Poems consisting of Epistles and Epigrams, Satyrs, Epitaphs and Elogies, Songs and Sonnets With variety of other drolling Verses upon several Subjects. Composed by no body must know whom, and are to be had every body knows where, and for somebody knows what [by John Eliot] |
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A Satyr. Upon a miraculous Marriage, made between a Brave
Young Viscount, and an unworthy Old Viscounts Widow.
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 | Poems consisting of Epistles and Epigrams, Satyrs, Epitaphs and Elogies, Songs and Sonnets |  |
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A Satyr. Upon a miraculous Marriage, made between a Brave Young Viscount, and an unworthy Old Viscounts Widow.
Did thy strong potions then old rotten Punk,So work on Hymen as to make him drunk?
Whence comes that drug, what Fiend, what Fate
Perfum'd his brain so to inebriate?
For doubtless had that God but sober been,
He ne'er had matcht such vertue to such sin.
Or did she pawn her soul to some old Witch,
To get a Lord to cure her hot salt Itch?
They must be Bawds and Sorcerers, that had
A hand in such a Crime, so foul, so bad;
For sure thy painted Face, thy sugred words
Could not betray him to thy tub of turds:
Nor was it out of hope to finde a Mine
Within that Dunghill, that foul sink of thine;
For but to mix Mans seed with that thy ordure
Were worse then Sodomy, much worse then murder
What can I call thy common hackney womb,
But an old beastly painted, new ston'd Tombe?
Barren as is a Grave, leprous within
As Judas soul, so foul, so full of sin.
So that in my opinion he destroyes
Nature it self, that digs for Girls or Boyes
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What strange Inchantments did she get from Hell?
That caus'd thee lay thy youth, thy blood at stakes
In Pledge against a Bog, a sink a Jakes?
Whose throat is like a Tunnel to a vault,
Nor are her rotten Lungs alone in fault;
For from her foul corrupted Brain their flowes
A deadly poison through her pocky Nose:
Such as the Night-mans Cart, or common Sewer
Yields none so loathsome, nothing so impure.
Each Bone she hath is like an Asses hoof,
So us'd to poyson, it is poison proof:
And if she have a Tooth that justly may
Be call'd her own, I dare be bold to say,
That Tooth shall cost her Lord each day a peece
In Storax, Civet, and in Ambergreece;
Besides the Ulcers in her rotten Gums,
Not to be qualifi'd with best perfumes:
Yet with this charge, though great it will appear,
That Mouth holds something, nothing can make cleer;
For if she finde that scoulding may prevail,
Her tongue soon turns as Monstrous as her Tail:
And if some difference be, this this the worse is,
Her Tail but monethly shall produce foul courses,
But that her mouth each minute shall afford
Base Excrements, that shall out stink a Turd.
I have digrest brave Lord, but more will come
So my promis'd Epithalamium,
My hearty wishes to your nuptial Bed,
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May all those sheets wherein you two shall lye
Prove Barren as are those in which men dye.
And may your Lordship want the power to turne
To quench her flames of Lust, but let them burne,
Till they consume the nest where they were bred;
Yet still a jealous eye cast towards her bed,
Lest her adulterous thoughts to action grow,
And make you harvest seed you did not sowe.
A grisly beast, such as all others scorn'd,
A thing with Goatish beard, a head well horn'd
Your lustful Bride found out, and him maintain'd
To do that drudgery a Groom disdain'd.
Be careful then, be vigilant and wise,
He that hath such a Wife needs many eyes.
An old, cunning, well experienc't whore
Will through the key hole of a double door
Let in Adultries. Still I do digresse,
An Epithalamium I do cease.
This Satyr should have been, but my Muse ranges,
And like your Lordships Bride is full of changes.
Yet do I not transgress 'gainst all the Laws
Of an Epithalamium, because
Your Lordship shall in time discover this,
My Muse unto the Bridegroom wishes bliss.
O may you Sir, and quickly too, invite
This Pen, your lewd Brides Epitaph to write.
Mean while so long as she on earth hath dwelling,
So long I wish you loose the use of smelling.
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Such as shall tend to Love or Lechery,
That you may treasure up a stock so great,
As when you vent it, may allay the heat
Of seventeen yeers, in her that Heav'n shall please
To send you in the place of this disease.
Till when, let sleep and pleasing dreams betray
The sullen night unto the chearful day,
And early bring the Sun, to let you see
Her Morning ugly, foul deformity;
And then with sad relenting may you rise,
And from that monster thenceforth blesse your eyes,
May you be deaf unto her cunning Charms,
And when she throwes her self into your Arms,
May then the nimble sense of feeling leave you,
Lest with her false imbraces she deceive you.
And lastly, may you still distrust those things
She to your touching, smelling, seeing brings.
May all your senses disaffected be
Till from that hidious Monster you get free.
| Poems consisting of Epistles and Epigrams, Satyrs, Epitaphs and Elogies, Songs and Sonnets | |