 | The honest ghost |  |
How now you stutting Raskal, are you made
To tax our wives abuses, and upbraid
These manlie-horned monsters which appaere
Not rare, for they're dispers'd in every Sheere;
And now have got prescription to maintaine
That they their Predecessors style retaine?
And must a scab, one that's scarse taught to speak,
With his harsh tongue, our ignominie seeke,
Filling his hatefull bill, with hawthorne leaves,
And pestring poore Actæon, with new grieves?
Unnurtur'd Lossell, canst thou find out none
To make thy Libel on, but such an one
That has no time to answer such as thou,
Having a wife finds him enough to doe?
And must thou sit neere to his garden walke,
And like a stammering gossip 'gin to talk
What ere thou sees or heares, nay somtime more
Then thou didst ever see or heare before?
Is there no Law against thy impudence,
No punnishment, our wrongs to recompence?
Me thinks if men of lower ranke forbore
To chastise thee, that hast incenst them sore;
Yet such as be of higher quality,
Should with impatience beare such injury.
And yet these branched great ones when they spy thee
“Will laugh one at another, and go by thee;
And misapply thy note, and say, this shame
Thou lyes on honour, toucheth none of them;
But some silke grogran-Jacket Citizen,
Whose mincing Minx can limit where and when
Her Court-eringo trader will repaire,
Whom she is for, while he is for the Faire.
And yet thou means of them, as well as these,
And stuts out that which all the world sees,
Reproving (harsh reproofe) the bed of honour,
Which thus is stain'd with lust insulting on her.
Thou Jarring quirister, that wont to sing,
And caroll out thy tunelesse note each Spring,
Forcing suspicion in the Jealous eare
Of some long-travail'd Merchant venturer,
Whose fishing farre for pearles hath procur'd
An angler for his wife, who hath endur'd
As many firie tryalls in that quarrell
As Ætna's quarries or Selucus barrell
In Tenedos assault: and yet might she
Enjoy her pleasure with securitie;
If thy reporting tenure did not beare
The newes of strange suspicion to his eare.
Ill-nurtur'd nuncio, that comes ever first
Saluting us with tidings that are worst;
Breathing a jealous spirit to the mind
Of him that sees his Wife but onely kind,
(And in a modest sort) making him sweare,
That for examples sake, hee'l mangle her,
Inflicting such strange punnishment, as time
Shall brute the act, when ages do decline.
And is not this brave dealing, when a Swad
That hath no tune but one, nor ever had,
Must descant on our secret practises,
Which are so closely done, as Lynceus
With his transpiercive eyes can scarce look thorow
The night it is so dark, the place so narrow?
Must man endu'd with reasons excellence
Not reape the joy, and benefit of sense
With an embraced arme, but he must be
Checkt by the harsh note of thy jealousie?
Is there no honour dew to th'worth of man
That gaines a priviledge? No Artizan
Was ever equall to him, yet in vaine
Hath he exprest his art, when one poore staine
Can soile his beauty, and eclypse that light
Which man makes claime of, as his proper right.
Yet what Bird is there in the spatious wood,
Or desart forest, that so vainly proud
Assumes unto her self such daring state,
As to curb man, or privately to prate
What shee observ's or sees, save onely thou
That hast done this, and doest continue too?
Wood-building Robin doth the woods refuse,
And for mans love, to dwell with man doth chuse;
The Summer-Swallow, though she chattering calls
Upon her mate, yet will she tell no tales.
The nat'rall Stork, when as her parents age
Makes them keepe home, as pent up in a cage,
Shee feeds them with her travaile and re-brings
Store of reliefe upon her tender wings,
Whence to remove, if any time they seeme,
Shee is the hackney that doth carry them.
The billing bussing Turtle thought doth teke
For nought but for the losing of her mate,
Whom lost shee sighs, as if at his depart
Shee lost the better portion of her heart.
The warbling Thrush chants out her cheerful layes,
Glad at the heart, that Flora now displayes
Her various beauties, and shee seemes to sing
A Caroll for the Spring-times wellcomming.
The lively Lennet, that is wont to feed
Upon no other meat then thistle seed,
Cheeres up her selfe, and with her merry note,
Shews that content hath ever been her lot.
Night-mourning Philomel forsakes her nest,
And sings with pricking thorne set to her brest;
Prognes distresse occasion'd ruthfully,
Her selfe disgrac'd by Tereus villany.
The jealous, chast, and pure Porphyrio
Will have his love, not lov'd by others too;
For if a stranger in his bed he spie,
Death-struck he leaves to live, and loves to die.
The sprightly Sparrow, he his yong-ones feedes,
And as he treads he chirps, and chirps and treades;
Yet building in our Eaves, it likes him well
To heare us talke and doe what he'le not tell.
The wanton Wagtaile chats not what he hears,
But as our bosom-Counsellor forbears
To publish ought, though see full well he may
A thousand play the Wagtailes on a day.
Yea, th' very Scrichowle that may not repaire
To th'place where others priviledged are,
Haunts desart shades, and Cat like, sometime hies
To Barns and Graners, where she preyes on mice,
But never, Critick-like, will she defame
The mean'st that lives by staining their good name.
Thou only of all others that remaine,
Displaies the fate of Lording and of Swaine:
And justifies the fact, though ne're so foule,
And who is't dares thy impudence controule?
Thou may sit brousing on the Hawthorne bough,
And flout, and fleere, and libell on us too;
Yet who, though thy harsh voice do ne're so rate him,
Dare bring thee in for Scandalum magnatum?
Thou may be priviledg'd and rest secure,
Whereas if vertue play the monitor,
To tax such vices as raigne now and then
Amongst the best and highest-ranked men,
As shee in conscience must; what's her reward
But present censure, torture afterward?
Heere Minos, Radamanth, and Æacus
Will be in judgement as censorious,
As if poor vertue should be forc'd to dwell
Where they have their tribunall reer'd in Hell.
They'l terme her proud, and will avouch it too,
For what is it these great-ones may not do?
Shee must (unhappy shee) learne to be wise,
Observe mens humors, learne to temporise;
Desire to faune on great-ones, and reserve
An attribute for vice, and ever serve
A rising spirit, whose expectance gives
Life to his follower, by which hee lives.
Shee must reserve a grace to such an one
Whose honours make him worthy, and bemone
The death of such a Lord, or such a Peere,
Onley to currie favour with his Heire.
And this must vertue do, or shee must sterve;
For Idiot-like (poore foole) shee's bound to serve
In garded coat, or such like Liverie,
Or die in want, expos'd to miserie.
But Let her passe, I hope shee will not show
Respect to them, where shee doth nothing owe:
Such vicious painted-coates, who have no worth
To glory in, save eminence of birth,
Or large-extended Manors, all which can
Adde small perfection to the worth of man;
Who draws his Light, if he looke well about him,
From worth within him, & not wealth without him.
No, Vertue, no; thou knowest what merit is,
And canst discerne twixt true and seeming blisse;
Thy praises which thou usest to recite,
Taste not of gaine as doth the Parasite,
Whose oylie tongue is so inur'd to flatter,
As he will praise the man without the matter.
Nettle vice sharply, for 'tis now high time,
When shee on footcloth rides, while such decline
As beare respect to thee; but let them feele
What's to put honours spurr on vices heele.
And if thou want a Cryer to proclaime
The purport of thy Edict, I can name
One that will do it, and exactly too,
Without respect to either high or low.
Whom if thou aske, to descant on this theame,
It is the loud-voic'd Cuckow that I meane:
Whom i'le importune, if thou think it fit
To play the Cryer and to publish it.
To tax our wives abuses, and upbraid
These manlie-horned monsters which appaere
Not rare, for they're dispers'd in every Sheere;
And now have got prescription to maintaine
That they their Predecessors style retaine?
And must a scab, one that's scarse taught to speak,
With his harsh tongue, our ignominie seeke,
Filling his hatefull bill, with hawthorne leaves,
And pestring poore Actæon, with new grieves?
Unnurtur'd Lossell, canst thou find out none
To make thy Libel on, but such an one
82
Having a wife finds him enough to doe?
And must thou sit neere to his garden walke,
And like a stammering gossip 'gin to talk
What ere thou sees or heares, nay somtime more
Then thou didst ever see or heare before?
Is there no Law against thy impudence,
No punnishment, our wrongs to recompence?
Me thinks if men of lower ranke forbore
To chastise thee, that hast incenst them sore;
Yet such as be of higher quality,
Should with impatience beare such injury.
And yet these branched great ones when they spy thee
“Will laugh one at another, and go by thee;
And misapply thy note, and say, this shame
Thou lyes on honour, toucheth none of them;
But some silke grogran-Jacket Citizen,
Whose mincing Minx can limit where and when
Her Court-eringo trader will repaire,
Whom she is for, while he is for the Faire.
And yet thou means of them, as well as these,
And stuts out that which all the world sees,
Reproving (harsh reproofe) the bed of honour,
Which thus is stain'd with lust insulting on her.
Thou Jarring quirister, that wont to sing,
And caroll out thy tunelesse note each Spring,
Forcing suspicion in the Jealous eare
Of some long-travail'd Merchant venturer,
Whose fishing farre for pearles hath procur'd
An angler for his wife, who hath endur'd
83
As Ætna's quarries or Selucus barrell
In Tenedos assault: and yet might she
Enjoy her pleasure with securitie;
If thy reporting tenure did not beare
The newes of strange suspicion to his eare.
Ill-nurtur'd nuncio, that comes ever first
Saluting us with tidings that are worst;
Breathing a jealous spirit to the mind
Of him that sees his Wife but onely kind,
(And in a modest sort) making him sweare,
That for examples sake, hee'l mangle her,
Inflicting such strange punnishment, as time
Shall brute the act, when ages do decline.
And is not this brave dealing, when a Swad
That hath no tune but one, nor ever had,
Must descant on our secret practises,
Which are so closely done, as Lynceus
With his transpiercive eyes can scarce look thorow
The night it is so dark, the place so narrow?
Must man endu'd with reasons excellence
Not reape the joy, and benefit of sense
With an embraced arme, but he must be
Checkt by the harsh note of thy jealousie?
Is there no honour dew to th'worth of man
That gaines a priviledge? No Artizan
Was ever equall to him, yet in vaine
Hath he exprest his art, when one poore staine
Can soile his beauty, and eclypse that light
Which man makes claime of, as his proper right.
84
Or desart forest, that so vainly proud
Assumes unto her self such daring state,
As to curb man, or privately to prate
What shee observ's or sees, save onely thou
That hast done this, and doest continue too?
Wood-building Robin doth the woods refuse,
And for mans love, to dwell with man doth chuse;
The Summer-Swallow, though she chattering calls
Upon her mate, yet will she tell no tales.
The nat'rall Stork, when as her parents age
Makes them keepe home, as pent up in a cage,
Shee feeds them with her travaile and re-brings
Store of reliefe upon her tender wings,
Whence to remove, if any time they seeme,
Shee is the hackney that doth carry them.
The billing bussing Turtle thought doth teke
For nought but for the losing of her mate,
Whom lost shee sighs, as if at his depart
Shee lost the better portion of her heart.
The warbling Thrush chants out her cheerful layes,
Glad at the heart, that Flora now displayes
Her various beauties, and shee seemes to sing
A Caroll for the Spring-times wellcomming.
The lively Lennet, that is wont to feed
Upon no other meat then thistle seed,
58
Shews that content hath ever been her lot.
Night-mourning Philomel forsakes her nest,
And sings with pricking thorne set to her brest;
Prognes distresse occasion'd ruthfully,
Her selfe disgrac'd by Tereus villany.
The jealous, chast, and pure Porphyrio
Will have his love, not lov'd by others too;
For if a stranger in his bed he spie,
Death-struck he leaves to live, and loves to die.
The sprightly Sparrow, he his yong-ones feedes,
And as he treads he chirps, and chirps and treades;
Yet building in our Eaves, it likes him well
To heare us talke and doe what he'le not tell.
The wanton Wagtaile chats not what he hears,
But as our bosom-Counsellor forbears
To publish ought, though see full well he may
A thousand play the Wagtailes on a day.
Yea, th' very Scrichowle that may not repaire
To th'place where others priviledged are,
Haunts desart shades, and Cat like, sometime hies
To Barns and Graners, where she preyes on mice,
But never, Critick-like, will she defame
The mean'st that lives by staining their good name.
Thou only of all others that remaine,
Displaies the fate of Lording and of Swaine:
86
And who is't dares thy impudence controule?
Thou may sit brousing on the Hawthorne bough,
And flout, and fleere, and libell on us too;
Yet who, though thy harsh voice do ne're so rate him,
Dare bring thee in for Scandalum magnatum?
Thou may be priviledg'd and rest secure,
Whereas if vertue play the monitor,
To tax such vices as raigne now and then
Amongst the best and highest-ranked men,
As shee in conscience must; what's her reward
But present censure, torture afterward?
Heere Minos, Radamanth, and Æacus
Will be in judgement as censorious,
As if poor vertue should be forc'd to dwell
Where they have their tribunall reer'd in Hell.
They'l terme her proud, and will avouch it too,
For what is it these great-ones may not do?
Shee must (unhappy shee) learne to be wise,
Observe mens humors, learne to temporise;
Desire to faune on great-ones, and reserve
An attribute for vice, and ever serve
A rising spirit, whose expectance gives
Life to his follower, by which hee lives.
Shee must reserve a grace to such an one
Whose honours make him worthy, and bemone
The death of such a Lord, or such a Peere,
Onley to currie favour with his Heire.
And this must vertue do, or shee must sterve;
For Idiot-like (poore foole) shee's bound to serve
87
Or die in want, expos'd to miserie.
But Let her passe, I hope shee will not show
Respect to them, where shee doth nothing owe:
Such vicious painted-coates, who have no worth
To glory in, save eminence of birth,
Or large-extended Manors, all which can
Adde small perfection to the worth of man;
Who draws his Light, if he looke well about him,
From worth within him, & not wealth without him.
No, Vertue, no; thou knowest what merit is,
And canst discerne twixt true and seeming blisse;
Thy praises which thou usest to recite,
Taste not of gaine as doth the Parasite,
Whose oylie tongue is so inur'd to flatter,
As he will praise the man without the matter.
Nettle vice sharply, for 'tis now high time,
When shee on footcloth rides, while such decline
As beare respect to thee; but let them feele
What's to put honours spurr on vices heele.
And if thou want a Cryer to proclaime
The purport of thy Edict, I can name
One that will do it, and exactly too,
Without respect to either high or low.
Whom if thou aske, to descant on this theame,
It is the loud-voic'd Cuckow that I meane:
Whom i'le importune, if thou think it fit
To play the Cryer and to publish it.
| The honest ghost | |