The Times' Whistle Or A Newe Daunce of Seuen Satires, and other Poems: Compiled by R. C., Gent. [i.e. Richard Corbett]. Now First Edited from Ms. Y. 8. 3. in the Library of Canterbury Cathedral: With introduction, notes, and glossary, By J. M. Cowper |
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Sat[ira] 5. [AGAINST GLUTTONY, DRUNKENNESS, AND TOBACCO.] |
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 | The Times' Whistle |  |
55
Sat[ira] 5. [AGAINST GLUTTONY, DRUNKENNESS, AND TOBACCO.]
Argumentum.
Nobiscum in terris Epicuri vivitur instarDelitijs: ventri mille placere modi.
Turpior ebrietas animam cum corpore fœdat,
Et demum ad Stygias ducit vtrumque domos.
From thirst of wealth & golden villany
I now am come to brutish gluttonie,
Of which my Muse doth almost loath to treat,
It is soe base a crime, yet growne soe great
In customary action, that 'tis deemd
If sinne, a smale one, not to be esteemd.
This vice doth not alone it selfe extend
T' excesse in meat, but eke doth comprehend
That base vnmanly sinne of drunkennesse,
Whose worse then worst of brutish beastlinesse
Defiles both soule & body, & doth bring
Both of them to eternall ruining.
This age of men to that excesse is growne
That was I think in Sodome never knowne,
Although it were that capitall offence,
Which iustly did all-seeing Iove incense
Them & their citty vtterly to quell
With fire which from heavens architecture fell.
How can we wretches in this sinfull time
Expect lesse vengeance for as damnd a crime?
For to speake first of our excesse in meat,
Though man should eat to live, not live to eate,
Many there are which only vse their care
In dainty banquetes and delitious fare.
I now am come to brutish gluttonie,
Of which my Muse doth almost loath to treat,
It is soe base a crime, yet growne soe great
In customary action, that 'tis deemd
If sinne, a smale one, not to be esteemd.
This vice doth not alone it selfe extend
T' excesse in meat, but eke doth comprehend
That base vnmanly sinne of drunkennesse,
Whose worse then worst of brutish beastlinesse
Defiles both soule & body, & doth bring
Both of them to eternall ruining.
This age of men to that excesse is growne
That was I think in Sodome never knowne,
Although it were that capitall offence,
Which iustly did all-seeing Iove incense
Them & their citty vtterly to quell
With fire which from heavens architecture fell.
56
Expect lesse vengeance for as damnd a crime?
For to speake first of our excesse in meat,
Though man should eat to live, not live to eate,
Many there are which only vse their care
In dainty banquetes and delitious fare.
What beast doth breed in our Britannicke soile
That doth delight the tast, but we doe toile
To take & kill? What bird doth cut the aire
With her swift wing, but that we doe repaire
Therwith our tables? We doe fish all seas
To catch the rarest dish, therby to please
Our dainty palates: & yet fish, bests, birdes,
Which in aboundance this our land affordes,
Are not sufficient; we must have more cates
From other nations at excessive rates
To furnish out our table, which (like swine
That eat the fruit, but ne're cast vp their eyen
To the faire tree) we dayly doe devour
Without thankesgiving to that heavenly power,
Whose gracious goodnesse doth such blessinges give,
And suffers vs so peaceably to live
In such a land of plenty that doth flow
With milck & hony, which we doe bestow
To pamper our selves & please our sence
Like Epicures; as if alone from thence
We had our being, & vnto that end,
The cause of our creation, did intend.
Thus are the guiftes, wherwith God man doth blesse,
Abusd'e by vaine & riotus excesse.
Like the rich gluttons in the Gospell are
The feastes we make, from which we doe debarre
The poorer sort of men. Well may they lie
Before our dores, & crave our charity;
But with poore Lazarus they shall obtaine
Cold comfort, & small reliefe to sustaine
Their hunger-starvèd bodies, while within
The richer sort doe stand vp to the chin
In delicates, & euen with excesse,
Are like to surfet; while the wantonnesse
Of their insatiat appetite, that feeds
On such plurality of viands, breeds
Offensive humors. This I thinke the cause
Which our rich men to such diseases drawes,
Wherwith we dayly see they are tormented,
When if with moderate fare they were contented
They might both keep their bodies in good health,
And save the residue of all their wealth
To feed the hungry soule, the naked cherrish,
Which wanting succour still one heaps doe perish.
That doth delight the tast, but we doe toile
To take & kill? What bird doth cut the aire
With her swift wing, but that we doe repaire
Therwith our tables? We doe fish all seas
To catch the rarest dish, therby to please
Our dainty palates: & yet fish, bests, birdes,
Which in aboundance this our land affordes,
Are not sufficient; we must have more cates
From other nations at excessive rates
To furnish out our table, which (like swine
That eat the fruit, but ne're cast vp their eyen
To the faire tree) we dayly doe devour
Without thankesgiving to that heavenly power,
Whose gracious goodnesse doth such blessinges give,
And suffers vs so peaceably to live
In such a land of plenty that doth flow
With milck & hony, which we doe bestow
To pamper our selves & please our sence
Like Epicures; as if alone from thence
We had our being, & vnto that end,
The cause of our creation, did intend.
Thus are the guiftes, wherwith God man doth blesse,
Abusd'e by vaine & riotus excesse.
Like the rich gluttons in the Gospell are
The feastes we make, from which we doe debarre
The poorer sort of men. Well may they lie
Before our dores, & crave our charity;
But with poore Lazarus they shall obtaine
57
Their hunger-starvèd bodies, while within
The richer sort doe stand vp to the chin
In delicates, & euen with excesse,
Are like to surfet; while the wantonnesse
Of their insatiat appetite, that feeds
On such plurality of viands, breeds
Offensive humors. This I thinke the cause
Which our rich men to such diseases drawes,
Wherwith we dayly see they are tormented,
When if with moderate fare they were contented
They might both keep their bodies in good health,
And save the residue of all their wealth
To feed the hungry soule, the naked cherrish,
Which wanting succour still one heaps doe perish.
But now let me discourse of drunkennes,
Which is a part of gluttony, whose excesse
Is likewise of the belly, & is made
Even a common ordinary trade.
We count the nation of the German Dutch
The greatest drunkard, but our land as much,
Or rather more, is with this vice infected,
Which doth deserue sharply to be corrected,
And yet 'tis slackly punnishd; but 'twere good
That Dracoes [laws] for ours in vertue stood.
This vice, I say, with vs as frequent is
As with the Dutchmen, who, if I not misse
Mine aime, were the first founders of this sinne
Within our country; but we now beginne
T' appropriate to our selves their noted vice,
So apt we are to follow each devise
That tendes to wickednesse & villany;
After forbidden things we swiftly flie,
When after that from which much good may growe,
Although by force compeld, we slowly goe.
But man must follow the times fashion,
And shew himselfe an ape in imitation
Of every new found & hell-hatched sinne
Or else he is not counted worth a pinne.
He that cannot sit quaffing all the day,
Carousing healths till wit & wealth decay;
Which will not vpon every lewd request
Drink drunk in kindenesse, why, he 's made a jest
To those companions, whose licentious veine
And drunken humours still doe entertaine
The basest speeches, & in their mad fit
Doe speake at randome without fear or wit.
How far vnlike Lacedemonians,
Though they were hethen & we Christians,
Are men in this our age? To them this crime
Soe loathsome was, that they would finde a time
To make the Helottes drunk, which wer their slaves,
A sort of loutish, abject-minded knaves;
And being in the basest sort disguisde,
Shew them their children, mock them as despisde
And debaush creatures, by their beastlynesse,
To teach their young to loath all drunkennesse.
But if others will not doe it for vs
Will even fox ourselves till all abhorre vs.
Which is a part of gluttony, whose excesse
Is likewise of the belly, & is made
Even a common ordinary trade.
We count the nation of the German Dutch
The greatest drunkard, but our land as much,
Or rather more, is with this vice infected,
Which doth deserue sharply to be corrected,
And yet 'tis slackly punnishd; but 'twere good
That Dracoes [laws] for ours in vertue stood.
This vice, I say, with vs as frequent is
As with the Dutchmen, who, if I not misse
Mine aime, were the first founders of this sinne
Within our country; but we now beginne
T' appropriate to our selves their noted vice,
So apt we are to follow each devise
That tendes to wickednesse & villany;
After forbidden things we swiftly flie,
When after that from which much good may growe,
Although by force compeld, we slowly goe.
But man must follow the times fashion,
58
Of every new found & hell-hatched sinne
Or else he is not counted worth a pinne.
He that cannot sit quaffing all the day,
Carousing healths till wit & wealth decay;
Which will not vpon every lewd request
Drink drunk in kindenesse, why, he 's made a jest
To those companions, whose licentious veine
And drunken humours still doe entertaine
The basest speeches, & in their mad fit
Doe speake at randome without fear or wit.
How far vnlike Lacedemonians,
Though they were hethen & we Christians,
Are men in this our age? To them this crime
Soe loathsome was, that they would finde a time
To make the Helottes drunk, which wer their slaves,
A sort of loutish, abject-minded knaves;
And being in the basest sort disguisde,
Shew them their children, mock them as despisde
And debaush creatures, by their beastlynesse,
To teach their young to loath all drunkennesse.
But if others will not doe it for vs
Will even fox ourselves till all abhorre vs.
Well may it fit this our vntemperate age,
To shew a drunkard in his equipage.
I 'le passe Apitius, which spent all the year,
In brave carrousing, & fine belly-cheer;
He that to please his sence had at one feast
His thousand severall dishes at the least,
Although he had noe other company
But his sole single selfe to satisfie;
For all the flesh that Noahs Arke contained,
The whole seas fish, if he had entertained
His friends, could not sufficient store afforde,
To furnish out th' insatiate gluttons borde.
Thus he run one, till on[e] yeares gluttony
Brought him from millions vnto poverty:
I will omit the brave Ægiptian Dame,
Which by her death hath got eternall fame,
Proud Cleopatra, Anthonies loose minion,
Who, to obtaine her lovers good opinion,
Did in a cup of wine, drunk to his health,
Carouse dissolvèd pearles of infinite wealth;
Her great excesse & sensuall gluttony
Procurde her owne & his sad tragedie.
I 'le leave th' Assirian Sardanapalus,
With that lewd Roman, Heliogabolus;
Only their riot was the fatall knife
That cut them of from empire & from life.
Examples from soe farre I need not fetch,
We have more moderne ones within our reach;
In this our native Isle, each day, each hower
Millions of such like subiects doe ever shower
Before our eyes, which live in vaine excesse
Of soule-polluting, beastly drunkennesse.
On[e] pot companion & his fashion
I will describe, & make relation
Of what my selfe have seene, that they that hear it
May hate the like, & hating may forbear it.
To shew a drunkard in his equipage.
I 'le passe Apitius, which spent all the year,
In brave carrousing, & fine belly-cheer;
He that to please his sence had at one feast
His thousand severall dishes at the least,
Although he had noe other company
But his sole single selfe to satisfie;
For all the flesh that Noahs Arke contained,
The whole seas fish, if he had entertained
His friends, could not sufficient store afforde,
To furnish out th' insatiate gluttons borde.
59
Brought him from millions vnto poverty:
I will omit the brave Ægiptian Dame,
Which by her death hath got eternall fame,
Proud Cleopatra, Anthonies loose minion,
Who, to obtaine her lovers good opinion,
Did in a cup of wine, drunk to his health,
Carouse dissolvèd pearles of infinite wealth;
Her great excesse & sensuall gluttony
Procurde her owne & his sad tragedie.
I 'le leave th' Assirian Sardanapalus,
With that lewd Roman, Heliogabolus;
Only their riot was the fatall knife
That cut them of from empire & from life.
Examples from soe farre I need not fetch,
We have more moderne ones within our reach;
In this our native Isle, each day, each hower
Millions of such like subiects doe ever shower
Before our eyes, which live in vaine excesse
Of soule-polluting, beastly drunkennesse.
On[e] pot companion & his fashion
I will describe, & make relation
Of what my selfe have seene, that they that hear it
May hate the like, & hating may forbear it.
Cervisius is a most accomplisht man,
Whether he deale at halfe pot or whole can,
No flincher, but as true a drunkard bred
As ever lifted cup vnto his head.
A right good fellow, a true ioviall boy,
And on[e] that of his purse is nothing coy;
Hee 'l spend his dozen of beer with any friend,
And fox him if he can, before hee 'l end;
I, or hee 'l fox himselfe, but that 's no wonder
The fox & he are seldome time a sunder.
But if the man, to sobernesse inclinde,
Refuse to follow his inordinate minde,
Because his nature cannot brooke to doe it,
His stab is ready to compell him to it.
This alehouse-haunter thinkes himselfe a safe
If he with his companions, George & Rafe,
Doe meet together to drink vpsefreese
Till they have made themselves as wise as geese.
O ther this man (like lord within a hutch)
Will pay for all & ne're his mony grutch;
Th[e]y must not part till they have drunk a barrell,
Or straight this royster will begin to quarrell.
Wher e're they meet, to th' alehouse they must goe,
He sweares they shall, & they must not say noe.
As soone as e're the alehouse them receives,
The tapster, duble diligent, straight leaves
His other guestes, in course to take his cup,
And make the full messe of these drunkards vp;
He knowes what best belongs vnto his gaine,
These are the men he seekes to entertaine.
Then straight into the seller hee 'l them bring,—
'Tis sweetest drinking at the verry spring,—
Wher as a barrell, for the nonce set out,
Must straight be pearc'd, then each must haue his bout
And drink vp all; to leave a litle snuffe
Is petty treason; & such pretious stuffe
Must not be throwne away. Thus they drink round,
Vntill their adle heads doe make the ground
Seeme blew vnto them; till their hands doe shake,
Their tongues speak duble, & their braines do ake.
But they proceed till one drop[s] downe dead drunke,
Wher he doth lie long time, a sencelesse trunk;
And all the rest in a sweet pickle brought
(Such operation hath the barrell wrought),
Lie downe beside him. One straight falles a sleep
Ready to drowne himselfe, in that doth keep
The broken beer from spoiling; then another
Falles into spuing, & is like to smother
Himselfe in his owne vomit. He that least
Seemes to be drunk, yet shewes himselfe a beast,
And that 's the tapster, which hath got a tricke,
Because he would prevent his being sick,
To force himselfe to cast, then on the barrell
To take a nap. Thus ends this drinking quarrell.
After some 3 howers sleepes strong operation
Hath brought their braines into a better fashion,
They gin to wake, & finding themselves ill
Of their late surfet, which hath force to kill
The strongest body, to 't afresh they goe,
To drink away their paine; such heartsick woe
By an immoderate drunkennesse procurde,
Must by “a haire of the same dog” be curde.
Then once againe the pot must keep his round,
Vntill the barrell, with his hollow sound,
Fortell his emptinesse. Trivmphantly
They doe then eccho forth this victory,
As 'twere a conquest, that deserv'd with golde
In Fames eternall booke to be enrolde.
But still Cervicius paies for all, his purse
Defraies all recknings; there must none disburse
A penny but himselfe. “Tut, I have landes
Which now of late are come into my handes,
And whilst they last, I will not want good drink,
Nor boon companions. Wherfore was my chinck
Made but to spend? And can 't be better spent
Then 'mongst good laddes in ioviall meriment?
Faith, no. Flie, brasse! More precious I do holde
Maltes pure quintessence then king Harries golde.
Good liquor breeds good blood, good blood best health,
And that 's a iewell to be prisde 'bove wealth.
Drink round, sweet George, to me, my turne is next,
And I'le charge honest Rafe; let 's ply our text
Without digression. Tapster, take your bout,
Leave not a drop, you'r best, but drink all out.
Why soe, brave boyes, this gear doth cotten well,
I think we foure might win the silver bell
Of any 4 in Europe, for our drink.
Let 's make a challenge, Rafe; I doe not think
But we shall put downe all that dare contest
With vs in this, if we but doe our best.
And yet ther were 4 roring boyes, they say,
That drunk a hogshead dry in one poor day.
Tapster, some beer; the conceit makes me dry!
Heer honest rogue, night partes good cumpany;
But my good lades, let 's meet againe to morrow,
And at this fountaine we will drinke downe sorrowe.”
Whether he deale at halfe pot or whole can,
No flincher, but as true a drunkard bred
As ever lifted cup vnto his head.
A right good fellow, a true ioviall boy,
And on[e] that of his purse is nothing coy;
Hee 'l spend his dozen of beer with any friend,
And fox him if he can, before hee 'l end;
I, or hee 'l fox himselfe, but that 's no wonder
The fox & he are seldome time a sunder.
But if the man, to sobernesse inclinde,
Refuse to follow his inordinate minde,
60
His stab is ready to compell him to it.
This alehouse-haunter thinkes himselfe a safe
If he with his companions, George & Rafe,
Doe meet together to drink vpsefreese
Till they have made themselves as wise as geese.
O ther this man (like lord within a hutch)
Will pay for all & ne're his mony grutch;
Th[e]y must not part till they have drunk a barrell,
Or straight this royster will begin to quarrell.
Wher e're they meet, to th' alehouse they must goe,
He sweares they shall, & they must not say noe.
As soone as e're the alehouse them receives,
The tapster, duble diligent, straight leaves
His other guestes, in course to take his cup,
And make the full messe of these drunkards vp;
He knowes what best belongs vnto his gaine,
These are the men he seekes to entertaine.
Then straight into the seller hee 'l them bring,—
'Tis sweetest drinking at the verry spring,—
Wher as a barrell, for the nonce set out,
Must straight be pearc'd, then each must haue his bout
And drink vp all; to leave a litle snuffe
Is petty treason; & such pretious stuffe
Must not be throwne away. Thus they drink round,
Vntill their adle heads doe make the ground
Seeme blew vnto them; till their hands doe shake,
Their tongues speak duble, & their braines do ake.
But they proceed till one drop[s] downe dead drunke,
Wher he doth lie long time, a sencelesse trunk;
And all the rest in a sweet pickle brought
(Such operation hath the barrell wrought),
Lie downe beside him. One straight falles a sleep
Ready to drowne himselfe, in that doth keep
The broken beer from spoiling; then another
Falles into spuing, & is like to smother
61
Seemes to be drunk, yet shewes himselfe a beast,
And that 's the tapster, which hath got a tricke,
Because he would prevent his being sick,
To force himselfe to cast, then on the barrell
To take a nap. Thus ends this drinking quarrell.
After some 3 howers sleepes strong operation
Hath brought their braines into a better fashion,
They gin to wake, & finding themselves ill
Of their late surfet, which hath force to kill
The strongest body, to 't afresh they goe,
To drink away their paine; such heartsick woe
By an immoderate drunkennesse procurde,
Must by “a haire of the same dog” be curde.
Then once againe the pot must keep his round,
Vntill the barrell, with his hollow sound,
Fortell his emptinesse. Trivmphantly
They doe then eccho forth this victory,
As 'twere a conquest, that deserv'd with golde
In Fames eternall booke to be enrolde.
But still Cervicius paies for all, his purse
Defraies all recknings; there must none disburse
A penny but himselfe. “Tut, I have landes
Which now of late are come into my handes,
And whilst they last, I will not want good drink,
Nor boon companions. Wherfore was my chinck
Made but to spend? And can 't be better spent
Then 'mongst good laddes in ioviall meriment?
Faith, no. Flie, brasse! More precious I do holde
Maltes pure quintessence then king Harries golde.
Good liquor breeds good blood, good blood best health,
And that 's a iewell to be prisde 'bove wealth.
Drink round, sweet George, to me, my turne is next,
And I'le charge honest Rafe; let 's ply our text
Without digression. Tapster, take your bout,
Leave not a drop, you'r best, but drink all out.
62
I think we foure might win the silver bell
Of any 4 in Europe, for our drink.
Let 's make a challenge, Rafe; I doe not think
But we shall put downe all that dare contest
With vs in this, if we but doe our best.
And yet ther were 4 roring boyes, they say,
That drunk a hogshead dry in one poor day.
Tapster, some beer; the conceit makes me dry!
Heer honest rogue, night partes good cumpany;
But my good lades, let 's meet againe to morrow,
And at this fountaine we will drinke downe sorrowe.”
Thus he runs on his course, til 's drunken vaine
Ruines his substance, makes him entertaine
For his companion penurious want.—
All other friends doe then wax wondrous scant;
But this alone, when men fall in decay,
Will never leave them till their dying day.
His substance poore, his soule more poore in grace,
Getes him contempt on earth, in hell a place
Of everlasting paine, vnlesse the smart
Of misery reforme his wicked heart.
For sometimes want & hard calamity
Even Athiestes turnes to Christianity.
Ruines his substance, makes him entertaine
For his companion penurious want.—
All other friends doe then wax wondrous scant;
But this alone, when men fall in decay,
Will never leave them till their dying day.
His substance poore, his soule more poore in grace,
Getes him contempt on earth, in hell a place
Of everlasting paine, vnlesse the smart
Of misery reforme his wicked heart.
For sometimes want & hard calamity
Even Athiestes turnes to Christianity.
But Bacchanall is of a higher straine,
He scornes soe base a thought to entertaine,
As to drink drunk with beer or botle-ale;
Noe, he contemnes the vse, that fashion 's stale.
Marry, your true elixar, all rare wine,
That doth enspire, & make the thoughtes divine!
Whie, he esteemes the nectar of the goddes,
Homers Nepenthe, to come short by oddes
Of [this] delicious iuice. Rich Malago,
Canarie, Sherry, with brave Charnico;
Phalerno, with your richest Orleance wine,
Pure Rhenish, Hippocras, white Muskadine,
With the true bloud of Bacchus, Allegant,
That addes new vigour which the backe doth want
Are precious wines. Marrie, your white or Charret
Is but so so; he cares not greatly for it;
But for the rest, whose vertuous operation
Doth cheer the heart opprest with passion,
Doth rapsodize the soules intelligence
Above the levell of inferiour sence,
Why, had he to his wish the cranes long necke
To tast with more delight, he would not wrecke
Of all celestiall ioyes; this were a treasure
To be preferd above that heavenly pleasure.
From thine owne mouth, thou beastly Epicure,
Dost thou condemne thy selfe, thou shalt be sure
Never indeed to tast celestiall bliss!
But know withall (though thou those joyes doe misse)
That thou (when as thy soule will be agast)
Shalt of the cup of Godes iust vengeance tast!
He scornes soe base a thought to entertaine,
As to drink drunk with beer or botle-ale;
Noe, he contemnes the vse, that fashion 's stale.
Marry, your true elixar, all rare wine,
That doth enspire, & make the thoughtes divine!
Whie, he esteemes the nectar of the goddes,
Homers Nepenthe, to come short by oddes
Of [this] delicious iuice. Rich Malago,
Canarie, Sherry, with brave Charnico;
Phalerno, with your richest Orleance wine,
Pure Rhenish, Hippocras, white Muskadine,
63
That addes new vigour which the backe doth want
Are precious wines. Marrie, your white or Charret
Is but so so; he cares not greatly for it;
But for the rest, whose vertuous operation
Doth cheer the heart opprest with passion,
Doth rapsodize the soules intelligence
Above the levell of inferiour sence,
Why, had he to his wish the cranes long necke
To tast with more delight, he would not wrecke
Of all celestiall ioyes; this were a treasure
To be preferd above that heavenly pleasure.
From thine owne mouth, thou beastly Epicure,
Dost thou condemne thy selfe, thou shalt be sure
Never indeed to tast celestiall bliss!
But know withall (though thou those joyes doe misse)
That thou (when as thy soule will be agast)
Shalt of the cup of Godes iust vengeance tast!
Fower kindes of drunkardes this our age hath quoted,
Which, since by observation I have noted,
It shall not be amisse heer to insert,
That we may know how much each doth pervert
The soule of man. The first is merry drunk,
And this, although his braines be somewhat shrunk
I' th' wetting, hath, they say, but litle hart
In his demeanour; to make harmles sport
Is all his practise. In what fashion?
Is baudie talke, & damnèd prophanation
Of Godes most holy name, a harmlesse thing?
Are apish tricks & toies, which vse to bring
Men in dirision, sportes to breed delight?
Is that which makes the soule as black as night,
Which takes away the perfect vse of sence,
Which is the high way to incontinence,
A thing of nothing? Whie, if this be soe,
I graunt you then a drunken sot may goe
For one that is innocuous; otherwise
He is a beast & worse, let that suffice.
And if this be the hurtlesse sport you meant,
Iove keepe me from such harmlesse merriment.
Which, since by observation I have noted,
It shall not be amisse heer to insert,
That we may know how much each doth pervert
The soule of man. The first is merry drunk,
And this, although his braines be somewhat shrunk
I' th' wetting, hath, they say, but litle hart
In his demeanour; to make harmles sport
Is all his practise. In what fashion?
Is baudie talke, & damnèd prophanation
Of Godes most holy name, a harmlesse thing?
Are apish tricks & toies, which vse to bring
Men in dirision, sportes to breed delight?
Is that which makes the soule as black as night,
Which takes away the perfect vse of sence,
Which is the high way to incontinence,
A thing of nothing? Whie, if this be soe,
I graunt you then a drunken sot may goe
64
He is a beast & worse, let that suffice.
And if this be the hurtlesse sport you meant,
Iove keepe me from such harmlesse merriment.
The second kinde we maudline drunkardes call.
I thinke the humid stuffe they drink doth fall
Out of their eyes againe, for they distill
Teares in great plenty. Woemen when they will
Can weep, we say, but these doe never cry
Except they first be drunk; but then they dry
The fountaine of their teares quite vp before
They cease from weeping, or doe once give o're
Their dolefull lamentation. I suppose
The name of “Maudline drunk” from hence arose.
This kinde of drunkard is the kindest creature
That ever did converse with mortall nature;
When he is in his fit, you may commaund
All that he has, his purse, his heart, his hand,
To do you service; why hee 'l ever kill
Your heart with kindenesse, soe you'l sit & swill
In his loathd presence; keep him company
And he is pleasde, ther 's his felicity.
I thinke the humid stuffe they drink doth fall
Out of their eyes againe, for they distill
Teares in great plenty. Woemen when they will
Can weep, we say, but these doe never cry
Except they first be drunk; but then they dry
The fountaine of their teares quite vp before
They cease from weeping, or doe once give o're
Their dolefull lamentation. I suppose
The name of “Maudline drunk” from hence arose.
This kinde of drunkard is the kindest creature
That ever did converse with mortall nature;
When he is in his fit, you may commaund
All that he has, his purse, his heart, his hand,
To do you service; why hee 'l ever kill
Your heart with kindenesse, soe you'l sit & swill
In his loathd presence; keep him company
And he is pleasde, ther 's his felicity.
And now I call to minde an accident
That did befall to one of his lewd bent,
One of these maudline drunkards (I will passe
Over it briefly). In this sort it was:
A certain wealthy-left young gentleman,
One that had more skill how to quaffe a can
Then manage his revenewes, for his ease
Put out the best part of his land to lease,
And had to tennant an olde crafty fox,
Who, though his landlord made him a right oxe,
Knewe for all that on which side of his bread
The sweetnesse of the butter was yspread;
Knew how to turn all to his best of gaine,
And therfore did with patience entertaine
His supposde wrong. What cannot thirst of golde
Performe when men to wickednesse are solde?
This old sinckanter, when he came to pay
His landlordes rent at the appointed day,
Was for the most part sure to finde him fast
Within a taverne; whilst his coine did last
Ther was his randevous. The mony tolde,
Which was as welcome vnto him as golde,
They needs must drink together ere they part.
Then is wine cal'd for, & quart after quart
Comes marching in, till my young gallant fals
Into his maudline fit, & then he calles
Afresh for wine, & with right weeping eyes
Hugging his tennant, “You are welcome!” cryes,
“In faith you are, be God you are! Beleeve it,
What is it thou willt have & I will give it.
Sha 't have a new lease for a hundred yeares,
Of all the land thou holdst!—I speake in teares
Of my affection,—& shalt yearly pay
A peppercorne, a nutt, a bunch of may,
Or some such trifle. Tut, man! I desire
To have thee thrive,—I only doe aspire
To purchase credit; thou the gaine shalt reap;—
Hang him that will not let his landes good cheap!”
That did befall to one of his lewd bent,
One of these maudline drunkards (I will passe
Over it briefly). In this sort it was:
A certain wealthy-left young gentleman,
One that had more skill how to quaffe a can
Then manage his revenewes, for his ease
Put out the best part of his land to lease,
And had to tennant an olde crafty fox,
Who, though his landlord made him a right oxe,
Knewe for all that on which side of his bread
The sweetnesse of the butter was yspread;
Knew how to turn all to his best of gaine,
And therfore did with patience entertaine
65
Performe when men to wickednesse are solde?
This old sinckanter, when he came to pay
His landlordes rent at the appointed day,
Was for the most part sure to finde him fast
Within a taverne; whilst his coine did last
Ther was his randevous. The mony tolde,
Which was as welcome vnto him as golde,
They needs must drink together ere they part.
Then is wine cal'd for, & quart after quart
Comes marching in, till my young gallant fals
Into his maudline fit, & then he calles
Afresh for wine, & with right weeping eyes
Hugging his tennant, “You are welcome!” cryes,
“In faith you are, be God you are! Beleeve it,
What is it thou willt have & I will give it.
Sha 't have a new lease for a hundred yeares,
Of all the land thou holdst!—I speake in teares
Of my affection,—& shalt yearly pay
A peppercorne, a nutt, a bunch of may,
Or some such trifle. Tut, man! I desire
To have thee thrive,—I only doe aspire
To purchase credit; thou the gaine shalt reap;—
Hang him that will not let his landes good cheap!”
Well, for this time they part. Next quarter comes,
And after that a third; he payes the summes,
And findes his landlord in this humour still.
Then doth the crafty fox begin to fill
His braines with cunning; if his plotes doe hit
To his desire, his landlordes want of wit
Shall make him rich for ever. Vpon this
He makes a feast to which he doth not misse
To invite his landlord; but before, compacted
With an atturney by whose healp directed,
A paire of large indentures, fairely drawne,
Are formally composde. These as a pawne
Of his deer hopes he keeps, & when the fit
Hath quite deprivde my gallant of his wit,
Hee 'l make his landlord set both hand & seale
To this new lease. Men of experience deale
To their best proffit; & it were as good
That he should be a gainer as the brood
Of cut-throat vintners. Well, to make short worke,
My gentleman, his braines as light as corke
With brave carrousing, fals to his odd vaine
Of weeping kindenesse; nay, seemes to complaine
That his kinde offer findes noe acceptation!
Olde Gray-beard knowes his cue, & by gradation
Still drawes him one, till the kinde foole protestes
Were the indentures drawne, so firme he restes
In his opinion, ther should be a match,
And his hand soone should all the rest despatch.
Straight vpon this are the indentures brought;
Witnesse there needs not, for the house is fraught
With store [of] guestes; then the kinde harted gull
Seales and subscribes to all: his wits are dull
And senceless of this wrong. Thus is he shorne
Of eight score poundes a year for one poore corne
Of pepper, & the lease, that hath noe flawe,
For a whole hundred yeares is good in lawe.
And after that a third; he payes the summes,
And findes his landlord in this humour still.
Then doth the crafty fox begin to fill
His braines with cunning; if his plotes doe hit
To his desire, his landlordes want of wit
Shall make him rich for ever. Vpon this
He makes a feast to which he doth not misse
To invite his landlord; but before, compacted
With an atturney by whose healp directed,
A paire of large indentures, fairely drawne,
Are formally composde. These as a pawne
66
Hath quite deprivde my gallant of his wit,
Hee 'l make his landlord set both hand & seale
To this new lease. Men of experience deale
To their best proffit; & it were as good
That he should be a gainer as the brood
Of cut-throat vintners. Well, to make short worke,
My gentleman, his braines as light as corke
With brave carrousing, fals to his odd vaine
Of weeping kindenesse; nay, seemes to complaine
That his kinde offer findes noe acceptation!
Olde Gray-beard knowes his cue, & by gradation
Still drawes him one, till the kinde foole protestes
Were the indentures drawne, so firme he restes
In his opinion, ther should be a match,
And his hand soone should all the rest despatch.
Straight vpon this are the indentures brought;
Witnesse there needs not, for the house is fraught
With store [of] guestes; then the kinde harted gull
Seales and subscribes to all: his wits are dull
And senceless of this wrong. Thus is he shorne
Of eight score poundes a year for one poore corne
Of pepper, & the lease, that hath noe flawe,
For a whole hundred yeares is good in lawe.
But now to passe this & to make reporte
Of lyon-drunkardes, which is the third sorte.
Your lyon-drunkard is a kinde of man
That in his fitt will rage, sweare, curse, & banne,
Break glasses, & throw pottes against the wall,
Quarrell with any man, & fight with all
That yield not to his rage. Mad Hercules,
In the extreamest rage of his disease,
Clad in the shirt which Deianira sent,
Dipt in the blood of Nessus, to prevent
His love to Iöle, when the poyson boylde
In every veine, & with the torment spoilde
And quite bereaft him of true reasons vse,
Making him teare vp trees, & break all truce
With man & beast, was not yet halfe soe madde
As this outragious drunkard, nor soe bad
T' encounter with; for this man is indeed
Worse then a mad man. Let that man take heed
Which comes within his reach; vnlesse he have
More lives then one, this wretch will dig his grave.
These are the men that make soe many fraies,
That stab & kill soe many now adayes,
On whom just vengeance oftentimes attendes,
Bringing their lives vnto most shamefull endes.
Of lyon-drunkardes, which is the third sorte.
Your lyon-drunkard is a kinde of man
That in his fitt will rage, sweare, curse, & banne,
Break glasses, & throw pottes against the wall,
Quarrell with any man, & fight with all
That yield not to his rage. Mad Hercules,
In the extreamest rage of his disease,
Clad in the shirt which Deianira sent,
Dipt in the blood of Nessus, to prevent
67
In every veine, & with the torment spoilde
And quite bereaft him of true reasons vse,
Making him teare vp trees, & break all truce
With man & beast, was not yet halfe soe madde
As this outragious drunkard, nor soe bad
T' encounter with; for this man is indeed
Worse then a mad man. Let that man take heed
Which comes within his reach; vnlesse he have
More lives then one, this wretch will dig his grave.
These are the men that make soe many fraies,
That stab & kill soe many now adayes,
On whom just vengeance oftentimes attendes,
Bringing their lives vnto most shamefull endes.
The fowerth & last kinde of this drunken crewe
Is beastly drunk, & these men vse to spue,
Lying in gutters, & in filthy mire,
More like to swine then men. Promethean fire
Is quite extinct in them; yea, vse of sence
Hath within them noe place of residence.
Some of this kinde, as if a deadly potion
Had wrought th' effect, doe seeme to have no motion
Of vitall faculties; a man would deeme
That they were dead indeed, for soe they seeme,
When only superfluity of drink
Deceives the eye, & makes the heart misthink.
On[e] of these men (I am about to tell
Noe fable, reader, therfore marke it well)
Vpon mine owne moste true intelligence,
Being dead drunk i' th' time of pestilence,
Was thought t' have dide o' th' plague, & seeming dead,
Was amongst others alive burièd.
But being by some of his companions mist,
And diligent enquirie made, they wist
At length what was become of him, & went
Vnto his place of buriall, with intent
If it were possible to save his life.
The grave digd vp, they saw with how great strife
The drunken man, to wonted sence restorde,
Had vsde himselfe, being all with blood begorde
With violence to help himselfe was wrought,
But all in vaine; for not the aide they brought,
Which came too late, nor his owne power, could shend
This wretched man from a moste fearfull end.
Is beastly drunk, & these men vse to spue,
Lying in gutters, & in filthy mire,
More like to swine then men. Promethean fire
Is quite extinct in them; yea, vse of sence
Hath within them noe place of residence.
Some of this kinde, as if a deadly potion
Had wrought th' effect, doe seeme to have no motion
Of vitall faculties; a man would deeme
That they were dead indeed, for soe they seeme,
When only superfluity of drink
Deceives the eye, & makes the heart misthink.
On[e] of these men (I am about to tell
Noe fable, reader, therfore marke it well)
Vpon mine owne moste true intelligence,
Being dead drunk i' th' time of pestilence,
Was thought t' have dide o' th' plague, & seeming dead,
Was amongst others alive burièd.
But being by some of his companions mist,
And diligent enquirie made, they wist
At length what was become of him, & went
Vnto his place of buriall, with intent
68
The grave digd vp, they saw with how great strife
The drunken man, to wonted sence restorde,
Had vsde himselfe, being all with blood begorde
With violence to help himselfe was wrought,
But all in vaine; for not the aide they brought,
Which came too late, nor his owne power, could shend
This wretched man from a moste fearfull end.
Surely this iust example doth expresse,
How much God hates this beastly wickednesse.
Yet sinfull man, whose very heart should bleed
With recordation of soe straunge a deed,
Is not reformd a iot from this lewd sinne,
But every day more deeply plungèd in.
Nay, drunkennesse hath got an arch-defender,
Yea, more then that, a principall commander,
A great phisitian, which prescribes some dayes
Wherin 'tis necessary, as he saies,
To drink drunk for the bodies better health,
And being done in private & by stealth,
It is a thing of nothing! What phisitian,
Whose vertuous minde, religious condition,
Speak him a Christian, would once entertaine
Soe vilde a thought, or such a lye maintaine?
It is some at[h]eist sure, vpon my life,
Some Epicure, for 'mongst such men ar[e] rife
These damnd opinions; on[e] that knowes noe God,
Was neuer scourgèd with afflictions rod,
And therfore luld a sleep in pleasures lap,
Securely sinnes, & feares no after-clap.
This man, which only setteth vp his rest
In that which man communicates with beast,
The soule of sence, denies th' eternity
Of th' intellectual part, & doth apply
All his endevours to delight the sence;
Noe marle though he with drunkennesse dispence,
Which, though it may the bodies health secure,
The soules continuall death it doth procure.
How much God hates this beastly wickednesse.
Yet sinfull man, whose very heart should bleed
With recordation of soe straunge a deed,
Is not reformd a iot from this lewd sinne,
But every day more deeply plungèd in.
Nay, drunkennesse hath got an arch-defender,
Yea, more then that, a principall commander,
A great phisitian, which prescribes some dayes
Wherin 'tis necessary, as he saies,
To drink drunk for the bodies better health,
And being done in private & by stealth,
It is a thing of nothing! What phisitian,
Whose vertuous minde, religious condition,
Speak him a Christian, would once entertaine
Soe vilde a thought, or such a lye maintaine?
It is some at[h]eist sure, vpon my life,
Some Epicure, for 'mongst such men ar[e] rife
These damnd opinions; on[e] that knowes noe God,
Was neuer scourgèd with afflictions rod,
And therfore luld a sleep in pleasures lap,
Securely sinnes, & feares no after-clap.
This man, which only setteth vp his rest
In that which man communicates with beast,
The soule of sence, denies th' eternity
Of th' intellectual part, & doth apply
All his endevours to delight the sence;
Noe marle though he with drunkennesse dispence,
69
The soules continuall death it doth procure.
Old Monsier Gray-beard with your poynts vntrust,
Dublet vnbuttond, ready for your lust;
You, which the chamber wher you lay your head
With baudie pictures round about doe spread;
Which make your maide daunce naked to your eyes,
Only to see her veines & arteries;
Which hast given out this foolish prophesie,
That, vnlesse throngd to death, thou ne're shalt die;
And therfore neither vnto church nor faire,
Nor any publicke meeting darst repaire,
But idlie livest at home in ease, secure,
A very atheist, & meer Epicure,
This is your axiome, “drunkennesse is good
To clear the stomach, & to purge the blood.”
Well maist thou be a good phisitian
But I am certaine a bad Christian.
After the killing of some hundred men,
And yet I scarcely recken one for ten,
To trie the working of thy minerals,
Thy hearbes, thy drugges & such materials,
Perhaps some litle knowledge thou hast gaind
To ease the head or stomach, being painde;
To help an ague-shaken bodie, cure
A fever, dropsie, gout, or cicature;
All this, & more then this, as farre as nature
Permites thy skill to healp a mortall creature,
Suppose thou canst performe; graunt thou couldst give
To a dead body force againe to live,
As poetes faine that Æsculapious
Did to vnjustly slaine Hypolitus;
Yet all thy skill wherof thou makst thy vaunt
Is nothing worth, because thou standst in want
Of the true knowledge of thy soules salvation,
The sweetnesse of whose only contemplation,
The vertue of thy art doe passe, as farre
As bright Apollo doth the meanest starre.
Which if thou knewst, it would thee quickly teach
Another lesson, far above thy reach
Of principles in phisick:—that noe evill
(Which had it's first begin[in]g from the devill)
Though good ensue therby, must be committed,
Yea though the ill with more good be requitted.
How much more then soe horrible a crime
As drunkennesse, whose putrefactious slime
Darkens the splendour of our common wealth,
Must not be acted to secure the health
Of the base body (I doe call it base
In reference to the soule), so to deface
The purer part of man; yea, by such action,
The loathsomnesse of whose infection
Makes man, indued with reason, worse then beast;
Both soule & body doe become vnblest,
Vnsanctifièd members, & vnlesse
Godes grace in time this wickednesse represse,
Th' all both together perish, & remaine
In hels eternally tormenting paine.
Dublet vnbuttond, ready for your lust;
You, which the chamber wher you lay your head
With baudie pictures round about doe spread;
Which make your maide daunce naked to your eyes,
Only to see her veines & arteries;
Which hast given out this foolish prophesie,
That, vnlesse throngd to death, thou ne're shalt die;
And therfore neither vnto church nor faire,
Nor any publicke meeting darst repaire,
But idlie livest at home in ease, secure,
A very atheist, & meer Epicure,
This is your axiome, “drunkennesse is good
To clear the stomach, & to purge the blood.”
Well maist thou be a good phisitian
But I am certaine a bad Christian.
After the killing of some hundred men,
And yet I scarcely recken one for ten,
To trie the working of thy minerals,
Thy hearbes, thy drugges & such materials,
Perhaps some litle knowledge thou hast gaind
To ease the head or stomach, being painde;
To help an ague-shaken bodie, cure
A fever, dropsie, gout, or cicature;
All this, & more then this, as farre as nature
Permites thy skill to healp a mortall creature,
Suppose thou canst performe; graunt thou couldst give
To a dead body force againe to live,
As poetes faine that Æsculapious
Did to vnjustly slaine Hypolitus;
Yet all thy skill wherof thou makst thy vaunt
Is nothing worth, because thou standst in want
Of the true knowledge of thy soules salvation,
70
The vertue of thy art doe passe, as farre
As bright Apollo doth the meanest starre.
Which if thou knewst, it would thee quickly teach
Another lesson, far above thy reach
Of principles in phisick:—that noe evill
(Which had it's first begin[in]g from the devill)
Though good ensue therby, must be committed,
Yea though the ill with more good be requitted.
How much more then soe horrible a crime
As drunkennesse, whose putrefactious slime
Darkens the splendour of our common wealth,
Must not be acted to secure the health
Of the base body (I doe call it base
In reference to the soule), so to deface
The purer part of man; yea, by such action,
The loathsomnesse of whose infection
Makes man, indued with reason, worse then beast;
Both soule & body doe become vnblest,
Vnsanctifièd members, & vnlesse
Godes grace in time this wickednesse represse,
Th' all both together perish, & remaine
In hels eternally tormenting paine.
Besides ale, beer, & sundry sortes of wine
From forren nationes, whose more fruitfull vine
Yeilds plenty of god Bacchus, we have got
Another kinde of drinke, which well I wot
Is of smale goodnesse, though our vaine delight
Follow it with excessive appetite;
And that 's Tobacco, a rare Indian weed,
Which, because far fetcht only, doth exceed
In vertue all our native hearbes,—for what?
For many pretious vses, vertues that
May be applide to phisicke? Graunt it soe,
Although I see great reason to say noe;
How can that iustifie our common taking
In such excesse, our even for that forsaking
All other nutrime[n]tes? Doe we applie
Phisick in this sorte? If I should say I,
I should belie my knowledge; phisicks vse
Serv's only to reforme the knowne abuse
Of the distempered body, & must be
But seldome, & with mediocrity,
Applide on speciall causes when they fall;
To take Tobacco thus were phisicall,
And might perphaps doe good; but this excesse
And ordinarie practise, questionlesse,
Annoyes th' internall partes & makes them foule,
But I am sure commaculates the soule.
Yet in these dayes hee 's deemd a very gull
That cannot take Tobacco; every skull
And skip-iacke now will have his pipe of smoke,
And whiff it bravely till hee 's like to choke.
You shall have a poore snake, whose best of meanes
Is but to live on that he dayly gleanes
By drudgery from others, which will spend
His pot of nappy ale vpon his friend,
And his Tobacco with as ioviall grace,
As if he were a lord of some faire place
And great revenewes! “Tut, why should he not?
I hope a man may spend what he hath got,
Without offence to any. What he spendes
Is his owne monie, & among his friendes
He will bestowe it.” I, & doe soe still,
Follow the swinge of thy vngoverned will,
See what 'twill bring thee too; for I fore see
Thy end wilbe both shame & beggerie.
From forren nationes, whose more fruitfull vine
Yeilds plenty of god Bacchus, we have got
Another kinde of drinke, which well I wot
Is of smale goodnesse, though our vaine delight
Follow it with excessive appetite;
And that 's Tobacco, a rare Indian weed,
Which, because far fetcht only, doth exceed
In vertue all our native hearbes,—for what?
For many pretious vses, vertues that
71
Although I see great reason to say noe;
How can that iustifie our common taking
In such excesse, our even for that forsaking
All other nutrime[n]tes? Doe we applie
Phisick in this sorte? If I should say I,
I should belie my knowledge; phisicks vse
Serv's only to reforme the knowne abuse
Of the distempered body, & must be
But seldome, & with mediocrity,
Applide on speciall causes when they fall;
To take Tobacco thus were phisicall,
And might perphaps doe good; but this excesse
And ordinarie practise, questionlesse,
Annoyes th' internall partes & makes them foule,
But I am sure commaculates the soule.
Yet in these dayes hee 's deemd a very gull
That cannot take Tobacco; every skull
And skip-iacke now will have his pipe of smoke,
And whiff it bravely till hee 's like to choke.
You shall have a poore snake, whose best of meanes
Is but to live on that he dayly gleanes
By drudgery from others, which will spend
His pot of nappy ale vpon his friend,
And his Tobacco with as ioviall grace,
As if he were a lord of some faire place
And great revenewes! “Tut, why should he not?
I hope a man may spend what he hath got,
Without offence to any. What he spendes
Is his owne monie, & among his friendes
He will bestowe it.” I, & doe soe still,
Follow the swinge of thy vngoverned will,
See what 'twill bring thee too; for I fore see
Thy end wilbe both shame & beggerie.
Whom have we yonder with a pipe at 's head?
He lookes as if he were true Indian bred.
O, 'tis Fumoso with the tallow face,
He that of late hath got a speciall grace,
And that 's to be the best Tobacconist
That ever held a pipe within his fist.
It cost him dear enough; for the fame goes
H'as smokd out all his living at his nose
To purchase this rare skill. But hee 'l repaire
This losse with greater wealth vnto a haire,—
He has the rediest meanes this gap to stop.
“What's that?” Why he intends to keep a shop
For smoke & botle-ale, which soone will drawe
Good store of gallantes (even as iet doth strawe)
Vnto his custome, &, for greater gaine,
A bonny lasse or two hee 'l entertaine.
As take me e're a shop subvrbian
That selles such ware, without a curtezane,
And we will have the deed cronologizde,
Nay it may well be now immortalizde.
Doth a tobacco pipe hang before the dore,
'Tis a sure signe within ther is a whore.
“A whore,” sayes he; “O, fie! you speake to broad;
A punck, or else one of the dealing trade;
And such a one I mean to keep, & she
Will help, I hope, to keep & maintaine me.
O, 'tis the only thriving meanes of all
To rayse mans fortunes vp by womans fall.”
An excellent project, follow thy designe,
And thou shalt purchase a rich golden mine,
And hell with all to boote;—soe thou hast golde
It makes noe matter. But perhaps being olde,
One foote already within Charons bote,
Thou thinkst it time enough to change thy cote
To a more Christian habit, if th' intend,
How vile so e're thy life have been, thine end
Shalbe repentant, though thou doe deferre
To the last minute, yet thou darst aver
'Twill be sufficient. From the theefe o' th' crosse
Thou dost example take; God seekes the losse
Of no mans soule; his Sonne he therfore gave
The soules of sinners, soe we are all, to save.
He lookes as if he were true Indian bred.
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He that of late hath got a speciall grace,
And that 's to be the best Tobacconist
That ever held a pipe within his fist.
It cost him dear enough; for the fame goes
H'as smokd out all his living at his nose
To purchase this rare skill. But hee 'l repaire
This losse with greater wealth vnto a haire,—
He has the rediest meanes this gap to stop.
“What's that?” Why he intends to keep a shop
For smoke & botle-ale, which soone will drawe
Good store of gallantes (even as iet doth strawe)
Vnto his custome, &, for greater gaine,
A bonny lasse or two hee 'l entertaine.
As take me e're a shop subvrbian
That selles such ware, without a curtezane,
And we will have the deed cronologizde,
Nay it may well be now immortalizde.
Doth a tobacco pipe hang before the dore,
'Tis a sure signe within ther is a whore.
“A whore,” sayes he; “O, fie! you speake to broad;
A punck, or else one of the dealing trade;
And such a one I mean to keep, & she
Will help, I hope, to keep & maintaine me.
O, 'tis the only thriving meanes of all
To rayse mans fortunes vp by womans fall.”
An excellent project, follow thy designe,
And thou shalt purchase a rich golden mine,
And hell with all to boote;—soe thou hast golde
It makes noe matter. But perhaps being olde,
One foote already within Charons bote,
Thou thinkst it time enough to change thy cote
To a more Christian habit, if th' intend,
How vile so e're thy life have been, thine end
Shalbe repentant, though thou doe deferre
To the last minute, yet thou darst aver
73
Thou dost example take; God seekes the losse
Of no mans soule; his Sonne he therfore gave
The soules of sinners, soe we are all, to save.
Thou silly sott, how well thou canst invent
Against thy selfe to make an argument!
Foole, Foole! Not every dying man shall enter,
That saith “Lord, Lord,” into the heavenly center
Of everlasting blisse; true faith must be
The only meanes to this eternity.
And how doth that but by good workes appear,
Good woorkes are true faiths handmaides, & are dear
In the Almighties eyes, though (I confesse)
Not of sufficient power to release
The soule from everlasting punnishment
(As papistes doe persuade by argument)
And purchase heaven. Godes mercy, not deserte
Of mortall man, can heavenly ioyes impart.
Against thy selfe to make an argument!
Foole, Foole! Not every dying man shall enter,
That saith “Lord, Lord,” into the heavenly center
Of everlasting blisse; true faith must be
The only meanes to this eternity.
And how doth that but by good workes appear,
Good woorkes are true faiths handmaides, & are dear
In the Almighties eyes, though (I confesse)
Not of sufficient power to release
The soule from everlasting punnishment
(As papistes doe persuade by argument)
And purchase heaven. Godes mercy, not deserte
Of mortall man, can heavenly ioyes impart.
But to returne to thee which thinkst to die
In the true faith, yet livst in villanie;
That makst account to purchase heavenly grace
At thy last hower, yet dayly sinst apace;
Presumpteous slave, thy error doth deceive thee,
And of those heavenly ioes will quite bereave thee!
For if the truth thou doe exactly scanne,
As is the life, so is the end of man.
Wheras the theefs example thou dost bring,
Who being ready, his last requiem sing
Vpon the crosse, was in that instant hower
From shamefull death to the celestiall bower
Of Paradise transported; learne to know
That this example was indeed to shew
Gods mercy infinite, his power to save,
Though man belike to drop into his grave.
The vse of this we rightly may applie
To comfort them whose huge iniquity
Their conscience doth oppresse, & make them faint,
Lest black dispaire their guilty soules attaint.
But as this one, so but this only one,
To keep man from such damnd presumption
As thou dost fall into, Godes word containes,
How darst thou then presume? Wher are thy braines?
How is thy iudgement from truth alienated?
How is thy soule, which should be consecrated
Vnto Godes service, dedicat to sinne,
To such presumpteous sinne? If thou shouldst winne
All thy lives precious time to clear this blot,
To purge thy conscience of soe foule a spot,
To wash thy sinne in true repentant teares,
Yet all thy sorrowes, all thy Christian cares
Are not sufficient to appease Godes wrath.
Vnlesse his mercy helpe to expiate
The foulnesse of thie crime; without his grace,
Hell shalbe thy perpetuall dwelling place.
In the true faith, yet livst in villanie;
That makst account to purchase heavenly grace
At thy last hower, yet dayly sinst apace;
Presumpteous slave, thy error doth deceive thee,
And of those heavenly ioes will quite bereave thee!
For if the truth thou doe exactly scanne,
As is the life, so is the end of man.
Wheras the theefs example thou dost bring,
Who being ready, his last requiem sing
Vpon the crosse, was in that instant hower
From shamefull death to the celestiall bower
Of Paradise transported; learne to know
That this example was indeed to shew
Gods mercy infinite, his power to save,
Though man belike to drop into his grave.
The vse of this we rightly may applie
To comfort them whose huge iniquity
74
Lest black dispaire their guilty soules attaint.
But as this one, so but this only one,
To keep man from such damnd presumption
As thou dost fall into, Godes word containes,
How darst thou then presume? Wher are thy braines?
How is thy iudgement from truth alienated?
How is thy soule, which should be consecrated
Vnto Godes service, dedicat to sinne,
To such presumpteous sinne? If thou shouldst winne
All thy lives precious time to clear this blot,
To purge thy conscience of soe foule a spot,
To wash thy sinne in true repentant teares,
Yet all thy sorrowes, all thy Christian cares
Are not sufficient to appease Godes wrath.
Vnlesse his mercy helpe to expiate
The foulnesse of thie crime; without his grace,
Hell shalbe thy perpetuall dwelling place.
And you rich gluttons, drunkardes, Epicures,
Whom carnall sence & appetite immures
From God & goodnesse, think not (though you live
Like beastes) that you noe strict account shall give
How you have spent your time, consumd'e your treasure,
Livd' brutishlie in ease, delight, & pleasure.
Yes, for each act, for every word & thought,
Before Godes high tribunal being brought,
You must all answeare, yet you wilbe mute,
For your owne conscience will your cause confute.
Then to your terrour shall that sentence be,
“Depart ye cursed to helles miserie!”
But I too long vpon this vice have staide,
Ther 's something else of others to be saide.
Whom carnall sence & appetite immures
From God & goodnesse, think not (though you live
Like beastes) that you noe strict account shall give
How you have spent your time, consumd'e your treasure,
Livd' brutishlie in ease, delight, & pleasure.
Yes, for each act, for every word & thought,
Before Godes high tribunal being brought,
You must all answeare, yet you wilbe mute,
For your owne conscience will your cause confute.
Then to your terrour shall that sentence be,
“Depart ye cursed to helles miserie!”
But I too long vpon this vice have staide,
Ther 's something else of others to be saide.
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