University of Virginia Library

Scena quinta.

Satyr.
“As frosts to Plants, to ripened Ears a storm,
To Flowrs the mid-day sun, to Seed the worm,
“To Stags the toyls, to Birds the lime-twig; so
“Is Love to man an everlasting Foe.
And he that call'd it fire pierc'd well into
Its treach'rous nature; for if fire thou view,
How bright and beautifull it is? Approacht,
How warm and comfortable? But then toucht,
O how it burns! The monster-bearing earth
Did never teem such a prodigious birth:
It cuts like razors, like wild beasts devours,
And through a wood like winged lightning scowrs.
Where-ere it fixes its imperious foot,
Cottage and Pallace, all must yeeld unto't:
So Love, if thou behold it in a pair
Of starry eyes, in a bright tresse of hair,
How temptingly it looks! what kindly flames
It breathes! what peace, what pardons it proclaims!
But in thy bosome if thou do it keep,
So that it gather strength, and 'gin to creep,
No Tygresse in Hircanian mountains nurst,
No Lybian Lionesse is half so curst,
Nor frozen Snake fostred with humane breath.
His flames are hot as hell, bonds strong as death;
He is Wrath's hangman, Pitie's enemy,
And to conclude, Love void of love. But why
Accuse I him? Is he the Authour then
Of all those pranks which mortal wights, not when
They are in love, but out of their wits, do?
Women, perfidious women, 'tis to you
That I impute Love's rancour; all that's naught
In him from you is by infection caught.
He of himself is good, meek as the Dove
That draws the chariot of the Queen of Love:
But you have made him wild; for though ye joy
With your own hands to feed the winged Boy,
Yet do you shut each pore so of your brest,
That in your hearts He cannot build his nest.
And all your care, pride, pleasure ye do place
In the meer outside of a simpring face.
Nor is't your study how to pay true love,
And wager whether shall more constant prove;
To bind two souls in one, and of one heart
To make the other but the counter-part;
But how your silver hair with gold to hatch,
Then purse it up into a net, to catch
Poor souls withall, and like gold valence let
Some curles hang dangling ore your brows of jet.
How much against my stomack doth it go
To see you paint your cheeks, to cover so
The faults of Time and Nature! How ye make
Pale Feulemort a pure Vermilian take,
Fill up the wrincles, die black white, a spot
With a spot hide, where 'tis, make't where 'tis not.
You tie a thred acrosse, whereof one end
Held in your teeth, the other is sustein'd
By your left hand, whilst of the running knot
Your right hand makes a noose to ope and shut
Like shaving tongs: This instrument you fit
To your rough downy forheads, and with it
Shave all the down, and the wild hairs which shoot
Above their fellows, pull up by the root;
And all the while such torment you are in,
That 'tis at once a penance and a sin.
Nor is this all; your qualities are much
After your faces, and your faith is such
As are your works. For what is there in you
That is not counterfeit and painted too?
Do your lips ope? before ye speak ye lye;
And if ye sigh, ye lye most damnably.
False lights your eyes are, and false weights your ears;
Your hearts false measures, and false pearl your tears:
So talk, or look, or think, or laugh, or cry,
Seem or seem not, walk, stand, or sit, ye lye.
Nay, there's more yet, your cousening those
Most who on you do most repose;
Your loving most those who do least love you,
And chusing to die rather then be true;
These are the arts, these are the wayes
That make Love hatefull in our dayes.
All his faults then we may most justly lay
On you; or rather on our selves: for they
Sin that believe you. Then the fault's in me
(Perjur'd Corisca) who did credit thee;
Come hither onely for my bane (I think)
From Argos wicked streets, of vice the sink.
Yet th'art so sly, and play'st so well the Scout,
To keep thy deeds and thoughts from tracing out,
That 'mongst the chastest Dames thou jettst it now,
With honesty stampt on thy haughty brow:
What scorns have I receiv'd, what discontent
From this ungratefull woman! I repent,
Yea, blush I was so fond. Example take
By me, unskilfull Lovers, how ye make
“An Idol of a face, and take't for granted,
“There's no such divell as a woman sainted.
“She thinks her wit and beauty without peer,
“And o're thy slavish soul doth domineer
“Like some great Goddesse, counting thou wert born
“(As a thing mortall) onely for her scorn;
“Takes all that praise as tribute of her merit
“Which is the flattry of thy abject spirit.
Why so much serving? so much admirations?
Such sighs, such tears, such humble supplications?
These are the woman's arms: Let us expresse
Ev'n in our Loves valour and manlinesse.
Time was when I (as lusty as I am)
Thought tears and sighs could womans heart enflame.
But now I find I err'd; for if she bears
A stony heart, in vain are sighs and tears.
We must strike fire out of her brest by dint
Of steel: what fool us'd bellows to a slint?
Leave, leave thy tears and sighs, if thou wouldst make
A conquest of thy Dame; and if thou bake
Indeed with unextinguishable fire,
In thy hearts center smother thy desire
The best thou canst, and watch thy time to doe
That which both Love and Nature prompt thee to,
“For Modestie's the charter of the woman,
“Who wil not have her priviledge made common;
“Nor though she uses it her self with men,
“Would she have them to use't with her agen
“Being a vertue for the admiration
“Of them that court her, not their imitation.
This is the plain and naturall way of Love,
Indeed the onely one that I approve.
My coy Corisca shall not finde of me
A bashfull Lover (as I us'd to be)
But a bold Foe, and she shall feel I can
Assault her with the weapons of a man,
Aswell as with the womans arms. Twice now
I've caught this Eel, and yet I know not how
She hath slipt through my hands; but if she come
A third time neer my boat, I'le strike so home
Through both her gils, that I shall marre her flight.
Here she comes forth to Rellief ev'ry night,
And I like a good hound snuffe round about
To find her track: If I do sent her out,
Have at her coat; O how I mean to be
Reveng'd upon her! I will make her see
That Love sometimes (though he appear stark blind)
Can from his eyes the hand-kerchief unbind:
And that no woman (though she may awhile)
Can glory long in perjury and guile.

Chorus.