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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In adulantes Aulicos. |
 | The Times' Whistle |  |
In adulantes Aulicos.
Base sycophantes, crumbe-catching parasites,
Obsequious slaves, which bend at every nod;
Insatiate harpies, gormandizing kites,
Epicures, at[h]eists, which adore no God
But your owne bellies & your private gaine,
Got by your oily tongues bewitching traine!
Obsequious slaves, which bend at every nod;
Insatiate harpies, gormandizing kites,
Epicures, at[h]eists, which adore no God
But your owne bellies & your private gaine,
Got by your oily tongues bewitching traine!
O how my Muse, armde with Rhamnusiaes whip,
Desires to scourge your hell-bred villanie,
And with Astræas sharp edgd sword t' vnrip
The hatefull cloke of your deformity;
Whose naked view soe odious would appear,
That we should hate what now is held full deare.
Desires to scourge your hell-bred villanie,
And with Astræas sharp edgd sword t' vnrip
The hatefull cloke of your deformity;
Whose naked view soe odious would appear,
That we should hate what now is held full deare.
Your sly deceits dissimulation hides,
Your false intent faire wordes obnubilate;
So 'mongst the greenest grasse the serpent glides,
And freshest flowers foule toades coinquinate:
All is not golde that hath a glistering hiew,
But what the touchstone tries & findeth true.
Your false intent faire wordes obnubilate;
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And freshest flowers foule toades coinquinate:
All is not golde that hath a glistering hiew,
But what the touchstone tries & findeth true.
Dissentions, & twixt friends vnfriendly jarres,
Your base tale-carr[y]ing tongues doe sett abroch,
Intestine broyles, cyvill vncivill warres,
Which end in death or infamous reproch,
Are causd' by your insinuating wordes,
Whose poysnous breath wounds deeper then keen swordes.
Your base tale-carr[y]ing tongues doe sett abroch,
Intestine broyles, cyvill vncivill warres,
Which end in death or infamous reproch,
Are causd' by your insinuating wordes,
Whose poysnous breath wounds deeper then keen swordes.
Avaunt, ye fauning curres, & leave the Court!
Flatter not greatnesse with your scurrill praise.
Dare flies approach where eagles doe resort?
And shall the cuckoe in [a] cove[r]t chaunt his laies?
For ye, like cuckoes, all one note doe sing,
And like to flies doe buzze about our king.
Flatter not greatnesse with your scurrill praise.
Dare flies approach where eagles doe resort?
And shall the cuckoe in [a] cove[r]t chaunt his laies?
For ye, like cuckoes, all one note doe sing,
And like to flies doe buzze about our king.
But he, the princely Eagle, scornes such flies,
Such butter-flies, such gnates, whose humming sound
Relisheth not his eare; nor doe his eyes
Affect your gaudy outside, which abound
More in queint speach & gorgeous attire,
Then in your loves, which ought to be entyre.
Such butter-flies, such gnates, whose humming sound
Relisheth not his eare; nor doe his eyes
Affect your gaudy outside, which abound
More in queint speach & gorgeous attire,
Then in your loves, which ought to be entyre.
Ye Aristippian zanies, Albions ill,
Leave off at last your poysning honnied speach;
Let not your sugred wordes be traines to kill,
Iust like the foxe when he to geese doth preach:
And ye rich men, which selfe-conceit doe love,
Be not such geese, foxe-flattering praise to prove.
Leave off at last your poysning honnied speach;
Let not your sugred wordes be traines to kill,
Iust like the foxe when he to geese doth preach:
And ye rich men, which selfe-conceit doe love,
Be not such geese, foxe-flattering praise to prove.
So Aesops crow whom crafty rainard spide
With prey in bill, was earst by him deceivde;
“O thou faire bird” (a lowd lie!) then he cride,
“Why singst thou not, whose musick hath bereavd
The nightingale of that respect she held,
Since thy sweet voice a sweeter note doth yield?”
With prey in bill, was earst by him deceivde;
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“Why singst thou not, whose musick hath bereavd
The nightingale of that respect she held,
Since thy sweet voice a sweeter note doth yield?”
The silly crow, bewitchd with flattering praise,
Addrest herselfe to give the foxe a song,
When opening wide her bill to chaunt her laies,
Downe fell the prey she held! The foxe ere long
It quite devoured had, gan her deride;
Then, all too late, his cunning she espide.
Addrest herselfe to give the foxe a song,
When opening wide her bill to chaunt her laies,
Downe fell the prey she held! The foxe ere long
It quite devoured had, gan her deride;
Then, all too late, his cunning she espide.
Such crowes are they whom flatterers beguile;
Such foxes they which flatter, faune, & cog:
Brittans, let them no more sucke vp your oyle;
Be Aesops crow noe more, but Aesops dog.
Chace hence these foxes, which at your mercy stand,
For our then happy made Eutopian land.
Such foxes they which flatter, faune, & cog:
Brittans, let them no more sucke vp your oyle;
Be Aesops crow noe more, but Aesops dog.
Chace hence these foxes, which at your mercy stand,
For our then happy made Eutopian land.
| The Times' Whistle | |