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

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.

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!

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;

159

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.

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.

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.

I am too milde, reach me my scourge againe,

160

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.

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.

161

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.

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.

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

162

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.