Poems, Satires – Hymn 2
SATYRES.
Satyre I.
AWay thou fondling motley humoriſt,
Leave mee, and in this ſtanding woodden cheſt,
Conſorted with theſe few bookes, let me lye
In priſon, and here be coffin'd, when I dye;
Here are Gods conduits; grave Divines, and here
Natures Secretary, the Philoſopher.
And jolly Stateſmen, which teach how to tie
The ſinewes of a cities miſtique bodie;
Here gathering Chroniclers, and by them ſtand
Giddie fantaſtique Poëts of each land.
Shall I leave all this conſtant company,
And follow headlong, wild uncertaine thee?
Firſt ſweare by thy beſt love in earneſt
(If thou which lov'ſt all, canſt love any beſt)
Thou wilt not leave mee in the middle ſtreet,
Though ſome more ſpruce companion thou doſt meet,
Not though a Captaine do come in thy way
Bright parcell gilt, with forty dead mens pay,
Not though a briske perfum'd piert Courtier
Deigne with a nod, thy courteſie to anſwer.
Nor come a velvet Juſtice with a long
Great traine of blew coats, twelve, or fourteen ſtrong,
Wilt thou grin or fawne on him, or prepare
A ſpeech to Court his beautious ſonne and heire?
For better or worſe take mee, or leave mee:
To take, and leave mee is adultery.
Oh monſtrous, ſuperſtitious puritan,
Of refin'd manners, yet ceremoniall man,
That when thou meet'ſt one, with enquiring eyes;
Doſt ſearch, and like a needy broker prize
The ſilke, and gold he weares, and to that rate
So high or low, doſt raiſe thy formall hate:
That wilt conſort none, untill thou have knowne
What lands hee hath in hope, or of his owne,
As though all thy companions ſhould make thee
Jointures, and marry thy deare company.
Why ſhould'ſt thou that doſt not onelyonly approve,
But in ranke it chie luſt, deſire, and love
The nakedneſſe and barrenneſſe to enjoy,
of thy plumpe muddy whore, or proſtitute boy
Hate vertue, though ſhee be naked, and bare,
At birth, and death, our bodies naked are;
And till our Soules be unapparrelled
Of bodies, they from bliſſe are baniſhed.
Mans firſt bleſt ſtate was naked, when by ſinne
Hee loſt that, yet hee was cloath'd but in beaſts skin,
And in this courſe attire, which I now weare
With God, and with the Muſes I conferre.
But ſince thou like a contrite penitent,
Charitably warm'd of thy ſinnes, doſt repent
Theſe vanities, and giddineſſes, loe
I ſhut my chamber doore, and come, lets goe,
But ſooner may a cheape whore, who hath beene
Worne by as many ſeverall men in ſinne,
As are black feathers, or musk-colour hoſe,
Name her childs right true father, 'mongſt all thoſe:
Sooner may one gueſſe, who ſhall beare away
The infant of London, Heire to an India,
And ſooner may a gulling weather Spie
By drawing forth heavens Sceanes tell certainly
What faſhioned hats, or ruffes, or ſuits next yeare
Our ſubtile wittied antique youths will weare;
Then thou, when thou depart'ſt from mee, can ſhow
Whither, why, when, or with whom thou wouldſt go.
But how ſhall I be pardon'd my offence
That thus have ſinn'd againſt my conſcience.
Now we are in the ſtreet; He firſt of all
Improvidently proud, creepes to the wall,
And ſo impriſoned, and hem'd in by mee
Sells for a little ſtate high libertie,
Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet
Every fine ſilken painted foole we meet,
He then to him with amorous ſmiles allures,
And grins, ſmacks, ſhrugs, and ſuch an itch endures,
As prentiſes, or ſchoole boyes which doe know
Of ſome gay ſport abroad, yet dare not goe.
And as fidlers ſtop loweſt, at higheſt ſound,
So to the moſt brave, ſtoopt hee nigh'ſt the ground.
But to a grave man, he doth move no more
Then the wiſe politique horſe would heretofore,
Now leaps he upright, Joggs me, & cryes, Do you ſee
Yonder well favoured youth; Which? Oh, 'tis hee
That dances ſo divinely; Oh, ſaid I,
Stand ſtill, muſt you dance here for company?
Hee droopt, wee went, till one (which did excell
Th'Indians, in drinking his Tobacco well)
Met us, they talk'd; I whiſpered, let us goe,
'T may be you ſmell him not, truely I doe;
He heares not mee, but, on the other ſide
A many-coloured Peacock having ſpide,
Leaves him and mee; I for my loſt ſheep ſtay;
He followes, overtakes, goes on the way,
Saying, him whom I laſt left, s'all repute
For his device, in hanſoming a ſute,
To judge of lace, pinke, panes, print, cut, and plight,
Of all the Court, to have the beſt conceit;
Our dull Comedians want him, let him goe;
But Oh, God ſtrengthen thee, why ſtoop'ſt thou ſo?
Why, he hath travailed long? no, but to me
Which underſtand none, he doth ſeeme to be
Perfect French, and Italian; I replyed,
So is the Poxe; He anſwered not, but ſpy'd
More men of ſort, of parts, and qualities;
At laſt his Love he in a windowe ſpies,
And like light dew exhal'd, he flings from mee
Violently raviſh'd to his liberty;
Many were there, he could command no more;
Hee quarrell'd, fought, bled; and turn'd out of dore
Directly came to mee hanging the head,
And conſtantly a while muſt keepe his bed.
Satyre II.
SIr; though (I thanke God for it) I do hate
Perfectly all this towne, yet there's one ſtate
In all ill things ſo excellently beſt,
That hate, toward them, breeds pitty towards the reſt;
Though Poëtry indeed be ſuch a ſinne
As I thinke that brings dearth, and Spaniards in,
Though like the Peſtilence and old faſhion'd love,
Ridlingly it catch men; and doth remove
Never, till it be ſterv'd out; yet their ſtate
Is poore, diſarm'd, like Papiſts, not worth hate:
One, (like a wretch, which at Barre judg'd as dead,
Yet prompts him which ſtands next, and cannot reade,
And ſaves his life) gives ideot actors meanes
(Starving himſelfe) to live by his labor'd ſceanes.
As in ſome Organ, Puppits dance above
And bellows pant below, which thē do move.
One would move Love by rithmes; but witchchrafts charms
Bring not now their old feares, nor their old harmes.
Rammes, and ſlings now are ſeely battery,
Piſtolets are the beſt Artillerie.
And they who write to Lords, rewards to get,
Are they not like ſingers at doores for meat?
And they who write, becauſe all write, have ſtill
That excuſe for writing, and for writing ill;
But hee is worſt, who (beggarly) doth chaw
Others wits fruits, and in his ravenous maw
Rankly digeſted, doth thoſe things out-ſpue,
As his owne things; and they are his owne, 'tis true,
For if one eate my meate, though it be knowne
The meate was mine, th'excrement is his owne:
But theſe do mee no harme, nor they which uſe
To out-doe, and out-uſure Jewes;
To out-drinke the ſea, to out-ſweare the
Who with ſinnes of all kindes as familiar bee
As Confeſſors; and for whoſe ſinfull ſake
Schoolemen, new tenements in hell muſt make:
Whoſe ſtrange ſinnes, Canoniſts could hardly tell
In which Commandements large receit they dwell.
But theſe puniſh themſelves; the inſolence
Of Coſcus onelyonly breeds my juſt offence,
Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches poxe,
And plodding on, muſt make a calfe an oxe)
Hath made a Lawyer; which was alas of late
But ſcarce a Poët, jollier of this ſtate,
Then are new benefic'd miniſters, he throwes
Like nets, or lime-twigs, whereſoever he goes,
His title of Barriſter, on every wench,
And wooes in language of the Pleas, and Bench:
A motion, Lady, Speake Coſcus; I have beene
In love, ever ſince triceſimo of the Queene,
Continuall claimes I have made, injunctions got
To ſtay my rivals ſuit, that hee ſhould not
Proceed, ſpare mee; In Hillary terme I went,
You ſaid If I Returne next ſize in Lent,
I ſhould be in remitter of your grace;
In th'interim my letters ſhould take place
Of affidavits: words, words, which would teare
The tender labyrinth of a ſoft maids eare.
More, more, then ten Sclavonians ſcolding, more
Then when winds in our ruin'd Abbeyes rore;
When ſicke with Poëtrie, and poſſeſt with muſe
Thou waſt, and mad, I hop'd; but men which chuſe
Law practiſe for meere gaine; bold ſoule repute
Worſe then imbrothel'd ſtrumpets proſtitute.
Now like an owlelike watchman, hee muſt walke
His hand ſtill at a bill, now he muſt talke
Idly, like priſoners, which whole months will ſweare
That onelyonly ſuretiſhip hath brought them there,
Like a wedge in a blocke, wring to the barre,
Bearing like Aſſes, and more ſhameleſſe farre
Then carted wheres, lye, to the grave Judge; for
As theſe things do in him; by theſe he thrives.
Shortly (as the ſea) hee will compaſſe all the land;
Form Scots, to Wight; from Mount, to Dover ſtrand,
And ſpying heires melting with luxurie,
Satan will not joy at their ſinnes, as hee.
For as a thrifty wench ſcrapes kitching-ſtuffe,
And barrelling the droppings, and the ſnuffe,
Of waſting candles, which in thirty yeare
(Reliquely kept) perchance buyes wedding geare;
Peecemeale he gets lands, and ſpends as much time
Wringing each Acre, as men pulling prime.
In parchment then, large as his fields, hee drawes
Aſſurances, bigge, as gloſs'd civill lawes,
So huge, that men (in our times forwardneſſe)
Are Fathers of the Church for writing leſſe.
Theſe hee writes not; nor for theſe written payes,
Therefore ſpares no length; as in thoſe firſt dayes
When Luther was profeſt, he did deſire
Short Pater noſters, ſaying as a Fryer
Each day his beads, but having left thoſe lawes,
Addes to Chriſts prayer, the Power and glory clauſe,
But when he ſells or changes land, he'impaires
His writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out, ſes heires
As ſlily as any Commenter goes by,
Hard words, or ſenſe; or in Divinity
As controverters, in vouch'd Texts, leave out
Shrewd words, which might againſt them cleare the doubt:
Where are thoſe ſpred woods which cloth'd hertofore
Thoſe bought lands? not built, nor burnt within dore.
Where's th'old landlords troops, & almes, great hals?
Carthuſian faſts, and fulſome Bachanalls
Equally I hate, meanes bleſſe; in rich mens homes
I bid kill ſome beaſts, but no Hecatombs,
None ſtarve, none ſurfet ſo; But (Oh) we allow,
Good workes as good, but out of faſhion now,
Like old rich wardrops; but my words none drawes
Within the vaſt reach of th'huge ſtatute lawes.
Satyre III.
KInde pitty chokes my ſpleene; brave ſcorn forbids
Thoſe teares to iſſue which ſwell my eye-lids,
I muſt not laugh, nor weepe ſinnes, and be wiſe,
Can railing then cure theſe worne maladies?
Is not our Miſtreſſe faire Religion,
As worthy of all our Soules devotion,
As vertue was in the firſt blinded age?
Are not heavens joyes as valiant to aſſwage
Luſts, as earths honour was to them? Alas,
As wee do them in meanes, ſhall they ſurpaſſe
Us in the end, and ſhall thy fathers ſpirit
Meete blinde Philoſophers in heaven, whoſe merit
Of ſtrict life may be imputed faith, and heare
Thee, whom hee taught ſo eaſie wayes and neare
To follow, damn'd? O if thou dar'ſt, feare this.
This feare great courage, and high valour is;
Dar'ſt thou ayd mutinous-Dutch, and dar'ſt thou lay
Thee in ſhips woodden Sepulchers, a prey
To leaders rage, to ſtormes, to ſhot, to dearth?
Dar'ſt thou dive ſeas, and dungeons of the earth?
Haſt thou couragious fite to thaw the ice
Of frozen North diſcoueries, and thriſe
Colder then Salamanders? like divine
Children in th'oven, fires of Spaine, and the line;
Whoſe countries limbecks to our bodies bee,
Canſt thou for gaine beare? and muſt every hee
Which cryes not, Goddeſſe, to thy Miſtreſſe, draw,
Or eate thy poyſonous words, courage of ſtraw!
O deſperate coward, wilt thou ſeeme bold, and
To thy foes and his (who made thee to ſtand
Sentinell in his worlds garriſon) thus yeeld,
And for forbidden warres, leave th'appointed field?
Know thy foe, the foule devill h'is, whom thou
Striveſt to pleaſe: for hate, not love, would allow
Thee faine, his whole Realme to be quit; and as
The worlds all parts wither away and paſſe,
So the worlds ſelfe, thy other lov'd foe, is
In her decrepit wayne, and thou loving this,
Doſt love a withered and worne ſtrumpet; laſt,
Fleſh (it ſelfe death) and joyes which fleſh can taſte,
Thou loveſt; and thy faire goodly ſoule, which doth
Give this fleſh power to taſte joy, thou doſt loath;
Seeke true religion. O where? Mirreus
Thinking her unhous'd her, and fled from us,
Seekes her at Rome, there, becauſe hee doth know
That ſhee was there a thouſand yeares agoe,
He loves the ragges ſo, as wee here obey
The ſtatecloth where the Prince ſate yeſterday.
Crants to ſuch brave Loves will not be inthrall'd,
But loves her onelyonly, who at Geneva is call'd
Religion, plaine, ſimple, ſullen, yong,
Contemptuous, yet unhanſome. As among
Lecherous humors, there is one that judges
No wenches wholſome, but courſe country drudges:
Graius ſtayes ſtill at home here, and becauſe
Some Preachers, vile ambitious bauds, and lawes
Still new like faſhions, bids him thinke that ſhee
Which dwels with us, is onelyonly perfect, hee
Imbraceth her, whom his Godfathers will
Tender to him, being tender, as Wards ſtill
Take ſuch wives as their Guardians offer, or
Pay valewes. Careleſſe Phrygius doth abhorre
All, becauſe all cannot be good, as one
Knowing ſome women whores, dares marry none.
Graccus loves all as one, and thinkes that ſo
As women do in divers countries goe
In divers habits, yet are ſtill one kinde;
So doth, ſo is Religion; and this blindneſſe too much light breeds; but unmoved thou
Of force muſt one, and forc'd but one allow;
And the right; aske thy father which is ſhee,
Let him aske his; though truth and falſhood bee
Neare twins, yet truth a little elder is;
Be buſie to ſeeke her, beleeve mee this,
Hee's not of none, nor worſt, that ſeekes the beſt.
To adore, or ſcorne an image, or proteſt,
May all be bad; doubt wiſely, in ſtrange way
To ſtand inquiring right, is not to ſtray;
To ſleepe, or runne wrong, is: on a huge hill,
Cragg'd, and ſteep, Truth ſtands, and hee that will
Reach her, about muſt, and about muſt goe;
And what the hills ſuddennes reſiſts, winne ſo;
Yet ſtrive ſo, that before age, deaths twilight,
Thy Soule reſt, for none can worke in that night,
To will, implyes delay, therefore now doe
Hard deeds, the bodies paines; hard knowledge to
The mindes indeavours reach, and myſteries
Are like the Sunne, dazling, yet plaine to all eyes;
Keepe the truth which thou haſt found; men do not ſtand
In ſo ill caſe, that God hath with his hand
Sign'd Kings blanck-charters to kill whom they hate,
Nor are they Vicars, but hangmen to Fate.
Foole and wretch, wilt thou let thy Soule be tyed
To mans lawes, by which ſhe ſhall not be tryed
At the laſt day? Will it then boot thee
To ſay a Philip, or a Gregory,
A Harry, or a Martin taught thee this?
Is not this excuſe for mere contraries,
Equally ſtrong cannot both ſides ſay ſo?
That thou mayeſt rightly obey power, her bounds know;
Thoſe paſt, her nature, & name is chang'd to be,
Then humble to her is idolatrie;
As ſtreames are, Power is, thoſe bleſt flowers that dwell
At the rough ſtreames calme head, thrive and do well,
But having left their roots, and themſelves given
To the ſtreames tyrannous rage, alas are driven
Through mills, & rockes, & woods, and at laſt, almoſt
Conſum'd in going, in the ſea are loſt:
So periſh Soules, which more chuſe mens unjuſt
Power from God claym'd, then God himſelfe to truſt.
Satyre IIII.
WEll; I may now receive, and die; My ſinne
Indeed is great, but I have beene in
A Purgatorie, ſuch as fear'd hell is
A recreation, and ſcant map of this.
My minde, neither with prides itch, nor yet hath been
Poyſon'd with love to ſee, or to bee ſeene,
I had no ſuit there, nor new ſuite to ſhew,
Yet went to Court; But as Glaze which did goe
To Maſſe in jeſt, catch'd, was faine to diſburſe
The hundred markes, which is the Statutes curſe;
Before he ſcapt, So'it pleas'd my deſtinie
(Guilty of my ſin of going,) to thinke me
As prone to all ill, and of good as forgetfull, as proud, as luſtfull, and as much in debt,
As vaine, as witleſſe, and as falſe as they
Which dwell in Court, for once going that way.
Therefore I ſuffered this; Towards me did runne
A thing more ſtrange, then on Niles ſlime, the Sunne
E'r bred, or all which into Noahs Arke came:
A thing, which would have pos'd Adam to name,
Stranger then ſeaven Antiquaries ſtudies,
Then Africks Monſters, Guianaes rarities,
Stranger then ſtrangers; One, who for a Dane,
In the Danes Maſſacre had ſure beene ſlaine,
If he had liv'd then; And without helpe dies,
When next the Prentiſes'gainſt Strangers riſe.
One, whom the watch at noone lets ſcarce goe by,
One, to whom, the examining Juſtice ſure would cry,
Sir, by your prieſthood tell me what you are.
His cloths were ſtrāge, though coarſe; & black, though bare;
Sleeveleſſe his jerkin was, and it had beene
Velvet, but 'twas now (ſo much ground was ſeene)
Become Tufftaffatie; and our children ſhall
See it plaine Raſhe awhile, then nought at all.
This thing hath travail'd, and ſaith, ſpeakes all tongues
And only knoweth what to all States belongs,
Made of th' Accents, and beſt phraſe of all theſe,
He ſpeakes one language; If ſtrange meats diſpleaſe,
Art can deceive, or hunger force my taſt,
But Pedants motley tongue, ſouldiers bumbaſt,
Mountebankes drugtongue, nor the termes of law
Are ſtrong enough preparatives, to draw
Me to beare this, yet I muſt be content
With his tongue: in his tongue, call'd complement:
In which he can win widdowes, and pay ſcores,
Make men ſpeake treaſon, coſen ſubtleſt whores,
Out-flatter favorites, or out lie either
Jovius, or Surius, or both together.
He names mee, and comes to mee; I whiſper, God!
How have I ſinn'd, that thy wraths furious rod,
This fellow chuſeth me? He ſaith, Sir,
I love your judgement; Whom doe you prefer,
For the beſt linguiſt? And I ſeelily
Said, that I thought Calepines Dictionarie;
Nay, but of men, moſt ſweet Sir. Beza then,
Some Jeſuites, and two reverend men
Of our two Academies, I named; There
He ſtopt mee, and ſaid; Nay, your Apoſtles were
Good pretty linguiſts, and ſo Panirge was;
Yet a poore gentleman; All theſe may paſſe
By travaile. Then, as if he would have ſold
His tongue, he praiſed it, and ſuch words told
That I was faine to ſay, If you'had liv'd, Sir,
Time enough to have beene Interpreter
To Babells brick layers, ſure the Tower had ſtood.
He adds, If of court life you knew the good,
You would leave lonelineſſe; I ſaid, not alone
My lonelineſſe is, but Spartanes faſhion,
To teach by painting drunkards, doth not laſt
Now; Aretines pictures have made few chaſt;
No more can Princes courts, though there be few
Better pictures of vice, teach me vertue;
He, like to a high ſtretcht lute ſtring ſqueakt, O Sir,
'Tis ſweet to talke of Kings. At Weſtminſter,
Said I, The man that keepes the Abbey tombes,
And for his price doth with who ever comes,
Of all our Harries, and our Edwards talke,
From King to King and all their kin can walke:
Your eares ſhall heare nought, but Kings; your eyes meet
Kings only; The way to it, is Kingſtreet.
He ſmack'd, and cry'd, He's baſe, Mechanique, coarſe,
So are all your Engliſhmen in their diſcourſe.
Are not your Frenchmen neate? Fine, as you ſee,
I have but one frenchman, looke, hee followes mee.
Certes they are neatly cloth'd. I, of this minde am,
Your only wearing is your Grogaram;
Not ſo Sir, I have more. Under this pitch
He would not flie; I chaff'd him; But as Itch
Scratch'd into ſmart, and as blunt iron grown'd
Into an edge, hurts worſe: So, I foole found,
Croſſing hurt mee; To fit my ſullenneſſe,
He to another key, his ſtile doth addreſſe.
And askes, what newes? I tell him of new playes.
He takes my hand, and as a Still, which ſtaies
A Sembriefe, 'twixt each drop, he nigardly,
As loth to enrich mee, ſo tells many a lie,
More then ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stowes,
Of triviall houſhold traſh; He knowes; He knowes
When the Queene frown'd, or ſmil'd, and he knowes
A ſubtle States-man may gather of that;
He knowes who loves; whom; and who by poyſon what
Haſts to an Offices reverſion;
He knowes who'hath ſold his land, and now doth beg
A licence, old iron, bootes, ſhooes, and egge-
ſhels to tranſport; Shortly boyes ſhall not play
At ſpan-counter, or blow-point, but ſhall pay
Toll to ſome Courtier; And wiſer then all us,
He knowes what Ladie is not painted; Thus
He with home-meats tries me; I belch, ſpue, ſpit,
Looke pale, and ſickly, like a Patient; Yet
He thruſts on more; And as if he'undertooke
To ſay Gallo-Belgicus without booke
Speakes of all States, and deeds, that hath been ſince
The Spaniards came, to the loſſe of Amyens.
Like a bigge wife, at ſight of loathed meat,
Readie to travaile: So I ſigh, and ſweat
To heare this Makeron talke in vaine: For yet,
Either my humour, or his owne to fit,
He like a priviledg'd ſpie, whom nothing can
Diſcredit, Libells now 'gainſt each great man.
He names a price for every office paid;
He ſaith, our warres thrive ill, becauſe delai'd;
That offices are entail'd, and that there are
Perpetuities of them, laſting as farre
As the laſt day; And that great officers,
Doe with the Pirates ſhare, and Dunkirkers.
Who waſts in meat, in clothes, in horſe, he notes;
Who loves Whores, who boyes, and who goats.
I more amas'd then Circes priſoners, when
They felt themſelves turne beaſts, felt my ſelfe then
Becomming Traytor, and mee thought I ſaw
One of our Giant Statutes ope his jaw
To ſucke me in, for hearing him. I found
…Therefore I did ſhew
All ſignes of loathing; But ſince I am in,
I muſt pay mine, and my forefathers ſinne
To the laſt farthing; Therefore to my power
Toughly and ſtubbornly I beare this croſſe; But the 'houre
Of mercy now was come; He tries to bring
Me to pay a fine to ſcape his torturing,
And ſaies, Sir, can you ſpare me; I ſaid, willingly;
Nay, Sir, can you ſpare me a crowne? Thankfully I
Gave it, as Ranſome; But as fidlers, ſtill,
Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
Thruſt one more jigge upon you: ſo did hee
With his long complementall thankes vexe me.
But he is gone, thankes to his needy want,
And the prerogative of my Crowne: Scant
His thankes were ended, when I, (which did ſee
All the court fill'd with more ſtrange things then hee)
Ran from thence with ſuch or more haſt, then one
Who feares more actions, doth haſt from priſon;
At home in wholeſome ſolitarineſſe
My precious ſoule began, the wretchedneſſe
Of ſuiters at court to mourne, and a trance
Like his, who dreamt he ſaw hell, did advance
It ſelfe on mee, Such men as he ſaw there,
I ſaw at court, and worſe, and more; Low feare
Becomes the guiltie, not the accuſer; Then,
Shall I, nones ſlave, of high borne, or raiſ'd men
Feare frownes? And, my Miſtreſſe Truth, betray thee
To huffing, braggart, puft Nobility.
No, no, Thou which ſince yeſterday haſt beene
Almoſt about the whole world, haſt thou ſeene,
O Sunne, in all thy journey, Vanitie,
Such as ſwells the bladder of our court? I
Thinke he which made your waxen garden, and
Tranſported it from Italy to ſtand
With us, at London, flouts our Preſence, for
Juſt ſuch gay painted things, which no ſappe, nor
Taſt have in them, ours are, And naturall
Some of the ſtocks are, their fruits, baſtard all.
'Tis ten a clock and paſt; All whom the Mues,
Baloune, Tennis, Dyet, or the ſtewes,
Had all the morning held, now the ſecond
Time made ready, that day, in flocks, are found
In the Preſence, and I, (God pardon mee.)
As freſh, and ſweet their Apparrells be, as bee
The fields they ſold to buy them; For a King
Thoſe hoſe are, cry the flatterers; And bring
Them next weeke to the Theatre to ſell;
Wants reach all ſtates; Me ſeemes they doe as well
At ſtage, as court; All are players, who e'r lookes
(For themſelves dare not goe) o'r Cheapſide books,
Shall finde their wardrops Inventory; Now,
The Ladies come; As Pirats, which doe know
That there came weak ſhips fraught with Cutchannel,
The men board them; and praiſe, as they thinke, well,
Their beauties; they the mens wits; Both are bought.
Why good wits ne'r weare ſcarlet gownes, I thought
This cauſe, Theſe men, mens wits for ſpeeches buy,
And women buy all reds which ſcarlets die.
He call'd her beauty limetwigs, her haire net.
She feares her drugs ill laid, her haire looſe ſet;
Would not Heraclitus laughto ſee Macrine,
From hat, to ſhooe, himſelfe at doore refine,
As if the Preſence were a Moſchite, and lift
His skirts and hoſe, and call his clothes to ſhrift,
Making them confeſſe not only mortall
Great ſtaines and holes in them; but veniall
Feathers and duſt, wherewith they fornicate.
And then by Durers rules ſurvay the ſtate
Of his each limbe, and with ſtrings the odds tries
Of his neck to his legge, and waſt to thighes.
So in immaculate clothes, and Symetrie
Perfect as circles, with ſuch nicetie
As a young Preacher at his firſt time goes
To preach, he enters, and a Lady which owes
Him not ſo much as good will, he arreſts,
And unto her proteſts proteſts proteſts
So much as at Rome would ſerve to have throwne
Ten Cardinalls into the Inquiſition;
And whiſperd by Jeſu, ſo often, that A
Purſevant would have raviſh'd him away
For ſaying of our Ladies pſalter; But 'tis fit
That they each other plague, they merit it.
But here comes Glorius that will plague them both,
Who, in the other extreme, only doth
Call a rough careleſſeneſſe, good faſhion;
Whoſe cloak his ſpurres teare; whom he ſpits on
He cares not, His ill words doe no harme
To him; he ruſheth in, as if arme, arme,
He meant to crie; And though his face be as ill
As theirs which in old hangings whip Chriſt, yet ſtill
He ſtrives to looke worſe, he keepes all in awe;
Jeaſts like a licenc'd foole, commands like law.
Tyr'd, now I leave this place, and but pleas'd ſo
As men from gaoles to'execution goe,
Goe through the great chamber (why is it hung
With the ſeaven deadly ſinnes) being among
Thoſe Askaparts, men big enough to throw
Charing Croſſe for a barre, men that doe know
No token of worth, but Queenes man, and fine
Living barrells of beefe, flaggons of wine.
I ſhooke like a ſpyed Sple; Preachers which are
Seas of Wits and Arts, you can, then dare,
Drowne the ſinnes of this place, for, for mee
Which am but a ſcarce brooke, it enough ſhall bee
To waſh the ſtaines away; though I yet
With Macchabees modeſtie, the knowne merit
Of my worke leſſen: yet ſome wiſe man ſhall,
I hope, eſteeme my writs Canonicall.
Satyre V.
THou ſhalt not laugh in this leafe, Muſe, nor they
Whom any pitty warmes; He which did lay
Rules to make Courtiers, (hee being underſtood
May make good Courtiers, but who Courtiers good?)
Frees from the ſting of jeſts all who in extreme
Are wreched or wicked: of theſe two a theame
Charity and liberty give me. What is hee
Who Officers rage, and Suiters miſery
Can write, and jeſt? If all things be in all,
As I thinke, ſince all, which were, are, and ſhall
Bee, be made of the ſame elements:
Each thing, each thing employes or repreſents,
Then man is a world; in which, Officers,
Are the vaſt raviſhing ſeas; and Suiters,
Springs; now full, now ſhallow, now drye; which, to
That which drownes them, run: Theſe ſelfe reaſons do
Prove the world a man, in which, officers
Are the devouring ſtomacke, and Suiters
The excrements, which they voyd; all men are duſt,
How much worſe are Suiters, who to mens luſt
Are made preyes. O worſe then duſt, or wormes meat,
For they do eate you now, whoſe ſelves wormes ſhall eate.
They are the mills which grinde you, yet you are
The winde which drives them; and a waſtfull warre
Is fought againſt you, and you fight it; they
Adulterate lawe, and you prepare their way
Like wittals, th'iſſue your owne ruine is;
Greateſt and faireſt Empreſſe, know you this?
Alas, no more then Thames calme head doth know
Whoſe meades her armes drowne, or whoſe corne o'rflow:
You Sir, whoſe righteouſnes ſhe loves, whō I
By having leave to ſerve, am moſt richly
For ſervice paid, authorized, now beginne
To know and weed out this enormous ſinne.
O Age of ruſty iron! Some better wit
Call it ſome worſe name, if ought equall it;
The iron Age that was, when juſtice was ſold, now
Injuſtice is ſold deerer farre; allow
All demands, fees, and duties; gamſters, anon
The mony which you ſweat, and ſweare for, is gon
Into other hands: So controverted lands
Scape, like Angelica, the ſtrivers hands.
If Law be in the Judges heart, and hee
Have no heart to reſiſt letter, or fee,
Where wilt thou appeale? powre of the Courts below
Flow from the firſt maine head, and theſe can throw
Thee, if they ſucke thee in, to miſery,
To fetters, halters; But if the injury
Steele thee to dare complaine; Alas, thou goeſt
Againſt the ſtream, when upwards: when thou art moſt
Heavy and moſt faint; and in theſe labours they,
'Gainſt whom thou ſhould'ſt complaine, will in the way
Become great ſeas, o'r which, when thou ſhalt bee
Forc'd to make golden bridges, thou ſhalt ſee
That all thy gold was drown'd in them before;
All things follow their like, only, who have, may have more
Judges are Gods; he who made and ſaid them ſo,
Meant not that men ſhould be forc'd to them to goe,
By meanes of Angels; When ſupplications
We ſend to God, to Dominations,
Powers, Cherubins, and all heavens Court, if wee
Should pay fees as here, Daily bread would be
Scarce to Kings; ſo 'tis, would it not anger
A Stoicke, a coward, yea a Martyr,
To ſee a Purſivant come in, and call
All his cloathes, Copes; Bookes, Primers; and all
His Plate, Challices; and miſtake them away,
And lack a fee for comming; Oh, ne'r may
Faire lawes white reverend name be ſtrumpeted,
To warrant thefts: ſhe is eſtabliſhed
Recorder to Deſtiny, on earth, and ſhee
Speakes Fates words, and tells who muſt bee
Rich, who poore, who in chaires, who in jayles:
Shee is all faire, but yet hath foule long nailes,
With which ſhe ſcracheth Suiters; In bodies
Of men; ſo in law, nailes are extremities,
So Officers ſtretch to more then Law can doe,
As our nailes reach what no elſe part comes to.
Why bareſt thou to you Officer? Foole, Hath hee
Got thoſe goods, for which men bared to thee?
Foole, twice, thrice, thou haſt bought wrong, and now hungerly
Beg'ſt right; But that dole comes not till theſe dye.
Thou had'ſt much, & lawes Urim and Thummim trie
Thou wouldſt for more; and for all haſt paper
Enough to cloath all the great Carricks Pepper.
Sell that, and by that thou much more ſhalt leeſe,
Then Haman, when he ſold his Antiquities.
O wretch that thy fortunes ſhould moralize
Eſops fables, and make tales, propheſies.
Thou art the ſwimming dog whom ſhadows coſened,
And div'ſt, neare drowning, for what vaniſhed.
A Hymne to God the Father:
I.
WIlt thou forgive that ſinne where I begunne,
which was my ſin, though it were done before?
Wilt thou forgive that ſinne; through which I runne,
And do run ſtill: though ſtill I do deplore?
When thou haſt done, thou haſt not done,
For, I have more.
II.
Wilt thou forgive that ſinne which I have wonne
Others to ſinne? and, made my ſinne their doore?
Wilt thou forgive that ſinne which I did ſhunne
A yeare, or two: but wallowed in, a ſcore?
When thou haſt done, thou haſt not done,
For I have more.
III.
I have a ſinne of feare, that when I have ſpunne
My laſt thred, I ſhall periſh on the ſhore;
But ſweare by thy ſelfe, that at my death thy ſonne
Shall ſhine as he ſhines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, Thou haſte done,
I feare no more.