University of Virginia Library

VIRGIDEMIARVM.

LIB. I.

Prologue.

I first aduenture, with fool-hardie might
To tread the steps of perilous despight:
I first aduenture: follow me who list,
And be the second English Satyrist.
Enuie waits on my backe, Truth on my side:
Enuie will be my Page, and Truth my Guide.
Enuie the margent holds, and Truth the line:
Truth doth approue, but Enuy doth repine.
For in this smoothing age who durst indite,
Hath made his pen an hyred Parasite,
To claw the back of him that beastly liues,
And pranck base men in proud Superlatiues.
Whence damned vice is shrouded quite from shame
And crown'd with Vertues meed, immortall Name:
Infamy dispossest of natiue due,
Ordain'd of olde on looser life to sue:
The worlds eye bleared with those shamelesse lies,
Mask'd in the shew of meal-mouth'd Poesies.
Goe daring Muse on with thy thanklesse taske,
And do the vgly face of vice vnmaske:
And if thou canst not thine high flight remit,
So as it mought a lowly Satyre fit,
Let lowly Satyres rise aloft to thee:
Truth be thy speed, and Truth thy Patron bee.

SAT. I.

[Nor Ladies wanton loue, nor wandring knight]

Nor Ladies wanton loue, nor wandring knight,
Legend I out in rymes all richly dight.
Nor fright the Reader with the Pagan vaunt
Of mightie Mahound, or great Termagaunt.
Nor lift I sonnet of my Mistresse face,
To plaint some Blowesse with a borrowed grace.
Nor can I bide to pen some hungry Scene.
For thick-skin eares, and vndiscerning eyne.
Nor euer could my scornfull Muse abide
With Tragick shooes her ankles for to hide.
Nor can I crouch, and writhe my fauning tayle
To some great Patron, for my best auaile,
Such hunger-staruen, trencher Poetry,
Or let it neuer liue, or timely die:
Nor vnder euery banke, and euery tree,
Speake rymes vnto my oten Minstralsie.
Nor caroll out so pleasing liuely laies,
As mought the Graces moue my mirth to praise.
Trumpet, and reeds, and socks, and buskins fine
I them bequeath: whose statues wandring twine
Of Yuy, mixt with Bayes, circlen around
Their liuing Temples likewise Laurell-bound.
Rather had I albee in carelesse rymes,
Check the mis-ordred world, and lawlesse times.
Nor need I craue the muses mid-wifry,
To bring to light so worth-lesse Poetry:
Or if mee list, what baser Muse can bide,
To sit and sing by Grantaes naked side.
They haunt the tyded Thames and salt Medway,
Ere since the fame of their late Bridall day.
Nought haue we here but willow-shaded shore,
To tell our Grant his banks are left forlore.

SAT. II.

[Whilome the sisters nine were Vestall maides]

Whilome the sisters nine were Vestall maides,
And held their Temple in the secret shades.
Of fayre Pernassus that two-headed hill,
Whose auncient fame the Southern world did fill.
And in the steed of their eternall flame,
Was the coole streame, that tooke his endles name
From out the fertile hoofe of winged steed:
There did they sit and do their holy deed,
That pleas'd both heauen and earth: till that of sate
Whom should I fault? or the most righteous Fate?
Or heauen, or men, or fiends; or ought beside,
That euer made that foule mischance betide?
Some of the sisters in securer shades
Defloured were:
And euer since disdaining sacred shame,
Done ought that might their heauēly stock defame
Now is Pernassus turned to the stewes:
And on Bay-stockes the wanton Myrtle growes.
Cytheron hili's become a Brothel-bed,
And Pyrene sweet, turnd to a poysoned head
Of cole-blacke puddle: whose infectuous staine
Corrupteth all the lowly fruitfull plaine.
Their modest stole, to garish looser weed,
Deck't with loue-fauors: their late whordoms meed,
And where they wont sip of the simple floud,
Now tosse they bowles of Bacchus boyling blood.
I maruel'd much with doubtfull iealousie,
Whence came such Litturs of new Poetry?
Mee thought I fear'd, least the hors-hoofed well
His natiue banks did proudly ouer-swell
In some late discontent, thence to ensue
Such wondrous rablements of Rimsters new.
But since, I saw it painted on Fames wings,
The Muses to be woxen Wantonnings.
Each bush, each banke, and each base Apple-squire,
Can serue to sate their beastly lewd desire.
Ye bastard Poets see your Pedegree,
From common Trulls, and loathsome Brothelry

SAT. III.

[With some Pot-fury rauisht from their wit]

With some Pot-fury rauisht from their wit,
They sit and muse on some no-vulgar writ:
As frozen Dung-hils in a winters morne,
That voyd of vapours seemed all beforne,
Soone as the Sun, sends out his piercing beames,
Exhale out filthy smoke and stinking steames:
So doth the base, and the fore-barren braine,
Soone as the raging wine begins to raigne.
One higher pitch'd doth set his soaring thought
On crowned kings that Fortune hath low brought:
Or some vpreared, high-aspiring swaine
As it might he the Turkish Tamberlaine.
Then weeneth he his base drink-drowned spright,
Rapt to the threefold lost of heauens hight,
When he conceiues vpon his fained stage
The stalking steps of his great personage,
Graced with huf-cap termes and thundring threats
That his poore hearers hayre quite vpright sets.
Such soone, as some braue-minded hungry youth,
Sees fitly frame to his wide-strained mouth,
He vaunts his voyce vpon an hyred stage,
With high-set steps, and princely carriage:
Now soouping in side robes of Royaltie.
That earst did skrub in lowsie brokerie.
There if he can with termes Italianate,
Big-sounding sentences, and words of state,
Faire patch me vp his pure Iambick verse,
He rauishes the gazing Scaffolders:
Then certes was the famous Corduban
Neuer but halfe so high Tragedian.
Now, least such frightfull showes of Fortunes fall,
And bloody Tyrants rage, should chance appall
The dead stroke audience, mids the silent rout
Comes leaping in a selfe: misformed lout,
And laughes, and grins, and frames his Mimik face,
And iustles straight into the Princes place.
Then doth the Theatre Eccho all aloud,
With gladsome noyse of that applauding croud.
A goodly hoch-poch, when vile Russettings,
Are match't with monarchs, & with mighty kings.
A goodly grace to sober Tragike Muse,
When each base clown, his clumbsie fist doth bruise
And show his teeth in double rotten-row,
For laughter at his selfe-resembled show.
Meane while our Poets in high Parliament,
Sit watching euery word, and gesturement,
Like curious Censors of some doughtie geare,
Whispering their verdit in their fellowes eare.
Wo to the word whose margent in their scrole,
Is noted with a blacke condemning cole.
But if each periode might the synode please,
Ho, bring the Iuy boughs, and bands of Bayes.
Now when they part and leaue the naked stage,
Gins the bare hearer in a guiltie rage,
To curse and ban, and blame his likerous eye,
That thus hath lauisht his late halfe-peny.
Shame that the Muses should be bought and sold,
For euery peasants Brasse, on each scaffold.

SAT. IIII.

Too popular is Tragick Poesie,
Stayning his tip-toes for a farthing fee,
And doth besides on Rimelesse numbers tread,
Vnbid Iambicks flow from carelesse head.
Some brauer braine in high Heroick rimes
Compileth worme eate stories of olde times:
And he like some imperious Maronist,
Coniures the Muses that they him assist.
Then striues he to bumbast his feeble lines
With farre-fetcht phraise:
And maketh vp his hard-betaken tale,
With strange enchantments, fetcht from darksom vale
Of some Melissa, that by Magicke dome
To Tuscan soyle transporteth Merlins tombe:
Painters and poets hold your ancient, right:
Write what you wil, and write not what you might:
Their limits be their List, their reason will.
But if some painter in presuming skill
Should paint the stars in center of the earth,
Could ye forbeare some smiles, & taunting mirth?
But let no rebell Satyre dare traduce
Th'eternall Legends of thy Faery Muse,
Renowmed Spencer: whome no earthly wight
Dares once to emulate, much lesse dares despight,
Salust of France, and Tuscan Aorist,
Yeeld vp the Lawrell girlond ye haue lost:
And let all others willow weare with mee,
Or let their vndeseruing Temples bared bee.

SAT. V.

[Another, whose more heauy hearted Saint]

Another, whose more heauy hearted Saint
Delights in nought but notes of rufull plaint,
Vrgeth his melting Muse with solemne teares
Rime of some dreerie fates, of lucklesse peeres.
Then brings he vp some branded whining ghost,
To tell how olde misfortunes had him tost.
Then must he ban the guiltlesse fates aboue.
Or fortune fraile, or vnrewarded loue.
And when he hath parbrak'd his grieued minde,
He sends him downe where earst he did him finde,
Without one peny to pay Charons hire,
That waiteth for the wandring ghosts retire.

SAT. VI.

[Another scorns the home-spun threed of rimes]

Another scorns the home-spun threed of rimes
Match'd with the loftie feet of eldertimes:
Giue him the numbred verse that Uirgil sung,
And Uirgil selfe shall speake the English tongue:
Manhood & garboiles shall he chaunt with changed feete,
And head-strong Dactils making musicke meete,
The nimble Dactils striuing to out-goe
The drawling Spondees pacing it below.
The lingring Spondees, labouring to delay,
The breath-lesse Dactils with a sudden stay.
Who euer saw a colt wanton and wilde,
Yok'd with a slow-foote Oxe on fallow field,
Can right areed how handsomly besets
Dull Spondees with the English Dactilets?
If Ioue speake English in a thundring cloud.
Thwick thwack, and rif raf rores he out aloud.
Fie on the forged mint that did create
New coyne of words neuer articulate.

SAT VII.

[Great is the folly of a feeble braine]

Great is the folly of a feeble braine,
Ore-ruld with loue, and tyrannous disdaine:
For loue, how-euer in the basest brest
It breeds high thoughts that feede the fancy best.
Yet is he blinde, and leades poore fooles awrie,
While they hang gazing on their mistres-eie.
The loue-sicke Poet, whose importune prayer
Repulsed is with resolute dispayre,
Hopeth to conquer his disdainfull dame,
With publique plaints of his conceiued flame.
Then poures he forth in patched Sonettings
His loue, his lust, and loathsome flatterings:
As tho the staring world hāgd on his sleeue,
When once he smiles, to laugh: and when he sights to grieue.
Careth the world, thou loue, thou liue, or die?
Careth the world how fayre thy fayre one bee?
Fond wit-old, that would'st lode thy wit-lesse head
With timely hornes, before thy Bridall bed.
Then can he terme his durtie ill-fac'd bride
Lady and Queene, and virgin deifide:
Be shee all sootie-blacke, or bery-browne,
Shees white as morrows milk, or flaks new blowne.
And tho she be some dunghill drudge at home,
Yet can he her resigne some refuse roome
Amids the well-knowne stars: or if not there,
Sure will he Saint her in his Calendere.

SAT. VIII.

[Hence ye profane: mell not with holy things]

Hence ye profane: mell not with holy things
That Sion muse from Palestina brings.
Parnassus is transform'd to Sion hill,
And lury-palmes her steep ascents done fill.
Now good Saint Peter weeps pure Helicon,
And both the Maries make a Musick mone:
Yea and the Prophet of heauenly Lyre,
Great Salomon, sings in the English Quire,
And is become a newfound Sonetist,
Singing his loue, the holy spouse of Christ:
Like as she were some light-skirts of the rest,
In mightiest Ink-hornismes he can thither wrest.
Ye Sion Muses shall by my deare will,
For this your zeale, and far-admired skill,
Be straight transported from Ierusalem,
Vnto the holy house of Betleem

SAT. IX.

[Enuie ye Muses, at your thriuing Mate]

Enuie ye Muses, at your thriuing Mate,
Cupid hath crowned a new Laureat:
I saw his Statue gayly tyr'd in greene,
As if he had some second Phœbus beene.
His Statue trim'd with the Venerean tree,
And shrined faire within your sanctuarie.
What, he, that earst to gaine the ryming Goale
The worne Recitall-post of Capitolle,
Rymed in rules of Stewish ribaldry,
Teaching experimentall Baudery?
Whiles th'itching vulgar tickled with the song,
Hanged on their vnreadie Poets tongue.
Take this ye patient Muses: and foule shame
Shall waite vpon your once prophaned name.
Take this ye muses, this so high dispight,
And let all hatefull lucklesse birds of night:
Let Scriching Oules nest in your razed roofes,
And let your floore with horned Satyres hoofe
Be dinted and defiled euery morne:
And let your walles be an eternall scorne:
What if some Shordich furie should incite
Some lust-stung letcher, must he needs indite
The beastly rites of hyred Venerie,
The whole worlds vniuersall baud to bee?
Did neuer yet no damned Libertine,
Nor elder Heathen, nor new Florentine,
Tho they were famous for lewd libertie,
Venture vpon so shamefull villanie.
Our Epigrammatarians olde and late,
Were wont be blam'd for too licentiate.
Chast men, they did but glance at Lesbias deed,
And handsomely leaue off with cleanly speed.
But Artes of Whoring: stories of the Stewes,
Ye Muses can ye brooke, and may refuse?
Nay let the Diuell, and Saint Valentine,
Be gossips to those ribald rymes of thine.

Lib. II

Prologue.

Or bene the Manes of that Cynick spright,
Cloth'd with some stubburn clay & led to light?
Or do the relique ashes of his graue
Reuiue and rise from their forsaken caue?
That so with gall-weet words and speeches rude,
Controls the maners of the multitude.
Enuie belike incites his pining heart,
And bids it sate it selfe with others smart.
Nay, no dispight: but angry Nemesis,
Whose scourge doth follow all that done amsse:
That scourge I beare, albe in ruder fist,
And wound, and strike, and pardon whom she list

SAT. I.

[For shame write better Labeo, or write none]

For shame write better Labeo, or write none,
Or better write, or Labeo write alone.
Nay, call the Cynick but a wittie foole,
Thence to abiure his handsome drinking bole:
Because the thirstie swaine with hollow hand,
Conueyd the streame to weet his drie weasand.
Write they that can, tho they that cannot doe:
But who knowes that, but they that doe not know?
Lo what it is that makes white rags so deare,
That men must giue a teston for a queare.
Lo what it is that makes goose-wings so scant,
That the distressed Semster did them want.
So, lauish ope-tide causeth fasting lents,
And staruling Famine comes of large expence.
Might not (so they were pleasd that beene aboue)
Long Paper-abstinence our dearth remoue?
Then many a Loller would in forfaitment,
Beare Paper-fagots ore the Pauement,
But now men wager who shall blot the most,
And each man writes: Ther's so much labour lost.
That's good, that's great: Nay much is seldome well,
Of what is bad, a littl's a great deale.
Better is more; but best is nought at all.
Lesse is the next, and lesser criminall.
Little and good, is greatest good saue one,
Then Labeo, or write little, or write none.
Tush in small paines can be but little art,
Or lode full drie-fats fro the forren mart:
With Folio-volumes, two to an Oxe hide,
Or else ye Pampheter go stand a side,
Read in each schoole, in euery margent coted,
In euery Catalogue for an autour noted.
Ther's happinesse well giuen, and well got,
Lesse gifts, and lesser gaines I weigh them not.
So may the Giant rome and write on high,
Be he a Dwarfe that writes not there as I,
But well fare Strabo, which as stories tell,
Contriu'd all Troy within one Walnut shell.
His curious Ghost now lately hither came,
Arriuing neere the mouth of luckie Tame.
I saw a Pismire strugling with the lode,
Dragging all Troy home towards her abode.
Now dare we hither, if he durst appeare,
The subtile Stithy-man that liu'd while care:
Such one was once, or once I was mistaught,
A Smith at Vulcan his owne forge vp brought,
That made an Iron-chariot so light,
The coach-horse was a Flea in trappings dight.
The tame-lesse steed could well his wagon wield,
Through downes and dales of the vneuen field.
Striue they, laugh we: mean while the Black-smiths toy
Passes new Strabo, and new Straboes Troy.
Little for great: and great for good all one:
For shame or better write, or Labeo write none.
But who coniur'd this bawdie Poggies ghost,
From out the stewes of his lewde home-bred coast:
Or wicked Rablais dronken reuellings,
To grace the mis-rule of our Tauernings?
Or who put Bayes into blinde Cupids fist,
That he should crowne what Laureats him list?
Whose wordes are those, to remedie the deed,
That cause men stop their noses when they read?
Both good things ill, and ill things well: all one?
For shame write cleanly Labeo, or write none.

SAT II.

[To what ende did our lauish auncestours]

To what ende did our lauish auncestours,
Erect of olde these stately piles of ours?
For thred-bare clerks, & for the ragged Muse
Whom better fit some cotes of sad secluse,
Blush niggard Age, and be asham'd to see,
These monuments of wiser ancestrie.
And ye faire heapes the Muses sacred shrines,
(In spight of time and enuious repines)
Stand still, and flourish till the worlds last day,
Vpbrayding it with former loues decay.
Here may ye Muses, our deare Soueraines,
Scorne ech base Lordling euer you disdaines,
And euery peasant churle, whose smoky roofe
Denied harbour for your deare behoofe.
Scorne ye the world before it do complaine,
And scorne the world that scorneth you againe.
And scorne contempt it selfe, that doth incite
Each single-sold squire to set you at so light.
What needs me care for any bookish skill,
To blot white papers with my restlesse quill:
Or poare on painted leaues: or beate my braine
With far-fetcht thoughts: or to consume in vaine
In later Euen, or mids of winter nights,
Ill smelling oyles, or some still-watching lights.
Let them that meane by bookish businesse
To earne their bread: or hopen to professe
Their hard got skill: let them alone for mee,
Busie their braines with deeper bookerie.
Great gaines shall bide you sure, when ye haue spent
A thousand Lamps: & thousand Reames haue rent.
Of needlesse papers, and a thousand nights
Haue burned out with costly candlelights.
Ye palish ghosts of Athens; when at last,
Your patrimonie spent in witlesse wast,
Your friends all wearie, and your spirits spent,
Ye may your fortunes seeke: and be forwent
Of your kind cosins: and your churlish sires,
Left there alone mids the fast-folding Briers.
Haue not I lands of faire inheritance,
Deriu'd by right of long continuance,
To first-borne males, so lift the law to grace,
Natures first fruits in euiternall race?
Let second brothers, and poore nestlings,
Whom more iniurious Nature later brings
Into the naked world: let them assaine
To get hard peny-worths with bootlesse paine.
Tush? what care I to be Arcesilas,
Or some sowre Solon, whose deep-furrowed face.
And sullen head, and yellow-clouded sight,
Still on the stedfast earth are musing pight.
Muttring what censures their distracted minde,
Of brain-sicke Paradoxes deeply hath definde:
Or Parmenides, or of darke Heraclite,
Whether all be one, or ought be infinite.
Long would it be, ere thou had'st purchase bought
Or wealthier wexen by such idle thought.
Fond foole, six feete shall serue for all thy store:
And he that cares for most, shall finde no more.
We scorne that wealth should be the finall end,
Whereto the heauenly Muse her course doth bend:
And rather had be pale with learned cares,
Then paunched with thy choyce of changed fares
Or doth thy glory stand in outward glee,
A laue-ear'd Asse with gold may trapped bee:
Or if in pleasure: liue we as we may:
Let swinish Grill delight in dunghill clay.

SAT. III.

[Who doubts? the lawes fel down frō heauēs height]

Who doubts? the lawes fel down frō heauēs height
Like to some gliding starre in winters night.
Themis the Scribe of God did long agone,
Engraue them deepe in during Marble-stone,
And cast them downe on this vnruly clay,
That men might know to rule and to obey.
But now their Characters depraued bin,
By them that would make gaine of others sin.
And now hath wrong so maistered the right,
That they liue best, that on wrongs offall light,
So loathly flye that liues on galled wound,
And scabby festers inwardly vnsound,
Feedes fatter with that poysnous carrion,
Then they that haunt the heelthy lims alone.
Wo to the weale where mane Lawiers bee,
For there is sure much store of maladie.
T'was truely said, and truely was forseene,
The fat kine are deuoured of the leane.
Genus and Species long since barefoote went,
Vpon their ten toes in wild wanderment:
Whiles father Bartell on his footcloth rode,
Vpon high pauement gayly siluer-strowd.
Each home-bred science percheth in the chaire,
Whiles sacred arts grouell on the groundsell bare.
Since pedling Barbarismes gan be in request,
Nor classicke tongues, nor learning found no rest.
The crowching Client, with low-bended knee,
And many Worships, and faire flatterie,
Tels on his tale as smoothly as him list,
But still the Lawiers eye squints on his fist:
If that seeme lined with a larger fee,
Doubt not the suite, the lawe is plaine for thee.
Tho must he buy his vainer hope with price,
Disclout his crownes, and thanke for his aduise
So haue I seene in a tempestuous stowre,
Some breer-bush shewing shelter from the showre
Vnto the hopefull sheepe, that faine would hide
His fleecie coate from that same angry tide.
The ruth-lesse breere regardlesse of his plight,
Layes hold vpon the fleece he should acquite,
And takes aduantage of the carelesse pray.
That thought she in securer shelter lay.
The day is fayre, the sheepe would fare to feed:
The tyrant Brier holds fast his shelters meed,
And claymes it for the fee of his defence:
So robs the sheepe, in fauours faire pretence.

SAT. 4

[VVorthy were Galen to be weigh'd in Gold]

VVorthy were Galen to be weigh'd in Gold,
Whose helpe doth sweetest life & health vphold
Yet by S. Esculape he solemne swore,
That for diseases they were neuer more.
Fees neuer lesse, neuer so little gaine,
Men giue a groat, and aske the rest againe.
Groats-worth of health, can any leech allot?
Yet should he haue no more that giues a grote.
Should I on each sicke pillow leane my brest,
And grope the pulse of euerie mangie wrest:
And spie out maruels in each Vrinall:
And tumble vp the filths that from them fall,
And giue a Dose for euery disease,
In prescripts long, and tedious Recipes:
All for so leane reward of Art and mee?
No Hors-leach but will looke for larger fee.
Meane while if chance some desp'rate patient die,
Cum'n to the Period of his destinie:
(As who can crosse the fatall resolution,
In the decreed day of dissolution:)
Whether ill tendment, or recure lesse paine,
Procure his death; the neighbors straight complaine
Th'vnskilfull leech murdred his patient,
By poyson of some foule Ingredient.
Here-on the vulgar may as soone be brought
To Socrates-his poysoned Hemlock-drought,
As to a wholsome Iulep, whose receat
Might his diseases lingring force defeat.
If nor a dramme of Triacle soueraigne,
Or Aqua vitæ, or Sugar Candian,
Nor Kitchin-cordials can it remedie,
Certes his time is come, needs mought he die.
Were I a leech, as who knowes what may bee,
The liberall man should liue, and carle should die.
The sickly Ladie, and the goutie Peere
Still would I haunt, that loue their life so deere.
Where life is deare who cares for coyned drosse?
That spent, is counted gaine, and spared, losse:
Or would coniure the Chymick Mercurie,
Rise from his hors-dung bed, and vpwards flie:
And with glas-stils, and sticks of Iuniper,
Raise the Black-spright that burns not with the fire:
And bring Quintessence of Elixir pale,
Out of sublimed spirits minerall.
Each poudred graine ransometh captiue Kings,
Purchaseth Realmes, and life prolonged brings.

SAT. V.

[Saw'st thou euer Siquis patch'd on Pauls Church dore]

Saw'st thou euer Siquis patch'd on Pauls Church dore,
To seeke some vacant Vicarage before?
Who wants a Churchman, that can seruice sey,
Read fast, and faire, his monthly Homiley?
And wed, and bury, and make Christen-soules?
Come to the leftside Alley of Saint Poules.
Thou seruile Foole: why could'st thou not repaire
To buy a Benefice at Steeple-Faire?
There moughtest thou for but a slender price,
Aduouson thee with some fat benefice:
Or if thee list not wait for dead mens shoo'n,
Nor pray ech-morn th'Incūbents daies were doone
A thousand Patrons thither ready bring,
Their new-falne Churches to the Chaffering,
Stake three yeares Stipend: no man asketh more:
Go take possession of the Church-porch-doore:
And ring the bels: lucke stroken in thy fist:
The Parsonage is thine, or ere thou wist.
Saint Fooles of Gotam mought thy parish bee,
For this thy base and seruile Symonie.

SAT. VI.

[A gentle Squire woulde glodly intertayne]

A gentle Squire woulde glodly intertayne
Into his house, some Trencher-Chapplaine:
Some willing man that might instruct his sons,
And that would stand to good conditions.
First that he sie vpon the Truckle-bed,
Whiles his yong maister lieth ore his hed.
Secondly, that he doe, on no default,
Euer presume to sit aboue the salt.
Third, that he neuer change his Trenchertwise.
Fourth, that he vse all cumely courtesies:
Sit bare at meales, and one haulfe rise and waite,
Last, that he neuer his young master beate,
But he must aske his mother to define,
How many ierkes, she would his breech should line,
All those obseru'd, he could contented bee,
To giue fiue markes, and winter liuery.

SAT. VI.

[In th'heauens vniuersall Alphabet]

In th'heauens vniuersall Alphabet,
All earthly things so surely are foreset,
That who can read those figures, may foreshew
What euer thing shall afterwards ensue.
Faine would I know (might it out Artist please)
Why can his tell-troth Ephemerides
Teach him the weathers state so long beforne:
And not foretell him, nor his fatall horne,
Nor his deaths-day, nor no such sad euent,
Which he mought wisely labour to preuent?
Thou damned mock art, and thou brainsick tale,
Of olde Astrology: where didst thou vaile
Thy cursed head thus long: that so it mist
The black bronds of some sharper Satyrist.
Some doting gossip mongst the Chaldee wiues,
Did to the credulous world thee first deriue:
And superstition nurs'd thee euer since,
And publisht in profounder Arts pretence:
That now who pares his nailes, or libs his swine,
But he must first take counsell of the signe.
So that the Vulgars count, for faire or foule,
For liuing or for dead, for sicke or whole:
His feare or hope, for plentie or for lacke,
Hangs all vpon his New-yeares Almanacke.
If chance once in the spring his head should ake:
It was foretold: Thus saies mine Almanacke.
In th'heauens High-streete are but a dozen roomes,
In which dwels all the world, past and to come:
Twelue goodly Innes they are, with twelue fayre signes,
Euer well tended by our Star-diuines.
Euery mans head Innes at the horned Ramme,
The whiles the necke the Black-buls guest became:
Th'arms by good hap, meet at the wrastling twinns,
Th'heart in thee way at the Blew-lion innes.
The legs their lodging in Aquarius got,
That is Bridge street of the heauen, I wot.
The feete tooke vp the Fish with teeth of gold:
But who with Scorpio log'd, may not be told.
What office then doth the Star-gazar beare?
Or let him be the heauens Ostelere:
Or Tapsters some, or some be Chamberlaines.
To waite vpon the gueste they entertaine.
Hence can they reade, by vertue of their trade,
When any thing is mist where it was laide.
Hence they diuine, and hence they can deuise:
If their ayme faile, the Stars to moralize.
Demon my friend once liuer-sicke of loue,
Thus learn'd I by the signes his griefe remoue.
In the blinde Archer first I saw the signe,
When thou receiu'dst that wilfull wound of thine;
And now in Uirgo is that cruel mayde,
Which hath not yet with loue thy loue repaide.
But marke when once it comes to Gemini,
Straight way Fish-whole shall thy sicke liuer be.
But now (as th'angry Heauens seeme to threat)
Many hard fortunes, and disastres great:
If chance it come to wanton Capicorne,
And so into the Rams disgracefull horne,
Then learne thou of the vgly Scorpion,
To hate her for her foule abusion:
Thy refuge then the Ballance be of Right,
Which shall thee from thy broken bond acquite:
So with the Crab go backe whence thou began,
From thy first match: and liue a single man.

Lib. III

Prologue.

Some say my Satyrs ouer-loosey flow,
Nor hide their gall inough from open show:
Not ridle-like obscuring their intent:
But packe-staffe plaine vttring what thing they ment:
Contrarie to the Roman ancients,
Whose wordes were short, & darkesome was their sence;
Who reads one line of their harsh poesies,
Thrise must he take his winde, & breath him thrise.
My Muse would follow them that haue forgone,
But cannot with an English pineon,
For looke how farr the ancient Comedie
Past former Satyrs in her libertie:
So farre must mine yeeld vnto them of olde,
T'is better too be bad, then be to bold.

SAT. I.

[Time was, and that was term'd the time of Gold]

Time was, and that was term'd the time of Gold
When world & time were yong, that now are old
(When quiet Saturne swaid the mace of lead,
And Pride was yet vnborne, and yet vnbred.)
Time was, that whiles the Autumne fall did last,
Our hungry sires gap't for the falling mast of the Dodonion okes.
Could no vnhusked Akorne leaue the tree,
But there was chalenge made whose it might bee,
And if some nice and licorous appetite,
Desir'd more daintie dish of rare delite,
They scal'd the stored Crab with clasped knee,
Till they had sated their delicious eye;
Or search'd the hopefull thick's of hedgy-rowes,
For bryer-berryes, or hawes, or sowrer sloes:
Or when they meant to fare the fin'st of all,
They lickt oake-leaues besprint with hony fall.
As for the thrise three-angled beech-nut shell,
Or chesnuts armed huske, and hid kernell,
No Squire durst touch, the law would not afford,
Kept for the Court, and for the Kings owne bord
Their royall Plate was clay, or wood, or stone:
The vulgar, saue his hand, else had he none.
Their onely seller was the neighbour brooke:
None did for better care, for better looke.
Was then no playning of the Brewers scape,
Nor greedie Vintner mixt the strained grape.
The kings pauilion, was the grassy greene,
Vnder safe shelter of the shadie treene.
Vnder each banke men laide their lims along,
Not wishing any ease, not fearing wrong:
Clad with their owne, as they were made of olde,
Not fearing shame, not feeling any cold.
But when by Ceres huswifrie and paine,
Men learn'd to bury the reuiuing graine:
And father Ianus taught the new found vine,
Rise on the Elme, with many a friendly twine,
And base desire bad men to deluen low,
For needlesse mettals: then gan mischiefe grow,
Then farewell fayrest age, the worlds best daies,
Thriuing in ill, as it in age decaies.
Then crept in Pride, and peeuish Couetise:
And men grew greedy, discordous and nice.
Now man, that earst Haile-fellow was with beast,
Woxe on to weene himselfe a God at least.
No aery foule can take so high a flight,
Tho she her daring wings in clouds haue dight:
Nor fish can diue so deepe in yeelding Sea,
Tho Thetis-selfe should sweare her safetie:
Nor fearefull beast can dig his caue so lowe,
All could he further then Earths center goe:
As that the ayre, the earth, or Ocean,
Should shield them from the gorge of greedy man.
Hath vtmost Inde ought better then his owne?
Then vtmost Inde is neare, and eife to gone.
O Nature: was the world ordain'd for nought,
But fill mans maw, and feeds mans idle thought:
The Grandsires words sauord of thriftie Leekes,
Or manly Garlicke: But thy fornace reekes
Hote steams of wine, and can aloofe descrie
The drunken draughts of sweet Autumnitie.
They naked went: or clad in ruder hide,
Or home-spun Russet, voyd of forraine pride:
But thou canst maske in garish gauderie,
To suit a fooles far-fetched liuery.
A french head ioynd to necke Italian:
Thy thighs from Germanie, and brest fro Spaine:
And Englishman in none, a foole in all,
Many in one, and one in seuerall,
Then men were men, but now the greater part
Bestes are in life, and women are in heart,
Good Saturne selfe, that homely Emperour,
In proudest pompe was not so clad of yore,
As is the vndergroome of the Ostlerie,
Husbanding it in work-day yeomanrie:
Lo the long date of those expired daies,
Which the inspired Merlins word foresaies:
When dunghill Pesants shall be dight as kings,
Then one confusion another brings:
Then farewell fairest age, the worlds best daies,
Thriuing in ill, as it in age decayes.

SAT II.

[Greet Osmond knows not how he shalbe known]

Greet Osmond knows not how he shalbe known,
When once great Osmond shalbe dead & gone:
Vnlesse he reare vp some ritch monument,
Ten furlongs neerer to the firmament.
Some stately tombe he builds, Egyptian wise,
Rex Regum written on the Pyramis:
Whereas great Arthur lies in ruder oke,
That neuer felt none but the fellers stroke:
Small honour can be got with gawdie graue:
Nor it thy rotting name from death can saue.
The fayrer tombe, the fowler is thy name:
The greater pompe procuring greater shame.
Thy monument make thou thy liuing deeds,
No other tombe then that, true vertue needs,
What? had he nought wherby he might be knowne
But costly pilements of some curious stone?
The matter Natures, and the workmans frame,
His purses cost; where then is Osmonds name?
Deseru'dst thou ill? well were thy name and thee
Wert thou inditched in great secrecie,
Where as no passenger might curse thy dust,
Nor dogs sepulchrall sate their gnawing lust,
Thine ill desarts cannot be grau'd with thee,
So long as on thy graue they engraued bee.

SAT. 3

[The courteous Citizen bad me to his feast]

The courteous Citizen bad me to his feast,
With hollow words, and ouerly request:
Come, will ye dine with me this Holy day?
I yeelded, tho he hop'd I would say Nay:
For had I mayden'd it, as many vse,
Loath for to grant, but loather to refuse.
Alacke sir, I were loath, Another day:
I should but trouble you: pardon me if you may.
No pardon should I neede, for to depart
He giues me leaue, and thanks too in his heart.
Two wordes for money Darbishirian wise:
(That's one too many) is a naughtie guise.
Who lookes for double biddings to a feast,
May dine at home for an importune guest.
I went, and saw, and found the great expence,
The fare and fashions of our Citizens.
Oh: Cleopatricall: what wanteth there
For curious cost, and wondrous choise of cheare?
Beefe, that earst Hercules held for finest fare:
Porke for the fat Bœotian, or the hare
For Martiall: fish for the Venetian,
Goose-liuer for the likerous Romane,
Th'Athenians goate, Quaile, Iolaus cheere,
The Hen for Esculape, and the Parthian Deere,
Grapes for Arcesilas, figs for Platoes mouth.
And Chesnuts faire for Amarillis tooth.
Had'st thou such cheer? wer't thou euer ther before?
Neuer: I thought so: nor come there no more.
Come there no more, for so ment all that cost:
Neuer hence take me for thy second host.
For whom he meanes to make an often guest,
One dish shall serue, and welcomes make the rest.

SAT. IIII.

[VVere yesterday Polemons Natales kept]

VVere yesterday Polemons Natales kept,
That so his threshold is all freshly stept.
With new-shed bloud? could hee not sacrifice
Some sorry morkin that vnbidden dies:
Or meager heifer, or some rotten Ewe:
But he must needes his Posts with blood embrew,
And on his way-doore fixe the horned head,
With flowers, and with rib-bands garnished?
Now shall the passenger deeme the man deuout.
What boots it be so, but the world must know't?
O the fond boasting of vainglorious men:
Does he the best, that may the best be seene?
Who euer giues a payre of veluet shoes,
To th'holy Rood: or liberally alowes:
But a new rope, to ring the Couure-few Bell,
But he desires that his great deed may dwell,
Or grauen in the Chancel-window-glasse,
Or in his lasting tombe of plated brasse,
For he that doth so few deseruing deeds,
T'were sure his best sue for such larger meeds.
Who would inglorious liue, inglorious die,
And might eternize his names memory?
And he that cannot brag of greater store,
Must make his somewhat much, and little more.
Nor can good Myson weare on his left hond,
A signet ring of Bristol-diamond:
But he must cut his gloue, to shew his pride,
That his trim Iewell might be better spide:
And that men mought some Burgesse him repute,
With Satten sleeues hath grac'd his sackloth sute.

SAT. V.

[Fie on all Courtesie, and vnrulie windes]

Fie on all Courtesie, and vnrulie windes,
Two onely foes that fayre disguisement findes.
Strange curse! But fit for such a fickle age,
When Scalpes are subiect to such vassalage.
Late trauailing along in London way,
Mee met, as seem'd by his disguis'd aray,
A lustie Courtier, whose curled head,
With abron lockes was fairely furnished.
I him saluted in our lauish wise:
He answers my vntimely courtesies.
His bonnet val'd, ere euer he could thinke,
Th'vnruly winde blowes of his Periwinke.
He lights, and runs, and quickly hath him sped,
To ouertake his ouerrunning hed.
The sportfull wind, to mocke the Headlesse man,
Tosses apace his pitch'd Gregorian:
And straight it to a deeper ditch hath blowne:
There must my yonker fetch his waxen crowne.
I lookt, and laught, whiles in his raging minde,
He curst all courtesie, and vnrulie winde.
I lookt, and laught, and much I maruailed,
To see so large a Caus-way in his head.
And me bethought, that when it first begone,
T'was some shroud Autumne, that so bar'd the bone.
Is't not sweete pride, when men their crownes must shade
With that which ierks the hams of euery iade
Or floor-strowd locks from of the Barbers sheares?
But waxen crowns well gree with borowed haires.

SAT. VI.

[When Gullion di'd (who knowes not Gullion?)]

When Gullion di'd (who knowes not Gullion?)
And his dry soule ariu'd at Acheron,
He faire besought the Peryman of hell,
That he might drinke to dead Pantagruel.
Charon was fraide leaste thirsty Gullion,
Would haue drunke dry the riuer Acheron.
Yet last consented for a little hyre,
And downe he dips his chops deepe in the myre,
And drinks, and drinks, and swallows in the streame
Vntill the shallow shores all naked seeme.
Yet still he drinkes, nor can the Botemans cries,
Nor crabbed ores, nor praiers make him rise.
So long he drinkes, till the blacke Carauel,
Stands still fast grauel'd on the mud of hell.
There stand they still, nor can goe, nor retyre,
Tho greedie ghosts quicke passage did require.
Yet stand they still, as tho they lay at rode,
Till Gullion his bladder would vnlode.
They stand, and wait, and pray for that good houre:
Which when it came, they sailed to the shore.
But neuer since dareth the Feryman
Once intertaine the ghost of Gullian.
Drinke on drie soule, and pledge sir Gullian:
Drinke to all healths, but drinke not to thine owne

SAT. VII.

[Seest thou how gayly my young maister goes]

Seest thou how gayly my young maister goes,
Vaunting himselfe vpon his rising toes,
And pranks his hand vpon his dagger-side,
And picks his glutted teeth since late Noon-tide?
T's Ruffio: Trow'st thou where he dind to day:
In sooth I sawe him sit with Duke Humfray.
Many good welcoms, and much Gratis cheere,
Keepe she for euery stragling Caualeere:
An open house haunted with great resort,
Long seruice mixt with Musicall disport.
Many a fayre yonker with a fether'd crest.
Chooses much rather be his shot free guest,
To fare so freely with so little cost,
Then stake his Twelue-pence to a meaner host.
Hadst thou not tould me, I should surely say,
He touch't no meat of all this liue-long day.
For sure methought, yet that was but a ghesse,
His eyes seeme sunke for very hollownesse.
But could he haue (as I did it mistake)
So little in his purse, so much vpon his backe:
So nothing in his maw: yet seemeth by his belt,
That his gaunt gut, no too much stuffing felt.
Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip,
Hunger and heauie Iron makes girdles slip,
Yet for all that, how stifly strits he by,
All trapped in the new-found brauery.
The Nuns of new-woon Cales his bonnet lent,
In lieu of their so kinde a Conquerment.
What neded he fetch that from farthest Spaine,
His Grandame could haue lent with lesser paine?
Tho he perhaps neuer past the English shore;
Yet faine would counted be a Conquerour.
His haire French-like; stares on his frighted head,
One locke Amazon-like disheueled:
As if he ment to weare a natiue cord,
If chance his Fates should him that bane afforde.
All Brittish bare vpon the bristled skin,
Close notched is his beard both lip and chin.
His linnen coller Labyrinthian-set,
Whose thousand double turnes neuer met:
His sleeues halfe hid with elbow-Pineonings,
As if he ment to flye with linnen wings.
But when I looke and cast mine eyes below,
What monster meets mine eyes in humane show?
So slender wast with such an Abbots loyne,
Did neuer sober nature sure conioyne:
Lik'st a strawne scar-crow in the new-sowne field,
Reard on some sticke, the tender corne to shield:
Or if that semblance sute not euery deale,
Like a broad shak-forke with a slender steale,
Despised Nature suit them once aright,
Their body to their cote: both now mis-dight:
Their body to their clothes might shapen bee,
That nill their clothes be shap'd to their body.
Meane while I wonder at so proud a backe,
Whiles th'emptie guts loud rumblen for long lacke.
The belly enuieth the backs bright glee,
And murmurs at such inequalitie.
The backe appeales vnto the partiall eyne,
The plaintiue belly pleades they bribed beene:
And he for want of better Aduocate,
Doth to the eare his iniutie relate.
The backe insulting ore the bellies need,
Saies: thou thy selfe, I others eyes must feede.
The maw, the guts, all inward parts complaine
The backs great pride, and their owne secret paine.
Ye witlesse gallants, I beshrew your hearts,
That set such discord twixt agreeing parts,
Which neuer can be set at one ment more,
Vntill the mawes wide mouth be stopt with store.

The Conclusion of all.

Thus haue I writ in smother Cedar tree,
So gentle Satyrs, pend so easily.
Henceforth I write in crabbed oke-tree rinde:
Search they that meane the secret meaning finde.
Hold out ye guiltie, and ye galled hides,
And meet my far-fetch'd stripes with waiting sides.

The Authors charge to his Satyres.