University of Virginia Library

TO THE READER, Vpon the Author, his Kins-man.

Old Homer, in his time made a great feast,
And euery Poet was thereat a guest:
All had their welcome; yet not all one fare.
To them aboue the salt (his chiefest care)
He spewd a banquet of choise Poesie,
Whereon they fed euen to satietie.
The lower end, had from that end their Cates.
For, Homer setting open his dung-gates,
Deliuered, from that dresser, excrement,
Whereon they glutted, and returnd in Print.
Let no man wonder that I this rehearse;
Nought came from Homer but it turnd to verse.
Now where our Author was at this good cheere,
Where was his place, or whether he were there:
Whether he waited, or he tooke away;
Of this same point I cannot soothly say:
But thus I ghesse. Being then a dandiprat,
Some witty Poet tooke him in his lap
And fed him from aboue, with some choice bit.
Hence his Acumen, and a ready wit:
But prayses from a friendly pen ill thriue.
And truth's scarce truth, spoke by a relative.
Let enuy therefore giue her vote herein:
Enuy and th' Author sure are nought a-kin.
Ile personate bad Enuy: yet say so,
He lickt at Homers mouth, not from below.

Ad Lectores.

To stād on Terms twere vain. By hook & crook
One Terme I was defrauded of a Booke.
Now Readers your assistance I must craue,
To play at Noddy; to turne vp a knaue.
My foe at Tick-Tack playes exceeding well:
For Bearing (Sirs) beleeue't, he bears the Bell.
He's of a blood-hounds kinde, because his Nose
Vtters each new made sent; be't uerse, or prose.
Could ye attache this Felon, in's disgrace
I would not bate an inch (not Boltons ace)
To baite, deride, nay ride this silly Asse,
I would take paines; he should not scot-free passe.
All filching knaues (be't spoken as a Trope)
Will once be plaide, displayed by a Rope:
And be this proud disperser of stole workes
Once caught (that now in clanks & corners lurks)
Lest he delude some kinde affecting Scholler,
Pray, haue him twiched in a Hempen Coller:
Once burntith' hand, he will example giue,
To such Times turne-coats as by filching liue.

TO THE WORTHILY Honor'd Knight, Sir Timothy Hutton.

Noblest of mindes, vnknowne, I would inuite,
Rich Pyrrhus to accept a Codrus mite.
My lame-legd Muse, nere clome Pernassus Mount.
Nor drunke the iuice of Aganippe's Fount:
Yet doth aspire with Dedall's wings, appeale
To you, sole Patron of our common weale.
The foule maskt Lady, night, which blots the skie,
Hath but one Phœbe, feuer-shaking eye.
Olympus azure clime, one golden light,
Which drownes the starry curtaine of the night:
And my rude Muse (which Satyrists would rend)
One generous, graue Patronizing friend.
You this Mæcenas are, peruse my writ,
And vse these Metroes of true meaning wit:
Command; commend them not: such humile Art
Disclaimes applause, demerits no desert.
Ualue my verse according to her worth:
No mercenary hope hath brought her forth.
Times puny, Penny-wits, I loathing hate.
Though poore, Im'e pure, from such a seruile state.
These workes (fram'd on the Anuile of my braine)
My free borne Muse, enfranchise from such shame:
In which large Calender, Timists may view,
I onely writ to please the World, and you.

SATYRES.

[I vrge no time, with whipt, stript Satyrs Lines]

I vrge no time, with whipt, stript Satyrs Lines,
With furies scourge whipping depraued times.
My muse (tho fraught) with such shall not begin
T'vncase, vnlace, the centinell of sin:
Yet let earths vassailes, pack-horse vnto shame,
Know I could lash their lewdnesse, euill fame;
Reade them a Lecture, should their vice imprint
With sable lines, in the obdured flint;
Their Mappes of knauery and shame descry,
In liuely colours, with a sanguine die;
And tell a tale, should touch them to the quick;
Shold make them startle; fain thēselues cap-sick;
But, that no Patron dare, or will maintaine
The awfull subiect of a Satyre's vaine.

[What haue we here? a mirror of this age]

What haue we here? a mirror of this age,
Acting a Comicks part vpon the stage.
What Gallant's this? His nature doth vnfold
Him, to be framed in Phantastes mold.
Lo how he iets; how sterne he shewes his face,
Whiles from the wall he passengers doth chase.
Muse touch not this man, nor his life display,
Ne with sharpe censure gainst his vice inuey:
For, sith his humor can no iesting brooke,
He will much lesse endure a Satyre's booke.
Beshrew me, sirs, I durst not stretch the streete,
Gaze thus on conduits scrowls, base vintners beat
Salute a Mad-dame with a french cringe grace,
Greete with God-dam-me, a confronting face,
Court a rich widow, or my bonnet vaile,
Conuerse with Bankrupt Mercers in the Gaile,
Nor in a Metro shew my Cupide's fire,
Being a french-poxt Ladies apple-squire;
Lest taxing times (such folly being spide)
With austere Satyres should my vice deride.
Nere breath, I durst not vse my Mistrisse Fan,
Or walke attended with a Hackney-man,
Dine with Duke Humfrey in decayed Paules,
Confound the streetes with Chaos of old braules,
Dancing attendance on the Black-friers stage,
Call for a stoole with a commanding rage,
Nor in the night time ope my Ladies latch,
Lest I were snared by th' all-seeing Watch:
Which Critick knaues, with Lynxes pearcing eye,
Into mens acts obseruantly do prye.

[Mvse, shew the rigour of a Satyres art]

Mvse, shew the rigour of a Satyres art,
In harsh Sarcasmes, dissonant and smart.
First, to you masse of humors, puffe of winde,
Which, Polipe-like, doth enterchange his mind.
Note how this Timist, scratching of his pate,
Inuents a fable to aduance his state,
Venting a Legend of Man, Diuells lies,
VVhich in the eares of potentates must flie.
See how he squares it, takes a priuate stand,
To Gnathonize, to act it with his hand.
Behold his gesture, and his brazen face,
How stoutely he doth manage his disgrace.
Lo how he whispers in his Masters eare;
In's Closet tattles lest the seruants heare;
Winkes of an eye, and laughs his Lord to scorne,
By his attractiue fingers making hornes.
His swimming braine, thus being brought to bed,
As motiues to his wit, he rubs his head:
Then like a ledger at the Tables end,
Takes place for an inuited friend;
Applauding in discourse his Masters speech,
Admiring's vertu, ore the pot doth preach:
Inueies 'gainst ding-thrifts, that their lands haue spent
Detesting Ryot more then thin cheekt Lent:
Censures base whoredome, with a Mustard face.
VVith a sowre pis-pot visage, doth disgrace
A Ruffled Boote, and will in no case stand,
In view of a (sir reuerence) yellow band.
He rayles on Musick, pride, and wines excesse,
And from an Organ-pipe himselfe doth blesse,
Abhorres a Sattin suit, or veluet cloake,
And sayes Tobaccho is the Diuells smoake;
The thought of To. his intrailes more doth gripe,
Then Physicks art, or a strong Glister-pipe.
Go tell this slaue, his vices shall not passe,
Such craftie colts, must feele the Satyres lash.
The Lyons skinne a while may shade the Ape:
But yet his worship shall not scot-free scape.
Though he seeme nice, demeane himself demure,
The world perceiues, this Sycophants impure.
His Harpies face, dissembling Syrens voyce,
VVhich in each corner make a whistling noyce,
Cannot be sconced with each male pretence,
Nor blind the world with som misconstru'd sense
We know his thoght concurs not with his word
His mouth speaks peace, his hart intends a sword
None can discerne whence Titan fram'd this mold
VVhich, Gnato like, doth blowe both hot & cold
O subtle Tyrant, whose corroding hate,
Depriues both life, and consummates the state
Of senselesse Noddies, who repose in rest,
Foster hot embers, Serpents in their brest,
Which sparkling flames, t'accomplish vain desire
Makes fooles, their subiects, fuell to the fire;
And like the Viper, fraught with spleenefull maw
The Intralls of their Patrons states doe gnaw.

[Next, lets suruey the Letchers obscœne shame]

Next, lets suruey the Letchers obscœne shame,
Rouze him from 's squat, pursuing of the game,
Depriue this wel mouth'd dog of his intēt,
Tracing each footestep, by his fresh made sent,
And pinch him with a scandald soule, impure,
Note him with Theta, for ay to endure.
Wil't please you view this monster in his glasse?
It best discouers a Phantastick Asse.
See how, Narcissus like, the foole doth doate,
Viewing his picture, and his guarded coate;
And with what grace, bold actor like he speakes,
Hauing his beard precisely cut ith' peake;
How neat 's Mouchatoes do a distance stand,
Lest they disturbe his lips, or saffron band:
How expert he 's; with what attentiue care,
Doth he in method place each stragling haire.
This idle I doll, doth bestow his wit,
In being spruce; in making 's ruffe to sit:
His daies endeauours are to be compleate,
To vse his vestures nitid and facete:
For vulgar oathes, he raps forth blood and heart,
As coadiutors in the wenching art:
In 's frizled Periwig, with bended brow,
Sweares at each word: for, to confirm his vow,
He holds an oath 's the ornamentall grace
Of veniall discourse, befitting 's place;
And doth maintaine, in 's humor, To be drunk,
Is the preparatiue to loue a punke;
A pipe of To. th'indulgence of his brains,
Vsing Potatoes to preserue the Raines.
Pale horned Luna, sister to darke Night,
In Uenus sport he vseth for a light;
Thinking Earth 's sable mantle hides his shame,
Depriues the terror of swift winged Fame.
VVhen darknesse doth eclipse Don Phœbus raies,
VVhen nights vast terror hath expelld the daies,
Then doth this subiect pase it to Pickt-hatch,
Shore-ditch, or Turneball, in despite oth' Watch,
And there reposing on his Mistrisse lap,
Beg some fond fauour, be 't a golden cap:
Plaied with her plume of feathers or her Fan,
VVishing he were accepted for her man;
And then at large in ample tearmes doth showe
His Cupids dart, and much endured woe,
Desiring cure to salue his languisht care,
T' expell the willow-garland of despaire:
And that he may obtaine his lust, compares
Her eyes to starres, to Amber her pounc't hayres:
Equalls her hand to Cignets purest white,
VVhich in Mæanders streames do take delight:
Her sanguine blush, and ruby painted mold,
Vnto Aurora's red, rich Indies gold.
Hauing earth 's weaker vassaile ouercome,
He bribes a Pandar with some trifling sum;
Doth frolike with the Musick in this vaine,
Hearing the Diapason of their straine.
Perhaps hee'l cut a caper, neately prance,
And with his Curtail some odde Galliard dance;
Then glutted with his lust make quick dispatch,
Pretending hee's in danger of the Watch:
So taking Vale, till some other night,
Must be conducted by a Tapers light,
Along the streete to his polluted Cell,
Where this vile letcher doth inhabit, dwell.
He thinkes the secret quietnesse of night,
Which with phantasmes doth possesse each sprite,
Is a safe shelter to conceale his fact,
Hauing no witnesse to record his act.
O stupid foole! the Heauens al-seeing eye,
Beholds thy base frequented infamy;
And will repay thee treble, with a pox,
For the night-hanting of base Shoreditch smocks

[All haile Tom Tospot: welcome to the Coast.]

All haile Tom Tospot: welcome to the Coast.
What Paris news canst brag of, or make bost?
Thy phisnomie bewraies thou canst relate
Some strange exploits attempted in the State.
I know th'hast courted Venus lusting dames,
'Twas thy intēt whē thou tookst ship on Thames.
Let's sympathize thy hap, enioy some sport.
What art thou sencelesse, dead-drunk, alla mort?
Gallants, this abiect obiect which you see,
Is an old picture of Gentilitie.
With Coriat he trauell'd hath by land,
To see Christs crosse, the tree where Iudas hangd.
Diuelin and Amsterdam his sea crab pase,
With other countries moe, did often trace.
Earth's circled orbe, he frequent trudged, went,
With lesse expences then Tom Odcombe spent:
With fewer cloaths, thogh furnisht with mo shifts
With sparing diet, fewe receiued gifts.
Tom had one payre of stockins, shooes, one suite;
But Tospots case Tom Coxcombs doth confute.
For he has trauell'd all Earths globe a foote,
Without whole cloathes, good stockin, shooe or boote.
His ragged iournall, I bemone, condole;
Yet (God be thankt) he is return'd all-hole.
Tom had assistants, as his bookes report:
But Tospot trauell'd voide of all consort;
Hauing no creature with him whiles he slept,
Or walkt; but such as in his bosome crept.
Tospot detests all cloaths, hates new found forme,
Vnlesse it were no cloaths at all were worne.
Which Method (I dare say) he would obserue,
Goe naked with his com-ragges, beg, and sterue.
He is no boasting Thraso which will vant
Of his aduentures, penurie, and scant.
Yet if you please to reade my slender Muse,
I shall describe the humor he doth vse.
Tobaccho, Bottle ale, hot Pippin-pies:
Such traffique, merchandize, he daily buies.
With belly-timber, he doth cram his gut,
With double iugges doth his Orexis glut,
Sweares a God-dam-me for the tapsters shottes,
And may pledge no health lesse then with 2. pots.
He has a Sword to pawne in time of neede,
A perfect beggers phrase wherewith to pleade
For maintenance, when his exhausted store
Is profuse lauisht on some pockie whore.
Tibornes triangle trees will be the thing,
Must send this knaue to Heauens in a string.

[Mounsier Brauado, are you come t'out face]

Mounsier Brauado, are you come t'out face,
With your Mouchatoes, gallants of such place?
Pack hence, it is an humor to contend,
In a brauado, with your neerest friend.
Wee'l not contest or squabble for a wall,
Nor yet point field, though you vs vassailes call.
Inuent some other subiect to employ
Your gilded blade, your nimble footed boy.
Correct your frizled locks, and in your glasse
Behold the picture of a foolish Asse.
Barter your lowsie sutes for present gaine,
Vnto a Broker in rich Birchin lane.
Compile a sonnet of your Mistrisse gloue.
Copy some Odes t'expresse conceited loue.
Ride with your sweet-heart in a hackney coach.
Pick quarrells for her sake, set fraies on broach.
Vse Musicks harmony (which yeelds delight)
Vnder your Ladies window in the night.
Stretch with a plume, & cloak wrapt vnder th'arm
Yong Gallants glories soone will Ladies charm
S'foot walke the streets, in cringing vse your wit
Suruey your Loue, which in her window sits.
Black-Friers, or the Palace-garden Beare,
Are subiects fittest to content your eare.
An amorous discourse, a Poets wit,
Doth humor best your melancholy fit.
The Globe to morrow acts a pleasant play,
In hearing it consume the irkesome day.
Goe take a pipe of To. the crowded stage
Must needs be graced with you and your page.
Sweare for a place with each controlling foole,
And send your hackney seruant for a stoole.
Or if your Mistrisse frowne, seeme malecontent
Then let your Muse be cloistred vp, ypent.
Be loue sicke, and harsh Madrigalls expresse,
That she may visit you in such distresse.
I'me sure you haue some pamphlet, idle toy,
Which you rate high, esteeme a matchlesse ioy.
Where's your Tobacco box, your steele & touch
Roarers respect, and value these too much.
Where is your larum watch your Turkies Rings
Muske-comfits, bracelets, & such idle things?
Y'are nak't as Adam if you haue not these,
And your endeauours cannot Ladies please.
If you the Gallants title will assume,
Goe vse th'Apothecarie for perfume,
Weare eare-rings, iewels, cordiuants strong sent,
Which comely ornaments dame Nature lent.
Fy, fy: you are to blame, which times misspend,
That for a trifling cost will lose a friend.
Do not contend in each frequented Lane,
With euere idle coxcombe, busie braine:
But your Mineruaes industry employ,
Your Ladies golden tresses to enioy.
Record your name in some rich Mercers note,
That tradesmen may come pull you by the coate.
And in th'abysse of Vintners chalked score,
Shipwrack good fortune, run thy state on shoare.
Diue in Mechanicks books, till in the streete
Seargeants arrest, conuey thee to the Fleete,
And there in durance cag'd, consume with woe,
Beg with a purse, and sing Fortune's my foe.

[Write, Poetaster: fy for shame, your dayes]

Write, Poetaster: fy for shame, your dayes
Wil dy without remembrancers of praise.
Tis pitty, such a pregnant witty verse
Should be intombed in the fatall herse.
Confine your Muse some tractates to compile,
In scanned Metre, or condigner stile;
That Earth's milde censure may applauding blaze
Your Phœnix quill, with volleys of great prayse.
Why art so slowe? the Trophies will bee lost,
Vnlesse you wright, all Fortunes shall be crost.
What canst thy stile prohibit? gazing mute,
Where Earth 's contending for the golden fruite
You vilisie your selfe with endlesse shame,
Imposing scandall to each Poets name.
I grieue he should be silent, in despite
Of all the Muses, which Sarcasmies write.
He doth resemble Minstrells in each thing;
Inuited once, hee'l neyther play, nor sing;
Vnbidden, will inuey against each friend,
Incessant write great volumes without end.
The amorist which doth your wardrobe keepe,
Admires your sluggish Muse is yet asleepe.
He should a riming Madrigall compose;
And wanting you, must tell his griefs in prose.
The wenches they exclayme, cry out, and call
For Poetasters workes extemporall.
The alehouse tippler, he protests, your Muse
Greatly dishonours him, with grosse abuse,
Infringing promise: which you lately made,
Concerning Libells, that should touch the trade
He gaue you earnest after you were wooed,
A dozen of strong liquor he bestowed,
To bathe your Muse, to make your fluent vain,
Apt to despise a Satyres taxing braine.
The idle Minstrell, he cries out of wrong,
Because you doe his sonnets still prolong.
You iniure much his treble squeaking note,
Depriues him of the townships armes, red coate.
Such wrongs may not passe free: inuent a theam,
Rouze vp your Muse from her conceited dreame.
Giue him a cup of Ale, a pipe of To:
And let him to his priuate study go.
Hee'l breake a iest, when he has drunke a glasse,
Which shal for currant mongst the tapsters passe,
And rime to any word you can propound,
Although a Metre for it, nere were found,
Wright Panegyricks in the praise of's friend,
Make compleat verses, on his fingers end.
He has a subiect he did late inuent,
Will shame the riming sculler, Iack a Lent.
'Tis writ in print; perhaps you'l see't anon,
'Twas made of Robin Hood and little Iohn.
'Twil be discouerd er 't be long; and ly
Vnder the bottome of a pippin-py,
Be pind to Capons backs to shroude the heate,
Fixt to some solid ioynt of Table meate.
Wish it be put to no worse seruice, then
To shelter the scorcht Caponet or Hen.
I pray 't may haue such office, worthy place,
Yet feares 'tmust suffer vile rebuke, disgrace.
Iack out of office wee 't ere long shall finde
'lth house of office, being mew'd, confinde.
Well though it be, yet for the Muses sakes,
Hee'l pen a pithie tractate of A-iax.
I wish he would reserue A-iax in minde,
Twill serue but for A-iax and come behinde:
For men adiudge the volumes of this foole,
Worthie no chayre, scarce to deserue the stoole.
Let cease the clamor of thy hotchpot verse,
The stupid pots, or sencelesse streetes to pearce.
The doggrell discord of thy long leg'd rime,
Defameth Poets, scandalize the time.
Your mock-verse Muse deserueth nought but fire
The beggers whipstock, or the Gallowes hire.
In silence spend the reliques of your dayes:
For being mute you will attaine most prayse.
Auoide each Satyres lash, censures of times,
Which doe deriding read pot-Poets rimes.

[The crane-throate hell, of this depraued age]

The crane-throate hell, of this depraued age,
Earths belly-god, let's view vpon the stage.
See how the squadron of his full fraught panch
Out-squares the straightnes of his narrow hanch;
Making his stumppes supporters to vpholde
This masse of guttes, this putrefied molde.
His belly is a Cesterne of receit,
A grand confounder of demulcing meate.
A Sabariticke Sea, a depthlesse Gulfe,
A sencelesse Vulture, a corroding Wolfe.
Behold this Helluo, how he doth glut,
Fill (like a wallet) his immeasurde gut,
Cramming his stomack with vncessant loade,
Like a stuft bladder, hates bigge swelling Toade;
And rammes his panch, that bottomlesse abysse,
As if to glut were legall, promis'd blisse.
All's fish that comes to net, this Harpy's tooth
Eates what's within the compasse of his mouth.
His table-talke hates hunger, more then vice,
Railes against fortune, cheating, cards, and dice,
Enuies 'gainst actors, taxing such as fight,
Or in Tobacco doe repose delight,
And thousand subiects mo exactly scannes,
Rayling on cloakebagge breeches, yellow bands;
Wishing the fencing-schooles might be supprest,
And all saue belly-timber doth detest.
This large discourse his gluttony doth cloake,
Are motiues his Orexis to prouoke.
Which being fraught, till sences are a mort,
At no one tide to concoct he takes a snort.
His drowsie sences hudwinkt in a cap,
Leaning vpon his chaire do take a nap.
Conferre his belly with his lower part,
And you'l adiudge dame Natures rarest art
Made not this bulke, infusing life, or blood,
In such vnsquared timber, vnheawn wood.
He's more mishapen then Crete's monstrous sin,
Deformed both without, and eke within.
His circled panch, is barrell like rotound,
Like earths vast concaues hollow, and profound.
His hanches which are lockt as in some box,
With the straight compasse of a Par a-dox,
He doth into so little compasse bring,
As if they should be drawne through Gyges ring,
So that he seemes as if black Vulcans art,
Of diuerse fossiles had compil'd each part;
As if some taylor had bound on with points,
Nero's great belly, to staru'd Midas ioynts.
I could discipher this huge map of shame,
And liuely pourtrait his abhorred name,
Wer't not that Criticks would debase, reuile,
Censure the sharpenesse of a Satyres stile!
'Tis shame, such vipers, all deuouring Hell,
Should be indured in our Coasts to dwell.
We can frame nothing of such naughtie Earth,
Except a storehouse in the time of dearth;
Or beg this Minotaure, when he doth die,
T' make dice of's bones or an Anatomie.
Ile therefore leaue him in his pan-warm'd bed,
Resting on's pillow his distempr'd head.
Wer't not for censures, I should make him prance
Skip at the Satyr's lash, leade him a dance,
Vnrip his bowels, and Anatomize
His filthy intrailes, which he doth much prize.
But taxing times such proiects doe confute,
Silence sterne Satyres, warnes them to be mute.
The golden dayes are chang'd, when Foxes sins
Passe scot free, marching in the Lyons skins;
Whē corrupt times may complot wrong, or right
Without controule, of contradicting might.

[My treatise next must touch (thogh somwhat late)]

My treatise next must touch (thogh somwhat late)
A woman creature most insatiate.
See this incarnate monster of her sex,
Play the virago, vnashamde, perplext.
See Omphale her effeminated king,
Basely captiue; make him doe any thing.
Her whole discourse is of Guy Warwicks armes,
Of errant Knights, or of blinde Cupids charmes.
Her ciuill gesture, is to faigne a lie
In decent phrase, in true Ortographie.
Her modest blush, immodest shame, O fy,
'Tis grand disgrace to blush, indignity.
She counts him hut a Nazard, halfe a-mort,
That will not iumble, vse dame Venus sport.
To kisse, to cull, t'admire her painted face
And doe no more; ignoble, vile disgrace.
She likes his humor which plaies for the marke,
Affects the man that's expert in the darke.
With costly vnguents she depaints her browes,
Calls them the palace of chast Hymens vowes.
And yet this statue for her honor'd trade,
With eu'ry vassaile will be vnderlaide.
Her sole delight is fixed in a fan,
Or to walke vsherd by a proper man.
Nature hath polisht each externall part
Of this vile dame with Oratories Art;
Making each limb an Oratour, defence,
To maske her scandall with some good pretence,
Doe but conferre and note her priuate speech,
Her diuine frame, will passe your humane reach.
Shee'l complement, pathetically act
A tragick story, or a fatall fact.
Liuely discouer Cupid and his bowe,
Manage his sauage quiuer in her brow,
Court so compleately, rarely tune a song,
Thas she will seeme a Dido for a tongue;
And by the vertue of all-conquering sight,
Infuse euen life in him, that has no sprite.
Her golden phrase will rauish so your eares
With amorous discourse, pale louers teares,
That you would iudge her rarest parts diuine,
Deeme her a virgin of chast Vestaes shrine.
Yet this proud Iezabell, so nice, demure,
Is but a painted Sepulchre impure.
Shee seemes a Saint (in conference being hard)
Yet is more spotted then the Leopard.
Though she bestow her vigilancie, care,
In coyning phrases, pouncing of her hayre:
Yet are her Legends, golden masse of wit,
But like Apocrypha, no sacred writ.
All's not authenticall the which she pleades,
Or wholsome doctrine, that she daily reades.
Cease, austere Muse, this counterfeit to touch:
Y'haue spoke Satyricall, I doubt, too much.
Ile rather pitty, then enuy, inuay,
Their Kalender of wretch'nesse to display,
Shutting my Muse in silence, least she strip
This Saint-like creature with a Satyres whip.
I blush, my quill with so immodest face
Abruptly pointed at her great disgrace,
Loathing the subiect of a Satyres stile,
Discernes desert, which should this sect defile.
Pardon my Muse (kinde sirs) she whips not all
Whom we in specie do women call.
'Tis Corinths Lais, Romes confronting whore,
Which like the Hellespont we run on shore;
Such as resemble Dian in their deedes,
I meane in giuing large Actæons heads.
These are the Subiects which demerit blame,
And such we tax with earths eternall shame.
Applauding such chast Philomels, whose loue,
Idem, per idem, doth most constant proue.

[Should I commend you Satyres? faith no, tush]

Should I commend you Satyres? faith no, tush,
'Tis an old Prouerbe, Good wine needes no bush.
If ye demerit earth's condigner laude,
Let grauer censures grace you with applaude.
If ye deserue no Poets Lawrell stem,
Be ye base Orphans, I disclaime ye then.
To praise good works 'twere shame, indigne, and vile,
For none but counterfeits do prayse their stile.
Good, is but good; and no man can more say:
To praise the bad, makes Satyrists inuay.
Goe seeke your fortunes, be it good or bad
If bad, I'le greiue; if good, I shall be glad.

To the Reader.

Heark , ye yong Roysters, that with Inkehorn stuffe
Delude the state, and rayle the world in snuffe:
Let me, in Court'sie, beg a friendly Q,
When you haue spent your mouths vpon the view.
Chop logick, chaw your cuds; some leisure giue.
My Muse, which doth at rack and manger liue,
Must halt about the marke; for she's not flight:
And yet, though slowe, she sometims speaks aright.
I feare no colours: Let mad Satyres write.
The Curres which barke the most, do seldome bite.
Let coxcombs curry fauour with a fee,
Extoll their braines, with Claw me, I'l claw thee.
I write the truth: If any fault you see,
Impute it to ill readings, not to me.
Dispence with my bold quill: if she be fell,
I doe it for the best: I wish all well.
Conniue yong wits (which on your humors stand)
I'l, with the Prouerbe, Turne the Cat ith' band.
And ere ye iaree, for Peace sake giue the way;
Sith few, or none, with edg'd tooles safely play.

SATYRICAL Epigrams.

Ad Lectorem. Epi. 1.

Reader, I must present you a Shrimp-fish:
I hope you'l make no bones to tast this dish.
It is no Carpe, vnlesse you giv 't that note:
VVhich if you doe, I wish 'twere in your Throate.

Ad Momum. Epi. 2.

Momus , I wish your loue, and humbly crav't:
My suite is for the same; pray let me hav 't.
If that you think, according be not best,
A Cording be your end: and so I rest.

Maltsters ill Measure. Epi. 3.

Svch Maltsters, as ill measure sell for gaine,
Are not mere knaues, but also knaues in Grain.

De Equisone. Epi. 4.

Can Equiso be wauering as the winde?
Faith no; for he is of a Stable kinde.

In Caluum. Epi. 5.

The Commonty complaine, Caluus of late,
By hook, & crook, by pouling gaineth state:
Yet he protests, he takes few bribed gifts,
And powling scornes aboue all other shifts;
Appealing to his barber, who doth sweare,
He is not worth one hayre to reach one eare.
Then, sith you tax him with this faultlesse ill,
He'l leaue off-powling, and begin to pill.

Epi. 6.

[Kinde Kit disdaines that men him fool do call.]

Kinde Kit disdaines that men him fool do call.
What is he else? Faith, nothing but Wit-all.

An action of the Case. Epi. 7.

Shouldring a Minstrell, in a Lane, I broke
His Violls case, by an vnlucky stroke:
Who swore he would cōplain, to vent his grudg.
And what care I, what any law will iudge:
For why? I will maintaine it, face to face,
'T can be no more, but th' action of the Case.

Epi. 9.

[Tom-Cobbler sold his tools, a matter small]

Tom-Cobbler sold his tools, a matter small:
And yet vnto this day he keepeth Awl.

Epi. 10.

[Robin has for Tobaccho sold his chaire]

Robin has for Tobaccho sold his chaire,
Reseruing nothing but a stoole for 's lare:
Whence all men iudge, this silly sottish foole,
Though seldome sick, goes often to the Stoole.

God a-mercy Horse. Epi. 11.

A Friend, who by his horse receiu'd a fall,
Made bold (he swore) in priuate for to call.
I made him welcome, as dame Nature bindes
All those to doe that beare affecting mindes.
Yet sith his steede did him vnwilling force,
I thanke not him, but God a-mercy Horse.

Epi. 12.

[Francisco vants he gaue his wife the horn.]

Francisco vants he gaue his wife the horn.
She frouns, she frets, & takes the news in scorn.
And thogh you did (quoth she) yet you, indeed,
Must weare the horne, because you are the Head.

De Caluo. Epi. 13.

Caluus protests, for foes he doth not care:
For why? they cānot take from him one hair.

In Purum. Epi. 14.

Pvrus doth sermons write, & scripture quote;
And therfore may be tearm'd a man of Note.

In Causidicum. Epi. 15.

Causidicus wears patched cloathes, some bruit;
And must doe so: for he has nere a suite.

De fabro lignario. Epi. 16.

Tom Ioyner sold his tooles, and cloaths of's britch,
To cure the scab; and yet he has an Itch.

Epi. 17.

[A Cuckold is a dangerous beast. Why so?]

A Cuckold is a dangerous beast. Why so?
Nam Cornu ferit ille: Caueto.

De Vinoso. Epi. 18.

Vinosus is a Verbe, his persons good,
And must be form'd in the Potentiall mood:
In which sole mood, we find each drunken man.
For, commonly, they 're known by the sign, Can.

Epi. 19.

[Women by nature doe a Nazzard spight]

Women by nature doe a Nazzard spight,
Because he 's a light-horseman & wants weight.

Epi. 20.

[Iack-Cut-purse is, & hath been patient long.]

Iack-Cut-purse is, & hath been patient long.
For, he 's content to pocket vp much Wrong.

Epi. 21.

[Tom vow'd to beat his boy against the wall]

Tom vow'd to beat his boy against the wall:
And as he strook, he forthwith caught a fall.
The Boy, deriding, said I will auerre,
Y'haue done a thing, you cannot stand to, sir.

Epi. 22.

[In an outlandish Port, where there were store]

In an outlandish Port, where there were store
Of bloudy Pyrats taken on the shore,
The Magistrate did build (of squared stone)
A payre of Gallowes, for to hang them on.
And being askt, why they so strong were made,
Replied; that woodden Gallowes soone decaid,
They would not last one age; but now his care,
Had built strong Gallowes for himselfe, and 's heire

De Balliue. Epi. 23.

How dare ye with a Baliue squabble, broile,
Disturbe the streetes with vproares, endlesse coil?
Though he be poore, yet offer no disgrace:
Baliues are men of-Calling in their place.

Epi. 24.

[Bell, though thou die decrepit, lame, forlorne]

Bell , though thou die decrepit, lame, forlorne,
Thou wast a man of Metall, I'l be sworne.

Crooktbacks payment. Epi. 25.

Crookt-back , to pay old scores, wil sell his state:
And though he do, he'l neuer make all strait.

In Gallam. Epi. 26.

Galla , 'tis said of late, is brought to bed:
And yet in Hymens rites she nere was wed.
Which makes the vulgar iudge, & censure on her,
That she betimes begun to take vpon her.

Tims wound. Epi. 27.

At quarter blowes, Tim did of late receiue
A bruise vpō his head, that doth him grieue:
VVhich, hauing issue, makes friends tax his deed,
And iesting say; Tim has a running head.

Epi. 28.

[Phantastes chaf't t' expresse his raging wit]

Phantastes chaf't t' expresse his raging wit,
Because his stockins did not neately sit;
And strictly askt his man, what as he thought
Concerning 's stockin he had lately bought.
VVho said, I think though 'tseeme too straight by half,
Twod fit; but that you are too great ith' Calfe.

De Conspicilio. Epi. 29.

An aged man, which spectacles did vse,
Hauing them filcht, begun one time to muse,
Fearing the thiefe would not his sights restore;
But rather plot how to deceiue him more.
Feare not said one, the matter is but Light;
And ten to one, but they will come to Sight.

De Chirotheca. Epi. 31.

A Friend protested he was strangely crost,
Because (forsooth) his wedding gloues were lost
But on your gloues, I said, sir do not stand;
I warrant you, ere long they 'l come to Hand.

Trim's Care. Epi. 32.

Neat Barber, Trim, I must commend thy care,
Which doest all things exactly, to a Hayre.

Epi. 33.

[Tom Chamberlayne doth from his guests conuey]

Tom Chamberlayne doth from his guests conuey
The fired logs which they accompt for pay:
Now Tom may sweare, and therein be no lyer,
That all he has, is gotten out oth' fire.

Idle words. Epi. 34.

Of Idle-words, no capitall delict,
One was arraigned; by the lawes conuict;
Adiudg'd to lose his eares: which he denide;
Complotting to escape, But one replide,
The Pillory t' escape spend not your wit:
When all is done, you must giue-Eare to it.

De Thaide. Epi. 36.

Thais , her Vrine to a Doctour bore:
Who askt her, if she were a maide. She swore
'T was so. My wench (quoth he) thou art beguild;
My Art descries that thou hast had a childe:
What kind of maide art then? She blushing said,
And 't like your worship, sir, a Chamber-maide.

In Lesbiam. Epi. 38.

The sanguine dy of Lesbia's painted face,
Is often argued for a doubtfull Case.
The color 's hers, she swears: not so some thought it.
And true she swears: for I know where she bought it.

De Gallo. Epi. 39.

Kinde Cock is not a cock oth' kind, I feare.
His hen wud bring forth chickins, if he were:
Yet she hath none. Then surely, gentle reader,
He is no Cock; onely a Capon-treader.

De Cornuto. Epi. 40.

Cornutus did receiue a hurt on 's thigh:
Of which, I am perswaded, he 'l not die.
The wound's not mortall thogh it inward bleed
Because the Signe rules most in Cornute's head.

Epi. 41.

[VVomen are Saints: yet was not she a sprit]

VVomen are Saints: yet was not she a sprit
That almost slew her husband with a spit

The Case is altred. Epi. 42.

Tom Case (some do report) was lately halterd
If this be true, why then the Case is alterd

Ad Cæcum. Epi. 43.

Cæcus , I pray respect your honest name,
Auoide the scandall of succeeding shame.
Y' haue an ill eye, so some do often chat:
'Mongst other faults, pray haue an Ey to that

In Superbum. Epi. 44.

Svperbus swaggers with a Ring in 's eare;
And likewise, as the custome is, doth weare
About his neck a Ribbin and a Ring:
VVhich makes men think, that he's proud of a string.

Tospots reckonings. Epi. 45.

Tospot is chosen steward of the house,
To sum their commons; as eld seruants vse.
I thinke he 'l reckonings more compleatly cast,
Then any steward that this place has past.
For certaine, after drinkings, or a feast,
He casts-vp Recknings once a weeke at least.

Epi. 46.

[Will squabled in a Tauern very sore]

Will squabled in a Tauern very sore,
Because one brought a Gill of wine; no more.
Fill me a quart (quoth he) I'me called Will:
The prouerbe is, Each Iack will haue his-Gill.

Tom's Valour. Epi. 47.

One hundreth grosse of points Tom tooke in pay,
Of bankrupt Mercers which were in decay.
Whence som report, that knew his fearful ioints,
That Tom 's grown stout, & stands vpō his Points.

Epi. 48.

[Gvido doth rage, because one iesting said]

Gvido doth rage, because one iesting said,
That he of late had got a goodly head.
VVhat man dare giue me hornes (quoth) he for's life?
No Man, said one: if any, 't is your wife.
VVhiles men you tax, the halfe man you exclude
And she, the whole man doth with horns delude

De Milone. Epi. 49.

Milo doth vant he 's strong, and yet contend
To take the wall of open foes, and frend
Then sure he 's weake, which will in discord fall
For it; sith none but weakest go to th' wall.

Epi. 50.

[A Proctour was t'examine in the Court]

A Proctour was t'examine in the Court
A wench. And he, disposed to make sport,
Did aske the maid, what he should call her name.
Why, maid (quoth she) or else it were great shame.
Pray, speake aduised, quoth this gibing clearke;
You must take Oath of it, and therefore marke.
The wench, selfe-guilty, to him blushing said,
Pray stile me single woman, leaue out maid.

To his inconstant mistrisse. Epi. 51.

Faine would I prayse, yet dare not write my minde,
Lest thou sholdst vary like th' vncertain wind.

Ep. 52.

[A Felon, iudg'd to dy for filching ware]

A Felon, iudg'd to dy for filching ware,
At his confessing did himselfe compare,
In Metaphors, vnto the world; wherein
Contayned is the Sentinell of sin.
The hang-man, hearing this, whē they had praid,
Began to scoffe, and thus deriding said;
I may attempt what I desire, were 't Land:
For why? I haue the world now in a Band.

De Crepidario. Epi. 53.

Shoo-makers are the men (without all doubt)
Be't good or bad, that set all things on foot.

De Vitriario. Epi. 54.

A Glazier which endeauours to reape gaines,
Endureth toyle, is troubled much with Panes.

Epi. 55.

[Miller, such Artists as thy pulses feeles]

Miller , such Artists as thy pulses feeles,
Affirme, thy gadding head doth runne on wheeles.

Epi. 56.

[Fat-back, you are too blame which friends wil crosse.]

Fat-back , you are too blame which friends wil crosse.
Go too: you shew your selfe a knaue in grosse

Epi. 57.

[Taylors worke much, beleeue 't, & take great paine]

Taylors worke much, beleeue 't, & take great paine:
Yet, Masons worke far harder i 'l maintain.

Epi. 58.

[Doth Iane demerit well? I pray, why so?]

Doth Iane demerit well? I pray, why so?
For her good carriage, which all men know.

Epi. 59.

[Pray, pardon Præco's compotations]

Pray, pardon Præco's compotations:
His head is full of Proclamations.

In Gulam. Epi. 60.

Base Gula, with his teeth, & nailes doth teare
The commons which he eateth any where:
Now, we may say, What Gula doth assayle,
He will accomplish it with Tooth-and-Naile.

Epilogus.

What Satyres write, or Cabalists do iudge,
I weigh but small; sith they beare all men grudg.
What Momists censure, or the roring sect;
Be what it will, tis but their dialect:
And such applause, like to their thred-bare coate,
Would but pollute me with some euill note.
I doe referre my Muse, vnto such eyes,
Which truely can their iudgements equalize:
Such, will be meanes, to saue her from the fire;
And if neede stand, to draw Dun out ith' mire.

IXIONS UUheele.