University of Virginia Library

3. SATIRE.

[Oh, let the Gentlewoman haue the wall]

Oh, let the Gentlewoman haue the wall,
I know her well; tis Mistris, What d'ye call.
It should be shee, both by her Maske and Fanne:
And yet it should not, by her Seruing-man;
For if mine eyes do not mistake the foole,
He is the Vsher of some dauncing Schole,
The reason why I do him such suppose,
Is this, Mee thinkes he daunceth as he goes.
An actiue fellow, though he be but poore,
Eyther to vault vpon a Horse, or &c.
See you the huge bum Dagger at his backe,
To which no Hilt nor Iron he doth lacke.
Oh with that blade he keepes the queanes in awe,
Brauely behacked, like a two-hand Saw.
Stampes on the ground, & byteth both his thumbs
Vnlesse he be commaunder where he coms.
You damned whores, where are you? quicke come heere,
Dry this Tabacco. Fill a dosen of Beere:
Will you be briefe? or long you to be bang'd?
Hold, take this Match, go light it and be hang'd.
Where stay these whores when Gent. do call?
Heer's no attendaunce (by the Lord) at all.
Then downe the staires the pots in rage he throws
And in a damned vaine of swearing growes,
For he will challenge any vnder heau'n,
To sweare with him, and giue him sixe at seuen.
Oh, he is an accomplish'd Gentleman,
And many rare conceited knackes he can;
Which yeeld to him a greater store of gaine,
Then iuggling Kings, hey Passe, ledgerdemaine.
His witt's his lyuing: one of quaint deuice,
For Bowling-allies, Cockpits, Cardes, or Dice,
To those exploytes he euer standes prepar'd:
A Villaine excellent at a Bum card.
The Knaue of Clubbes he any time can burne,
And finde him in his boosome, for his turne.
Tut, he hath Cardes for any kind of game,
Primero, Saunt, or whatsoeuer name:
Make him but dealer, all his fellowes sweares,
If you do finde good dealing, take his eares.
But come to Dice, why that's his onely trade,
Michell Mum-chaunce, his owne inuention made.
He hath a stocke, whereon his lyuing stayes,
And they are Fullams, and Bard quarter-trayes:
His Langrets, with his Hie men, and his low,
Are ready what his pleasure is to throw:
His stopt Dice with Quick-siluer neuer misse.
He calles for, Come on fiue; and there it is:
Or else heele haue it with fiue and a reach,
Although it cost his necke the Halter stretch.
Besides all this same kind of cheating art,
The Gentleman hath some good other part,
Well seene in Magicke and Astrologie,
Flinging a Figure wondrous handsomly,
Which if it do not misse, it sure doth hit:
Of troth the man hath great store of small witt.
And note him wheresoeuer that he goes,
His Booke of Characters is in his hose.
His dinner he will not presume to take,
Ere he aske counsell of an Almanacke.
Heele finde if one prooue false vnto his wife,
Onely with Oxe blood, and a rustic knife.
He can transforme himselfe vnto an Asse,
Shew you the Deuill in a Christall glasse:
The Deuill say you? why I, is that such wonder?
Being consortes, they will not be a sunder.
Alcumie in his braines so sure doth settle,
He can make golde of any copper kettle;
Within a three weekes space or such a thing,
Riches vpon the whole worlde he could bring.
But in his owne purse one shall hardly spie it,
Witnesse his Hostesse, for a twelue-moneths diet:
Who would be glad of golde or siluer either,
But sweares by chalke, & post, she can get neither.
More, he will teach any to gaine their loue,
As thus (saies he) take me a Turtle Doue,
And in an Ouen let her lie and bake
To dry, that you may poulder of her make:
Which being put into a cup of wine,
The wenche that drinkes it will to loue incline:
And shall not sleepe in quiet in her bed,
Till she be eased of her mayden-head.
This is probatum, and it hath bin tride,
Or else the cunning man cunningly lide.
It may be so, a lie is not so strange,
Perhaps he spake it when the Moone did change
And thereupon (no doubt) th'occasion sprunge,
Vnconstant Luna, ouer rul'd his tongue.
Astronomers that traffique with the Skie,
By common censure sometimes meete the lie:
Although in deede their blame is not so much,
When Starres & Plannets faile, & keepe not tutch.
And so this fellow with his large profession,
That endes his triall in a farre digression:
Philosophers be queathed him their stone,
To make gold with, yet can his purse hold none.