 | The wits paraphras'd |  |
103
HYPSIPYLE TO IASON.
The ARGUMENT.
The Desire of gaining the Golden Fleece put Jason upon a Voyage to Cholohos. In his passage he stopt at the Island Lemnos; of which place Hypsipyle was then Queen, famed for her pious saveing of her Father Thoas. In a general massacre of the men there by the women of that Country. Her Entertainment of Jason so kind as induced him to stay there two yours, at the end of which he left the Island, and the Queen (then big with Child) and after a thousand vows of Constancy and a speedy Return, persues his first intended voyage, and arrives at Cholohos; where Æta was King. Medea his Daughter falls deeply in Love with Jason, and by her charms he gaind the Golden Fleece, with which and Medea he secretly saild home to Thessaly. Hypsipyle heareing of his Landing with her more happy Rivall Medea, writes him this Epistle.
104
Laden they say with a stoln Cargo,
In Thessaly lyes pilfring Argo.
Id'e send thee wellcom, did I know,
From thy own mouth that it were so.
To break the Banes you did not stickle
Against the wind, then thee less fickle.
If you don't think me worth your Labour,
You might have sent a price of paper.
In Thessaly lyes pilfring Argo.
Id'e send thee wellcom, did I know,
From thy own mouth that it were so.
To break the Banes you did not stickle
Against the wind, then thee less fickle.
If you don't think me worth your Labour,
You might have sent a price of paper.
Why shou'd the Rabble crack our Sculls,
Before thy self with tales of Bulls?
Clods fought with Clods, sprung up and slew
Each other without help of you.
Poor thief, what have you else to brag on,
But of his Fleece you robb'd the Dragon?
Wou'd I cou'd say when folks deny it,
Here hee's himself to justifiy it.
Before thy self with tales of Bulls?
Clods fought with Clods, sprung up and slew
Each other without help of you.
Poor thief, what have you else to brag on,
But of his Fleece you robb'd the Dragon?
Wou'd I cou'd say when folks deny it,
Here hee's himself to justifiy it.
Yet I cou'd cease my jealous grunting,
Cou'd I but say you are my Bunting.
But ah! that hope is vain! a Witch
Has got my Bunting by the Britch.—
Wou'd I cou'd say, (but fears bedung me)
Wou'd I cou'd say, my Dear I wrong thee.
Cou'd I but say you are my Bunting.
105
Has got my Bunting by the Britch.—
Wou'd I cou'd say, (but fears bedung me)
Wou'd I cou'd say, my Dear I wrong thee.
Here came a Stroler starv'd with hunger,
I ask'd him for my Mutton-munger;
Lives he?—or is he dead or living?
Or with what Jilt is he a wiving?
He Lives, said he; I made him swear it,
He swore by Styx, yet still I fear it.
I ask'd him for my Mutton-munger;
Lives he?—or is he dead or living?
Or with what Jilt is he a wiving?
He Lives, said he; I made him swear it,
He swore by Styx, yet still I fear it.
He bid me leave my idle talking,
That you the Bulls were just now yoaking;
The Serpent spawn'd a crop of Heroes,
In native Buff, and Bandilieroes;
And by their own intestine fury,
Off-hand did one another worry.
I ask'd again, Lives he, or no?
Or prethee tell me so or so;
He slily kept me in the dark yet,
And makes the best of a bad Market.
Yet cannot he for all his Blanks
But shew the baseness of thy pranks.
Oh! Where are all your Lies and Flattering,
So often set my mouth a watering?
What wind to Lemnos blew you hither?
Or why shou'd I admit you either?
Here's neither Sheep, nor Fleece of Gold,
Nor is my Lemnos a Pinfold.
At first I did design to trap thee,
And set the Women on to clap thee;
The Lemnian Girls are buxom wenches,
And wou'd have carbona'd thy haunches.
That you the Bulls were just now yoaking;
The Serpent spawn'd a crop of Heroes,
In native Buff, and Bandilieroes;
And by their own intestine fury,
Off-hand did one another worry.
I ask'd again, Lives he, or no?
Or prethee tell me so or so;
106
And makes the best of a bad Market.
Yet cannot he for all his Blanks
But shew the baseness of thy pranks.
Oh! Where are all your Lies and Flattering,
So often set my mouth a watering?
What wind to Lemnos blew you hither?
Or why shou'd I admit you either?
Here's neither Sheep, nor Fleece of Gold,
Nor is my Lemnos a Pinfold.
At first I did design to trap thee,
And set the Women on to clap thee;
The Lemnian Girls are buxom wenches,
And wou'd have carbona'd thy haunches.
For two full years, e're thou wast budging,
Under my roof I gave thee lodging:
Then sneak away to play the thief,
Pretending you were full of grief.
Don't fret thy self, my Heart and Liver
I'll come again, if I come ever—
Then bubbles at the snout, and maunders,
As if your Nose had got the glaunders.
Under my roof I gave thee lodging:
Then sneak away to play the thief,
Pretending you were full of grief.
107
I'll come again, if I come ever—
Then bubbles at the snout, and maunders,
As if your Nose had got the glaunders.
Then to the Harbor with a strong gale,
You clear'd the ground tag rag, and long tail.
Of all the crew you made a Din most,
And cry'd the Devil take the hinmost.
Up to the Garret I was fled,
And cry'd my eyes out of my Head;
Gazing as far as I cou'd see,
Till I lost them as well as thee.
Full oft I wish'd thee here a mumping,
But thou rewardst me with a thumping.
It made me mad, to think a Hag,
Shou'd give thee such a Running Nag;
Shall I clean dishes deck the Kitchin,
For one that loves to be a Bitching?
I always fear'd your Dads contrival
That I shou'd have a Grecian Rival.
But she's no Greek, ah can you rump it,
With such a lewd Barbarian strumpet?
Who with her spells can only flout ye,
Nor can she slave you with her Beauty.
You clear'd the ground tag rag, and long tail.
Of all the crew you made a Din most,
And cry'd the Devil take the hinmost.
Up to the Garret I was fled,
And cry'd my eyes out of my Head;
Gazing as far as I cou'd see,
Till I lost them as well as thee.
Full oft I wish'd thee here a mumping,
But thou rewardst me with a thumping.
It made me mad, to think a Hag,
Shou'd give thee such a Running Nag;
Shall I clean dishes deck the Kitchin,
For one that loves to be a Bitching?
108
That I shou'd have a Grecian Rival.
But she's no Greek, ah can you rump it,
With such a lewd Barbarian strumpet?
Who with her spells can only flout ye,
Nor can she slave you with her Beauty.
She'll stop the Moon by Magick, infold
The Sun, and clap them in a pinfold;
She curbs the Waves, and stops the Fountains
And from their Seat moves Woods and Mountains.
She'll scorch your very Bones within,
And make 'em rattle in your skin;
She'll gore a Fly, a Bat, or Beetle,
At Ten miles distance with her Needle:
And in a Print of moulten Butter,
Give them the Running, Gripes, and Squitter.
The Sun, and clap them in a pinfold;
She curbs the Waves, and stops the Fountains
And from their Seat moves Woods and Mountains.
She'll scorch your very Bones within,
And make 'em rattle in your skin;
She'll gore a Fly, a Bat, or Beetle,
At Ten miles distance with her Needle:
And in a Print of moulten Butter,
Give them the Running, Gripes, and Squitter.
'Tis Form and Beauty moves the Tilters,
But she secures you with her Philters.
How can you doat on such a witch,
And hug a Syren like a Bitch?
You as the Bulls she yoak't ith' wagon,
And tames you as she did the Dragon.
For all your pride linkt to this Quean
You'l loose your Credit quite and clean.
Nay by the censuring world 'tis babbled,
That by her spells you are inabled,
And the stol'n Fleece of corl'd silver
Medea did not Iason pilfer.
It was not he that stole the Ram
The Devill Iason, but his Dam.
A northern lass! a pretious Beauty!
To love and parents shew more Duty.
Let some wild Ruffian thither gallop,
A fitter Match for such a trallop.
But she secures you with her Philters.
109
And hug a Syren like a Bitch?
You as the Bulls she yoak't ith' wagon,
And tames you as she did the Dragon.
For all your pride linkt to this Quean
You'l loose your Credit quite and clean.
Nay by the censuring world 'tis babbled,
That by her spells you are inabled,
And the stol'n Fleece of corl'd silver
Medea did not Iason pilfer.
It was not he that stole the Ram
The Devill Iason, but his Dam.
A northern lass! a pretious Beauty!
To love and parents shew more Duty.
Let some wild Ruffian thither gallop,
A fitter Match for such a trallop.
Iason more fickle than the weather,
Can vowes nor oaths brings us to gether?
You parted mine, return so too,
Lets Do't, and make no more a do.
If Beauty Birth or parts can move,
Or Breeding to oblige thy Love,
Know I am Thoas only Heiress,
The very best in all the Parish.
Oth' right side got by Mother and Sire,
And Drunken Bacchus was my Gransire.
These, and my Lemnos make a Dowry
Enough for any filching Tory.
I Mother am, be thou a Father,
And of the gravill ease my blather.
Can vowes nor oaths brings us to gether?
110
Lets Do't, and make no more a do.
If Beauty Birth or parts can move,
Or Breeding to oblige thy Love,
Know I am Thoas only Heiress,
The very best in all the Parish.
Oth' right side got by Mother and Sire,
And Drunken Bacchus was my Gransire.
These, and my Lemnos make a Dowry
Enough for any filching Tory.
I Mother am, be thou a Father,
And of the gravill ease my blather.
Your Brace of twins, those chattering Rooks
Saveing your guilt, retain your Looks,
In all things els so like your snout
As if your self had spit 'em out.
Those I had sent in stead oth' Letter,
To plead their Cause, and mine the better.
Did I not fear Medea's malice
Wou'd send them straightway to the Gallows;
Wou'd she that made a mortall hash
Of her own Brothers, spare my flesh?
Yet in your arms this sorceress lyes,
And you conceit you have a prize:
Saveing your guilt, retain your Looks,
In all things els so like your snout
As if your self had spit 'em out.
Those I had sent in stead oth' Letter,
To plead their Cause, and mine the better.
111
Wou'd send them straightway to the Gallows;
Wou'd she that made a mortall hash
Of her own Brothers, spare my flesh?
Yet in your arms this sorceress lyes,
And you conceit you have a prize:
False Fool I blame, but do not wonder
What made the Lemmon wenches thunder.
Suppose the fates had us'd their Engins
To blow thee hither with a Vengeance:
What Impudence cou'd thou assume
To see thy Brats and me at home?
Thus to betray thy flesh and blood?
Hang thee, nay hanging is to good.
What made the Lemmon wenches thunder.
Suppose the fates had us'd their Engins
To blow thee hither with a Vengeance:
What Impudence cou'd thou assume
To see thy Brats and me at home?
Thus to betray thy flesh and blood?
Hang thee, nay hanging is to good.
Tho' I perhaps had spar'd thy Iacket,
I shou'd have riv'd the witches placket.
To her I shou'd Medea prove.
If Jove regards my Injur'd Love
May that loath'd Hag my Bed defil'd
Be by her own Designes beguild.
And may she be for all your Fleeces,
By Dogs for Carrion torn apieces.
May her old Sire, and Brothers Murder,
Be her own Doom, so God reward her.
And may she split upon that shelf,
Till in Dispair she hangs her self.
I shou'd have riv'd the witches placket.
To her I shou'd Medea prove.
If Jove regards my Injur'd Love
112
Be by her own Designes beguild.
And may she be for all your Fleeces,
By Dogs for Carrion torn apieces.
May her old Sire, and Brothers Murder,
Be her own Doom, so God reward her.
And may she split upon that shelf,
Till in Dispair she hangs her self.
| The wits paraphras'd | |