:
For martiall matters, he relates of fraies,
Where many drew their swords, and ran their waies:
His Poetry is such as he can cull
From Plaies he heard at Curtain, or at Bull;
And yet his fine coy Mistresse, Mary-Muffe,
The soonest taken with such broken stuffe.

Another shallow brain hath no device,
But prates of some strange casts he had at Dice;
Brags of his play; yea, sure it doth befall,
He vaunts oft times of that which marreth all.

But some I note (now fie on such a man)
That make themselves as like them as they can,
Thereby to win their loves: they fain their pase,
Order their looks, and strive to set their face
To be demure. Some woe by nods and looks;
Some by their sighs, and others by their books.

Some have a nature must not be denaid,
And will grow furious if they be delaid.
Other again have such a fancy got,
If they soon speed, then they esteem them not.

When women woo some men do most affect them,
And some again for wantons do suspect them:
Besides, we see that fools themselves they make,
What toyes they count of for their Wenches sake.

One, for some certain months, or weeks, or daies,
Weares in his hat a branch of wither'd Bayes;
Or sweareth to imploy his utmost power,
But to preserve some stale neglected flower.

He weares such colours as for Lovers be,
Drinks vowed healths upon his bared knee:
Sues mainly for a shoo-string, and doth crave her
To grant him but a busk-point for a favour.
And then to note (as I have seen) an Asse
That by her window whom he loves must passe,
With what a fained pase the Woodcock stalks;
How scurvily he fleareth as he walks:
And if he ride, how he rebounds and trots,
As if his horse were troubled with the bots:
'Twould make one swell with laughing. In a day
He makes more errands than he needs that way,
Bearing himselfe as if she still espide him;
When as perhaps she flouts, or looks beside him.

Nay, should I tell you all the Vanitie
I have observed in this maladie,
I should shame Lovers: bus Ile now be husht,
For had I said more, I my selfe had blusht.
Yet know; although this passion I have tide
To love of Women, it concludes beside
All whatsoever kinde of loves there be,
Vnlesse they keep the minde from troubles free;
And yeeld to Reason: but of such-like Lovers,
My Muse hereafter other feats discovers.

Of Desire, or Lust.

Satyre 2.

Lvstfull Desire (although twere rather fit
To some bruit Creature to attribute it)
Shall be presented in the second place;
Because it shrowds a vile deformed face
Beneath Loves Vizard, and assumes that name,
Hiding it own fault with the others blame.
'Tis a base Passion, from whose sink doth flow
Many base humours. 'Tis the overthrow
Of all in whom it enters. 'Tis an evill
Worse than to be possessed with a Devill.
This, this is that which oft caus'd publike strife,
And private discord. This makes man and wife
Grow each to other cold in their affection,
And to the very marrow sends infection.
This spoiles the body; this doth make the face
Look wan, pale, yellow, and doth much disgrace
The beauty of it. This bereaveth quite,
The bones of marrow, and the eyes of sight.
It shrinks the sinews; and from thence doth sprout
Griefes of the stomake, Leprosie and Gout,
With other such: beside, it doth decay
Not life alone; but also takes away
Both memory and understanding too;
And many other mischiefes else will doe.

And which way comes that foule disease to us
We call the French, so vile and odious?
I'st not by Lust? Breed not such-like desires
Children begotten by unlawfull Sires?
Strange generations; beds so oft defilde,
That many a Father scarcely knowes his childe?
Or, is't not hence this common Proverbe growes,
'Tis a wise childe that his own Father knowes?
Doth it not others reputation foyle?
And them e'ne of their dearest jewells spoile?
Yes, and from hence a thousand other crimes
Do daily spring: and yet in these our times
'Tis highly made of. Yea, 'tis Lust doth weare
The richest garments, and hath curious'st fare:
The softest beds it hath to take repose
With sweet perfumes; but sure ther's need of those.

Drawn in a Coach it visits, now and then,
Some neare acquaintance 'mongst the Noblemen.
And yet the Court alone frequents it not,
But in the City residence hath got,
Where, in a daily service it imployes,
Young Cocknies, Burgomasters, Roaring-Boyes,
Yea, Porters, Prentises, and all that may
Be service able to it any way.

'Twere much to note the pain that some endure,
And at how high a rate they do procure
Their beastly wills. Ther's many spend their stocks
In Ruffes, Gowns, Kirtles, Petty-coats, and Smocks.
For which, on's paid with that shall make him craul
(If he be friended to some Hospitall.

Another quitted for his well-spent stuffe,
By some grim Serjeant with a Counter-buffe:
A third it brings (if long that course he follows)
First to the Gaole, and so-forth to the Gallowes.

And what have you observed to have bin
The usuall associates of this sin?
But filthy speeches, bold fac't impudence,
Vnseemly actions, riot, negligence;
Or such as these. Yea, to procure their lust
It makes them into any mischiefs thrust,
(How hatefull or apparant ere they be)
Or put in practise any villanie.

Moreover, where it enters once, the minde
Can no true rest, nor any quiet finde.
We see it also maketh them to crave,
Not what is best, but what they long to have.
Yea, Lust hath many mischiefs that ensue it,
Which most men see, but few the lesse eschew it.
Men rather now, as if 'twere no offence,
Are grown to such a shamelesse impudence,
They vaunt and brag of their lascivious facts,
No lesse than some of brave heroick acts.
And, not a few of this same humour be,
That would be thought the foes of Chastitie.
By whom, if I see ill, Ile sure conceale it;
For they themselves will, to their shames, reveale it.

Ther's others, who disliking so to vaunt,
Will, Si non castè, tamen cautè, grant,
(For that's their Motto) they make modest showes,
But what they do in secret, man nere knows.

Some makes a Baud of the divine profession,
(Like Shavelings in Auricular Confession.)
Th' other are bad, and sure of God accurst:
But, of all others, these I deem the worst.

Ther's other Gallants would desire but this,
Without suspition to confer and kisse:
For other pleasures they would never crave them,
Nay, if they might, they sweare they wil not have thē.

So mean perhaps, but time brings alteration;
And a faire woman is a shrewd temptation.

Then many make their feigned love to be
A cloak to cover their immodestie:
These will protest, and vow, and sweare their life
Consists in having whom they woo to wife.
Yet, if the villains can their lust fulfill,
They will forswear them, and be living still.

Some do court all (and not alone to prove;
But for because with all they are in love.)
With such deep Passion, that they cannot smother
Their hot affection till they meet another.

But why will Man against himselfe and Reason
Consent to such a Tyrant in his Treason?
Why will he so his liberty forgoe,
To be a slave to such a monstrous foe?
For what is this same Passion we call Lust?
Is't not a Brutish longing? an unjust
And foule desire, unlawfully to gain
Some evill pleasure? Or, to speak more plain;
A furious burning passion, whose hot fumes
Corrupt the understanding, and consumes
The very flesh of man? Then what's the fact?
What may I terme that vile and shamefull act,
But this; The execution of an ill,
Out of set purpose, and with a good will,
In spight of Reason? Tell me, is't not base?
When men shall so their worthy sex disgrace,
To give their bodies in a deed unclean,
With a foule nastie prostituted quean?
Or, in their understanding be so dull,
As to observe an idle short-heel'd Trull?
A puling female Devil, that hath smiles
Like Syrens Songs, and teares like Crocodyles.

Yet there be some (I will not name them now)
Whom I have seen unto such puppets bow,
And be as serviceable as a Groome
That fears another man will beg his roome.
They have been glad full oft to please their pride
With costly gifts, and forced to abide
Imperious scoffes, with many scornfull words,
Such as the humour they are in affords.
And yet for these they'l venture honours, lives,
If they command it: when on their poore Wives
(Though they in beauty love, and true delight,
Exceed them more than day-time doth the night)
Those common Courtesies they'l scarce bestow
Which they to ev'ry stranger use to show:
Yea, & their Lust doth wrap them in such blindnesse,
They cannot give them one poore look in kindnesse.

Moreover, for their lusts they have not laid
Base plots alone, like him that was convey'd
In a close trunk, because in secresie
He would (unseen) enjoy his venery.
I say not onely therein have they reacht
Their damn'd inventions: it hath also stretcht
Vnto strange Lusts, of which I will not speak,
Because I may offend the minde that's weak:
Or, least I to some simple one should show
Those sinnes by naming he did never know.
Then here Ile leave: there's lurking holes such store,
This stinking Vermine I will hunt no more.

Of Hate.

Satyre 3.

Bvt I have rouz'd another here as bad,
They call it Hate; a worse I never had
Before in chase: I scarce can keep (in sooth)
My selfe from danger of his venom'd tooth.
This is the Passion that doth use to move
The minde a clean contrarie way to Love.
It is an inspiration of the Devill,
That makes men long for one anothers evill.
It cankers in the heart, and plagueth most,
Not him that's hated, but the hatefull host.
And yet there's too too many I do know,
Whose hearts with this foule poyson over-flow:
Of which I have a true intelligence,
By the sharp scoffes and slanders springing thence:
But, where it rules, they cannot well conceale it,
But either words, or deeds, or both reveale it.

Were it just causes that did still ingender.
This passion in them; or if they could render
A reason for't, 'twere somewhat. But their will
Carries them on in spight of reason still.
These are their humours. For a slight offence
They'l hate th' offender for a recompence.
Some malice all that any way excell,
Although they know it farre from doing well.

And many have abhorred (God amend them)
The Stranger that did never yet offend them:
Which they are not ashamed to confesse,
Yet in their hate continue neere the lesse.
But though that they can yeeld no reason why
They beare them causelesse malice, yet can I.
Their hearts are ill, and it is seldome known,
That a sweet brook from bitter springs hath flown.

Ther's some too, when they see a man respected,
Though they are nothing by that means neglected,
They inly grudge, and outwardly disdain,
Being alike condition'd as was Cain.

Some hate their friends that love and count them dear,
As by the sequell plainly shall appeare;
One that a seeming friendship had profest me,
Vpon a time did earnestly request me,
That I would plainly my opinion shew,
What I of his conditions thought or knew:
And that I would without exceptions tell
What things in him did not become him well.

I scorning flattery, with a single heart,
'Twixt him and me my minde did soon impart;
And as a friend that is unfeigned, ought,
Left nothing unreveal'd of that I thought:
Yea, without soothing, him I reprehended,
If I perceiv'd hee any way offended;
Provided alwaies that I did not swerve
From a decorum fitting to observe.
But mark Mans nature: he perceiving I
Had taken note of some infirmity
He would not have unript; And seeing I
Saw more than he wisht any man should spie
Of his ill humours; (though I must confesse
Being my friend, I lov'd him nothing lesse:)

In stead of thanks and liking for my pains,
My company and sight he now refrains;
And for my kindnesse, like a thanklesse mate,
Doth ill repay me with a loathing hate.

This one I know, and by that one I finde,
That there be many beare as bad a minde.
But let us for their true conversion pray;
For never Age could this more justly say,
Truth hatred gets (she of such gain is sped)
While Love and Charity to heaven are fled.

Againe, the wicked hate beyond all measure
The righteous man that contradicts their pleasure;
And that's the fundamentall cause I know,
That many men doe hate their teachers so.
These common humours are observ'd of few,
Yet may a young experience finde them true;
And boldly say, that all in whom th' are found
Have poysoned hearts, polluted and unsound.
Yet they are more corrupt than all the rest,
Who hate their friends they should account of best.
But, let Men strive and study to remove
This Passion from their hearts, and graft on Love.
Let them not harbour such a hellish sinne;
Which being entred marreth all within.
Nor let them think my counsell merits laughter,
Sith Scripture saies, To hate our brother's slaughter.

Of Envie.

Satyre 4.

Then some envenom'd with an envious touch,
Think ev'ry thing their neighbour hath too much,
O Lord say they (if in the field they be)
What goodly Corn and well-fed beasts hath he?
(If in the house) they never in their lives
Saw fairer women than their neighbours wives:
Tis pitty she (a Lasse of such renown)
Should be embraced by so rude a Clown.
That house is too well furnisht, or doth stand
Better than his: or it hath finer land.
This Farme he thinketh more commodious much,
For wood and water he had never such.
Yea, so he grudges inwardly and frets
At every good thing that his neighbour gets

Of these besides there are, that when they see
Any beloved, or in favour be,
Especially in Courts and Great mens houses,
Then the heart swelleth, and the envious rouses;
Ne're resting till that like a spightfull Elfe,
He do displace them, or disgrace himselfe.

Now some are in the minde that Hate and this
Still go together and one Passion is.
Indeed, they foul injurious humors be,
So like, they seem to have affinitie.

And yet they differ (as oft kindred do)
Enough at least I'me sure to make them two.
Hate many times from wrongs receiv'd hath grown;
Envy is seen where injuries are none.
Her malice also is more generall;
For Hate to some extends, and she to all.
Yet envious men do least spight such as be
Of ill report, or of a low degree:
But rather they do take their aime at such,
Who either well-beloved are, or rich.
And therefore some do fitly liken these
Vnto those flies we call Cantharides:
Sith for the most part they alight on none
But on the flowe as that are fairest blowne.
Or to the boistrous winde, which sooner grubs
The stately Cedar than the humble shrubs.
Yet I have known it shake the bush below,
And move the leafe that's wither'd long ago;
As if it had not shown sufficient spight,
Vnlesse it also could o'erwhelm it quite,
Or bury it in earth. Yea, I have found
The blast of Envy flies as low's the ground.
And when it hath already brought a man
Even to the very meanest state it can,
Yet 'tis not satisfi'd, but still devising
Which way it also may disturbe his rising.

This is most true, or else it could not be
That any man should hate or envy me,
Being a creature (ore would think) that's plac't
Too far below the touch of Envies blast.
And yet they do; I see men have espi'd
Something in me too that may be envi'd.
But I have found it now and know the matter,
The reason's, They are great, and Ile not flatter.

Or else because they see that I do scorn
To be their slave whose equall I am born.

I heard (although twere spoken in a cloud)
They censure, that my knowledge makes me proud:
And that I teach so farre beyond my calling,
They every houre do expect my falling;
With many a prayer and prognostication,
To shew their love not worthy revelation.
But what care I? to quit their good surmising,
I do desire fall may be their rising.
Which say should once be, as I hope twill never,
My hope is sure it shall not be for ever;
Or else, because I know it cannot be
Much lower than it is, it grieves not me.

And where they say, my wit augments my pride;
My conscience tells me that I am belide.
For, that poore dram which heaven on me bestowes,
Such lack (of what is yet more needfull) showes
That I am sad to think how much I come
Short of those gifts which are bestow'd on some:
And knowledge of that want doth grieve me so,
I have no joy to boast of that I know.

But let them scandall as I heare they do,
And see whose lot the shame will fall unto.
The shafts are aim'd at me, but I reject them,
And on the shooters may perhaps reflect them,
I care not for their envy, sith they show it;
Nor do I feare their malice now I know it.
For to prevent the venome of their throat,
I'le of their poyson make an Antidote:
And their presaging (though it be abuse)
I hope will serve me to an excellent use:
For, where before I should have took no heed,
Their words shall make mee circumspect indeed.

Yea, I will be more carefull to do well,
Which were a plague for them as bad as hell.

Some I do know, yea, too too well I know them,
And in this place do a remembrance owe them:
These men when through their envy they intend
To bring one out of favour with his friend,
Will make as though they some great vices knew
That he is guilty of, (and not a few)
They'l shake their heads as if they did detest
The course he follows; and that not in jest.

If to the Father they dispraise the Sonne,
It shall be slily indirectly done:
As thus; (I hope there's some will understand)
He lives, I tell you at a second hand.
Should I say all I know 'twould much offend you,
But more such children I pray God ne're send you.
With other words of doubt to breed suspition,
But dare not (being of a base condition)
To name them any fault: And good cause why,
It should be prov'd unto their shames a lie.
Now 'tis a quality I do despise,
As such an one doth him whom he envies;
If any therefore do that love professe me,
Lord, from their friendship I beseech thee blesse me.

Some crafty ones will honour to their face
Those whom they dare not openly disgrace;
Yet underhand their fames they'l undermine,
As lately did a seeming friend of mine.
They'l sow their slander as if they with griefe
Were forc'd to speak it: or that their beleefe
Were loth to credit it, when 'tis well known
That damn'd invention was at first their own.

Some do not care how grossely they dispraise,
Or how unlikely a report they raise;

Because they know if't be so false and ill
That one beleeves it not another will:
And so their envy very seldome failes,
But one way or another still prevailes.

Oh vilanous conceit! an engine bent
To overthrow the truest innocent:
For well they know when once a slander's sown,
And that a false report abroad is blown,
Though they would wipe it out yet they can never:
Because some scarre will stick behinde for ever.

But what is this that men are so inclinde
And subject to it? How may't be definde?
Sure if the same be rightly understood,
'Tis but a griefe that springs from others good.
Tormenting them when ever they heare tell
That other mens endevours prosper well;
It makes them grieve if any man be friended,
Or in their hearing praised or commended.
Contrariwise again, such is their spight,
In other mens misfortunes they delight;
Yea, notwithstanding it be not a whit
Vnto their profits or their benefit.
Others prosperity doth make them lean:
It nigh devoureth or consumes them clean:
But if they see them in much griefe, why that
Doth onely make them jocund, full, and fat.

Of kingdomes ruines they best love to heare,
And tragicall reports do onely cheere
Their hellish thoughts: and then their bleared eies
Can look on nothing but black infamies.
Reproachfull actions, and the foulest deeds
Of shame that mans corrupted nature breeds:
But they must wink when Vertue shineth bright,
For feare her lustre marre their weakened sight.

They do not love Encomiastick stories,
Nor books that shew their predecessors glories;
For good report to all men they denie,
And both the living and the dead envy:
Yea, many of them I do think had rather
Lose all good fame, than share it with their father.
The byting Satyre they do onely like,
And that at some particulars must strike,
Or all's worth nothing. If they can apply
Some part of this to him they do envy,
(As well perhaps they may) then they'l commend it:
And (spight of their ill natures) I that pend it
Shall have some thank. But why? not cause they deem
Me or my writing either worth esteem.
No, her's the reason they my labour like,
They think I mean him they suppose to strike.
So shall my well-meant lines become to be
A wrong to others, and a snare to me.
Heaven shield me frō such monsters; for their breath
Is worse than blasting, and their praise is death.
And let them finde no matter here, but what
May tend unto their glories whom they hate;
To make them either this ill Passion flie,
Or swoln with their own venome burst and die:
Foule Hag of Envy, let thy snakie Elves
Keep Hell with thee, and there torment themselves
Your poysond conversation fitteth men
For no society, but some grim den
Where nothing can be heard nor seen appeare,
But grones and sighes of misery and feare.
Who have you yet possest that pleased stood
With any private, or with publike good?

VVhat mans endeavours think you prosper should
If the event of things were as these would?

(None can resolve me that, for it's unknown)
Nor parents, no nor children, scarce their own:
(I say) their own hand-works are seldome free;
But subject to their proper envies be.

Witnesse a certain Rich-man who of late
Much pitying a neighbours wofull state,
Put to his helping hand and set him cleare
From all his former misery and feare.
But when he saw that through his thrift and heed,
He had well cur'd again his former need,
And grew to pretty means, though he no whit
Vnthankfull was for that his benefit:
Yet being of a nature that did long,
And joy to see anothers case go wrong,
Having no cause, but a repining now
That he once helpt him; all his studie's how
To ruinate the poore mans case again,
And make (through Envy) his own labour vain.

Oh, that a man should so from reason range,
Or entertain an humour that's so strange
And so unprofitable! Tell me, Why
Should we the honours or the wealth envy
Of other men? If we delight to see
Our brethren when in evill case they be,
Lets wish them riches, titles, and promotion,
'Twill make them greedy, proud, & choke devotion:
'Twill plunge them in a floud of misery,
In the respect of which, the beggery
We think so vile is heaven. Yea, I know
It is a thousand more mens overthrow
Than poverty can be. That if we hate,
Or would envy who are in happy state,
In my opinion they must not be such
That titles have attain'd, or to be rich:

But poore men rather, who are combred lesse,
And have indeed the truest happinesse.

But be they rich or poore I passe not whether,
For my part I am sure I envy neither.
So I but reach the glory I desire,
I do not care how many mount up higher:
And if I want not, what hurt is't to me
If I the poorest in the Kingdome be.
Yet from this Passion I beleeve not many
Can be exempted (if there may be any)
But sure more mischiefe alway doth betide
To th' envious, than to him that is envide;
And they have often (who would them bemoan?)
Lost both their eyes to lose their neighbour one.
Yea, there is many a perjur'd envious Noddy
Damnes his own soule to hurt his neighbours body,
But now such men may best by this be known,
They'l speak to no mans honour but their own.
And in their presence if you praise a man,
They'l from his worth detract ev'n all they can.
Such dogs as these are the detracting Momes,
And he whose eyes on each new Treatise romes,
To feed his humour by disgracing it,
More than for his delight or benefit.
But these most commonly do disalow
What they would mend thēselves if they knew how.

But what are they that keep the Criticks Court?
Not any doubtlesse of the wiser fort,
But such poore Pedants as would fain appeare
A great deal abler than indeed they are.
Yea, such as (when among the learn'd they chance)
Are often set by for their ignorance.
For, howsoever their insinuation
Hath gain'd a little vulgar reputation,

They are but Glow-worms that are brisk by night;
And never can be seen when Sun gives light.
Ill-tongu'd and envious, ignorant of shame;
And vile detractors of anothers fame:
But let them carp on what need any care,
Sith they are known for fools without compare?
But think, oh think to know and shun this evil,
This matchlesse inspiration of the Devill.
Remember 'tis a known apparant foe
To Charitie, and friendships overthrow:
A vicious humour that with hell acquaints,
And hinders the Communion of Saints.
Consider that, and how it makes unable
To be partaker of the holy Table.
Do so; survey your selves: and if you finde
Such guests within you, root them from your minde:
Banish that gnawing fury from your heart:
And as one wisely counsells, lay apart
Dissembling, Envy, Slander, Malice, Guile,
With evill-speaking, as most bad and vile;
In those men chiefly, whose Religion saith,
Her mainest Pillar is True-Love; next Faith.

Of Revenge.

Satyre 5.

Rome for Revenge; hee's no Comedian
That acts for pleasure, but a grim Tragedian?
A foul stern Monster, which if we displease him
Death, wounds, and bloud, or nothing can appease him.

This most inhumane Passion now and than
With violence and fury hurries Man
So far from that sweet mildnesse wherewith he,
Being himselfe, should ever temper'd be.
That Man nor Devill can we terme him well,
For part he hath of earth, and part of hell.
Yet this (so much of all good men disdain'd)
Many there are have rashly entertain'd
And hugged as a sweet contenting Passion,
Though in a various and unlikely fashion.

Some are so staid they can their purpose keep
Long time conceal'd, to make the wound more deep;
And these it is not heat of bloud that blinde,
But rather the fell canker of the minde.
Some by respect to time and place are staid,
And some again by nothing are alaid;
But them mad rage oft furiously will carry,
Without respect of Friends or Sanctuary.
Then some of them are fearfull, some are bolder:
Some are too hot, and some again are colder.
Oh, I have seen, and laught at heart to see't,
Some of our hot-spurs drawing in the street,
As though they could not Passions rage withstand,
But must betake them to it out of hand.
But why i'th street? Oh, company doth heart them,
And men may see their valourous acts and part them.

And yet that humour rather I commend,
Than theirs whose fury hath no stay nor end,
Till of their lives they have bereft their foes;
The onely way to both their overthrows.
Oh, poore revenge! behold, he thou hast slain,
Sleeping in rest, lies free from care and pain.
Death is the good mans refuge, which his God
Ordain'd to be his sorrows period.

And he, perhaps, thou in revenge didst slay,
Enjoyes more blisse than thou canst take away;
Whilst thou surviving feel'st the horrid smart
Of many thousand tortures in thy heart.
For say thou scape the rigor of the law,
Thy wounded conscience will have many a flaw;
Feares thou shalt passe by day, and then at night
Dreams all of terrour thy scar'd soule affright.
Orphanes and widowes curses thou shalt have
To bring thee with confusion to thy grave.
Which if in mercy God do shield thee from,
Iustice hath set this unavoided doom,
The plague of bloudshed on thy stock shall lie,
Till she be quit in thy posterity.
Poore world, if these thy best contentments be,
Seek bloud and vengeance you that list for me.
If this be sweet, heaven grant I may forgive,
And never seek for vengeance whil'st I live.

But now (me thinks) I heare our Hacsters tell me,
With thundring words as if their breath wold fell me,
I am a Coward if I will not fight.
True, Cavalieros, you have spoken right:
And if upon good termes you urge me to it,
I have both strength and heart enough to do it,
Which you should finde; yet minded am I still
(Though I am mov'd) to punish, not to kill.

Yet breathes there to my knowledge many a man,
That in his bloudy actions glory can;
He thinks it honour to be said that he
Was the destruction of some two or three.
A brave tall man I promise ye, and may
Take Tyburne for preferment in his way.
What poore renown is there is in such a deed,
For which a good mans heart would inly bleed?

What valour's in't sith a poore flie or gnat
Doth many times performe as much as that?
But I perceive the chiefest cause of this,
Th' opinion of the rascall Vulgar is.
They puffe men up with their infectious breath,
Till swoln it break out to their shame, or death.
But though they think that he which kills his foe
Is most couragious, Reason tells them no:
For he that hath a heart that fact to doe
Is both a Tyrant and a Coward too.
But how is he a Coward (some will say)
That takes in fight anothers life away?
Thus he is one: He having by his might
A power on him with whom he haps to fight,
Thinks if he spare his life in such a case,
He one day may revenge his foule disgrace;
And that with feare of future dangers fills him,
Which to prevent, he like a Coward kills him.
Yet those whose present safety cannot be
Without the ruine of their enemy,
Blamelesse I count, fith nature gives us way,
Things violent by violence to stay.
Yet thou what e're thou be that hast a foe,
Seek not to be his wilfull ouerthrow.
Sith life's a matter of the greatest weight;
If there be any way though ne're so straight,
Whereby thou maist from such an act be free,
Part not such friends as Soule and Body be.
Rather if't may be, keep him living still,
For foes oft prove a necessary ill.
And for thy mercy thou shalt one day finde
Much comfort and contentment in thy minde.

Foes I have some, whose lives I do not grutch,
For they have done me service very much,

And will do still. These wheresoe'er I go,
Do make me carefull what I speak or doe:
And if I step aside have so much grace,
To tell me all my folly to my face:
Whereas my friend, till I were quite undone,
VVould let me still in my old vainnesse run.
Or, if he warne me, it is so in sport.
That I am scarce a whit the better for't.
But this good-evill few of us can use,
For we do better things than these abuse.
Mans natur's ill, and I have noted this,
If we upbraided be with what's amisse,
We cannot brook it, but are readier still
To hate them that reprove, than mende what's ill:
Nay, to the mildest sort men know not how
To speak their mindes without exceptions now:
We must not our mad lusty-blouds gain-say,
No, not so much as in a yea, or nay;
But presently we die for't, (if we will)
They have both hand and heart prepar'd to kill.
Let them but thinke a man to them injurious,
Although he be not so, they'l straight grow furious,
And are so quickly up in a Bravado,
They are for nothing but the Imbrocado:
And in this humor they respect not whether
They be unto them friends or foes or neither;
All are alike and their hot Choler ends
Not onely love and friendship but their friends.

I know twere vaine if I should tell to these
The peacefull minde of ancient Socrates:
Or if I should Lycurgus vengeance show,
How he behav'd himselfe unto his foe.
'Twere but much labour lost; forthere's no doubt
Our Bedlam Gallants would but grin and flout

At their well-temper'd passions, sith they deem
Nought but their brainlesse humours worth esteem.
The small discretion that doth guide this age,
Hath left them so to their unbridled rage
That men most foolish desperate, who care
For nought, but little wit enough to dare
Some beast-like combate (without lawfull ground)
Are now the onely men that are renown'd
Amongst the vulgar. And forsooth, to gain
A little fame that way, though ne'er so vain,
They'l put their lives in danger: nay, there's some
Had rather have it than the life to come.

Alas, poore men, what hath bewitch't your mind?
How are you grown so senselesse and so blinde,
Thus to affect vain shadows, and let slide
The truer substance as a thing unspi'd?
Is Reason in you grown so great a stranger,
To suffer an affection of such danger,
To settle in you? Banish't from your brest,
And there let mercy and forgivenesse rest;
It is a token of a humane mildenesse:
But vengeance is a signe of Brutish wildenesse,
Not fitting any but the Tyger, Beare,
Or such like creatures that remorselesse teare
What ere they light on. Cast it from you then,
Be in condition, as in shape ye'are Men,
And stand unmov'd, for innocence ere long,
Will shew herselfe abroad in spight of wrong:
When of your patience you shall not repent,
But be avenged to your own content.

Yet some may say, the counsell I have given,
Is hard to follow, strict, and too uneven;
And whatsoever show I seem to make,
Such as my selfe would hardly undertake.

Know you that think so, I am not afraid,
If that it be a burthen I have laid
To bear't my selfe; nay, I have undergone,
If this be hard, a more uneasie one.
For, but of late a friend of mine in show,
Being (indeed) a spightfull secret foe;
I know not why, (for I did ne're in ought
Wrong him so much as in a word or thought)
Yet this man having wisely watcht his time,
When I (a stranger in another Clime)
Left mine own Countrey: did mean while repaire
To my best friends, and with dissemblings faire,
And shows of love and griefe, did there unfold
The grossest slander ever villain told.
A damn'd invention, so exceeding vile,
That Gallants, 'twould have made your bloud to boil
And out of your abused bodies start,
I know it would have broken veins or heart.
If you had felt that tongues envenom'd sting,
You would have fret, fum'd, stampt, done any thing,
Or angry, rag'd, like mad-men in your fit,
Till mercilesse revenge had quenched it.
And what did I? At first I must confesse,
I was extreamly mov'd, who could be lesse?
But when I felt my troubled thoughts begin
To joyne with brutish Passion's force within,
And raise disquiet humours in my breast,
I fear'd if I should yeeld 'twould mar my rest.
And therefore to my selfe I patience took,
Which, whilst I have about me, I can brook
Any misfortune. Then that patience
Grew so much stronger through my innocence,
That I, as much as flesh and bloud could do,
Forgot both injurie and vengeance too.

Yet might I wanted not to do him ill;
All the defect that was, was in my will.
It is well known the Coward dares not stand,
T'abide the Vengeance of my wronged hand,
Were his strength tripled: nay, were I in bands
Of impotencie wrapt and had no hands.
Yet I have friends (whom if I had not prai'd,
And beg'd unto to have their fury stai'd)
Had heapt confusion on him for my sake.
Yea I am halfe perswaded he would quake
A twelve-moneth after; had he but the daring
To thinke upon the Vengeance was preparing
For that lewd slanderous tale of his which he
Aswell might raise on one unborne, as me.

But when that course my Reason did gaine-say,
I was allow'd Revenge a better way.
Both Law and Iustice profer'd me the scourge,
To whip him for it: which though friends did urge,
(Shewing me motives to allure me to it)
Yet was I much unwilling still to doe it:
For though I might (beside submission) gaine
No little summes, my heart doth much disdaine
To adde unto my substance through his shame;
Or raise it with the ruine of his fame.
Yet cause perhaps there's some may thinke I faine,
Or speake a matter fram'd out of my braine:
Know; this backe-biter lives and may doe long
To doe me more, and many others wrong.
And but that I am loth to staine my Verse,
The name of such a Monster to rehearse;
For others satisfaction (to disgrace it)
Vpon the Margent here my pen should place it.
Yet that perhaps would Vengeance counted be,
For that would never be reveng'd by me.

Nor had I thus much said but to make knowne,
So truly these opinions are mine owne,
That I doe wish no other men unto,
More then I gladly of my selfe would doe.
Thus was I wronged and I thus withstood
My own mad Passion in the heat of bloud:
Yet thinke my selfe in as good case as those,
That have reveng'd themselves with stabs and blows.

In my opinion it is now as well
As if that I should pack his soule to hell
With danger of mine owne, and here remaine
To grieve and wish he were alive againe;
Nay, now 'tis best, for why? he may repent,
Whil'st I with a safe conscience live content.

But grant that some misdeem'd my innocence,
(Because they saw that I with Patience
Endur'd the wrong) by thinking I did know
Myselfe in fault because I tooke it so:
What's that to me? Indeed if all my care,
But to make shew of what I should be were,
I might be much displeased when I see
Men thinke me not, what I would seeme to be.
But he whose onely aime is Vertues path,
And that true aime by his endeavour hath
(Which God grant me) so much sweet comfort gains
Within his conscience, that he nought complaines
Of Mens opinions; but above them borne,
Doth both their censures and supposings scorne.
And why should I doe lesse who never weigh'd
My innocence by that which others said?
Whether I patient were, or storm'd at it
It quits me of the slander ne'er awhit.

He that condemnes my milde and gentle course,
May in his wisdome light upon a worse.

I must confesse I let his errour passe;
Nor have I done amisse; for say an Asse
Had struck me with his heels; how should I quit
The harme he doth me? You would blame my wit
If I should kill him. If I went to law
Who would not count me the most Asse? a Daw,
Or worst of fools? And pray, what were I lesse
If I had don't to his unworthinesse?
One that's so ignorant of his offence,
He seems as if hee had no spark nor sense
Of understanding: one, whom if I touch,
Or offer to lay hands on, tis as much
As if I in my anger would begin
To break the stool that erst had broke my shin.

In this and that I found the cause was one,
And therefore did I let revenge alone:
Onely I mark't him (for this cause indeed)
That other men might (knowing him) take heed;
And he himselfe, with a repining shame,
Reading his follies Emblem in his name,
Might grieve he did into that errour run.
Which hoping he by this time now hath done,
I cease to brand him, and forgive him too:
Others might thus by my example do.

But to thy task my Muse, for there remain
Mad humours many more yet to explain;
Such as are theirs who use to take in hand
A lawlesse pilgrimage to Calice sand;
And think if they by tricks can blinde the Law,
Of God they never need to stand in awe.
These onely deale in blows. But there be other
Who their revengefull mindes as ill can smother;
Yet cause they have not hearts to deale with swords,
Like valiant Champions fight it out with words.

Such fraies have made me oftentimes to smile,
And yet they prove shrewd combates other-while:
For from such brawls do sudden stabs arise,
And sometimes in revenge the quart-pot flies;
Ioyn'd-stools and glasses make a bustling rumour,
Yea, this is grown a Gentle-man-like humour.
But in my minde he that so well can fight,
Deserveth to be dub'd an Alchouse-knight.

Is't not a shame that men should at their meeting
Welcome each other with a friendly greeting,
As I have seen, and yet before they part,
Bandy their swords at one anothers heart?
Wondrous inhumane! Oh, the savage Bore,
Or wilde Armenian herds can do no more:
But such beleeve not it is God hath said,
Vengeance is mine and I will see't repaid.
For if they did they would not dare to be
Such carvers for themselves as now we see.

No good remaines, if long this fit endure,
Friendship is quite extinguished: and sure
The Devill doth so much possesse them than,
They have no honest thought of God or man:
Which you may note, if you do ever see
Two hare-brain Ruffians when at ods they be,
All th' ones ambition is the others fall,
Without compassion or respect at all.
Which fury so unlimited doth prove,
They have to man-ward not a sparke of love:
Nor no regard of God shall you espie,
If you observe their damned blasphemy,
When Standers by would stop their bloudy will;
Stark mad with rage, the heav'ns wide eares they fill
With horrid, bloudy, fearefull cannon-oathes,
Such as no honest Christian man but loathes

Almost to heare them nam'd. Yea seeme to teare
Christs man-hood peece-meale from him when they sweare
For foote, heart, nailes, still using God withall
Their fowle-mouth'd-rackets, like a tennis-ball
Doe bandy to and fro: His bloud and wounds,
Adde to their hellish bravings such strange sounds,
As if the powers of heaven they did contemne,
And meant in this wilde fit to challenge them.

Oh base proud clay! who by their deeds can gather
These men beleeve a power above, but rather
That they are viler than the brutest creature:
For that is taught more reverence by nature.
But these bold Champions dare him: yea when they
Cannot have Vengeance their desired way
(As if they scorn'd the threatning of his rod)
Thus thinke they to avenge themselves on God;
Who were he not as mercifull as just,
Might with a blast consume them into dust.

Of Choler.

Satyre 6.

Bvt now the cause of mans Revengefull thirst
Proceeds from rash unbridled Choler first:
Which Passion flowes from imbecility,
And bring us unto much absurdity:
Yea, those that are infected with this crime,
Are (in a manner) mad-men for the time.
'Tis a short Fury, wherewith man possest,
Resembles most a wilde untamed beast.

It makes the wisest so beside their wit,
They speake and practise many a thing unfit:
Yea, those in whom I finde this Passion raigne,
I have oft seene to storme for things but vaine;
And chasing fret at poore halfe-penny losses,
As if for some intolerable crosses.
In a slight trifle or some flender toy,
You would suppose consisted all their joy:
For should a wise man every sorrow prove
This world could heape, it would not so much move
His setled patience as one Rascall fit
Would on no ground in these distemper it.

There is this weakenesse, which in Cholerick men,
I have observed raigning now, and then,
They are not onely ready to beleeve
The least report that may occasion give
Of discontents; but so doth anger blinde them,
As, if no causes be, they'l seeke to finde them,
And (in light matters, if they should contend)
Would pick a quarrell with their dearest friend.

Yea, I have seen where friends, (nay more) where brothers
That be, or should be, dearer far than others,
Have in their heat of anger, turned foes,
And mixed strange words with far sharper blowes.
Nor doe, nor can they in this humour spare
Any degree. For reverence nor care
Doth them remaine; although they be most sure
Their heedlesse words not foes alone procure,
But lose their friends: nor doe they in that case,
Respect the time, nor company, nor place.

Besides, there is this over-sight in some
(Where Choler doth the Reason overcome)
They doe not onely blame him that offends,
But are displeas'd even with their dearest friends;

And with the like displeasure do pursue
All that are in their presence or their view.
Yet if that any should but tell these men
Such anger were without just reason, then,
Although it be so, and they know it right.
Their fury would the more increase with spight:
They cannot bear controule; neither can they
Brook him ought better that doth nothing say;
For then indeed they presently suspect,
He carelesly their anger doth neglect.

Some Masters and some Tutors I espie
Too much orecome with this infirmity.
They are so hot and confident in this,
That all their anger still with reason is:
As if they think their servants do offend,
They must not their suspected crimes defend,
Guilty or no; but yeeld to all they say
What-ever shame or wrong betide them may.
And so be sure to make it an offence,
Though but by wronging their own innocence,
Which is meer tyranny. And he that can
Force to such slavery the minde of man,
By my opinion shall for ever passe
For an imperious, foolish, wayward Asse,
Who looks so much what duty others owe,
That he himselfe doth scarcely manners know.

This Anger is a wondrous head-strong Passion,
And hath a beastly frantick operation;
From which how can we any man release,
When we must neither speak nor hold our peace?

Some will be angry if they cannot make
All others their opinions undertake.
But let them keep from me, or I should chaufe them,
For out of that fond humour I would laugh them.

Others have meanings but they cannot show them.
And therefore fret at all that do not know them.
And I have seene (that anger may be holy)
A good man moved for anothers folly.

The hurt that through this Passion doth ensue
Is great although observ'd by very few.
For that which hath ensu'd on one mans spleene,
The ruine of a State hath often beene.
And therefore (though I none excuse the while,)
I hold it much lesse seemely and more vile
In men authoriz'd, than in those that be
Borne to a lower fortune or degree,
For, when this fit possesseth private men,
They trouble but themselves; or now and then
Their private families: when if it ceaze
On eminent and mighty personages.
It doth distemper thousands and thereby
Whole Provinces do oft oppressed lye.
In my opinion, hee's unfit to weeld
The sword of Iustice, that doth basely yeeld
To such a brutish Passion: howsoe'er
In other things he most sufficient were:
Though some in places of esteeme there be,
Whom therewith strangely overcome we see.

Oh why should they to governe others fit
Who know not how to rule themselves as yet?
The angry and incensed Magistrate,
On them to be aveng'd whom he doth hate
For private causes, drawes the publike sword;
And all extremity the Lawes afford
He makes to serve his rage. And if that faile,
Hee'l straine his conscience, but he will prevaile.

But divers thinke, that such as hasty be,
(For so they title this infirmitie)

Best-natur'd are. But yet I see not how,
I that Position may for truth allow.
For, (whosoere 'twas first that saying taught)
If they are best, I'le sweare the best is naught.
Moreover, there be many doe suppose,
It is a signe of courage. What meane those?
Where is their judgment? they me thinks should gather
That it were weakenesse did produce it rather:
Or else, why should the feeble and the sick,
Women and Children be most cholerick?

Againe, there's some whose judgement is as rude
As to suppose it quickens Fortitude.
Which cannot be; for they must grant me then,
That Vice, assist to perfect Vertue can:
Which I cannot beleeve nor come to see
How fortitude and anger can agree.
For one a resolution is that's steady,
And rul'd by reason, th' other rash and heady:
Yea, th' one doth nothing but on consultation,
The other cannot take deliberation,
But head-long unadvisedly doth tend,
Till it in sorrow, shame or ruine end.
And though some thence much help would seeme gather
To whet true valour on; it hinders rather:
Yea so unreasonable is this Passion,
It overthrowes in man all seemely fashion;
Making him speake if ought but discontent him,
Yea doe the thing of which he shall repent him:
And such a dangerous kinde of Lunatick
Is he who useth to be Cholerick
That of a friend if I might chuser be,
I'd rather have a man that's mad than he.
Yet men doe rarely seeke to stop this ill
But as they grow in yeares, that groweth still.

As if it were a humour whence could rise,
Not any thing which them might prejudice.
And they so yeeld themselves to the invasion
Of this strange frenzy on the least occasion:
That when they thinke the fury to suppresse
Of this disease, they can doe nothing lesse.
For he that will a certaine med'cine finde
For such a malady must have a minde
Setled in good, and an unfain'd intent
To prosecute what he in shew hath meant.

Light trust he must not give to all reports,
Nor take too much delight in idle sports.
On toyes his love should never so be set,
To make him for their absence grieve or fret.
He must be wary still, not to adore
Treasure or Honours (heapt upon him) more
Than will befit such things as needs must perish,
For oft that folly doth this Passion cherish.
Let Dogs, nor Hawkes, nor any pleasure move,
But as it doth indifferent things behooue.
At no time let him rashly speake or doe,
What selfe-conceit doth urge or prompt him to,
And not alone this my advice embrace,
But learne of Cotis, that wise King of Thrace,
Who having many precious vessels sent
Of britle metall (fearing discontent)
Might for their losse another day arise
The Messenger he richly gratifies;
And then before his face against the stones
Dashes the costly present for the nones:
To shew that those, who angers flames would hinder
Must first remove the Fuell and the Tinder.

Of Iealousie.

Satyre VII.

Bvt though these angrie ones soon bread a braul,
And are pernicious to converse withall;
Not one jot better is the jealous head,
That ever seares his wife hath wrong'd his bed.

Sometime this Passion (as it may appeare)
Proceeds out of a too much love, with feare,
Sometime again the mischiefe doth arise,
When he that worth in his beloved spies,
Is forced that deserving to confesse,
And privy to a selfe-unworthinesse.
Which is indeed the cause that brings the smart
Of Iealousie upon the greatest part.

The first is seldomest, and it is sent
Of God, as a peculiar punishment
To those who do the creature so affect,
As thereby their Creatour they neglect.
Love is the highest and the noblest blisse.
That for mankinde on earth ordained is:
But when true measure it exceeds, and gets
Beyond the decent bounds that reason sets,
God turnes it to a plague, whereby he will
Shew them their folly, and correct the ill.
He adds, a feare of losing of their joy
In that they love: which quickly doth destroy

All their delight; and strewing good with ill,
Makes things seem lost though they are with thē still

Thus doth it oftentimes with that man prove
Who keeps not moderation in his love.
He having got a wife not onely faire,
But modest, honest, wise and debonaire,
At first so wondrous meritorious deems her,
As worthy all affection he esteems her,
And waxeth so assur'd hee dares be bold
She will not be allur'd to ill by gold,
Honour, nor beauty: but as she is chast,
So is perswaded will be to the last.
And to himselfe so well doth seem to thrive,
He thinks his own the happiest choise alive.
All which is good, and if no more I tell,
You cannot say wherein he doth not well:
But there he doth not his affection stay,
Further it tends, and further it will stray
This man not having learned to possesse
With temperance so great a happinesse;
Oft his affections grow to that extreame,
As well he knows not if he wake or dreame,
Then doth his Love, (such love will ever do it)
For a Companion take in Feare unto it.
A feare of losing what he loves so much:
And then the nature of this feare is such,
That it begets suspect; which creeping in,
Doth by a little at the first begin
To make him doubt his Spouse may loosely live.
But then her well-known vertuous minde doth give
Such blamelesse testimony of her good,
As that surmise is for a time withstood,
Till this disease upon him growes more strong,
Then he begins to think she doth him wrong:

Which if he doe, that one false thought's enough
To give all former truthes the overthrow.
And why? Suspect grows thereupon so great,
She thrusts true judgment quite besides her seat.
Which being done, then straight begins to wane
The good conceit he of his blisse had tane:
His onely labour's how to bring't about,
To be assur'd of what he seeketh out.
A Cuckold he esteemes himselfe, and he
Were e'en as good indeed a Cuckold be:
Nay, rather than he'll be deceiv'd, the elfe
Will try to make a Cuckold of himselfe.
In borrowed shapes to bed her he will trie;
Sometimes he courts her by a deputy:
And if all fail to tempt her unto ill;
Yet, he remains himselfe a Coxcombe still.
For if his friend do to his house repaire,
He thinks tis onely 'cause his wise is fair:
Or if a stranger come he'le pawn his life
All his intent is to corrupt his wife:
Yea, though the businesse to himselfe he finde,
He thinks 'tis but a Hood to keep him blinde.

Thus all the sweet he had is turn'd to sowre,
Fain would he think well, but hath not the power;
Much care torments his heart, and yet he will
Be prying farther to increase it still:
Yea, he will seek, although he truly know,
The more he seeks, the more he findes his woe.

Besides, Suspect reviveth in the head
All things that may be mis-interpreted;
And the best thought her vertue's like to win
Is onely this; It serv'd to cloak her sinne.
In briefe, his former love he marreth quite,
And there he loathes, where once he took delight

But wherefore? onely 'cause he doth mistrust,
And not on any proofe that shee's unjust.

Vnhappy man, thus thy ill nature shall
Convert the hony of thy life to gall.
And haplesse woman she that comes to wed
So meere a sot, and such a jealous head;
An Owl-ey'd buzzard that by day is blinde,
And sees not things apparant, yet can finde
That out which never was. The feare to lose
The jewell he above all gemmes did choose;
That feare, I say, of wit doth so bereave him,
He thinks that's gone which means not yet to leave him.
Oh, foolish man, that having gain'd a blisse,
Dost make't a curse, by using it amisse;
If judgment be not blinded in thee, look;
Try if thou hast not all this while mistook:
Is not thy wife still faire? and to the eye
Seems she not yet to have that modesty
Thou didst commend her for? Is she not wary
With whom she walks, or speaks, or where to tarry:
Is she not still as carefull how to please;
As loving too as in her former daies?
In shew he sees it, but he thinks 'tis fein'd.
Out blockish dolt that art most justly pain'd:
Thou but a few supposed shadows hast
That makes thee to account thy wife unchast;
But many firme substantiall proofes make cleare
That shee's unstain'd, and ought to be as deare
As e're she was: Why then should faults in thee
Make her seeme evill untill such she be?

A woman that is faire shall much be view'd,
And have perhaps unlook't-for favours shew'd.
She shall be courted wher'er she will or no;
Nay, be resorted to: and though she show

Scarcely so much as common courtesies,
Shee shall be censur'd by mis-judging eyes,
And false reports will flie: But what of this?
Wilt thou that hast had triall what she is,
And never knewst her erre, wilt thou, I say,
Cast all the good conceit thou hadst away,
And straight grow jealous, trusting the surmise
Of the lew'd Vulgar more than thine own eies?
It were mad folly; and yet I do know
Some that are thus besotted: more's their wo.
And pitty 'twere but they had horned him,
Wer't not a greater pitty so to sinne.

Should you but sit with such an one at table,
To hold from laughter you were scarcely able,
To see what note the jealous Woodcock takes
Of his wives words, and every look she makes;
In what a feare he eats his meat, and drinks,
What signes he uses, how he nods and winks,
With twenty scurvy gestures, though he see
No reason he should so suspicious be.
Now some have cause enough, and I beleeve
Such seem to have a colour why they grieve.
But yet ther's no just reason any one
Should over-strive to hold what will be gone,
Vexing himselfe so for anothers ill,
Which he can never help. Let him that will.
This I know true, to seek much to restrain
A womans will, is labour spent in vain;
And he that tries to do it might have bin
One of the Crew that bedg'd the Cuckow in.
Why should a man go put himselfe to pain,
As some have done, a businesse to fain?
And then at night come lurk about his house,
Where be it but the stirring of a Mouse

He doth observe it: Wherefore doth he so?
Since, if thereby he ought amisse do know,
The greatest good that he shall hereby finde,
Is more vexation to molest his minde:
For then the mischiefe he but fear'd before,
Hee's certain of, and need not doubt it more.
A goodly meed: but sure those wretched elves,
Take pleasure in tormenting of themselves.
They hearken, watch, set spies, and alway long
To heare some tales or inkling of their wrong.
And he that can but whisper some such fable,
Shall be the welcom'st guest that sits at table.
(Though it be ne'er so false) they love so well
To feel the torture of this earthly hell.
But I do muse what Devill keeps their heart,
They should affect the causes of their smart;
Those ever-buzzing-deadly-stinging flies;
Those that of Ecchoes onely can devise
A slander 'gainst thy selfe. What e're they say,
Thy love from her thou must not draw away
On bare reports. Thou must behold the crime,
Or keep her as thy best belov'd her time.
Better or worse, thou surely must abide her,
Till from thy selfe the death of One divide her.
Then tell me, were it not (by much) lesse pain
A good opinion of her to retain?
Could'st thou not be contented by thy will,
At least to think that she were honest still?
Yes, in thy heart I know thou would'st be glad,
Vnlesse that thou wert void of sense, or mad.
Why, shake off all these claw-backs then that use
Thy soon-beleeving nature to abuse;
For (trust me) they are but some spightfull elves,
Who 'cause they have not the like blisse themselves,

Would fain mar thine; or else I dare be bold,
If thou the truth couldst warily unfold,
They are some lust-stung Villaines that did court
Thy honest wife to some unlawfull sport:
And finding her too chast to serve their turne,
Whose evill hearts with foule desires did burne;
To spight her (being farre more evill doers
Than Daniels Elders, faire Susanna's wooers)
To thee they do accuse her of an ill,
Whereto they labour'd to allure her will.

Let me advise thee then, what e're he be
That of such dealings first informeth thee.
Believe him not what proofes soe're he bring,
Do not give eare to him for any thing:
And though he be the nearest friend thou hast,
From such like knowledge shut all sense up fast;
Flie and avoid him as thou wouldst the Devill,
Or one that brings thee messages of evill.
Let him be to thee as thy deadliest foe,
A Fury, or some one thou loath'st to know.
And be assured, whatsoe'er he shewes,
He is no friend of thine that brings that newes;
Sith if that thou wert his most deadly foe;
For any wrong it were revenge enough.

Now some men I have noted love as well
The husbands faults unto the wife to tell,
And aggravate them too: as if thereby
They either meant to feed their jealousie,
Or else stir up their unbeseeming hates,
Against their guiltlesse welbeloved mates.
But of these monsters (fairest Sex) beware,
Of their insinuations have a care:
Beleeve them not, they will coyne tales untrue,
To sow foule strife betwixt your loves and you

Out of ill-will: or else here is my doome,
They hope to get into your husbands roome,
Through the advantage of the discontent
They would work in you. But this their intent
They'l so disguise, that you shall never spie it,
Till you are snar'd too surely to deny it.

But oh! consider you, whose excellence
Had reasonable once for difference,
This Passion well: if ill your Spouses do,
Amend your selves, and they'l grow better too.
Look not upon them with o'er-blinded eyes,
Nor grieve you them with causelesse jealousies:
For most of them have ever this condition,
Though they are bad they cannot brook suspition.
Strive not with them too much. For as the Powder
Being fast stopt, makes the report the louder,
Sending the bullet with the greater force:
So he that seeks to barre a womans course,
Makes her more eager, and can ne'er out-strive her,
But on she will because the Devill doth drive her.

Let those then that thus matched are, begin
By love and gentle means their wives to win.
And though no hope they see, yet patience take,
So there is none shall know their heads do ake.
And let all wary be that no surmises,
Or flying tale some envious head devises,
Make them to wrong their chast and modest wives,
Who have with vertue led unspotted lives:
For though they stand unmov'd, yet that's the way
To make a woman soonest go astray.
And so I will conclude these jealous humours,
Which part I found b'experience, part by rumours;
I feel it not, yet know it is a smart
That plagues the minde, and doth torment the heart.

And I could wish but for the others sake,
Their thoughts-tormenting-pain might never slake:
For, none's so jealous, I durst pawn my life,
As he that hath defil'd anothers wife.

Of Covetousnes.

Satyre 8.

Bvt how mist I of Avarice to tell,
Whose longing is as infinite as hell?
There is no Passion that's more vile or base,
And yet as common as to have a face,
I muse it scap't so long, for I'le be plain,
I no where look but there I see it reigne.
In all this spacious Round I know so few
That can this slavish dung-hill vice eschew;
I neither will excuse sex nor degree,
Young folks, nor such as middle-aged be.
Nay, I perceive them given most to crave,
When they had need to dig themselves a grave.
Like earth-bred Moles still scrambling in the dust,
Not for the treasure that shall never rust,
But for vile cankred drosse is all their care,
As if the same their Summum bonum were:
When all that they have with their labour bought
(If well consider'd) is not worth a thought.

I have known Chuffes, that having well to live,
Sufficient also both to lend and give,
Yet nathelesse, toyl, moyl, and take more pain
Than a Iews bond-slave, or a Moore in Spain.

All day they brook the rain, hail, frost and snow,
And then, as if they had not drudg'd enough,
They lie and think all night with care and sorrow,
How they may take as little rest to morrow.
'Tis strange their mindes so much for gold doth itch,
And being gotten, that it should bewitch:
For 'tis by nature in a prison pent,
Vnder our feet i'th basest Element:
And should wee pluck't from dungeon, filth, & mire,
To giv't the chiefest seat in our desire?
'Twere want of judgment; which brave spirits know,
Counting it base with those that prize it so.

I've heard those say that travell to the West
Whence this beloved metall is encreast,
That in the places where such Minerals be,
Is neither grasse, nor herbe, nor plant, nor tree.
And like enough; for this at home I finde
Those who too earnestly employ the minde
About that trash, have hearts (I dare uphold)
As barren as the place where men dig gold.

This humour hath no bounds; 'tis a desire
(Or disease rather) nothing can expire:
'Tis hell, for had it all the world, why yet
'Twould long as much as if't had ne'er awhit;
And I with pitty do lament their pain
Who have this never-quenched thirst of gain;
This ever-gaping whirle-poole, that receives
Still, yet the selfe-same roome still empty leaves.

Hee's mad that food to such a Vulture gives
That's never full: and ev'n as good fill sives.
Or vessells bottomlesse, as still endeavour
To gorge a Monster that will hunger ever.
All that men can perform will be in vain,
And longing will for evermore remain.

Like those foule issues that must still have vent,
Till strength of nature and the life be spent.
It makes men tire themselves like him that drinks
Brine, or salt-water, and still thereby thinks
To slake his thirst, although he feel it more
Augmented at each draught than 'twas before.
Yea, wealth doth as much lessen this desire
Of Avarice in men, as flames of fire
Alay the heat: Besides, though they have store,
This makes them to themselves exceeding poore.
And howsoever they may seem, yet such
Vntill their dying-day are never rich.
They very seldome have respect or care
To promise or religion: they'l not spare
To wrong their neighbour, friend, or God himselfe,
Thereby to adde unto their cursed pelfe.

They neither reverence the right of laws;
Nor are they touched with the poore mans cause.
They could be well content to shed their blouds,
Lose soule and heaven but to save their goods.
To talk to them of better things twere vain,
For they are onely capable of gain.
They never live in true society,
Nor know they friendship, love, or piety.
And in a word those that are thereby led
Never do good till they be sick or dead.
And therfore with those vermine we may place them
That serve us to no use till wee uncase them.
And I've observ'd that such mens children be
Borne many times to greatest miserie.
For they have neither meanes nor education
According to their kindred, state, or nation;
Whereby we see that they do often run
Into vile actions, and are quite undone.

And then perhaps the Parent grieves at this,
But ne'er considers that his fault it is.

'Tis greedinesse that makes a man a slave
To that which for his servant he should have:
And teaches him oft to esteem of more
The vicious Rich-man, than the honest-poore.

How many in the world now could I name
Injurious villaines; that but to defame
Or spight their neighbour, would their God forswear
As if they thought that no damnation were?
(Provided when they thus their conscience strain
It be out of a hatred, or for gain.)
Yea, there be idle theeving drones a many,
That have no vertue (nor will ne'er have any)
That for their wealth shall highly be respected,
When honest men (their betters) are neglected:
And then we also see that most men do
Impose such worthy titles on them too,
That such base scums shall oft intreated be
With, Good your worship, and with cap and knee.

But sure the world is now become a gull
To think such scoundrels can be worshipfull.
For in these dayes, if men have gotten riches,
Though they be Hangmen, Vsurers, or Witches,
Devils-incarnate, such as have no shame
To act the thing that I should blush to name;
Doth that disgrace them any whit? Fie no;
The world ne'er meant to use her Minions so.
There is no shame for Rich-men in these times,
For wealth will serve to cover any crimes.
Wert thou a Crook-back't Dwarfe, deform'd in shape
Thyrsites-like, condition'd like an Ape;
Did'st never do a deed a good man ought,
Nor spake true word, nor hadst an honest thought;

If thou be rich, and hap to disagree
With one that's poore, although indeed he be
In every part a man; and hath a spirit
That's truly noble, worthy well to merit
Ev'n praise of Envy; yet if thou wilt seem
A man far worthier, and of more esteem,
Although thou canst invent no means to blame him,
Yet I can tell a trick how thou shalt shame him:
And that's but this, Report that he is poore,
And there is no way to disgrace him more.
For, so this Passion doth mens judgment blinde,
That him in whom they most perfection finde,
If so he be not rich they count him base;
And oft hee's fain to give a Villain place.

Moreover, the desire to gain this pelfe,
Makes many a brave man to forget himselfe.
Some I have known that for their worthy parts,
Their vertue and their skill in many Arts,
Deserved honour; and (if any can
Iudge by the outward look the inward man)
They to command mē (you would think) were born,
And seem'd a slavish servitude to scorn,
Yet have I seen when such as these (alas!)
In hope of gain have croucht unto an Asse;
Observ'd a Dolt, and much debas'd their merits
To men of vulgar and ignoble spirits.

How many of our finest wits have spent
Their times and studies in meere complement;
Greasing with praises many a fat-fed Bore,
Of whom the world hath thought too well before?
How many now that follow'd Mars his troop,
Whom force of death could never make to stoop?
How many also of our great Divines,
That should seek treasure not in earthly mines,

Descend to basenesse and against the haire
(As goes the common Proverb) can speake faire?
Flatter for gaine and humour such base groomes
As are not wovthy of their horse-boyes roomes?
They wrong themselves: but those are counted wise
That now adaies know how to temporize.
Yet I abhorr'd it ever and I vow;
Ere I to any golden Calfe will bow,
Flatter against my conscience, or else smother
What were to be reveal'd to please another:
Ere I for gaine would fawne upon a Clowne,
Or feed Great fooles with tales of the renowne
Of their reputed fathers, when (God mend them)
Themselves have nothing why we should commend them:
Or e're I'd coine a lie be't ne'er so small,
For e'er a bragging Thraso of them all
In hope of profit: I'd give up my play,
Begin to labor for a groat a day;
In no more cloathing than a mantle goe;
And feed on Sham-rootes, as the Irish doe.
For what contentment can in riches be,
Vnlesse the body and the minde be free?

But tush: what's freedome look where gold beares sway,
It takes all care of what is fit away;
Corrupts the Iudgement and can make the lawes
Oft-times to favour an ungodly cause.

Moreover, worldly men doe so affect,
Where wealth abounds, and beare so much respect
To those that have it, that their vice they deeme
To be a vertue, and so make it seeme.
For, say they use extortion, no men more,
Vndoe their Country, hurt and wrong the poore,
Be such damn'd Vsurers, they keepe a house
That yeelds not crummes enough to feed a Mouse;

Yet they'l not say they are covetous; oh no,
But thrifty and good wary men, or so.

Another though in pride he doth excell;
Be more ambitious than the Prince of Hell;
If his apparell be in part like us,
Italian, Spanish, French and Barbarous;
Although it be of twenty severall fashions,
All borrowed from as many severall Nations;
Yet hee's not vaine nor proud; What is he then?
Marry a proper, fine, neat Gentleman.

Or if there be a Ruffian that can swagger,
Make strange brauadoes, weare an Ale-house-dagger,
Instead of valour, quarrelling professe,
Turne Hospitality to lewd excesse;
Quaffe Soule-sicke healths untill his eies doe stare,
Sing baudy Songs and Rounds, and curse and sweare;
Though he use gaming, as the Cards and Dice,
So out of measure that hee mak't a vice;
Convert his house into a loathsome stewes,
Keep whores and knaves and baudes (and that's no newes)
Yet if he be a rich man, what is he?
A rude ranke Ruffian, if he aske of me.
A Ruffian? Gup Iack-sauce-box with a wannion,
Nay hee's a merry and a boone Companion.
This is the worlds milde Censure. Yet beside,
Another quality I have espide.
For that disease in which they shun the poore,
They doe abhorre a rich man ne'er the more.

Him I have knowne that hath disdain'd to sup
Water or beere out of a poore-mans cup,
For feare of poysoning or some thing as bad,
Although he knew no malady he had;
Yet have I often seene that curious Asse
Pledging a rich-man in the selfe-same glasse,

When he hath knowne the party sweating lie
Of the abhorred French foule malady.
Which proves this Proverbe true; Birds of a feather
Will fearelesse use to flocke and feed together.

But I oft wonder and doe yet admire,
Men hunt for riches with such strange desire.
For being once possest thereof it fils
The owners of it with a thousand ils,
More than they can conceive. For first we finde
It choakes and marres the vertue of the minde.
Then (by much businesse) it brings annoies
Vnto the minde; and hinders truer joyes
From seating there & though some stormes it cleare
It drives men into flouds of greater feare:
That oft the rich are more in sorrow tost,
Than those that have no riches to be lost.

But further over and above all this,
Hence a much greater disadvantage is;
It makes us to grow arrogant, unjust;
Drawes unto pleasure and provokes to lust:
More powerfull in a deed of villanie,
Than helpefull in a worke of honesty.
It ne'er contents the owners that enjoy it;
And those that have it many times imploy it
To corrupt justice, or else to allure
Matrons or Virgins to an act impure.
It hireth murtherers, makes men seditious,
Full of suspect and envy or ambitious:
It breedeth claw-backs, pick-thanks, flattery,
Makes many theeves and causeth perjury.
It hinders knowledge; for most that have lands,
Live neither by their wisdome nor their hands,
But following sloth and pleasure hate the schooles,
To leave much wealth unto a race of fooles.

This is the fruit of riches, which alone
Is now the faire reward that every one
Endevours for; and that which to attaine,
(Or keepe once gotten) none refuseth paine,
Labour nor danger, nay oft men expresse
In the pursute thereof, such earnestnesse,
As if that onely did indeed appeare
The speciall end that they were plac'd for here.

Oh Gold! what mortall god is so divine?
What beauty is there so ador'd as thine?
The fairest creature never so much mov'd,
As that it was of every one belov'd.
The little infant in his cradle lying,
One promise of a penny staies his crying:
Those that in youth for nothing seeme to care,
To keepe thee still their friend, respective are.
Old dotards almost dropt into the grave,
That neither sense of sight nor hearing have
Are by their touching thee preserv'd alive,
And will maintaine thou art restorative.
Fooles that know nothing, know the use of thee,
And for thy sake will oft perswaded be.
The wise men of the World that disapprove
Young mens affections and make scoffes at love;
He, who out of his judgement cals him Asse,
That dotes upon the beauty of a face,
Can play the Idiot twice as much himselfe,
By doting on a heape of duty pelfe.

Nay further, to their conscience I appeale
That seeme nought else almost but faith and Zeale,
Whether with all their show of Sanctity,
They doe not oft commit Idolatry,
And this great Mammon secretly adore:
I feare they doe, and more his helpe implore

Than their Creator's. For this cursed Riches
So much the soule of every man bewitches,
That very oft times they forgetfull be
Of what beseemes profession and degree.

What He, on earth, so great or mighty is,
(Or who so proud) that will not bow to this?
Where's he though Noble that will now disdaine
To be a suter for his private gaine?
See we not those that seem'd to looke more hie,
Turne all their worship to this Deitie?
It is apparant, Great men that were wont
For honour onely, in times past to hunt,
Both pawne and forfeit it for Riches sake:
And they whose glory 'twas to undertake
Such things as might their Country benefit,
Seeke rather now how they may begger it.

What Monopolies, what new tricks can they
Find to increase their profit every day?
What Rascall poling sutes doe they devise,
To adde new Summes unto their Treasuries?
Which had their noble Predecessors sought,
Such meanes of gaine for ever had beene thought
Dishonour, and a staine of Infamie
Enough to taint their whole Posteritie.
And then, beside their ever shamelesse craving,
They oft times also are as basely saving:
And so much doth their avarice abate
Of that becomming and commended state
Which their fore-fathers kept; they would not know them
(If they were living) or for shame not owe them.

Those that have much on Ancient gentry stood,
And will to this day glory in their bloud,
Doe not disdaine (if there be wealth) to grace
With their dear'st issue some ranke peasants rac

Or take himselfe (if there be wealth to wed)
An old Mechanick widdow to his bed.
The childe for this, the parent will undoe:
And parents sell the childs contentment too.
It is of power sufficient to preferre
The untaught sonne of a rude Scavenger,
To some Lords daughter and in twelve-moneths can
Make a known peasant deem'd a Gentleman.
Beare Armes confirm'd, and shew a pedigree
Shall from before the Norman Conquest be.
And in his pride, some one for gentry brave
Vnto whose father, his was sworne a slave.

Nay so much sway the love of gold doth beare,
He that but sonne unto the hangman were,
A noted villaine of as false a heart,
As ever rode to Tyburne in a Cart,
One whom that place had long time groned for,
And all men as earth's scum did most abhorre;
Yet if this rake-hell could but thrive so much
By any villanie, as to be rich
One yeere or two, would not alone agen
Get him more credit than three honest men;
But great ones would salute and speake him faire,
Labour how they might be inscrib'd his heire;
And still observe him so obsequiously,
As if the world within his gift did lie.

Or which is more, he that once scorn'd to see
Himselfe attended, by such groomes as he,
Will yeeld this beast his only child should wed,
And force her peradventure to his bed.
Where spight of Vertue this damn'd ruffian shall
Vnworthily, enjoy a blisse which all
The most deserving of the Land would woe.
(And when he hath her once, despise her too)

But doubtlesse, if he can but at his death,
When he is forc't to leave the world, bequeath
A petty legacy unto the poore;
Somewhat to stay the railing of his whore;
And leave rich heires behind: why then the Asse,
On a faire pile of Marble, Iet and Brasse,
Shall have a Table faire engrav'd, to shew
A Catalogue of Vertues he nere knew.
Thus much can gold performe, and such you see
The goodly fruits of this foule Passion be:
That were there not a greater power which still
A secret judgement heaped on this ill;
It were enough to make all men despise
The love of Vertue, and nought else devise
Save to be rich: which way they soone may finde,
That thereto onely doe apply the minde.

But as herein men often doe amisse,
So are they in the opposite to this;
The Prodigall runs out as farre astray
From this absurdity another way.
And e'en as greedy men are set on fire
With an unquenched and a foule desire
Of hoording Riches (God in heaven amend them)
So doth he strive and hie as fast to spend them.
And as the first in elder folks is stronger,
This raignes most violently in the younger,
Their humors diverse. Some vaine-glorious asses,
Consum't in gaudy cloathes and looking-glasses,
Others blowne up e'en with the selfe same bellowes,
Seeke to obtaine the love of all good-fellowes:
These at the Ale-house have their daily pots,
Though they be there or no, and looke what shots
Are in their presence, spent though ne'er so many
He doth them wrong that thinks to pay a penny.

These feast at Tavernes their supposed friends
That pay with Thanks, We ne'er shall make amends.
Yea, and in more things they have lavish bin;
But those are paths I've no experience in.
Yet such no doubt e're many yeeres be past,
Will wish that they had held their purses fast,
When for their kindnesse and their former cheere,
They hardly shall procure a cup of Beere.
But there must needs be some men borne thereto,
Or how the Divell shall our sharkers doe?

Yet can I not say rightly that these be
From Avarice and greedinesse quite free:
For though they doe consume it knavishly,
And spend on vaine pleasures lavishly,
They gladly would their evill course maintaine,
And therefore over slip no meanes of gaine.

Some have bin forc'd to (through this indiscretion)
Secret and open Robberies, Oppression,
And diuers tricks: which shew the Spending vice
May have a reference to Avarice.

Others there are (but few) who having store,
Neglect their wealth and rather would be poore;
And why? It stops the way to heaven they say:
Sure, being misimploied, so it may.
And therefore rather than they should abuse it,
'Twere good they had it that knew how to use it.
For such are lightly weake in resolution,
And men but of a simple constitution;
Or else by some seducing Villaine taught,
That their goods rather than their good have sought.

Now I suppose the man that well obtaines
His wealth and in an honest calling gaines,
More wisdome shewes in using it aright,
Than such a Cynicke that contemnes it quite:

Men will be in extreames; but sure the lesse
Is to neglect wealth: for much greedinesse
Makes not the body onely leane and foule,
But also spreads infection to his soule,
And clogs her so with things of no account,
That she is over-poiz'd too much to mount.
But those men that doe goe astray are loth,
Must use endeavours to avoide them both.

Of Ambition.

Satyre 9.

Here next to be arraign'd a Monster stands,
Worse than the Giant with the hundred hands
Stay you that seeke or love the peace of man,
And I'le describe his nature if I can.
This is the same that we doe call Ambition,
The principallest stirrer of sedition.
'Tis a proud humour which doth ever search
The stout-high-minded, and attempts to pearch
In men of spirit. It doth farre surmount
The force of Love and makes but small account
Of Nature or Religion. Tis not law,
Nor Conscience that can keepe this fiend in awe.

It is supposed that it hath no bound;
For never was there limit in it found.
And such are these in whom it overswaies,
No strength of reason there aspiring staies.
Till like the fire whose fuell quite is spent,
They flash and die for want of nourishment.

There's no estate contents them; peace and strife
Are both alike to them: yea death and life,
Wives, children, friends, no, none but such as may
Be unto their Ambitious plots a stay
Shall be respected, and so they may reape
What they desire they will not stick to heape
Murther on murthers: yea, and think't no sinne,
Be it of strangers or their nearest kinne:
They have such flinty-breasts they can out-beard
Danger it selfe and be no whit afeard.

Yea, (maugre all their daring) just Confusion
Of such proud spirits proves the said Conclusion.
And he that first was ruin'd by this evill,
Was he that first was guilty of't, the Devill:
Who did aspire so high that higher Powers
Wrought his just fall, and now he seeketh ours.
Ev'n he first shed this ill into our breasts,
Thereby to hinder and disturbe our rests.

This most unreasonable, strong desire,
And too exccessive longing to aspire
To honour and promotion (which indeed
Doth from a sottish, ignorance proceed)
Is both a wilde and a disordred Passion,
And a great enemy to Contentation.
For whatsoever state man hath attain'd.
'Tis e'en as if that he had nothing gain'd;
Sith he thereby hath still a farther scope,
And never reaches to the end of's hope.
That which he doth possesse he nought respecteth,
But altogether things unknowne affecteth,
And counts them best; which whatsoever they seem'd
Being once gotten too, are not esteemd.

Now, what's the reason that they doe abhor
The things possest that they have labour'd for?

What may the cause be that they doe contemne
(Or cannot use things) having gained them?
Sure hence it is; They doe not truly know
What the things are that they doe long for so,
And they obtaine them oft, ere they have might
Or knowledge how to governe them aright.

Had many of our reaching Yeomanry,
That have grown wealthy through good husbandry,
(And some of our proud Gentry that have sought
Titles and undeserved Honours bought)
But knowne before hand what disgracefull shame
And beggery would follow on the same,
In knowing not, to what they did aspire;
Those Dignities had yet beene to desire:
And so indeed they might have walkt the street,
And not have fear'd the Counters nor the Fleet;
Or might with Good-man have contented bin,
Where now there's scarce a good man of the kin.
Ambitious men will ever envious be,
Regarding neither love nor amity;
And though that they may make a goodly show,
With reason it can never stand I know
They should be faithfull or with justice deale,
Either for Prince or Friend or Common-weale.
For why? this humour makes them to attend,
Yea all their labours, and best counsell spend
In their owne plots: and so they have no losse,
They care not whose proceedings they doe crosse.

Vertuous endeavours this doth also let;
Yea, makes men many a good thing to forget.
And though I'me loth to speake it, I protest
I thinke it raignes not in the Clergie least.
For you at first great humblenesse shall see,
While their estates and fortunes meaner be.

They are industrious and take pains to teach,
And twice a week shall be the least they'l preach:
Or in their poverty they will not stick
For Catechising, visiting the sick,
With such like sacred works of piety
As do belong to that fraternity.
But if they once atchieve a Vicarage,
Or be inducted to some Parsonage,
Men must content themselves, and think it well
If once a Month they heare the Sermon-bell.
And if to any higher place they reach,
Once in a twelve-month is enough to preach.

Alas! we must consider that Devotion
Is but a busie thing that lets Promotion;
And if that they should give their mindes to't all,
Who should have greater places when they fall?
No, no, 'twere fitter they their ease did take,
And see what friends and Patrons they can make
For the next Bishoprick; or study how
To humour and to please the Great-ones now:
And if they can in that adventure speed,
They'l be more painfull. Yes; 'tis like indeed,
If in their climing they so high can wex,
To gain the title of a Pontifex,
'Tis very like (perhaps) that we shall heare,
They use the pulpit once or twice a yeare.
Nay, it is well if it be done so oft.
For this Ambition beares men so aloft,
They from performance of their duties slide.
But of all others this same Clergie-pride
I hold not onely to be odious
To God and men, but most pernicious
To Prince, to Church, and to the Common-good.
Witnesse the Beast of Rome, and his foule brood

Of climing Cardinals; who from base states
Are gotten to be Kings and Princes mates;
Yea, their Superiors too; and all by this,
A painted show of Humble holinesse.
Even this is it of which the divell makes
That cruell engine wherewithall he shakes
Religions soundnesse: and rends in it chinks,
Which he dawbes up againe, with what he thinks
Shall ruine all in time. And is't not hence
He had his meanes to marre the innocence
Of Romes first Bishops? godlinesse grew strong;
And flourisht while it was supprest with wrong.
But when the worthy Emperours embrac'd
The Sacred truth, and with their favours grac'd
Their good proceedings, they soone gan to leave
Their humble nature off, and closely weave
Vnto religious shewes (not a bare Miter,
It fits not the successors of Saint Peter)
A triple Diadem and such a state,
As never any earthly Potentate
Enjoi'd a greater (all with humble Preaching)
A long degree I tak't, beyond the reaching
Of temporall Ambition, Heav'n I pray,
Ere the first beast his time be done away,
There rise not up another Monster here
'Mongst our ambitious Churchmen I should feare
A second Antichrist, but that I hope
They either shall be kept within their scope;
Or the last judgement whose nigh time unknowne
Shall cut him off ere he be wholy growne.

Thus much some reason makes me bold to speake,
And there is no mans sight I thinke so weake,
But sees the same. Which though (I know full well)
Twould better others fit than me to tell;

Sith all neglect it, I have thus begun
To Satyrize and o'er their follies run.

Yet by my former words let none suppose,
That I th' opinion do maintaine of those
That doe our Bishops disallow,
Let them that can; for sure I know not how.
Nor would I have the world to understand
That I tax all the Clergey in the Land,
Or the whole Hierarchy: Thinke not so;
For why? this presently Age doth yeeld I know
Men that are truely worthy: and so many,
That I beleeve few times (since Christ) had any
More knowing or more painefull than some few.

And whatsoe'er men thinke, yet here to shew,
Though I Satyrically carpe at those
That follow Vice and are true Vertues foes;
I have not such a spitefull cankerd spirit,
As to conceale or smother Worth and Merit.
For I'l in Canturburies praise be bold
This on my owne experience to uphold,
The Sea was never governed as yet,
By any one more rev'rend or more fit.
For over and above his Country cares,
Wherein he neither time nor counsell spares;
Besides Church-businesse, whereto he applies
His minde to further it, what in him lies,
Besides all this his publike care at large,
Few Ministers have in their private charge
Tooke greater paine. That now the truth I tell,
London and Lambeth both can witnesse well.
And thou unhappy wert O London, then,
When thou didst lose this rare one amongst men:
Yet thou wert blest againe thy fate did bring
In place of such a Father, such a King;

So vigilent a watch-man in his place,
That were it not my purpose here to trace
The worlds mad humors, I from these had matter
To make a Panegyrick of a Satyr.
Yet is my Muse so constant in her frowne,
Shee shall not sooth a King for halfe his Crowne
Nor would slie thus much here have sung their praise
Had she not thought them to be what she saies.

But peradventure some will now condemne
This my particular commending them.
As if my setting of their vertues forth,
Would be detraction from anothers worth.
Which cannot be. For as this addes no more
Vnto that reall worth these had before:
So neither can I lessen, blot nor smother
The good that is apparant in another.
Nor doe I wish it should for might I here
Stand to make bead-rols of who worthy were,
I could adde divers that may claime this day
As much to be extold by me, as they.

Here I could name some other of their place
That cannot basely fawne to winne them grace:
Nor pick a Thank by seeking to condemne
Those that are not in place to answer them.
I know there's some who seeke the Churches good,
And never at their Princes elbow stood
With their lowd whisperings to stop his eare,
Lest he should what did more concerne him here.
I know there's such, and they will praised be,
Though never knowne, not mentioned by m.

But let this passe; whilst I so busie am
About the Clergie, some are much to blame.
The Court is factious growne through the desire
Tha every one hath gotten to aspire.

None doe esteeme their owne, but by compare:
All would be somewhat more than others are.
Yet he that's greatst, 'mong those that greatest seeme
Is only great in other mens esteeme.
And therefore sure hee's vaine who for such winde
Can feed a restlesse humour in his minde,
That's so unprofitable as at best
It makes him onely in appearance blest.
But when I weigh it, then I wonder much;
Mans love unto this Passion should be such,
As without understanding to let lie
A reall good for an uncertainty.

Those I have seene that have had riches store,
Great Offices, and favours no men more;
Honour and credit, yea and wisdome too:
But (loe what an ambitious head will doe)
Climing too hie, they got so low a fall,
They forfeited their honours lives and all.
Me thinks ere they in such an act should stur,
'Twere not amisse to thinke on Æsops Cur,
Who catching but to get a shaddow more,
Did lose the substance which he had before.

I might a while upon examples stand
Of former times; but that within this Land,
The present Age which I will onely view,
Can yeeld enough to prove my sayings true
And here, of many in this Kingdome showne,
I at this present will remember one;
And that shall be the late Ambitious plot,
The like whereof the world sure yeeldeth not;
I meane the Powder-treason, an Invention,
Brought (had not God assisted) past prevention.
And yet, ere they could clime to their desire,
Ev'n when they were to mount but one step higher.

(Let God be honour'd for't) downe tumbled all,
And gave these Monsters a deserved fall.

Which blest deliverance, if no happier song
Tune in our too-forgetfull eares ere long
(If heaven assist my purpose and the Times
Be but auspicious to my homely Rimes)
I meane to sing thereof, that after daies,
Seeing Gods love to us, may tell his praise;
And in such colours paint that hellish plot,
It shall not for some Ages be forgot:
But unto men unborne a Treason show
More vile than ever any Age did know.
And let them see that Ruine and Perdition
Are the last periods to conclude Ambition,
But to that purpose I may labour spend,
And peradventure all to little end:
Men will not thinke thereon, but still we see
So lofty minded in their actions be,
And with such thirst of titles have they sought them,
As at deere rates they many times have bought them.

Some have ambitious heads, but cannot rise,
Because the want of meanes and friends denies
What they aspire unto: whereat they vex,
And their unquiet soules oft times perplex
Beyond all reason. Oh strange humor'd men!
Leave off this folly and grow wise agen.
Be with your states content: for who doth know
If his desire be for his good or no?
Yea sure, one thinks; if I could but attaine
Such offices; or so much wealth to gaine
As this or that man hath, my wish were ended
And such or such a fault should be amended.
With that thou hast not yet how dost thou know
Whether thou canst be well content or no?

I tell thee this, though thou maist thinke it strange,
With the estate tht minde doth also change:
And when in one thing thou hast thy desire,
Thou wilt not stay there but mount som what higher
And higher still, untill thou dost attaine
Vnto the top, or tumble downe againe.

Be wary then you that ambitious are,
And to restraine this madnesse have a care:
Else at the last 'twill certainely deceive you:
But you must have your wils, to which I leave you.

Of Feare.

Satyre 10.

See you this Passion here that followes next,
That shakes and lookes as with a fever vext?
This is the pale and trembling caitife, Feare,
Whose dastard humors I will make appeare.
Note him and know him; This is he that mars
All our delights on earth: 'tis he that bars
Man the right use of pleasure, and 'tis hee
That was at first ordain'd our plague to be.
Come not too neare him, you that look for rest,
Lest he insinuate into your brest:
For entred once, it doth the body num,
Makes it distemper'd or deform'd become,
And sometime with illusions grim and foule,
Doth startle and affright the very soule:
The cause of it (if I may trust my skill)
Is but a false opinion of some ill,

That's present or to come. It inly stings;
And for companions ever with it brings
Both Paine and Shame: And diverse have I seen
That with this Passion much abus'd have been.

Some men there are, whose feare so foolish proves
It many unto game and laughter moves.
One came in lately almost out of breath;
As if he hardly had escaped death,
What was his feare? Alas, I tell you hee
Tooke a white poast some walking sprite to be;
Which strong surmise doth such impression take,
That though he since hath seen 'twas but a stake,
If on occasion, he be there be-nighted,
Hee's yet with presence of the place affrighted.

Another once I knew halfe staring mad,
And he had seene the Divell, that he had,
In an old house, sit cowring on a block,
When all at last prov'd but a Turky-cock.

Thus men oft feare when cause of feare is none,
Making themselves a jest for every one;
Yea, feare hath made a number so affraid,
That they have oft their dearest friends betraid:
For which cause onely I doe nere intend
To chose a coward to become my friend.

And if that women will advised be,
To make in this a Counsellor of me,
Let them admit no Coward in their love,
Left their conclusions doe as hopelesse prove,
As that poore Lasses unto whom befell
This sad adventure which I meane to tell.

Not farre from hence there dwelt not long agoe,
As blithe a Girle as any one I know,
A Gentlewoman of so good a ranke,
Her favour seem'd t'have well deserved thanke.

And cause in face and dowry few did match her,
Many a Gallant tride his wit to catch her;
While being kept but narrowly at home,
She car'd not so she might be gone, with whom.
And so, blind Fortune (that will seldome part
Her favours unto men of more desert)
Brings to the house a fellow that in show
Seem'd worthy of the prize, but was not so.
Yet having opportunity he tries,
Gets her good will, and with his purchase flies.
But ere 'twas long, the parents mist their daughter,
Rais'd all the towne and following closely after,
Were by meere chance unto an old house led,
Where this young couple were new gone to bed.
You that have ever in such taking bin,
Iudge what a case these naked folkes were in.
But what was done? The gallant left his prey,
And like a fearefull Coward slunke away.

Out on such asses, how could he for shame
So leave a woman to beare all the blame?
And for the griefe she suffers with her friends,
How can the villaine make the whore amends?
I know not: but for playing such a part,
'Tis certaine he hath lost the wenches heart:
And she for climing to a cowards bed,
Hath lost her credit with her Maiden-head.

Here's one effect of feare. And yet from hence
Springs also Cruelty, Impatience,
Breach of our promises, with much Envying;
That hurtfull and abhorred vice of Lying,
Murthers and Treasons: nay, there's nought so base,
So full of villanie, shame or disgrace,
The fearefull would not act withall his heart,
To free himselfe from feare of death or smart.

Yea, some would be contented very well
So they might scape death, to goe quick to hell.
Such is the nature of it that I've seen
Feare cause those evils that had else not been.
To some it sicknesse brings and some beside
E'en with the very feare of death have di'd:
And many of them have so carefull bin
To rid themselves from feares that they were in;
That as the Ship which doth Charybdis shun,
They ranne on Scylla, and were quite undone.
The reason is they so amazed be
With apprehending dangers which they see
Pursuing of them, as they thinke not on
The other mischiefes they may runne upon.
And evermore it is the Cowards error
To thinke the present danger ful'st of terrour.

The feare of evill more tormenteth some,
Than doth the thing they fear'd when once 'tis come
Men dread what is, what will be, and (alas!)
Many a thing that nere shall come to passe:
For if they only fear'd apparant things
(That likely-hood of some affrighting brings)
As troops of enemies, or theeves, or treason,
Pirats or stormes at sea, there were some reason,
Or colour for it then, but they will quake
At fictions: at meere nothings, their hearts ake
At their owne fancies superstitions,
At tales of Fairies or of Visions:
Yea, I have seene one melancholly sad
Vpon some foolish dreame that he hath had.

Oh what meanes man that having mischifes store,
Must in his owne conceit needs make them more?
Thinks he those will not grim enough appeare,
Vnlesse he apprehend them first by feare?

Sure 'tis a plague the Divell did invent,
To worke in man a lasting discontent,
And taught it Adam; whereupon he said,
I saw my nakednesse and was affraid.
It is our weaknesse: yet I cannot see
A reason why we should so fearefull be.

May we not joy and be as merry still
With hope of good, as sad with feare of ill?
Sure I thinke yes; and will on hope so feed,
No ill shall feare me till tis come indeed:
For that which seemeth likeliest to betide me,
God in his mercy yet may put beside me.
And though much proofe had bred within my brest
That resolution yet, of all the rest
This last confirm'd it most: for the other day,
When the hard frost had stopt the Scullers way,
And left faire Thames with Ice so strongly archt
That on the melting pavement people march'd:
Amongst the rest one bolder than was fit,
All heedelesse of his way fell out of it,
Vpon a peece of Ice, which with a cracke,
Rent from the maine, and stopt his going backe:
This Icie fragment from the rest did swim,
And to the Bridge a prisoner carried him,
Where the spectators signes of pitty gave,
And had a will but not a power to save.
Which in his Passion then conceiving well
Downe on his knees in that poore Arke he fell,
And lifting up his hands did him implore
That sav'd old Ionas without Saile or Oare.
And see Gods mercy: when he drew so neare,
No hope of safeguard seemed to appeare;
When he had there just three times whirled bin,
And that the Arch was like to suck him in.

Then quite beyond all hope, e'en in a trice,
There thrust-betweene a greater peece of Ice,
Which comming downe as if it scorn'd to stay,
Beat by the lesser peece to give it way.
A while that staid: yet he had beene faine,
When that was gone to take his turne againe,
But that, next God the people stood his friend,
And sav'd him by a rope, that's some mans end.

Whereby I gather, we may sometime now
Escape a mischiefe though we see not how.
And in my minde this argument is cleare,
That we have as much cause to hope, as feare.

More trembling humors I might here unfold,
Which some will be unwilling should be told
And therefore passe them But I doe protest
This hurtfull Monster I so much detest,
That I am much unwilling to omit
The least occasion of disgracing it.
Yet doe I not allow their resolution,
Who meerely of a hellish constitution,
Have hearts obdurate, and so hard in evill,
They neither seeme affraid of God nor Devill.
Such I have noted too, but truly they
Are in as bad though in another way.
They prate and sweare as if they could affright,
Or make Hobgoblin run away by night;
When questionlesse as bold as they appeare,
They are perplexed with an inward feare:
Yea, I have knowne a trifle or a blast,
Hath made such Champions oftentimes agast.

There is an honest Feare that hinders sin,
Which hath of all good men allowed beene:
And there's a feare that keepes a Kingdomes state
From ruine if it be not tane too late.

It is not Servile feare that slavish crime;
But rather 'tis a providence betime,
That makes men very heedfull to fore-thinke
Danger to come and not (as we doe) winke
At our owne nakednesse; as without care
Who spide it; so our selves we see not bare.

This Feare it is that makes men to provide
Against a storme, they may the better bide
The fury of it: this tis keepes off wrong.
And makes a Citie or a Kingdome strong.
And I much doubt, the wanting of these feares
Will make us smart for't yet ere many yeares.
For since we are become a pretty number
Although we can but one another cumber,
Or serve to make a Hubbub; we suppose
There are no Nations dare to be our foes.
We thinke a wonderous policy we shew,
If once in foure yeares we doe take a view
Or count the number of our able men.
Flattering our selves therewith; as if that then
(Having so great and huge a multitude,
Though we were ne'er so inexpert and rude)
There were no cause of feare. But a Realmes might
Consists not in the number that must fight;
As in their skill, and of good Souldiers ten
Will foile an hundred unexperienc'd men,
Such as are we. For 'tis a shame to speake
How wonderfull unfitly, and how weake
This ignorance makes most of us; except
Whom brave South-hamptons government hath kept
In warlike order; I doe meane indeed
Our Hampshire Ilanders; of whom for need
A hundred Boies that ne'er had haire on chin,
Shall from five hundred of up-landish, win

Both field and Towne. Whereby it may appeare,
Good government, with profitable feare,
Within a few short yeares so well will thrive,
One shall become to have the ods of five.

Those therefore that are wise enough to tell
When they do any thing amisse, or well,
Still in this Passion doe observe a meane,
And not to Feare, or to Presumption leane.

Of Despaire.

Satyre 11.

No more of Feare, for lo, his impious brat
Looks now to be admitted. This is that
We call Despaire: with gastly look he stands,
And Poysons, ropes, or poniards fill his hands,
Still ready to do hurt: one step (no more)
Reaches from hence unto damnations dore.
This is that Passion giveth man instruction
To wrest the Scripture to his own destruction:
And makes him think, while he on earth doth dwell,
He feels the tortures and the plagues of hell.

It makes men rave like Furies, scritch and howle,
With exclamations horrible and foule
More Monster like than men. Onely damnation
Is in their mouthes; no mercy, no salvation,
Can they have hope of, but possesse a feare,
Whence monstrous shapes and visions do appeare
To their imaginations: and the pain
That they in soule and conscience do sustain,

All earthly tortures doth so much exceed,
As if they had within them hell indeed.
This is that last-worst instrument of Feare,
Which our Grand-foe (and hells great Enginere)
Raiseth against the fortresse of the heart:
But many times God frustrates quite his art.
For when he doth assaile the same (with trust
He from their fortresse faith and hope shall thrust)
It makes them unto Christ their Captain flie,
Leave to be too secure and fortifie.
God also makes this Passion now and then
His scourge to lash the proud presumptuous man,
And tame the Reprobate, who by this rod
Is made sometimes to feel there is a God.
By this strange wonders brought to passe I've seen,
Those humbled that have once the proudest been:
Yea, some I've known whose hearts have been so hard
They with no feare of judgment could be scar'd;
Yet after this hath seiz'd them, it hath made
These daring spirits tremble at their shade.
Shake at meere apparitions; nay, at nought
But what hath being onely in their thought.
And in respect of what they were, no change
That ever I observed seems so strange.
Those friends and pleasures that once seem'd most deare,
Most odious to them in such fits appeare:
And greatest comfort they do finde in them,
Whose waies and persons they did most condemne.

Oh, what repentant lives some vow to live,
If God would but once more vouchsafe to give
Them health & hope again! then they would spend
Their lives and goods unto no other end
Save wholly for his glory: yet there's now
Some living that have quite forgot that vow,

God give them grace to look into their errour,
Or they will one day feele a double terrour.
But many in this agony hath nought
More than the way unto their ruine sought;
And still our busie enemie the Devill,
Author and chiefe procurer of this evill
(Vnlesse Gods mercie his black plots prevents)
Is ready to provide him Instruments,
But I ev'n quake to think what humours be
Attending on this hellish maladie.
Which I had rather labour to eschew,
Than to be overcurious here to shew.

Now, some do think this Passion being taken,
Can very hardly be again forsaken:
For (far above all mischiefs raging) This
The cursed traytor to our safety is;
And will not means permit us to apply
Ought that may bring us ease or remedy.
But there are courses to prevent this sinne:
And (though it be insinuated in)
God that doth ever pitty our distresse,
Will not forsake us in our heavinesse.
Nor can we say that he hath left us voide
Of help, for ought wherewith we are annoyd
Through Sathans guile. He pittieth our case,
And daily makes us offers of his grace,
If wee'll lay hold on't. For, how truely deare
We to the Father of all mercie are,
He shew'd in giving for a Sacrifice
His sonne, to pay for our iniquities.
In whom (if unbeleeving make not blinde)
For every griefe of body and of minde,
There is a Salve. And every Christian knows
(Or should at least) a Sacred Spring, whence flows

A precious liquor; whose rare vertue can
Cure ev'ry griefe of minde that tortures Man.
But we must be advis'd how to apply
This med'cine rightly to our malady:
For some that have presumed on their skill,
Out of things good, have drawn effects as ill,
And so the Sacred-Truth is now and then
So wrested by the false conceits of men;
As thence they gather means to sooth their Passion,
And make more obstinate their Desperation:
Which from your soules pray heaven to keep as farre,
As is earths center from the highest starre.

But there's a two-fold Desperation reignes;
One sort is that which a distrust constrains
In things that do concern the soules salvation:
The horriblest and feareful'st Desperation.
But th' other is alone of earthly things,
And nothing so much disadvantage brings;
Yet like enough in little time to grow
Vertues main let, or utter overthrow.
For where it entrance gets, it makes men loth
To undertake great matters, cause through sloth
They do despaire to reach them. Yea, it breeds
A carelesnesse in man, and thence proceeds
Not a few Treasons; for one breach of Law
Brings many times offenders in such awe,
That in despaire of pardon for their ill,
They not alone hold out their errour still;
But being guilty of one crime before,
To scape the lash for that, adde twenty more:
And cause at first they thought themselves undone,
At last to desperate Rebellion runne.

Besides, there's some despairing of their cause,
Who being brought to triall by the lawes

For their offence are obstinately mute:
And unto these (forsooth) some do impute
A manly resolution; 'cause thereby
They carefull seem of their posterity.
But sure there is no wiseman will commend
Him that so desperately seekes his end,
Or thorow wilfulnesse undoes himselfe,
(Body and soul perhaps) to save his pelfe
To some Survivours; whereas if he bide
On hope, and stand contented to be tri'd
According to the Laws, he may be clear'd,
And quitted of the danger he so fear'd,
As some have been. Besides, When we endure
Any small pain, if we despaire of cure,
Ease, or amends, 'twill make it seem to be
Almost unsufferable. But if we
Have any hope, the rest we look to win,
Will mitigate the torture we are in.
His winter-toyle what Plough-man could sustain
If he despaired of his harvest-gain?
And the strong'st army needs must faint and flie,
If it distrust before of victorie.

But to conclude this; be it understood,
Despair's a thing that doth so little good,
As to this day I cannot yet observe
That purpose whereto man might make it serve,
Vnlesse to help a troop of Cowards fight:
For, could a man lead them past hope of flight,
Where they should see there were no remedie
But they must die, or get the victorie;
Despaire in that case might give them the day,
Who would have lost it to have run away.

Of Hope.

Satyre 12.

Thrice welcome Hope; the Devill keep home the tother.
Despaire and Feare are fitting for no other.
This is the Passion that of all the rest
We have most reason to esteem of best.
For if it be with good advice applide,
A salve it is God did himselfe provide
To ease not onely every outward griefe;
But when the Soul wants comfort or releefe
It will redresse her pain; although it were
The shaking off that hideous Monster, Feare.

This is a Balme so precious, had we power
To take it to our selves at such an houre
When black Despaire doth pinch us; this indeed
Would so expell it, as we should not need
The drugges of Rome: But what (alas!) can wee
Rightly apply, and not instructed be?
Vnlesse some power assist us, it is true
Our nature so unapt is to pursue
The way it should, that we do follow still
The crooked'st paths and lose our selves in i'l.
Hope is a blessing but we so abuse it,
As to our hurt more than our good we use it.
Yea this, that was of all the Passions best,
We have as much corrupted as the rest;

Ev'n that, on which our chiefest good depends,
And to our highest of contentment tends.
For we must note well that this Passion's double,
One Hope is certain, th' other full of trouble,
And most uncertain. Now the first attends
Things meere immortall, and alone depends
On th' expectation of the certain'st things,
With that perfection of true joy, which brings
No trouble with it. This, through Faith we gain;
And 'tis sufficient to make any pain
Seem short and easie. 'Tis the life of man,
And such a comfort as no mortall can
Live if he want it. And yet sometime this
Each way as idle as the other is.
For oftentimes we see the same is found
To be erected on no other ground
But ignorance, or meere securitie.
Which ruine all who do on them relie.
Some praise their own deserts, and on that sand
Would fain have the divinest hope to stand.
Which no contentment doubtlesse can assure,
Nor without wav'ring to the end endure.
And if it do not, to small end will be
That idle trust and confidence which we
Can have elsewhere; since every other kinde
Of Hope, which I amongst us men do finde,
Is of uncertain earthly things; and such
As neither long endure, nor please us much.

Then the best likelihoods that may be shown,
And the strong'st humane reasons that are known,
Are nothing worth to ground a hope upon,
But in the turning of a hand, all's gone.
Were all the men on earth procured to
Some thing that lay in one mans power to doe.

And all were well resolv'd to see it done:
(Yea wer't but one daies work, and that begun)
Well might we hope that they would bring to passe
So small a thing as that; but yet (alas!)
None can assure so much, because none know
A warrant from above it shall be so.
And therefore though I wish that every man
Should take upon him the best hope he can
In all his outward actions, yet should he
Take care on honest grounds it builded be.
And therewith be so wel-prepared still,
That if his doubtfull hope do fall out ill,
He ne'er repine, but tak't as if the same
Had been expected long before it came.
And sith that fickle-trust did nought availe him,
Depend on the true-hope shall never faile him.
For what is plac'd on humane wit or strength,
Is vain, and most uncertain; 'cause at length
How-e'er it may seem sure, it may deceive him,
And when he hath most need of comfort leave him.

This Hope is now become the Patronesse,
And chiefe maintainer of mans wickednesse:
Ther's not a villany man doth intend,
Vnlesse that he have this to be his friend.
Hope egges him on, and with a thousand wiles
His much abused confidence beguiles.
Hope tells the theefe, if he will rob, he may
Have twenty means to hide himselfe away.
Hope doth entise the Prodigall to spend,
And will not let him thinke upon his end;
But doth perswade him, some good boty shall
Hap at the last to make amends for all.
And never ceaseth thus to beare him faire,
Till she undoes, and leaves him to despaire.

Shee soothes the Gamester in his trifles vaine;
And draws the Pirate on with hope of gaine.
She makes the Courtier into treason run;
Our Great-mens Followers serve till they're undone,
And for the present (having nought to give)
Vpon reversions all her servants live.

Now every man unto this hope is led
By sundry other Passions in him bred,
As Love, Ambition, Avarice, or such:
And true it is, in these our hope is much.

But oftentimes we into errours run
So blindely on that we are quite undone,
Because indeed we hopefully expect
Many such things as we can ne'er effect;
And give to our desires a larger scope
Than will admit of any likely hope.
So we our selves abuse, and are disgrac'd
Oft-times with that, which wer't with reason plac'd
Vpon an honest and a certain ground,
Would seldome be so vainly frustrate found.
But Lovers hopes, and such as are so bold
On every paultry trifle to lay hold,
Neither last long, nor for the time indeed
Can they one jot of true contentment breed.

Ambitious men, what e'er they do intend,
Have still new hopes to bring their plots to end.
But they are all so built on such weak props,
That e'er they be possessed of their hopes,
All overthrown we in a moment spie,
And they with their inventions ruin'd lie.
Into which mischiefe he yet never fell
That knew but how to use this Passion well.

Of Compassion.

Satyre 13.

Bvt as the former Passion was abus'd,
So this that follows is but hardly us'd.
Yet it is known a kinde and tender Passion,
In it own nature worthy commendation:
And if discretion guide it, well may be
Of neere alliance unto Charitie.
If not; it with the rest from vertue swerves,
And so with them alike reproofe deserves.
Which some will wonder at; such as suppose
A man through pitty cannot erre: yet those,
If they have any judgment of their own,
Shall say, Compassion may amisse be shown.

Or if you put no confidence in me,
Come to our Courts of Iustice, and there see
How shee's abus'd: there mark and you shall finde,
It makes the Iuror many times so blinde,
They see, but stumbling by do tread,
Beside the way their Evidences lead
There you may spie the reverend Iudge compeld
Through an effeminate tendernesse, to yeeld
Vnto this melting Passion: Sometime by
A Personall respect tane by the eye;
Sometime because th' offender (it may be)
Already hath sustain'd much miserie.

And this think they is Charitie aright;
(Through ignorance indeed) forgetting quite,
Whil'st they an ill deserved life prolong,
Therein they do not onely justice wrong;
But by their indiscreet and fond Compassion,
Vnwisely hazard e'en their own discretion.

Some through this pitty (when they much implore)
Though they unjustly favour him that's poore,
Deeme they do not amisse, and why? they trust,
(Because their meaning's good, their doing's just.

Some there are also, who would fain be deem'd
Wise men, that have through weaknesse mis-esteem'd
Those orders which for wandring rogues are made,
As though that begging were a lawfull trade;
They pitty those that justly punish'd be:
And often erring in their Charitie,
They boldly have accus'd the laws therefore,
As if their rigour injured the poore.

But he I feare whose judgment is so slender,
Or hath a yeelding heart so fondly tender
To stoop unto this Passion; neither spares
The lawes of God nor man; but oft times dares
Pervert them both; supposing his intent
Shall free him from deserved punishment.
And though that God himselfe saies Kill, reply
With, No, alas, 'tis pitty he should die.
And for their weaknesse merit equall check
With him that spar'd the King of Amaleck,
For verily, as vertuous as it shows,
A foolish pitty quickly overthrows
In warre an Army, and in peace a State:
And this I'le stand to, 'Tis as bad as Hate:
For that and bribes to such a power is grown,
Iustice and conscience are quite overthrown.

Certain it is (and cannot be withstood)
That Pitty sometimes hurts the Common-good.
Yea, God himselfe it many waies offends,
And therefore that man who indeed intends
To beare himselfe uprightly, ought to see
How far this Passion may admitted be.
For seem how 'twill, all pitty is unfit,
Vnlesse Gods laws and mans do warrant it.

But I have seen a tender-hearted Asse
That's worth the laughing at, and doth surpasse
For foolish pitty (but he, he alone
Is hurtfull to himselfe, or else to none)
To such as he read but some Tragedie;
Or any peece of mournfull historie;
And if the matter which you do relate
Be sorrowfull or something passionate,
Though it were done a thousand yeares ago,
And in a Countrey he did never know,
Yet will he weep (kinde-heart) as if those men
Were of his friends, and the mischance but then
Before their eies in action: nay, unfold
Some new made tale that never yet was told,
So it be dolefull, and do represent
A strange and lamentable accident:
Although not onely (as I said before)
It be a matter meerly fein'd, but more,
Although he know it so, he cannot keep
His melting eyes from teares but he must weep
Which is a weaknesse whence more mischiefs grows
Than any at first thinking would suppose.

I might touch Parents also in the City
That marre their children by their cockring pitty,
If other Passions call'd me not away.
And yet before I leave, thus much I'le say;

Want of rebuke elsewhere, and rods in Schools,
Hath almost fill'd the land with knaves and fools.

Then you that think we need no pitty shun,
Forsake the errour whereinto you run,
With those Divines that admonitions spare,
Or in reproving over-easie are;
With many more of different degree,
But unto these I'le not o're-bitter be.
And you that are, or you that would at least
Be counted men, and beare within your breast
That vertue which befitting manhood is,
Shun such base humours as fond Pitty is.
For why should you be there-with over-born,
When 'tis a Passion that now women scorn?

Of Crueltie.

Satyre 14.

Bvt here's another beares us further wide,
(If we embrace it) on the other side.
And therefore whilst we seek how to beware
Of foolish Pitty; we must have a care,
But this do over-run us: 'tis a thing
Whose very name doth seem enough to bring
All men in their opinion to confesse,
Tis an inhumane hellish wickednesse.
A monstrous Passion, so unfit to rest,
Or harbour in a reasonable brest,
That beasts, in whom it rather should remain,
Do, for the greatest part, the same refrain.

And yet as odious as it doth appeare,
Vnlesse men look to their affections neare,
'Twill steal upon them, and they shall begin
Not onely to be quickly snar'd therein:
But (though at first they do abhorre it much)
The nature of this Passion still is such,
It will become delightfuller, and make
So deep impression in the heart, and take
So sure a root, 'twill hardly be displac'd,
Whilst that the body by the soule is grac'd.

Though many doe suppose it may with ease
Be left or taken as each man shall please:
Such men are wide; and they are over-bold
And too much trusting to themselves that hold
We need not this same Passion discommend;
Since nature of her selfe doth reprehend
So vile a fault. For thus, say they,
Our Reason never can so much decay
To make us our humanity defile
With any Passion that is known so vile.

Indeed, it is a monstrous villany,
And most, I think, can rail at Cruelty:
Yet let none be secure for this is true,
Those odious vices we do most eschew,
Grow pleasing by degrees. When Hazael
Was told what he should do to Israel,
Full little thought he then his gentle heart
Should ever give consent to act a part
Of such a Tragick Scene; and yet we finde
He be came after of another minde,
For mans intents and best affections be
Exceeding subject to uncertainty
What least we think to doe (unlesse each hower
We have remembrances) such state is our,

We often minde not. For which cause the Sire
Of that bold Grecian King, who did aspire
To be the worlds third Monarch; knowing well
Himselfe to be a man, mistrusted still
To what he might through humane frailty fall,
And therefore still appointed one to call
Thus at his window (e'er the day began)
Philip, Remember that thou art a man.

And sure as hatefull as this Passion is,
To have some caveat is not much amisse.
For though no such things in our selves we spie,
In secret oftentimes 'twill lurking lie.
And when it breakes forth into any act,
With colour of some vertue hides the fact,
As justice, or the like: and then it will
So harden by degrees the heart in ill,
As that we shall not think we do amisse,
When as our Cruelty extreamest is.
He deemes himselfe no such that without shame
Doth rob another of his honest name
By raising false reports; nor that hard lord,
Who to his tenant grudges to afford
What law and conscience gives: nor he that takes
The common profit to himselfe, and makes
His own good of it, when he knows thereby
Many a poore man's brought to beggery.
These think with cruelty they do not deal,
What wrongs soe'er they do the Common-weal,
This vice so hardens them. The damn'd Vsurers,
And cut-throat Brokers, Mammons Treasurers
(Who by the small use they of riches make,
Do for another seem their care to take)
Though not content with Statute-vsury,
A thousand other polling tricks they trie;

100

Increasing their lewd gains by bribes and gifts,
And many viler or more lawlesse shifts:
Though they do make no conscience what they doe
So they may act it, and scape justice too,
Pinching poore Debtors, till their greedy hands
Have got possession both of goods and lands,
Would not be cruell thought, although that this
Be as true Cruelty as any is.

And what are Lawyers that can brook to see
Christians like beasts that still at variance be;
And when it lieth in their power to part them,
Do, for their own gain, unto discord hart them?
Or nourish still the strife by adding fuell
To discords flame? Trust me, I think them cruell:
What-e're they deem themselves: and not alone
The mercilesse offender; but each one,
Who when he doth perceive that there is need,
Is slack to do a charitable deed.
What may be thought of them whose chiefest care
Is pampering the flesh with curious fare;
Largely providing for the bodies good,
Whilst the poore soule is hunger-starv'd for food?
Are not they cruell? Is it like that such
Who can neglect their dearest souls so much,
Are mercifull to others? You well say
Murder is cruelty. Then what are they
That by false doctrine, fraught with errours foule,
Do murder, or do worse than kill the soule?
Them to be guilty none can will deny.

But you will say, 'Tis not that Cruelty
You understood: As if you did suppose
None through this Passion did offend but those
That seek for bloud. Indeed, that is the worst,
And of all cruelty the most accurst;

101

Which for no other purpos'd end is us'd,
But a meere longing to see things abus'd.
Then 'tis at highest when men use to see
Or act some deed that's full of Crueltie;
Onely for that 'tis so; or 'cause their will
Findes devillish contentments in their ill.

Such was his humour, who (out of desire
To see how Troy burnt when it was on fire)
Caus'd Rome in many a place at once to flame;
And longing to behold from whence he came,
Ript up his mothers wombe. So in the height
Was also his that took so much delight
In seeing men extreamly tortured,
That he out of his bounty promised
A large reward to him that could invent
The cruell'st and unusuall'st punishment.
Which Phalaris demanding, was therefore
The first that made his brazen Bull to roare.

Such is theirs also whose unmanly natures
Can be the needlesse death of any creatures,
Or torture, or behold them pleasingly,
Whilst they abused and tormented die.
Trust me; bee't but a dog, nature denies,,
And God forbids that we should tyrannize.
Much more on man: yet there is many a one
That to this hellish Passion is so prone,
With boasts he glories in his mischiefes too,
And uncompell'd would make no more adoe
To murder till a Countrey were unman'd,
Than doth a School-boy with a walking wand
To lop down Thistles. But all such men be
Extreamly cruell in the high'st degree.

And though the first rehearsed be not so,
Yet thereto they may very quickly grow;

102

(Vnlesse they have oft warning to beware)
Sith they already halfe-way entred are.
Especially the greedy hungry Elfe,
That would for profit gladly damne himselfe.
For Avarice doth harden so the heart,
In any mischiefe he may beare a part:
No cruelty the Covetous refrains,
Murther nor Treason so he may have gains.

More I could say against this Passion yet:
But would men of themselves well ponder it,
A little meditation of their own
Might profit more than all that I have shown.
And therefore I will here conclude with this,
As he is blessed that meek-hearted is:
So on the Cruell lightly doth attend,
A heavy curse, and a most fearfull end.

Of Ioy.

Satyre 15.

Of all the Passions handled hitherto,
With this that follows I had least to doe.
By some small trials though that I have had,
I finde 'tis better far than being sad:
And that no greater good on earth might be,
If it would last, and were from combrance free.
But that can never be, our state is such;
And Destiny moreover seems to grutch

103

Ought should be perfect in mortality,
Lest we should leave to seek Eternitie.
Never could any yet that Ioy obtain
On which there follow'd neither shame nor pain:
For he (no question) that's allowed most,
Doth dearely pay for what is quickly lost.

But sure the reason why mans joy so soon
Is chang'd to sorrow, is because there's none,
Or very few, that do their gladnesse found
Vpon a solide, firme, substantiall ground:
But on such subjects, as no marvell though,
It doth receive so quick an overthrow,
And brings so sharp a farewell. For one joyes
In Dogs, Apes, Monkies, or some such like toies;
And when they faile, (as how can they last long?)
Their mirth is finish'd, they must change their song.

Some in their honour all their joy do place;
And then if but a frown or some disgrace
Adde the least motion unto Fortunes wheele,
Sorrow takes place, and little joy they feele.

Take but away his substance, you destroy
The miserable Richmans onely joy.
And soon by sicknesse that delight's defac'd,
Which man in beauty, or in strength hath plac'd.
Yea, the best joy in transitory things,
They being lost, at last a sorrow brings.
All men should therefore make a carefull choice
Of that wherein their meaning's to rejoyce,
And not affect things so extreamly vain,
As make them to repent their joy again.
Yet many do so settle their delight
On things unworthy, that they are e'en quite
Bereft of understanding when they see
They must of them again deprived be.

104

One foole hath lost his Hawk to day, and he
Can neither eate, nor drink, nor merry be:
There was his onely joy, and now 'tis gone,
Without all doubt the Gentleman's undone.

Young Mistresse Vanity is also sad
Because the Parrat's dead she lately had.
Alas! and blame her not if that she houle,
The Parrat was (I warrant) halfe her soule.

But weigh this you that have your better parts
Of an immortall fame, awake your hearts,
And from delight in drosse and clay remove
Your joyes, to place them on the things above:
So shall you still have reason to rejoyce,
And not with sorrow thus repent your choyce.
This that you so much doat on is a toy
So far from meriting the name of Ioy,
That either 'tis not thorowly obtained;
Or if it be in such a measure gained
As you would wish it, then you are no lesse
Endanger'd by an over-joyfulnesse.
For had you seen men that were calm'd at Sea,
And forc'd the leasure of the windes to stay,
Halfe starv'd for food, brought to some happy shore,
Where is of victualling with all things store,
And there through hunger greedily begin
To glut their stomacks that have fasting bin,
With the long-wish'd-for cates; Lo, while they eate,
They grow extreamly faint with wholsome meat:
And thorow weaknesse by disuse of food,
That which was for their comfort and their good
Turnes to their bane. Right so it fares in this;
For he that long time in some sorrow is,
And tost upon the boistrous seas of care,
If for his comfort he be landed there

105

Where joy abounds; his heart (where none hath bin
Full many a day before) receives it in
So out of measure, that it even makes
The soule unquiet; and thereby he takes
A surfeit: whose strong violence is such,
The body faints, or is endanger'd much.

Some of mine own acquaintance I have seen
That with this Passion have o'er-charged been
And at relating of some news that's good,
Have almost senselesse and amazed stood:
Yea, been so ravish'd with the joy they took,
That they have for a time their lives forsook.

But neither can not will I e'er commend
Such joy as this; for when we apprehend
That we delight in with too deep content,
God laies that on us for a punishment;
To shew what danger and uncertainty
Is in the best of earths felicity:
And that no joy can sweet or lasting prove,
Which from his speciall favour doth not move.

Somewhat still follows every other joy,
That doth with bitternesse the sweet destroy:
And sure this may some reason of it be,
Men in their mirth are carelesse to foresee
What ill may follow, and (beyond all measure)
Give way unto their false conceived pleasure.
Which hurtfull liberty they must restrain,
If they will any true contentment gain.
And I am of this minde, If every man
Would curb rebellious thoughts but what he can,
Armes of resistance he might better weeld,
And not so basely to this Passion yeeld.
Neither befits it Man that ought to be
At all times fenc'd with magnanimitie,

106

To suffer any mischiefe to annoy
His minde, through either too much care or joy:
But so the one should of the other borrow.
He might be sad with mirth, and glad with sorrow.
Thus I advise; and here my pen shall stay;
The reason is, I have no more to say:
But when with joy I am acquainted better,
I'le tell you more, or else remain you debter.

Of Sorrow.

Satyr. 16.

Of this sad Passion I may knowledge take,
And well say somewhat for acquaintance sake.
'Tis a disease that doth possesse so many,
It neither doth forbeare nor favour any.
Come when it will an ill report it gains,
And every one of his hard usage plains.
Then, tis beside so troublesome a guest:
None that do harbour it have any rest:
And which is worse, though he his host diseases,
'Tis thought he cannot rid him when he pleases.

And yet methinks if man would use his might,
He may asswage, if not out-weare it quite:
It is at least his duty; for should he
That must on earth th' Almighties Viceroy be?
Should he to whom the Soveraigne Lord hath given
A countenance that should behold the heaven?
With Sorrows visage hide his manly grace,
And groveling turn to earth his blubber'd face?

107

Is't not a shame to see the man who saith,
That he a Christian is, and seems t'have faith,
Should for misfortune without remedie,
Be passionate in such extremity,
That childish teares not onely stain his face,
(Which may be born withall in many a case)
But also raves, grows furious; and extends
His griefe past reasons limits? who commends
A man for that? Say, is it any lesse,
Than to deny by deed what words professe?
For who would think which sees how he bewailes
The losse of breath that in a moment fails
That he beleeves, but rather thinks 'tis vain
To hope or trust the flesh shall rise again?
Or that there were, as holy Scripture saith,
Any reward for them that die in faith.
It's a plain token of a mis-beleefe,
When Christians so o'er-whelm themselves in griefe:
And therefore, though I do not discommend
The moderate bewailing of a friend;
I wish th' extream hereof men might despise,
Lest their profession they do scandalize.

Beside, (though as I seem'd to say before)
Vnles't be common, 'tis no common sore,
Because it hurts but those that entertain it,
Yet good it were if all men could refrain it.
For it not onely makes mans visage be
Wried, deform'd and wrinkled as we see;
Himselfe exiling from the common eye,
To vex and grieve alone he knows not why:
But also brings diseases with his death,
By the untimely stopping of his breath.
It makes his friends to loath his company,
And greatly hinders his commodity.

108

For who to deale in his affaires is fit,
Vnlesse with good-will he attendeth it?
And howsoe'er it seeme; yet surely this,
As farre from vertue as bad pleasure is:
For as through th' one we to much evill run,
So many good things the other leaves undone.

I wonder that this Passion should touch
The hearts of men to make them grieve so much
As many doe for present miseries?
Have they no feeling of felicities
That are to come? If that they be in paine,
Let hope give ease; it will not alwaies raine.
Calmes doe the roughest stormes that are attend,
And the longst night that is, will have an end.

But 'tis still bad thou saist: take't patiently,
An Age is nothing to Eternity.
Thy time's not here; envie not, though that some
Seeme to thee happy; their bad day's to come:
And if thou knewst the griefe they must sustaine,
Thou would'st not thinke so hardly of thy paine.

I must confesse, 'twas once a fault of mine
At every misadventure to repine.
I sought preferment and it fled me still,
Whereat I griev'd, and thought my fortune ill.
I vext to see some in prosperity,
Deride and scoffe at my adversity.
But since, advis'd and weighing in my minde
The course of things I soone began to finde
The vainenesse of them. Those I saw of late
In blisse (as I thought) scorning my estate,
I see now ebbing and the once full tide
That overflow'd the lofty banks of pride,
Hath left them like the sand-shore, bare and dry,
And almost in as poore a case as I.

109

Besides I view'd my daies now gone and past,
And how my fortunes from the first to th' last
Were link'd together: I observ'd, I say,
Each chance and deed of mine, from day to day,
That memorie could keepe; yet found I none,
Not one thing in my life that was alone,
But still it either did depend on some
That was already passed or to come
Yea the most childish, idle, trifling thing,
That seemed no necessity to bring,
In that, hath the beginnings oft bin hid,
Of some the weightiest things that ere I did.
But chiefly to abate th' excessive joying
In worldly things, and to prevent th' annoying
Of any sorrow, this I noted thence,
(And eversince have made it a defence
For both these Passions) I have truly seene;
That those things wherewith I have joyed beene
Highly delighted and the dearest lov'd;
E'en those same very things have often prov'd
My chiefest care. And I have found againe,
That which I deem'd my greatest losse or paine,
And wherewithall I have beene most annoi'd,
And should have deem'd a blessing to avoid;
That which my heart hath ask'd for: and wherein
I thought me most unhappy, that hath bin
The ground of my best joyes. For which cause, I
Advise all men that are in miserie
To stand unmov'd. For why, they doe not know
Whether it be to them for good or no.
They ought not for to murmure, or to pine
At any thing, shall please the power divine
To lay upon them, for my minde is this,
Each sorrow is an entrance into blisse.

110

And that the greatest pleasure we attaine,
Is but a signe of some ensuing paine.
But to be plainer; this our life's a toy,
That hath nought in it worth our griefe or joy.

But there are some base-minded dunghill Elves,
That sorrow not for any but themselves.
Or if they doe, tis onely for the losse
Of some old crest-falne Iade: but that's a crosse
Past bearing; be it but a rotten sheepe,
Or two stale egges, they will such yelling keepe
As if thereby had perished a brood
In which consisteth halfe the kingdomes good.

But I intreat them (since cares must befall)
They would be patient; Who can doe withall?
And also let them of much griefe beware:
For they have heard what dangers therein, are.
And every one almost can tell them, that
'Tis an old saying, Cars will kill a Cat.
Then let them take heart: chiefly, sith they see
None live but sometime they must losers be.
Which is an ease: for I have heard them tell,
With mates they care not if they goe to hell.

But in good earnest now let us not run
Willingly here into as we have done.
Avoid it rather as a hurtfull foe,
That can effect nought but our overthrow.
And for the same receive into our brest
An honest mirth, which is a better guest.
And whatsoe'er our former griefe hath bin
Let us ne'er sorrow more but for our sinne.
So with this Passion end the rest will I,
Because it ends not till our end is nigh.

111

The Conclusion.

Thus have I labour'd some effects to show,
That doe from mens abused Passions flow:
Which with examples of old ages past,
And wisemens sayings I might more have grac'd.
But that I am resolv'd to tie my Rimes
As much as may be to the present Times.

I also might amongst these here have told,
The bodies passions, as Hunger, Cold,
Heat, Thirst, and such like: but their force is seene,
And most men have sufficient carefull beene
How to prevent them. They last not so long,
Nor are by much so violent and strong,
Or dangerous as these. But if men knew,
Or with the eie of Reason would o'er-view
These soule-bred maladies (as sure they ought)
They would with greater diligence have sought
The cure of them, before the worst disease,
That doth the body and no more displease.
But now the reason men disturbed are
For the most part with such preposterous Care,
Is this; Through their corrupted judgement they
Doe only on things seene depend and stay.
Which being most apparant to the sense,
So muffles up the weake intelligence,

112

And blinds her that shee hath no power to see
The better things that more subsisting be.
When if they could conceive but halfe so well
The soules estate they'd labour to expell
All those corruptions that may cause her woe,
And those fell Passions that molest her so.
But some men have in this opinion stood,
That every Passion's naturall and good.
Indeed Philosophers the same doe call,
A motion of the soule that's naturall.
And in some sort, we may not be affraid
To hold for truth as much as they have said.
But we must make a difference of it then;
And grant that two-fold Passions are in men:
One sort unto the noblest things aspiring
And such as what is meerely good desiring,
Therein rejoyceth: moderate and weake
In operation. And the truth to speake,
We have it rather by Gods inspiration,
Than bred within us at our generation.

The other (as the effects thereof doe show)
Doth by our owne corrupted nature grow;
For, it is head-strong, rash, insatiate,
Wonderous disordred and immoderate.
Of which kinde these are, whereof I have spoken,
And they are oft the cause mens sleepes are broken
'Tis that, which makes them rave or grieve, or joy
So out of measure for a trifling toy.
Yea, that tis onely makes them oft so teastie;
Their friends seeme troublesome, their beds uneasie.
And lastly these are the occasions still
Of all misfortunes and of every ill.
Th' effects they doe produce we also see.
Contrary to our expectations be.

113

For he that hopes or lookes for to attaine
Great joy and pleasure, haps on griefe and paine.

But by what meanes may men these Passions kill?
Sure, not by the procuring of their will,
As some imagine. For first it may be
A thing that's not in possibility
For them to reach unto. But say it were,
Will the ambitious minded-man forbeare
To be ambitious if he once fulfill
His longing thoughts? No, he will rather still
Increase that Passion which at first he had,
Or fall into some other that's as bad.
For altering the condition or estate,
The soules vexation doth no more abate,
Than changing roomes or beds doth ease his paines
That hath a Fever: sith the cause remaines
Still in himselfe. But how and which way then
May these diseases be recur'd in men?
Why, by Philosophy, Counsell and Reason:
These being well appli'd in their due season,
May doe much good. Else seeke the cause whence rise
These hurtfull and pernitious maladies.
Let them consider that, and so they may
Cut off th' effect by taking it away.
But if they cannot the occasions finde,
Ile tell them, tis a basenesse of the minde;
Or else a false opinion that's in some,
Of good or evill present or to come.

Respecting good things thus: They doe desire
And are too vehemently set on fire
With coveting what seemes so; or annoying
Themselves with an excessiue Over-joying
In the obtaining. In regard of ill,
They are oppressed with some sorrow still.

114

So that we see if men would goe about
To change their minds and drive that basenesse out
Through magnanimity (And note well this,
That Passion but some false opinion is,
Fram'd by the will and drawne by the direction
Of judgement that's corrupted by affection)
Me thinks they might by reasons helpe confound
The former terrors that have tane such ground
In their weake hearts and learne for to esteeme
That which doth neither good nor evill seeme
(And in their soules such perturbation wrought)
As things nor good nor ill; and that which ought
(Being unworthy) neither to molest,
Nor breed no passions in their carefull brest.

By these, and other such like meanes as these,
The wise Philosophers in elder daies
Kept out those furies. And 'twere now a shame
If that we Christians could not doe the same;
Having besides these helpes whereon they staid,
A certaine promise of a better aide,
If wee'l but aske it. Let's demand it then,
To rid these evils from our soules agen.
If that wee feele them yet not stirring in us,
Let us preuent them ere by force they win us.
For 'tis more easie (every one doth know)
To keepe him out, than to expell a foe.

If any thinke I from my purpose swerve,
Cause my intent was chiefly to observe,
And not to Teach: let them not blame me tho;
For who can see his friends lie sick, and know
Which way to cure them? But you'l say my skill
Cannot instruct you: yet may my good will
Be worth accepting: and that howsoever
Is not to be rejected altogether.

115

For, I have seene when in a knowne disease,
Doctors withall their Art could give no ease
To their weake patient; a poore Country dame
Hath with a home-made med'cine cur'd the same:
And why not I in this? Yes, Ile abide it;
Being well us'd, it helpes for I have tride it.

Thus much for that; but still there doe remaine
Some other Observations to explaine:
I have not done; for I am further taskt,
And there's more humors yet to be unmaskt,
Wherein because I will not step astray,
Nor swerve from Truth a jot beside the way,
I'l say no more (lest men should seeme belide)
Than what my owne experience hath espide:
And then, if any frowne (as sure they dare not)
So I speake Truth let them frowne still I care not.
But if my Muse you should so sawcy finde,
Sometime to leave her notes and speake her minde
As oft she will when she perchance doth see
How vaine, or weake, or fickle most men be.
Yet blame me not, 'tis out of much good will
I beare to you and hatred unto ill.
Which when I see my purpos'd course I breake,
Because indeed, I am compell'd to speake.
Yet thinke not, though I some-where bitter be,
I count my selfe from all those vices free:
Rather imagine 'tis to me well knowne,
That here with others faults I tell mine owne.

The end of the first Booke.

117

THE SECOND BOOK Of the Vanity, Inconstancie, Weaknesse, and Presumption of Men.

119

PRECATIO.

Thou that createdst all things in a Weeke,
Great God (whose favour I do only seek,)
E'en thou by whose desired inspirations
I undertooke to make these observations;
Oh grant, I pray sith thou hast deign'd to show
Thy servant that which thousands doe not know,
That this my noting of mans hum'rous Passion,
May worke within me some good alteration,
And make me so for mine owne follies sorry,
That I may lead a life unto thy glory.

Let not ambition nor a foule desire,
Nor hate, nor envy set my heart on fire:
Revenge, nor Choler, no nor Iealousie;
And keepe me from Despaire and Cruelty,
Fond hope expell; and I beseech thee blesse
My soule from Feare and too much Heavinesse.
But give me speciall grace to shun the vice
That is so common, beastly Avarice:
And grant me power I not only know,
But flye those evils that from passion flow,

120

Moreover now inspire my soule with art,
And grant me thy assistance to impart
The rest of mens ill Customes yet remaining,
And their vaine humors; that by my explaining,
They may perceive how odious I can make them,
Blush at the reading, and at last forsake them.
Yea let my muse in this, and things to come,
Sing to thy glory, Lord, or else be dumbe.

121

Of Vanity.

Satyr. 1.

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.)

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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.

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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,

140

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

158

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:

159

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.

160

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,

161

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

162

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;

163

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?

164

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.

165

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;

166

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.

171

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.

172

Of Inconstancie.

Satyre 2.

Yet there's another propertie in Men
That means to set my Muse to work agen,
Inconstancie: and that no other is,
(Vnlesse I understand the same amisse)
But an unsetled humour of the minde,
Which so unstable is, it cannot finde
By any study that Opinion
Which long it dares to be resolved on:
'Tis meere irresolution, and estranging
From what is purpos'd by a fickle changing,

But sith this vice I threaten to detect,
Women I know will earnestly expect
To be sore rail'd on. But Ile gently use them,
Because I see their consciences accuse them,
And notwithstanding they deserve much blame,
Yet I'le not speak of ought unto their shame.
So they will think I mean them also, when
I treat of the inconstancie of Men:
And though their faults I seem not to upbraid,
'Cause nothing is directly of them said,
Yet they I hope will ne'er the more disdain
To be thought fickle, proud, and weak, and vain.

But now for Man; whereas I did complain,
He both in Deed, and Word, and Thought was vain
So I in this (I see) the like may doe,
Sith he in all these is inconstant too.

173

It is a wondrous thing me thinks to see
How variable all his actions be;
He labours now, and's altogether set
Vpon the world, how he much wealth may get;
Vpon a sudden (then he thinks to mend it)
Hee's in an humour and a course to spend it:

Sometime he is consenting with the Devill,
And ready to doe any act that's evill.
Which he (perhaps) repenting, some divine
Or heavenly matter doth his thoughts refine,
So that he is resolv'd to spend that day
In reading what Gods holy Prophets say;
Which in his minde it may be worketh so,
He leaves it and will to a Sermon go;
But by the way a Bill he doth espie,
Which shews there's acted some new Comedy;
Then thither he is full and wholly bent,
There's nothing that shall hinder his intent.
But e'er he to the Theater can come,
He heares perhaps the sounding of a Drum;
Thereat he leaves both Stage-play and Devotion,
And will (forsooth) go see some idle motion.
E'er hee gets in his rowling wandring eyes
Behold some Fencer prest to play his prize,
Faith, then there is no remedy hee'll see't.
But e'er he can get halfe-way o'er the street,
Some very neare acquaintance doth salute him,
Who for a miser would perhaps repute him,
Vnlesse he kindely offer to bestow
The wine, or Beere at least, before he goe:
Well then, he will; but while they do devise
What Wine to have, perhaps they heare the cries
And howling which the eager Mastiffes make,
When they behold a Bull or Beare at stake;

174

Oh, on a sudden then they will be gone,
They'l see that first, and come and drink anon.

But just as he out of the Taverne peeps,
Some gallant Lasse along before him sweeps;
Whose youthfull brow adorn'd with beauty trim,
And lovely making doth so ravish him,
That as if he were bound her to attend,
He leaves Play, Fencer, Wine, Bull, Dogs, and Friend.
By which we see his minde is alwaies varying,
And seldome constant on one object tarrying.
But still that thing with most desire is sought,
Which is presented last unto his thought.

One while he likes best of the Country-sport,
Anon prefers the pleasure of the Court.
Another his mind's travelling to Spain,
Then unto France, and hither straight again.
Now he thinks highly of a single life,
And hates the marriage bed, as full of strife:
And yet e'en in the turning of a hand,
Hee's glad to make a joynture of his land,
And woo with much entreaty to obtain
That wife which he did but of late disdain.

One while he zealously professeth Christ,
Another while becomes an Atheist.
In Turkey he will Mahomet adore,
Among the cursed Pagans can implore
A Carved stone; in Rome he hath profest
The worship of the Antichristian beast;
And yet in England here with us he grants
No sound Religion but the Protestants.

And not alone according to the place,
Can these Camelions alter thus their case;
But for a shift themselves they do apply,
To answer both the Time and Company.

175

Gallants shall finde them formall, Youngmen wilde,
Plain-men shall think them simple, Old-men milde.
And for the time with Edward they will be
(Ile warrant) Protestants as well as he.
And when his Sister Mary comes to reigne,
They can be Papists easily again.
Nay, I do feare me, though we have had teaching,
And almost threescore yeares the Gospels preaching.
(Vnconstant mankinde is so prone to ill,
And to be changing hath so good a will)
Too many both of old men and of youth,
Might soon be drawn for lies to leave the truth.

Lets note it, and it will be strange to see
What contradictions in our actions be:
Sometime that man we doe with Trophies raise
Whom we did but a while before dispraise:
Nor can we alway in one Passion keep,
But often for one thing rejoyce and weep.

Is't not a signe of humane ficklenesse,
And a true note of our unsetlednesse,
When not alone some one, or two, or few,
But a great number, a selected Crew,
Pick'd out of all estates, and they the wisest,
The understanding'st, yea, and the precisest
Of a whole Empire, that when these (I say)
Have argued pro & con from day to day,
From week to week, to have (perhaps) enacted
One Law or Statute, yet when all's compacted,
And every thing seems clearly done and ended,
Then to have something in't to be amended?
Yea, and when this is done, and the Records
Fram'd in the plain'st and most effectuall words,
T'expresse their meaning, and they think it plain;
Yet at next reading 'tis dislik'd again?

176

This yeare they make a law, repeal't the next,
Then re-inact it, and then change the text;
Either by taking from, or adding to,
And so they have an endlesse work to doe.

But some may tell me that thus stands the case,
They must have both respect to time and place,
And that no Law devis'd by humane wit,
Can be for ev'ry place and season fit.
All which I yeeld for truth indeed, but then
Wee must confesse a misery in men,
That they (Camelion-like) must have a minde,
With every object unto change inclin'd.

I might speak of the changes which I see
In mens externall fortunes also be:
For this day he hath friends, to morrow none:
Now he hath wealth, and in an houre 'tis gone.
Some in their youth there be have all things store,
And yet do often live till they are poore.
Again, there's some in youth at beggers states,
Become in age to be great Potentates.
Some are of Kings made slaves, and Kings again,
Whilst others with the contrary complain.
For poore Eumenes, of a Potters sonne,
By fickle Fortunes help a kingdome won;
Who for him such a diet did provide,
That shortly after he of hunger dy'd,

I many such examples might infer,
But that would waste more time and make me erre
From my intent, who purpose to relate,
The ficklenesse of Man, not his estate.
Moreover, hee's a creature knows not how
To do an act which he shall long allow,
Or well himselfe approve. He cannot tell
What he would have, nor what he would not, well.

177

For peradventure he is now content
To doe what he will in an houre repent.
He does and undoes what he did before,
Is discontented, and with no man more
Than with himselfe. In word hee's fickle too,
For he will promise what hee'll never doe.
If that he tell me he will be in Pauls,
Ile go look for him in the Temple-Halls;
For soonest to that place resort doth hee,
Whereas he saies or sweares he will not be.

Oh! had there been in words a constant trust,
I needed not t'have done as now I must;
I should have had no cause to have bewail'd
That which I once thought would have never fail'd:
But sith 'tis thus, at nothing more I grieve,
Than that unconstant words made me beleeve.

Were promises worth trust, what needed then
Such written contracts between Man and Man?
And wherefore should they make so much adoe
To have hands, seales, and witnesse thereunto?
Vnlesse it be for proofes to make it plain,
Their words are both inconstant, false, and vain.

To morrow he will earnestly gain-say
What stoutly is affirm'd by him to day:
Yea, truely hee's so wavering and unjust,
That scarce a word of his deserveth trust,
But as a creature of all good forlorn,
Sweares what's deny'd, and straight denies what's sworn.
That I suppose himselfe he doth but mock,
And is more changing than a Weather-cock.
For e'en the thought that's likliest to remain,
Another that's unlike puts out again.
Meer appetite (not reason) guides him still,
Which makes him so inconstant in his will.

178

Had he a suit at first made but of leather,
And cloathes enough to keep away the weather,
'Twere all his wish; well, so much let us grant,
And ten to one he something else will want;
But swears that he for more would never care,
Than to be able to have cloth to weare;
Which if he get, then would he very fain
Reach to have silks, for cloath he thinks too plain;
And so his wishes seldome would have stay,
Vntill that he hath wish'd for all he may.

But though from this infirmity there's no man
That I can well except, it is so common;
Yet surely I most properly may cal't,
Or tearm't to be the common peoples fault.
Think not I wrong them, for if it may not be
A fault so to digresse, you soon should see
Their nature and condition; but I hate it:
And here in this place I will now relate it.
Let therefore none condemne me if I break
My course awhile; for I of them will speak;
Something, I say, my Muse of them must tell,
She cannot beare it any farther well.
And yet expect not all, for Ile but shew
Of many hundred-thousand-faults a few.

And to be briefe: The vulgar are as rude,
A strange-inconstant-hare-braind multitude:
Born to and fro with every idle Passion;
And by Opinion led beside all fashion.
For novelty they hunt, and to a Song,
Or idle tale they'l listen all day long.
Good things soon tyre them, and they ever try
To all reports how they may adde a lie,
Like that of Scoggins Crows: and with them still
Custome hath born most sway, and ever will.

179

Or good or bad what their forefathers do,
They are resolv'd to put in practise too.

They are seditious, and so given to range
In their opinions, that they thirst for change.
For if their Countrey be turmoyl'd with war,
They think that peace is more commodious farre.
If they be quiet, they would very fain
Begin to set the warres abroach again.
I well remember when an Irish Presse
Had made a Parish but a man the lesse,
Lord, what a hurly-burly there was then!
These warres (say they) hath cost us many a man,
The Countrey is impoverish'd by't, and we
Rob'd of our husbands and our children be;
With many sad complainings: But now peace
Hath made Bellona's bloudy anger cease,
Their ever-discontented natures grutch,
And think this happy peace we have, too much,
Yea, and their wisedomes beares us now in hand,
That it is war that doth enrich the land.

But what are these? not men of any merit,
That speak it from a bold and daring spirit,
But lightly some faint-hearted braving Momes
That rather had be hang'd at their own homes
Than for the welfare of their Countrey stay
The brunt of one pitch'd-battell but a day:
Or such as would distraught with feare become,
To heare the thundring of a martiall Drum.
They cannot keep a mean (a naughty crime)
Nor never are contented with the time;
But better like the state they have been in,
Although the present hath the better bin.
E'en as the Iews that loathing Manna fain
Would be in Ægypt at their flesh again,

180

Though they were there in bondage. So do these
Wish for the world as in Queen Maries dayes,
With all the blindnesse and the trumpery
That was expel'd the Land with Popery.
Why? things were cheap, and 'twas a goodly meny
When we had foure and twenty egges a penny:
But sure they ate them stale for want of wit,
And that hath made them addle-headed yet.

Then this (moreover) I have in them seen,
They alwaies to the good have envious been.
Milde men they reckon fools, and do uphold
Him to be valiant that is over-bold:
When he with wisemen is and ever was
Counted no better than a desperate Asse.
He that doth trust unto their love shall finde
'Tis more unconstant than the wavering winde:
Which since my time a man that many knew,
Relying on it, at his death found true.

Then they have oft unthankfully withstood
Those that have labour'd for the Common good.
And, being basely minded, evermore
Seek lesse the publike than the private store.
Moreover, such a Prince as yet was never,
Of whom the people could speak well of ever.
Nor can a man a Governour invent them,
How good soever that should long content them.
Their honesty as I do plainly finde,
Is not the disposition of their minde;
But they are forc'd unto the same through feare:
As in those villaines it may well appeare,
Who having found some vile ungodly cause,
If there be any means to wrest the Laws
By tricks or shifts to make the matter go
As they would have it, all is well enough:

181

Although the wrong and injury they proffer,
Be too apparant for a Iew to offer.

They know not Iustice; and oft causelesse hate:
Or where they should not, are compassionate.
As at an Execution I have seene,
Where malefactors have rewarded beene,
According to desert; before they know,
If the accused guilty be or no:
They on report, this hasty censure give;
He is a villaine, and unfit to live:
But when that he is once arraign'd and found
Guilty by law, and worthily led bound
Vnto the Scaffold, then they doe relent
And pitty his deserved punishment.

Those that will now brave gallant men be deem'd,
And with the common people be esteem'd,
Let them turne Hacksters as they walke the street,
Quarrell and fight with every one they meet,
Learne a Welsh song to scoffe the British bloud,
Or breake a jest on Scotchmen that's as good:
Or if they would that fools should highly prize them,
They should be Iugglers if I might advise them:
But if they want such feats to make them glorious,
By making Ballads they shall grow notorious.
Yet this is nothing, if they looke for fame,
And meane to have an everlasting name
Amongst the Vulgar, let them seeke for gaine
With Ward the Pirat, on the boisterous Maine;
Or else well-mounted keepe themselves on land,
And bid our wealthy Travellers to stand
Emptying their full-cram'd-bags: for they'l not stick
To speake in honour still of Cutting-dick.

But some may tell me, though that it be such,
It doth not goe against their conscience much:

182

And though there's boldnesse showne in such a case,
Yet Tyburne is a scurvy dying-place:
No, 'tis their credit; for the people then,
Will say, 'Tis pitty, they were proper men,
And with a thousand such like humors naught,
I doe perceive the common-people fraught.

Then by the opinion of some it seemes,
How much the Vulgar sort of men esteemes
Of Art and Learning. Certaine neighbouring swaines
(That think none wise men but whose wisdome gains
Where knowledge be it morall or divine,
Is valued as an Orient Pearle with Swine)
Meeting me in an Evening in my walke.
Being gone past me, thus began to talke:
First an old Chuffe whose roofe I dare be bold,
Hath Bacon hangs in't above five yeeres old,
Said, that's his sonne that's owner of the grounds
That on these pleasant Beechy Mountaine bounds;
D'ye marke me neighbours? This same yong mans vather
(Had a bin my zon, chad a hang'd him rather)
Assoone as he perceiv'd the little voole
Could creepe about the house, putten to schoole:
Whither he went not now and then a spurt,
As't had been good to keepe him from the durt;
Nor yet at leasure times (that's my zonnes stint)
Vor then indeed there had bin reason in't.
But for continuance, and beyond all zesse
A held him too 't six daies a weeke no lesse;
That, by S. Anne, it was a great presumption
It brought him not his end with a consumption.

And then besides he was not so content,
To putten there whereas our childers went,
(To learne the Horne-book and the Abcce through)
No that he thought not learning halfe enough,

183

But we must seeke the Country all about,
Where he might finde a better teacher out.
And then he buyes him (now a pips befall it)
A vlapping booke: (I know not what they call it)
'Tis Latine all; and thus begins: In speech,
And that's in English, Boy, beware your breech.

One day my Dick a leafe on't with him brought,
(Which he out of his fellowes booke had raught)
And to his mother and my selfe did reade it:
But we indeed did so extreamely dread it,
We gave him charge no more thereon to looke,
Vor veare it had beene of a conjuring booke.
But if you thinke I jest, goe aske my Wife,
If ere she heard such gibberish in her life.

But when he yong had cond the same by heart,
And of a meny moe the better part;
He went to Oxford, where he did remaine
Some certaine yeeres, whence hee's return'd again.
Now who can tell (it in my stomacke sticks)
And I doe veare he hath some Oxford tricks
But if't be zo, would he had ne'er come hither,
Vor we shall still be sure of blustering weather.
To what end else is all his vathers cost?
Th' ones charges, and the tothers labour's lost.
I warrant he so long a learning went,
That he almost a brothers portion spent;
And now it nought availes him: By this Holly
I thinke all learning in the world a folly,
And them I take to be the veriest vooles,
That all their lifetime doe frequent the Schooles.

Goe aske him now, and see if all his wits
Can tell you when a Barley season hits;
When Meddowes must be left to spring, when mown,
When Wheat, or Tarcs, or Rye, or Pease be sown:

184

He knowes it not; nor when 'tis meet to fold,
How to manure the ground that's wet and cold:
What Lands are fit for Pasture, what for Corne,
Or how to hearten what is over-worne.

Nay he scarce knowes a Gelding from a Mare,
A Barrow from a Sow, nor takes he care
Of such like things as these. He knowes not whether
There be a difference twixt the Ewe and Wether.
Can he resolve you (No, nor many more)
If Cowes doe want their upper teeth before?
Nay, I durst pawne a groat he cannot tell
How many legs a Sheepe hath very well.
Is't not a wiseman thinke yee? By the Masse
Cham glad at heart my zonne's not zuch an asse:
Why he can tell already all this geare,
As well almost as any of us here.

And neighbours, yet I'l tell you more; my Dick
Hath very pretty skill in Arsemetrick:
Can cast account, write's name, and Dunces daughter
Tought him to spell the hardest words ith Zauter,
And yet the Boy I'l warrant you knowes how
As well as you or I, to hold the Plow:
And this I noted in the V'rchen ever,
Bid him to take a booke he had as lether
All day have drawne a Harrow; truth is so,
I like'd it well although I made no show;
For to my comfort I did plainely see,
That he hereafter would not bookish be.

Then when that having nought at home to doe,
I sometime forc'd him to the Schoole to goe,
You would have griev'd in heart to heare him whine;
And then how glad he was to keepe the swine,
I yet remember, and what tricks the Mome
Would have invented to but stay at home,

185

You would have wondred. But 'tis such another,
A has a wit for all the world like's Mother.
Yet once a moneth although it grieves him then,
Hee'l looke you in a book doe what ye can:
That Mother, Sister, Brother, all we foure
Can scarce perswade him from't in halfe an houre.
But oft I thinke he does it more of spight
To anger us, than any true delight:
Vor why? his Mother thinks as others doe,
(And I am halfe of that opinion too)
Although a little learning be not bad,
Those that are bookish are the soonest mad.
And therefore, sith much wit makes vooles of many,
Chill take an order, mine shall ne'er have any.

Byr Lady, you'r the wiser (quoth the rest)
The course you take in our conceit's the best:
Your zonne may live in any place i'th land
By his industrious and laborious hand;
Whilst he (but that his Parents are his stay)
Hath not the meanes to keepe himselfe a day.
His study to our sight no pleasure gives,
Nor meanes, nor profit, and thereby he lives
So little thing the better, none needs doubt it,
He might have beene a happier man without it:
For though he now can speake a little better,
It is not words you know will free the debter.

Thus some, whose speeches shew well what they be
For want of matter fell to talke of me:
Of whom, though something they have said be true,
Yet sith in stead of giving Art her due,
They have disgrac'd it. Notwithstanding, I
Have not the knowledge that these Dolts envy,
Or can so much without incurring blame,
As take unto my selfe a Schollers name:

186

Yet now my reputation here to save,
(Sith I must make account of what I have)
Ile let you know though they so lightly deeme it,
What gaine's in knowledge, and how I esteeme it.

As often as I call to minde the blisse,
That in my little knowledge heaped is;
The many comforts, of all which the least
More joyes my heart than can be well exprest:
How happy then thinke I, are they whose soules
More wisedome by a thousand part inroules;
Whose understanding hearts are so divine,
They can perceive a million more than mine?
Such have content indeed. And who that's Man,
And should know reason, is so senselesse then
To spurne at Knowledge, Art or Learning, when
That onely showes they are the race of Men?
And what may I then of these peasants deeme,
Which doe of wisedome make so small esteeme;
But that, indeed, such blockish, senselesse logs,
Sprang from those Clownes Latona turn'd to frogs:
Alas! Suppose they nothing can be got
By precious stones, 'cause Swine esteeme them not?
Or doe they thinke because they cannot use it,
That those that may have Knowledge, will refuse it?

Well, if their shallow coxcombes can containe
A reason when 'tis told them; I'l explaine
How that same little knowledge I have got,
Much pleasures me (though they perceive it not,)
For first thereby, though none can here attaine
For to renew their first estate againe,
A part revives (although it be but small)
Of that I lost by my first Fathers fall.
And makes me man; which was before (at least)
As haplesse, if not more, than is the beast,

187

That reason wants: for his condition still,
Remaines according to his Makers will.
They never dreame of that. And then by this,
I finde what godly and what evill is:
That knowing both, I may the best ensue;
And as I ought, the worser part eschew.
Then I have learn'd to count that drosse but vaine,
For which such Boores consume themselves with pain
I can endure all discontentments, crosses,
Be Ioviall in my want and smile at losses;
Keepe under Passions, stop those insurrections,
Rais'd in my Microcosmus by affections,
Be nothing grieved for adversity,
Nor ne'er the prouder for prosperity.
How to respect my Friends I partly know,
And in like manner how to use my Foe.
I can see others lay their Soules to pawne,
Looke upon Great-men, and yet scorne to fawne;
Am still content; and dare whilst God gives grace,
E'en looke my grimmest fortunes in the face.
I feare mens censures as the char-coale sparks,
Or as I doe a toothlesse Dog that barks;
The one frights children, th' other threats to burne;
But sparkes will die, and brawling Curres returne.
Yea, I have learn'd that still my care shall be
A rush for him that cares a straw for me.
Now what would men have more? Are these no pleasures;
Or doe they not deserve the name of treasures?
Sure yes; and he that hath good learning store,
Shall finde these in't, besides a thousand more.

O! but our Chuffs thinke these delights but course,
If we compare them to their Hobby-horse:
And they beleeve not any pleasure can
Make them so merry as Maid-marian.

188

Nor is the Lawyer prouder of his fee,
Than these will of a Cuckooe Lordship be:
Though their sweet Ladies make them father that
Some other at their Whilson-Ales begat.
But he whose carriage is of so good note,
To be thought worthy of their lords fooles coat,
That's a great credit; for because that he
Is ever thought the wisest man to be.
But, as there's vertue where the Divel's precisest,
So ther's much knowledge where a foole's the wisest

But what meane I? let earth content these Moles,
And their high'st pleasure be their Summer-poles;
Round which I leave their Masterships to dance,
And much good doe't them, with their ignorance.
So this I hope will well enough declare
How rude these vulgar sort of people are.

But here upon there's some may question make,
Whether I onely for the vulgar take
Such men as these. To whom I answer, no;
For let them hereby understand and know,
I doe not meane these meaner sort alone
Tradesmen or Labourers; but every one,
Be he Esquire, Knight, Baron, Earle, or more,
For if he have not learn'd of Vertues lore,
But followes vulgar Passions; then e'en he,
Amongst the vulgar shall for one man be
And that poore Groom whom he thinks shold adore him,
Shall for his vertue be preferr'd before him:
For though the world doe such men much despise,
They seeme most noble in a wise-mans eies.

And notwithstanding some doe noblest deeme
Such as are sprung of great and high esteeme,
And those to whom the Country doth afford
The title of a Marquesse or a Lord,

189

Though 'twere atchieved by their fathers merit,
And they themselves men of a dunghill spirit;
Cowards or fooles, (and such as ever be
Prating or boasting of their pedegree)
When they are nothing but a blot or shame,
Vnto the noble house from whence they came:
Yet these (I say) unlesse that they have wit,
To guide the Common-wealth, as it is fit
They should; and as their good fore-fathers did
How ere their faults may seeme by greatnesse hid,
They shall appeare; and that poore Yeomans sonne,
Whose proper vertue hath true honour wonne;
Preferred be; for though Nobility
That comes by birth hath most antiquity;
And though the greater sort, befooled shall,
That new enobled man, an upstart call,
Yet, him most honour I, whose noblenesse
By vertue comes; yea such mens worthinesse
Most ancient is. For that is just the same,
By which all Great-men first obtain'd their fame.
I therefore hope 'twill not offend the Court,
That I count some therewith the Vulgar sort,
And outset others though men thinke me bold,
That this opinion I presume to hold.

But shall I care what others thinke or say?
There is a path besides the beaten way;
Yea and a safer. For here's Christs instruction,
The broadest way leads soonest to Destruction.
And truly no opinions deceive
Sooner than those the Vulgar sort receive:
And therefore, he that would indeed be wise,
Must learne their rude conditions to despise,
And shun their presence; for we have beene taught,
Diseases in a presse are quickly caught.

190

Now Satyr, leave them till another time,
And spare to scourge the Vulgar with thy Rime:
If any thinke thou hast digrest too long,
They may passe over this, and doe no wrong.

But in my former matter to proceed;
Who (being of mans Race) is so much freed
From ficklenesse, that he is sure to find
Himselfe to morrow in that very mind
Hee's in to day? though he not onely know
No reason wherefore he should not be so,
But also though he plainly doe perceive
Much cause he should not that opinion leave.
If no man finde it so, who justly can
Be forced to relye, or trust in Man;
Whose thoughts are changing, and so oft amisse,
That by himselfe, himselfe deceived is:

Who is so sottish as to build Salvation
On such a feeble tottering foundation
As Man? Who is't that having a respect
To his soules safety, will so much neglect
That precious assurance, as to lay
His confidence on that false peece of clay,
Which being fickle, merits farre lesse trust,
Than letters written in the sand or dust:
Doe they not see those they have soundest deem'd,
And for their constantst Writers long esteem'd,
All wavering in assertions? yea, but looke,
And you shall finde in one and the same booke,
Such contradiction in opinion,
As shewes their thoughts are scarce at union.

Where finde you him that dares be absolute,
Or alwaies in his sayings resolute?
There's none; I by mine owne experience speake,
Who have a feeling that we men are weake:

191

Whereon much musing makes me inly mourne,
And grieve almost that I a man was borne.
(Yet hereupon I doe desire that no man,
Would gather that I long to be a woman.)

Alas! how often had I good intendments
And with my whol hart vow'd & swore amendments;
Yea purpos'd that, wherein I once thought never
Ynconstancy should let me to persever?
And yet for all my purpose and my vow,
I am oft altered ere my selfe knowes how.

But therefore, sith it is not I alone,
Or any certaine number that is knowne,
To be unstable, but e'en all that be;
Sith none (I say) is from this frailty free,
Let us confesse it all, and all implore
Our nere-repenting God that evermore
Remaines the same, we may be (as we ought)
More certaine both in word and deed and thought:
That he will keepe us from Inconstancie,
Yea, from all damned, lewd Apostacie;
And howsoever our affections change
And we in slight opinions hap to range;
Yet, pray his Truth in us be so ingraved,
That biding to the end we may be saved.

192

Of Weaknesse.

Satyr. 3.

Bvt, oh looke here; for I have surely found
The maine chiefe roote, the very spring & ground
Of our Inconstancie It is not chance
That so disables our perseverance;
But a base Weakenesse: which to tearme aright,
Is meerely a privation of our might,
Or a detraction from that little power
Which should be in those limbs and mindes of our.
We boast of strength; but tell me, can our daies
Afford a Milo, or a Hercules?
Can all the world (and that is large enough)
A match for Hector or Achilles show?
Have we a Champion strong enough to wield.
His Buckler? or Sir Aiax seven-fold Shield?
I thinke we have not: (but I durst so grant,
There be some living shall with Ajax vaunt.)

Nay, now in these daies it is doubted much,
Whether that any former age had such
As these fore-nam'd; but indeed our faith
Binds us to credit, that as Scripture saith;
There was a Sampson, who could fright whole hosts
And rent downe Gaza's barred gates and posts,
Whose mighty Armes unarm'd could bring to passe
E'en with a rotten Iaw-bone of an Asse,

193

A thousands ruine; and yet 'twill be long
Ere he shall thereby proove that man is strong.
For first, the strength he seem'd to have was known
To be the Spirit of God, and not his own:
And then his proper weaknesse did appeare,
When after his brave act he had wel-neare
Beene dead for thirst, whereas if he in spight
Of Nature had beene able, by his might
Out of that little Bony-rocke to wring,
To quench his present thirst, some flowing spring,
As did a stronger one: or if his power
Could have compel'd the melting clouds to showre
For present need such plenteous drops of raine
He might have had no reason to complaine,
Or crave more aide; Sure then we might at length,
Suppose that men had in themselves a strength,
But ne'r till then. Hee's mighty that can make
The Heavens, Earth and Hell, with's breath to shake
That in his Spheare the Suns swift course can stop,
And Atlas with his burthen under-prop,
He that with ease this Massie Globe can rowle,
And wrap up heaven like a parchment scrowle;
He that for no disease nor paine will droope,
Nor unto any plague infernall stoope:
He that can meate and drinke and sleepe refraine,
O hath the power to die and rise againe;
Hee's strong indeed; but he that can but teare
O, rend in two a Lion or a Beare,
O, doe some such like act, and then goe lie
Himselfe ore-come by some infirmitie,
How ere with vaunts he seemes his deeds to grace,
He is both miserable, weake and base.

What creature is there borne so weake as Man,
And so unable? tell me be that can.

194

Or (if that they could numbred be by any)
Count his diseases, and what hath so many?
Or else what creature is there, if he be
In bone and flesh of the same quantity,
So fraile as Man? or that can worse sustaine
Hunger, or thirst, or cold, or heate, or paine?
Sure none; and yet in Histories we find,
Till Luxury had weakned thus mankind,
They were much stronger; could endure the heat,
Travell a long time without drinke or meat:
And their best dainty was no costlier thing,
Than a wilde roote, or water from the spring.
With which small commons Nature was content;
Yea, in our climate people naked went;
And yet no question felt as little cold,
As we wrapt up in halfe a dozen fold.
They had no wast-coats; night-caps for their heads,
Nor downy pillowes, nor soft feather-beds:
They scornd as much to have such things about them
As we in this Age scorne to be without them.
Their heads some stone bare up: their brawny sides,
With ease the hardnesse of the earth abides.
Gluttonous fare that so the palate pleases,
Nere fild their bodies full of foule diseases;
Nor any pleasing liquors with excesse,
Made them grow weak through beastly drunkennesse
No lust-provoking meats made them unchaste,
Nor unto carnall copulation haste.
For I am in the mind they ne'er requir'd it,
Till Nature, come to her full strength desir'd it:
And that is it alone which made them be
More stout, more strong, and braver men than we:
It was a noble care in them indeed. But how
Are we become such Dwarfes and Pigmies now?

195

How are our limbs so weake and feeble growne?
I think I need not tell it, 'tis well knowne;
Nice tender breeding, which we well might spare,
Much drunkennesse and our luxurious fare?
Which addes not strength, as some doe vainely say,
But rather takes both strength and health away.
Yet chiefly this same imbecility.
Comes by too soon and frequent venery.

A beardlesse boy now cannot keepe his bed,
Vnlesse that he be of his night-geere sped,
And many Giglets I have married seene,
Ere they (forsooth) could reach eleventeene.
Nay 'tis no wonder we are growne so weake,
For now they'r matching brats ere they can speake:
And though we yet say that the men are stronger,
Yet he (I thinke) that lives but so much longer,
The revolution of an Age to see,
Will say that men the weaker vessels be.
But now our strength of body, which indeed,
Deserves no more respect than doth a Reed,
Is not the strength of which I meant to speake,
For we are yet another way too weake.
Our minds have lost their Magnanimity,
And are so feeble through infirmity;
That either to be resolute we care not,
Or else because of some base feare we dare not.

Where can we almost finde a man so hardy,
Who through his weakenesse is not sometime tardy
To speake the truth? or to declare his minde,
Though he doe many just occasions finde?
Hee'l winke at's friends offence, and passe it blindly,
Lest (peradventure) he should take't unkindly.
And if it be a Great man that offends,
Shew me but him that boldly reprehends,

196

And I'l admire him. Nay, wee'l rather now
Bend our endeavour, and our study how
To sooth and fawne; or to their lewdnesse tell
That all they doe (be't ne'er so bad) is well.
Their very lookes and presence we so feare,
As if that they some monstrous Cyclops were;
Which makes them worse. But howsoere they trust
Vnto their might, I'l tell them (for I must)
Although they threaten and can slanders make
Of just reproofes my heart shall never quake
T'informe their Honors, thus 'tis censur'd by men,
If they be Great ones, Tanto majus crimen:

One knowes the truth, but dares not to defend it,
Because he heares another discommend it;
Yea divers follow Vertues waies but coldly,
Because they dare not doe a good thing boldly:
And doe we not perceive that many a man
Fearing to be entituled, Puritan,
Simply neglects the meanes of his salvation,
Much hazarding thereby his soules damnation?

Some cannot well endure this or that;
Others distemper'd with I know not what,
Shew an exceeding frailty: few can brooke
With any patience that men should looke
Into their actions; and though they should love them
They rather hate them for't that doe reprove them.

Is there a man so strong that he forbeares
Choler or Envy, when by chance he heares
Himselfe revil'd, reproached and disgrac'd?
If there be such an one, he shall be plac'd
Amongst the Worthies, with the formost three
For in my judgement none more worthy be
To have renowne for strength than those that can
On their rebellious Passions play the man.

197

This Weakenesse I doe also finde in men,
They know not their owne happinesse till then
When they have lost it: and they doe esteeme
Men for their wealth and doe them blessed deeme
That are most rich; supposing no man more
Accursed or unhappy than the poore.

Some basely do condemne each strange report
To be untrue, because it doth not sort
With their weake reasons. Some againe will be
Astonished at every novelty:
But too much wondering doth discover plaine,
Where ignorance and frailty doth remaine.

Is it not weakenesse, when some petty losses,
Some hindrance in preferment, or such crosses,
Shall make men grieve? Is it not weakenesse, when
Adversity shall so disquiet men,
That they should not with patience sustaine,
Or under-goe a little crosse and paine?
Yes, questionlesse it is; for were they strong,
They would so arme themselves gainst grief & wrong
That no disastrous or ill hap should fright them,
Though fortune did the worst she can to slight them:
Nor would they those as the unworthiest deeme,
To whom Dame Fortune doth most froward seeme;
But rather such as all their lifetime be
In quiet state, and from disturbance free:
For she oft gives what their base longing craves,
Because she scornes to vexe dejected slaves.

I have knowne brave-men, brave at least in show
(And in this Age now that is brave enow)
That in appearance for brave Champions past,
And yet have basely yeelded at the last.

Besides, there's many who thought scorn to droope
By Fortunes power, have beene made to stoope,

198

And with discredit shamefully left undone
What they with honour at the first begun:
And their weake hearts (which frailty I much hate)
Dejected, have growne base with their estate:
Whereas (me thinks) the mind should never be
Subject to Fortunes frownes nor tyranny.

But here through weaknes some offence may take,
That I of Fortune should recitall make:
For they by Fortune say there's nothing done:
But all things ars both ended and begun
By Gods appointment. I confesse indeed
That he knowes all, and all hath fore-decreed,
In the respect of whom, I cannot say
Ought comes by chance: respecting us, I may.

So they are answer'd: but how can men be
So over-borne with this infirmity:
As those who are in every matter led
By Parasites and Apes: Where is their head?
I meane their will, their reason and their sense?
What is become of their intelligence?
How ist that they have such a partiall eare,
They can judge nothing true, but what they heare
Come from the tongue of some slie Sycophant:
But for because they strength of judgement want?

Those that themselves to flatteries inure,
I have perceived basely to endure
Too plainely to be soothed, mockt and flouted,
Made coxcombs to their faces; yet not doubted
That they were highly reverenc'd, respected,
And by those fawning Parasites affected.
And why forsooth? they often here them prate
In commendation of their happy state:
Yes, and they tell them that they vertuous be,
Wise, courteous, strong, and beautifull to see:

199

When if the eie of reason were not lockt,
They plainely might perceive that they were mockt,
For what is't else when they are prais'd for many
Goodly conditions that had never any?

This frailty also merits to be blam'd,
When fearefull of reproach we are asham'd
Our ignorance in those things to explain,
Wherein 'twere fit more knowledge to attain.
'Tis weaknesse also when a bargaine's bought,
Then to dispraise the penniworth, as nought,
And tell what might have been, or fondly prate
Of counsell when he sees it is too late.

Nor is it any lesse to seeke to stay
Him that we know doth hasten on his way;
Or be importunate for that which will
Be nothing for our good, yet others ill.
Also to be affraid for to gain-say
What men doe know untrue: or to delay
The right of any matter to declare;
Because they feare they unbeleeved are:
For notwithstanding Truth doth oft bring blame,
It may be freely spoken without shame.

Divers more waies, of which I needs must speake,
There's many men doe shew themselves but weake.
In some but lately I observed this,
And must needs say, their nature evill is:
If friends to them have any kindnesse showne,
Or entertainments willingly bestowne,
That they confesse they are indebted for it:
Yet such is their condition (I abhorre it)
If then those friends do hap to take the pain:
To come sometime and visite them again
In meere good will, because these great ones see
They cannot then so well provided be

200

To bid them welcome as their loves require,
(Though more than love, their loves did ne'er desire)
A foolish shame so blinds them, that they shal
(For giving them too much) have nought at all:
Yea, for because they want excessive fare,
Or some such things; for which their friends ne'er care
(Though by their will it otherwise had beene)
They neither will be knowne at home, nor seene:
Which doth not onely shew impiety,
But hindereth love, and barres societie.

Yet now the greatest weakenesse that I finde
To be in man, is ignorance of minde:
It makes a poore man, hee's scarce good for ought;
If rich men have it, they are worse than nought.
For having riches store and wanting might
Or strength of minde to use the same aright,
'Tis Arrogancies and Ambitions fuel,
It makes them Covetous, Inconstant, Cruell,
Intemperate, Vnjust and wondrous heady:
Yea, in their actions rude, and so unsteady
They cannot follow any sound direction
But are still carried with a wild affection:
This is their nature; (it is quickly noted)
If they to honour be by hap promoted,
Then they grow insolent beyond all reason,
Apt for Ambition, Quarrels, Murthers, Treason,
Or any villany that followes those
Who doe the summe of happinesse repose
In worldly glory. But if Fortune frowne,
And from her fickle wheele once cast them downe;
Then their dejected hearts againe grew base,
They are impatient of their present case,
Rave or run mad, and can doe nought poore Elves,
Vnlesse it be goe hang or drowne themselves.

201

Moreover, the same weakenesse that proceeds
From ignorance this mischiefe also breeds;
It makes men well conceited of their will,
Which they will follow be it ne'er so ill:
And they thinke all things needs must fall out bad
Wherein their wise advise must not be had.
But here's the hell; to them all counsell's vain,
Cause they all others wisedome do disdain,
And wholly on their own devises rest,
As men perswaded that their owne are best.

But, as all such are weake, e'en so I say
Is every one that rashly doth repay
Vengeance in anger: Or that's male-content
Oft, or oft moved and impatient;
Or those that judge of counsels by th' event;
Or that perswade themselves, if their intent
Be good and honest that it doth not skill
Although the matter of it selfe be ill;
Which were it true, then David might complaine,
That Vzzah for his good intent was slaine.

Others againe thinke superstitious Rites
To be the service wherein God delights:
But sith I'me forc'd my minde of them to speake,
I must needs say their judgements are but weake.
The like I must of them who dis-esteeme
All former customes, and doe onely deeme
Their owne praise-worthy: As also such as doe
Thinke those things best they cannot reach unto;
Yet in the Vulgar this weake humor's bred:
They'l sooner be with idle customes led,
Or fond opinions (such as they have store)
Than learne of reason or of Vertues lore.

We thinke that we are strong; but what alas
Is there that our great might can bring to passe?

202

Sith though we thereto bend e'en all our will,
We neither can be good nor wholly ill.
God gives us needfull blessings for to use them;
Which wanting power to doe, we oft abuse them.

Some hold them wise and vertuous that possesse
An Heremitall solitarinesse:
But it proceeds from Imbicility;
And for because through Non-ability,
Those things they cannot well indure to doe,
Which they indeed should be inur'd unto
Besides they wrong their Country and their Friends;
For Man (saith Tully's) borne to other ends
Than for to please himselfe: a part to have
The Common-wealth doth look; and Parents crave
A part; so doe his friends. Then deales he well,
That closely mew'd up in a carelesse Cell
Keepes all himselfe? and for a little ease,
Can in his conscience find to rob all these?
I say he's weak, and so again I must;
But adde withall, he's slothfull and unjust.

Then as he's vain that precious time doth spend
In fond and idle pleasure to no end:
So are those weake that with contempt disdain
All pleasure and delight on earth as vain;
And though they would be zealous thought, & wise,
I shall but count them foolishly precise:
For man hath cares and pleasures mixt withall
Are needfull; yea, both just and naturall.
We are no Angels, that our recreation
Consist should only in meere contemplation:
But we have bodies too, of whose due pleasure,
The soules must find sometimes to be at leasure,
For to participate. But in this kind,
Though some find fault we are not much behind.

203

Then 'tis through humane weaknes, when that we
Of a good turn will soon forgetfull be;
And readier to revenge a small offence,
Than for that good to make a recompence.
And so 'tis also when that we eschew,
Or shun them unto whom from us is due
Both love and money: this, because their own;
Th' other, 'cause friendship at our need was shown.
But 'tis well seen there's many so abhor
To be in presence with their Creditor,
That (thanklesse Elves) though he be stil their friend,
They rather would desire to see his end.

Hee's weak too, that's not able to withstand
Any unlawfull or unjust demand:
As well as he that knows not to denie
Servingmens kindnesse, or Pot-curtesie.

Some simple fellows, 'cause that silken-Fools
(Who had their bringing up in Bacchus schools)
In shew of love but deign to drink unto them,
Think presently they such a favour do them,
That though they feel their stomack well-nigh sick,
Yet if to pledge these kinde-ones they should stick,
Or for a draught, or two or three refuse them,
They think in conscience they should much abuse thē

Nay, there be some, and wisemen you would think
That are not able to refuse their drink,
Through this their weaknes, though that they be sure
Tis more than their weak stomacks can endure.
And why? Oh 'tis the health of some great Peere,
His Masters, or his Friends he counteth deare.
What then? if so the party vertuous be,
Hee'l not esteem of such a foolery;
If not, who e'ert be, this is my minde still,
A straw for's love, his friendship, or good-will.

204

Some muse to see those that have knowledge gain'd,
And to degrees of Art in Schooles attain'd,
Should have opinions stuft with heresie,
And in their actions such simplicity
As many have. At first, without a pause,
As meere a boy as I, may tell the cause:
Is't not the reason their acquired parts
And knowledge they have reach'd unto by Arts,
Is growne a match too great and farre unfit
For to be joyned with their naturall wit?
'Tis so: and they instead of rightfull using,
Draw from their learning errors by abusing.
Plaine reason shewes, and every man that's wise
Knowes, though that Learning be a dainty prize,
Yet if that fate with such a weakling place it,
Who hath no helps of Nature for to grace it,
Of one whose proper knowledge is so small
Hee is beholding to his booke for all;
It onely breeds (unlesse it be some Treasons)
Crippled opinions and prodigious Reasons:
Which being favour'd, bring, in the conclusion;
Publike dissentions, or their owne confusion.
For I may liken learning to a Shield,
With a strong Armour, lying in a field
Ready for any man that hath the wit
To take it up, and arme himselfe with it.
Now if he be a man of strength and might,
That happens on that furniture to light,
He may doe wonders; As offend his foe,
And keepe himselfe and his from overthrow:
But if a weake and feeble man should take
These instruments of Mars, what would they make
For his advantage? Surely I should gather
They would goe neere to overthrow him rather:

205

For they would load him so, a man more strong,
Although he be unarm'd, may do him wrong.
So he that is depriv'd of natures gifts,
With all his learning, maketh harder shifts,
Through his own weaknesse, and incurs more shames
Than many that want art to write their names.

We have some fellows that would scorn to be
Tearm'd weak I know, especially by me,
Because they see that my ungentle fate
Allow'd me not to be a Graduate;
Yet whatsoever they will say unto it,
For all their scorning I am like to do it.
And to be briefe, they are no simple fools,
But such as have yauld Ergo in the Schooles;
Who being by some men of Worship thought
Fit men by whom their children may be taught,
And learn'd enough, for that they are allow'd
The name of Teachers; whereof growing proud,
Because (perhaps) they heare that now and then
They are admir'd at by the Servingmen;
Or else by reason something they have said,
Hath been applauded by the Chamber-maid;
They thereupon suppose that no man may
Hold any thing for truth but what they say:
And in discourse their tongues so much will walk,
You may not heare a man of reason talk;
They are halfe Preachers; if your question be
Of matters that concern Divinity.
If it be Law, Ile warrant they'l out-face
A dozen Ploydens to maintain their case:
But if it be of Physick you contend,
Old Galen and Hypocrates may send
For their opinion; nay, they dare prosesse
Knowledge in all things, though there's none know lesse:

206

Now I should wonder they prevail'd so much
Did not the Common-people favour such;
But they are known, although their verdit passes,
Proud Dogmatists, and selfe-conceited Asses;
Whom I may term (though I cannot out-scold them)
Weak simple fools, and those that do uphold them.

Moreover, some (but foolishly precise,
And in my judgement far more weak than wise)
Mis-judge of Poetrie, as if the same
Did worthily deserve reproach and blame:
If any Book in verse they hap to spie,
Oh, out upon't, away, prophane, they cry;
Burn't, read it not, for sure it doth contain
Nothing but fables of a lying brain;
All-asse take heed, indeed it oft pollutes
The outside of thy false-vain-glorious-sutes:
And to the blinded people makes it plain,
The colour thou so counterfeits will stain.

Because we see that men are drunk with Wine,
Shall we contemne the liquor of the Vine?
And sith there's some that do this Art misuse,
Wilt therefore thou the Art it selfe abuse?
'Twere meer injustice: For Divinity
Hath with no Science more affinity
Than this; and howsoe'er this scruple rose,
Rime hath exprest as sacred things as Prose;
When both in this age and in former time,
Prose hath bin ten-times more profane than Rime.

But they say still that Poetry is lies
And fables; such as idle heads devise;
Made to please fools: but now we may by this
Perceive their weaknesse plainly what it is:
Yea, this both weak and ignorant doth prove them,
In that they'l censure things that are above them:

207

For if that worthy Poets did not teach
A way beyond their dull conceited reach,
I think their shallow wisdomes would espie,
A Parable did differ from a Lie.
Yea, if their judgement be not quite bereft;
Or if that they had any reason left,
The precious Truthes within their Fables wrapt,
Had not upon so rude a censure hapt.

But though that kinde of teaching some dispraise,
As there's few good things lik't of now adaies:
Yet I dare say, because the Scriptures show it,
The best e'er taught on earth taught like a Poet:
And whereas Poets now are counted base,
And in this worthlesse age in much disgrace;
I of the cause cannot refrain to speak;
And this it is; Mens judgements are grown weak,
They know not true desert; for if they did,
Their well-deservings could not so be hid.

And sure if there be any doth despise
Such as they are, it is cause he envies
Their worthinesse, and is a secret foe
To every one that truely learnes to know:
For of all sorts of men, her's my beliefe,
The Poet is most worthy and the chiefe.
His Science is the absolut'st and best,
And deserves honour above all the rest;
For 'tis no humane knowledge gain'd by Art,
But rather 'tis inspir'd into the heart
By Divine meanes; and I do muse men dare
Twixt it and their professions make compare.
For why should he that's but Philosopher,
Geometrician, or Astrologer,
Paysitian, Lawyer, Rhetorician,
Historian, Arithmetician,

208

Or some such like; why should he (having found
The means but by one art to be renown'd)
Compare with him that claims to have a part
And interest almost in every Art?
And if that men may adde unto their name,
By one of these an everlasting fame,
How much more should it unto them befall,
That have not onely one of these, but all,
As Poets have? For do but search their works
And you shall finde within their writtngs lurks
All knowledge; if they undertake
Of Divine matters any speech to make,
You'll think them Doctors. If they need to tell
The course of Starres, they seem for to excell
Great Ptolomey; intend they to perswade,
You'l think that they were Rhetoricians made.

What Law, what Physick, or what History
Can these not treat of? Nay, what Mysterie
Are they not learn'd in? If of Trades they write,
Have they not all their tearmes and words as right
As if they had serv'd an Apprentiship?
Can they not name all tools for Workmanship?
We see 'tis true. If once he treat of Warres,
Of cruell bloudy fraies, of wounds, of scarres;
Why then he speaks so like a Souldier there,
That he hath been begot in armes thou'lt sweare.
Again, he writes so like a Navigator,
As if he had serv'd Neptune in the water;
And thou wouldst think he might of travell make
As great a volume as our famous Drake.
Old Proteus and Vertumnus are but Apes
Compar'd to these for shifting of their shapes;
There is no humorous Passion so strange,
To which they cannot in a moment change:

209

Note but their Dramaticks and you shall see
They'l speak for every sex, for each degree,
And in all causes; as if they had been
In every thing, or at least all things seen.
If need be they can like a Lawyer prate,
Or talk more gravely like a man of State;
They'l have a Tradesmans tongue to praise their ware,
And counterfeit him right (but they'l not sweare.)
The curioust Physitians (if they please)
Shall not coyne words to give their Patient ease
So well as they; and if occasion urge,
They'l Choler, yea and Melancholy purge,
Onely with Charmes and words; and yet it shall
Be honest means, and meerely naturall:
Are they dispos'd to gossip't like a woman,
They'l shew their tricks so right, that almost no man
But would so think them: Virgins that are purest,
And Matrons that make shew to be demurest,
Speak not so like chast Cynthia as they can,
Nor Newbery so like a Curtezan.
They'l give words either fitting for a Clown,
Or such as shall not unbeseem a Crown.
In shew they will be cholerick, ambitious,
Desperate, jealous, mad, or envious;
In sorrow, or in any Passion be;
But yet remain still from all Passions free:
For they have onely to this end exprest them,
That men may see them plainer, and detest them.

But some will say that these have on the Stage
So painted out the vices of this Age,
That it not onely tells that they have bin
Experienc'd in every kinde of sin;
But that it also doth corrupt and show
How men should act those sinnes they did not know.

210

Oh hatefull saying! not pronounc'd by chance,
But spew'd out of malicious ignorance.
Weigh it, and you will either think these weak,
Or say that they do out of envy speak.
Can none declare th' effect of Drunkennesse,
Vnlesse they used such like beastlinesse?
Are all men ignorant what comes by Lust,
Excepting those that were themselves unjust?
Or think they no man can describe a sin,
But that which he himselfe hath wallowed in?

If they suppose so, I no cause can tell,
But they may also boldly say as well
They are Apprentises to every Trade,
Of which they finde they have descriptions made;
Or else because they see them write those things
That do belong to Rule, best say th' are Kings:
As though that sacred Poesie inspir'd
No other knowledge than might be acquir'd
By the dull outward sense; yes, this is she
That shows us not alone all things that be,
But by her power laies before our view,
Such wondrous things as Nature never knew.

And then whereas they say that men are worse
By reading that these write, 'tis their own curse;
For, is the flower faulty cause we see
The loathsome Spider, and the painfull Bee
Make divers use on't? No, it is the same
Vnto the Spider, though she cannot frame
Like sweetnesse as the Bee thence. But indeed
I must confesse that this bad age doth breed
Too many that without respect presume
This worthy title on them to assume,
And undeserv'd; base fellows, whom meer time
Hath made sufficient to bring forth a Rime.

211

A Curtain Iigge, a Libell, or a Ballet,
For Fidlers or some Rogues with staffe and wallet
To sing at doores: men onely wise enough,
Out of some rotten-old-worm-eaten stuffe
To patch up a bald witlesse Comedy,
And trim it here and there with ribauldry
Learn'd at a Bawdy-house? I say there's such,
And they can never be disgrac'd too much.
For though the name of Poet such abuses,
Yet they are enemies to all the Muses,
And dare not sort with them for feare they will
Tumble them headlong down Parnassus hill.

Why then should their usurping of it, wrong
That title which doth not to them belong?
And wherefore should the shame of this lew'd crew
Betide them unto whom true honour's due?
It shall not, for how ere they use the name,
Their works will shew how they do merit fame;
And though it be disgrac'd through ignorance,
The generous will Poesie advance,
As the most antique Science that is found,
And that which hath been the first root and ground
Of every Art; yea, that which onely brings
Content, and hath been the delight of Kings.
Great Iames our King both loves and lives a Poet,
(His books now extant do directly show it)
And that shall adde unto his worthy name
A better glory, and a greater fame
Than Britains Monarchie; for few but he
(I think) will both a King and Poet be;
And for the last, although some fools debase it,
Ime in the minde that Angells do imbrace it:
And though God giv't here but in part to some,
All shall have't perfect in the World to come.

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This in defence of Poesie to say
I am compell'd, because that at this day
Weaknesse and Ignorance have wrong'd it sore:
But what need any man therein speak more
Than Divine Sidney hath already done?
For whom (though he deceas'd e'er I begun)
I have oft sighed and bewaild my fate,
That brought me forth so many yeares too late
To view that Worthy; And now think not you
Oh Daniel, Drayton, Iohnson, Chapman, how
I long to see you, with your fellow Peers,
Sylvester matchlesse, glory of these yeares:
I hitherto have onely heard your fames,
And know you yet but by your Works and Names:
The little time I on the earth have spent,
Would not allow me any more content:
I long to know you better, that's the truth,
I am in hope you'l not disdain my Youth:
For know, you Muses-Darlings, Ile not crave
A fellowship amongst you for to have:
Oh no; for though my ever-willing heart
Hath vow'd to love and praise You and your Art,
And though that I your stile do now assume,
I do not, nor I will not so presume;
I claime not that too-worthy name of Poet;
It is not yet deserv'd by me, I know it:
Grant me I may but on your Muses tend,
And be enrol'd their Servant, or their Friend;
And if desert hereafter worthy make me,
Then for a Fellow (if it please you) take me.

But yet I must not here give off to speak,
To tell men wherein I have found them weak,
And chiefly those which cannot brook to heare
Mention of death, but with much griefe and feare:

213

For many are not able once to take
That thought into them, but their Soules will quake.

Poore feeble spirits, would you ne'er away,
But dwell for ever in a piece of clay?
What finde you here wherein you do delight,
Or what's to seeing that is worth the sight?
What? do the heavens thy endeavours blesse,
And wouldst thou therefore live still to possesse
The joy thou hast? Seek't not; perhaps to morrow
Thou'lt wish t'have di'd to day to scape the sorrow
Thou then shalt see: for shame take stronger hearts,
And adde more courage to your better parts:
For death's not to be fear'd, sith 'tis a friend
That of your sorrows makes a gentle end.

But here a quality I call to minde,
That I amongst the common people finde;
This 'tis, a weak one too; When they perceive
A Friend ne'er death, and ready for to leave
This wretched life; and if they heare him say
Some parting words, as if he might not stay,
Nay, say not so (these Comforters reply)
Take heart, your time's not come, ye shall not die:
What man, and grace of God you shall be stronger,
And live no doubt yet many a fair day longer;
Think not on death; With many such like words,
Such as their understanding best affords:
But where is now become this peoples wit?
What do their knowledges esteem more fit
Than death to think on? chiefly when men be
About to put off their mortalitie.
Me thinks they rather should perswade them then
Fearelesse to be resolv'd to die like men:
For, want of such a resolution stings
At point of death; and dreadfull horrour brings

214

E'en to the Soule; cause wanting preparation,
She lies despairing of her own salvation.
Yea, and moreover this full well know I
He that's at any time afraid to die,
Is in weak case; and whatsoe'er he saith,
Hath but a wavering and a feeble faith.

But what need I go further to relate
The frailty I have seen in Mans estate?
Sith this I have already said makes cleare,
That of all creatures God hath placed here,
(Provided we respect them in their kinde)
Wee cannot any more unable finde;
For of our selves we have not power to speak,
No, nor to frame a thought we are so weak.
Against our bodies every thing prevailes,
And oft our knowledge and our judgement fails:
Yea, if that one mans strength were now no lesse
Than all men do in generall possesse;
Or if he had attain'd to ten times more
Than all Gods creatures joyn'd in one before;
Yet would his power be ev'n then so small
When he stands surest hee's but sure to fall.

'Tis onely weaknesse that doth make us droop,
And unto crosses and diseases stoop;
That makes us vain, inconstant, and unsure,
Vnable any good things to endure:
It brings us to the servile base subjection
Of all loose passion and untam'd affection:
It leads us and compells us oft to stray
Both bsiede truth, and out of Reasons way:
And lastly wee, and that because of this,
Either do nothing, or do all amisse.
Which being so we may with David then
Confesse that we are rather Wormes than Men.

215

Of Presumption.

Satyr. 4.

Soft heedlesse Muse, thou no advisement tak'st;
Wast not of Men that last of all thou spak'st?
It was, and of the weaknesse too of Men:
Come then with shame now and deni't agen:
Recant; for so the matter thou did'st handle,
Thou maist be curst for't with bell, book, and candle.
Is mankinde weak? Who then can by their powers
Into the aire hurle Palaces and Towers?
And with one blast e'en in a moment make
Whole Kingdomes and brave Monarchies to shake?
Or what are they that dare for to aspire
Unto Gods seat, and if it might be, higher:
That forgive sinnes as fast as men can doe them,
And make Iehovah be beholding to them?
I've heard of such; What are they? would I wist;
They can make Saints (they say) of whom they list:
And being made, above the stars can seat them,
Yea, with their own hands make their gods; & eat thē

Ha? Are they men? how dar'st thou then to speak
Such blasphemy, to say, Mankinde is weak?
I tell thee this, Muse, either man is strong,
And through thy babling thou hast done him wrong;
Or else beyond his limits he doth erre,
And for Presumption puts down Lucifer.

216

Is't so? Nay then I prethee Muse go on,
And let us heare of his Presumption:
For I do know, cause I have heard him vaunt,
That hee's a Creature proud and arrogant:
And it may be he is not of such might
As he makes shew for; but usurps some's right.
Ther'e goes indeed: For though he be so base,
So weak, and in such miserable case,
That I want words of a sufficient worth
To paint his most abhorred vildenesse forth;
Yet such is also his detested pride,
That I suppose the Devill is beli'd
By every man that shall affirme or say
He is more proud. For do but mark I pray
This Creature Man: Did Natures powerfull King
(GOD, that of nothing framed every thing)
Mould out of Clay a piece which he had rent
E'en from the Earth, the basest Element?
And whereas he might have been made a Thrall,
Yea, and the very Vnderling of all;
That God with title of Chiefe-Ruler grac'd him,
And as a Steward over all things plac'd him:
Gave him a pleasant Garden for to till,
And leave to eate of ev'ry Tree at will;
Onely of one indeed he did deny him,
And peradventure of that one to try him.
But see his insolence, though God did threat
Death if he eate, and though that God was great,
And so exceeding just, that he well knew
All that he threatned doubtlesse would ensue:
Thogh God were strong, & could, had man bin prouder
(Poor clay-bred worm) have stampt him into pouder;
Yet (notwithstanding all this same) did he
Presume to taste of that Forbidden-tree.

217

A rash beginning, but he sped so ill,
D'yee think he held on this presumption still?
To heare he had left that offence 'twere news;
But Cain and Nimrod, Pharaoh and the Iewes
Shew'd it continued; and grew much more,
Rather than lesser than it was before.
Cain in his murder and his proud reply;
Nimrod, in that he dar'd to build so high;
Pharaoh, by boldly tempting God, to show
His sundry plagues to Ægypts overthrow:
And many waies the last. But what need I
Recite examples of Antiquity?
Or thus to tax old ages of that crime,
Sith there was ne'er a more presumptuous time
Than this that's now. What dare not men to do,
If they have any list or minde thereto?
Their fellow-creatures they do much contemne,
Vaunting that all things were ordain'd for them;
Yea, both the gladsome daies, and quiet nights,
Sun, Moon, and Heaven, with those glorious lights,
Which so bespangle that fair azure roofe:
They think were onely made for their behoofe:
Whenas, alas, their power and weak command,
Cannot extend so far as to withstand
The least Stars force; o're them and their estate,
Sunne, Moon, and Starres too do predominate.

Before our Fall indeed we did excell
All other Creatures that on earth did dwell;
But now I think the very worst that be,
Have just as much to boast upon as wee,
Our Soul's defil'd; And therefore if in Sense
We place our worth and chiefe preheminence,
Tis known that there be divers creatures then
Will have the upper hand; for they passe men:

218

And though we still presume upon't, 'tis vain
To challenge our old Soveraignty again:
For when that we from our obedience fell,
All things against us also did rebell;
Lions, and Beares, and Tygers sought our bloud,
The barren earth deni'd to yeeld us food:
The clouds rain'd plagues, and yet dare we go on,
We take such pleasure in Presumption.

But for because there's some do scarcely know
How we do in that fault offend, Ile show:
First, when that they new worshippings invent,
And cannot hold themselves so well content
With that which God doth in his Word ordain,
As with inventions of their own weak brain;
It seems they think their fancies to fulfill,
Would please him better than to have his will.

Next, I do reckon them that over-bold
Gods sacred Legend have at will controld;
And maugre his grand curse, some places chang'd;
Added to some; and some again estrang'd.

Then those great Masters I presumptuous deem,
That of their knowledge do so well esteem:
They will force others as the Papists do
For to allow of their opinions too;
Yea, though it be a meer imagination,
That neither hath good ground, nor just foundation:

Some will be prying, though they are forbidden,
Into those secrets God meant should be hidden.
So do some Students in Astrologie,
Though they can make a faire Apologie.
And so do those that very vainly trie
To finde our fortunes by their Palmistrie:
These do presume, but much more such as say,
At this or that time comes the judgment-day.

219

Or such as ask, or dare for to relate
What God was doing e'er he did create
Heaven and Earth: or where he did abide,
How and by whom he then was glorifi'd.

But those that into such deep secrets winde,
A slender profit in their labour finde;
For to make known how highly they offend,
A desperate madnesse is oft times their end.
Yet such their nature is, they'll not beware,
But to be prying further still they dare:
For sure that longing can no way be staid:
Which well the Poet seem'd to know, who said;
Man, what he is forbidden, still desires,
And what he is deni'd of most requires.

Rather than many will a man gain-say,
They dare make bold with God; they think they may,
Because it seems they deem him not so strong,
Or so well able to revenge a wrong.

Some such great power to themselves assume,
And on their own strength do so much presume,
They seldome do for Gods assistance crave;
As if it were a needlesse thing to have
Which is the cause that often the conclusion
Proves their own shame, their hindrance, & confusion

In praying men presume, unlesse they be
With every one in love and charitie:
Or if in their Petitions they desire
Such things as are unlawfull to require.

Death's their reward we know, that break the law;
But neither that, nor yet damnations awe
Keeps us from sinne: a thousand God-heads more
Than one we make, and dare for to adore
Our own hand-works: the Sabbath we disdain,
And dreadlesse take the Name of God in vain.

200

If but by his Lords hand an Irish sweare,
To violate that oath he stands in feare;
Lest him both of his lands and goods he spoile,
For making him the instrument of guile:
And yet dare we (poore worms) before his face,
(Respecting whom, the greatest Lords are base)
Both sweare, and forsweare, using that great Name
At pleasure, without any feare of blame.

Why should not we as well suppose that he
Who in our hearts would have no fraud to be;
Will miserable, poore, and naked leave us,
Yea, of those blessings and estates bereave us
We now hold of him, if we thus contemne,
And still abuse his sacred Name, and him?
But men secure in wickednesse persist,
As if they could please God with what they list;
If they can, Lord have mercy on them, say,
And mumble some few praiers once a day,
There needs no more: nay surely, there be such,
That think it is enough, if not too much.
But what's the reason? God made all the man,
Why should he have but part allow'd him then?
He in their service nothing doth delight,
Vnlesse it be with all their strength and might,
With their whole heart and soule, and that way too
As he appoints them in his Word to do.

Some men there are who hope by honesty,
By their Almes-deeds and works of Charitie
To win Gods favour, and so to obtain
Salvation by it; but their hope's in vain.

Others there are, who for because th' have faith
For to beleeve 'tis true the Scripture saith;
Sith they have knowledge in Religion,
And make thereof a strict profession;

221

Or do observe the outward worship duly.
Do think that therein they have pleas'd God truly.

Now these are just as far as th' other wide,
For they Gods worship do by halves divide;
And for his due which is e'en all the heart,
Do dare presume to offer him a part.
But th' one must know he will not pleased be
With a Religion that wants honestie:
And th' other that as little good will doe,
His honest shews without Religion too.

If this be so (as so it is indeed)
How then will those presumptuous fellows speed
Who think (forsooth) because that once a yeare
They can afford the poore some slender cheere,
Observe their Countrey feasts, or Common doles,
And entertain their Christmas Wassaile-bowles
Or else because that for the Churches good,
They in defence of Hock-tide custome stood,
A Whitson-Ale, or some such goodly motion,
The better to procure Youngmens devotion?
What will they do, I say, that think to please
Their mighty God with such vain things as these?
Sure very ill; for though that they can mone,
And say that Love and Charitie is gone,
As old folks do, because their banquettings,
Their ancient Drunken Summer-revellings
Are out of date, though they can say, through teaching
And since the Gospell hath had open preaching,
Men are grown worse; though they can soon espie
A little mote in their own neighbours eye;
Yea, though that they their Pater-noster can,
And call their honest neighbour Puritan;
How e'er they in their own conceits may smile,
Yet sure they are Presumptuous, weak, and vile.

222

Also in this abominable time,
It is amongst us now a common crime,
To flout and scoffe at those which we espie
Willing to shake off humane Vanity;
And those that gladly do themselves enforce
Vnto a strict and more religious course
Than most men do; although they truly know
No men are able to pay halfe they owe
Vnto their God; (as though their wisdomes thought
He might be served better than he ought)
They count precise and curious more than needs,
They try their sayings, and weigh all their deeds:
A thousand things that they well do, shall be
Sleightly past over, as if none did see:
But one thing ill done (though the best does ill)
They shall be certain for to heare of still;
Yea, notwithstanding they can daily smother
Millions of ten-times-greater faults in other.

Who are so hated, or so often blam'd?
Or so revil'd, or scorn'd, or so misnam'd?
To whom do we now our contentions lay?
Who are so much term'd Puritans as they
That feare God most? But 'tis no marvell men
Presume so much to wrong his children, when
As if they fear'd not his revengefull rod,
They can blaspheme, and dare to anger God.

Now by these words to some men it may seem,
That I have Puritanes in high esteem;
Indeed, if by that name you understand
Those whom the vulgar Atheists of this land
Do daily terme so; that is such as are
Fore-named here; and have the greatest care
To know and please their Maker: then 'tis true
I love them well, for love to such is due:

223

But if you mean, The busie-headed sect,
The hollow crew, the counterfeit Elect:
Our Dogmatists, and ever-wrangling spirits,
That do as well contemne good works as merits:
If you mean those that make their care seem great
To get soules food, when 'tis for bodies meat;
Or those, all whose religion doth depend
On this, That they know how to discommend
A May-game, or a Summer-pole defie,
Or shake the head, or else turn up the eye:
If you mean those, however they appear,
This I say of them, (would they all might heare)
Though in a zealous habite they do wander,
Yet they are Gods foes and the Churches slander;
And though they humble be in shew to many,
They are as haughty every way as any.

What need I here the lewd presumptions tell
Of Papists in these daies? 'tis known too well.
For them thereof each Peasant now convinces,
In things as well concerning God as Princes.

Others I finde too that do dare presume,
The office of a Teacher to assume,
And being blinde themselves and gone astray,
Take on them to shew other men the way.

Yea some there be who have small gifts of spirit,
No kinde of knowledge, and as little merit,
That with the world have made a firm conjunction,
Yet dare to undergoe the sacred function
Of Christ his Pastor. Yea, such is their daring,
That (neither for their Charge nor Duty caring)
Instead of giving good and sound instruction,
They lead themselves and others to destruction.

We read that Ieremie and Moses both,
To undertake this charge were wondrous loth.

224

(The greatnesse of the same so much appall'd them)
Yea, though that God himselfe directly call'd them;
But our brave Clarks, as if they did condemne
The too much bashfull backwardnesse of them;
Or else as if themselves they abler thought;
Those Divine callings have not onely sought
Without respect of their ability,
A Christian Conscience or civilitie;
But being of old Simon Magus tribe,
Purchase it often with a hatefull bribe;
Which shewes that they such places do desire,
Not for the good of others, but their hire.

But Patrons, feare ye neither God nor Hell?
Dare ye the Churches patrimony sell
For filthy lucre, in despight of Law
Sacred or humane? Pedants, dare ye? Haw!
Dare ye buy't of them? By Gods help, unlesse
This villanie e'er long have some redresse,
Ile finde a means, or else let me have blame,
To bring some smart, or else eternall shame
Vpon you for't; It may be you do sent it,
But all your policy shall not prevent it.
What do you look for? Hell and your Damnation?
Well, you shall have it by impropriation;
I know now you have entred Simony,
You'll double-damne your Souls with Perjury.
For they as oft together may be seen,
As is the chilling Fever and the Spleen.

But, oh, deare Countreymen, be more advis'd;
Think what God is, he may not be despis'd.
Could you well weigh his justice and his power,
How many infinites it passeth our,
And knew his judgements, you would not dissemble
An outward feigned reverence, but tremble

225

And shake with horror; you'd not dare to venter
Sanctum Sanclorum so unfit to enter.
His Churches good you rather would advance,
Than rob it thus of her inheritance;
Or make the same as men still unbeleeving,
Like to a house of merchandise and theeving.

You to whom deeds of former times are known,
Mark to what passe this age of ours is grown,
Even with us that do strictest seem to be
In the professing of Christianitie;
You know men have been carefull to augment
The Churches portion, and have been content
To adde unto it out of their estate;
And Sacriledge all Nations did so hate,
That the meer Irish, who seem'd not to care
For God nor man, had the respect to spare
The Churches profits; yea, their heed was such,
That in the time of need they would not touch
The known provisions they daily saw
Stor'd up in Churches: in such feare and awe
The places held them; though that they did know
The things therein belonged to their foe;
But now the world and mans good nature's chang'd,
From this opinion most men are estrang'd;
We rob the Church, and what we can attain
By Sacriledge and Theft is our best gain.
In paying dues, the refues of our stock,
The barrenest and leanest of our flock
Shall serve our Pastor: whom for to deceive,
We think no sinne. Nay further (by your leave)
Men seek not to impropriate a part
Vnto themselves; but they can finde in heart
T'engrosse up all: which vile Presumption
Hath broght church-livings to a strange consumption.

226

And if this strong disease do not abate,
'Twill be the poorest member in the state.

No marvell though in stead of learned Preachers,
We have been pester'd with such simple Teachers,
Such poore, mute, tongue-tide Readers, as scarce know
Whether that God made Adam first, or no:
Thence it proceeds, and there's the cause that Place
And Office at this time incurres disgrace.
For men of judgment, or good dispositions
Scorne to be ty'd to any base conditions,
Like to our hungry Pedants, who'l engage
Their soules for any curtail'd Vicarage.
I say, there's none of knowledge wit, or merit,
But such as are of a most servile spirit,
That will so wrong the Church as to presume
Some poore-halfe-demi-Parsonage to assume
In name of all; no, they had rather quite
Be put beside the same, than wrong Gods right.

Well, they must entertain such Pedants then,
Fitter to feed Swine than the soules of men,
But Patrons think such best, for there's no feare
They will speak any thing they loathe to heare:
They may run foolishly to their damnation
Without reproofe, or any disturbation;
To let them see their vice they may be bold,
And yet not stand in doubt to be controld:
Those in their houses may keep private Schooles,
And either serve for jesters or for fools,
And will suppose that they are highly grac'd,
Be they but at their Patrons table plac'd:
And there if they be cal'd but Priests in scoffe,
Straight they duck down, and all their caps come off,
Supposing it for to be done in kindnesse,
Which shews their weaknesse & apparant blindenesse

227

Moreover, 'tis well known that former time
Held it to be a vile presumptuous crime,
Such men in sacred Offices to place
Whom they knew touch'd with any foule disgrace,
Or to allow those whom they did suspect
To have an outward bodily defect:
But be they now not onely crooked, lame,
Dismember'd, and of the unshapeliest frame
That ever Nature form'd; though they be blinde,
Not in sight onely, but as well in minde;
Though they be such, who if they came to shreeving,
Might confesse murther, whordome, slander, theeving,
And all damn'd villany; yet these men will be
Admitted to the sacred Ministrie.

But most of us do now disdain that place,
Accounting it unworthy, mean, and base;
Yea, like to Ieroboams Priests wee see
They of the lowest of the people be;
And though we know the Israelites allow'd
God the First-born for his; we are so proud,
Vnlesse they either do want shape, or wit,
Or seem for worldly businesse unfit,
Few think Gods service worthy the bestowing
Their Childe upon it; or such duty owing
Vnto the same; but rather that vocation
They count a blemish to their reputation.
But where's your understanding, oh you men?
Turn from your brutish dulnesse once agen;
Honour Gods messengers; for why? 'tis true
To them both reverence and honour's due:
Think what they are, and be not still self-minded,
Suffer not reason to be so much blinded;
If not for love that you to justice beare,
Yet follow her (although it be) for feare:

228

And see that this Presumption you amend,
Or look some heavy plague shall be your end.

Then it is also a Presumptuous act,
With knowledge to commit a sinfull fact,
Though ne'er so small: for sinne's a subtle elfe,
That by degrees insinuates it selfe
Into our soules; and in a little space
Becomes too huge a Monster to displace:
Yea, it is certain that one sinne, though small,
Will make an entrance great enough for all;

And what is't but Presumption to abuse,
And without feare and reverence to use
Gods Sacred Word? Yet we that Christ professe
Think it no fault, or that there's no fault lesse:
Else sure we would not in our common talk,
Let our loose tongues so much at randome walk;
We would not dare our jests of that to make,
At uttering where of the heavens shake;
For if God had reveal'd his Gospell news
To us, as heretofore unto the Iews
He did the Law: who heard him to their wonder,
Speaking through fearfull firy flames of Thunder;
We would not dread in any evill fashion,
To use that sacred means of our salvation.

Our cursed Pagan unbeleeving foe,
I meane the Turk, more reverence doth show
In those his damn'd erroneous Rites, than we
In the true Worship: for 'tis known that he
Will not so much as touch his Alcharon,
That doth contain his false Religion,
With unwash'd hands; nor till he hath o'er-went
All that his vain and confus'd rabblement
Of Ceremonies us'd, much lesse dares look
On the Contents of that unhallowed Book:

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But we in midst of all our villany,
In our Pot-conference and Ribaldrie,
Irreverently can the same apply,
As if't were some of Pasquils-Letany.

But soft, my Muse in her perambulation
Hath hapt upon an Excommunication:
And though that her Commission she wanted,
Yet she made bold to search wherefore 'twas granted;
Which if you would know too; why, it may be
Some were so pleas'd because they lack'd a fee:
For had the Officers been well contented,
They say the matter might have been prevented.
But you that have the wisedomes to discerne
When abuse is, pray tell me, I would learne:
Misuse we not Excommunication?
You know, It is a Separation
From God: and a most fearfull banishment,
From the partaking of his Sacrament,
And good mens fellowship; a sad exile
(Perhaps for ever, at the least a while)
From the true Church, and oh (most horrid evill)
A giving of men over to the Devill.
And therefore was ordain'd in better times
Onely for such, who in their hainous crimes,
With hardned obstinacie did persist,
As may appeare: but now, we at our list,
As if the same but some sleight matter were,
For every trifle to pronounce it dare;
And peradventure too, on such as be
More honest far, and better much than we.

But sith my Muse hath her endeavour done,
To note how men into this fault do run;
I will be bold to let you understand
One strange Presumption noted in our Land,

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Worth the amending: and indeed 'tis this
(Reader, pray judge how dangerous it is.)
We seeing God hath now removed farre,
From this our Country his just plague of warre,
And made us through his mercy so much blest,
We doe in spight of all our foes yet rest
Exempt from danger: by us it appeares
Through the great blessing of these quiet yeares,
We are so fearelesse, carelesse, and secure,
In this our happy peace, and so cock-sure,
As if we did suppose, or heard it said,
Old Mars were strangled, or the Divell dead:
Else can I not beleeve we would so lightly
Esteem our safety, and let passe so slightly
Our former care of Martiall Discipline,
For exercises meerely feminine:
We would not see our Armes so soil'd in dust,
Nor our bright blades eate up with cankerd rust,
As now they be: our Bowes they lye and rot,
Both Musket and Caliver is forgot;
And we lie open to all forraigne dangers
For want of discipline: 'tis known to Strangers,
Though we'l not see't. Alas, will not our pleasure
Let us be once in seven yeeres at leasure
To take a muster, and to give instruction?
No, rather pleasure will be our destruction.
For that first caus'd the law that now prevents
And barres the use of Pouder-instruments
To be enacted. Why? for to preserve
As idle Game, the which I wish might sterve
Amids our plenty, so that with their curse
The Land and People might be nothing worse;
'Cause for that trifle to the Realmes abuse,
The Hand-gun hath beene so much out of use.

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Scarce one in forty, if to proofe it came,
Dares, or knowes well how to discharge the same.

Oh valiant English, we are like to hold
The glory that our fathers had of old:
But sure I thinke some undermining-hand,
That studies for the ruine of the Land,
Is cause of this; in hope thereby at length
To weaken ours, and let in Forraigne strength.

What do we think, cause there's a truce with Spain
That we are safe? alas, that thought is vaine:
Our dangers rather more. For while they dar'd
To proffer wrong they found us still prepar'd:
The profitable feare that we were in
Prevented danger that might else have bin.
But now the cause of forraigne feare is gone,
We have not onely let all care alone,
But also are so drunken with delights,
And drown'd in pleasures that our dulled sprites,
Are so o'er-clogd with Luxury, we droope,
More fit for Venus than for Mars his troope:
That if our foes should now so ventrous be
As to invade the Land, unlesse that we
With speed amend this error here's my minde,
The way to worke our ruine they'l soon finde:
For just the Troians last nights watch we keep,
Who then were buried all in wine and sleepe.

We read, when Cato should a Captaine chuse
For the Pannonian fight, he did refuse
His kinsman Publius, 'cause that from the warre
He often had return'd without a scarre,
And went perfum'd. But if such faults as these
Displeas'd the Censor, sure then in our daies,
He scarcely would in Towne or Country finde
A man with us according to his minde

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Such is our daintinesse. Besides, to strangers
(As if there were no cause to doubt of dangers)
We doe not onely our great riches show,
(A shrewd temptation to allure a foe)
But we moreover plainely doe declare
By fond apparell, too superfluous fare,
Much idlenesse and other wanton parts,
That we have weake effeminated hearts,
Which being known are sure a great perswasion
Vnto our enemies to make invasion.

But we doe say, in God's our only trust,
On him we doe depend: Well, so we must,
And yet we ought not therefore to disdaine
The lawfull meanes by which he doth ordaine
To worke our safety then: for that's a signe
We rather love to tempt the Powers Divine,
Than trust unto them. Worthy Brittaines then,
Leave this presumption, once againe be men,
Not weake Sardanapali; leave those toyes
To idle Women, wanton Girles and Boies:
Vnto our foes I wish you could betake them,
Or unto any, so you would forsake them.

Let Martialists that long have been disgrac'd
Be lov'd again and in our favours plac'd:
Count not them Rogues, out rather such as can
So much degenerate themselves from Man,
In tyre and gesture both to womanize.
Goe call a Parliament, and there devise
An act to have them whipt now: oh 'twere good,
A deed well worthy such a noble brood

Meane while lets trim our rusty Armes and scoure
Those long unused well-steel'd-blades of our;
(We shall not doe the Spiders any wrong,
For they have rent-free held their house-roome long

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In Morains, Helmets, Gauntlets, Bandileeres:
Displace them thence, they have had all their yeeres)
And give them such a lustre that the light
May dimme the Moon-shine in a Winters night;
Away with idle Citherns, Lutes and Tabers,
Let knocks requite the Fidlers for their labours.
Bring in the warlike Drum, 'twill musick make ye,
That from your drousie pleasures will awake ye:
Or else that hartning Trumpet that from farre
May sound unto you all the points of warre.
Let dances turne to marches; you ere long
May know what doth to Ranks and Files belong.
And let your thundering shot so smoke and rore,
Strangers may tremble to behold the shore,
And know you sleepe not. But now to what end,
Doe you suppose that I these words doe spend?
Beleeve me, I'm not male content with peace,
Nor doe desire this happy time might cease;
I would not have you foule seditions make,
Or any unjust warres to undertake:
But I desire you leave those idle fashions,
That have beene the just fall of many Nations.
Looke well unto your selves and not suppose.
'Cause there's a league with Spaine, we have no foes.
For, if Warres ever make this Land complaine,
It will be thought some Truce it had with Spaine.

But here I bid you once againe beware,
Delay not time, but with all speed prepare;
Repaire your Forts again, and man them well,
Place better Captaines in them: I can tell
Some are growne covetous, and there's no trust
To such as they; that vice makes men unjust.
They pocket up the wages of their men,
And one poore Souldier serves alone for ten.

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Looke to the Navy-Royall: were't well scand,
I doubt it would be found but simply man'd:
The Pursers study (if some not belie them)
Onely which way they may have profit by them:
But see unto it you to whom't belongs,
See the abuses done, redresse the wrongs.

And oh! renew the forces of this Land,
For there's a fearefull bloudy day at hand;
Though not fore-seene, a bloudy day for some,
Nor will the same be long before it come.

There is a tempest brewing in the South,
A horrid Vapour forc'd from hels own mouth.
'Tis spread already farre into the West,
And now begins to gather in the East,
When 'tis at full once, it will straight come forth
To showre downe all its vengeance on the North.

But feare not little Ile, thy cause is right;
And if thou hast not cast all care off quite,
Nor art secure, why by that token then
Thou shalt drive backe that threatning storme agen,
Through Gods assistance; even to ruine those;
By and amongst whom first of all it rose.
But if that still thou carelesse snorting lie
In thy presuming blind security,
Take't for a signe that now thy sins are ripe,
And thou shalt surely feele the death-full stripe
Of that ensuing ill, unto thy shame
And extirpation of thy former fame.

But yet I hope, this oversight will end,
And we shall this presumptuous fault amend:
I hope, I say (and yet I hope no harmes)
To see our English youth, trickt up in Armes;
And so well traind that all their foes shall heare
No newes from them, but horror, death and feare:

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Yea, and their March, like Iehu's King of Iury,
Shall shew they come with vengeance, speed and fury.

I would we could as easily forsake
Other presumptions; and that we could take
But halfe the care and diligence to arme
Our soules in danger of a greater harme.
Would we the holy weapons could assume
Of Christian warfare, and not still presume
To leave our better parts all open so,
For the advantage of the greater foe
Than Rome or Spaine. Oh would we could begin
To feele the danger of presumptuous sin!
Which soone would be, if we could once be brought
But to consider, with an equall thought,
Our base beginning and infirmity,
Our wavering and wond'rous misery.
And with this wretched poore estate of our
Gods infinite and all-sufficient power;
His justice, with his hatred unto ill,
And threatnings if we disobey his will:
Or else remember he doth still behold,
And see us when we sin; for who so bold,
Vnlesse depriv'd of grace, then to offend?
But it should seeme, we our endeavours bend
To anger God; for we of sinne complaine,
Yet with our will, sinne in his sight againe.

Say were't not a presumption very great,
If comming to a King, one should intreat
A pardon for some murther and yet bring
The bloudy blade with which he did that thing
He would have mercy for? And whilst he speaking,
Sheath it againe with bloud and gore yet reaking,
In the Kings sonne before his Fathers face;
And yet still bide, as if he hop'd for grace?

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Should we not think him mad? Sure yes; yet we
Cannot that madnesse in our own selves see:
For, we dare come before the almighty King
To sue for pardon for our sins, yet bring
The selfe-same bad mind, still conceiving murther
Against his children to provoke him further:
And look what ill is but in thought begun
With him's all one, as if the same were done.

It is no marvell that no humane law
Can keepe our over-daring hearts in awe;
Sith that we doe so little dread the rod
Of such a powerfull, and so just a God:
And if in mans and Gods own sight we dare
So fearelesse sin without respect or care;
It seemes that we doe little conscience make
What mischiefes by our selves we undertake:
Or thinke it no presumption to commit
Something alone in our owne sight unfit,

Oh grosse and ignorant! why, that's the worst
Of all presumptions the most accurst,
And full'st of danger. Silly man take heed,
Doe not before thy selfe an evill deed;
For when God doth forgive, and man forget,
Thine owne ill conscience will oppose and set
Her selfe against thee, tell thee thine offending,
And keep thee backe from ever apprehending
Grace or forgivenesse; neither will afford
The smallest comfort of the Sacred Word:
But rather to thy sad remembrance call
Each saying that may serve to prove thy fall:
And though that fire wondrous tortures brings
Vnto the body, yet when conscience stings,
Nor fire, nor sword, nor hell it selfe can yeeld
A worser torment. God defend and shield

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Me from the like; and give me grace to feare,
So that I may preserve my conscience cleare
In all my actions: and then I shall be
In better case a thousand fold than he
That unto wealth and honour hath attain'd
With a craz'd conscience that is blurd and stain'd.

Alas how easie were't to clime or mount
To worldly reputation and account?
How soone could I if I had an intention
To plot and to contrive a damn'd invention
Get golden heaps? yea, and so privily;
That though 'twere done by craft and villany,
I by the blinded world would be deemed
Perhaps more honest; but much more esteemed
Than now I am. But God forbid that I
Such base vaine trash and dunghill stuffe should buy
At such a rate. For there's no Iewell dearer,
Nor any losse a man can have goes nearer
Than peace of conscience. Which to be most true,
The ancient Poets very wisely knew,
And therefore fain'd their furies, with intent
So to declare the inward punishment
Of guilty minds, which sure they might do well;
For there are in them Divels, yea and Hell,
With all her torture. What else was the cause
Nero (who knew no God, nor feared lawes)
When he had killed his Mother tooke no rest,
But thought he saw her comming to molest
And plague him for't? What made him to surmise
He was still tortur'd in such hellish wise,
That Furies did to his appearance scorch
Is living body with a burning torch?
Was't not his conscience that had privy beene
Unto the fact? Was not the cause within

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His owne bad selfe? If 'twere, lets to amending
Of our presumptuous sinnes, and bold offending;
If, neither in regard of God nor men,
Oh let's for feare of our owne conscience then.

Yet ther's another thing which wer't well weigh'd
Our rash presumption would be somewhat stai'd.
The end of life with the neere ending paine
God for presumptuous sinners doth ordaine.
Could we note that; with deaths uncertaine times,
And how it takes men acting of their crimes
Even in the very nicke of their offence,
And beares them (ere they can repent them) hence
To such a place where nothing shall appeare,
But all the ghastly objects of grimme feare.
Where every sense shall severally sustaine,
The miserable smart of endlesse paine.
The tender feeling, shall in every part,
Be subject to th' intolerable smart
Of hellish flames, commixt with chilling cold:
Tortures beyond conceit; not to be told.
The dainty mouth that had the curious taste
And of the choisest cates still made repast,
Shall filled be, yea belly, throat, and all,
With filth more loathsome than the bitterest gall:
The once-perfumed nostrill, there shall drink
Foule noysome smels beside the sulphurous stinke
Of choaking flames. And there, the listning eare,
Fed with the sound of pleasant musick here,
Shall change it for the wofull skreeching cry
Of damned soules that in hels tortures lie;
Whose hideous howlings can by no defence,
Be kept from piercing that amazed sense.

And then while they shall trembling think to flie
From those amazements that doe seeme so nie,

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Loe, there the feareful'st object of the sight
Their quite despairing mindes shal more affright:
For garish formes of foule mishapen fiends,
And ugly Bugs for evermore attends,
To thwart each looke. But if this doe not make
Thy over-hardned heart (oh man) to quake:
If this relation be too weake to winne,
Or to reclaime thee from thy wonted sinne;
Reader, if this doe no impression leave,
So that thou canst not any feare conceive
Through this description; think upon't at night,
Soone in thy bed when earth's depriv'd of light:
I say at mid-night when thou wak'st from sleepe,
And lonely darkenesse doth in silence keep
The grim-fac'd night. And but imagine then
Thou wert borne all alone to some darke den,
And there set naked though thou felt no paine,
Yet seeing no way to get out againe,
If thou should'st in that naked lonenesse heare
Some yelling voice, or some strange noise draw neare,
With threatning; or but calling on thy name:
Oh with what patience could'st thou bide the same!
But if withall thy wandering eies should marke,
And now and then see peering through the darke
Some monstrous visages or ugly faces,
Which would make proffer of some rude embraces,
And sometime seeme as if they would begin
With griping pawes to seaze thy trembling skin,
Or but suppose that in thy chamber there,
Where cannot be the hundreth part of feare
Because to thee the place well knowne will be,
And thou maist have therewith to cover thee)
Yet there I say suppose thou shouldst behold,
Not such grim objects as are here foretold,

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But onely heare the dolefull voice of men
Complaining in the darke; And now and then,
Behold the ghastly shape of friends long dead,
Wrapt in their sheets as they were buried;
Or else from out thy chamber floore to rise
A troope of bony, pik'd Anatomies.
Come pointing to thee, as if thou wert he
That must ere long their bare companion be.
Then wouldst thou feare I know, and thinke on him,
Whose might and feareful power thou didst contemn,
Thou wouldst consider better of the feare
And hellish horror I have mention'd here.
Thy dangerous estate thou wouldst conceive,
And somewhat thy presumptuous actions leave;
Thou wouldst not so cast all thy care behind thee,
But watch thy self for feare lest death shold find thee
Doing some ill; nor would'st thou thus delay
Times of Repentance still from day to day.

But oh! how shall I hope that this I pleade,
Will worke in them that shall but barely reade
What I have writ? sith I my selfe that know,
And have some inward feeling of that woe
Forget my selfe. I thinke when I shall be
From such and such like cares and troubles free.
Then will I all my vanities forsake,
A better course of life I'l undertake,
And only seeke the glory of his Name
By whom I live. That day ere long time came,
Then I had other lets, but if that they,
(As I did seeke they might) were once a way,
I would indeed my duty better doe:
Well, so it pleas'd God, I ore-past them too.
Yet something hindred still that I could never
In my intended Christian course persever:

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But ever found unto my griefe and sorrow,
That I was bad to day and worse to morrow:
But oh! thou God that know'st my hearts desire,
Doe not; oh doe at my hands require
My youthfull sins; though this my flesh be fraile.
And my affections often doe prevaile:
Seeing thou know'st the weake estate of man,
And what a little his small power can,
Accept my will, and let thy bloud suffice
To quit the rest of mine iniquities.

But now, because I have observ'd such store,
I needs must tell a few presumptions more.

Some in contemning others wisdome; show
That they presume themselves doe all things know:
But that vile selfe-conceit nere raised any,
Certaine I am it is the fall of many.

Others (and they in this kind too offend)
On their owne memories too much depend:
Such I have heard so confidently speake,
As if they had no thought that men were weake
Yea those; though twenty men have all gain-said
What they affirmed, were not yet affraid
Their owne bare affirmation to out-face
With sundry oathes: such wondrous trust they place
In their remembrance; yea, my selfe ere now
Have beene oft times more ready to avow
What I thought truth; than ere I'l be againe:
For what I deem'd to be so sure and plaine,
That I not onely stood in't to my might,
But would have pawn'd my life't had been the right
That to my shame I have my selfe alone,
Found to be false, when all the rest were gone
Which griev'd me so, that I'l ne'er more relie
Or trust so much to mine owne memorie.

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But what may I tearme those who for a name,
Or else to get some vile preposterous fame,
Will desperately for the nonce begin
To put in action some ungodly sin,
That all men loath; and onely (as they say)
For to be talkt of. What are such I pray?
Presumptuous, vaine or weake or all that's bad:
The last I think; and ten-times more than mad.

Yet we have Gallants and great store of such,
That in their great bravado's care not much
What villanies they doe. But 'tis their humour
Onely to fill mens mouthes with idle rumour;
And cause they know the vulgar sort do deem them
Youthes of great spirit and do much esteeme them.
But amongst wisemen, they are sure to gaine
Reproachfull shame and well deserv'd disdaine;
And yet to adde some fame unto this story,
We will bequeath them Erostratus glory.

Nor have our old men left that humour yet,
For though through feeblenesse they are unfit
To put in practice their old tricks againe:
Yet for to shew they like them and would faine;
They'l often with a lie or two recite them;
And the remembrance doth so much delight them,
That whereas they ought rather to repent,
And with a grieved heart for to lament
Their former folly; they with joy and laughter
Seeme to approv't in those that shall come after.

There's yet another crew, my Muse well knowes,
To whom she here a Memorandum owes,
Although no commendations; for they are
But busie fellowes, and do boldly dare
Take on them in their comments, forth to finde
The secret meaning of each Authors minde;

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And do apply that, in particular,
Which doth extend to all ingenerall:
And in this little Booke perhaps, they can
Say, here I meant one, there another man;
And by their names they will not stick to shew them
When as perhaps I nere so much as knew them.
So from my honest meaning they will reare them
A slander for some private grudge they beare them.

But though these are so bold, yet I beleeve,
Or hope at least, no men of wisdome give
Credit to any such interpretations,
That are but idle false imaginations;
Sith each of these what stile soe'er he crave,
Doth shew himselfe presumptuous foole and knave.

But here all you that are quite voide of care,
What you presume in: chiefly you that dare,
Mauger Gods threats, goe forward to fulfill
Your naughty, rash, unbridled haire-braine will:
As if you thought that you your selves made all,
And that indeed there were no God at all.
Know this, ere long time it shall come to passe,
That you shall howling fit and cry, alas:
Cursing your birth and miserable state,
With sad repentance when it is too late,
Vnlesse you now take time. Oh wormes! oh men!
Forsake your follies, oh forsake them then.
What will ye doe else when once seaz'd by death,
Ready to draw the latest gaspe of breath;
When as you are so weake that you would faine
But cannot move your tongues for to complaine
What would you doe if then there should appeare
The Authors of most miserable feare,
Your guilty consciences, and there unroule
To your remembrances the dreadfull scroule

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Of your presumptions? and withall present
A vision of th' infernall punishment,
Prepar'd for such; and if in that bad case
You should behold him you esteem'd so base
Sit with such power, that at each frown he makes
The earth doth tremble, and the heaven shakes:
What would you doe? oh any thing: I'm sure
No paine there is but you would then endure
To scape his wrath (if you doe not despaire)
Then will you beg, intreat, and promise faire
Or any thing, if so it were you might,
Returne to life againe; then would you quite
Alter your doeings; then forsooth you'l be
A patterne unto all posterity;
You would be humble, meeke, devout and chaste:
But now there's time, and then it may be past.

Yet I my selfe have heard those that have vow'd
Much in their anguish, and God hath allow'd
A longer time, yea, hath vouchsaf'd to save
And give them life againe, e'en at the grave:
And yet have these forgot their former paine,
And turn'd unto their owne ill-waies againe:
Which having seene, this for us men I'l speake,
Not without griefe, though nothing be so weake:
Yet are we in our owne conceipts so tall,
That for presumption we doe out-passe all:
And if so be that this same hardning sin
Doe seaze upon the heart once, and get in;
My minde is this, 'twill ne'er be purg'd thence well,
No, not with all the feares and pangs of Hell.

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EPILOGVS.

So in some measure I have now made knowne
What foule Abuses Time to me hath showne;
And what Man is, I have explain'd some crimes
That I have noted in these present times.
Then though I have by some beene counted idle,
This shewes I have not given Time the bridle
To runne away unmannag'd; but did use it
Then best; when I most seemed to abuse it.

Here sinfull man thou maist behold in part
Thy miserable estate and what thou art.
Thy Passions; thy vanities here see,
In part (I say) for all there cannot be:
Thy waverings and thy frailties I've explain'd,
With thy presumption and have nothing fain'd.
If thou hast read it then I hope thou know'st,
Though thou seem'st bad, thou worse art then thou show'st
And I doe trust thy wretchednesse espide,
Will quell thy most intolerable pride.

I mus'd a while thou wert so prone to sinning,
But 'twas thy fault I see from the beginning:
And as the Lord himselfe once said, so still,
Th' imaginations of thy heart are ill.
That's one maine cause; then to performe an evill,
Thou hast the pronenesse of the flesh; the Divell;

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With bad examples for thy instigation;
Besides in ill the Worlds rash approbation.

But yet would I not have thee think (oh man!)
That I with Tymon the Athenian,
Desire to make thee so much feele: by woe,
To goe and hang thy selfe; I meane not so,
Nor seeke to drive thee thereby to despaire,
'Tis not my purpose my intent's more faire.
This I would have thee doe, sith flesh is fraile,
And Satan will be busie to prevaile,
With heed and care watch over thy affection,
And in thy doings follow this direction.

First, see if't be thy flesh that mooves thee to
Those things thou art so oft about to do.
Next, to consider well it doth behove thee,
What kind of men they are that doe approve thee.
For true it is, (as I have oft beene taught)
What flesh desires and most approves is naught.
And sith to thrust thee forward unto evill,
Thou hast an ill heart, proud flesh, and the devill,
With bad example; learne (oh man) to season
Thy heart with sacred thoughts, with truth and reason
Thy flesh with labour, and with fasting, tame,
And 'twill not be so subject unto blame.
Prevent the divels baits and his temptations
With earnest prayers and good Meditations:
And see thou heed to thy companions giv'st,
Sith thou wilt be as those with whom thou liv'st;
Yea, sith thou art so subject unto sin,
Shun all occasions that may draw thee in.

So when thy God shall see thou hast a will,
And truly dost desire to mend what's ill;
He will accept it (for his sonnes deere sake)
And thee more willing and more able make.

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Yea, should thy sinnes more red than scarlet grow,
Yet he would make them whiter than the snow.
Thy now black soule (were it thrice more defil'd)
As innocent as is the new-borne child:
And thy most miserable body farre
More glorious than is the brightest Starre.
But if thou, without care or heed, dost leane
Vnto those lusts of flesh that are uncleane,
If thou take pleasure and delight to doe them,
Quite giving over thy desires unto them,
They both in soule and body too, will make thee
So foule a Leper that God will forsake thee;
His holy Angels and his Saints abhorre thee,
And onely devils make entreaty for thee;
Yea, thou shalt in Gehynnon, waile with them,
That are excluded new Ierusalem.

The end of the second Book.

248

The Scourge.

My Muse, I purpos'd to have rested here;
And so she should indeed but that I feare
A gentle warning will not now suffice,
To make men leave off their iniquities:
Yea, I doe know their negligence so great,
'Tis not enough we should perswade, or threat,
And therefore I'me resolved ere I part,
To give them a remembrance to their smart.
And though full loth (cause their ill natures urge)
I'l send abroad a Satyr with a scourge;
That to their shame for this Abuse shall strip them,
And being naked in their vices whip them.
And to be sure of those that are most rash,
Not one shall scape him that deserves the lash.

But some will kick. Yea, let them kick and spare not
So he may come to jerke them well I care not;
For be they rich, or poore, or weake, or strong,
I'l make him finde them that delight in wrong.
Not in despight to make revengefull rumours;
Rather in sport to mocke the worlds base humors.
But lest I make my Prologue overlarge,
I'l let my whipping Satyr know his charge.

First, though we have but little manners got,
Bred in the woods, where many use them not,

249

He shall be sent to over-looke the Court,
And dance the Witch, and make the King some sport.

Doe Satyr, goe; thou shalt not be disdain'd;
Love without merit hath beene entertian'd
And so may thine; that Progenie's the most,
Yea, all indeed of which the world can boast:
And that so worthy ('tis a wondrous matter)
Commend it how thou wilt, thou canst not flatter.

If thou maist get their favour that be best,
There is no cause why thou should'st feare the rest:
The good will helpe, but never hurt. Then care not
Although the wicked world offend, they dare not.
First, lash the Great-ones; but if thou be wise,
In generall and doe not speciallize:
Yet if thou doe, so wisely let it be,
None may except but those that faulty be.

Now peradventure, some will rage or storme;
But that's no matter, thou art freely borne:
And though their eies sparke fire, and they look big,
Be thou as sterne, thou need'st not care a fig;
And tell them plainely 'tis not all their show,
Can make men think them better than they know:
'Tis not great words, nor yet a large possession,
Shall free them from the scandall of oppression;
Though they can now, to get themselves a name,
Build Babel up a-new; and quickly frame
Such lofty Palaces, as if they meant
To threaten heaven from the battlement.

Who wonders at it? none I thinke, and why?
Who is so mad to tell them that? not I,
Yet Satyr, looke that thou before thou part,
Give them one jerke to make their Honours smart.
Their stately houses, say, are things but vaine,
An Age or two, shall rot them downe againe,

250

And for their vice, if there be none dare show it,
Say I have vow'd to make the world to know it.

Then 'tis not tombes, nor yet a heape of stones,
Shall make men thinke the better of their bones:
No, it shall speake their avarice and pride,
Which those they scorn'd & wrongd shal then deride.
So let them goe their soveraigne to attend,
And those that be not at the best, amend.

Search on for more, but if thou hap to finde
Any among them of the female kind,
Women or Angels, bad or good, thine eies
Shall not looke toward their infirmities.
What ere some say no woman will or can
Wrong him (I'l warrant) that's an honest man.
For they are good and surely would be still
Were't not that men did often make them ill:
Those that are angry with them let them show it,
I'l say th' are vertuous, for because I know it.
Mens faults I tell: so may he womans too
That's plagu'd by whores, with whom he had to doe
These if thou hap to see I charge thee skip,
And search in every office with thy whip;
There, there are those that for their private store,
Make both th' Exchequer, and the Commons poore,
Extortion doth maintaine their bravery;
Yet lay not open all their knavery:
But tell them they a new account must bring;
That lash perhaps their guilty soules will sting.

Thou shalt in Court another troope espie
Such as in show are full of honesty;
Faire tongu'd; but he that such fine followers wants
Is happy; for they are but Sycophants,
Dissembling villaines doe but note them well,
And thou wilt say they are the brood of hell.

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For pluck away their fain'd fidelity,
And they are e'en a heape of villany:
To make them smart these words to them commend
That beggery and shame shall be their end.

Yet thou shalt finde depending on the Court,
Some that will jest to make their betters sport:
But sift them (I durst pawne a brace of testers)
If truth were known, they are more fools than Iesters
And so they are suppos'd; although indeed,
They are more knaves than fools: but take thou heed
Come not within the compasse of their bable,
Then call them knaves as lowd as thou art able.

If thou come thither at some publike show,
(As there thou shalt be whether they will or no)
Remember that thou make a shift to creepe
Neere to the place where they their revels keep.
There stand a while unseene, and doe no more,
But note those fellowes that doe keepe the doore,
If thou perceive some, as some will do then,
Keep out a many worthy Gentlemen,
And let a Laundresse or a scoundrell passe,
Give him a jerke, and tell him he's an Asse.

But lest thou spie what may make thee asham'd:
(Or speake of that for which thou maist be blam'd)
Leave thou the Court, if thine owne selfe thou pitty,
And come a while to walke about the Citie.
As soone as there thou entrest, thou shalt meet,
Great store of Gallants passing out the street.
A part from dice, or Fence, or dancing come,
And peradventure from a whore-house some:
These are good fellowes that will frankely spend,
While lands doe last, or any man will lend:
And yet to see (more fooles the world had never)
They are so proud as if 'twould last for ever.

252

And though these lightly cannot have a worse,
Or deadlier sicknesse than an empty purse,
Which will ensue; yet tell them they must meet,
At the Kings-bench, the Counters or the Fleet.

Then step unto the Lawyers: peradventure
They'l by some Writ command thee not to enter,
Yet feare them not; but looke and thou shalt spie
Vnder their gownes a masse of knavery.
Pluck off the maske of Law, that cloaks their drifts,
And thou shalt see a world of lawlesse shifts.
But tell them there's a Iudge wil not be feed:
And that perhaps will make their conscience bleed.
Then tell the Scriveners as thou passest by,
That they were best to leave their forgery,
Or else why is't their eares doe scape so well?
The devill meanes to beare them whole to hell.

Tell the Physitians (if thou meet with any)
Their potions and their drugs have murther'd many.
For which thou would'st have lasht but dost delay thē
Because the Devill meanes to pay them:
But if they'l proove conclusions bid them then,
Try't on themselves, and not on other men.

Desire the Brokers that they would not yawne
After the forfeit of anothers pawne.
It is their right by law they'l say, 'tis true;
And so's their soule, perhaps anothers due,
But sting them; if their conscience quite be fled,
Then shall they pay, what they have forfeited.

Entreat the Taylor next, if that he can,
To leave his theft and prove an honest man.
And if he thinke the matter be too hard,
Knock him about the noddle with his yard.
If he be rich and take the same in snuffe
Tell him his substance is but stollen stuffe:

253

And that the Iay would hardly brook the weather,
If every bird should take away her feather.
So having whipt him, let the Priest go shrieve him,
And (if he have authority) forgive him.

Go warn the Crafts-man that he do not lurk
All day at Ale-house, and neglect his work:
And then survey the ware of every Trade,
For much (I tell thee) is deceitful made.
Which if thou finde, I charge thee do not friend it,
But call him knave, and bid him go and mend it.

Oh, see if thou the Merchant-man canst finde,
For hee'l be gone at turning of the winde:
Bid him keep touch, or tell his worship how
His heart will tremble when the Seas are rough:
Desire him too, if he do travell thither
Where conscience is, that he wold bring some hither;
Heer's little, some will have it; if none will,
He shall gain by it, though he keep it still,
If he bring none, 'twere charity I think,
To pray some storm may make his vessell sink.

Look in the Ships, for I have known deceit
Hath been in both the owner and the freight;
Yea note them well, and thou shalt finde their books
Are Woodcocks-gins, and barbed-fishing-hooks:
But he thereby great store of wealth obtains,
And cares not how, so he increase his gains:
Yet lest his riches hap to make him proud,
Satyr, I pray thee tell him this aloud
To make him smart; That whilst he like a Mome
Plaies fast abroad, his wise plaies loose at home:
Nor shall his ill-got masse of wealth hold out,
But he or his, become a banquerout.

Now to thy rest, 'tis night. But here approaches
A troope with torches, hurried in their coaches.

254

Stay and behold, what are they? I can tell,
Some bound for Shorditch or for Clarken-well:
Oh these are they which thinke that Fornication,
Is but a youthfull, sportfull, recreation:
These to hold out the game, maintaine the back,
With Marrow-pies, Potato-roots and Sack:
And when that Nature hath consum'd her part,
Can hold out a luxurious course by Art:
Goe, stop the horses quickly (least thou misse)
And tell the Coachmans wanton carriage this,
They of their guide must be advised well,
For they are running downe the hill to hell.
Their venery, will soone consume their stocks,
And bring them to repentance with a pocks.

For other crimes committed without light,
Let such reveale as see like Owles by night:
For many men a secret fault can finde,
But in apparant rogueries are blinde,
Or else they will not see, but thou wert best
Leave whipping and betake thee to thy rest.
If in an Inne it be, before thou sup,
Will that the Tapster call his Master up,
And bid him kindly, sith there lodge thou must,
To use plain dealing like an honest Host.
Dissemblings naught, hard reckonings they are worse;
Light gaines (they say) will make a heavy purse.
And let him not (a fault with many rife)
For base advantage prostitute his wife;
For many men (who are not as they should be)
Doe make their wives more wanton than they would be.
Thereby they gaine, their Innes are ill frequented;
But such ill courses are too late repented.
So schoole him well, but doe thy whip refraine,
And send him to his other guests againe.

255

Then thou shalt see the nimble Tapster fly,
Still yauling, Here, anon sir, by and by.
So diligent that time more known must make him,
Or for an honest man thou wilt mistake him,
His best revenue is by nick and froth;
Which priviledge to lose he would be loth.
And there's an old shift (if they leave it not)
There must be something added to the shot.
But wilt thou swagger with him for it? No:
But take him as he is, and let him goe.

Now for most Hostlers, if you hap to try them;
Knaves thou maist say they are, and not belie them,
For they deceive the poore dumbe travelling beast,
And for the fame deserve a jerke at least;
Yet doe thou spare them for there is no doubt
Some guest will find a time to pay the Lout.

Well having rested, and discharg'd thine Host,
I'l send thee downe into the Country, post:
For I have businesse, no man would beleeve,
With whom d'ye think? e'en with the under-Shrieve.
Tell him thou heardst (and that's a fault indeed)
That in some causes he is double-fee'd.
And that moreover he deserves a portion
With those that are indited for extortion;
Yea and for other things as well as that.
Tell him the Country termes him, he knowes what:
Whereat if thou perceive, he make a sport
Thou whip him shalt, till he be sorry for't.
Say to our Knights; their much formality,
Hath made them leave their hospitality:
And say (although they angry be therefore)
That many of themselves are not onely poore,
But that they have too (or they are belide)
Quite begger'd their posterity with pride.

256

And sith thou art so neere them; doe not cease
Vntill thou see our Iustices of peace:
There try if thou canst get but so much favour,
To binde the Country to the good behaviour.
And tell them how thou hast informed beene,
That they have granted Warrant upon spleene;
Are partiall, and have over sway'd by might
The poore mans cause that's innocent and right:
If this thou finde be true, thou hast permission
To lash or put them out of the commission.

The Constable, if he were bid, I wisse,
Be good in's office twere not much amisse:
For he, they say, a many meanes may have
If so he be dispos'd to play the knave;
See how he deales, and make thy message known,
For he hath stocks and whipping posts of's own.

There are Church-wardens too, I shame to see
How they run into wilfull perjurie.
Partly in favour and in part for feare,
They wink at much disorder in a yeare:
But if thou hap to take them in the lurch,
Ierke them, as evill members of the Church.
If they reply, offenders are so friended
Though they present, 'tis little thing amended:
Yet tell them 'tis their duty to discharge
Their consciences in every thing at large;
Which if they doe, ill doers shall be sham'd,
Or the corrupted visitors be blam'd.

And prethee tell the B. Chancellors
That thou art sent to be their counsellors
And will them if they meane not to be stript,
And to be once againe like schooleboies whipt,
Their worships should not so corrupted be,
To hinder Iustice for a scurvy fee.

257

Then next goe tell their reverend good Masters,
That thou and they are like to fall to wasters:
Faith thou shalt finde their Doctorships perhaps,
Disputing of their Surplesses and Caps,
About the holy Crosse, a Gown, a Hood,
Or some such matter for the Churches good,
But tell them, there are other things to do,
A great deale fitter to be look't into;
And if they please to goe their Visitation,
There's weightier matters looke for reformation.
Yea, say there's many an infirmity
Which they both may, and ought to remedy:
But touch them with remembrance of their place,
And they perhaps will alter then the case.

Then bid those Dunces in our Colledges,
That they provide them good Apologies,
For 'tis reported lately they have both
Betooke themselves to venery and sloth,
And seeke not learning onely, as they should,
But are back-friends to many a man that would
'Twere fit they made a publike recantation,
And were well whipt before a Congregation.

So leaving them their wits for to refine,
Thou shalt be bold to looke on the Divine;
They say, he's grown more carefull of his stock,
Of profits and of tithes, than of his flock:
Now if thou finde report hath not beli'd him,
With good respect unto his Calling, chide him.

I had almost forgot our civill Doctors;
I pray thee warne them and their lazie Proctors,
They would not use to make so many pauses,
Before they doe determine poore mens causes,
And let them not suppose their fees are small,
Sith they at last will get the Divell and all.

258

There be Court Barons, many in thy way,
Thus maist thou to the Steward of them say;
Their policie in raising fines and rents,
Hath put poore men besides their Tenements:
And tell them (let them answer if they can)
Their false Court-roles have undone many a man.
Say thou hast seene what to their place belong'd;
And knowst oft times both Lord and tenants wrongd
Yet spare thy whip, for why? the Peoples curse
Already hath prepared them a worse.

So when thou thus hast punisht vices slaves,
And roundly jerkt the Country petty knaves,
Then march thou to the Campe, and tell thou there
The lusty ruffling shuffling Cavaliere,
(Whose hardned heart can brooke to rob and spill
His friend or foe; to ruine, wound or kill)
That he will one day finde a misery
Will dog him to revenge his cruelty:
And see that thou the ruffians courage quaile,
Or lash him till the stocke and whip-coard faile.

Walke but the Round, and thou maist hap to catch
The carelesse souldiers sleeping in their watch;
Or in a march, perhaps they'l goe astray:
But if thou see them out of their array,
And without leave and warrant roming out,
To fetch some desperate booty thereabout,
Remember them; and for their stout bravado's,
See thou reward them with sound bastinado's.
Then bid the Captaines in their Garisons,
Not lay to pawne their rich Caparisons,
Nor run upon the score till they are forc'd,
To be disarm'd for payment, or unhors'd,
Nor keepe the Souldiers hire, lest they be faine
To make an insurrection, or complaine.

259

For that indeed proves often times the cause
They doe so much transgresse the Martiall lawes.
Yea, tell them 'tis a scandall to be drunke,
And drown their valour; or maintaine a Punke.
Then if they mend it not, to blot their fame,
In stead of honour, whip them for't with shame.

Lustly, there are some selfe-conceited wits,
Whose stomack's nought, but their own humor fits;
Detracting Criticks; who e'en at the best,
Doe bite with envy, or else snarle at least:
And in thy progresse if discern'd thou be,
'Tis out of question they will snap at thee.
To spight them then, the way's not to out-brawle them:
But say thou car'st not, and that lash will gaule them.

Now Satyr, leave me to my selfe alone;
Thou hast thy message, and thou maist be gone:
Whip any that shall offer to withstand thee
In executing that which I command thee.

And yet, (so ho, ho, ho,) come backe againe,
Be sure that thou doe understand me plaine.
First note; I from my scourge doe here except
The guard by whom the kingdomes peace is kept,
The vertuous Peers know that I nothing grutch them
And on my blessing see thou doe not touch them.

And if in all our Offices there's any
That is an honest man, among so many,
Him did I ever meane that thou should'st spare;
Because I know that such an one is rare.

Physicke and Law I honour (as 'tis fit,)
With every vertuous man professing it;
I doe not aime at such as they: Nor when
I stout our Gallants, meane I Gentlemen,
That well and decently maintained be
According to their fashion and degree:

160

No, those I love; and what can I lesse doe,
Sith I of them am well-beloved too?

To blame all Merchants, never was my will
Nor doe I think all Tradesmens worke is ill:
My meaning must not so be understood;
For the last shooes I had, were very good.

Yea, and so farre am I from such a thought
Thou should'st against the Vertuous doe ought:
That if thou but an honest Tapster see,
Tell him I wish we might acquainted be;
And I'l that Hostler love, which in amends
Will use my horse well, that we may be friends.

And to be briefe; good Satyr understand,
That thou maist not mistake what I command:
'Tis not my meaning, neither doe I like
That thou at this time should'st in speciall strike:
Because my hatred might appeare as then,
Not to the vice, but rather to the men.
Which is not so; for though some malice me,
With every one I am in charity.

And if that thou doe ever come to sight,
And bring thy yet concealed charge to light;
I wish it might be tooke as 'twas intended,
And then no vertuous man will be offended.
But if that any man will thinke amisse,
Vpon my life that party guilty is:
And therefore lash him. So, get th' out of dore;
Come what come will, I'l call thee backe no more.

Well, now he's gone the way that I direct him,
And goe he shall how ere the world respect him:
If any mervaile why he was not bolder,
Perhaps he may be when that he is older:
He hath too smooth a chin, a looke too milde,
A token that he is not wholly wilde;

261

But may I reach the yeeres of other men,
If this loose world be not amended then,
I'l send a Satyr rougher than a Beare,
That shall not chide and whip, but scratch and teare:
And so I'l teach him, he shall be too strong.
For all your Paris-garden dogs to wrong.
This Satyr hath a Scourge, (but it wants weight:
Your Spanish whips were worse in eighty-eight)
That, shall not onely make them howle for paine,
But touse them till they hold their peace againe.

Now, if the world doe frowne upon me for't:
Shall I be sorry? No, 'twill mend my sport;
But what if I my selfe should hap to stray
Out of my bounds into my Satyrs way?
Why then; (and that's as much as I need do)
I'l give him leave to come and lash me too.

So now my Muse a resting time requires,
For shees o'er-wearied and her spirit tires.

Παντοτε δοξα Θεω.

FINIS.