The poems of John Marston :: :: University of Virginia Library

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.