 | The poems of John Marston |  |
47
THE METAMORPHOSIS of Pigmalions Image.
AND Certaine Satyres.
49
TO THE WORLDS MIGHTIE MONARCH, GOOD OPINION
Sole Regent of Affection, perpetuall Ruler of Iudgement,
most famous Iustice of Censures, onely giuer of Honor, great procurer of Aduancement, the Worlds chiefe Ballance, the All of all, and All in all, by whom all things are that they are. I humbly offer thys my Poem.
Thou
soule of Pleasure, Honors only substance,
Great Arbitrator, Vmpire of the Earth,
Whom fleshly Epicures call Vertues essence,
Thou moouing Orator, whose powrefull breath
Swaies all mens iudgements. Great OPINION,
Vouchsafe to guild my imperfection.
Great Arbitrator, Vmpire of the Earth,
Whom fleshly Epicures call Vertues essence,
Thou moouing Orator, whose powrefull breath
Swaies all mens iudgements. Great OPINION,
Vouchsafe to guild my imperfection.
If thou but daine to grace my blushing stile,
And crowne my Muse with good opinion:
If thou vouchsafe with gracious eye to smile
Vpon my young new-borne Inuention,
Ile sing an Hymne in honor of thy name,
And add some Trophie to enlarge thy fame.
And crowne my Muse with good opinion:
If thou vouchsafe with gracious eye to smile
Vpon my young new-borne Inuention,
Ile sing an Hymne in honor of thy name,
And add some Trophie to enlarge thy fame.
But if thou wilt not with thy Deitie
Shade, and inmaske the errors of my pen,
Protect an Orphane Poets infancie,
I will disclose, that all the world shall ken
How partiall thou art in Honors giuing:
Crowning the shade, the substance praise depriuing.
Shade, and inmaske the errors of my pen,
Protect an Orphane Poets infancie,
I will disclose, that all the world shall ken
How partiall thou art in Honors giuing:
Crowning the shade, the substance praise depriuing.
W. K.
51
To his Mistres.
My wanton Muse lasciuiously doth singOf sportiue loue, of louely dallying.
O beauteous Angell, daine thou to infuse
A sprightly wit, into my dulled Muse.
I inuocate none other Saint but thee,
To grace the first bloomes of my Poesie.
Thy fauours like Promethean sacred fire,
In dead, and dull conceit can life inspire.
Or like that rare and rich Elixar stone,
Can turne to gold, leaden inuention:
Be gracious then, and daine to show in mee,
The mighty power of thy Deitie.
And as thou read'st, (Faire) take compassion,
Force me not enuie my Pigmalion.
Then when thy kindnes grants me such sweet blisse,
I'le gladly write thy metamorphosis.
52
PIGMALION
THE ARGVMENT of the Poem.
Pigmalion whose chast mind all the beauties in Cyprus could not ensnare, yet at the length hauing carued in Iuorie an excellent proportion of a beauteous woman, was so deeplie enamored on his owne workmanship, that he would oftentimes lay the Image in bedde with him, and fondlie vse such petitions and dalliance, as if it had been a breathing creature. But in the end, finding his fond dotage, and yet perseuering in his ardent affection, made his deuout prayers to Venus, that shee would vouchsafe to enspire life into his Loue, and then ioyne them both together in marriage. Wherevpon Venus graciously condiscending to his earnest sute, the Mayde, (by the power of her Deitie) was metamorphosed into a liuing Woman. And after, Pigmalion (beeing in Cyprus,) begat a sonne of her, which was called Paphus, wherupon, that Iland Cyprus, in honor of Venus, was after, and is now, called by the inhabitants, Paphos.
1
Pigmalion, whose hie loue-hating mindeDisdain'd to yeeld seruile affection,
Or amorous sute to any woman-kinde,
Knowing their wants, and mens perfection.
Yet Loue at length forc'd him to know his fate,
And loue the shade, whose substance he did hate.
2
For hauing wrought in purest Iuorie,So faire an Image of a Womans feature,
That neuer yet proudest mortalitie
Could show so rare and beautious a creature.
(Vnlesse my Mistres all-excelling face,
Which giues to beautie, beauties onely grace.)
3
Hee was amazed at the wondrous rarenesseOf his owne workmanships perfection.
He thought that Nature nere produc'd such fairenes
In which all beauties haue their mantion.
And thus admiring, was enamored
On that fayre Image himselfe portraied.
4
And naked as it stood before his eyes,Imperious Loue declares his Deitie.
O what alluring beauties he descries
In each part of his faire imagery!
Her nakednes, each beauteous shape containes.
All beautie in her nakednes remaines.
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5
He thought he saw the blood run through the vaineAnd leape, and swell with all alluring meanes:
Then feares he is deceiu'd, and then againe,
He thinks he see'th the brightnes of the beames
Which shoote from out the fairenes of her eye:
At which he stands as in an extasie.
6
Her Amber-coloured, her shining haire,Makes him protest, the Sunne hath spread her head
With golden beames, to make her farre more faire.
But when her cheeks his amorous thoughts haue fed,
Then he exclaimes, such redde and so pure white,
Did neuer blesse the eye of mortall sight.
7
Then view's her lips, no lips did seeme so faireIn his conceit, through which he thinks doth flie
So sweet a breath, that doth perfume the ayre.
Then next her dimpled chin he doth discry,
And views, and wonders, and yet view's her still.
“Loues eyes in viewing neuer haue their fill.
8
Her breasts, like polisht Iuory appeare,Whose modest mount, doe blesse admiring eye,
And makes him wish for such a Pillowbeare.
Thus fond Pigmalion striueth to discry
Each beauteous part, not letting ouer-slip
One parcell of his curious workmanship.
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9
Vntill his eye discended so farre downeThat it discried Loues pauillion:
Where Cupid doth enjoy his onely crowne,
And Venus hath her chiefest mantion:
There would he winke, & winking looke againe,
Both eies & thoughts would gladly there remaine.
10
Who euer saw the subtile Citty-dameIn sacred church, when her pure thoughts shold pray,
Peire through her fingers, so to hide her shame,
When that her eye, her mind would faine bewray.
So would he view, and winke, and view againe,
A chaster thought could not his eyes retaine.
11
He wondred that she blusht not when his eyeSaluted those same parts of secrecie:
Conceiting not it was imagerie
That kindly yeelded that large libertie.
O that my Mistres were an Image too,
That I might blameles her perfections view.
12
But when the faire proportion of her thighBegan appeare. O Ouid would he cry,
Did ere Corinna show such Iuorie
When she appear'd in Venus liuorie?
And thus enamour'd, dotes on his owne Art
Which he did work, to work his pleasing smart.
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13
And fondly doting, oft he kist her lip.Oft would he dally with her Iuory breasts.
No wanton loue-trick would he ouer-slip,
But full obseru'd all amorous beheasts.
Whereby he thought he might procure the loue
Of his dull Image, which no plaints coulde moue.
14
Looke how the peeuish Papists crouch, and kneeleTo some dum Idoll with their offering,
As if a senceles carued stone could feele
The ardor of his bootles chattering,
So fond he was, and earnest in his sute
To his remorsles Image, dum and mute.
15
He oft doth wish his soule might part in sunderSo that one halfe in her had residence:
Oft he exclaimes, ô beauties onely wonder,
Sweet modell of delight, faire excellence,
Be gracious vnto him that formed thee,
Compassionate his true-loues ardencie.
16
She with her silence, seemes to graunt his sute.Then he all iocund like a wanton louer,
With amorous embracements doth salute
Her slender wast, presuming to discouer
The vale of Loue, where Cupid doth delight
To sport, and dally all the sable night.
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17
His eyes, her eyes, kindly encountered,His breast, her breast, oft ioyned close vnto,
His armes embracements oft she suffered,
Hands, armes, eyes, tongue, lips, and all parts did woe.
His thigh, with hers, his knee playd with her knee,
A happy consort when all parts agree.
18
But when he saw poore soule he was deceaued,(Yet scarce he could beleeue his sence had failed)
Yet when he found all hope from him bereaued,
And saw how fondly all his thoughts had erred,
Then did he like to poore Ixion seeme,
That clipt a cloud in steede of heauens Queene.
19
I oft haue smil'd to see the fooleryOf some sweet Youths, who seriously protest
That Loue respects not actuall Luxury,
But onely ioy's to dally, sport, and iest:
Loue is a child, contented with a toy,
A busk-point, or some fauour still's the boy.
20
Marke my Pigmalion, whose affections ardorMay be a mirror to posteritie.
Yet viewing, touching, kissing, (common fauour,)
Could neuer satiat his loues ardencie:
And therefore Ladies, thinke that they nere loue you,
Who doe not vnto more then kissing moue you.
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21
For my Pigmalion kist, viewd, and imbraced,And yet exclaimes, why were these women made
O sacred Gods, and with such beauties graced?
Haue they not power as well to coole, and shade,
As for to heate mens harts? or is there none
Or are they all like mine? relentlesse stone.
22
With that he takes her in his louing armes,And downe within a Downe-bed softly layd her.
Then on his knees he all his sences charmes,
To inuocate sweet Venus for to raise her
To wished life, and to infuse some breath,
To that which dead, yet gaue a life to death.
23
Thou sacred Queene of sportiue dallying,(Thus he begins,) Loues onely Emperesse,
Whose kingdome rests in wanton reuelling,
Let me beseech thee show thy powerfulnesse
In changing stone to flesh, make her relent,
And kindly yeeld to thy sweet blandishment.
24
O gracious Godesse, take compassion.Instill into her some celestiall fire,
That she may equalize affection,
And haue a mutuall loue, and loues desire.
Thou know'st the force of loue, then pitty me,
Compassionate my true loues ardencie.
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25
Thus hauing said, he riseth from the floore,As if his soule diuined him good fortune,
Hoping his prayers to pitty moou'd some power.
For all his thoughts did all good luck importune.
And therefore straight he strips him naked quite,
That in the bedde he might haue more delight.
26
Then thus, Sweet sheetes he sayes, which nowe doe couer,The Idol of my soule, the fairest one
That euer lou'd, or had an amorous louer.
Earths onely modell of perfection,
Sweet happy sheetes, daine for to take me in,
That I my hopes and longing thoughts may win.
27
With that his nimble limbs doe kisse the sheetes,And now he bowes him for to lay him downe,
And now each part, with her faire parts doe meet,
Now doth he hope for to enioy loues crowne:
Now doe they dally, kisse, embrace together,
Like Leda's Twins at sight of fairest weather.
28
Yet all's conceit. But shadow of that blisseWhich now my Muse striues sweetly to display
In this my wondrous metamorphosis.
Daine to beleeue me, now I sadly say.
The stonie substance of his Image feature,
Was straight transform'd into a liuing creature.
59
29
For when his hands her faire form'd limbs had felt,And that his armes her naked wast imbraced,
Each part like Waxe before the sunne did melt,
And now, oh now, he finds how he is graced
By his owne worke. Tut, women will relent
When as they finde such mouing blandishment.
30
Doe but conceiue a Mothers passing gladnes,(After that death her onely sonne hath seazed
And ouerwhelm'd her soule with endlesse sadnes)
When that she sees him gin for to be raised
From out his deadly swoune to life againe:
Such ioy Pigmalion feeles in euery vaine.
31
And yet he feares he doth but dreaming findSo rich content, and such celestiall blisse.
Yet when he proues & finds her wondrous kind,
Yeelding soft touch for touch, sweet kisse, for kisse,
He's well assur'd no faire imagery
Could yeeld such pleasing, loues felicity.
32
O wonder not to heare me thus relate,And say to flesh transformed was a stone.
Had I my Loue in such a wished state
As was afforded to Pigmalion,
Though flinty hard, of her you soone should see
As strange a transformation wrought by mee.
60
33
And now me thinks some wanton itching eareWith lustfull thoughts, and ill attention,
List's to my Muse, expecting for to heare
The amorous discription of that action
Which Venus seekes, and euer doth require,
When fitnes graunts a place to please desire.
34
Let him conceit but what himselfe would doeWhen that he had obtayned such a fauour,
Of her to whom his thoughts were bound vnto,
If she, in recompence of his loues labour,
Would daine to let one payre of sheets containe
The willing bodies of those louing twaine.
35
Could he, oh could he, when that each to eytherDid yeeld kind kissing, and more kind embracing,
Could he when that they felt, and clip't together
And might enioy the life of dallying,
Could he abstaine mid'st such a wanton sporting
From doing that, which is not fit reporting?
36
What would he doe when that her softest skinSaluted his with a delightfull kisse?
When all things fit for loues sweet pleasuring
Inuited him to reape a Louers blisse?
What he would doe, the selfe same action
Was not neglected by Pigmalion.
61
37
For when he found that life had tooke his seateWithin the breast of his kind beauteous loue,
When that he found that warmth, and wished heate
Which might a Saint and coldest spirit moue,
Then arms, eyes, hands, tong, lips, & wanton thigh,
Were willing agents in Loues luxurie.
38
Who knowes not what ensues? O pardon meYee gaping eares that swallow vp my lines
Expect no more. Peace idle Poesie,
Be not obsceane though wanton in thy rhimes.
And chaster thoughts, pardon if I doe trip,
Or if some loose lines from my pen doe slip,
39
Let this suffice, that that same happy nightSo gracious were the Gods of marriage
Mid'st all there pleasing and long wish'd delight
Paphus was got: of whom in after age
Cyprus was Paphos call'd, and euermore
Those Ilandars do Venus name adore.
FINIS.
63
SATYRES.
65
The Authour in prayse of his precedent Poem.
Now
Rufus, by old Glebrons fearefull mace
Hath not my Muse deseru'd a worthy place?
Come come Luxurio, crowne my head with Bayes,
Which like a Paphian, wantonly displayes
The Salaminian titillations,
Which tickle vp our leud Priapians.
Is not my pen compleate? are not my lines
Right in the swaggering humor of these times?
O sing Peana to my learned Muse.
Io bis dicite. Wilt thou refuse?
Doe not I put my Mistres in before?
And pitiously her gracious ayde implore?
Doe not I flatter, call her wondrous faire?
Vertuous, diuine most debonaire?
Hath not my Goddesse in the vaunt-gard place,
The leading of my lines theyr plumes to grace?
And then ensues my stanzaes, like odd bands
Of voluntaries, and mercenarians:
Which like Soldados of our warlike age,
March rich bedight in warlike equipage:
Glittering in dawbed lac'd accoustrements,
And pleasing sutes of loues habiliments.
Yet puffie as Dutch hose they are within,
Faint, and white liuer'd, as our gallants bin;
Patch'd like a beggars cloake, and run as sweet
As doth a tumbrell in the paued street.
And in the end, (the end of loue I wot)
Pigmalion hath a iolly boy begot.
So Labeo did complaine his loue was stone,
Obdurate, flinty, so relentlesse none:
Yet Lynceus knowes, that in the end of this,
He wrought as strange a metamorphosis.
Ends not my Poem then surpassing ill?
Come, come, Augustus, crowne my laureat quill.
Hath not my Muse deseru'd a worthy place?
Come come Luxurio, crowne my head with Bayes,
Which like a Paphian, wantonly displayes
The Salaminian titillations,
Which tickle vp our leud Priapians.
Is not my pen compleate? are not my lines
Right in the swaggering humor of these times?
O sing Peana to my learned Muse.
Io bis dicite. Wilt thou refuse?
Doe not I put my Mistres in before?
And pitiously her gracious ayde implore?
Doe not I flatter, call her wondrous faire?
Vertuous, diuine most debonaire?
Hath not my Goddesse in the vaunt-gard place,
The leading of my lines theyr plumes to grace?
And then ensues my stanzaes, like odd bands
Of voluntaries, and mercenarians:
Which like Soldados of our warlike age,
March rich bedight in warlike equipage:
Glittering in dawbed lac'd accoustrements,
And pleasing sutes of loues habiliments.
Yet puffie as Dutch hose they are within,
Faint, and white liuer'd, as our gallants bin;
Patch'd like a beggars cloake, and run as sweet
As doth a tumbrell in the paued street.
And in the end, (the end of loue I wot)
Pigmalion hath a iolly boy begot.
So Labeo did complaine his loue was stone,
Obdurate, flinty, so relentlesse none:
66
He wrought as strange a metamorphosis.
Ends not my Poem then surpassing ill?
Come, come, Augustus, crowne my laureat quill.
Now by the whyps of Epigramatists,
Ile not be lasht for my dissembling shifts.
And therefore I vse Popelings discipline,
Lay ope my faults to Mastigophoros eyne:
Censure my selfe, fore others me deride
And scoffe at mee, as if I had deni'd
Or thought my Poem good, when that I see
My lines are froth, my stanzaes saplesse be.
Thus hauing rail'd against my selfe a while,
Ile snarle at those, which doe the world beguile
With masked showes. Ye changing Proteans list,
And tremble at a barking Satyrist.
Ile not be lasht for my dissembling shifts.
And therefore I vse Popelings discipline,
Lay ope my faults to Mastigophoros eyne:
Censure my selfe, fore others me deride
And scoffe at mee, as if I had deni'd
Or thought my Poem good, when that I see
My lines are froth, my stanzaes saplesse be.
Thus hauing rail'd against my selfe a while,
Ile snarle at those, which doe the world beguile
With masked showes. Ye changing Proteans list,
And tremble at a barking Satyrist.
67
CERTAINE SATYRES
SATYRE. 1. Quedam videntur, et non sunt.
I cannot show in strange proportion,
Changing my hew like a Camelion.
But you all-canning wits, hold water out,
Yee vizarded-bifronted-Ianian rout.
Tell mee browne Ruscus, hast thou Gyges ring,
That thou presum'st as if thou wert vnseene?
If not. Why in thy wits halfe capreall
Lett'st thou a superscribed Letter fall?
And from thy selfe, vnto thy selfe doost send,
And in the same, thy selfe, thy selfe commend?
For shame leaue running to some Satrapas,
Leaue glauering on him in the peopled presse:
Holding him on as he through Paules doth walke,
With nodds and leggs, and odde superfluous talke:
Making men thinke thee gracious in his sight,
When he esteemes thee but a Parasite.
For shame vnmaske, leaue for to cloke intent,
And show thou art vaine-glorious, impudent.
Changing my hew like a Camelion.
But you all-canning wits, hold water out,
Yee vizarded-bifronted-Ianian rout.
Tell mee browne Ruscus, hast thou Gyges ring,
That thou presum'st as if thou wert vnseene?
If not. Why in thy wits halfe capreall
Lett'st thou a superscribed Letter fall?
And from thy selfe, vnto thy selfe doost send,
And in the same, thy selfe, thy selfe commend?
For shame leaue running to some Satrapas,
Leaue glauering on him in the peopled presse:
Holding him on as he through Paules doth walke,
With nodds and leggs, and odde superfluous talke:
Making men thinke thee gracious in his sight,
When he esteemes thee but a Parasite.
For shame vnmaske, leaue for to cloke intent,
And show thou art vaine-glorious, impudent.
Come Briscus, by the soule of Complement,
I'le not endure that with thine instrument
(Thy Gambo violl plac'd betwixt thy thighes,
Wherein the best part of thy courtship lyes)
Thou entertaine the time, thy Mistres by:
Come, now lets heare thy mounting Mercurie,
What mum? giue him his fiddle once againe,
Or he's more mute then a Pythagoran.
But oh! the absolute Castilio,
He that can all the poynts of courtship show.
He that can trot a Courser, breake a rush,
And arm'd in proofe, dare dure a strawes strong push.
He, who on his glorious scutchion
Can quaintly show wits newe inuention,
Aduauncing forth some thirstie Tantalus,
Or els the Vulture on Promethius,
With some short motto of a dozen lines.
He that can purpose it in dainty rimes,
Can set his face, and with his eye can speake,
And dally with his Mistres dangling feake,
And wish that he were it, to kisse her eye
And flare about her beauties deitie.
Tut, he is famous for his reueling,
For fine sette speeches, and for sonetting;
He scornes the violl and the scraping sticke,
And yet's but Broker of anothers wit.
Certes if all things were well knowne and view'd
He doth but champe that which another chew'd.
Come come Castilion, skim thy posset curd,
Show thy queere substance, worthlesse, most obsurd.
Take ceremonius complement from thee,
Alas, I see Castilios beggery.
I'le not endure that with thine instrument
(Thy Gambo violl plac'd betwixt thy thighes,
Wherein the best part of thy courtship lyes)
Thou entertaine the time, thy Mistres by:
Come, now lets heare thy mounting Mercurie,
What mum? giue him his fiddle once againe,
Or he's more mute then a Pythagoran.
68
He that can all the poynts of courtship show.
He that can trot a Courser, breake a rush,
And arm'd in proofe, dare dure a strawes strong push.
He, who on his glorious scutchion
Can quaintly show wits newe inuention,
Aduauncing forth some thirstie Tantalus,
Or els the Vulture on Promethius,
With some short motto of a dozen lines.
He that can purpose it in dainty rimes,
Can set his face, and with his eye can speake,
And dally with his Mistres dangling feake,
And wish that he were it, to kisse her eye
And flare about her beauties deitie.
Tut, he is famous for his reueling,
For fine sette speeches, and for sonetting;
He scornes the violl and the scraping sticke,
And yet's but Broker of anothers wit.
Certes if all things were well knowne and view'd
He doth but champe that which another chew'd.
Come come Castilion, skim thy posset curd,
Show thy queere substance, worthlesse, most obsurd.
Take ceremonius complement from thee,
Alas, I see Castilios beggery.
O if Democritus were now aliue
How would he laugh to see this deuill thriue!
And by an holy semblance bleare mens eyes
When he intends some damned villanies.
Ixion makes faire weather vnto Ioue,
That he might make foule work with his faire loue,
And is right sober in his outward semblance,
Demure, and modest in his countenance;
Applies himselfe to great Saturnus sonne,
Till Saturns daughter yeeldes his motion.
Night-shining Phœbe knowes what was begat,
A monstrous Centaure, illegitimate.
How would he laugh to see this deuill thriue!
And by an holy semblance bleare mens eyes
When he intends some damned villanies.
Ixion makes faire weather vnto Ioue,
That he might make foule work with his faire loue,
And is right sober in his outward semblance,
Demure, and modest in his countenance;
Applies himselfe to great Saturnus sonne,
69
Night-shining Phœbe knowes what was begat,
A monstrous Centaure, illegitimate.
Who would not chuck to see such pleasing sport.
To see such troupes of gallants still resort
Vnto Cornutos shop. What other cause
But chaste Brownetta, Sporo thether drawes?
Who now so long hath prays'd the Choughs white bill
That he hath left her ne're a flying quill:
His meaning gain, though outward semblance loue,
So like a Crabfish Sporo still doth moue.
Laugh, laugh, to see the world Democritus
Cry like that strange transformed Tyreus.
Now Sorbo with a fayned grauity
Doth fish for honour, and high dignity.
Nothing within, nor yet without, but beard
Which thrice he strokes, before I euer heard
One wise graue word, to blesse my listning eare.
But marke how Good-opinion doth him reare.
See, he's in office, on his foot-cloth placed:
Now each man caps, and striues for to be graced
With some rude nod of his maiestick head,
Which all doe wish in Limbo harried.
But ô I greeue, that good men daine to be
Slaues vnto him, that's slaue to villany.
Now Sorbo swels with selfe conceited sence,
Thinking that men doe yeeld this reuerence
Vnto his vertues: fond credulity!
Asse, take of Isis, no man honours thee.
To see such troupes of gallants still resort
Vnto Cornutos shop. What other cause
But chaste Brownetta, Sporo thether drawes?
Who now so long hath prays'd the Choughs white bill
That he hath left her ne're a flying quill:
His meaning gain, though outward semblance loue,
So like a Crabfish Sporo still doth moue.
Laugh, laugh, to see the world Democritus
Cry like that strange transformed Tyreus.
Now Sorbo with a fayned grauity
Doth fish for honour, and high dignity.
Nothing within, nor yet without, but beard
Which thrice he strokes, before I euer heard
One wise graue word, to blesse my listning eare.
But marke how Good-opinion doth him reare.
See, he's in office, on his foot-cloth placed:
Now each man caps, and striues for to be graced
With some rude nod of his maiestick head,
Which all doe wish in Limbo harried.
But ô I greeue, that good men daine to be
Slaues vnto him, that's slaue to villany.
Now Sorbo swels with selfe conceited sence,
Thinking that men doe yeeld this reuerence
Vnto his vertues: fond credulity!
Asse, take of Isis, no man honours thee.
Great Tubrios feather gallantly doth waue,
Full twenty falls doth make him wondrous braue.
Oh golden Ierkin! royall arming coate!
Like ship on Sea, he on the land doth flote.
He's gone, he's shipt, his resolution
Pricks him (by heauen) to this action.
The poxe it doth: not long since I did view
The man betake him to a common stew.
And there (I wis) like no quaint stomack't man
Eates vp his armes. And warres munition
His wauing plume, falls in the Brokers chest.
Fie that his Ostridge stomack should disgest
His Ostridge feather: eate vp Venis-lace.
Thou that did'st feare to eate Pore-Iohns aspace.
Lie close ye slaue at beastly luxury;
Melt and consume in pleasures surquedry.
But now, thou that did'st march with Spanish Pike before,
Come with French-pox out of that brothell dore.
The fleet's return'd. What newes from Rodio?
Hote seruice, by the Lord, cryes Tubrio.
Why do'st thou halt? Why six times throgh each thigh
Pusht with the Pike of the hote enemie.
Hote seruice, hote, the Spaniard is a man,
I say no more, and as a Gentleman
I serued in his face. Farwell. Adew.
Welcome from Netherland, from steaming stew.
Asse to thy crib, doffe that huge Lyons skin,
Or els the Owle will hoote and driue thee in.
For shame, for shame, lew'd liuing Tubrio
Presume not troupe among that gallant crue
Of true Heroike spirits, come vncase,
Show vs the true forme of Dametas face.
Hence, hence ye slaue, dissemble not thy state
But hence-forth be a turne-coate, runnagate.
Oh hold my sides, that I may breake my spleene,
With laughter at the shadowes I haue seene.
Full twenty falls doth make him wondrous braue.
70
Like ship on Sea, he on the land doth flote.
He's gone, he's shipt, his resolution
Pricks him (by heauen) to this action.
The poxe it doth: not long since I did view
The man betake him to a common stew.
And there (I wis) like no quaint stomack't man
Eates vp his armes. And warres munition
His wauing plume, falls in the Brokers chest.
Fie that his Ostridge stomack should disgest
His Ostridge feather: eate vp Venis-lace.
Thou that did'st feare to eate Pore-Iohns aspace.
Lie close ye slaue at beastly luxury;
Melt and consume in pleasures surquedry.
But now, thou that did'st march with Spanish Pike before,
Come with French-pox out of that brothell dore.
The fleet's return'd. What newes from Rodio?
Hote seruice, by the Lord, cryes Tubrio.
Why do'st thou halt? Why six times throgh each thigh
Pusht with the Pike of the hote enemie.
Hote seruice, hote, the Spaniard is a man,
I say no more, and as a Gentleman
I serued in his face. Farwell. Adew.
Welcome from Netherland, from steaming stew.
Asse to thy crib, doffe that huge Lyons skin,
Or els the Owle will hoote and driue thee in.
For shame, for shame, lew'd liuing Tubrio
Presume not troupe among that gallant crue
Of true Heroike spirits, come vncase,
Show vs the true forme of Dametas face.
Hence, hence ye slaue, dissemble not thy state
But hence-forth be a turne-coate, runnagate.
71
With laughter at the shadowes I haue seene.
Yet I can beare with Curios nimble feete
Saluting me with capers in the streete.
Although in open view, and peoples face,
He fronts me with some spruce, neate, sinquepace.
Or Tullus, though when ere he me espies
Straight with loud mouth (a bandy Sir) he cries.
Or Robrus, who adic't to nimble fence,
Still greetes me with Stockadoes violence.
These I doe beare, because I too well know
They are the same, they seeme in outward show.
But all confusion seuer from mine eye
This Ianian-bifront hypocrisie.
Saluting me with capers in the streete.
Although in open view, and peoples face,
He fronts me with some spruce, neate, sinquepace.
Or Tullus, though when ere he me espies
Straight with loud mouth (a bandy Sir) he cries.
Or Robrus, who adic't to nimble fence,
Still greetes me with Stockadoes violence.
These I doe beare, because I too well know
They are the same, they seeme in outward show.
But all confusion seuer from mine eye
This Ianian-bifront hypocrisie.
72
SATYRE. 2. Quedam sunt, et non videntur.
I that euen now lisp'd like an Amorist,
Am turn'd into a snaphaunce Satyrist.
O tytle, which my iudgement doth adore!
But I dull-sprighted fat Boetian Boore,
Doe farre of honour that Censorian seate.
But if I could in milk-white robes intreate
Plebeians fauour, I would shew to be
Tribunus plebis, gainst the villany
Of these same Proteans, whose hipocrisie,
Doth still abuse our fond credulity.
But since my selfe am not imaculate,
But many spots my minde doth vitiate,
I'le leaue the white roabe, and the biting rimes
Vnto our moderne Satyres sharpest lines;
Whose hungry fangs snarle at some secret sinne.
And in such pitchy clouds enwrapped beene
His Sphinxian ridles, that old Oedipus
Would be amaz'd and take it in foule snufs
That such Cymerian darknes should inuolue
A quaint conceit, that he could not resolue.
O darknes palpable! Egipts black night!
My wit is stricken blind, hath lost his sight.
My shins are broke, with groping for some sence
To know to what his words haue reference.
Certes (sunt) but (non videntur) that I know.
Reach me some Poets Index that will show.
Imagines Deorum. Booke of Epithites,
Natales Comes, thou I know recites,
And mak'st Anatomie of Poesie.
Helpe to vnmaske the Satyres secresie.
Delphick Apollo, ayde me to vnrip,
These intricate deepe Oracles of wit.
These darke Enigmaes, and strange ridling sence
Which passe my dullard braines intelligence.
Fie on my senceles pate; Now I can show
Thou writest that which I, nor thou, doo'st know.
Who would imagine that such squint-ey'd sight
Could strike the worlds deformities so right.
But take heede Pallas, least thou ayme awry
Loue, nor yet Hate, had ere true iudging eye.
Who would once dreame that that same Elegie,
That faire fram'd peece of sweetest Poesie,
Which Muto put betwixt his Mistris paps,
(When he (quick-witted) call'd her Cruell chaps,
And told her, there she might his dolors read
Which she, oh she, vpon his hart had spread)
Was penn'd by Roscio the Tragedian.
Yet Muto, like a good Vulcanian,
An honest Cuckold, calls the bastard sonne,
And brags of that which others for him done.
Satyre thou lyest, for that same Elegie
Is Mutos owne, his owne deere Poesie:
Why tis his owne, and deare, for he did pay
Ten crownes for it, as I heard Roscius say.
Who would imagine yonder sober man,
That same deuout meale-mouth'd Precisean,
That cries good brother, kind sister, makes a duck
After the Antique grace, can alwayes pluck
A sacred booke, out of his ciuill hose,
And at th'op'ning, and at our stomacks close
Sayes with a turn'd-vp eye a solemne grace
Of halfe an houre, then with his silken face
Smiles on the holy crue, And then doth cry
O manners! ô times of impurity!
With that depaints a church reformed state,
The which the female tongues magnificate:
Because that Platos odd opinion,
Of all things (common) hath strong motion
In their weake minds. Who thinks that this good man
Is a vile, sober, damn'd, Polititian?
Not I, till with his baite of purity
He bit me sore in deepest vsury.
No Iew, no Turke, would vse a Christian
So inhumanely as this Puritan.
Diomedes Iades were not so bestiall
As this same seeming-saint, vile Canniball.
Take heede ô world, take heede aduisedly
Of these same damned Anthropophagy.
I had rather be within a Harpies clawes
Then trust my selfe in their deuouring iawes.
Who all confusion to the world would bring
Vnder the forme of their new discipline.
O I could say, Briareus hundred hands
Were not so ready to bring Ioue in bands
As these to set endles contentious strife
Betwixt Iehoua, and his sacred wife.
Am turn'd into a snaphaunce Satyrist.
O tytle, which my iudgement doth adore!
But I dull-sprighted fat Boetian Boore,
Doe farre of honour that Censorian seate.
But if I could in milk-white robes intreate
Plebeians fauour, I would shew to be
Tribunus plebis, gainst the villany
Of these same Proteans, whose hipocrisie,
Doth still abuse our fond credulity.
But since my selfe am not imaculate,
But many spots my minde doth vitiate,
I'le leaue the white roabe, and the biting rimes
Vnto our moderne Satyres sharpest lines;
Whose hungry fangs snarle at some secret sinne.
And in such pitchy clouds enwrapped beene
His Sphinxian ridles, that old Oedipus
Would be amaz'd and take it in foule snufs
That such Cymerian darknes should inuolue
A quaint conceit, that he could not resolue.
O darknes palpable! Egipts black night!
My wit is stricken blind, hath lost his sight.
My shins are broke, with groping for some sence
To know to what his words haue reference.
Certes (sunt) but (non videntur) that I know.
Reach me some Poets Index that will show.
Imagines Deorum. Booke of Epithites,
Natales Comes, thou I know recites,
And mak'st Anatomie of Poesie.
73
Delphick Apollo, ayde me to vnrip,
These intricate deepe Oracles of wit.
These darke Enigmaes, and strange ridling sence
Which passe my dullard braines intelligence.
Fie on my senceles pate; Now I can show
Thou writest that which I, nor thou, doo'st know.
Who would imagine that such squint-ey'd sight
Could strike the worlds deformities so right.
But take heede Pallas, least thou ayme awry
Loue, nor yet Hate, had ere true iudging eye.
Who would once dreame that that same Elegie,
That faire fram'd peece of sweetest Poesie,
Which Muto put betwixt his Mistris paps,
(When he (quick-witted) call'd her Cruell chaps,
And told her, there she might his dolors read
Which she, oh she, vpon his hart had spread)
Was penn'd by Roscio the Tragedian.
Yet Muto, like a good Vulcanian,
An honest Cuckold, calls the bastard sonne,
And brags of that which others for him done.
Satyre thou lyest, for that same Elegie
Is Mutos owne, his owne deere Poesie:
Why tis his owne, and deare, for he did pay
Ten crownes for it, as I heard Roscius say.
Who would imagine yonder sober man,
That same deuout meale-mouth'd Precisean,
That cries good brother, kind sister, makes a duck
After the Antique grace, can alwayes pluck
A sacred booke, out of his ciuill hose,
And at th'op'ning, and at our stomacks close
Sayes with a turn'd-vp eye a solemne grace
Of halfe an houre, then with his silken face
Smiles on the holy crue, And then doth cry
74
With that depaints a church reformed state,
The which the female tongues magnificate:
Because that Platos odd opinion,
Of all things (common) hath strong motion
In their weake minds. Who thinks that this good man
Is a vile, sober, damn'd, Polititian?
Not I, till with his baite of purity
He bit me sore in deepest vsury.
No Iew, no Turke, would vse a Christian
So inhumanely as this Puritan.
Diomedes Iades were not so bestiall
As this same seeming-saint, vile Canniball.
Take heede ô world, take heede aduisedly
Of these same damned Anthropophagy.
I had rather be within a Harpies clawes
Then trust my selfe in their deuouring iawes.
Who all confusion to the world would bring
Vnder the forme of their new discipline.
O I could say, Briareus hundred hands
Were not so ready to bring Ioue in bands
As these to set endles contentious strife
Betwixt Iehoua, and his sacred wife.
But see who's yonder, true Humility
The perfect image of faire Curtesie.
See, he doth daine to be in seruitude
Where he hath no promotions liuelihood.
Marke, he doth curtsie, and salutes a block,
Will seeme to wonder at a wethercock,
Trenchmore with Apes, play musick to an Owle,
Blesse his sweet honours running brasell bowle:
Cries (brauely broake) when that his Lordship mist,
And is of all the thrunged scaffold hist.
O is not this a curteous minded man?
No foole, no, a damn'd Macheuelian.
Holds candle to the deuill for a while,
That he the better may the world beguile
That's fed with shows. He hopes thogh som repine,
When sunne is set, the lesser starres will shine:
He is within a haughty malecontent,
Though he doe vse such humble blandishment.
But bold-fac'd Satyre, straine not ouer hie,
But laugh and chuck at meaner gullery.
The perfect image of faire Curtesie.
See, he doth daine to be in seruitude
Where he hath no promotions liuelihood.
Marke, he doth curtsie, and salutes a block,
Will seeme to wonder at a wethercock,
Trenchmore with Apes, play musick to an Owle,
Blesse his sweet honours running brasell bowle:
Cries (brauely broake) when that his Lordship mist,
And is of all the thrunged scaffold hist.
75
No foole, no, a damn'd Macheuelian.
Holds candle to the deuill for a while,
That he the better may the world beguile
That's fed with shows. He hopes thogh som repine,
When sunne is set, the lesser starres will shine:
He is within a haughty malecontent,
Though he doe vse such humble blandishment.
But bold-fac'd Satyre, straine not ouer hie,
But laugh and chuck at meaner gullery.
In fayth yon is a well fac'd Gentleman,
See how he paceth like a Ciprian:
Faire Amber tresses of the fairest haire
That ere were waued by our London aire,
Rich laced sute, all spruce, all neat in truth.
Ho Linceus! What's yonder brisk neat youth
Bout whom yon troupe of Gallants flocken so?
And now together to Brownes common goe?
Thou knowst I am sure, for thou canst cast thine eie
Through nine mud wals, or els odd Poets lie.
Tis loose legg'd Lais, that same common Drab,
For whom good Tubrio tooke the mortall stab.
Ha ha, Nay then I'le neuer raile at those
That weare a codpis, thereby to disclose
What sexe they are, since strumpets breeches vse,
And all mens eyes saue Linceus can abuse.
Nay steed of shadow, lay the substance out,
Or els faire Briscus I shall stand in doubt
What sex thou art, since such Hermaphrodites
Such Protean shadowes so delude our sights.
See how he paceth like a Ciprian:
Faire Amber tresses of the fairest haire
That ere were waued by our London aire,
Rich laced sute, all spruce, all neat in truth.
Ho Linceus! What's yonder brisk neat youth
Bout whom yon troupe of Gallants flocken so?
And now together to Brownes common goe?
Thou knowst I am sure, for thou canst cast thine eie
Through nine mud wals, or els odd Poets lie.
Tis loose legg'd Lais, that same common Drab,
For whom good Tubrio tooke the mortall stab.
Ha ha, Nay then I'le neuer raile at those
That weare a codpis, thereby to disclose
What sexe they are, since strumpets breeches vse,
And all mens eyes saue Linceus can abuse.
Nay steed of shadow, lay the substance out,
Or els faire Briscus I shall stand in doubt
What sex thou art, since such Hermaphrodites
Such Protean shadowes so delude our sights.
Looke, looke, with what a discontented grace
Bruto the trauailer doth sadly pace
Long Westminster, ô ciuill seeming shade,
Marke his sad colours, how demurely clad,
Staidnes it selfe, and Nestors grauity
Are but the shade of his ciuility.
And now he sighes. O thou corrupted age,
Which slight regard'st men of sound carriage,
Vertue, knowledge, flie to heauen againe
Daine not mong these vngratefull sots remaine.
Well, some tongs I know, some Countries I haue seene
And yet these oily Snailes respectles beene
Of my good parts. O worthles puffie slaue!
Did'st thou to Venis goe ought els to haue?
But buy a Lute and vse a Curtezan?
And there to liue like a Cyllenian?
And now from thence what hether do'st thou bring?
But surpheulings, new paints and poysonings?
Aretines pictures, some strange Luxury?
And new found vse of Venis venery?
What art thou but black clothes? Say Bruto say
Art any thing but onely sad array?
Which I am sure is all thou brought'st from France,
Saue Naples poxe, and French-mens dalliance.
From haughty Spayne, what brought'st thou els beside,
But lofty lookes, and their Lucifrian pride?
From Belgia what? but theyr deepe bezeling,
Their boote-carouse, and theyr Beere-buttering.
Well, then exclaime not on our age good man,
But hence poluted Neopolitan.
Bruto the trauailer doth sadly pace
76
Marke his sad colours, how demurely clad,
Staidnes it selfe, and Nestors grauity
Are but the shade of his ciuility.
And now he sighes. O thou corrupted age,
Which slight regard'st men of sound carriage,
Vertue, knowledge, flie to heauen againe
Daine not mong these vngratefull sots remaine.
Well, some tongs I know, some Countries I haue seene
And yet these oily Snailes respectles beene
Of my good parts. O worthles puffie slaue!
Did'st thou to Venis goe ought els to haue?
But buy a Lute and vse a Curtezan?
And there to liue like a Cyllenian?
And now from thence what hether do'st thou bring?
But surpheulings, new paints and poysonings?
Aretines pictures, some strange Luxury?
And new found vse of Venis venery?
What art thou but black clothes? Say Bruto say
Art any thing but onely sad array?
Which I am sure is all thou brought'st from France,
Saue Naples poxe, and French-mens dalliance.
From haughty Spayne, what brought'st thou els beside,
But lofty lookes, and their Lucifrian pride?
From Belgia what? but theyr deepe bezeling,
Their boote-carouse, and theyr Beere-buttering.
Well, then exclaime not on our age good man,
But hence poluted Neopolitan.
Now Satyre cease to rub our gauled skinnes,
And to vnmaske the worlds detested sinnes.
Thou shalt as soone draw Nilus riuer dry,
As clense the world from foule impietie.
And to vnmaske the worlds detested sinnes.
Thou shalt as soone draw Nilus riuer dry,
As clense the world from foule impietie.
77
SATYRE. 3. Quedam et sunt, et videntur.
Now grim Reprofe, swel in my rough-heu'd rime,
That thou maist vexe the guilty of our time.
Yon is a youth, whom how can I ore'slip,
Since he so iumpe doth in my mashes hit?
He hath been longer in preparing him
Then Terence wench, and now behold he's seene.
Now after two yeeres fast and earnest prayer,
The fashion change not, (least he should dispaire
Of euer hoording vp more faire gay clothes)
Behold at length in London streets he showes.
His ruffe did eate more time in neatest setting
Then Woodstocks worke in painfull perfecting.
It hath more doubles farre, then Aiax shield
When he gainst Troy did furious battell weild.
Nay he doth weare an Embleme bout his necke.
For vnder that fayre Ruffe so sprucely set
Appeares a fall, a falling-band forsooth.
O dapper, rare, compleat, sweet nittie youth!
Iesu Maria! How his clothes appeare
Crost, and recrost with lace, sure for some feare,
Least that some spirit with a tippet Mace
Should with a gastly show affright his face.
His hat, himselfe, small crowne & huge great brim,
Faire outward show, and little wit within.
And all the band with feathers he doth fill,
Which is a signe of a fantasticke still,
As sure, as (some doe tell me) euermore
A Goate doth stand before a brothell dore.
His clothes perfum'd, his fustie mouth is ayred,
His chinne new swept, his very cheekes are glazed.
That thou maist vexe the guilty of our time.
Yon is a youth, whom how can I ore'slip,
Since he so iumpe doth in my mashes hit?
He hath been longer in preparing him
Then Terence wench, and now behold he's seene.
Now after two yeeres fast and earnest prayer,
The fashion change not, (least he should dispaire
Of euer hoording vp more faire gay clothes)
Behold at length in London streets he showes.
His ruffe did eate more time in neatest setting
Then Woodstocks worke in painfull perfecting.
It hath more doubles farre, then Aiax shield
When he gainst Troy did furious battell weild.
Nay he doth weare an Embleme bout his necke.
For vnder that fayre Ruffe so sprucely set
Appeares a fall, a falling-band forsooth.
O dapper, rare, compleat, sweet nittie youth!
Iesu Maria! How his clothes appeare
Crost, and recrost with lace, sure for some feare,
Least that some spirit with a tippet Mace
Should with a gastly show affright his face.
His hat, himselfe, small crowne & huge great brim,
Faire outward show, and little wit within.
And all the band with feathers he doth fill,
Which is a signe of a fantasticke still,
As sure, as (some doe tell me) euermore
78
His clothes perfum'd, his fustie mouth is ayred,
His chinne new swept, his very cheekes are glazed.
But ho, what Ganimede is that doth grace
The gallants heeles. One, who for two daies space
Is closely hyred. Now who dares not call
This Æsops crow, fond, mad, fantasticall.
Why so he is, his clothes doe sympathize,
And with his inward spirit humorize.
An open Asse, that is not yet so wise
As his derided fondnes to disguise.
Why thou art Bedlam mad, starke lunaticke,
And glori'st to be counted a fantastick.
Thou neyther art, nor yet will seeme to be
Heire to some vertuous praised qualitie.
O frantick men! that thinke all villanie
The compleate honors of Nobilitie.
When some damn'd vice, som strange mishapen sute,
Makes youths esteeme themselues in hie repute.
O age! in which our gallants boast to be
Slaues vnto riot, and lewd luxury!
Nay, when they blush, and thinke an honest act
Dooth their supposed vertues maculate!
Bedlame, Frenzie, Madnes, Lunacie,
I challenge all your moody Empery
Once to produce a more distracted man
Then is inamorato Lucian.
For when my eares receau'd a fearefull sound
That he was sicke, I went, and there I found
Him layd of loue, and newly brought to bed
Of monstrous folly, and a franticke head.
His chamber hang'd about with Elegies,
With sad complaints of his loues miseries:
His windowes strow'd with Sonnets, and the glasse
Drawne full of loue-knots. I approcht the Asse,
And straight he weepes, and sighes some sonnet out
To his faire loue. And then he goes about
For to perfume her rare perfection
With some sweet-smelling pinck Epitheton.
Then with a melting looke he writhes his head,
And straight in passion riseth in his bed;
And hauing kist his hand, stroke vp his haire,
Made a French conge, cryes. O cruell feare
To the antique Bed-post. I laught a maine
That down my cheeks the mirthful drops did raine.
Well he's no Ianus, but substantiall,
In show, and essence a good naturall.
When as thou hear'st me aske spruce Duceus
From whence he comes. And hee straight answers vs,
From Lady Lilla. And is going straight
To the Countesse of (---) for she doth waite
His comming. And will surely send her Coach,
Vnlesse he make the speedier approch.
Art not thou ready for to breake thy spleene
At laughing at the fondnes thou hast seene
In this vaine-glorious foole? When thou dost know
He neuer durst vnto these Ladies show
His pippin face. Well, he's no accident,
But reall, reall, shamelesse, impudent.
And yet he boasts, and wonders that each man
Can call him by his name, sweet Ducean:
And is right proude that thus his name is knowne.
I, Duceus, I, thy name is too farre blowne.
The world too much, thy selfe too little know'st
Thy priuate selfe. Why then should Duceus boast?
But humble Satyre, wilt thou daine display
These open naggs, which purblind eyes bewray?
Come, come, and snarle more darke at secrete sin,
Which in such Laborinths enwrapped bin,
That Ariadne I must craue thy ayde
To helpe me finde where this foule monster's layd,
Then will I driue the Minotaure from vs,
And seeme to be a second Theseus.
The gallants heeles. One, who for two daies space
Is closely hyred. Now who dares not call
This Æsops crow, fond, mad, fantasticall.
Why so he is, his clothes doe sympathize,
And with his inward spirit humorize.
An open Asse, that is not yet so wise
As his derided fondnes to disguise.
Why thou art Bedlam mad, starke lunaticke,
And glori'st to be counted a fantastick.
Thou neyther art, nor yet will seeme to be
Heire to some vertuous praised qualitie.
O frantick men! that thinke all villanie
The compleate honors of Nobilitie.
When some damn'd vice, som strange mishapen sute,
Makes youths esteeme themselues in hie repute.
O age! in which our gallants boast to be
Slaues vnto riot, and lewd luxury!
Nay, when they blush, and thinke an honest act
Dooth their supposed vertues maculate!
Bedlame, Frenzie, Madnes, Lunacie,
I challenge all your moody Empery
Once to produce a more distracted man
Then is inamorato Lucian.
For when my eares receau'd a fearefull sound
That he was sicke, I went, and there I found
Him layd of loue, and newly brought to bed
Of monstrous folly, and a franticke head.
His chamber hang'd about with Elegies,
With sad complaints of his loues miseries:
His windowes strow'd with Sonnets, and the glasse
79
And straight he weepes, and sighes some sonnet out
To his faire loue. And then he goes about
For to perfume her rare perfection
With some sweet-smelling pinck Epitheton.
Then with a melting looke he writhes his head,
And straight in passion riseth in his bed;
And hauing kist his hand, stroke vp his haire,
Made a French conge, cryes. O cruell feare
To the antique Bed-post. I laught a maine
That down my cheeks the mirthful drops did raine.
Well he's no Ianus, but substantiall,
In show, and essence a good naturall.
When as thou hear'st me aske spruce Duceus
From whence he comes. And hee straight answers vs,
From Lady Lilla. And is going straight
To the Countesse of (---) for she doth waite
His comming. And will surely send her Coach,
Vnlesse he make the speedier approch.
Art not thou ready for to breake thy spleene
At laughing at the fondnes thou hast seene
In this vaine-glorious foole? When thou dost know
He neuer durst vnto these Ladies show
His pippin face. Well, he's no accident,
But reall, reall, shamelesse, impudent.
And yet he boasts, and wonders that each man
Can call him by his name, sweet Ducean:
And is right proude that thus his name is knowne.
I, Duceus, I, thy name is too farre blowne.
The world too much, thy selfe too little know'st
Thy priuate selfe. Why then should Duceus boast?
But humble Satyre, wilt thou daine display
These open naggs, which purblind eyes bewray?
Come, come, and snarle more darke at secrete sin,
80
That Ariadne I must craue thy ayde
To helpe me finde where this foule monster's layd,
Then will I driue the Minotaure from vs,
And seeme to be a second Theseus.
81
[SATYRE 4]
REACTIO.
Now doth Ramnusia Adrastian,
Daughter of Night, and of the Ocean
Prouoke my pen. What cold Saturnian
Can hold, and heare such vile detraction?
Yee Pines of Ida, shake your fayre growne height,
For Ioue at first dash will with thunder fight.
Yee Cedars bend, fore lightning you dismay,
Yee Lyons tremble, for an Asse doth bray.
Who cannot raile? what dog but dare to barke
Gainst Phoebes brightnes in the silent darke?
What stinking Scauenger (if so he will
Though streets be fayre,) but may right easily fill,
His dungy tumbrel? sweep, pare, wash, make cleane,
Yet from your fairnes he some durt can gleane.
The windie-chollicke striu'd to haue some vent,
And now tis flowne, and now his rage is spent.
So haue I seene the fuming waues to fret,
And in the end, naught but white foame beget.
So haue I seene the sullen clowdes to cry,
And weepe for anger that the earth was dry
After theyr spight, that all the haile-shot drops
Could neuer peirce the christall water tops,
And neuer yet could worke her more disgrace
But onely bubble quiet Thetis face.
Vaine enuious detractor from the good
What Cynicke spirit rageth in thy blood?
Cannot a poore mistaken title scape
But thou must that into thy Tumbrell scrape?
Cannot some lewd, immodest beastlines
Lurke, and lie hid in iust forgetfulnes,
But Grillus subtile-smelling swinish snout
Must sent, and grunt, and needes will finde it out?
Come daunce yee stumbling Satyres by his side
If he list once the Syon Muse deride.
Ye Granta's white Nymphs, come & with you bring
Some sillabub, whilst he doth sweetly sing
Gainst Peters teares, and Maries mouing moane,
And like a fierce enraged Boare doth foame
At sacred Sonnets. O daring hardiment!
At Bartas sweet Semaines, raile impudent
At Hopkins, Sternhold, and the Scottish King,
At all Translators that doe striue to bring
That stranger language to our vulgar tongue,
Spett in thy poyson theyr faire acts among.
Ding them all downe from faire Ierusalem,
And mew them vp in thy deserued Bedlem.
Daughter of Night, and of the Ocean
Prouoke my pen. What cold Saturnian
Can hold, and heare such vile detraction?
Yee Pines of Ida, shake your fayre growne height,
For Ioue at first dash will with thunder fight.
Yee Cedars bend, fore lightning you dismay,
Yee Lyons tremble, for an Asse doth bray.
Who cannot raile? what dog but dare to barke
Gainst Phoebes brightnes in the silent darke?
What stinking Scauenger (if so he will
Though streets be fayre,) but may right easily fill,
His dungy tumbrel? sweep, pare, wash, make cleane,
Yet from your fairnes he some durt can gleane.
The windie-chollicke striu'd to haue some vent,
And now tis flowne, and now his rage is spent.
So haue I seene the fuming waues to fret,
And in the end, naught but white foame beget.
So haue I seene the sullen clowdes to cry,
And weepe for anger that the earth was dry
After theyr spight, that all the haile-shot drops
Could neuer peirce the christall water tops,
And neuer yet could worke her more disgrace
But onely bubble quiet Thetis face.
Vaine enuious detractor from the good
What Cynicke spirit rageth in thy blood?
Cannot a poore mistaken title scape
But thou must that into thy Tumbrell scrape?
Cannot some lewd, immodest beastlines
Lurke, and lie hid in iust forgetfulnes,
82
Must sent, and grunt, and needes will finde it out?
Come daunce yee stumbling Satyres by his side
If he list once the Syon Muse deride.
Ye Granta's white Nymphs, come & with you bring
Some sillabub, whilst he doth sweetly sing
Gainst Peters teares, and Maries mouing moane,
And like a fierce enraged Boare doth foame
At sacred Sonnets. O daring hardiment!
At Bartas sweet Semaines, raile impudent
At Hopkins, Sternhold, and the Scottish King,
At all Translators that doe striue to bring
That stranger language to our vulgar tongue,
Spett in thy poyson theyr faire acts among.
Ding them all downe from faire Ierusalem,
And mew them vp in thy deserued Bedlem.
Shall Painims honor, their vile falsed gods
With sprightly wits? and shall not we by ods
Farre, farre, more striue with wits best quintessence
To adore that sacred euer-liuing Essence?
Hath not strong reason moou'd the Legists mind,
To say the fayrest of all Natures kinde
The Prince by his prerogatiue may claime?
Why may not then our soules without thy blame,
(which is the best thing that our God did frame)
Deuote the best part to his sacred Name?
And with due reuerence and deuotion
Honor his Name with our inuention?
No, Poesie not fit for such an action,
It is defild with superstition:
It honord Baule, therefore polute, polute,
Vnfit for such a sacred institute.
So haue I heard an Heritick maintaine
The Church vnholy, where Iehouas Name
Is now ador'd: because he surely knowes
Some-times it was defil'd with Popish showes.
The Bells profane, and not to be endur'd,
Because to Popish rites they were inur'd.
Pure madnes peace, cease to be insolent,
And be not outward sober, inlye impudent.
Fie inconsiderate, it greeueth me
An Academick should so senceles be.
Fond Censurer! Why should those mirrors seeme
So vile to thee? which better iudgements deeme
Exquisite then, and in our polish'd times
May run for sencefull tollerable lines.
What, not mediocria firma from thy spight?
But must thy enuious hungry fangs needs light
On Magistrates mirrour? must thou needs detract
And striue to worke his antient honors wrack?
What, shall not Rosamond, or Gaueston,
Ope their sweet lips without detraction?
But must our moderne Critticks enuious eye
Seeme thus to quote some grosse deformity?
Where Art, not error shineth in their stile,
But error and no Art doth thee beguile.
For tell me Crittick, is not Fiction
The soule of Poesies inuention?
Is't not the forme? the spirit? and the essence?
The life? and the essentiall difference?
Which omni, semper, soli, doth agree
To heauenly discended Poesie?
Thy wit God comfort mad Chirurgion
What, make so dangerous an Incision?
At first dash whip away the instrument
Of Poets Procreation? fie ignorant!
When as the soule, and vitall blood doth rest
And hath in Fiction onely interest?
What Satyre! sucke the soule from Poesie
And leaue him spritles? ô impiety!
Would euer any erudite Pedant
Seeme in his artles lines so insolent?
But thus it is when pitty Priscians
Will needs step vp to be Censorians.
When once they can in true skan'd verses frame
A braue Encomium of good Vertues name.
Why thus it is, when Mimick Apes will striue
with Iron wedge the trunks of Oakes to riue.
With sprightly wits? and shall not we by ods
Farre, farre, more striue with wits best quintessence
To adore that sacred euer-liuing Essence?
Hath not strong reason moou'd the Legists mind,
To say the fayrest of all Natures kinde
The Prince by his prerogatiue may claime?
Why may not then our soules without thy blame,
(which is the best thing that our God did frame)
Deuote the best part to his sacred Name?
And with due reuerence and deuotion
Honor his Name with our inuention?
No, Poesie not fit for such an action,
It is defild with superstition:
It honord Baule, therefore polute, polute,
Vnfit for such a sacred institute.
So haue I heard an Heritick maintaine
The Church vnholy, where Iehouas Name
83
Some-times it was defil'd with Popish showes.
The Bells profane, and not to be endur'd,
Because to Popish rites they were inur'd.
Pure madnes peace, cease to be insolent,
And be not outward sober, inlye impudent.
Fie inconsiderate, it greeueth me
An Academick should so senceles be.
Fond Censurer! Why should those mirrors seeme
So vile to thee? which better iudgements deeme
Exquisite then, and in our polish'd times
May run for sencefull tollerable lines.
What, not mediocria firma from thy spight?
But must thy enuious hungry fangs needs light
On Magistrates mirrour? must thou needs detract
And striue to worke his antient honors wrack?
What, shall not Rosamond, or Gaueston,
Ope their sweet lips without detraction?
But must our moderne Critticks enuious eye
Seeme thus to quote some grosse deformity?
Where Art, not error shineth in their stile,
But error and no Art doth thee beguile.
For tell me Crittick, is not Fiction
The soule of Poesies inuention?
Is't not the forme? the spirit? and the essence?
The life? and the essentiall difference?
Which omni, semper, soli, doth agree
To heauenly discended Poesie?
Thy wit God comfort mad Chirurgion
What, make so dangerous an Incision?
At first dash whip away the instrument
Of Poets Procreation? fie ignorant!
When as the soule, and vitall blood doth rest
And hath in Fiction onely interest?
84
And leaue him spritles? ô impiety!
Would euer any erudite Pedant
Seeme in his artles lines so insolent?
But thus it is when pitty Priscians
Will needs step vp to be Censorians.
When once they can in true skan'd verses frame
A braue Encomium of good Vertues name.
Why thus it is, when Mimick Apes will striue
with Iron wedge the trunks of Oakes to riue.
But see, his spirit of detraction
Must nible at a glorious action.
Euge! some gallant spirit, some resolued blood
will hazard all to worke his Countries good
And to enrich his soule, and raise his name
will boldly saile vnto the rich Guiane.
What then? must straight some shameles Satyrist
with odious and opprobrius termes insist
To blast so high resolu'd intention
with a malignant vile detraction?
So haue I seene a curre dogge in the streete
Pisse gainst the fairest posts he still could meete.
So haue I seene the march wind striue to fade
The fairest hewe that Art, or Nature made.
So Enuy still doth barke at clearest shine
And striues to staine heroyick acts, deuine.
well, I haue cast thy water, and I see
Th'art falne to wits extreamest pouerty,
Sure in Consumption of the spritely part.
Goe vse some Cordiall for to cheere thy hart:
Or els I feare that I one day shall see
Thee fall, into some dangerous Litargie.
Must nible at a glorious action.
Euge! some gallant spirit, some resolued blood
will hazard all to worke his Countries good
And to enrich his soule, and raise his name
will boldly saile vnto the rich Guiane.
What then? must straight some shameles Satyrist
with odious and opprobrius termes insist
To blast so high resolu'd intention
with a malignant vile detraction?
So haue I seene a curre dogge in the streete
Pisse gainst the fairest posts he still could meete.
So haue I seene the march wind striue to fade
The fairest hewe that Art, or Nature made.
So Enuy still doth barke at clearest shine
And striues to staine heroyick acts, deuine.
well, I haue cast thy water, and I see
Th'art falne to wits extreamest pouerty,
Sure in Consumption of the spritely part.
Goe vse some Cordiall for to cheere thy hart:
Or els I feare that I one day shall see
Thee fall, into some dangerous Litargie.
But come fond Bragart, crowne thy browes with Bay
Intrance thy selfe in thy sweet extasie.
Come, manumit thy plumie pinion,
And scower the sword of Eluish champion,
Or els vouchsafe to breathe in wax-bound quill,
And daine our longing eares with musick fill:
Or let vs see thee some such stanzaes frame
That thou maist raise thy vile inglorious name.
Sommon the Nymphs and Driades to bring
Some rare inuention, whilst thou doost sing
So sweet, that thou maist shoulder from aboue
The Eagle from the staires of freendly Ioue:
And leade sad Pluto Captiue with thy song,
Gracing thy selfe, that art obscur'd so long.
Come somewhat say (but hang me when tis done)
Worthy of brasse, and hoary marble stone;
Speake yee attentiue Swaines that heard him neuer
Will not his Pastorals indure for euer?
Speake yee that neuer heard him ought but raile
Doe not his Poems beare a glorious saile?
Hath not he strongly iustled from aboue
The Eagle from the staires of friendly Ioue?
May be, may be, tut tis his modesty,
He could if that he would, nay would if could I see.
Who cannot raile? and with a blasting breath
Scorch euen the whitest Lillies of the earth?
Who cannot stumble in a stuttering stile?
And shallow heads with seeming shades beguile?
Cease, cease, at length to be maleuolent,
To fairest bloomes of Vertues eminent.
Striue not to soile the freshest hewes on earth
With thy malitious and vpbraiding breath.
Enuie, let Pines of Ida rest alone,
For they will growe spight of thy thunder stone,
Striue not to nible in their swelling graine
With toothles gums of thy detracting braine:
Eate not thy dam, but laugh and sport with me
At strangers follies with a merry glee.
Lets not maligne our kin. Then Satyrist
I doe salute thee with an open fist.
Intrance thy selfe in thy sweet extasie.
85
And scower the sword of Eluish champion,
Or els vouchsafe to breathe in wax-bound quill,
And daine our longing eares with musick fill:
Or let vs see thee some such stanzaes frame
That thou maist raise thy vile inglorious name.
Sommon the Nymphs and Driades to bring
Some rare inuention, whilst thou doost sing
So sweet, that thou maist shoulder from aboue
The Eagle from the staires of freendly Ioue:
And leade sad Pluto Captiue with thy song,
Gracing thy selfe, that art obscur'd so long.
Come somewhat say (but hang me when tis done)
Worthy of brasse, and hoary marble stone;
Speake yee attentiue Swaines that heard him neuer
Will not his Pastorals indure for euer?
Speake yee that neuer heard him ought but raile
Doe not his Poems beare a glorious saile?
Hath not he strongly iustled from aboue
The Eagle from the staires of friendly Ioue?
May be, may be, tut tis his modesty,
He could if that he would, nay would if could I see.
Who cannot raile? and with a blasting breath
Scorch euen the whitest Lillies of the earth?
Who cannot stumble in a stuttering stile?
And shallow heads with seeming shades beguile?
Cease, cease, at length to be maleuolent,
To fairest bloomes of Vertues eminent.
Striue not to soile the freshest hewes on earth
With thy malitious and vpbraiding breath.
Enuie, let Pines of Ida rest alone,
For they will growe spight of thy thunder stone,
Striue not to nible in their swelling graine
86
Eate not thy dam, but laugh and sport with me
At strangers follies with a merry glee.
Lets not maligne our kin. Then Satyrist
I doe salute thee with an open fist.
87
SATYRE [5]
Parua magna, magna nulla.
Ambitious
Gorgons, wide-mouth'd Lamians,
Shape-changing Proteans, damn'd Briareans,
Is Minos dead? is Radamanth a sleepe?
That yee thus dare vnto Ioues Pallace creepe?
what, hath Ramnusia spent her knotted whip?
That yee dare striue on Hebes cup to sip?
Yet know Apolloes quiuer is not spent
But can abate your daring hardiment.
Python is slaine, yet his accursed race,
Dare looke deuine Astrea in the face:
Chaos returne, and with confusion
Inuolue the world with strange disunion:
For Pluto sits in that adored chaire
which doth belong vnto Mineruas heire.
O Hecatombe! ô Catastrophe!
From Mydas pompe, to Irus beggery.
Promethius, who celestiall fier
Did steale from heauen, therewith to inspire
Our earthly bodies with a sence-full mind,
whereby we might the depth of Nature find,
Is ding'd to hell, and vulture eates his hart
which did such deepe Philosophy impart
To mortall men. When theeuing Mercury
That euen in his new borne infancy
Stole faire Apollos quiuer, and Ioues mace,
And would haue filch'd the lightning from his place,
But that he fear'd he should haue burnt his wing
And sing'd his downy feathers new come spring;
He that in gastly shade of night doth leade
Our soules, vnto the empire of the dead.
When he that better doth deserue a rope
Is a faire planet in our Horoscope.
And now hath Caduceus in his hand
Of life and death that hath the sole command.
Thus petty thefts are payed, and soundly whipt,
But greater crimes are slightly ouerslipt:
Nay he's a God that can doe villany
with a good grace, and glib facility.
Shape-changing Proteans, damn'd Briareans,
Is Minos dead? is Radamanth a sleepe?
That yee thus dare vnto Ioues Pallace creepe?
what, hath Ramnusia spent her knotted whip?
That yee dare striue on Hebes cup to sip?
Yet know Apolloes quiuer is not spent
But can abate your daring hardiment.
Python is slaine, yet his accursed race,
Dare looke deuine Astrea in the face:
Chaos returne, and with confusion
Inuolue the world with strange disunion:
For Pluto sits in that adored chaire
which doth belong vnto Mineruas heire.
O Hecatombe! ô Catastrophe!
From Mydas pompe, to Irus beggery.
Promethius, who celestiall fier
Did steale from heauen, therewith to inspire
Our earthly bodies with a sence-full mind,
whereby we might the depth of Nature find,
Is ding'd to hell, and vulture eates his hart
which did such deepe Philosophy impart
To mortall men. When theeuing Mercury
That euen in his new borne infancy
Stole faire Apollos quiuer, and Ioues mace,
And would haue filch'd the lightning from his place,
But that he fear'd he should haue burnt his wing
And sing'd his downy feathers new come spring;
88
Our soules, vnto the empire of the dead.
When he that better doth deserue a rope
Is a faire planet in our Horoscope.
And now hath Caduceus in his hand
Of life and death that hath the sole command.
Thus petty thefts are payed, and soundly whipt,
But greater crimes are slightly ouerslipt:
Nay he's a God that can doe villany
with a good grace, and glib facility.
The harmles hunter, with a ventrous eye
When vnawares he did Diana spie,
Nak'd in the fountaine he became straightway
Vnto his greedy hounds a wished pray,
His owne delights taking away his breath,
And all vngratefull forc'd his fatall death.
(And euer since Hounds eate their Maisters cleane,
For so Diana curst them in the streame.)
When strong backt Hercules in one poore night
With great, great ease, and wondrous delight
In strength of lust and Venus surquedry
Rob'd fifty wenches of virginity.
Farre more then lusty Laurence. Yet poore soule
He with Acteon drinks of Nemis bole,
When Hercules lewd act, is registred,
And for his fruitfull labour Deified.
And had a place in heauen him assigned
When he the world, vnto the world resigned.
Thus little scapes are deepely punished,
But mighty villanes are for Gods adored.
Ioue brought his sister to a nuptiall bed,
And hath an Hebe, and a Ganemede,
A Leda, and a thousand more beside,
His chast Alcmena, and his sister bride:
Who fore his face was odiously defil'd
And by Ixion grosely got with child.
This thunderer, that right vertuously
Thrust forth his father from his empery
Is now the great Monarko of the earth,
Whose awfull nod, whose all commaunding breath
Shakes Europs ground-worke. And his title makes
As dread a noyse, as when a Canon shakes
The subtile ayre. Thus hell-bred villany
Is still rewarded with high dignity.
When Sisyphus that did but once reueale
That this incestious villane had to deale
In Ile Phliunte with Egina faire,
Is damn'd to hell, in endles black dispaire
Euer to reare his tumbling stone vpright
Vpon the steepy mountaines lofty height.
His stone will neuer now get greenish mosse
Since he hath thus encur'd so great a losse
As Ioues high fauour. But it needs must be
whilst Ioue doth rule, and sway the empery
And poore Astrea's fled into an Ile
And liues a poore and banished exile:
And there pen'd vp, sighs in her sad lament,
wearing away in pining languishment.
If that Sylenus Asse doe chaunce to bray,
And so the Satyres lewdnes doth bewray,
Let him for euer be a sacrifice;
Prick, spurre, beate, loade, for euer tyranise
Ouer the foole. But let some Cerberus
Keepe back the wife of sweet tongu'd Orpheus,
Gnato applaudes the Hound. Let that same child
Of Night, and Sleepe, (which hath the world defil'd
with odious railing) barke gainst all the work
Of all the Gods, and find some error lurke
In all the graces. Let his lauer lip
Speake in reproch of Natures workmanship,
Let him vpbraid faire Venus if he list
For her short heele. Let him with rage insist
To snarle at Vulcans man, because he was
Not made with windowes of transparant glas
That all might see the passions of his mind.
Let his all-blasting tongue great errors find
In Pallas house, because if next should burne
It could not from the sodaine perill turne.
Let him vpbraide great Ioue with luxury
Condemne the Heauens Queene of ielousie.
Yet this same Stygius Momus must be praysed
And to some Godhead at the least be raised.
But if poore Orpheus sing melodiously,
And striue with musicks sweetest symphonie
To praise the Gods, and vnaduisedly
Doe but ore-slip one drunken Deitie,
Forthwith the bouzing Bacchus out doth send
His furious Bacchides, to be reueng'd.
And straight they teare the sweet Musition,
And leaue him to the dogs deuision.
Hebrus, beare witnes of their crueltie,
For thou did'st view poore Orpheus tragedie.
Thus slight neglects are deepest villanie,
But blasting mouthes deserue a deitie.
Since Gallus slept, when he was set to watch
Least Sol or Vulcan should Mauortius catch
In vsing Venus: since the boy did nap,
Whereby bright Phœbus did great Mars intrap.
Poore Gallus now, (whilom to Mars so deere)
Is turned to a crowing Chaunteclere;
And euer since, fore that the sunne doth shine,
(Least Phœbus should with his all-piercing eyne
Discry some Vulcan,) he doth crow full shrill,
That all the ayre with Ecchoes he doth fill.
Whilst Mars, though all the Gods doe see his sin,
And know in what lewd vice he liueth in,
Yet is adored still, and magnified,
And with all honors duly worshipped.
Euge! small faults to mountaines straight are raised,
Slight scapes are whipt, but damned deeds are praised.
When vnawares he did Diana spie,
Nak'd in the fountaine he became straightway
Vnto his greedy hounds a wished pray,
His owne delights taking away his breath,
And all vngratefull forc'd his fatall death.
(And euer since Hounds eate their Maisters cleane,
For so Diana curst them in the streame.)
When strong backt Hercules in one poore night
With great, great ease, and wondrous delight
In strength of lust and Venus surquedry
Rob'd fifty wenches of virginity.
Farre more then lusty Laurence. Yet poore soule
He with Acteon drinks of Nemis bole,
When Hercules lewd act, is registred,
And for his fruitfull labour Deified.
And had a place in heauen him assigned
When he the world, vnto the world resigned.
Thus little scapes are deepely punished,
But mighty villanes are for Gods adored.
Ioue brought his sister to a nuptiall bed,
And hath an Hebe, and a Ganemede,
A Leda, and a thousand more beside,
His chast Alcmena, and his sister bride:
89
And by Ixion grosely got with child.
This thunderer, that right vertuously
Thrust forth his father from his empery
Is now the great Monarko of the earth,
Whose awfull nod, whose all commaunding breath
Shakes Europs ground-worke. And his title makes
As dread a noyse, as when a Canon shakes
The subtile ayre. Thus hell-bred villany
Is still rewarded with high dignity.
When Sisyphus that did but once reueale
That this incestious villane had to deale
In Ile Phliunte with Egina faire,
Is damn'd to hell, in endles black dispaire
Euer to reare his tumbling stone vpright
Vpon the steepy mountaines lofty height.
His stone will neuer now get greenish mosse
Since he hath thus encur'd so great a losse
As Ioues high fauour. But it needs must be
whilst Ioue doth rule, and sway the empery
And poore Astrea's fled into an Ile
And liues a poore and banished exile:
And there pen'd vp, sighs in her sad lament,
wearing away in pining languishment.
If that Sylenus Asse doe chaunce to bray,
And so the Satyres lewdnes doth bewray,
Let him for euer be a sacrifice;
Prick, spurre, beate, loade, for euer tyranise
Ouer the foole. But let some Cerberus
Keepe back the wife of sweet tongu'd Orpheus,
Gnato applaudes the Hound. Let that same child
Of Night, and Sleepe, (which hath the world defil'd
with odious railing) barke gainst all the work
Of all the Gods, and find some error lurke
90
Speake in reproch of Natures workmanship,
Let him vpbraid faire Venus if he list
For her short heele. Let him with rage insist
To snarle at Vulcans man, because he was
Not made with windowes of transparant glas
That all might see the passions of his mind.
Let his all-blasting tongue great errors find
In Pallas house, because if next should burne
It could not from the sodaine perill turne.
Let him vpbraide great Ioue with luxury
Condemne the Heauens Queene of ielousie.
Yet this same Stygius Momus must be praysed
And to some Godhead at the least be raised.
But if poore Orpheus sing melodiously,
And striue with musicks sweetest symphonie
To praise the Gods, and vnaduisedly
Doe but ore-slip one drunken Deitie,
Forthwith the bouzing Bacchus out doth send
His furious Bacchides, to be reueng'd.
And straight they teare the sweet Musition,
And leaue him to the dogs deuision.
Hebrus, beare witnes of their crueltie,
For thou did'st view poore Orpheus tragedie.
Thus slight neglects are deepest villanie,
But blasting mouthes deserue a deitie.
Since Gallus slept, when he was set to watch
Least Sol or Vulcan should Mauortius catch
In vsing Venus: since the boy did nap,
Whereby bright Phœbus did great Mars intrap.
Poore Gallus now, (whilom to Mars so deere)
Is turned to a crowing Chaunteclere;
And euer since, fore that the sunne doth shine,
(Least Phœbus should with his all-piercing eyne
91
That all the ayre with Ecchoes he doth fill.
Whilst Mars, though all the Gods doe see his sin,
And know in what lewd vice he liueth in,
Yet is adored still, and magnified,
And with all honors duly worshipped.
Euge! small faults to mountaines straight are raised,
Slight scapes are whipt, but damned deeds are praised.
Fie, fie, I am deceiued all thys while,
A mist of errors doth my sence beguile;
I haue beene long of all my wits bereauen,
Heauen for hell taking, taking hell for heauen;
Vertue for vice, and vice for vertue still,
Sower for sweet, and good for passing ill.
If not? would vice and odious villanie
Be still rewarded with high dignity?
Would damned Iouians, be of all men praised,
And with high honors vnto heauen raised?
A mist of errors doth my sence beguile;
I haue beene long of all my wits bereauen,
Heauen for hell taking, taking hell for heauen;
Vertue for vice, and vice for vertue still,
Sower for sweet, and good for passing ill.
If not? would vice and odious villanie
Be still rewarded with high dignity?
Would damned Iouians, be of all men praised,
And with high honors vnto heauen raised?
Tis so, tis so; Riot, and Luxurie
Are vertuous, meritorious chastitie:
That which I thought to be damn'd hel-borne pride
Is humble modestie, and naught beside;
That which I deemed Bacchus surquedry,
Is graue, and staied, ciuill, Sobrietie.
O then thrice holy age, thrice sacred men!
Mong whom no vice a Satyre can discerne,
Since Lust, is turned into Chastitie,
And Riot, vnto sad Sobrietie.
Nothing but goodnes raigneth in our age,
And vertues all are ioyn'd in marriage.
Heere is no dwelling for Impietie,
No habitation for base Villanie.
Heere are no subjects for Reproofes sharpe vaine,
Then hence rude Satyre, make away amaine;
And seeke a seate where more Impuritie
Doth lye and lurke in still securitie.
Are vertuous, meritorious chastitie:
That which I thought to be damn'd hel-borne pride
Is humble modestie, and naught beside;
That which I deemed Bacchus surquedry,
Is graue, and staied, ciuill, Sobrietie.
O then thrice holy age, thrice sacred men!
Mong whom no vice a Satyre can discerne,
Since Lust, is turned into Chastitie,
And Riot, vnto sad Sobrietie.
Nothing but goodnes raigneth in our age,
And vertues all are ioyn'd in marriage.
Heere is no dwelling for Impietie,
No habitation for base Villanie.
Heere are no subjects for Reproofes sharpe vaine,
Then hence rude Satyre, make away amaine;
92
Doth lye and lurke in still securitie.
Now doth my Satyre stagger in a doubt,
Whether to cease, or els to write it out.
The subiect is too sharp for my dull quill.
Some sonne of Maya show thy riper skill.
For I'le goe turne my tub against the sunne,
And wistly marke how higher Plannets runne,
Contemplating their hidden motion.
Then on some Latmos with Endimion,
I'le slumber out my time in discontent,
And neuer wake to be maleuolent,
A beedle to the worlds impuritie;
But euer sleepe in still securitie.
Whether to cease, or els to write it out.
The subiect is too sharp for my dull quill.
Some sonne of Maya show thy riper skill.
For I'le goe turne my tub against the sunne,
And wistly marke how higher Plannets runne,
Contemplating their hidden motion.
Then on some Latmos with Endimion,
I'le slumber out my time in discontent,
And neuer wake to be maleuolent,
A beedle to the worlds impuritie;
But euer sleepe in still securitie.
If thys displease the world's wrong-iudging sight,
It glads my soule, and in some better spright
I'le write againe. But if that this doe please,
Hence, hence, Satyrick Muse, take endlesse ease.
Hush now yee Band-doggs, barke no more at me,
But let me slide away in secresie.
It glads my soule, and in some better spright
I'le write againe. But if that this doe please,
Hence, hence, Satyrick Muse, take endlesse ease.
Hush now yee Band-doggs, barke no more at me,
But let me slide away in secresie.
FINIS.
93
THE SCOVRGE OF Villanie.
Three Bookes of Satyres.
Nec scompros metuentia carmina, nec thus.
PERSEVS.
PERSEVS.
94
To his most esteemed, and best beloued Selfe, DAT DEDICATQVE.
95
To Detraction I present my Poesie.
Foule canker of faire vertuous action,
Vile blaster of the freshest bloomes on earth,
Enuies abhorred childe, Detraction,
I heare expose, to thy all-taynting breath
The issue of my braine, snarle, raile, barke, bite,
Know that my spirit scornes Detractions spight.
Vile blaster of the freshest bloomes on earth,
Enuies abhorred childe, Detraction,
I heare expose, to thy all-taynting breath
The issue of my braine, snarle, raile, barke, bite,
Know that my spirit scornes Detractions spight.
Know that the Genius, which attendeth on,
And guides my powers intellectuall,
Holds in all vile repute Detraction.
My soule an essence metaphisicall,
That in the basest sort scornes Critickes rage,
Because he knowes his sacred parentage.
And guides my powers intellectuall,
Holds in all vile repute Detraction.
My soule an essence metaphisicall,
That in the basest sort scornes Critickes rage,
Because he knowes his sacred parentage.
My spirit is not huft vp with fatte fume
Of slimie Ale, nor Bacchus heating grape.
My minde disdaines the dungie muddy scum
Of abiect thoughts, and Enuies raging hate.
True iudgement, slight regards Opinion,
A sprightly wit, disdaines Detraction.
Of slimie Ale, nor Bacchus heating grape.
My minde disdaines the dungie muddy scum
Of abiect thoughts, and Enuies raging hate.
True iudgement, slight regards Opinion,
A sprightly wit, disdaines Detraction.
A partiall praise shall neuer eleuate
My setled censure, of mine owne esteeme.
A cankered verdit of malignant Hate
Shall nere prouoke me, worse my selfe to deeme.
Spight of despight, and rancors villanie,
I am my selfe, so is my poesie.
My setled censure, of mine owne esteeme.
A cankered verdit of malignant Hate
Shall nere prouoke me, worse my selfe to deeme.
Spight of despight, and rancors villanie,
I am my selfe, so is my poesie.
96
In Lectores prorsus indignos.
Fy Satyre fie, shall each mechanick slaue,
Each dunghill pesant, free perusall haue
Of thy well labor'd lines? Each sattin sute,
Each quaint fashion-monger, whose sole repute
Rests in his trim gay clothes, lye slauering
Taynting thy lines with his lewd censuring?
Shall each odd puisne of the Lawyers Inne,
Each barmy-froth, that last day did beginne
To reade his little, or his nere a whit,
Or shall some greater auncient, of lesse wit,
(That neuer turnd but browne Tobacco leaues
Whose sences some damn'd Occupant bereaues)
Lye gnawing on thy vacant times expence?
Tearing thy rimes, quite altering the sence?
Or shall perfum'd Castilio censure thee?
Shall he oreview thy sharpe-fang'd poesie?
(Who nere read farther then his Mistris lips)
Nere practiz'd ought, but som spruce capring skips
Nere in his life did other language vse,
But, Sweete Lady, faire Mistres, kind hart, deare couse,
Shall this Fantasma, this Colosse peruse
And blast with stinking breath, thy budding Muse?
Fye, wilt thou make thy wit a Curtezan
For euery broking hand-crafts artizan?
Shall brainles Cyterne heads, each iubernole,
Poket the very Genius of thy soule?
Each dunghill pesant, free perusall haue
Of thy well labor'd lines? Each sattin sute,
Each quaint fashion-monger, whose sole repute
Rests in his trim gay clothes, lye slauering
Taynting thy lines with his lewd censuring?
Shall each odd puisne of the Lawyers Inne,
Each barmy-froth, that last day did beginne
To reade his little, or his nere a whit,
Or shall some greater auncient, of lesse wit,
(That neuer turnd but browne Tobacco leaues
Whose sences some damn'd Occupant bereaues)
Lye gnawing on thy vacant times expence?
Tearing thy rimes, quite altering the sence?
Or shall perfum'd Castilio censure thee?
Shall he oreview thy sharpe-fang'd poesie?
(Who nere read farther then his Mistris lips)
Nere practiz'd ought, but som spruce capring skips
Nere in his life did other language vse,
But, Sweete Lady, faire Mistres, kind hart, deare couse,
Shall this Fantasma, this Colosse peruse
And blast with stinking breath, thy budding Muse?
Fye, wilt thou make thy wit a Curtezan
For euery broking hand-crafts artizan?
Shall brainles Cyterne heads, each iubernole,
Poket the very Genius of thy soule?
I Phylo, I, I'le keepe an open hall,
A common, and a sumptuous festiuall,
Welcome all eyes, all eares, all tongues to me,
Gnaw pesants on my scraps of poesie.
Castilios, Cyprians, court-boyes, spanish blocks,
Ribanded eares, granado-netherstocks,
Fidlers, Scriueners, pedlers, tynkering knaues,
Base blew-coats, tapsters, brod-cloth minded slaues,
Welcome I-fayth, but may you nere depart,
Till I haue made your gauled hides to smart.
Your gauled hides? avaunt base muddy scum.
Thinke you a Satyres dreadfull sounding drum
Will brace it selfe? and daine to terrefie,
Such abiect pesants basest rogary?
No, no, passe on ye vaine fantasticke troupe
Of puffie youthes; Know I doe scorne to stoupe
To rip your liues. Then hence lewd nags, away,
Goe read each post, view what is plaid to day.
Then to Priapus gardens. You Castilio,
I pray thee let my lines in freedome goe,
Let me alone, the Madams call for thee
Longing to laugh at thy wits pouertie.
Sirra, liuorie cloake, you lazie slipper slaue,
Thou fawning drudge, what would'st thou Satyres haue?
Base mind away, thy master calls, begon,
Sweet Gnato let my poesie alone.
Goe buy some ballad of the Faiery King,
And of the begger wench, some rogie thing
Which thou maist chaunt vnto the chamber-maid
To some vile tune, when that thy Maister's laid.
A common, and a sumptuous festiuall,
Welcome all eyes, all eares, all tongues to me,
97
Castilios, Cyprians, court-boyes, spanish blocks,
Ribanded eares, granado-netherstocks,
Fidlers, Scriueners, pedlers, tynkering knaues,
Base blew-coats, tapsters, brod-cloth minded slaues,
Welcome I-fayth, but may you nere depart,
Till I haue made your gauled hides to smart.
Your gauled hides? avaunt base muddy scum.
Thinke you a Satyres dreadfull sounding drum
Will brace it selfe? and daine to terrefie,
Such abiect pesants basest rogary?
No, no, passe on ye vaine fantasticke troupe
Of puffie youthes; Know I doe scorne to stoupe
To rip your liues. Then hence lewd nags, away,
Goe read each post, view what is plaid to day.
Then to Priapus gardens. You Castilio,
I pray thee let my lines in freedome goe,
Let me alone, the Madams call for thee
Longing to laugh at thy wits pouertie.
Sirra, liuorie cloake, you lazie slipper slaue,
Thou fawning drudge, what would'st thou Satyres haue?
Base mind away, thy master calls, begon,
Sweet Gnato let my poesie alone.
Goe buy some ballad of the Faiery King,
And of the begger wench, some rogie thing
Which thou maist chaunt vnto the chamber-maid
To some vile tune, when that thy Maister's laid.
But will you needs stay? am I forc'd to beare,
The blasting breath of each lewd Censurer?
Must naught but clothes, and images of men
But sprightles truncks, be Iudges of my pen?
Nay then come all, I prostitute my Muse,
For all the swarme of Idiots to abuse.
Reade all, view all, euen with my full consent,
So you will know that which I neuer meant;
So you will nere conceiue, and yet dispraise,
That which you nere conceiu'd, & laughter raise:
Where I but striue in honest seriousnes,
To scourge some soule-poluting beastlines.
So you will raile, and finde huge errors lurke
In euery corner of my Cynick worke.
Proface, reade on, for your extreamst dislikes
Will add a pineon, to my praises flights.
The blasting breath of each lewd Censurer?
Must naught but clothes, and images of men
98
Nay then come all, I prostitute my Muse,
For all the swarme of Idiots to abuse.
Reade all, view all, euen with my full consent,
So you will know that which I neuer meant;
So you will nere conceiue, and yet dispraise,
That which you nere conceiu'd, & laughter raise:
Where I but striue in honest seriousnes,
To scourge some soule-poluting beastlines.
So you will raile, and finde huge errors lurke
In euery corner of my Cynick worke.
Proface, reade on, for your extreamst dislikes
Will add a pineon, to my praises flights.
O, how I bristle vp my plumes of pride,
O, how I thinke my Satyres dignifi'd,
When I once heare some quaint Castilio,
Some supple mouth'd slaue, some lewd Tubrio,
Some spruce pedant, or some span-new come fry
Of Innes a-court, striuing to vilefie
My darke reproofes. Then doe but raile at me,
No greater honor craues my poesie.
O, how I thinke my Satyres dignifi'd,
When I once heare some quaint Castilio,
Some supple mouth'd slaue, some lewd Tubrio,
Some spruce pedant, or some span-new come fry
Of Innes a-court, striuing to vilefie
My darke reproofes. Then doe but raile at me,
No greater honor craues my poesie.
1
But yee diuiner wits, celestiall soules,Whose free-borne mindes no kennel thought controules,
Ye sacred spirits, Mayas eldest sonnes.
2
Yee substance of the shadowes of our age,In whom all graces linke in marriage,
To you how cheerfully my poeme runnes.
99
3
True iudging eyes, quick sighted censurers,Heauens best beauties, wisedoms treasurers,
O how my loue embraceth your great worth.
4
Yee Idols of my soule, yee blessed spirits,How shold I giue true honor to your merrits,
Which I can better thinke, then here paint forth.
You sacred spirits, Maias eldest sonnes,
To you how cheerfully my poeme runnes.
O how my loue, embraceth your great worth,
Which I can better think, then here paint forth.
To you how cheerfully my poeme runnes.
O how my loue, embraceth your great worth,
Which I can better think, then here paint forth.
O rare!
102
[SATY: Liber primus.]
PROEMIVM IN librum primum.
I beare the scourge of iust Rhamnusia,
Lashing the lewdnes of Britania.
Let others sing as their good Genius moues,
Of deepe desines, or else of clipping loues.
Faire fall them all, that with wits industry,
Doe cloath good subiects in true poesie.
But as for me, my vexed thoughtfull soule,
Takes pleasure, in displeasing sharp controule.
Lashing the lewdnes of Britania.
Let others sing as their good Genius moues,
Of deepe desines, or else of clipping loues.
Faire fall them all, that with wits industry,
Doe cloath good subiects in true poesie.
But as for me, my vexed thoughtfull soule,
Takes pleasure, in displeasing sharp controule.
Thou nursing Mother of faire wisedoms lore,
Ingenuous Melancholy, I implore
Thy graue assistance, take thy gloomie seate,
Inthrone thee in my blood; Let me intreate
Stay his quicke iocond skips, and force him runne
A sadde pac'd course, vntill my whips be done.
Daphne, vnclip thine armes from my sad brow,
Blacke Cypresse crowne me whilst I vp do plow
The hidden entrailes of ranke villanie.
Tearing the vaile from damn'd Impietie.
Quake guzzell dogs, that liue on putred slime,
Skud from the lashes of my yerking rime.
Ingenuous Melancholy, I implore
Thy graue assistance, take thy gloomie seate,
Inthrone thee in my blood; Let me intreate
Stay his quicke iocond skips, and force him runne
A sadde pac'd course, vntill my whips be done.
Daphne, vnclip thine armes from my sad brow,
Blacke Cypresse crowne me whilst I vp do plow
The hidden entrailes of ranke villanie.
Tearing the vaile from damn'd Impietie.
Quake guzzell dogs, that liue on putred slime,
Skud from the lashes of my yerking rime.
103
SATYRE. I. Fronti nulla fides.
Marry God forfend, Martius swears he'le stab,
Phrigeo, feare not, thou art no lying drab.
What though dagger hack'd mouthes of his blade sweares
It slew as many as figures of yeares
Aqua fotis eate in't, or as many more,
As methodist Musus, kild with Hellebore
In autumne last, yet he beares the male lye
With as smooth calme, as Mecho riualrie.
How ill his shape, with inward forme doth fage,
Like Aphrogenias ill-yok'd marriage.
Fond Physiognomer, complexion
Guides not the inward disposition,
Inclines I yeeld. Thou saist Law Iulia,
Or Catoes often curst Scatinia
Can take no hold on simpring Lesbia,
True, not on her eye, yet Allom oft doth blast,
The sprouting bud that faine would longer last.
Chary Casca, right pure or Rhodanus,
Yet each night drinkes in glassie Priapus.
Phrigeo, feare not, thou art no lying drab.
What though dagger hack'd mouthes of his blade sweares
It slew as many as figures of yeares
Aqua fotis eate in't, or as many more,
As methodist Musus, kild with Hellebore
In autumne last, yet he beares the male lye
With as smooth calme, as Mecho riualrie.
How ill his shape, with inward forme doth fage,
Like Aphrogenias ill-yok'd marriage.
Fond Physiognomer, complexion
Guides not the inward disposition,
Inclines I yeeld. Thou saist Law Iulia,
Or Catoes often curst Scatinia
Can take no hold on simpring Lesbia,
True, not on her eye, yet Allom oft doth blast,
The sprouting bud that faine would longer last.
Chary Casca, right pure or Rhodanus,
Yet each night drinkes in glassie Priapus.
Yon Pine is fayre, yet fouly doth it ill
To his owne sprouts, marke, his rank drops distill
Foule Naples canker in their tender rinde;
Woe worth when trees drop in their proper kinde!
Mystagogus, what meanes this prodegie?
When Hiadolgo speakes gainst vsurie.
When Verres railes gainst thieues. Mylo doth hate
Murder, Clodius coockolds, Marius the gate
Of squinting Ianus shuts? runne beyond bound
of Nil vltra, and hang me when on's found
Will be himselfe. Had Nature turn'd our eyes
Into our proper selues, these curious spies
Would be asham'd, Flauia would blush to flout
When Oppia calls Lucina helpe her out.
If she did thinke, Lynceus did know her ill,
How Nature, Art, how Art, doth Nature spill.
God pardon me, I often did auer
Quod gratis, grate, the Astronomer
An honest man, but I'le doe so no more,
His face deceau'd me; but now since his whore
And sister are all one, his honestie
Shall be as bare as his Anatomie,
To which hee bound his wife, ô packstaffe rimes!
Why not, when court of starrs shal see these crimes?
Rodds are in pisse, I for thee Empericke,
That twenty graines of Oppium wilt not sticke
To minister to babes. Here's bloody dayes,
When with plaine hearbes, Mutius more men slaies
Then ere third Edwards sword. Sooth in our age,
Mad Coribantes neede not to enrage
The peoples mindes. You Ophiogine
Of Hellespont, with wrangling villanie
The swolne world's inly stung, then daine a touch,
If that your fingers can effect so much.
Thou sweet Arabian Panchaia,
Perfume this nastie age, smugge Lesbia
Hath stinking lunges, although a simpring grace,
A muddy inside, though a surphul'd face.
O for some deepe-searching Corycean,
To ferret out yon lewd Cynedian.
To his owne sprouts, marke, his rank drops distill
Foule Naples canker in their tender rinde;
Woe worth when trees drop in their proper kinde!
Mystagogus, what meanes this prodegie?
When Hiadolgo speakes gainst vsurie.
When Verres railes gainst thieues. Mylo doth hate
Murder, Clodius coockolds, Marius the gate
104
of Nil vltra, and hang me when on's found
Will be himselfe. Had Nature turn'd our eyes
Into our proper selues, these curious spies
Would be asham'd, Flauia would blush to flout
When Oppia calls Lucina helpe her out.
If she did thinke, Lynceus did know her ill,
How Nature, Art, how Art, doth Nature spill.
God pardon me, I often did auer
Quod gratis, grate, the Astronomer
An honest man, but I'le doe so no more,
His face deceau'd me; but now since his whore
And sister are all one, his honestie
Shall be as bare as his Anatomie,
To which hee bound his wife, ô packstaffe rimes!
Why not, when court of starrs shal see these crimes?
Rodds are in pisse, I for thee Empericke,
That twenty graines of Oppium wilt not sticke
To minister to babes. Here's bloody dayes,
When with plaine hearbes, Mutius more men slaies
Then ere third Edwards sword. Sooth in our age,
Mad Coribantes neede not to enrage
The peoples mindes. You Ophiogine
Of Hellespont, with wrangling villanie
The swolne world's inly stung, then daine a touch,
If that your fingers can effect so much.
Thou sweet Arabian Panchaia,
Perfume this nastie age, smugge Lesbia
Hath stinking lunges, although a simpring grace,
105
O for some deepe-searching Corycean,
To ferret out yon lewd Cynedian.
How now Brutus, what shape best pleaseth thee?
All Protean formes, thy wife in venery
At thy inforcement takes; well goe thy way,
Shee may transforme thee ere thy dying day.
Hush, Gracchus heares, that hath retaild more lyes,
Broch'd more slaunders, done more villanies,
Then Fabius perpetuall golden coate
(Which might haue Semper idem for a mott)
Hath beene at feasts, and led the measuring
At Court, and in each marriage reueling.
Writ Palæphatus, comment on those dreames,
That Hylus takes, mid'st dung-pit reeking steames
Of Athos hote house. Gramercie modest smyle.
Chremes a sleepe. Paphia, sport the while.
Lucia, new set thy ruffe, tut thou art pure,
Canst thou not lispe, (good brother) look demure?
Fye Gallus, what, a skeptick Pyrrhomist?
When chast Dictinna, breakes the Zonelike twist?
Tut, hang vp Hieroglyphickes. Ile not faine
Wresting my humor, from his natiue straine.
All Protean formes, thy wife in venery
At thy inforcement takes; well goe thy way,
Shee may transforme thee ere thy dying day.
Hush, Gracchus heares, that hath retaild more lyes,
Broch'd more slaunders, done more villanies,
Then Fabius perpetuall golden coate
(Which might haue Semper idem for a mott)
Hath beene at feasts, and led the measuring
At Court, and in each marriage reueling.
Writ Palæphatus, comment on those dreames,
That Hylus takes, mid'st dung-pit reeking steames
Of Athos hote house. Gramercie modest smyle.
Chremes a sleepe. Paphia, sport the while.
Lucia, new set thy ruffe, tut thou art pure,
Canst thou not lispe, (good brother) look demure?
Fye Gallus, what, a skeptick Pyrrhomist?
When chast Dictinna, breakes the Zonelike twist?
Tut, hang vp Hieroglyphickes. Ile not faine
Wresting my humor, from his natiue straine.
106
SATYRE. II. Difficile est Satyram non scribere. Iuve.
I cannot hold, I cannot I indure
To view a big womb'd foggie clowde immure
The radiant tresses of the quickning sunne.
Let Custards quake, my rage must freely runne.
Preach not the Stoickes patience to me,
I hate no man, but mens impietie.
My soule is vext, what power will'th desist?
Or dares to stop a sharpe fangd Satyrist?
Who'le coole my rage? who'le stay my itching fist
But I will plague and torture whom I list?
If that the three-fold walls of Babilon
Should hedge my tongue, yet I should raile vpon
This fustie world, that now dare put in vre
To make IEHOVA but a couerture,
To shade ranck filth, loose conscience is free,
From all conscience, what els hath libertie?
As't please the Thracian Boreas to blow,
So turnes our ayerie conscience, to, and fro.
To view a big womb'd foggie clowde immure
The radiant tresses of the quickning sunne.
Let Custards quake, my rage must freely runne.
Preach not the Stoickes patience to me,
I hate no man, but mens impietie.
My soule is vext, what power will'th desist?
Or dares to stop a sharpe fangd Satyrist?
Who'le coole my rage? who'le stay my itching fist
But I will plague and torture whom I list?
If that the three-fold walls of Babilon
Should hedge my tongue, yet I should raile vpon
This fustie world, that now dare put in vre
To make IEHOVA but a couerture,
To shade ranck filth, loose conscience is free,
From all conscience, what els hath libertie?
As't please the Thracian Boreas to blow,
So turnes our ayerie conscience, to, and fro.
What icye Saturnist, what northerne pate
But such grosse lewdnes would exasperate?
I thinke the blind doth see, the flame God rise
From Sisters couch, each morning to the skies:
Glowing with lust. Walke but in duskie night,
With Linceus eyes, and to thy piercing sight
Disguised Gods will show, in pesants shape,
Prest to commit some execrable rape.
Here Ioues lust pander, Maias iugling sonne,
In clownes disguise, doth after milk-maides runne.
And fore he'le loose his brutish lechery,
The truls shall tast sweet Nectars surquedry.
There Iunos brat, forsakes Neries bed,
And like a swaggerer, lust fiered,
Attended onely with his smock sworne page,
Pert Gallus, slilie slippes along, to wage
Tilting incounters, with some spurious seede
Of marrow pies, and yawning Oystars breede.
O damn'd!
But such grosse lewdnes would exasperate?
I thinke the blind doth see, the flame God rise
From Sisters couch, each morning to the skies:
Glowing with lust. Walke but in duskie night,
With Linceus eyes, and to thy piercing sight
Disguised Gods will show, in pesants shape,
107
Here Ioues lust pander, Maias iugling sonne,
In clownes disguise, doth after milk-maides runne.
And fore he'le loose his brutish lechery,
The truls shall tast sweet Nectars surquedry.
There Iunos brat, forsakes Neries bed,
And like a swaggerer, lust fiered,
Attended onely with his smock sworne page,
Pert Gallus, slilie slippes along, to wage
Tilting incounters, with some spurious seede
Of marrow pies, and yawning Oystars breede.
O damn'd!
Who would not shake a Satyres knottie rod?
When to defile the sacred seate of God
Is but accounted gentlemens disport?
To snort in filth, each hower to resort
To brothell pits: alas a veniall crime,
Nay, royall, to be last in thirtith slime.
When to defile the sacred seate of God
Is but accounted gentlemens disport?
To snort in filth, each hower to resort
To brothell pits: alas a veniall crime,
Nay, royall, to be last in thirtith slime.
Ay me, hard world for Satyrists beginne
To sette vp shop, when no small petty sinne
Is left vnpurg'd, once to be pursie fat
Had wont be cause that life did macerate.
Marry the iealous Queene of ayre doth frowne,
That Ganimede is vp, and Hebe downe.
Once Albion liu'd in such a cruell age
That men did hold by seruile villenage.
Poore brats were slaues, of bond-men that were borne,
And marted, sold, but that rude law is torne,
And disanuld, as too too inhumane,
That Lords ore pesants should such seruice straine.
But now, (sad change!) the kennell sinck of slaues,
Pesant great Lords, and seruile seruice craues.
To sette vp shop, when no small petty sinne
Is left vnpurg'd, once to be pursie fat
Had wont be cause that life did macerate.
Marry the iealous Queene of ayre doth frowne,
That Ganimede is vp, and Hebe downe.
Once Albion liu'd in such a cruell age
That men did hold by seruile villenage.
Poore brats were slaues, of bond-men that were borne,
And marted, sold, but that rude law is torne,
And disanuld, as too too inhumane,
That Lords ore pesants should such seruice straine.
108
Pesant great Lords, and seruile seruice craues.
Bondslaues sonnes had wont be bought & sold,
But now Heroes heires (if they haue not told
A discreet number, fore theyr dad did die)
Are made much of, how much from merchandie?
Tail'd, and retail'd, till to the pedlers packe,
The fourth-hand ward-ware comes, alack, alack,
Would truth did know I lyde, but truth, and I,
Doe know that fence is borne to miserie.
Oh would to God, this were their worst mischance,
Were not theyr soules sold to darke ignorance.
Faire goodnes is foule ill if mischiefes wit
Be not represt from lewd corrupting it.
But now Heroes heires (if they haue not told
A discreet number, fore theyr dad did die)
Are made much of, how much from merchandie?
Tail'd, and retail'd, till to the pedlers packe,
The fourth-hand ward-ware comes, alack, alack,
Would truth did know I lyde, but truth, and I,
Doe know that fence is borne to miserie.
Oh would to God, this were their worst mischance,
Were not theyr soules sold to darke ignorance.
Faire goodnes is foule ill if mischiefes wit
Be not represt from lewd corrupting it.
O what dry braine melts not sharp mustard rime
To purge the snottery of our slimie time?
Hence idle Cave, vengeance pricks me on,
When mart is made of faire Religion,
Reform'd bald Trebus swore in Romish quiere
He sold Gods essence, for a poore denier.
The Egyptians adored Onions,
To Garlicke yeelding all deuotions.
O happy Garlick, but thrice happy you,
Whose senting gods, in your large gardens grew.
Democritus, rise from thy putrid slime
Sport at the madnes of that hotter clime.
Deride their frenzie, that for policie
Adore Wheate dough, as reall deitie.
Almighty men, that can their Maker make,
And force his sacred body to forsake
The Cherubines, to be gnawne actually,
Deuiding indiuiduum, really.
Making a score of Gods with one poore word,
I, so I thought, in that you could afford,
So cheape a penny-worth. O ample fielde,
In which a Satyre may iust weapon weelde.
But I am vext, when swarmes of Iulians
Are still manur'd by lewd Precisians.
Who scorning Church rites, take the simbole vp
As slouenly, as carelesse Courtiers slup
Their mutton gruell. Fie, who can with-hold,
But must of force make his milde Muse a scold?
When that he greeued sees, with red vext eyes,
That Athens antient large immunities,
Are eye sores to the fates; Poore cells forlorne!
Ist not enough you are made an abiect scorne
To iering Apes, but must the shadow too
Of auncient substance, be thus wrung from you?
O split my hart, least it doe breake with rage
To see th'immodest loosenes of our age.
Immodest loosenes? fie too gentle word,
When euery signe can brothelrie afford.
When lust doth sparkle from our females eyes
And modestie, is rousted in the skies.
To purge the snottery of our slimie time?
Hence idle Cave, vengeance pricks me on,
When mart is made of faire Religion,
Reform'd bald Trebus swore in Romish quiere
He sold Gods essence, for a poore denier.
The Egyptians adored Onions,
To Garlicke yeelding all deuotions.
O happy Garlick, but thrice happy you,
Whose senting gods, in your large gardens grew.
Democritus, rise from thy putrid slime
Sport at the madnes of that hotter clime.
Deride their frenzie, that for policie
Adore Wheate dough, as reall deitie.
109
And force his sacred body to forsake
The Cherubines, to be gnawne actually,
Deuiding indiuiduum, really.
Making a score of Gods with one poore word,
I, so I thought, in that you could afford,
So cheape a penny-worth. O ample fielde,
In which a Satyre may iust weapon weelde.
But I am vext, when swarmes of Iulians
Are still manur'd by lewd Precisians.
Who scorning Church rites, take the simbole vp
As slouenly, as carelesse Courtiers slup
Their mutton gruell. Fie, who can with-hold,
But must of force make his milde Muse a scold?
When that he greeued sees, with red vext eyes,
That Athens antient large immunities,
Are eye sores to the fates; Poore cells forlorne!
Ist not enough you are made an abiect scorne
To iering Apes, but must the shadow too
Of auncient substance, be thus wrung from you?
O split my hart, least it doe breake with rage
To see th'immodest loosenes of our age.
Immodest loosenes? fie too gentle word,
When euery signe can brothelrie afford.
When lust doth sparkle from our females eyes
And modestie, is rousted in the skies.
Tell me Galliottæ, what meanes this signe
When impropriat gentiles will turne Capuchine?
Sooner be damn'd. O stuffe Satyricall?
When rapine feedes our pomp, pomp ripes our fall.
When the guest trembles at his hosts swart looke,
The sonne, doth feare his stepdame, that hath tooke
His mothers place for lust, the twin-borne brother
Malinges his mate, that first came from his mother.
When to be huge, is to be deadly sick,
When vertuous pesants, will not spare to lick
The deuils taile for poore promotion.
When for neglect, slubbred Deuotion
Is wan with greefe. When Rufus, yawnes for death
Of him that gaue him vndeserued breath.
When Hermus makes a worthy question,
Whether of Wright, as Paraphonalion
A siluer pispot fits his Lady dame?
Or i'st too good? a pewter best became.
When Agrippina poysons Claudius sonne,
That all the world to her own brat might run.
When the husband, gapes that his stale wife would die,
That he might once be in by curtesie.
The big paunch'd wife, longs for her loth'd mates death,
That she might haue more ioyntures here on earth.
When tenure for short yeeres, (by many a one)
Is thought right good be turn'd forth Littleton,
All to be headdie, or free hold at least
When tis all one, for long life be a beast,
A slaue, as haue a short term'd tenancie
When dead's the strength of Englands yeomanrie,
When invndation of luxuriousnes,
Fatts all the world with such grosse beastlines.
Who can abstaine? what modest braine can hold,
But he must make his shamefac'd Muse a scold?
When impropriat gentiles will turne Capuchine?
Sooner be damn'd. O stuffe Satyricall?
When rapine feedes our pomp, pomp ripes our fall.
110
The sonne, doth feare his stepdame, that hath tooke
His mothers place for lust, the twin-borne brother
Malinges his mate, that first came from his mother.
When to be huge, is to be deadly sick,
When vertuous pesants, will not spare to lick
The deuils taile for poore promotion.
When for neglect, slubbred Deuotion
Is wan with greefe. When Rufus, yawnes for death
Of him that gaue him vndeserued breath.
When Hermus makes a worthy question,
Whether of Wright, as Paraphonalion
A siluer pispot fits his Lady dame?
Or i'st too good? a pewter best became.
When Agrippina poysons Claudius sonne,
That all the world to her own brat might run.
When the husband, gapes that his stale wife would die,
That he might once be in by curtesie.
The big paunch'd wife, longs for her loth'd mates death,
That she might haue more ioyntures here on earth.
When tenure for short yeeres, (by many a one)
Is thought right good be turn'd forth Littleton,
All to be headdie, or free hold at least
When tis all one, for long life be a beast,
A slaue, as haue a short term'd tenancie
When dead's the strength of Englands yeomanrie,
When invndation of luxuriousnes,
Fatts all the world with such grosse beastlines.
Who can abstaine? what modest braine can hold,
But he must make his shamefac'd Muse a scold?
111
SATYRE. III. Redde, age, quæ deinceps risisti.
It's good be warie whilst the sunne shines cleere
(Quoth that old chuffe that may dispend by yere
Three thousand pound) whilst hee of good pretence
Commits himselfe to Fleet to saue expence.
No Countries Christmas: rather tarry heere,
The Fleet is cheap, the Country hall too deere.
But Codrus, harke, the world expects to see
Thy bastard heire rotte there in misery.
What? will Luxurio keepe so great a hall
That he will proue a bastard in his fall?
No, come on fiue, S. George, by heauen at all,
Makes his catastrophe, right tragicall;
At all, till nothing's left, Come on, till all comes off,
I haire and all, Luxurio, left a scoffe
To leaprous filthes: ô stay, thou impious slaue,
Teare not the lead from off thy Fathers graue,
To stop base brokage, sell not thy fathers sheete,
His leaden sheete, that strangers eyes may greete
Both putrefaction of thy greedie Sire,
And thy abhorred viperous desire.
But wilt thou needes shall thy Dads lackie brat
Weare thy Sires halfe-rot finger in his hat?
Nay then Luxurio waste in obloquie,
And I shall sport to heare thee faintly cry,
A die, a drab, and filthy broking knaues,
Are the worlds wide mouthes, all deuouring graues.
Yet Samus keepes a right good house I heare;
No, it keepes him, and free'th him from chill feare
Of shaking fitts; How then shall his smug wench,
How shall her bawd, (fit time) assist her quench
Her sanguine heate? Linceus, canst thou sent?
Shee hath her Monkey, & her instrument
Smooth fram'd at Vitrio. O greeuous misery!
Luscus hath left his female luxurie.
I, it left him; No, his old Cynick Dad
Hath forc'd him cleane forsake his Pickhatch drab.
Alack, alack, what peece of lustfull flesh
Hath Luscus left, his Priape to redresse?
Grieue not good soule, he hath his Ganimede,
His perfum'd shee-goate, smooth kembd & high fed.
At Hogsdon now his monstrous lust he feasts,
For there he keepes a baudy-house of beasts.
Paphus, let Luscus haue his Curtezan,
Or we shall haue a monster of a man.
Tut, Paphus now detaines him from that bower,
And claspes him close within his brick-built tower.
Diogenes, th'art damn'd for thy lewd wit,
For Luscus now hath skill to practise it.
Fayth, what cares he for faire Cynedian boyes?
Veluet cap'd Goates, duch Mares? tut common toies.
Detaine them all, on this condition
He may but vse the Cynick friction.
(Quoth that old chuffe that may dispend by yere
Three thousand pound) whilst hee of good pretence
Commits himselfe to Fleet to saue expence.
No Countries Christmas: rather tarry heere,
The Fleet is cheap, the Country hall too deere.
But Codrus, harke, the world expects to see
Thy bastard heire rotte there in misery.
What? will Luxurio keepe so great a hall
That he will proue a bastard in his fall?
No, come on fiue, S. George, by heauen at all,
Makes his catastrophe, right tragicall;
At all, till nothing's left, Come on, till all comes off,
I haire and all, Luxurio, left a scoffe
To leaprous filthes: ô stay, thou impious slaue,
Teare not the lead from off thy Fathers graue,
To stop base brokage, sell not thy fathers sheete,
His leaden sheete, that strangers eyes may greete
Both putrefaction of thy greedie Sire,
And thy abhorred viperous desire.
But wilt thou needes shall thy Dads lackie brat
Weare thy Sires halfe-rot finger in his hat?
Nay then Luxurio waste in obloquie,
And I shall sport to heare thee faintly cry,
A die, a drab, and filthy broking knaues,
Are the worlds wide mouthes, all deuouring graues.
112
No, it keepes him, and free'th him from chill feare
Of shaking fitts; How then shall his smug wench,
How shall her bawd, (fit time) assist her quench
Her sanguine heate? Linceus, canst thou sent?
Shee hath her Monkey, & her instrument
Smooth fram'd at Vitrio. O greeuous misery!
Luscus hath left his female luxurie.
I, it left him; No, his old Cynick Dad
Hath forc'd him cleane forsake his Pickhatch drab.
Alack, alack, what peece of lustfull flesh
Hath Luscus left, his Priape to redresse?
Grieue not good soule, he hath his Ganimede,
His perfum'd shee-goate, smooth kembd & high fed.
At Hogsdon now his monstrous lust he feasts,
For there he keepes a baudy-house of beasts.
Paphus, let Luscus haue his Curtezan,
Or we shall haue a monster of a man.
Tut, Paphus now detaines him from that bower,
And claspes him close within his brick-built tower.
Diogenes, th'art damn'd for thy lewd wit,
For Luscus now hath skill to practise it.
Fayth, what cares he for faire Cynedian boyes?
Veluet cap'd Goates, duch Mares? tut common toies.
Detaine them all, on this condition
He may but vse the Cynick friction.
O now yee male stewes, I can giue pretence
For your luxurious incontinence.
Hence, hence, yee falsed, seeming, Patriotes,
Returne not with pretence of saluing spots,
When here yee soyle vs with impuritie,
And monstrous filth, of Doway seminary.
What though Iberia yeeld you libertie,
To snort in source of Sodom vilanie?
What though the bloomes of young nobilitie,
Committed to your Rodons custodie,
Yee Nero like abuse? yet nere approch,
Your newe S. Homers lewdnes heere to broch.
Tainting our Townes, and hopefull Accademes,
With your lust-bating most abhorred meanes.
For your luxurious incontinence.
Hence, hence, yee falsed, seeming, Patriotes,
Returne not with pretence of saluing spots,
When here yee soyle vs with impuritie,
113
What though Iberia yeeld you libertie,
To snort in source of Sodom vilanie?
What though the bloomes of young nobilitie,
Committed to your Rodons custodie,
Yee Nero like abuse? yet nere approch,
Your newe S. Homers lewdnes heere to broch.
Tainting our Townes, and hopefull Accademes,
With your lust-bating most abhorred meanes.
Valladolid, our Athens gins to tast
Of thy ranck filth, Camphire and Lettuce chast,
Are cleane casheird, now Sophi Ringoes eate,
Candid Potatoes, are Athenians meate.
Hence Holy-thistle, come sweet marrow pie,
Inflame our backs to itching luxurie.
A Crabs bak'd guts, a Lobsters buttered thigh,
I heare them sweare is blood for venerie.
Had I some snout faire brats, they should indure
The new found Castilian callenture:
Before some pedant-Tutor, in his bed
Should vse my frie, like Phrigian Ganimede.
Nay then chast cells, when greasie Aretine
For his ranck Fico, is surnam'd diuine:
Nay then come all yee veniall scapes to me,
I dare well warrant you'le absolued be.
Rufus, I'le terme thee but intemperate,
I will not once thy vice exaggerate,
Though that each howre thou lewdly swaggerest,
And all the quarter day, pay'st interest
For the forbearance of thy chalked score.
Though that thou keep'st a tally with thy whore.
Since Nero keepes his mother Agrippine,
And no strange lust can satiate Messaline.
Of thy ranck filth, Camphire and Lettuce chast,
Are cleane casheird, now Sophi Ringoes eate,
Candid Potatoes, are Athenians meate.
Hence Holy-thistle, come sweet marrow pie,
Inflame our backs to itching luxurie.
A Crabs bak'd guts, a Lobsters buttered thigh,
I heare them sweare is blood for venerie.
Had I some snout faire brats, they should indure
The new found Castilian callenture:
Before some pedant-Tutor, in his bed
Should vse my frie, like Phrigian Ganimede.
Nay then chast cells, when greasie Aretine
For his ranck Fico, is surnam'd diuine:
Nay then come all yee veniall scapes to me,
I dare well warrant you'le absolued be.
Rufus, I'le terme thee but intemperate,
I will not once thy vice exaggerate,
Though that each howre thou lewdly swaggerest,
And all the quarter day, pay'st interest
114
Though that thou keep'st a tally with thy whore.
Since Nero keepes his mother Agrippine,
And no strange lust can satiate Messaline.
Tullus goe scotfree, though thou often bragg'st
That for a false French-crowne, thou vaulting hadst
Though that thou know'st for thy incontinence
Thy drab repay'd thee, true French pestilence.
But tush, his boast I beare, when Tegeran
Brags that he foystes his rotten Curtezan
Vpon his heire, that must haue all his lands:
And them hath ioyn'd in Hymens sacred bands.
Ile wincke at Robrus, that for vicenage
Enters commen, on his next neighbors stage,
When Ioue maintaines his sister, and his whore:
And she incestuous, iealous euermore,
Least that Europa on the Bull should ride:
Woe worth when beasts for filth are deified!
That for a false French-crowne, thou vaulting hadst
Though that thou know'st for thy incontinence
Thy drab repay'd thee, true French pestilence.
But tush, his boast I beare, when Tegeran
Brags that he foystes his rotten Curtezan
Vpon his heire, that must haue all his lands:
And them hath ioyn'd in Hymens sacred bands.
Ile wincke at Robrus, that for vicenage
Enters commen, on his next neighbors stage,
When Ioue maintaines his sister, and his whore:
And she incestuous, iealous euermore,
Least that Europa on the Bull should ride:
Woe worth when beasts for filth are deified!
Alacke poore rogues, what Censor interdicts
The veniall scapes of him that purses picks?
When some slie, golden-slopt Castilio
Can cut a manors strings at Primero?
Or with a pawne, shall giue a Lordship mate,
In statute staple chaining fast his state?
What Accademick starued Satyrist
Would gnaw rez'd Bacon, or with inke black fist
would tosse each muck-heap for som outcast scraps
Of halfe-dung bones to stop his iawning chaps?
Or with a hungry hollow halfe pin'd iaw
Would once a thrice-turn'd bone-pick'd subiect gnaw
When swarmes of Mountebancks, & Bandeti
Damn'd Briareans, sincks of villanie,
Factors for lewdnes, brokers for the deuill,
Infect our soules with all polluting euill.
The veniall scapes of him that purses picks?
When some slie, golden-slopt Castilio
Can cut a manors strings at Primero?
Or with a pawne, shall giue a Lordship mate,
In statute staple chaining fast his state?
What Accademick starued Satyrist
Would gnaw rez'd Bacon, or with inke black fist
would tosse each muck-heap for som outcast scraps
Of halfe-dung bones to stop his iawning chaps?
Or with a hungry hollow halfe pin'd iaw
115
When swarmes of Mountebancks, & Bandeti
Damn'd Briareans, sincks of villanie,
Factors for lewdnes, brokers for the deuill,
Infect our soules with all polluting euill.
Shal Lucea scorne her husbands luke-warme bed?
(Because her pleasure being hurried
In ioulting Coach, with glassie instrument,
Doth farre exceede the Paphian blandishment)
Whilst I (like to some mute Pythagoran)
Halter my hate, and cease to curse and ban
Such brutish filth? Shall Matho raise his name,
By printing pamphlets in anothers name,
And in them praise himselfe, his wit, his might.
All to be deem'd his Countries Lanthorne light?
Whilst my tongue's ty'de with bonds of blushing shame
For feare of broching my concealed name?
Shall Balbus, the demure Athenian,
Dreame of the death of next Vicarian?
Cast his natiuitie? marke his complexion?
Waigh well his bodies weake condition?
That with guilt sleight he may be sure to get
The Planets place, when his dim shine shall set?
(Because her pleasure being hurried
In ioulting Coach, with glassie instrument,
Doth farre exceede the Paphian blandishment)
Whilst I (like to some mute Pythagoran)
Halter my hate, and cease to curse and ban
Such brutish filth? Shall Matho raise his name,
By printing pamphlets in anothers name,
And in them praise himselfe, his wit, his might.
All to be deem'd his Countries Lanthorne light?
Whilst my tongue's ty'de with bonds of blushing shame
For feare of broching my concealed name?
Shall Balbus, the demure Athenian,
Dreame of the death of next Vicarian?
Cast his natiuitie? marke his complexion?
Waigh well his bodies weake condition?
That with guilt sleight he may be sure to get
The Planets place, when his dim shine shall set?
Shall Curio streake his lims on his dayes couch,
In Sommer bower? and with bare groping touch
Incense his lust, consuming all the yeere
In Cyprian dalliance, and in Belgick cheere?
Shall Faunus spend a hundred gallions,
Of Goates pure milke, to laue his stallions,
As much Rose iuyce? O bath! ô royall, rich
To scower Faunus, and his salt proude bitch!
And when all's cleans'd, shall the slaues inside stinck
worse then the new cast slime of Thames ebb'd brink?
Whilst I securely let him ouerslip?
Nere yerking him with my Satyrick whip?
In Sommer bower? and with bare groping touch
Incense his lust, consuming all the yeere
In Cyprian dalliance, and in Belgick cheere?
Shall Faunus spend a hundred gallions,
Of Goates pure milke, to laue his stallions,
As much Rose iuyce? O bath! ô royall, rich
To scower Faunus, and his salt proude bitch!
116
worse then the new cast slime of Thames ebb'd brink?
Whilst I securely let him ouerslip?
Nere yerking him with my Satyrick whip?
Shall Crispus with hipocrisie beguile,
Holding a candle, to some fiend a while?
Now Iew, then Turke, then seeming Christian,
Then Athiest, Papist, and straight Puritan,
Now nothing, any thing, euen what you list,
So that some guilt may grease his greedy fist?
Holding a candle, to some fiend a while?
Now Iew, then Turke, then seeming Christian,
Then Athiest, Papist, and straight Puritan,
Now nothing, any thing, euen what you list,
So that some guilt may grease his greedy fist?
Shall Damas vse his third-hand ward as ill,
As any iade that tuggeth in the mill?
What, shall law, nature, vertue, be reiected,
Shall these world Arteries be soule infected,
With corrupt blood? Whilst I shal Martia taske?
Or some young Villius, all in choller aske,
How he can keepe a lazie waiting man,
And buy a hoode, & siluer-handled fan
With fortie pound? Or snarle at Lollios sonne?
That with industrious paines hath harder wonne
His true got worship, and his gentries name
Then any Swine-heards brat, that lousie came
To luskish Athens, and with farming pots,
Compiling bedds, & scouring greazie spots,
By chaunce (when he can like taught Parrat cry
Dearely belou'd, with simpering grauitie)
Hath got the Farme of some gelt Vicary,
And now on cock-horse, gallops iollilie
Tickling with some stolne stuffe his sencelesse cure,
Belching lewd termes gainst all sound littrature.
Shall I with shaddowes fight? taske bitterly
Romes filth? scraping base channell rogarie?
Whilst such huge Gyants shall affright our eyes
With execrable, damn'd impieties?
Shall I finde trading Mecho, neuer loath
Frankly to take a damning periur'd oath?
Shall Furia broke her sisters modestie,
And prostitute her soule to brothelrie?
Shall Cossus make his well-fac'd wife a stale,
To yeeld his braided ware a quicker sale?
Shall cock-horse, fat-paunch'd Milo staine whole stocks
Of well borne soules, with his adultering spots?
Shall broking pandars sucke Nobilitie?
Soyling fayre stems with foule impuritie?
Nay, shall a trencher slaue extenuate,
Some Lucrece rape? and straight magnificate
Lewd Iouian lust? Whilst my satyrick vaine
Shall muzled be, not daring out to straine
His tearing paw? No gloomie Iuvenall,
Though to thy fortunes I disastrous fall.
As any iade that tuggeth in the mill?
What, shall law, nature, vertue, be reiected,
Shall these world Arteries be soule infected,
With corrupt blood? Whilst I shal Martia taske?
Or some young Villius, all in choller aske,
How he can keepe a lazie waiting man,
And buy a hoode, & siluer-handled fan
With fortie pound? Or snarle at Lollios sonne?
That with industrious paines hath harder wonne
His true got worship, and his gentries name
Then any Swine-heards brat, that lousie came
To luskish Athens, and with farming pots,
Compiling bedds, & scouring greazie spots,
By chaunce (when he can like taught Parrat cry
Dearely belou'd, with simpering grauitie)
Hath got the Farme of some gelt Vicary,
And now on cock-horse, gallops iollilie
Tickling with some stolne stuffe his sencelesse cure,
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Shall I with shaddowes fight? taske bitterly
Romes filth? scraping base channell rogarie?
Whilst such huge Gyants shall affright our eyes
With execrable, damn'd impieties?
Shall I finde trading Mecho, neuer loath
Frankly to take a damning periur'd oath?
Shall Furia broke her sisters modestie,
And prostitute her soule to brothelrie?
Shall Cossus make his well-fac'd wife a stale,
To yeeld his braided ware a quicker sale?
Shall cock-horse, fat-paunch'd Milo staine whole stocks
Of well borne soules, with his adultering spots?
Shall broking pandars sucke Nobilitie?
Soyling fayre stems with foule impuritie?
Nay, shall a trencher slaue extenuate,
Some Lucrece rape? and straight magnificate
Lewd Iouian lust? Whilst my satyrick vaine
Shall muzled be, not daring out to straine
His tearing paw? No gloomie Iuvenall,
Though to thy fortunes I disastrous fall.
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SATYRE. IIII. CRAS.
I marry Sir, here's perfect honestie:
When Martius will forsweare all villanie:
(All damn'd abuse, of payment in the warres
All filching from his Prince, and Souldiers)
When once he can but so much bright durt gleane,
As may mainetaine, one more White-friers queane.
One drab more, faith then farewell villanie,
He'le cleanse himselfe to Shoreditch puritie.
When Martius will forsweare all villanie:
(All damn'd abuse, of payment in the warres
All filching from his Prince, and Souldiers)
When once he can but so much bright durt gleane,
As may mainetaine, one more White-friers queane.
One drab more, faith then farewell villanie,
He'le cleanse himselfe to Shoreditch puritie.
As for Stadius, I thinke he hath a soule,
And if he were but free from sharpe controule
Of his sower host, and from his Taylors bill,
He would not thus abuse his riming skill,
Iading our tyred eares with fooleries,
Greasing great slaues, with oylie flatteries,
Good fayth I thinke, he would not striue to sute
The backe of humorous Time, (for base repute
Mong dunghill pesants) botching vp such ware,
As may be salable in Sturbridge fare.
If he were once but freed from specialtie,
But sooth, till then, beare with his ballatry.
And if he were but free from sharpe controule
Of his sower host, and from his Taylors bill,
He would not thus abuse his riming skill,
Iading our tyred eares with fooleries,
Greasing great slaues, with oylie flatteries,
Good fayth I thinke, he would not striue to sute
The backe of humorous Time, (for base repute
Mong dunghill pesants) botching vp such ware,
As may be salable in Sturbridge fare.
If he were once but freed from specialtie,
But sooth, till then, beare with his ballatry.
I ask'd lewd Gallus when he'le cease to sweare,
And with whole culuering raging othes to teare
The vault of heauen, spetting in the eyes
Of natures Nature, lothsome blasphemies.
To morrow he doth vow he will forbeare:
Next day I meete him, but I heare him sweare
Worse then before, I put his vow in minde,
He aunswers me, to morrow, but I finde
He sweares next day, farre worse then ere before:
Putting me of with (morrow) euermore.
Thus when I vrge him, with his sophistrie
He thinkes to salue his damned periurie.
And with whole culuering raging othes to teare
The vault of heauen, spetting in the eyes
Of natures Nature, lothsome blasphemies.
To morrow he doth vow he will forbeare:
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Worse then before, I put his vow in minde,
He aunswers me, to morrow, but I finde
He sweares next day, farre worse then ere before:
Putting me of with (morrow) euermore.
Thus when I vrge him, with his sophistrie
He thinkes to salue his damned periurie.
Sylenus now is old, I wonder I
He doth not hate his triple venery,
Cold, writhled Eld, his liues-wet almost spent,
Me thinkes a vnitie were compotent:
But ô fayre hopes! He whispers secretly,
When it leaues him, he'le leaue his lecherie.
He doth not hate his triple venery,
Cold, writhled Eld, his liues-wet almost spent,
Me thinkes a vnitie were compotent:
But ô fayre hopes! He whispers secretly,
When it leaues him, he'le leaue his lecherie.
When simpring Flaccus (that demurely goes
Right neatly tripping on his new blackt toes)
Hath made rich vse of his Religion,
Of God himselfe, in pure deuotion:
When that the strange Ideas in his head
(Broch'd mong curious sotts, by shaddowes led)
Hath furnish'd him, by his hote auditors
Of fayre demeanes, and goodly rich mannors,
Sooth then he will repent, when's treasurie
Shall force him to disclaime his heresie.
What will not poore need force? but being sped,
God for vs all, the gurmonds paunch is fed.
His minde is chang'd, but when will he doe good?
To morrow, (I, to morrow by the rood.)
Right neatly tripping on his new blackt toes)
Hath made rich vse of his Religion,
Of God himselfe, in pure deuotion:
When that the strange Ideas in his head
(Broch'd mong curious sotts, by shaddowes led)
Hath furnish'd him, by his hote auditors
Of fayre demeanes, and goodly rich mannors,
Sooth then he will repent, when's treasurie
Shall force him to disclaime his heresie.
What will not poore need force? but being sped,
God for vs all, the gurmonds paunch is fed.
His minde is chang'd, but when will he doe good?
To morrow, (I, to morrow by the rood.)
Yet Ruscus sweares, he'le cease to broke a sute:
By peasant meanes striuing to get repute
Mong puffie Spunges, when the Fleet's defrayd
His reuell tier, and his Laundresse payd.
There is a crew which I too plaine could name
If so I might without th'Aquinians blame,
That lick the tayle of greatnes with their lips:
Laboring with third-hand iests, and Apish skips,
Retayling others wit, long barrelled
To glib some great mans eares, till panch be fed,
Glad if themselues, as sporting fooles be made,
To get the shelter of some high-growne shade.
To morrow yet these base tricks thei'le cast off,
And cease for lucar be a iering scoffe.
Ruscus will leaue, when once he can renue
His wasted clothes, that are asham'd to view
The worlds proude eyes. Drusus wil cease to fawne
when that his Farme, that leakes in melting pawne
Some Lord-applauded iest hath once set free.
All will to morrow leaue their roguerie.
When fox-furd Mecho (by damn'd vsurie,
Cutthrote deceit, and his crafts villanie)
Hath rak'd together some foure thousand pound,
To make his smug gurle, beare a bumming sound
In a young merchants eare, fayth then (may be)
He'le ponder if there be a Deitie?
Thinking, if to the parrish pouertie,
At his wisht death, be dol'd a halfe-penny,
A worke of Supererogation,
A good filth-cleansing strong purgation.
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Mong puffie Spunges, when the Fleet's defrayd
His reuell tier, and his Laundresse payd.
There is a crew which I too plaine could name
If so I might without th'Aquinians blame,
That lick the tayle of greatnes with their lips:
Laboring with third-hand iests, and Apish skips,
Retayling others wit, long barrelled
To glib some great mans eares, till panch be fed,
Glad if themselues, as sporting fooles be made,
To get the shelter of some high-growne shade.
To morrow yet these base tricks thei'le cast off,
And cease for lucar be a iering scoffe.
Ruscus will leaue, when once he can renue
His wasted clothes, that are asham'd to view
The worlds proude eyes. Drusus wil cease to fawne
when that his Farme, that leakes in melting pawne
Some Lord-applauded iest hath once set free.
All will to morrow leaue their roguerie.
When fox-furd Mecho (by damn'd vsurie,
Cutthrote deceit, and his crafts villanie)
Hath rak'd together some foure thousand pound,
To make his smug gurle, beare a bumming sound
In a young merchants eare, fayth then (may be)
He'le ponder if there be a Deitie?
Thinking, if to the parrish pouertie,
At his wisht death, be dol'd a halfe-penny,
A worke of Supererogation,
A good filth-cleansing strong purgation.
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Aulus will leaue begging Monopolies,
When that mong troupes of gaudie Butter-flies,
He is but able iet it iollily,
In pie-bauld sutes, of proude Court brauerie.
When that mong troupes of gaudie Butter-flies,
He is but able iet it iollily,
In pie-bauld sutes, of proude Court brauerie.
To morrow doth Luxurio promise me,
He will vnline himselfe from bitcherie.
Marry Alcides thirteenth act must lend
A glorious period, and his lust-itch end.
When once he hath froth-foming Ætna past
At one and thirtie being alwayes last.
He will vnline himselfe from bitcherie.
Marry Alcides thirteenth act must lend
A glorious period, and his lust-itch end.
When once he hath froth-foming Ætna past
At one and thirtie being alwayes last.
If not to Day (quoth that Nasonian)
Much lesse to morrow, Yes saith Fabian,
For ingrain'd Habites, died with often dips,
Are not so soone discoloured, young slips
New set, are easily mou'd, and pluck'd away,
But elder rootes, clip faster in the clay.
I smile at thee, and at the Stagerite,
Who holds the liking of the appetite,
Beeing fedde with actions often put in vre
Hatcheth the soule, in qualitie impure,
Or pure. May be in vertue, but for vice,
That comes by inspiration, with a trice
Young Furius scarce fifteene yeres of age
But is straight-wayes, right fit for marriage
Vnto the deuill, for sure they would agree,
Betwixt their soules there is such sympathie,
Much lesse to morrow, Yes saith Fabian,
For ingrain'd Habites, died with often dips,
Are not so soone discoloured, young slips
New set, are easily mou'd, and pluck'd away,
But elder rootes, clip faster in the clay.
I smile at thee, and at the Stagerite,
Who holds the liking of the appetite,
Beeing fedde with actions often put in vre
Hatcheth the soule, in qualitie impure,
Or pure. May be in vertue, but for vice,
That comes by inspiration, with a trice
Young Furius scarce fifteene yeres of age
But is straight-wayes, right fit for marriage
Vnto the deuill, for sure they would agree,
Betwixt their soules there is such sympathie,
O where's your sweatie habite, when each Ape,
That can but spy the shadow of his shape,
That can no sooner ken what's vertuous,
But will auoyde it, and be vicious,
Without much doe, or farre fetch'd habiture.
That can but spy the shadow of his shape,
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But will auoyde it, and be vicious,
Without much doe, or farre fetch'd habiture.
In earnest thus, it is a sacred cure
To salue the soules dread wounds; Omnipotent
That Nature is, that cures the impotent,
Euen in a moment; Sure Grace is infus'd
By diuine fauour, not by actions vs'd.
Which is as permanent as heauens blisse
To them that haue it, then no habite is.
To morrow, nay to day, it may be got:
So please that gracious Power clense thy spot.
To salue the soules dread wounds; Omnipotent
That Nature is, that cures the impotent,
Euen in a moment; Sure Grace is infus'd
By diuine fauour, not by actions vs'd.
Which is as permanent as heauens blisse
To them that haue it, then no habite is.
To morrow, nay to day, it may be got:
So please that gracious Power clense thy spot.
Vice, from priuation of that sacred Grace,
which God with-drawes, but puts not vice in place.
Who sayes the sunne is cause of vgly night?
Yet when he vailes our eyes from his faire sight,
The gloomie curtaine of the night is spred.
Yee curious sotts, vainly by Nature led,
Where is your vice or vertuous habite now?
For Sustine pro nunc doth bend his brow,
And old crabb'd Scotus on th'organon
Pay'th me with snaphaunce, quick distinction,
Habites that intellectuall termed be,
Are got, or els infus'd from Deitie.
Dull Sorbonist, flie contradiction.
Fye, thou oppugn'st the definition.
If one should say, Of things term'd rationall,
Some reason haue, others meere sensuall.
Would not some freshman reading Porphirie,
Hisse, and deride such blockish foolerie?
Then vice nor vertue haue from habite place,
The one from want, the other sacred grace.
Infus'd, displac'd, not in our will or force,
But as it please Iehoua haue remorce.
I will, cryes Zeno, ô presumption!
I can, thou maist, dogged opinion
Of thwarting Cynicks. To day vicious,
List to their precepts, next day vertuous.
Peace Seneca, thou belchest blasphemy.
To liue from God, but to liue happily
(I heare thee boast,) from thy Phylosophie,
And from thy selfe, ô rauing lunacie!
Cynicks, yee wound your selues, for Destenie
Ineuitable Fate, Necessitie,
You hold doth sway the acts spirituall,
As well as parts of that we mortall call,
Where's then (I will?) wher's that strong Deitie,
You doe ascribe to your Phylosophie?
Confounded Natures brats, can will and Fate,
Haue both theyr seate, & office in your pate?
O hidden depth of that dread Secrecie,
Which I doe trembling touch in Poetrie!
To day, to day, implore obsequiously,
Trust not to morrowes will, least vtterly
Yee be attach'd with sad confusion,
In your Grace-tempting lewd presumption.
which God with-drawes, but puts not vice in place.
Who sayes the sunne is cause of vgly night?
Yet when he vailes our eyes from his faire sight,
The gloomie curtaine of the night is spred.
Yee curious sotts, vainly by Nature led,
Where is your vice or vertuous habite now?
For Sustine pro nunc doth bend his brow,
And old crabb'd Scotus on th'organon
Pay'th me with snaphaunce, quick distinction,
Habites that intellectuall termed be,
Are got, or els infus'd from Deitie.
Dull Sorbonist, flie contradiction.
Fye, thou oppugn'st the definition.
If one should say, Of things term'd rationall,
Some reason haue, others meere sensuall.
Would not some freshman reading Porphirie,
123
Then vice nor vertue haue from habite place,
The one from want, the other sacred grace.
Infus'd, displac'd, not in our will or force,
But as it please Iehoua haue remorce.
I will, cryes Zeno, ô presumption!
I can, thou maist, dogged opinion
Of thwarting Cynicks. To day vicious,
List to their precepts, next day vertuous.
Peace Seneca, thou belchest blasphemy.
To liue from God, but to liue happily
(I heare thee boast,) from thy Phylosophie,
And from thy selfe, ô rauing lunacie!
Cynicks, yee wound your selues, for Destenie
Ineuitable Fate, Necessitie,
You hold doth sway the acts spirituall,
As well as parts of that we mortall call,
Where's then (I will?) wher's that strong Deitie,
You doe ascribe to your Phylosophie?
Confounded Natures brats, can will and Fate,
Haue both theyr seate, & office in your pate?
O hidden depth of that dread Secrecie,
Which I doe trembling touch in Poetrie!
To day, to day, implore obsequiously,
Trust not to morrowes will, least vtterly
Yee be attach'd with sad confusion,
In your Grace-tempting lewd presumption.
But I forget; why sweat I out my braine,
In deepe designes, to gay boyes lewd, and vaine?
These notes were better sung, mong better sort,
But to my pamphlet, few saue fooles resort.
124
These notes were better sung, mong better sort,
But to my pamphlet, few saue fooles resort.
Libri primi, finis.
125
SATY: Liber secundus.
127
Proemium in librum secundum.
I cannot quote a mott Italienate.
Or brand my Satyres with som Spanish terme.
I cannot with swolne lines magnificate,
Mine owne poore worth, or as immaculate
Task others rimes, as if no blot did staine,
No blemish soile, my young Satyrick vaine.
Or brand my Satyres with som Spanish terme.
I cannot with swolne lines magnificate,
Mine owne poore worth, or as immaculate
Task others rimes, as if no blot did staine,
No blemish soile, my young Satyrick vaine.
Nor can I make my soule a merchandize,
Seeking conceits to sute these Artlesse times.
Or daine for base reward to Poetize:
Soothing the world, with oylie flatteries.
Shall mercenary thoughts prouoke me write?
Shall I for lucar be a Parasite?
Seeking conceits to sute these Artlesse times.
Or daine for base reward to Poetize:
Soothing the world, with oylie flatteries.
Shall mercenary thoughts prouoke me write?
Shall I for lucar be a Parasite?
Shall I once pen for vulgar sorts applause?
To please each hound? each dungie Scauenger?
To fit some Oystar-wenches yawning iawes?
With tricksey tales of speaking Cornish dawes?
First let my braine (bright hair'd Latonas sonne)
Be cleane distract with all confusion.
To please each hound? each dungie Scauenger?
To fit some Oystar-wenches yawning iawes?
With tricksey tales of speaking Cornish dawes?
First let my braine (bright hair'd Latonas sonne)
Be cleane distract with all confusion.
What though some Iohn-á-stile will basely toile,
Onely incited with the hope of gaine,
Though roguie thoughts doe force some iade-like Moile
Yet no such filth my true-borne Muse will soile.
O Epictetus, I doe honour thee,
To thinke how rich thou wert in pouertie.
Onely incited with the hope of gaine,
Though roguie thoughts doe force some iade-like Moile
Yet no such filth my true-borne Muse will soile.
O Epictetus, I doe honour thee,
To thinke how rich thou wert in pouertie.
128
Ad Rithmum.
Come prettie pleasing symphonie of words,Yee wel-match'd twins (whose like-tun'd tongs affords
Such musicall delight,) come willingly
And daunce Leuoltoes in my poesie.
Come all as easie, as spruce Curio will,
In some court hall to showe his capring skill.
As willingly come meete & iumpe together,
As new ioyn'd loues, when they doe clip each other.
As willingly, as wenches trip a round,
About a May-pole, after bagpipes sound.
Come riming numbers, come and grace conceite,
Adding a pleasing close, with your deceit
Inticing eares. Let not my ruder hand
Seeme once to force you in my lines to stand,
Be not so fearefull (pretty soules) to meete,
As Flaccus is the Sergiants face to greete.
Be not so backward loth to grace my sence,
As Drusus is, to haue intelligence
His Dad's aliue; but come into my head
As iocondly, as when his wife was dead
Young Lelius to his home. Come like-fac'd rime,
In tunefull numbers keeping musicks time.
But if you hange an arse, like Tubered,
When Chremes dragg'd him from his brothell bed,
Then hence base ballad stuffe, my poetrie
Disclaimes you quite, for know my libertie
129
Since I first Phœbus knew, I neuer found
Thy interest in sacred Poesie.
Thou to Invention add'st but surquedry,
A gaudie ornature, but hast no part,
In that soule-pleasing high infused art.
Then if thou wilt clip kindly in my lines,
Welcome thou friendly ayde of my designes.
If not? No title of my sence let change
To wrest some forced rime, but freely range.
Yee scrupulous obseruers, goe & learne
Of Æsops dogge; meate from a shade discerne.
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SATYRE. V. Totum in toto.
Hange thy selfe Drusus, hast nor arms nor brain?
Some Sophy say, the gods sell all for paine,
Not so.
Had not that toyling Thebans steled back
Dread poysned shafts, liu'd he now, he should lack.
Spight of his farming Oxe-staules. Themis selfe
Would be casheir'd from one poore scrap of pelfe.
If that she were incarnate in our time
Shee might lusk scorned in disdained slime,
Shaded from honor by some enuious mist
Of watry foggs, that fill the ill-stuft list
Of faire Desert, ielous euen of blind darke,
Least it should spie, and at their lamenes barke.
Honors shade, thrusts honors substance from his place.
Tis strange, when shade the substance can disgrace?
Harsh lines cryes Curus, whose eares nere reioyce
But at the quauering of my Ladies voyce.
Rude limping lines fits this leud halting age,
Sweet senting Curus, pardon then my rage,
When wisards sweare plaine vertue neuer thriues,
None but Priapus by plaine dealing wiues.
Thou subtile Hermes, are the Destinies
Enamor'd on thee? then vp mount the skies.
Aduance, depose, doe euen what thou list,
So long as Fates doe grace thy iugling fist.
Tuscus, hast Beuclarkes armes and strong sinewes,
Large reach, full fedde vaines, ample reuenewes?
Then make thy markets by thy proper arme,
O, brawnie strength is an all-canning charme!
Thou dreadlesse Thracean, hast Hallirrhotius slaine?
What? ist not possible thy cause maintaine
Before the dozen Areopagites?
Come Enagonian, furnish him with slights.
Tut, Plutos wrath, Proserpina can melt,
So that thy sacrifice be freely felt.
What cannot Iuno force in bed with Ioue?
Turne and returne a sentence with her loue.
Thou art too duskie. Fie thou shallow Asse,
Put on more eyes, and marke me as I passe.
Well plainely thus, Sleight, Force, are mighty things,
From which, much, (if not most) earths glory springs.
If Vertues selfe, were clad in humane shape,
Vertue without these, might goe beg and scrape.
The naked truth is, a well clothed lie,
A nimble quick-pate mounts to dignitie.
By force, or fraude, that matters not a iot,
So massie wealth may fall vnto thy lot.
Some Sophy say, the gods sell all for paine,
Not so.
Had not that toyling Thebans steled back
Dread poysned shafts, liu'd he now, he should lack.
Spight of his farming Oxe-staules. Themis selfe
Would be casheir'd from one poore scrap of pelfe.
If that she were incarnate in our time
Shee might lusk scorned in disdained slime,
Shaded from honor by some enuious mist
Of watry foggs, that fill the ill-stuft list
Of faire Desert, ielous euen of blind darke,
Least it should spie, and at their lamenes barke.
Honors shade, thrusts honors substance from his place.
Tis strange, when shade the substance can disgrace?
Harsh lines cryes Curus, whose eares nere reioyce
But at the quauering of my Ladies voyce.
Rude limping lines fits this leud halting age,
Sweet senting Curus, pardon then my rage,
When wisards sweare plaine vertue neuer thriues,
None but Priapus by plaine dealing wiues.
Thou subtile Hermes, are the Destinies
Enamor'd on thee? then vp mount the skies.
Aduance, depose, doe euen what thou list,
So long as Fates doe grace thy iugling fist.
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Large reach, full fedde vaines, ample reuenewes?
Then make thy markets by thy proper arme,
O, brawnie strength is an all-canning charme!
Thou dreadlesse Thracean, hast Hallirrhotius slaine?
What? ist not possible thy cause maintaine
Before the dozen Areopagites?
Come Enagonian, furnish him with slights.
Tut, Plutos wrath, Proserpina can melt,
So that thy sacrifice be freely felt.
What cannot Iuno force in bed with Ioue?
Turne and returne a sentence with her loue.
Thou art too duskie. Fie thou shallow Asse,
Put on more eyes, and marke me as I passe.
Well plainely thus, Sleight, Force, are mighty things,
From which, much, (if not most) earths glory springs.
If Vertues selfe, were clad in humane shape,
Vertue without these, might goe beg and scrape.
The naked truth is, a well clothed lie,
A nimble quick-pate mounts to dignitie.
By force, or fraude, that matters not a iot,
So massie wealth may fall vnto thy lot.
I heard old Albius sweare, Flavus should haue
His eldest gurle, for Flavus was a knaue.
A damn'd deep-reaching villaine, & would mount
He durst well warrant him to great account.
What though he laid forth all his stock & store
Vpon some office, yet he'le gaine much more,
Though purchast deere. Tut, he will trebble it
In some fewe termes, by his extorting wit.
His eldest gurle, for Flavus was a knaue.
A damn'd deep-reaching villaine, & would mount
He durst well warrant him to great account.
What though he laid forth all his stock & store
Vpon some office, yet he'le gaine much more,
Though purchast deere. Tut, he will trebble it
In some fewe termes, by his extorting wit.
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When I in simple meaning went to sewe
For tonge-tide Damus, that would needs go wooe,
I praysd him for his vertue, honest life,
By God, cryes Flora, Ile not be his wife.
He'le nere come on. Now I sweare solemlie,
When I goe next, I'le prayse his villanie.
A better field to range in now a dayes,
If vice be vertue, I can all men praise.
For tonge-tide Damus, that would needs go wooe,
I praysd him for his vertue, honest life,
By God, cryes Flora, Ile not be his wife.
He'le nere come on. Now I sweare solemlie,
When I goe next, I'le prayse his villanie.
A better field to range in now a dayes,
If vice be vertue, I can all men praise.
What though pale Maurus paid huge symonies
For his half-dozen gelded vicaries.
Yet with good honest cut-throate vsurie,
I feare he'le mount to reuerent dignitie.
O sleight! all-canning sleight! all-damning sleight!
The onely gally-ladder vnto might.
For his half-dozen gelded vicaries.
Yet with good honest cut-throate vsurie,
I feare he'le mount to reuerent dignitie.
O sleight! all-canning sleight! all-damning sleight!
The onely gally-ladder vnto might.
Tuscus is trade falne, yet great hope he'le rise,
For now he makes no count of periuries.
Hath drawne false lights from pitch-black loueries,
Glased his braided ware. Cogs, sweares, and lyes.
Now since he hath the grace, thus gracelesse be
His neighbors sweare, he'le swell with treasurie.
Tut who maintaines, such goods ill got, decay.
No, they'le stick by thy soule, they'le nere away.
For now he makes no count of periuries.
Hath drawne false lights from pitch-black loueries,
Glased his braided ware. Cogs, sweares, and lyes.
Now since he hath the grace, thus gracelesse be
His neighbors sweare, he'le swell with treasurie.
Tut who maintaines, such goods ill got, decay.
No, they'le stick by thy soule, they'le nere away.
Luscus my Lords perfumer had no sale
Vntill he made his wife a brothell stale.
Absurd, the gods sell all for industrie?
When, what's not got by hell-bred villanie?
Vntill he made his wife a brothell stale.
Absurd, the gods sell all for industrie?
When, what's not got by hell-bred villanie?
Codrus my well-fac'd Ladies taile-bearer,
(He that some-times play'th Flauias vsherer)
I heard one day complaine to Linceus,
How vigilant, how right obsequious
Modest in carriage, how true in trust,
And yet (alas) nere guerdond with a crust.
But now I see, he findes by his accounts
That sole Priapus by plaine dealing mounts.
How now? what droupes the new Pegasian Inne?
I feare mine host is honest. Tut, beginne
To set vp whore-house. Nere too late to thriue
By any meanes at Porta Rich' ariue;
Goe vse some sleight, or liue poore Irus life,
Straight prostitute thy daughter, or thy wife,
And soone be wealthy, but be damn'd with it,
Hath not rich Mylo then deepe reaching wit?
(He that some-times play'th Flauias vsherer)
I heard one day complaine to Linceus,
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Modest in carriage, how true in trust,
And yet (alas) nere guerdond with a crust.
But now I see, he findes by his accounts
That sole Priapus by plaine dealing mounts.
How now? what droupes the new Pegasian Inne?
I feare mine host is honest. Tut, beginne
To set vp whore-house. Nere too late to thriue
By any meanes at Porta Rich' ariue;
Goe vse some sleight, or liue poore Irus life,
Straight prostitute thy daughter, or thy wife,
And soone be wealthy, but be damn'd with it,
Hath not rich Mylo then deepe reaching wit?
Faire age!
When tis a high, and hard thing t'haue repute
Of a compleat villaine, perfect, absolute,
And roguing vertue brings a man defame.
A packstaffe Epethite, and scorned name.
When tis a high, and hard thing t'haue repute
Of a compleat villaine, perfect, absolute,
And roguing vertue brings a man defame.
A packstaffe Epethite, and scorned name.
Fie how my wit flaggs, how heauily
Me thinks I vent dull sprightlesse poesie.
What cold black frost congeales my nummed brain?
What enuious power stops a Satyres vaine?
O now I know, the iugling God of sleights,
With Caduceus nimble Hermes fights,
And mists my wits. Offended that my rimes
Displaie his odious, world-abusing crimes.
Me thinks I vent dull sprightlesse poesie.
What cold black frost congeales my nummed brain?
What enuious power stops a Satyres vaine?
O now I know, the iugling God of sleights,
With Caduceus nimble Hermes fights,
And mists my wits. Offended that my rimes
Displaie his odious, world-abusing crimes.
O be propitious, powerfull God of Arts,
I sheathe my weapons and doe breake my darts,
Be then appeas'd, I'le offer to thy shrine,
An Heccatombe, of many spotted kine.
Myriades of beastes shall satisfie thy rage,
Which doe prophane thee in this Apish age.
Infectious blood, yee goutie humors quake
Whilst my sharp Razor doth incision make.
I sheathe my weapons and doe breake my darts,
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An Heccatombe, of many spotted kine.
Myriades of beastes shall satisfie thy rage,
Which doe prophane thee in this Apish age.
Infectious blood, yee goutie humors quake
Whilst my sharp Razor doth incision make.
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SATYRE. VI. Hem nosti'n.
Cvrio
, know'st me? why thou bottle-ale,
Thou barmy froth! O stay me, least I raile
Beyond Nil vltra, to see this Butterflie,
This windie bubble taske my balladry
With sencelesse censure. Curio, know'st my spright?
Yet deem'st that in sad seriousnes I write
Such nastie stuffe as is Pigmalion?
Such maggot-tainted lewd corruption?
Thou barmy froth! O stay me, least I raile
Beyond Nil vltra, to see this Butterflie,
This windie bubble taske my balladry
With sencelesse censure. Curio, know'st my spright?
Yet deem'st that in sad seriousnes I write
Such nastie stuffe as is Pigmalion?
Such maggot-tainted lewd corruption?
Ha, now he glauers with his fawning snowte,
And swears, he thought, I meant but faintly flowte,
My fine smug ryme. O barbarous dropsie noule!
Think'st thou that Genius that attends my soule,
And guides my fist to scourge Magnifico's
Wil daigne my mind be ranck'd in Paphian showes?
Think'st thou, that I, which was create to whip
Incarnate fiends, will once vouchsafe to trip
A Pauins trauerse? or will lispe (sweet loue)
Or pule (Aye me) some female soule to moue?
Think'st thou, that I in melting poesie
Will pamper itching sensualitie?
(That in the bodyes scumme all fatally
Intombes the soules most sacred faculty.)
And swears, he thought, I meant but faintly flowte,
My fine smug ryme. O barbarous dropsie noule!
Think'st thou that Genius that attends my soule,
And guides my fist to scourge Magnifico's
Wil daigne my mind be ranck'd in Paphian showes?
Think'st thou, that I, which was create to whip
Incarnate fiends, will once vouchsafe to trip
A Pauins trauerse? or will lispe (sweet loue)
Or pule (Aye me) some female soule to moue?
Think'st thou, that I in melting poesie
Will pamper itching sensualitie?
(That in the bodyes scumme all fatally
Intombes the soules most sacred faculty.)
Hence thou misiudging Censor, know I wrot
Those idle rimes to note the odious spot
And blemish that deformes the lineaments
Of moderne Poesies habiliments.
Oh that the beauties of Invention,
For want of Iudgements disposition
Should all be soyl'd, ô that such treasurie,
Such straines of well-conceited poesie,
Should moulded be, in such a shapelesse forme,
That want of Art, should make such wit a scorne.
Those idle rimes to note the odious spot
And blemish that deformes the lineaments
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Oh that the beauties of Invention,
For want of Iudgements disposition
Should all be soyl'd, ô that such treasurie,
Such straines of well-conceited poesie,
Should moulded be, in such a shapelesse forme,
That want of Art, should make such wit a scorne.
Here's one must invocate some lose-legg'd dame,
Some brothell drab, to helpe him stanzaes frame,
Or els (alas) his wits can haue no vent
To broch conceits industrious intent.
Another yet dares tremblingly come out,
But first he must invoke good Colyn Clout.
Some brothell drab, to helpe him stanzaes frame,
Or els (alas) his wits can haue no vent
To broch conceits industrious intent.
Another yet dares tremblingly come out,
But first he must invoke good Colyn Clout.
Yon's one hath yean'd a fearefull prodigie,
Some monstrous mishapen Balladry,
His guts are in his braines, huge Iobbernoule,
Right Gurnets-head, the rest without all soule.
Another walkes, is lazie, lyes him downe,
Thinkes, reades, at length some wonted sleep doth crowne
His new falne lids, dreames, straight tenne pound to one,
Out steps some Fayery with quick motion,
And tells him wonders, of some flowrie vale,
Awakes straight, rubs his eyes, and prints his tale.
Some monstrous mishapen Balladry,
His guts are in his braines, huge Iobbernoule,
Right Gurnets-head, the rest without all soule.
Another walkes, is lazie, lyes him downe,
Thinkes, reades, at length some wonted sleep doth crowne
His new falne lids, dreames, straight tenne pound to one,
Out steps some Fayery with quick motion,
And tells him wonders, of some flowrie vale,
Awakes straight, rubs his eyes, and prints his tale.
Yon's one, whose straines haue flowne so high a pitch
That straight he flags, & tumbles in a ditch.
His sprightly hote high-soring poesie
Is like that dreamed of Imagerie,
Whose head was gold, brest siluer, brassie thigh,
Lead leggs, clay feete; ô faire fram'd poesie.
That straight he flags, & tumbles in a ditch.
His sprightly hote high-soring poesie
Is like that dreamed of Imagerie,
Whose head was gold, brest siluer, brassie thigh,
Lead leggs, clay feete; ô faire fram'd poesie.
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Here's one, to get an vndeseru'd repute
Of deepe deepe learning, all in fustian sute
Of ill-plac'd farre-fetch'd words attiereth
His period, that all sence forsweareth.
Of deepe deepe learning, all in fustian sute
Of ill-plac'd farre-fetch'd words attiereth
His period, that all sence forsweareth.
Another makes old Homer, Spencer cite
Like my Pigmalion, where, with rare delight
He cryes, O Ouid. This caus'd my idle quill,
The worlds dull eares with such lewd stuffe to fill,
And gull with bumbast lines, the witlesse sence
Of these odde naggs; whose pates circumference
Is fild with froth! O these same buzzing Gnats
That sting my sleeping browes, these Nilus Rats,
Halfe dung, that haue their life from putrid slime,
These that doe praise my loose lasciuious rime:
For these same shades I seriously protest
I slubber'd vp that Chaos indigest,
To fish for fooles, that stalke in goodly shape,
What though in veluet cloake, yet still an Ape.
Capro reads, sweares, scrubs, and sweares againe,
Now by my soule an admirable straine,
Strokes vp his haire, cryes passing passing good,
Oh, there's a line incends his lustfull blood.
Like my Pigmalion, where, with rare delight
He cryes, O Ouid. This caus'd my idle quill,
The worlds dull eares with such lewd stuffe to fill,
And gull with bumbast lines, the witlesse sence
Of these odde naggs; whose pates circumference
Is fild with froth! O these same buzzing Gnats
That sting my sleeping browes, these Nilus Rats,
Halfe dung, that haue their life from putrid slime,
These that doe praise my loose lasciuious rime:
For these same shades I seriously protest
I slubber'd vp that Chaos indigest,
To fish for fooles, that stalke in goodly shape,
What though in veluet cloake, yet still an Ape.
Capro reads, sweares, scrubs, and sweares againe,
Now by my soule an admirable straine,
Strokes vp his haire, cryes passing passing good,
Oh, there's a line incends his lustfull blood.
Then Muto comes with his new glasse-set face,
And with his late kist-hand my booke dooth grace,
Straight reades, then smyles & lisps (tis prety good)
And praiseth that he neuer vnderstood.
But roome for Flaccus, he'le my Satyres read.
Oh how I trembled straight with inward dread!
But when I saw him read my fustian,
And heard him sweare I was a Pythian,
Yet straight recald, & sweares I did but quote
Out of Xilinum to that margents note,
I scarce could hold, & keepe my selfe conceal'd,
But had well-nigh my selfe and all reueal'd.
And with his late kist-hand my booke dooth grace,
Straight reades, then smyles & lisps (tis prety good)
And praiseth that he neuer vnderstood.
But roome for Flaccus, he'le my Satyres read.
Oh how I trembled straight with inward dread!
But when I saw him read my fustian,
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Yet straight recald, & sweares I did but quote
Out of Xilinum to that margents note,
I scarce could hold, & keepe my selfe conceal'd,
But had well-nigh my selfe and all reueal'd.
Then straight comes Friscus, that neat gentleman,
That newe discarded Academian,
Who for he could cry (Ergo) in the schoole,
Straight-way, with his huge iudgement dares controle
What so'ere he viewes, that's prety, prety good,
That Epethite hath not that sprightly blood
Which should enforce it speake, that's Persius vaine,
That's Iuvenals, heere's Horace crabbed straine,
Though he nere read one line in Iuvenall,
Or in his life his lazie eye let fall
On duskie Persius. O indignitie
To my respectlesse free-bred poesie.
That newe discarded Academian,
Who for he could cry (Ergo) in the schoole,
Straight-way, with his huge iudgement dares controle
What so'ere he viewes, that's prety, prety good,
That Epethite hath not that sprightly blood
Which should enforce it speake, that's Persius vaine,
That's Iuvenals, heere's Horace crabbed straine,
Though he nere read one line in Iuvenall,
Or in his life his lazie eye let fall
On duskie Persius. O indignitie
To my respectlesse free-bred poesie.
Hence ye big-buzzing-little-bodied Gnats,
Yee tatling Ecchoes, huge tongu'd pigmy brats,
I meane to sleepe, wake not my slumbring braine
With your malignant weake detracting vaine.
Yee tatling Ecchoes, huge tongu'd pigmy brats,
I meane to sleepe, wake not my slumbring braine
With your malignant weake detracting vaine.
What though the sacred issue of my soule
I heare expose to Ideots controule?
What though I bare to lewd Opinion
Lay ope to vulgar prophanation
My very Genius. Yet know my poesie
Doth scorne your vtmost, rank'st indignitie.
My pate was great with child, & here tis eas'd,
Vexe all the world, so that thy selfe be pleas'd.
I heare expose to Ideots controule?
What though I bare to lewd Opinion
Lay ope to vulgar prophanation
139
Doth scorne your vtmost, rank'st indignitie.
My pate was great with child, & here tis eas'd,
Vexe all the world, so that thy selfe be pleas'd.
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SATYRE. VII. A Cynicke Satyre.
A man , a man, a kingdome for a man.Why how now currish mad Athenian?
Thou Cynick dogge, see'st not streets do swarme
With troupes of men? No, no, for Circes charme
Hath turn'd them all to swine: I neuer shall
Thinke those same Samian sawes authenticall,
But rather I dare sweare, the soules of swine
Doe liue in men, for that same radiant shine,
That lustre wherewith natures Nature decked
Our intellectuall part, that glosse is soyled
With stayning spots of vile impietie,
And muddy durt of sensualitie,
These are no men, but Apparitions,
Ignes fatui, Glowormes, Fictions,
Meteors, Ratts of Nilus, Fantasies,
Colosses, Pictures, Shades, Resemblances.
Ho Linceus!
Seest thou yon gallant in the sumptuous clothes,
How brisk, how spruce, how gorgiously he showes,
Note his French-herring bones, but note no more,
Vnlesse thou spy his fayre appendant whore
That lackyes him. Marke nothing but his clothes,
His new stampt complement, his Cannon oathes.
Marke those, for naught but such lewd viciousnes
Ere graced him, saue Sodom beastlines.
Is this a Man? Nay, an incarnate deuill,
That struts in vice, and glorieth in euill.
Seest thou yon gallant in the sumptuous clothes,
How brisk, how spruce, how gorgiously he showes,
Note his French-herring bones, but note no more,
Vnlesse thou spy his fayre appendant whore
That lackyes him. Marke nothing but his clothes,
His new stampt complement, his Cannon oathes.
Marke those, for naught but such lewd viciousnes
Ere graced him, saue Sodom beastlines.
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That struts in vice, and glorieth in euill.
A man, a man: peace Cynick, yon is one,
A compleat soule, of all perfection.
What? mean'st thou him that walks al open brested?
Drawne through the eare with Ribands, plumy crested?
He that doth snort in fat-fed luxury,
And gapes for some grinding Monopoly?
He that in effeminate inuention,
In beastly source of all pollution,
In ryot, lust, and fleshly seeming sweetnes,
Sleepes sound secure, vnder the shade of greatnes?
Mean'st thou that sencelesse, sensuall Epicure?
That sinck of filth, that guzzell most impure?
What he? Linceus on my word thus presume,
He's nought but clothes, & senting sweet perfume.
His very soule, assure thee Linceus,
Is not so big as is an Atomus:
Nay, he is sprightlesse, sence or soule hath none,
Since last Medusa turn'd him to a stone.
A compleat soule, of all perfection.
What? mean'st thou him that walks al open brested?
Drawne through the eare with Ribands, plumy crested?
He that doth snort in fat-fed luxury,
And gapes for some grinding Monopoly?
He that in effeminate inuention,
In beastly source of all pollution,
In ryot, lust, and fleshly seeming sweetnes,
Sleepes sound secure, vnder the shade of greatnes?
Mean'st thou that sencelesse, sensuall Epicure?
That sinck of filth, that guzzell most impure?
What he? Linceus on my word thus presume,
He's nought but clothes, & senting sweet perfume.
His very soule, assure thee Linceus,
Is not so big as is an Atomus:
Nay, he is sprightlesse, sence or soule hath none,
Since last Medusa turn'd him to a stone.
A man, a man, Loe yonder I espie
The shade of Nestor in sad grauitie;
Since old Sylenus brake his Asses back,
He now is forc'd his paunch, and gutts to pack
In a fayre Tumbrell. Why sower Satirist
Canst thou vnman him? Here I dare insist
And soothly say, he is a perfect soule,
Eates Nectar, drinks Ambrosia, saunce controule.
An invndation of felicitie
Fats him with honor, and huge treasurie.
Canst thou not Linceus cast thy searching eye
And spy his immynent Catastrophe?
He's but a spunge, and shortly needs must leese
His wrong got iuyce, when greatnes fist shal squeese
His liquor out. Would not some shallow head,
That is with seeming shadowes onely fed,
Sweare yon same Damaske-coat, yon garded man,
Were some graue sober Cato Vtican?
When let him but in iudgements sight vncase,
He's naught but budge, old gards, browne foxe-fur face.
He hath no soule, the which the Stagerite
Term'd rationall, for beastly appetite,
Base dunghill thoughts, and sensuall action,
Hath made him loose that faire creation.
And now no man, since Circes magick charme
Hath turn'd him to a maggot, that doth swarme
In tainted flesh, whose foule corruption
Is his fayre foode, whose generation
Anothers ruine. O Canaans dread curse
To liue in peoples sinnes. Nay farre more worse
To muck ranke hate. But sirra, Linceus,
Seest thou that troope that now affronteth vs?
They are naught but Eeles, that neuer will appeare,
Till that tempestuous winds or thunder teare
Their slimie beds. But prithee stay a while,
Looke, yon comes Iohn-á-noke and Iohn-a-stile,
They'are naught but slow-pac'd, dilatory pleas,
Demure demurrers, still striuing to appease
Hote zealous loue. The language that they speake,
Is the pure barbarous blacksaunt of the Geate,
Their onely skill rests in Collusions,
Abatements, stopples, inhibitions.
Heauy-pac'd Iades, dull pated Iobernoules,
Quick in delayes, checking with vaine controules
Faire Iustice course, vile necessary euils,
Smooth seeme-Saints, yet damn'd incarnate deuils.
The shade of Nestor in sad grauitie;
Since old Sylenus brake his Asses back,
He now is forc'd his paunch, and gutts to pack
In a fayre Tumbrell. Why sower Satirist
Canst thou vnman him? Here I dare insist
And soothly say, he is a perfect soule,
Eates Nectar, drinks Ambrosia, saunce controule.
An invndation of felicitie
Fats him with honor, and huge treasurie.
Canst thou not Linceus cast thy searching eye
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He's but a spunge, and shortly needs must leese
His wrong got iuyce, when greatnes fist shal squeese
His liquor out. Would not some shallow head,
That is with seeming shadowes onely fed,
Sweare yon same Damaske-coat, yon garded man,
Were some graue sober Cato Vtican?
When let him but in iudgements sight vncase,
He's naught but budge, old gards, browne foxe-fur face.
He hath no soule, the which the Stagerite
Term'd rationall, for beastly appetite,
Base dunghill thoughts, and sensuall action,
Hath made him loose that faire creation.
And now no man, since Circes magick charme
Hath turn'd him to a maggot, that doth swarme
In tainted flesh, whose foule corruption
Is his fayre foode, whose generation
Anothers ruine. O Canaans dread curse
To liue in peoples sinnes. Nay farre more worse
To muck ranke hate. But sirra, Linceus,
Seest thou that troope that now affronteth vs?
They are naught but Eeles, that neuer will appeare,
Till that tempestuous winds or thunder teare
Their slimie beds. But prithee stay a while,
Looke, yon comes Iohn-á-noke and Iohn-a-stile,
They'are naught but slow-pac'd, dilatory pleas,
Demure demurrers, still striuing to appease
Hote zealous loue. The language that they speake,
Is the pure barbarous blacksaunt of the Geate,
143
Abatements, stopples, inhibitions.
Heauy-pac'd Iades, dull pated Iobernoules,
Quick in delayes, checking with vaine controules
Faire Iustice course, vile necessary euils,
Smooth seeme-Saints, yet damn'd incarnate deuils.
Farre be it from my sharpe Satirick Muse,
Those graue, and reuerent legists to abuse,
That ayde Astrea, that doe further right:
But these Megera's that inflame despight,
That broch deepe ranchor, that doe studie still
To ruine right, that they their panch may fill
With Irus blood; these Furies I doe meane,
These Hedge-hogs, that disturbe Astreas Scean.
Those graue, and reuerent legists to abuse,
That ayde Astrea, that doe further right:
But these Megera's that inflame despight,
That broch deepe ranchor, that doe studie still
To ruine right, that they their panch may fill
With Irus blood; these Furies I doe meane,
These Hedge-hogs, that disturbe Astreas Scean.
A man, a man: peace Cynick, yon's a man,
Behold yon sprightly dread Mauortian.
With him I stop thy currish barking chops.
what? meanst thou him, that in his swaggering slops
Wallowes vnbraced all along the streete?
He that salutes each gallant he doth meete,
With farewell sweet Captaine, kind hart, adew.
He that last night, tumbling thou didst view
From out the great mans head, and thinking still
He had beene Sentinell of warlike Brill,
Cryes out Que va la? zownds Que? and out doth draw
His transformd ponyard, to a Syrrenge straw,
And stabs the Drawer. What that Ringo roote?
Mean'st thou that wasted leg, puffe bumbast boote?
What he that's drawne, and quartered with lace?
That Westphalian gamon Cloue-stuck face?
Why, he is naught but huge blaspheming othes,
Swart snowt, big lookes, mishapen Swizers clothes,
Weake meager lust hath now consumed quite,
And wasted cleane away his martiall spright,
Infeebling ryot, all vices confluence,
Hath eaten out that sacred influence
Which made him man.
That diuine part is soak'd away in sinne,
In sensuall lust, and midnight bezeling.
Ranke invndation of luxuriousnes,
Haue tainted him with such grosse beastlines,
That now the seate of that celestiall essence
Is all possest with Naples pestilence.
Fat peace, and dissolute impietie,
Haue lulled him in such securitie,
That now, let whirlewinds and confusion teare
The Center of our state, let Giants reare
Hill vpon hill, let westerne Termagant
Shake heauens vault, he with his Occupant,
Are cling'd so close, like dew-wormes in the morne,
That he'le not stir, till out his gutts are torne
With eating filth. Tubrio snort on, snort on,
Till thou art wak'd with sad confusion.
Behold yon sprightly dread Mauortian.
With him I stop thy currish barking chops.
what? meanst thou him, that in his swaggering slops
Wallowes vnbraced all along the streete?
He that salutes each gallant he doth meete,
With farewell sweet Captaine, kind hart, adew.
He that last night, tumbling thou didst view
From out the great mans head, and thinking still
He had beene Sentinell of warlike Brill,
Cryes out Que va la? zownds Que? and out doth draw
His transformd ponyard, to a Syrrenge straw,
And stabs the Drawer. What that Ringo roote?
Mean'st thou that wasted leg, puffe bumbast boote?
What he that's drawne, and quartered with lace?
That Westphalian gamon Cloue-stuck face?
144
Swart snowt, big lookes, mishapen Swizers clothes,
Weake meager lust hath now consumed quite,
And wasted cleane away his martiall spright,
Infeebling ryot, all vices confluence,
Hath eaten out that sacred influence
Which made him man.
That diuine part is soak'd away in sinne,
In sensuall lust, and midnight bezeling.
Ranke invndation of luxuriousnes,
Haue tainted him with such grosse beastlines,
That now the seate of that celestiall essence
Is all possest with Naples pestilence.
Fat peace, and dissolute impietie,
Haue lulled him in such securitie,
That now, let whirlewinds and confusion teare
The Center of our state, let Giants reare
Hill vpon hill, let westerne Termagant
Shake heauens vault, he with his Occupant,
Are cling'd so close, like dew-wormes in the morne,
That he'le not stir, till out his gutts are torne
With eating filth. Tubrio snort on, snort on,
Till thou art wak'd with sad confusion.
Now raile no more at my sharpe Cynick sound
Thou brutish world, that in all vilenes drown'd
Hast lost thy soule, for naught but shades I see,
Resemblances of men inhabite thee.
Thou brutish world, that in all vilenes drown'd
Hast lost thy soule, for naught but shades I see,
Resemblances of men inhabite thee.
Yon Tissue slop, yon Holy-crossed pane,
Is but a water-spaniell that will faune
And kisse the water whilst it pleasures him,
But being once arriued at the brim,
He shakes it off.
Is but a water-spaniell that will faune
And kisse the water whilst it pleasures him,
145
He shakes it off.
Yon in the capring cloake, a Mimick Ape
That onely striues to seeme an others shape.
That onely striues to seeme an others shape.
Yon's Æsops Asse, yon sad ciuilitie,
Is but an Oxe, that with base drugerie
Eares vp the Land, whilst some gilt Asse doth chaw
The golden wheat; he well apay'd with straw.
Is but an Oxe, that with base drugerie
Eares vp the Land, whilst some gilt Asse doth chaw
The golden wheat; he well apay'd with straw.
Yons but a muckhill ouer-spred with snow,
Which with that vaile doth euen as fairely show
As the greene meades, whose natiue outward faire
Breathes sweet perfumes into the neighbour ayre.
Which with that vaile doth euen as fairely show
As the greene meades, whose natiue outward faire
Breathes sweet perfumes into the neighbour ayre.
Yon effeminate sanguine Ganimede,
Is but a Beuer, hunted for the bed.
Is but a Beuer, hunted for the bed.
Peace Cynick, see what yonder doth approach,
A cart, a tumbrell? no a Badged coach.
What's in't? some man. No, nor yet woman kinde,
But a celestiall Angell, faire refinde.
The deuill as soone. Her maske so hinders mee
I cannot see her beauties deitie.
Now that is off, shee is so vizarded,
So steep'd in Lemons-iuyce, so surphuled
I cannot see her face, vnder one hood
Too faces, but I neuer vnderstood
Or saw, one face vnder two hoods till now,
Tis the right semblance of old Ianus brow.
A cart, a tumbrell? no a Badged coach.
What's in't? some man. No, nor yet woman kinde,
But a celestiall Angell, faire refinde.
The deuill as soone. Her maske so hinders mee
I cannot see her beauties deitie.
Now that is off, shee is so vizarded,
So steep'd in Lemons-iuyce, so surphuled
I cannot see her face, vnder one hood
Too faces, but I neuer vnderstood
Or saw, one face vnder two hoods till now,
Tis the right semblance of old Ianus brow.
Her mask, her vizard, her loose-hanging gowne
For her loose lying body, her bright spangled crown
Her long slit sleeue, stiffe busk, puffe verdingall,
Is all that makes her thus angelicall.
Alas, her soule struts round about her neck,
Her seate of sence is her rebato set,
Her intellectuall is a fained nicenes
Nothing but clothes, & simpering precisenes.
For her loose lying body, her bright spangled crown
Her long slit sleeue, stiffe busk, puffe verdingall,
146
Alas, her soule struts round about her neck,
Her seate of sence is her rebato set,
Her intellectuall is a fained nicenes
Nothing but clothes, & simpering precisenes.
Out on these puppets, painted Images,
Haberdashers shops, torch-light maskeries,
Perfuming pans, Duch antients, Glowe wormes bright
That soile our soules, and dampe our reasons light:
Away, away, hence Coach-man, goe inshrine
Thy new glas'd puppet in port Esqueline.
Blush Martia, feare not, or looke pale, all's one,
Margara keepes thy set complexion.
Haberdashers shops, torch-light maskeries,
Perfuming pans, Duch antients, Glowe wormes bright
That soile our soules, and dampe our reasons light:
Away, away, hence Coach-man, goe inshrine
Thy new glas'd puppet in port Esqueline.
Blush Martia, feare not, or looke pale, all's one,
Margara keepes thy set complexion.
Sure I nere thinke those axioms to be true,
That soules of men, from that great soule ensue,
And of his essence doe participate
As't were by pypes, when so degenerate,
So aduerse is our natures motion,
To his immaculate condition:
That such foule filth, from such faire puritie,
Such sensuall acts from such a Deitie,
Can nere proceed. But if that dreame were so,
Then sure the slime that from our soules doe flow,
Haue stopt those pipes by which it was conuai'd,
And now no humane creatures, once disrai'd
Of that fayre iem.
Beasts sence, plants growth, like being as a stone,
But out alas, our Cognisance is gone.
That soules of men, from that great soule ensue,
And of his essence doe participate
As't were by pypes, when so degenerate,
So aduerse is our natures motion,
To his immaculate condition:
That such foule filth, from such faire puritie,
Such sensuall acts from such a Deitie,
Can nere proceed. But if that dreame were so,
Then sure the slime that from our soules doe flow,
Haue stopt those pipes by which it was conuai'd,
And now no humane creatures, once disrai'd
Of that fayre iem.
Beasts sence, plants growth, like being as a stone,
But out alas, our Cognisance is gone.
Finis libri Secundi.
147
SATY: Liber Tertius.
149
Proemium in librum tertium.
In serious iest, and iesting seriousnesI striue to scourge poluting beastlines.
I invocate no Delian Deitie,
Nor sacred of-spring of Mnemosyne:
I pray in ayde of no Castalian Muse,
No Nimph, no femall Angell to infuse
A sprightly wit to raise my flagging wings,
And teach me tune these harsh discordant strings:
I craue no Syrens of our Halcion times,
To grace the accents of my rough-hew'd rimes;
But grim Reproofe, stearne Hate of villanie,
Inspire and guide a Satyres poesie.
Faire Detestation of foule odious sinne,
In which our swinish times lye wallowing,
Be thou my conduct and my Genius,
My wits inciting sweet breath'd Zephirus.
O that a Satyres hand had force to pluck
Some fludgate vp, to purge the world from muck:
Would God I could turne Alpheus riuer in
To purge this Augean oxstaule from foule sin.
Well, I will try, awake impuritie,
And view the vaile drawne from thy villanie.
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SATYRE. VIII. Inamorato Curio.
Cvrio
, aye me! thy mistres Monkey's dead,
Alas, alas, her pleasures buried.
Goe womans slaue, performe his exequies,
Condole his death in mournfull Elegies.
Tut, rather Peans sing Hermaphrodite,
For that sad death giues life to thy delight.
Alas, alas, her pleasures buried.
Goe womans slaue, performe his exequies,
Condole his death in mournfull Elegies.
Tut, rather Peans sing Hermaphrodite,
For that sad death giues life to thy delight.
Sweet fac'd Corinna, daine the riband tie
Of thy Cork-shooe, or els thy slaue will die:
Some puling Sonnet toles his passing bell,
Some sighing Elegie must ring his knell,
Vnlesse bright sunshine of thy grace reuiue
His wambling stomack, certes he will diue
Into the whirle-poole of deuouring death,
And to some Mermaid sacrifice his breath.
Then oh, oh then, to thy eternall shame,
And to the honour of sweet Curios name,
This Epitaph vpon the Marble stone,
Must fayre be grau'd of that true louing one;
Heere lyeth hee, hee lyeth heere,
that bounc'd, and pitty cryed,
The doore not op'd, fell sicke alas,
alas fell sicke, and dyed.
What Mirmidon, or hard Dolopian,
What sauage minded rude Cyclopian,
But such a sweet pathetique Paphian
Would force to laughter? Ho Amphitrion,
Thou art no Cuckold, what though Ioue dallied
During thy warres, in faire Alckmenas bed,
Yet Hercules true borne, that imbecilitie
Of corrupt nature all apparantly
Appeares in him, ô foule indignitie,
I heard him vow himselfe a slaue to Omphale,
Puling (aye mee) ô valours obloquie!
Hee that the inmost nookes of hell did know,
Whose nere craz'd prowesse all did ouer-throw,
Lies streaking brawnie limmes in weakning bed,
Perfum'd, smooth kemb'd, new glaz'd, faire surphuled,
O that the boundlesse power of the soule
Should be subiected to such base controule!
Of thy Cork-shooe, or els thy slaue will die:
Some puling Sonnet toles his passing bell,
Some sighing Elegie must ring his knell,
Vnlesse bright sunshine of thy grace reuiue
His wambling stomack, certes he will diue
Into the whirle-poole of deuouring death,
And to some Mermaid sacrifice his breath.
Then oh, oh then, to thy eternall shame,
And to the honour of sweet Curios name,
This Epitaph vpon the Marble stone,
Must fayre be grau'd of that true louing one;
Heere lyeth hee, hee lyeth heere,
that bounc'd, and pitty cryed,
The doore not op'd, fell sicke alas,
alas fell sicke, and dyed.
What Mirmidon, or hard Dolopian,
What sauage minded rude Cyclopian,
But such a sweet pathetique Paphian
Would force to laughter? Ho Amphitrion,
Thou art no Cuckold, what though Ioue dallied
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Yet Hercules true borne, that imbecilitie
Of corrupt nature all apparantly
Appeares in him, ô foule indignitie,
I heard him vow himselfe a slaue to Omphale,
Puling (aye mee) ô valours obloquie!
Hee that the inmost nookes of hell did know,
Whose nere craz'd prowesse all did ouer-throw,
Lies streaking brawnie limmes in weakning bed,
Perfum'd, smooth kemb'd, new glaz'd, faire surphuled,
O that the boundlesse power of the soule
Should be subiected to such base controule!
Big limm'd Alcides, doffe thy honors crowne
Goe spin huge slaue least Omphale should frowne.
By my best hopes, I blush with greefe and shame
To broach the peasant basenes of our name.
Goe spin huge slaue least Omphale should frowne.
By my best hopes, I blush with greefe and shame
To broach the peasant basenes of our name.
O now my ruder hand begins to quake,
To thinke what loftie Cedars I must shake:
But if the canker fret the barkes of Oakes,
Like humbler shrubs shal equall beare the stroakes
Of my respectlesse rude Satyrick hand,
To thinke what loftie Cedars I must shake:
But if the canker fret the barkes of Oakes,
Like humbler shrubs shal equall beare the stroakes
Of my respectlesse rude Satyrick hand,
Vnlesse the Destin's adamantine band
Should tie my teeth, I cannot choose but bite
To view Mauortius metamorphiz'd quite
To puling sighes, & into (aye me's) state,
With voyce distinct, all fine articulate
Lisping, Fayre saint, my woe compassionate,
By heauen thine eye is my soule-guiding fate.
Should tie my teeth, I cannot choose but bite
To view Mauortius metamorphiz'd quite
To puling sighes, & into (aye me's) state,
With voyce distinct, all fine articulate
Lisping, Fayre saint, my woe compassionate,
By heauen thine eye is my soule-guiding fate.
The God of wounds, had wont on Cyprian couch
To streake himselfe, and with incensing touch
To faint his force onely when wrath had end:
But now, mong furious garboiles, he doth spend
His feebled valour, in tilt and turneing,
With wet turn'd kisses, melting dallying.
A poxe apon't, that Bacchis name should be
The watch-word giuen to the soulderie.
Goe troupe to fielde, mount thy obscured fame,
Cry out S. George, invoke thy Mistres name;
Thy Mistres, and S. George, alarum cry,
Weake force, weake ayde that sprouts from luxurie.
To streake himselfe, and with incensing touch
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But now, mong furious garboiles, he doth spend
His feebled valour, in tilt and turneing,
With wet turn'd kisses, melting dallying.
A poxe apon't, that Bacchis name should be
The watch-word giuen to the soulderie.
Goe troupe to fielde, mount thy obscured fame,
Cry out S. George, invoke thy Mistres name;
Thy Mistres, and S. George, alarum cry,
Weake force, weake ayde that sprouts from luxurie.
Thou tedious workmanship of lust-stung Ioue,
Downe from thy skies, enioy our females loue,
Some fiftie more Beotian gerles will sue
To haue thy loue, (so that thy back be true.)
Downe from thy skies, enioy our females loue,
Some fiftie more Beotian gerles will sue
To haue thy loue, (so that thy back be true.)
O now me thinks I heare swart Martius cry
Souping along in warrs fain'd maskerie,
By Lais starrie front he'le forth-with die
In cluttred blood, his Mistres liuorie.
Her fancies colours waues vpon his head,
O well fenc'd Albion, mainly manly sped,
When those that are Soldadoes in thy state,
Doe beare the badge of base, effeminate,
Euen on their plumie crests, brutes sensuall,
Hauing no sparke of intellectuall.
Alack, what hope? when some ranck nasty wench
Is subiect of their vowes and confidence?
Souping along in warrs fain'd maskerie,
By Lais starrie front he'le forth-with die
In cluttred blood, his Mistres liuorie.
Her fancies colours waues vpon his head,
O well fenc'd Albion, mainly manly sped,
When those that are Soldadoes in thy state,
Doe beare the badge of base, effeminate,
Euen on their plumie crests, brutes sensuall,
Hauing no sparke of intellectuall.
Alack, what hope? when some ranck nasty wench
Is subiect of their vowes and confidence?
Publius hates vainely to idolatries,
And laughs that Papists honor Images,
And yet (ô madnes) these mine eyes did see
Him melt in mouing plaints, obsequiously
Imploring fauour, twining his kind armes,
Vsing inchauntments, exorcismes, charmes.
The oyle of Sonnets, wanton blandishment,
The force of teares, & seeming languishment,
Vnto the picture of a painted lasse:
I saw him court his Mistres looking-glasse,
Worship a busk-poynt, (which in secrecie
I feare was conscius of strange villanie.)
I saw him crouch, deuote his liuelihood,
Sweare, protest, vow pesant seruitude
Vnto a painted puppet, to her eyes
I heard him sweare his sighes to sacrifice.
But if he get her itch-allaying pinne,
O sacred relique, straight he must beginne
To raue out-right, then thus. Celestiall blisse,
Can heauen grant so rich a grace as this?
Touch it not (by the Lord Sir) tis diuine,
It once beheld her radiant eyes bright shine:
Her haire imbrac'd it, ô thrice happie prick
That there was thron'd, and in her haire didst sticke.
Kisse, blesse, adore it Publius, neuer linne,
Some sacred vertue lurketh in the pinne.
And laughs that Papists honor Images,
And yet (ô madnes) these mine eyes did see
153
Imploring fauour, twining his kind armes,
Vsing inchauntments, exorcismes, charmes.
The oyle of Sonnets, wanton blandishment,
The force of teares, & seeming languishment,
Vnto the picture of a painted lasse:
I saw him court his Mistres looking-glasse,
Worship a busk-poynt, (which in secrecie
I feare was conscius of strange villanie.)
I saw him crouch, deuote his liuelihood,
Sweare, protest, vow pesant seruitude
Vnto a painted puppet, to her eyes
I heard him sweare his sighes to sacrifice.
But if he get her itch-allaying pinne,
O sacred relique, straight he must beginne
To raue out-right, then thus. Celestiall blisse,
Can heauen grant so rich a grace as this?
Touch it not (by the Lord Sir) tis diuine,
It once beheld her radiant eyes bright shine:
Her haire imbrac'd it, ô thrice happie prick
That there was thron'd, and in her haire didst sticke.
Kisse, blesse, adore it Publius, neuer linne,
Some sacred vertue lurketh in the pinne.
O frantick fond pathetique passion!
Ist possible such sensuall action
Should clip the wings of contemplation?
O can it be the spirits function,
The soule not subiect to dimension,
Should be made slaue to reprehension
Of craftie natures paint? Fie, can our soule
Be vnderling to such a vile controule?
Ist possible such sensuall action
Should clip the wings of contemplation?
O can it be the spirits function,
The soule not subiect to dimension,
Should be made slaue to reprehension
Of craftie natures paint? Fie, can our soule
Be vnderling to such a vile controule?
Saturio wish'd him selfe his Mistres buske,
That he might sweetly lie, and softly luske
Betweene her pappes, then must he haue an eye
At eyther end, that freely might discry
Both hills and dales. But out on Phrigio,
That wish'd he were his Mistres dog, to goe
And licke her milke-white fist, ô prettie grace,
That prettie Phrigio begs but Pretties place.
Parthenophell, thy wish I will omit,
So beastly tis I may not vtter it.
But Punicus, of all I'le beare with thee,
That faine would'st be thy Mistres smug Munkey,
Here's one would be a flea, (iest comicall)
Another his sweet Ladies verdingall
To clip her tender breech; Another he
Her siluer-handled fanne would gladly be,
Here's one would be his Mistres neck-lace faine,
To clip her faire, and kisse her azure vaine.
Fond fooles, well wish'd, and pittie but should bee,
For beastly shape to brutish soules agree.
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Betweene her pappes, then must he haue an eye
At eyther end, that freely might discry
Both hills and dales. But out on Phrigio,
That wish'd he were his Mistres dog, to goe
And licke her milke-white fist, ô prettie grace,
That prettie Phrigio begs but Pretties place.
Parthenophell, thy wish I will omit,
So beastly tis I may not vtter it.
But Punicus, of all I'le beare with thee,
That faine would'st be thy Mistres smug Munkey,
Here's one would be a flea, (iest comicall)
Another his sweet Ladies verdingall
To clip her tender breech; Another he
Her siluer-handled fanne would gladly be,
Here's one would be his Mistres neck-lace faine,
To clip her faire, and kisse her azure vaine.
Fond fooles, well wish'd, and pittie but should bee,
For beastly shape to brutish soules agree.
If Lauras painted lip doe daine a kisse
To her enamor'd slaue, ô heauens blisse
(Straight he exclaimes) not to be match'd with this!
Blaspheming dolt, goe three-score sonnets write
Vpon a pictures kisse, ô rauing spright!
To her enamor'd slaue, ô heauens blisse
(Straight he exclaimes) not to be match'd with this!
Blaspheming dolt, goe three-score sonnets write
Vpon a pictures kisse, ô rauing spright!
I am not saplesse, old, or rumatick,
No Hipponax mishapen stigmatick,
That I should thus inueigh gainst amorous spright
Of him whose soule doth turne Hermaphrodite,
But I doe sadly grieue, and inly vexe
To view the base dishonors of our sexe.
No Hipponax mishapen stigmatick,
That I should thus inueigh gainst amorous spright
Of him whose soule doth turne Hermaphrodite,
But I doe sadly grieue, and inly vexe
To view the base dishonors of our sexe.
155
Tush, guiltles Doues, when Gods to force foule rapes,
Will turne themselues to any brutish shapes.
Base bastard powers, whom the world doth see
Trans-form'd to swine for sensuall luxurie;
The sonne of Saturne is become a Bull,
To crop the beauties of some female trull.
Now, when he hath his first wife Metim sped,
And fairely chok'd, least foole gods should be bred
Of that fond Mule. Themis his second wife
Hath turn'd away, that his vnbrideled life
Might haue more scope. Yet last his sisters loue
Must satiate the lustfull thoughts of Ioue.
Now doth the lecher in a Cuckowes shape
Commit a monstrous and incestuous rape.
Thrice sacred gods, and ô thrice blessed skies
Whose orbes includes such vertuous deities!
Will turne themselues to any brutish shapes.
Base bastard powers, whom the world doth see
Trans-form'd to swine for sensuall luxurie;
The sonne of Saturne is become a Bull,
To crop the beauties of some female trull.
Now, when he hath his first wife Metim sped,
And fairely chok'd, least foole gods should be bred
Of that fond Mule. Themis his second wife
Hath turn'd away, that his vnbrideled life
Might haue more scope. Yet last his sisters loue
Must satiate the lustfull thoughts of Ioue.
Now doth the lecher in a Cuckowes shape
Commit a monstrous and incestuous rape.
Thrice sacred gods, and ô thrice blessed skies
Whose orbes includes such vertuous deities!
What should I say? Lust hath confounded all,
The bright glosse of our intellectuall
Is fouly soyl'd. The wanton wallowing
In fond delights, and amorous dallying,
Hath dusk'd the fairest splendour of our soule:
Nothing now left, but carkas, lothsome, foule.
For sure, if that some spright remained still,
Could it be subiect to lewd Lais will?
The bright glosse of our intellectuall
Is fouly soyl'd. The wanton wallowing
In fond delights, and amorous dallying,
Hath dusk'd the fairest splendour of our soule:
Nothing now left, but carkas, lothsome, foule.
For sure, if that some spright remained still,
Could it be subiect to lewd Lais will?
Reason by prudence in her function
Had wont to tutor all our action.
Ayding with precepts of philosophy
Our feebled natures imbecilitie:
But now affection, will, concupiscence,
Haue got o're Reason chiefe preheminence.
Tis so, els how, how should such basenes taint
As force it be made slaue to natures paint?
Me thinkes the spirits Pegase Fantasie
Should hoise the soule from such base slauery,
But now I see, and can right plainly show
From whence such abiect thoughts & actions grow.
Had wont to tutor all our action.
Ayding with precepts of philosophy
Our feebled natures imbecilitie:
But now affection, will, concupiscence,
Haue got o're Reason chiefe preheminence.
156
As force it be made slaue to natures paint?
Me thinkes the spirits Pegase Fantasie
Should hoise the soule from such base slauery,
But now I see, and can right plainly show
From whence such abiect thoughts & actions grow.
Our aduerse body, beeing earthly, cold,
Heauie, dull, mortall, would not long infold
A stranger inmate, that was backward still
To all his dungie, brutish, sensuall will:
Now here-vpon our Intellectuall,
Compact of fire all celestiall,
Invisible, immortall, and diuine,
Grewe straight to scorne his Land-lordes muddy slime.
And therefore now is closely slunke away
(Leauing his smoakie house of mortall clay)
Adorn'd with all his beauties lineaments
And brightest iemms of shining ornaments.
His parts diuine, sacred, spirituall
Attending on him, leauing the sensuall
Base hangers on, lusking at home in slime,
Such as wont to stop port Esqueline.
Now doth the body ledde with sencelesse will,
(The which in reasons absence ruleth still)
Raue, talke idlie, as't were some deitie
Adoring female painted puppetry
Playing at put-pin, doting on some glasse
(Which breath'd but on his falsed glosse doth passe)
Toying with babies, and with fond pastime
Some childrens sport, deflowring of chast time,
Imploying all his wits in vaine expence,
Abusing all his organons of sence.
Heauie, dull, mortall, would not long infold
A stranger inmate, that was backward still
To all his dungie, brutish, sensuall will:
Now here-vpon our Intellectuall,
Compact of fire all celestiall,
Invisible, immortall, and diuine,
Grewe straight to scorne his Land-lordes muddy slime.
And therefore now is closely slunke away
(Leauing his smoakie house of mortall clay)
Adorn'd with all his beauties lineaments
And brightest iemms of shining ornaments.
His parts diuine, sacred, spirituall
Attending on him, leauing the sensuall
Base hangers on, lusking at home in slime,
Such as wont to stop port Esqueline.
Now doth the body ledde with sencelesse will,
(The which in reasons absence ruleth still)
Raue, talke idlie, as't were some deitie
Adoring female painted puppetry
Playing at put-pin, doting on some glasse
(Which breath'd but on his falsed glosse doth passe)
Toying with babies, and with fond pastime
157
Imploying all his wits in vaine expence,
Abusing all his organons of sence.
Returne, returne, sacred Synderesis,
Inspire our truncks, let not such mud as this
Pollute vs still. Awake our lethargie,
Raise vs from out our brain-sicke foolerie.
Inspire our truncks, let not such mud as this
Pollute vs still. Awake our lethargie,
Raise vs from out our brain-sicke foolerie.
158
SATYRE. IX. Here's a toy to mocke an Ape indeede.
Grim-fac'd
Reproofe, sparkle with threatning eye
Bend thy sower browes in my tart poesie.
Auant yee curres, houle in some cloudie mist,
Quake to behold a sharp-fang'd Satyrist.
O how on tiptoes proudly mounts my Muse,
Stalking a loftier gate then Satyres vse.
Me thinkes some sacred rage warmes all my vaines,
Making my spright mount vp to higher straines
Then wel beseemes a rough-tongu'd Satyres part,
But Art curbs Nature, Nature guildeth Art.
Bend thy sower browes in my tart poesie.
Auant yee curres, houle in some cloudie mist,
Quake to behold a sharp-fang'd Satyrist.
O how on tiptoes proudly mounts my Muse,
Stalking a loftier gate then Satyres vse.
Me thinkes some sacred rage warmes all my vaines,
Making my spright mount vp to higher straines
Then wel beseemes a rough-tongu'd Satyres part,
But Art curbs Nature, Nature guildeth Art.
Come downe yee Apes, or I will strip you quite,
Baring your bald tayles to the peoples sight.
Yee Mimick slaues, what are you percht so high?
Downe Iack an Apes from thy fain'd roialtie.
What furr'd with beard, cas'd in a Satin sute
Iudiciall Iack? how hast thou got repute
Of a sound censure? O ideot times,
When gawdy Monkeyes mowe ore sprightly rimes!
O world of fooles, when all mens iudgement's set
And rests vpon some mumping Marmuset!
Baring your bald tayles to the peoples sight.
Yee Mimick slaues, what are you percht so high?
Downe Iack an Apes from thy fain'd roialtie.
What furr'd with beard, cas'd in a Satin sute
Iudiciall Iack? how hast thou got repute
Of a sound censure? O ideot times,
When gawdy Monkeyes mowe ore sprightly rimes!
O world of fooles, when all mens iudgement's set
And rests vpon some mumping Marmuset!
Yon Athens Ape (that can but simperingly
Yaule auditores humanissimi,
Bound to some seruile imitation,
Can with much sweat patch an Oration,)
Now vp he comes, and with his crooked eye
Presumes to squint on some faire Poesie;
And all as thanklesse as vngratefull Thames
He slinkes away, leauing but reeching steames
Of dungie slime behind, all as ingrate
He vseth it, as when I satiate
My spaniels paunch, who straight perfumes the roome,
With his tailes filth: so this vnciuill groome,
Ill-tutor'd pedant, Mortimers numbers
With muck-pit esculine filth bescumbers.
Now th'Ape chatters, and is as malecontent
As a bill-patch'd doore, whose entrailes out haue sent
And spewd theyr tenant.
Yaule auditores humanissimi,
Bound to some seruile imitation,
Can with much sweat patch an Oration,)
Now vp he comes, and with his crooked eye
Presumes to squint on some faire Poesie;
159
He slinkes away, leauing but reeching steames
Of dungie slime behind, all as ingrate
He vseth it, as when I satiate
My spaniels paunch, who straight perfumes the roome,
With his tailes filth: so this vnciuill groome,
Ill-tutor'd pedant, Mortimers numbers
With muck-pit esculine filth bescumbers.
Now th'Ape chatters, and is as malecontent
As a bill-patch'd doore, whose entrailes out haue sent
And spewd theyr tenant.
My soule adores iudiciall schollership,
But when to seruile imitatorship
Some spruce Athenian pen is prentized,
Tis worse then Apish. Fie, bee not flattered
With seeming worth, fond affectation
Befits an Ape, and mumping Babilon.
But when to seruile imitatorship
Some spruce Athenian pen is prentized,
Tis worse then Apish. Fie, bee not flattered
With seeming worth, fond affectation
Befits an Ape, and mumping Babilon.
O what a tricksie lerned nicking straine
Is this applauded, sencles, modern vain!
When late I heard it from sage Mutius lips
How il me thought such wanton Iigging skips
Beseem'd his grauer speech. Farre flie thy fame
Most, most, of me belou'd, whose silent name
One letter bounds. Thy true iudiciall stile
I euer honour, and if my loue beguile
Not much my hopes, then thy vnvalued worth
Shall mount faire place, when Apes are turned forth.
Is this applauded, sencles, modern vain!
When late I heard it from sage Mutius lips
How il me thought such wanton Iigging skips
Beseem'd his grauer speech. Farre flie thy fame
Most, most, of me belou'd, whose silent name
One letter bounds. Thy true iudiciall stile
I euer honour, and if my loue beguile
Not much my hopes, then thy vnvalued worth
Shall mount faire place, when Apes are turned forth.
I am too milde, reach me my scourge againe,
O yon's a pen speakes in a learned vaine.
Deepe, past all sence. Lanthorne & candle light,
Here's all invisible, all mentall spright.
What hotchpotch, giberidge, doth the Poet bring?
How strangely speakes? yet sweetly doth he sing.
I once did know a tinckling Pewterer,
That was the vildest stumbling stutterer
That euer hack'd and hew'd our natiue tongue,
Yet to the Lute if you had heard him sung,
Iesu how sweet he breath'd. You can apply.
O sencelesse prose, iudiciall poesie,
How ill you'r link'd. This affectation,
To speake beyond mens apprehension,
How Apish tis. When all in fusten sute
Is cloth'd a huge nothing, all for repute
Of profound knowledge, when profoundnes knowes
There's nought containd, but only seeming showes.
160
Deepe, past all sence. Lanthorne & candle light,
Here's all invisible, all mentall spright.
What hotchpotch, giberidge, doth the Poet bring?
How strangely speakes? yet sweetly doth he sing.
I once did know a tinckling Pewterer,
That was the vildest stumbling stutterer
That euer hack'd and hew'd our natiue tongue,
Yet to the Lute if you had heard him sung,
Iesu how sweet he breath'd. You can apply.
O sencelesse prose, iudiciall poesie,
How ill you'r link'd. This affectation,
To speake beyond mens apprehension,
How Apish tis. When all in fusten sute
Is cloth'd a huge nothing, all for repute
Of profound knowledge, when profoundnes knowes
There's nought containd, but only seeming showes.
Old Iack of Parris-garden, canst thou get
A faire rich sute, though fouly runne in debt?
Looke smug, smell sweet, take vp commodities,
Keepe whores, fee baudes, belch impious blasphemies,
Wallow along in swaggering disguise,
Snuffe vp smoak whiffs, & each morne fore she rise
Visite thy drab? Canst vse a false cut Die
With a cleane grace, and glib facilitie?
Canst thunder cannon oathes, like th'ratling
Of a huge, double, full-charg'd culuering?
Then Iack troupe mong our gallants, kisse thy fist,
And call them brothers. Say a Satyrist
Sweares they are thine in neere affinitie.
All coosin germaines, saue in villanie.
For (sadly truth to say) what are they els
But imitators of lewd beastlines?
Farre worse then Apes; for mow, or scratch your pate,
It may be some odde Ape will imitate.
But let a youth that hath abus'd his time,
In wronged trauaile, in that hoter clime,
Swoope by old Iack, in clothes Italienate:
And I'le be hang'd if he will imitate
His strange fantastique sute shapes.—
Or let him bring or'e beastly luxuries,
Some hell-deuised lustfull villanies,
Euen Apes & beasts would blush with natiue shame,
And thinke it foule dishonour to their name,
Their beastly name, to imitate such sin
As our lewd youths doe boast and glory in.
A faire rich sute, though fouly runne in debt?
Looke smug, smell sweet, take vp commodities,
Keepe whores, fee baudes, belch impious blasphemies,
Wallow along in swaggering disguise,
Snuffe vp smoak whiffs, & each morne fore she rise
Visite thy drab? Canst vse a false cut Die
With a cleane grace, and glib facilitie?
Canst thunder cannon oathes, like th'ratling
Of a huge, double, full-charg'd culuering?
Then Iack troupe mong our gallants, kisse thy fist,
And call them brothers. Say a Satyrist
Sweares they are thine in neere affinitie.
161
For (sadly truth to say) what are they els
But imitators of lewd beastlines?
Farre worse then Apes; for mow, or scratch your pate,
It may be some odde Ape will imitate.
But let a youth that hath abus'd his time,
In wronged trauaile, in that hoter clime,
Swoope by old Iack, in clothes Italienate:
And I'le be hang'd if he will imitate
His strange fantastique sute shapes.—
Or let him bring or'e beastly luxuries,
Some hell-deuised lustfull villanies,
Euen Apes & beasts would blush with natiue shame,
And thinke it foule dishonour to their name,
Their beastly name, to imitate such sin
As our lewd youths doe boast and glory in.
Fie, whether doe these Monkeys carry mee?
Their very names doe soile my poesie.
Thou world of Marmosets and mumping Apes,
Vnmaske, put of thy fained borrowed shapes.
Their very names doe soile my poesie.
Thou world of Marmosets and mumping Apes,
Vnmaske, put of thy fained borrowed shapes.
Why lookes neate Curus all so simperingly?
Why babbles thou of deepe Diuinitie?
And of that sacred testimoniall?
Liuing voluptuous like a Bacchanall?
Good hath thy tongue: but thou ranke Puritan,
I'le make an Ape as good a Christian.
I'le force him chatter, turning vp his eye
Looke sad, goe graue. Demure ciuilitie
Shall seeme to say, Good brother, sister deere,
As for the rest, to snort in belly cheere,
To bite, to gnaw, and boldly intermell
With sacred things, in which thou doost excell,
Vnforc'd he'le doe. O take compassion
Euen on your soules, make not religion
A bawde to lewdnes. Ciuill Socrates,
Clip not the youth of Alcebiades
With vnchast armes. Disguised Messaline,
I'le teare thy maske, and bare thee to the eyne
Of hissing boyes, if to the Theaters
I finde thee once more come for lecherers
To satiate? Nay, to tyer thee with the vse
Of weakning lust. Yee fainers, leaue t'abuse
Our better thoughts with your hipocrisie,
Or by the euer-liuing Veritie,
I'le stryp you nak'd, and whyp you with my rimes,
Causing your shame to liue to after times.
Why babbles thou of deepe Diuinitie?
And of that sacred testimoniall?
Liuing voluptuous like a Bacchanall?
Good hath thy tongue: but thou ranke Puritan,
I'le make an Ape as good a Christian.
I'le force him chatter, turning vp his eye
Looke sad, goe graue. Demure ciuilitie
Shall seeme to say, Good brother, sister deere,
As for the rest, to snort in belly cheere,
To bite, to gnaw, and boldly intermell
162
Vnforc'd he'le doe. O take compassion
Euen on your soules, make not religion
A bawde to lewdnes. Ciuill Socrates,
Clip not the youth of Alcebiades
With vnchast armes. Disguised Messaline,
I'le teare thy maske, and bare thee to the eyne
Of hissing boyes, if to the Theaters
I finde thee once more come for lecherers
To satiate? Nay, to tyer thee with the vse
Of weakning lust. Yee fainers, leaue t'abuse
Our better thoughts with your hipocrisie,
Or by the euer-liuing Veritie,
I'le stryp you nak'd, and whyp you with my rimes,
Causing your shame to liue to after times.
163
[SATIRE X]
SATYRA NOVA. Stultorum plena sunt omnia.
To his very friend, maister E.G.
From out the sadnes of my discontent,
Hating my wonted iocund merriment,
(Onely to giue dull Time a swifter wing)
Thus scorning scorne of Ideot fooles, I sing.
I dread no bending of an angry brow,
Or rage of fooles that I shall purchase now.
Who'le scorne to sitte in ranke of foolery
When I'le be maister of the company?
For pre-thee Ned, I pre-thee gentle lad,
Is not he frantique, foolish, bedlam mad,
That wastes his spright, that melts his very braine
In deepe designes, in wits darke gloomie straine?
That scourgeth great slaues with a dreadlesse fist,
Playing the rough part of a Satyrist,
To be perus'd by all the dung-scum rable
Of thin-braind Ideots, dull, vncapable?
For mimicke apish schollers, pedants, gulls,
Perfum'd Inamoratoes, brothell trulls?
Whilst I (poore soule) abuse chast virgin Time,
Deflowring her with vnconceiued rime.
Tut, tut, a toy of an idle empty braine,
Some scurrill iests, light gew-gawes, fruitlesse, vaine.
Cryes beard-graue Dromus, when alas, God knowes,
His toothles gums nere chaw but outward showes.
Poore Budgeface, bowcase sleeue, but let him passe,
Once fur and beard shall priuiledge an Asse.
Hating my wonted iocund merriment,
(Onely to giue dull Time a swifter wing)
Thus scorning scorne of Ideot fooles, I sing.
I dread no bending of an angry brow,
Or rage of fooles that I shall purchase now.
Who'le scorne to sitte in ranke of foolery
When I'le be maister of the company?
For pre-thee Ned, I pre-thee gentle lad,
Is not he frantique, foolish, bedlam mad,
That wastes his spright, that melts his very braine
In deepe designes, in wits darke gloomie straine?
That scourgeth great slaues with a dreadlesse fist,
Playing the rough part of a Satyrist,
To be perus'd by all the dung-scum rable
Of thin-braind Ideots, dull, vncapable?
For mimicke apish schollers, pedants, gulls,
Perfum'd Inamoratoes, brothell trulls?
Whilst I (poore soule) abuse chast virgin Time,
Deflowring her with vnconceiued rime.
Tut, tut, a toy of an idle empty braine,
Some scurrill iests, light gew-gawes, fruitlesse, vaine.
Cryes beard-graue Dromus, when alas, God knowes,
164
Poore Budgeface, bowcase sleeue, but let him passe,
Once fur and beard shall priuiledge an Asse.
And tell me Ned, what might that gallant be,
Who to obtaine intemperate luxurie,
Cuckolds his elder brother, gets an heire,
By which his hope is turned to dispaire?
In fayth, (good Ned) he damn'd himselfe with cost,
For well thou know'st full goodly land was lost.
Who to obtaine intemperate luxurie,
Cuckolds his elder brother, gets an heire,
By which his hope is turned to dispaire?
In fayth, (good Ned) he damn'd himselfe with cost,
For well thou know'st full goodly land was lost.
I am too priuate. Yet mee thinkes an Asse,
Rimes well with VIDERIT VTILITAS.
Euen full as well, I boldly dare auer
As any of that stinking Scauenger
Which from his dunghill hee bedaubed on
The latter page of old Pigmalion.
O that thys brother of hypocresie,
(Applauded by his pure fraternitie)
Should thus be puffed, and so proud insist,
As play on mee the Epigramatist.
Opinion mounts this froth vnto the skies,
Whom iudgements reason iustly vilefies.
For, (shame to the Poet,) reade Ned, behold
How wittily a Maisters-hoode can scold.
Rimes well with VIDERIT VTILITAS.
Euen full as well, I boldly dare auer
As any of that stinking Scauenger
Which from his dunghill hee bedaubed on
The latter page of old Pigmalion.
O that thys brother of hypocresie,
(Applauded by his pure fraternitie)
Should thus be puffed, and so proud insist,
As play on mee the Epigramatist.
Opinion mounts this froth vnto the skies,
Whom iudgements reason iustly vilefies.
For, (shame to the Poet,) reade Ned, behold
How wittily a Maisters-hoode can scold.
An Epigram which the Authour Vergidemiarum, caused to bee pasted to the latter page of euery Pigmalion that came to the stacioners of Cambridge.
I ask'd Phisitions what theyr counsell wasFor a mad dogge, or for a mankind Asse?
They told mee though there were confections store,
165
The dog was best cured by cutting & kinsing,
The Asse must be kindly whipped for winsing.
Nowe then S.K. I little passe
Whether thou be a mad dog, or a mankind Asse.
Medice cura teipsum.
Smart ierke of wit, did euer such a straine
Rise from an Apish schoole-boyes childish braine?
Doost thou not blush (good) Ned, that such a sent
Should rise from thence where thou hadst nutriment?
Shame to Opinion, that perfumes his dung,
And streweth flowers rotten bones among,
Iugling Opinion, thou inchaunting witch,
Paint not a rotten post with colours rich.
But now this Iugler with the worlds consent
Hath halfe his soule; the other, Compliment,
Mad world the whilst. But I forget mee I,
I am seduced with this poesie:
And madder then a Bedlam spend sweet time
In bitter numbers, in this idle rime,
Out on this humour. From a sickly bed,
And from a moodie minde distempered,
I vomit foorth my loue, now turn'd to hate,
Scorning the honour of a Poets state.
Nor shall the kennell route of muddy braines,
Rauish my Muses heyre, or heare my straines
Once more. No nittie pedant shall correct
Ænigmaes to his shallow Intelect.
Inchauntment, Ned hath rauished my sence
In a Poetick vaine circumference.
Yet thus I hope, (God shield I now should lie)
Many more fooles, and most more wise then I.
Rise from an Apish schoole-boyes childish braine?
Doost thou not blush (good) Ned, that such a sent
Should rise from thence where thou hadst nutriment?
Shame to Opinion, that perfumes his dung,
And streweth flowers rotten bones among,
Iugling Opinion, thou inchaunting witch,
Paint not a rotten post with colours rich.
But now this Iugler with the worlds consent
Hath halfe his soule; the other, Compliment,
Mad world the whilst. But I forget mee I,
I am seduced with this poesie:
And madder then a Bedlam spend sweet time
In bitter numbers, in this idle rime,
Out on this humour. From a sickly bed,
And from a moodie minde distempered,
I vomit foorth my loue, now turn'd to hate,
Scorning the honour of a Poets state.
Nor shall the kennell route of muddy braines,
Rauish my Muses heyre, or heare my straines
Once more. No nittie pedant shall correct
Ænigmaes to his shallow Intelect.
166
In a Poetick vaine circumference.
Yet thus I hope, (God shield I now should lie)
Many more fooles, and most more wise then I.
VALE.
167
[SATIRE XI]
Humours.
Sleep grim Reproofe, my iocond Muse dooth sing
In other keyes, to nimbler fingering.
Dull sprighted Melancholy, leaue my braine
To hell Cimerian night, in liuely vaine
I striue to paint, then hence all darke intent
And sullen frownes, come sporting meriment,
Cheeke dimpling laughter, crowne my very soule
With iouisance, whilst mirthfull iests controule
The goutie humours of these pride-swolne dayes,
Which I doe long vntill my pen displaies.
O I am great with mirth, some midwifrie,
Or I shall breake my sides at vanitie.
In other keyes, to nimbler fingering.
Dull sprighted Melancholy, leaue my braine
To hell Cimerian night, in liuely vaine
I striue to paint, then hence all darke intent
And sullen frownes, come sporting meriment,
Cheeke dimpling laughter, crowne my very soule
With iouisance, whilst mirthfull iests controule
The goutie humours of these pride-swolne dayes,
Which I doe long vntill my pen displaies.
O I am great with mirth, some midwifrie,
Or I shall breake my sides at vanitie.
Roome for a capering mouth, whose lips nere stur,
But in discoursing of the gracefull slur:
Who euer heard spruce skipping Curio
Ere prate of ought, but of the whirle on toe.
The turne aboue ground, Robrus sprauling kicks,
Fabius caper, Harries tossing tricks?
Did euer any eare, ere heare him speake
Vnlesse his tongue of crosse-poynts did intreat?
His teeth doe caper whilst he eates his meate,
His heeles doe caper, whilst he takes his seate,
His very soule, his intellectuall
Is nothing but a mincing capreall.
He dreames of toe-turnes, each gallant hee doth meete
He fronts him with a trauers in the streete,
Prayse but Orchestra, and the skipping art,
You shall commaund him, faith you haue his hart
Euen capring in your fist. A hall, a hall,
Roome for the Spheres, the Orbes celestiall
Will daunce Kemps Iigge. They'le reuel with neate iumps
A worthy Poet hath put on their Pumps?
O wits quick trauers, but sance ceo's slow,
Good faith tis hard for nimble Curio.
Yee gracious Orbs, keepe the old measuring,
All's spoyld if once yee fall to capering.
But in discoursing of the gracefull slur:
Who euer heard spruce skipping Curio
Ere prate of ought, but of the whirle on toe.
The turne aboue ground, Robrus sprauling kicks,
Fabius caper, Harries tossing tricks?
Did euer any eare, ere heare him speake
Vnlesse his tongue of crosse-poynts did intreat?
His teeth doe caper whilst he eates his meate,
His heeles doe caper, whilst he takes his seate,
His very soule, his intellectuall
Is nothing but a mincing capreall.
He dreames of toe-turnes, each gallant hee doth meete
He fronts him with a trauers in the streete,
Prayse but Orchestra, and the skipping art,
168
Euen capring in your fist. A hall, a hall,
Roome for the Spheres, the Orbes celestiall
Will daunce Kemps Iigge. They'le reuel with neate iumps
A worthy Poet hath put on their Pumps?
O wits quick trauers, but sance ceo's slow,
Good faith tis hard for nimble Curio.
Yee gracious Orbs, keepe the old measuring,
All's spoyld if once yee fall to capering.
Luscus what's playd to day? faith now I know
I set thy lips abroach, from whence doth flow
Naught but pure Iuliat and Romio.
Say, who acts best? Drusus, or Roscio?
Now I haue him, that nere of ought did speake
But when of playes or Plaiers he did treate.
H'ath made a common-place booke out of plaies,
And speakes in print, at least what ere he sayes
Is warranted by Curtaine plaudeties,
If ere you heard him courting Lesbias eyes;
Say (Curteous Sir) speakes he not mouingly
From out some new pathetique Tragedie?
He writes, he railes, he iests, he courts, what not,
And all from out his huge long scraped stock
Of well penn'd playes.
I set thy lips abroach, from whence doth flow
Naught but pure Iuliat and Romio.
Say, who acts best? Drusus, or Roscio?
Now I haue him, that nere of ought did speake
But when of playes or Plaiers he did treate.
H'ath made a common-place booke out of plaies,
And speakes in print, at least what ere he sayes
Is warranted by Curtaine plaudeties,
If ere you heard him courting Lesbias eyes;
Say (Curteous Sir) speakes he not mouingly
From out some new pathetique Tragedie?
He writes, he railes, he iests, he courts, what not,
And all from out his huge long scraped stock
Of well penn'd playes.
Oh come not within distance, Martius speakes,
Who nere discourseth but of fencing feates,
Of counter times, finctures, slye passataes,
Stramazones, resolute Stoccataes,
Of the quick change, with wiping mandritta,
The carricado, with th'enbrocata,
Oh, by Iesu Sir, (me thinks I heare him cry)
The honourable fencing mistery,
Who doth not honor? Then fals he in againe,
Iading our eares, and some-what must be saine
Of blades, and Rapier-hilts, of surest garde,
Of Vincentio, and the Burgonians ward.
Who nere discourseth but of fencing feates,
Of counter times, finctures, slye passataes,
Stramazones, resolute Stoccataes,
Of the quick change, with wiping mandritta,
169
Oh, by Iesu Sir, (me thinks I heare him cry)
The honourable fencing mistery,
Who doth not honor? Then fals he in againe,
Iading our eares, and some-what must be saine
Of blades, and Rapier-hilts, of surest garde,
Of Vincentio, and the Burgonians ward.
This bumbast foile-button I once did see
By chaunce, in Liuias modest companie,
When after the God-sauing ceremonie,
For want of talke-stuffe, falls to foinerie,
Out goes his Rapier, and to Liuia
He showes the ward by puncta reuersa.
The incarnata. Nay, by the blessed light,
Before he goes, he'le teach her how to fight
And hold her weapon. Oh I laught amaine,
To see the madnes of this Martius vaine.
By chaunce, in Liuias modest companie,
When after the God-sauing ceremonie,
For want of talke-stuffe, falls to foinerie,
Out goes his Rapier, and to Liuia
He showes the ward by puncta reuersa.
The incarnata. Nay, by the blessed light,
Before he goes, he'le teach her how to fight
And hold her weapon. Oh I laught amaine,
To see the madnes of this Martius vaine.
But roome for Tuscus, that iest-mounging youth,
Who nere did ope his Apish gerning mouth
But to retaile and broke anothers wit.
Discourse of what you will, he straight can fit
Your present talke, with, Sir, I'le tell a iest,
(Of some sweet Lady, or graund Lord at least)
Then on he goes. And nere his tongue shall lye
Till his ingrossed iests are all drawne dry;
But then as dumbe as Maurus, when at play
H'ath lost his crownes, and paun'd his trim array.
He doth naught but retaile iests, breake but one
Out flies his table-booke, let him alone,
He'le haue't i-fayth; Lad, hast an Epigram,
Wilt haue it put into the chaps of Fame?
Giue Tuscus coppies, sooth as his owne wit
His propper issue he will father it.
O that this Eccho, that doth speake, spet, write
Naught but the excrements of others spright,
This ill-stuft truncke of iests, whose very soule
Is but a heape of Iibes, should once inroule
His name mong creatures termed rationall,
whose cheefe repute, whose sence, whose soule & al
Are fedde with offall scrapes, that sometimes fal
From liberall wits, in their large festiuall.
Who nere did ope his Apish gerning mouth
But to retaile and broke anothers wit.
Discourse of what you will, he straight can fit
Your present talke, with, Sir, I'le tell a iest,
(Of some sweet Lady, or graund Lord at least)
Then on he goes. And nere his tongue shall lye
Till his ingrossed iests are all drawne dry;
But then as dumbe as Maurus, when at play
H'ath lost his crownes, and paun'd his trim array.
He doth naught but retaile iests, breake but one
Out flies his table-booke, let him alone,
He'le haue't i-fayth; Lad, hast an Epigram,
170
Giue Tuscus coppies, sooth as his owne wit
His propper issue he will father it.
O that this Eccho, that doth speake, spet, write
Naught but the excrements of others spright,
This ill-stuft truncke of iests, whose very soule
Is but a heape of Iibes, should once inroule
His name mong creatures termed rationall,
whose cheefe repute, whose sence, whose soule & al
Are fedde with offall scrapes, that sometimes fal
From liberall wits, in their large festiuall.
Come a loft Iack, roome for a vaulting skip,
Roome for Torquatus, that nere op'd his lip
But in prate of pummado reuersa,
Of the nimble tumbling Angelica.
Now on my soule, his very intelect
Is naught but a curuetting Sommerset.
Roome for Torquatus, that nere op'd his lip
But in prate of pummado reuersa,
Of the nimble tumbling Angelica.
Now on my soule, his very intelect
Is naught but a curuetting Sommerset.
Hush, hush, cryes (honest Phylo) peace, desist,
Doost thou not tremble sower Satyrist
Now iudiciall Musus readeth thee?
He'le whip each line, he'le scourge thy balladry,
Good fayth he will. Phylo I prethee stay
Whilst I the humour of this dogge display:
He's naught but censure, wilt thou credite me,
He neuer wrote one line in poesie,
But once at Athens in a theame did frame
A paradox in prayse of Vertues name,
Which still he huggs, and lulls as tenderly
As cuckold Tisus his wifes bastardie.
Well, here's a challenge, I flatly say he lyes
That heard him ought but censure Poesies.
Tis his discourse, first hauing knit the brow,
Stroke vp his fore-top, champing euery row,
Belcheth his slauering censure on each booke
That dare presume euen on Medusa looke.
Doost thou not tremble sower Satyrist
Now iudiciall Musus readeth thee?
He'le whip each line, he'le scourge thy balladry,
Good fayth he will. Phylo I prethee stay
Whilst I the humour of this dogge display:
He's naught but censure, wilt thou credite me,
He neuer wrote one line in poesie,
But once at Athens in a theame did frame
A paradox in prayse of Vertues name,
Which still he huggs, and lulls as tenderly
As cuckold Tisus his wifes bastardie.
Well, here's a challenge, I flatly say he lyes
171
Tis his discourse, first hauing knit the brow,
Stroke vp his fore-top, champing euery row,
Belcheth his slauering censure on each booke
That dare presume euen on Medusa looke.
I haue no Artists skill in simphonies,
Yet when some pleasing Diapason flies
From out the belly of a sweet touch'd Lute,
My eares dares say tis good, or when they sute
Some harsher seauens for varietie,
My natiue skill discernes it presently.
What then? Will any sottish dolt repute
Or euer thinke me Orpheus absolute?
Shall all the world of Fidlers follow me,
Relying on my voyce in musickrie?
Yet when some pleasing Diapason flies
From out the belly of a sweet touch'd Lute,
My eares dares say tis good, or when they sute
Some harsher seauens for varietie,
My natiue skill discernes it presently.
What then? Will any sottish dolt repute
Or euer thinke me Orpheus absolute?
Shall all the world of Fidlers follow me,
Relying on my voyce in musickrie?
Musus here's Rhodes, let's see thy boasted leape,
Or els avaunt lewd curre, presume not speake,
Or with thy venome-sputtering chapps to barke
Gainst well-pend Poems, in the tongue-tied darke.
Or els avaunt lewd curre, presume not speake,
Or with thy venome-sputtering chapps to barke
Gainst well-pend Poems, in the tongue-tied darke.
O for a humour, looke who yon doth goe,
The meager lecher, lewd Luxurio,
Tis he that hath the sole monopolie
By patent, of the Suburbe lecherie.
No new edition of drabbs comes out,
But seene and allow'd by Luxurios snout.
Did euer any man ere heare him talke
But of Pick-hatch, or of some Shorditch baulke,
Aretines filth, or of his wandring whore,
Of some Cynedian, or of Tacedore,
Of Ruscus nastie lothsome brothell rime,
That stincks like Aiax froth, or muck-pit slime.
The newes he tells you, is of some new flesh,
Lately broke vp, spanne new, hote piping fresh;
The curtesie he showes you, is some morne
To giue you Venus fore her smock be on.
His eyes, his tongue, his soule, his all is lust,
Which vengeance and confusion follow must.
Out on this salt humour, letchers dropsie,
Fie, it doth soyle my chaster poesie.
The meager lecher, lewd Luxurio,
Tis he that hath the sole monopolie
By patent, of the Suburbe lecherie.
No new edition of drabbs comes out,
But seene and allow'd by Luxurios snout.
Did euer any man ere heare him talke
But of Pick-hatch, or of some Shorditch baulke,
Aretines filth, or of his wandring whore,
Of some Cynedian, or of Tacedore,
Of Ruscus nastie lothsome brothell rime,
That stincks like Aiax froth, or muck-pit slime.
The newes he tells you, is of some new flesh,
172
The curtesie he showes you, is some morne
To giue you Venus fore her smock be on.
His eyes, his tongue, his soule, his all is lust,
Which vengeance and confusion follow must.
Out on this salt humour, letchers dropsie,
Fie, it doth soyle my chaster poesie.
O spruce! How now Piso, Aurelius Ape,
What strange disguise, what new deformed shape
Doth hold thy thoughts in contemplation?
Faith say, what fashion art thou thinking on?
A stitch'd Taffata cloake, a payre of slops
Of Spanish leather? O who heard his chops
Ere chew of ought, but of some strange disguise.
This fashion-mounger, each morne fore he rise
Contemplates sute shapes, & once from out his bed,
He hath them straight full liuely portraied.
And then he chukes, and is as proud of this,
As Taphus when he got his neighbours blisse.
All fashions since the first yeare of this Queene,
May in his studdie fairely drawne be seene,
And all that shall be to his day of doome,
You may peruse within that little roome.
For not a fashion once dare show his face,
But from neate Pyso first must take his grace.
The long fooles coat, the huge slop, the lugg'd boot
From mimick Piso, all doe claime their roote.
O that the boundlesse power of the soule
Should be coop'd vp in fashioning some roule!
What strange disguise, what new deformed shape
Doth hold thy thoughts in contemplation?
Faith say, what fashion art thou thinking on?
A stitch'd Taffata cloake, a payre of slops
Of Spanish leather? O who heard his chops
Ere chew of ought, but of some strange disguise.
This fashion-mounger, each morne fore he rise
Contemplates sute shapes, & once from out his bed,
He hath them straight full liuely portraied.
And then he chukes, and is as proud of this,
As Taphus when he got his neighbours blisse.
All fashions since the first yeare of this Queene,
May in his studdie fairely drawne be seene,
And all that shall be to his day of doome,
You may peruse within that little roome.
For not a fashion once dare show his face,
But from neate Pyso first must take his grace.
The long fooles coat, the huge slop, the lugg'd boot
From mimick Piso, all doe claime their roote.
O that the boundlesse power of the soule
Should be coop'd vp in fashioning some roule!
But ô, Suffenus, (that dooth hugge, imbrace
His propper selfe, admires his owne sweet face,
Prayseth his owne faire limmes proportion,
Kisseth his shade, recounteth all alone
His owne good parts) who enuies him? not I,
For well he may, without all riualrie.
His propper selfe, admires his owne sweet face,
Prayseth his owne faire limmes proportion,
173
His owne good parts) who enuies him? not I,
For well he may, without all riualrie.
Fie, whether's fledde my sprights alacritie?
How dull I vent this humorous poesie.
In fayth I am sad, I am possest with ruth,
To see the vainenes of fayre Albions youth;
To see their richest time euen wholy spent
In that which is but Gentries ornament.
Which beeing meanely done, becomes them well,
But when with deere times losse they doe excell,
How ill they doe things well. To daunce & sing,
To vault, to fence, & fairely trot a ring
With good grace, meanely done. O what repute
They doe beget, but beeing absolute,
It argues too much time, too much regard
Imploy'd in that which might be better spard,
Then substance should be lost. If one should sew
For Lesbias loue, hauing two dayes to woe
And not one more, & should imploy those twaine
The fauour of her wayting-wench to gaine,
Were he not mad? Your apprehension,
Your wits are quicke in application.
Gallants,
How dull I vent this humorous poesie.
In fayth I am sad, I am possest with ruth,
To see the vainenes of fayre Albions youth;
To see their richest time euen wholy spent
In that which is but Gentries ornament.
Which beeing meanely done, becomes them well,
But when with deere times losse they doe excell,
How ill they doe things well. To daunce & sing,
To vault, to fence, & fairely trot a ring
With good grace, meanely done. O what repute
They doe beget, but beeing absolute,
It argues too much time, too much regard
Imploy'd in that which might be better spard,
Then substance should be lost. If one should sew
For Lesbias loue, hauing two dayes to woe
And not one more, & should imploy those twaine
The fauour of her wayting-wench to gaine,
Were he not mad? Your apprehension,
Your wits are quicke in application.
Me thinks your soules should grudge, & inly scorne
To be made slaue, to humors that are borne
In slime of filthy sensualitie.
That part not subiect to mortalitie
(Boundlesse discursiue apprehension
Giuing it wings to act his function)
174
And soile his beauties in some beastly source,
Of brutish pleasures. But it is so poore,
So weake, so hunger bitten, euermore
Kept from his foode, meagar for want of meate,
Scorn'd and reiected, thrust from out his seate,
Vpbray'd by Capons greace, consumed quite
By eating stewes, that waste the better spright.
Snib'd by his baser parts, that now poore Soule,
(Thus pesanted to each lewd thoughts controule)
Hath lost all hart, bearing all iniuries,
The vtmost spight, and rank'st indignities
With forced willingnes. Taking great ioy
If you will daine his faculties imploy
But in the mean'st ingenious qualitie.
(How proude he'le be of any dignitie?)
Put it to musick, dauncing, fencing schoole,
Lord how I laugh to heare the pretty foole
How it will prate, his tongue shall neuer lie,
But still discourse of his spruce qualitie;
Egging his maister to proceed from this,
And get the substance of celestiall blisse.
His Lord straight calls his parliament of sence,
But still the sensuall haue preheminence.
The poore soules better part so feeble is,
So cold and dead is his Synderisis,
That shadowes by odde chaunce somtimes are got,
But ô the substance is respected not.
Here ends my rage, though angry brow was bent,
Yet I haue sung in sporting merriment.
FINIS.
175
To euerlasting Obliuion.
Thou mighty gulfe, insatiat cormorant,Deride me not, though I seeme petulant
To fall into thy chops. Let others pray
For euer their faire Poems flourish may.
But as for mee, hungry Obliuion
Deuoure me quick, accept my orizon:
My earnest prayers, which doe importune thee,
With gloomie shade of thy still Emperie,
To vaile both me and my rude poesie.
Farre worthier lines in silence of thy state
Doe sleepe securely free from loue or hate,
From which this liuing, nere can be exempt,
But whilst it breathes will hate and furie tempt.
Then close his eyes with thy all-dimming hand,
Which not right glorious actions can with-stand.
Peace hatefull tongues, I now in silence pace,
Vnlesse some hound doe wake me from my place,
I with this sharpe, yet well meant poesie,
Will sleepe secure, right free from iniurie
Of cancred hate, or rankest villanie.
177
POEMS FROM LOVE'S MARTYR
A narration and description of a most exact wondrous creature, arising out of the Phœnix and Turtle Doues ashes.
O twas a mouing Epicedium!
Can Fire? can Time? can blackest Fate consume
So rare creation? No; tis thwart to sence,
Corruption quakes to touch such excellence,
Nature exclaimes for Iustice, Iustice Fate,
Ought into nought can neuer remigrate.
Then looke; for see what glorious issue (brighter
Then clearest fire, and beyond faith farre whiter
Then Dians tier) now springs from yonder flame?
Can Fire? can Time? can blackest Fate consume
So rare creation? No; tis thwart to sence,
Corruption quakes to touch such excellence,
Nature exclaimes for Iustice, Iustice Fate,
Ought into nought can neuer remigrate.
Then looke; for see what glorious issue (brighter
Then clearest fire, and beyond faith farre whiter
Then Dians tier) now springs from yonder flame?
Let me stand numb'd with wonder, neuer came
So strong amazement on astonish'd eie
As this, this measurelesse pure Raritie.
So strong amazement on astonish'd eie
As this, this measurelesse pure Raritie.
Lo now; th'xtracture of deuinest Essence,
The Soule of heauens labour'd Quintessence,
(Peans to Phœbus) from deare Louer's death,
Takes sweete creation and all blessing breath.
The Soule of heauens labour'd Quintessence,
(Peans to Phœbus) from deare Louer's death,
Takes sweete creation and all blessing breath.
What strangenesse is't that from the Turtles ashes
Assumes such forme? (whose splendor clearer flashes,
Then mounted Delius) tell me genuine Muse.
Assumes such forme? (whose splendor clearer flashes,
Then mounted Delius) tell me genuine Muse.
Now yeeld your aides, you spirites that infuse
A sacred rapture, light my weaker eie:
Raise my inuention on swift Phantasie,
That whilst of this same Metaphisicall
God, Man, nor Woman, but elix'd of all
My labouring thoughts, with strained ardor sing,
My Muse may mount with an vncommon wing.
A sacred rapture, light my weaker eie:
Raise my inuention on swift Phantasie,
That whilst of this same Metaphisicall
God, Man, nor Woman, but elix'd of all
My labouring thoughts, with strained ardor sing,
My Muse may mount with an vncommon wing.
178
The description of this Perfection.
Dares then thy too audacious sense
Presume, define that boundlesse Ens,
That amplest thought transcendeth?
O yet vouchsafe my Muse, to greete
That wondrous rarenesse, in whose sweete
All praise begins and endeth.
Presume, define that boundlesse Ens,
That amplest thought transcendeth?
O yet vouchsafe my Muse, to greete
That wondrous rarenesse, in whose sweete
All praise begins and endeth.
Diuinest Beautie? that was slightest,
That adorn'd this wondrous Brightest,
Which had nought to be corrupted.
In this, Perfection had no meane
To this, Earths purest was vncleane
Which virtue euen instructed.
That adorn'd this wondrous Brightest,
Which had nought to be corrupted.
In this, Perfection had no meane
To this, Earths purest was vncleane
Which virtue euen instructed.
By it all Beings deck'd and stained,
Ideas that are idly fained
Onely here subsist inuested.
Dread not to giue strain'd praise at all,
No speech is Hyperbolicall,
To this perfection blessed.
Ideas that are idly fained
Onely here subsist inuested.
Dread not to giue strain'd praise at all,
No speech is Hyperbolicall,
To this perfection blessed.
Thus close my Rimes, this all that can be sayd,
This wonder neuer can be flattered.
This wonder neuer can be flattered.
To Perfection.
A Sonnet.
Oft haue I gazed with astonish'd eye,
At monstrous issues of ill shaped birth,
When I haue seene the Midwife to old earth,
Nature produce most strange deformitie.
At monstrous issues of ill shaped birth,
When I haue seene the Midwife to old earth,
Nature produce most strange deformitie.
So haue I marueld to obserue of late,
Hard fauour'd Feminines so scant of faire,
That Maskes so choicely, sheltred of the aire,
As if their beauties were not theirs by fate.
Hard fauour'd Feminines so scant of faire,
That Maskes so choicely, sheltred of the aire,
As if their beauties were not theirs by fate.
179
But who so weake of obseruation,
Hath not discern'd long since how vertues wanted,
How parcimoniously the heauens haue scanted,
Our chiefest part of adornation?
Hath not discern'd long since how vertues wanted,
How parcimoniously the heauens haue scanted,
Our chiefest part of adornation?
But now I cease to wonder, now I find
The cause of all our monstrous penny-showes:
Now I conceit from whence wits scarc'tie growes,
Hard fauord features, and defects of mind.
The cause of all our monstrous penny-showes:
Now I conceit from whence wits scarc'tie growes,
Hard fauord features, and defects of mind.
Nature long time hath stor'd vp vertue, fairenesse,
Shaping the rest as foiles vnto this Rarenesse.
Shaping the rest as foiles vnto this Rarenesse.
Perfectioni Hymnus.
What should I call this creature,Which now is growne vnto maturitie?
How should I blase this feature
As firme and constant as Eternitie?
Call it Perfection? Fie!
Tis perfecter then brightest names can light it:
Call it Heauens mirror? I.
Alas, best attributes can neuer right it.
Beauties resistlesse thunder?
All nomination is too straight of sence:
Deepe Contemplations wonder?
That appellation giue this excellence.
Within all best confin'd,
(Now feebler Genius end thy slighter riming)
No Suburbes all is Mind
As farre from spot, as possible defining.
Iohn Marston.
181
On Jonson's Sejanus, 1605
Amicis, amici nostri dignissimi, dignissimis, Epigramma. D. Johannes Marstonivs.
Yee ready Friendes, spare your vnneedfull Bayes,This worke dispairefull Enuie must euen praise:
Phœbus hath voic'd it, loud, through ecchoing skies,
Seianvs Fall shall force thy Merit rise.
For neuer English shall, or hath before
Spoake fuller grac'd. He could say much, not more.
189
THE ENTERTAINMENT OF The Dowager-Countess of Darby
192
The hoble: Lorde & Lady of
Huntingdons Entertainement of theire right Noble Mother Alice:
Countesse Dowager of Darby
the firste nighte of her honors arrivall att the house of Ashby.
When hir Ladishipp approached
the Parke corner a full noise of Cornetts winded &
when she entered into the Parke treeble Cornetts
reported one to an other as giueinge warninge of her
honors neere approach: wfen presently hir eye
was saluted with an Antiq; gate which suddeinly
was erectein this form
Vppon the Gate did hange a many siluer Scroles with this worde in them:
Tantum Vni
Vppon the battlements over the gate stoode
three gilte sheildes in Diamond figure impaled
on the topp wth three Coronetts purfled with Goulde & severally inscribed wth siluer wordes in the
first sheelde: Venisti tandem
In the seconde Nostra sera, in the Thirde
Et sola voluptas: over these oppon a halfe spheare stoode an imbossed antiq; figure
gilte: the slighte Towers to this gate which were only raised for shewe were sett out wth
193
When the Countesse came nere the Gate An olde inchauntres attired in Crimeson velvet wth pale face blacke haire & dislykinge countenance affronted her Ladishipp & thus rudely saluted her
Woman, Lady, princes, Nimph, or Goddes
(more sure you are not, & you seeme no lesse)
Stay & attempt not passadg through this porte:
Heere the pale Lorde of saddnes keepes his courte
rough visagd Saturne; on whose bloudles cheekes
dull Melancholy sitts who straightly seekes
to sease on all that enter through this gate
graunte gratious listninge & I shall relate
The meanes, the manner, & of all the sence
whilst your faire eye inforceth eloquence:
There was a Tyme (& since that time ye sun̄e
Hath yet not through nyne signes of heaven run̄e)
when the high siluan that commaundes thes woodes
& his bright Nymphe fairer then Queen of fludds
Wth moste impacient longings hop'd to veiw
hir face, to whome theire harts deerst zeale was due
Youths ioyes to loue, sweete light vnto the blynde
Beauty to virgins, or what witt can fynde
most deerely wish'd was not so much desier'd
as shee to them: o my dull soule is fir'd
to tell their longings: but it is a peece
that woulde oreloade the famost tounges of Greece
194
& shewe'd theire wishes were but flattered
For scarce her Chariott cutt the easy earth
& jornied on, when winter wth colde breath
crosseth her way. Her borrowed haire doth shine
wth Glittering Isicles all christaline
Hir browes were perriwigg'd wth softer snowe
Hir russett mantle fring'd wth Ice belowe
Sott stiffly on her back: Shee thus came forth
vsherd wth tempeste of the frosty Northe
And seeing hir shee thought she sure had seene
the sweete breath'd Flora the bright Summers Queene
So full of cheerefull grace she did appeere
yt winter fearde hir face recalde the yeare,
& fors'd vntimely springes to sease hir right
whereatt wth anger, & malitious spighte,
She vowes Reuenge, Straight wth tempestious winges
from Taurus, Alpes & Scithian rockes she flinges
theire covering of, & heere theire thick furr spread
yt patient Earth was allmost smothered
Vpp Boreas mounts & doth so strongly blow
athawart hir way huge driftes of blinding snow
yt mountainelike att length heapes rose so high
Mans sight might doubte whether Heauen or Earth were sky.
Heereat she turned back and lefte hir way
Necessity all mortalls must obay.
wch was no sooner voic'd & hether blowne
it Sadds me but to think what greiffe was showne,
wch to augement (Mishapp nere single falles)
The God of Sadnes & of funeralls
of heauy pensiuenes & discontente
coldly dull Saturne hether straight was sente
My selfe MERYMNA who still waight vppon
pale MELANCHOLY & DESOLATION
195
all this sadd howse & vow'd no meanes should ease
those heauy bandes wich pensiue Saturne tyde
till wth wished grace this house was beutifide
Pace then no further for vouchsafe to knowe
till hir approach heere can no comfort grow
Tis only one can theire sadd bondage breake
whose worth I may admire not dare to speake
shees so compleate yt her much honored state
giues fortune virtue makes virtue fortunate
as one in whome three rare mixt graces sitt
seene seldome joynd, fortune, beauty, witt.
to this choice Lady, and to her deere fate,
all hartes do open, as alone this Gate
Shee only driues away dull Saturne hence,
She, whome to praise I neede her eloquence
This speach thus Ended prsently Saturne yssued from forth the Porte & curyiously behoulding the Countesses spake thus
Peace, stay, it is, it is, it is, even shee
Hayle happy honors of Nobilitye
Did never Saturne see? or nere see such?
what shoulde I style you? what choise phrase may touch
or hope in wordes such wondrous grace to sute,
whose worth doth wante an equall attribute.
Lett never Mortall wondring Scilence breake
since to expresse you, Gods themselues must speake
Sweete glories of your sex, know yt yor eyes
makes milde the roughest planet of the skies,
Even wee the Lorde yt Sitts in Ebon throanes,
circled wth sighes & discontented groanes
are forc'd at yor faire presence to relent,
att yor approach all Saturns force is spent,
196
Now all are turn'd to Floras smiling bowers,
Then now giue way, now is my bondage due
only to those who basely envy yow
Hence solitary Beldam, sinke to nighte
I giue vp all to Joye, & to Delight,
And now passe on all happye making Dame,
O coulde you but imagin what a flame
of many joyes nowe in theire bosomes shyne
who counte it theire deerst honor to be thine,
you woulde aueer to number them who seekes
must sure inuent some newe Arithmetiq;s
for who to caste theire reconings takes in hande
hadd neede for counters take the Ocean sande
Theire service is your right yor loue their due
who only loue themselues for loving you
Theire Pallace waites you wth so harty gate
Man cannot vtter, or Godes scarce relate
Then passed the whole troupe to the house: vntill the Countesse hadd mounted the staires to the greate Chamber, on the topp of wch Merimna haveing chaunged hir habitt all to white mett her & whilst a consorte softely played spake thus.
Madam,
See what a change the spiritt of your Eyes,hath wroughte in vs, Hence dullr Saturne flies,
& wee that were the ghost of woe & Earth,
are all transform'd vnto the soule of Mirth,
197
But those who owe yow theirs by Natures right
From whome vouchsafe this present. Tis a woorke
wherein strange miracles & wonders lurke
For know yt Lady whose ambition towers
Only to this to be termd worthy yours
whose forhead I coulde crowne wth clearest rayes
but yt her praise is, she abhors much praise
not longe since thought she saw in slumbring transes
the Queene of faierys & of monelight daunces
come tripping in & with a faiery kisse
she chastely touch'd hir & straite gaue hir this
wth this straūge charge: This peece alone was made
for her in whome no graces 'ere shall fade
for her whose worth is such I dare avere,
it fears not Satyre, nor the flatterer
for hir who gaue you first most gracing name,
who loueth goodnes, for it selfe not fame,
for her whome modest virtue doth vnfolde so
yt she had rather be much graced then tolde so
for hir, for whome had you the whole worldes breast
and of it all gaue her sole interest
you'd iudge it slight: This saide hence straite she flew
& lefte it hir who only vowes it you
Then whilst or breasts wth seacret welcoms ringe
Vouchsafe acceptance of this offeringe
Thus wth a songe Merimna presented her honor wth a very curious & rich wastecote wch done the Countesse passed on to hir Chamber
198
Cinthia
Are not we Cynthia; and shall earth displaye
Brighter then vs, & force vntimely daye?
What daring flames beame such illustrous light
inforcing darkenes from the claime of night?
Vpp Aryadne thie cleare beauty rouse
Thou Northerne Crowne, to lusty Bachus spouse,
Letts mixe or glories to outblaze yor flame
199
Looke downe, knowest them? see how theire fronts rebeate
Splendor like Joue & beauty worth or state
hath or bright brother the fayre Lorde of dayes
into theire eyes shed his vs-darkening ray'ze
Or hath some daring Spiritt forgot Joues ire
And to grace them stolne his Cælestiall fyer
wee are not Phœbe, this is not Heauens story
Place giues not worth, but worth giues place his glory
In the middst of this speech Ariadne rose from ye bottome of the Roome mounted vpon a Cloude wch waved vp vntill it came neere Cynthia where resting Ariadne spake thus
Ariadne
Can or chaste Queene (searching Appollos sister)
Non-know those stats that in yon valley glister?
Is virtue straūge to Heauen? can Cynthia
not know the goodly form'd Pasithea
Shee who loues greatenes, to be greatly good,
Knowing fair'st worth from virtue springes, not blood
whose gracefull iust proportion is held suche
yt what may be judg'd Beauty, must haue touch
& proofe from hirs, yet this hir leaste of grace
(wch is the moste in moste): hir beautys but the case
of fayrest minde: when Fortune gaue hir eyes
Hir worth made FORTVNE jud'g she once had eyes
Non-know those stats that in yon valley glister?
Is virtue straūge to Heauen? can Cynthia
not know the goodly form'd Pasithea
Shee who loues greatenes, to be greatly good,
Knowing fair'st worth from virtue springes, not blood
whose gracefull iust proportion is held suche
yt what may be judg'd Beauty, must haue touch
& proofe from hirs, yet this hir leaste of grace
(wch is the moste in moste): hir beautys but the case
of fayrest minde: when Fortune gaue hir eyes
Hir worth made FORTVNE jud'g she once had eyes
But see a peice yt woulde strike envy blynde,
whose face woulde Furyes tame, make monsters kinde
Ile giue her mighty praise, and yet no other
but yt in minde and forme shees like her mother.
Vpp raised passion & wth Paeans followe,
grace of the Muses, daughter of Appollo
O precious Selas praise thy worth is vnder
He yt woulde lymm thy grace, must only wonder
whose face woulde Furyes tame, make monsters kinde
Ile giue her mighty praise, and yet no other
but yt in minde and forme shees like her mother.
Vpp raised passion & wth Paeans followe,
grace of the Muses, daughter of Appollo
200
He yt woulde lymm thy grace, must only wonder
Then veiws not Cynthia sweete Sophrosine,
Longe honor of most rare virginity
But nowe much happy in her noble choice,
in well lynkt Nuptialls all the Gods rejoyce
Longe honor of most rare virginity
But nowe much happy in her noble choice,
in well lynkt Nuptialls all the Gods rejoyce
Next learn'd Eulogia bright in gratious rayes
Whose merritt faster springeth then my praise
for whoso striues to giue hir worth faire due
shall fynde his praise straite olde, hir merritt new
Whose merritt faster springeth then my praise
for whoso striues to giue hir worth faire due
shall fynde his praise straite olde, hir merritt new
Cynthia
But looke whose eyes are those that shine more cleare
then lightning throwne from sheelde of Jupiter
see, see, how quick fier leapes from forth her eyes
wch burne all hartes & warme the very skies
I'st not bright Euthera?
Ariadne
The very same
But her mindes splendor hath a nobler flame
But her mindes splendor hath a nobler flame
But let the godes Eurithia behoulde
& let them envy hir: Face nobly bolde
Proportion all proportion, wth a minde
but like it selfe, noe Epithite can finde,
& let them envy hir: Face nobly bolde
Proportion all proportion, wth a minde
but like it selfe, noe Epithite can finde,
Cynthia
Letts visitt them & slyde from or aboade
who loues not virtue leaues to be a God
Sounde Spheares, spreade yor harmonius breath
when mortalls shine in worth, Gods grace the earth
The Cloudes descend whilste softe musiq; soundeth Cythia and Ariadne dismount from theire Clouds
201
Cynthia
But where is Ariadnes wreath of starrs?
Her eight pure fiers yt studd wth Goulden barrs
her shyning browes? Hath sweete toung'd Mercury
aduanced his sonnes to station of ye skye
& throand them in thy wreath & dost thou leaue
thy splendor of & trust of Gods deceaue?
Ariadne:
Queene of chaste dewe they will not be confyn'd
Or fyx themselues where Mercury assyn'de
But every night vpon a Forrest syde
on wch an Eagle pearcheth they abyde
and honor her wth theire moste raysed light
Chaste sports juste prayses & all softe delight
Vowing theire beames to make her prsence heaven
Thus is the glory of my fronte bereaven.
Cinthia
Tell them thei err & say yt wee the Queene
of Nights pale lampes haue now the substance seene
whose shadowe they adore goe bringe those eight
at mighty Synthias summans hether straight
Lett vs behould that mount whilste wee salute
theire facs, 'fore whome no dullnes can be mute
Presently Ariadne sings this shorte call
[Ariadne]
Musiq;, and gentle night
Beauty, youthes cheefe delighte
Pleasures, all full invite
Your due attendance to this glorious roome
Then yf you haue or witt or vertue come
oh come oh come
202
The Masquers thus discoured satt still vntill Ariadne pronounced this invocation at wch thei discended
Ariadne
Mercurian issue son̄es of son̄e of Joue
By the Cyllenian rodd, and by the loue
deuoutely chaste you vow Pasithea
discende, first thou more brighte of theese
yt giuest my Crowne her name cleare Dolopes
whose braue dissent letts not thy fayre harte fall
as borne of Parents moste heroicall:
who vows him selfe, his life, his sword & fortune
to hir whose constant goodnes doth importune
more then he is. discend: Next him Avctolivs
of nimble spirit slyde to honor vs
faithfullst Evander: cleare soulde Erythvs
The hopefull Prilis, & sweet Polybus
And thou true sone of quick braynd Mercvry
deere lou'd Mirtyllus, wth yt bright soule mixte
Experienced Lares, yt att last is fixte
after much dainger in securer Spheare
heere all wth wished easines appeare
And ò if euer you were worthe the grace
of veiwing majesty in mortalls face
yf e're to perfect worth, youv ow'd harts duty
shew spiritt worth yor vertues, and theire beuty
The Violins vpon this played a newe Measure
to wch the masquers daunced & ceasing Cynthia spake
By the Cyllenian rodd, and by the loue
deuoutely chaste you vow Pasithea
discende, first thou more brighte of theese
yt giuest my Crowne her name cleare Dolopes
whose braue dissent letts not thy fayre harte fall
as borne of Parents moste heroicall:
who vows him selfe, his life, his sword & fortune
to hir whose constant goodnes doth importune
more then he is. discend: Next him Avctolivs
of nimble spirit slyde to honor vs
faithfullst Evander: cleare soulde Erythvs
The hopefull Prilis, & sweet Polybus
And thou true sone of quick braynd Mercvry
deere lou'd Mirtyllus, wth yt bright soule mixte
Experienced Lares, yt att last is fixte
203
heere all wth wished easines appeare
And ò if euer you were worthe the grace
of veiwing majesty in mortalls face
yf e're to perfect worth, youv ow'd harts duty
shew spiritt worth yor vertues, and theire beuty
[Cynthia]
Stay a little and now breath yee
Whilste theis Ladies grace bequeath yee
Then mixe faire handes & gently ease yee,
Cynthia charmes hence what may displeas yee
Whilste theis Ladies grace bequeath yee
Then mixe faire handes & gently ease yee,
Cynthia charmes hence what may displeas yee
From Ladies yt are rudly coy,
barring theire loues from modest joy,
from ignorant scilence & proude Lookes;
from those that aunswer out of bookes,
from those who hate or chast delight,
I bless the fortune of each starry Knight
From Gallants who still court wth oathes
from those whose only grace is cloathes
from bumbast stockings, vile legg makers
from beardes, and greate Tobecca takers
I bless the fortune of each starry Dame
barring theire loues from modest joy,
from ignorant scilence & proude Lookes;
from those that aunswer out of bookes,
from those who hate or chast delight,
I bless the fortune of each starry Knight
From Gallants who still court wth oathes
from those whose only grace is cloathes
from bumbast stockings, vile legg makers
from beardes, and greate Tobecca takers
I bless the fortune of each starry Dame
Singe that my charme may be more stronge
The Goddes are bounde by verse and songe
The Goddes are bounde by verse and songe
204
The Songe
Audatious Nighte makes bolde the lippe,Now all court chaster pleasure
whilst to Apollos Harpe you trippe
And tread the gracing measure
Cynthi:
1
Nowe meete, now breake, then fayne a warlike salley
So Cinthea sports and so the Godes may dalley
2
Juditious witt nowe raise thy brayne
Now heate thy nimbler spiritt
Showe what delitious faces straine
Much Pashion, shewes much merritt
Cyn.
Now meete. &c.
Laciuious youth not dare to speake
the language of loose Cytty,
He that Dyanas bondes doth breake,
is helde most rudely witty
Now meete &c.
Disgratious dullnes yett much marrs
the shape of courtly talking
He yt can scilent touch such starrs
his soule lyes in his walking
Nowe meete now breake then fayne a warlike salley
So Cynthea sports and so the Gods may dalley
During this Songe the Masquers presented theire Sheelds, And tooke forth theire Ladys to daunce
After they hadd daunced many measures galliards Carantos, & Levaltos the Night being much spent: Whilste the masquers prpared them selues
205
Cynthe:
Now pleasing rest, for see the nighte
(Wherein pale Cynthea claimes her Right)
is allmost spent, the morning growes
the Rose, and violett she strowes,
Vppon the high Cælestiall floore,
'gainst Phœbus rise from Parramore,
The Faieries yt my shads pursue
And bath theire feete in my colde dew,
Now leaue theire ringletts & be quiett
Least my brothers eye shoulde spy it
Then now let every gratious starr
auoide at sounde at Phœbus carr.
Into your proper place retyre
wth bosomes full of beauties fier
Hence must slide the Queene of floodes
For day beginnes to gilde the woodes
Then whilst we singe thoughe you departe
Ile sweare yt heere you leaue yor harte
The Eglouge wch a dispaiering Shepheard
spak to a Nimph att my Ladys departure.(Wherein pale Cynthea claimes her Right)
is allmost spent, the morning growes
the Rose, and violett she strowes,
Vppon the high Cælestiall floore,
'gainst Phœbus rise from Parramore,
The Faieries yt my shads pursue
And bath theire feete in my colde dew,
Now leaue theire ringletts & be quiett
Least my brothers eye shoulde spy it
Then now let every gratious starr
auoide at sounde at Phœbus carr.
Into your proper place retyre
wth bosomes full of beauties fier
Hence must slide the Queene of floodes
For day beginnes to gilde the woodes
Then whilst we singe thoughe you departe
Ile sweare yt heere you leaue yor harte
Stay faire Beliza & whilst Heaven throws
on the crackt Earth
his burning breath
O heare thy Dorus woes
Whose cause & cure only Beliza knowes
on the crackt Earth
his burning breath
O heare thy Dorus woes
Whose cause & cure only Beliza knowes
See now the God of flames in full pompe rides
and now each Lass
on flowery grass
by the coole fountaine sides
wth quiett boosome & soft ease abides
and now each Lass
on flowery grass
by the coole fountaine sides
wth quiett boosome & soft ease abides
206
Doe you so too for see this bounteous spring
praise thee sitt downe
then shall I crowne
thy browes wth flowery ring
whilst thus wth Shepheards homely voice I sing
praise thee sitt downe
then shall I crowne
thy browes wth flowery ring
whilst thus wth Shepheards homely voice I sing
He sange a passionate ditty wch don̄ he spak thus.
Shepheard
Now fairest daine once to impart
did ever live so coy a Lass
who vnto love was never moved
Nimph
Yes Sheepherd she yt hath the hart
and is resolv'd hir life to pass
Nether to love, or be beloved
Shep—
She senceles lives wthout affection
Nimph—
yett happye lives wthout subjection
Shep—
To be pluckt are roses blowne
To be mow'd are meddowes growne
Gemms are made but to be showne
And womans best:—
Nimph
To keepe hir owne
Shep—
well shepheardess still hate to love me
No scorne from my fixt vow shall move me.
when sheepe, to finest grass have loathing
when courtiers shall disdaine rich cloathing
when shepheards shun̄ theire maydays sports
green-sicknes when tis rife in courtes
O then, & not till then I'le hate
Beliza my sole love & fate.
Nimph—
When Love in daughters shall assend
for simple Pietys sole end
when any child hir mother graces
wth all she can, yett all defaces
207
tho what she can she freely showeth,
Then Shepheard maist thou hope attend
for then my Hate shall have an End.
Shep—
Th'art mine Beliza, for behold
all the hopes thy wishes craue
all the best the world can have
Heere these happy charecters vnfold
wch who dares but once deny
in the most just & faire defence
of hir loves highest exelence
I of thousands am the weakst will dye
all the hopes thy wishes craue
all the best the world can have
Heere these happy charecters vnfold
wch who dares but once deny
in the most just & faire defence
of hir loves highest exelence
I of thousands am the weakst will dye
From wch o daine to give this touch
who gives what he can gett gives much
Farewell farewell
Joy, Love, peace Health
in you longe dwell
wth our farewell farewell.
So the Countess passed on vntill she came through the Little Park where Niobe presented hir wth a Cabinet. & so departed.
| The poems of John Marston | |