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SATIRE S..

SATIRE I.

AWAY! thou changeling motely humourist;
Leave me, and in this standing wooden cheft,
Conforted with thefe few books, let me lie
In prifon, and here be coffin'd when I die.
Here are God's conduits, grave divines; and here
Is nature's fecretary, the philofopher;
And wily statefmen, which teach how to tye
The finews of a city's myftic body;
Here gathering chroniclers, and by them stand
Giddy fantastic poets of each land.
Shall I leave all this conftant company,
And follow headlong wild uncertain thee?
Firft fwear by thy best love, here in earnest,
(If thou which lov'ft all canft love any best)
Thou wilt not leave me in the middle freet,
Though fome more fpruce companion thou doft
meet;

Not though a captain do come in thy way
Bright parcel gilt, with forty dead men's pay;
Not though a brifk perfum'd pert courtier
Deign with a nod thy courtefie to answer;
Nor come a velvet juftice with a long
Great train of blew-coats, twelve or fourteen strong,
Wilt thou grin or fawn on him, or prepare
A fpeech to court his beauteous fon and heir?
For better or worfe take me or leave me ;
To take and leave me is adultery.
Oh, monftrous! fuperftitious Puritan,
Of refin'd manners, yet ceremonial man!
That when thou meet'ft one with i quiring eyes
Doth fearch, and, like a needy broker, prize
The filk and gold he wears, and to that rate,
So high or low, doft raise the formal hat;
That wilt confort none till thou have known
What lands he hath in hope, or of his own;
As though all thy companions fhould make thee
Jointures, and marry thy dear company;
Why shouldft thou (that doft not only approve,
But in rank itchy luft defire and love,
The nakednefs and barrennefs t' enjoy

Of thy plump muddy whore or prostitute boy)

Hate Virtue, though the naked be and bare?
At birth and death our bodies naked are;
And till our fouls be unapparelled

Of bodies they from blifs are banished.
Man's first bleft state was naked; when by fin
He loft that, he was cloth'd but in beast's skin,
And in this coarse attire, which I now wear,
With God and with the Muses I confer.
But fince thou, like a contrite penitent,
Charitably warn'd of thy fins, doft repent
Thefe vanities and giddineffes, lo

I fhut my chamber door, and come, let's go.
But fooner may a cheap whore, who hath been
Worn out by as many feveral men in fin
As are black feathers or mufk-colour'd hofe,
Name her child's right true father 'mongst all
thofe;

Sooner may one guefs who fhall bear away
The infantry of London hence to India;
And fooner may a gulling weather-spy,
By drawing forth heav'n's fcheme, tell certainly
What fashion'd hats, or ruffs, or fuits, next year
Our giddy-headed antick youth will wear,
Than thou, when thou depart'ft from me, can fhow
Whither, why, when, or with whom, thou wouldft

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But to a grave man he doth move no more
Than the wife politic horfe would heretofore;
Or thou, O elephant or ape! wilt do,
When any names the King of Spain to you.

Now leaps he upright, jogs me, and cries, Do you fee

Yonder well-favour'd youth? Which? Oh! 'tis he
That dances fo divinely. Oh! said I,

Stand ftill; muft you dance here for company?
He droop'd, we went, till one (which did excel
Th' Indians in drinking his tobacco well)
Met us they talk'd; I whifper'd, Let us go;
It may be you smell him not; truly I do.
He hears not me; but on the other fide
A many-colour'd peacock having spy'd,
Leaves him and me: I for my loft sheep flay;
He follows, overtakes, goes on the way,
Saying, Him whom I laft left all repute
For his device in handfoming a fuit;
To judge of lace, pink, panes, print, cut and plait,
Of all the court to have the best conceit :
Our dull commedians want him; let him go:
But, oh God ftrengthen thee; why stoop'st thou
fo?

Why, he hath travail'd long; no, but to me
Which understood none, he doth feem to be
Perfect French and Italian. I reply'd,
So is the pox. He anfwer'd not, but spy'd
More men of fort, of parts and qualities,
At laft his love he in a window fpies,
And like light dew exhal'd he flings from me,
Violently ravish'd to his lechery.

Many there were he could command no more; He quarrell'd, fought, bled; and, turn'd out of door,

Diredly came to me, hanging the head,
And conftantly a while muft keep his bed.

SATIRE II.

SIR, though (I thank God for it) I do hate
Perfectly all this town, yet there's one state
In all ill things fo excellently beft,

That hate towards them breeds pity towards the reft.

Though poetry indeed be fuch a fin

As I think that brings dearth and Spaniards in;
Though, like the peftilence and old-fashion'd love,
Ridlingly it catch men, and doth remove
Never till it be starv'd out; yet their flate
Is poor, difarm'd, like Papifts, not worth hate:
'One (like a wretch, which at bar judg'd as dead,
Yet prompts him which ftands next, and cannot
read,

And faves his life) gives idiot actors means,
(Starving himfelf) to live by's labour'd fcenes;
As in fome organs puppits dance above,
And bellows pant below which them do move.
One would move love by rhymes; but witchcraft's
charms

Bring not now their old fears nor their old harms.
Rams and flings now are filly battery;
Piftolets are the beft artillery:

And they who write to lords, rewards to get,
Are they not like fingers at doors for meat?
And they who write, because all write, have still
Th' excufe for writing, and for writing ill.
But he is worst who beggarly) doth chaw
Others' wit's fruits, and in his ravenous maw
Rankly digefted, doth those things out-spue
As his own things: and they're his own, 'tis true,
For if one eat my meat, though it be known
The meat was mine, th' excrement is his own.
But thefe do me no harm, nor they which use
To out-do dildoes and out-ufure Jews,
T'out-drink the fea, t' out-fwear the Litany,
Who with fins all kinds as familiar be
As confeffors, and for whofe finful fake
Schoolmen new tenements in hell must make;
Whole ftrange fins canonifts could hardly tell
In which commandment's large receit they dwell,
But these punish themselves. The infolence
Of Cofcus only breeds my just offence,
Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches pox,
And plodding on must make a calf an ox)
Hath made a lawyer, which (alas!) of late
But fcarce a poet, jollier of this fstate
Than are new benefic'd minifters; he throws,
Like nets or lime-twigs, wherefoe'er he goes,
His title of Barrister on every wench,
And woos in language of the Pleas and Bench.
A motion, Lady! Speak, Cofcus. I have been
In love e'er fince tricefimo of the Queen.
Continual claims I've made, injunctions got
To ftay my rival's fuit, that he should not
Proceed; fpare me, in Hillary term I went;
You faid, if I return'd next 'fize in Lent,
I fhould be in remitter of your grace;
In th' interim my letters fhould take place
Of affidavits. Words, words, which would tear
The tender labyrinth of a maid's soft ear
More, more than ten Sclavonians fcoldings, more
Than when winds in our ruin'd abbys rore.
When fick with poetry, and poffeft with Muse
Thou waft, and mad, I hop'd; but men which choose
Law-practice for mere gain, bold fouls repute
Worfe than imbrothell'd trumpets prostitute.
Now like an owl-like watchman he must walk,
His hand fill at a bill; now he must talk
Idly, like prifoners, which whole months will
fwear

That only furetyfhip hath brought them there,
And to every fuitor lie in every thing,
Like a king's favourite, or like a king;
Like a wedge in a block wring to the bar,
Bearing like affes and more thameless far
Than carted whores, lie to the grave judge; for
Baftardy abounds not in kings' titles, nor
Simony and Sodomy in churchmen's lives,
As these things do in him; by thefe he thrives.
Shortly (as th' fea, he'll compaís all the land,
From co sto Wight, from Mount to Dover Strand,
And fpying heirs melting with luxury,
Satan will not joy at their fins as he :
For (as a thrifty wench fcrapes kitching-tuff,
And barrelling the droppings and the fnuff
Of washing candles which in thirty year
(Reliquely kept) perchance Luys wedding chear)

SATIRES..

SATIRE I.

AWAY! thou changeling motely humourist;
Leave me, and in this standing wooden cheft,
Conforted with these few books, let me lie
In prison, and here be coffin'd when I die.
Here are God's conduits, grave divines; and here
Is nature's fecretary, the philofopher;
And wily ftatefmen, which teach how to tye
The finews of a city's myftic body;
Here gathering chroniclers, and by them stand
Giddy fantaftic poets of each land.
Shall I leave all this conftant company,
And follow headlong wild uncertain thee?
Firft fwear by thy beft love, here in earnest,
(If thou which lov'ft all canft love any beft)
Thou wilt not leave me in the middle ftreet,
Though fome more fpruce companion thou doft

meet;

Not though a captain do come in thy way
Bright parcel gilt, with forty dead men's pay;
Not though a brifk perfum'd pert courtier
Deign with a nod thy courtefie to answer;
Nor come a velvet juftice with a long
Great train of blew-coats, twelve or fourteen strong,
Wilt thou grin or fawn on him, or prepare
A fpeech to court his beauteous fon and heir?
For better or worfe take me or leave me ;
To take and leave me is adultery.
Oh, monftrous! fuperftitious Puritan,
Of refin'd manners, yet ceremonial man!
That when thou meet'ft one with iquiring eyes
Doth fearch, and, like a needy broker, prize
The filk and gold he wears, and to that rate,
So high or low, doft raise the formal hat;
That wilt confort none till thou have known
What lands he hath in hope, or of his own;
As though all thy companions fhould make thee
Jointures, and marry thy dear company;
Why shouldft thou (that doft not only approve,
But in rank itchy luft defire and love,
The nakedness and barrennefs t' enjoy
Of thy plump muddy whore or prostitute boy)

Hate Virtue, though the naked be and bare?
At birth and death our bodies naked are;
And till our fouls be unapparelled

Of bodies they from blifs are banished.
Man's first bleft ftate was naked; when by fin
He loft that, he was cloth'd but in beast's skin,
And in this coarfe attire, which I now wear,
With God and with the Mufes I confer.
But fince thou, like a contrite penitent,
Charitably warn'd of thy fins, doft repent
Thefe vanities and giddineffes, lo

I fhut my chamber door, and come, let's go.
But fooner may a cheap whore, who hath been
Worn out by as many feveral men in fin
As are black feathers or musk-colour'd hofe,
Name her child's right true father 'mongst all
thofe;

Sooner may one guess who shall bear away
The infantry of London hence to India;
And fooner may a gulling weather-fpy,
By drawing forth heav'n's (cheme, tell certainly
What fashion'd hats, or ruffs, or fuits, next year
Our giddy-headed antick youth will wear,
Than thou, when thou depart'st from me, can fhow
Whither, why, when, or with whom, thou wouldst

go.

But how fhall I be pardon'd my offence,
That thus have finn'd againft my conscience?
Now we are in the ftreet; he first of all,
Improvidently proud, creeps to the wall,
And fo imprifon'd and hemm'd in by me,
Sells for a little flate his liberty;

Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet
Every fine filken painted fool we meet,
He them to him with amorous fmiles allures,
And grins, fmacks, fhrugs, and fuch an itch en-
dures

As 'prentices or fchool-boys, which do know
Of fome gay sport abroad, yet dare not go;
And as fiddlers stoop lowest at highest found,
So to the most brave ftoops he night the ground;

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But to a grave man he doth move no more
Than the wife politic horfe would heretofore;
Or thou, O elephant or ape! wilt do,
When any names the King of Spain to you.

Now leaps he upright, jogs me, and cries, Do you

fee

Yonder well-favour'd youth? Which? Oh! 'tis he
That dances fo divinely. Oh! said I,

Stand still; muft you dance here for company?
He droop'd, we went, till one (which did excel
Th' Indians in drinking his tobacco well)
Met as they talk'd; I whisper'd, Let us go;
It may be you smell him not; truly I do.
He hears net me; but on the other fide
A many-colour'd peacock having fpy'd,
Leaves him and me: I for my loft sheep flay;
He follows, overtakes, goes on the way,
Saying, Him whom I laft left all repute
For his device in handsoming a fuit;

To judge of lace, pink, panes, print, cut and plait,
Of all the court to have the best conceit :
Our dull commedians want him; let him go:
But, ch: God ftrengthen thee; why ftoop'st thou
To?

Why, he hath travail'd long; no, but to me
Which understood none, he doth feem to be
Perfect French and Italian. I reply'd,
So is the pox. He answer'd not, but fpy'd
Mere men of fort, of parts and qualities,
At laft his love he in a window Ipies,

And like light dew exhal'd he flings from me,
Viciently ravish'd to his lechery.

Many there were he could command no more;
He quarrell'd, fought, bled; and, turn'd out of
door,

Diredly came to me, hanging the head,
And conftantly a while muft keep his bed.

SATIRE II.

Su, though (I thank God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this town, yet there's one state la all ill things fo excellently beft,

That hate towards them breeds pity towards the reft.

Though poetry indeed be fuch a fin

As I think that brings dearth and Spaniards in;
Though, like the peftilence and old-fashion'd love,
Ridingly it catch men, and doth remove
Never till it be starv'd out; yet their flate
Is poor, difarm'd, like Papifts, not worth hate :
One (like a wretch, which at bar judg'd as dead,
Yet prompts him which ftands next, and cannot
read,

And faves his life) gives idiot actors means,
(Starving himself) to live by's labour'd scenes;
Asin fome organs puppits dance above,

And bellows pant below which them do move. One would move love by rhymes; but witchcraft's

charms

Bring not now their old fears nor their old harms.
Rams and flings now are filly battery;
Filolets are the best artillery:

And they who write to lords, rewards to get,
Are they not like fingers at doors for meat?
And they who write, becaufe all write, have still
Th' excufe for writing, and for writing ill.
But he is worst who (beggarly) doth chaw
Others' wit's fruits, and in his ravenous maw
Rankly digested, doth those things out-fpue
As his own things: and they're his own, 'tis true,
For if one eat my meat, though it be known
The meat was mine, th' excrement is his own.
But thefe do me no harm, nor they which use
To out-do dildoes and out-ufure Jews,
T' out-drink the fea, t' out-fwear the Litany,
Who with fins all kinds as familiar be
As confeffors, and for whose finful fake
Schoolmen new tenements in hell must make ;
Whole ftrange fins canonifts could hardly tell
In which commandment's large receit they dwell,
But thefe punish themselves. The infolence
Of Cofcus only breeds my juft offence,
Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches pox,
And plodding on must make a calf an ox)
Hath made a lawyer, which (alas!) of late
But fcarce a poet, jollier of this ftate
Than are new benefic'd minifters; he throws,
Like nets or lime-twigs, wherefoe'er he goes,
His title of Barrister on every wench,
And woos in language of the Pleas and Bench.
A motion, Lady! Speak, Cofcus. I have been
In love e'er fince tricefimo of the Queen.
Continual claims I've made, injunctions got
To ftay my rival's fuit, that he fhould not
Proceed; fpare me, in Hillary term I went;
You faid, if I return'd next 'fize in Lent,
I fhould be in remitter of your grace;
In th' interim my letters fhould take place
Of affidavits. Words, words, which would tear
The tender labyrinth of a maid's foft ear
More, more than ten Sclavonians fcoldings, more
Than when winds in our ruin'd abbys rore.
When fick with poetry, and poffeft with Muse
Thou waft, and mad, I hop'd; but men which choofe
Law-practice for mere gain, bold fouls repute
Worfe than imbrothell'd trumpets prostitute.
Now like an owl-like watchman he must walk,
His hand fill at a bill; now he must talk
Idly, like prifoners, which whole months wi
fwear

That only furetyship hath brought them there,
And to every fuitor lie in every thing,
Like a king's favourite, or like a king;
Like a wedge in a block wring to the bar,
Bearing like affes and more thameless far
Than carted whores, lie to the grave judge; for
Baftardy abounds not in kings' titles, nor
Simony and Sodomy in churchmen's lives,
As these things do in him; by thefe he thrives.
Shortly (as th' fea, he'll compaís all the land,
From Scost Wight, from Mount to Dover Strand,
And fpying heirs melti 'g with luxury,
Satan will not joy at their fins as he :
For (as a thrifty wench icrapes kitching-ftuff,
And barrelling the droppings and the inuff
Of was Cadles which in thirt, year
(Reliquely kept) perchance buys wedding chear)

Piecemeal he gets lands, and spends as much time
Wringing each acre as maids pulling prime.
In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws
Affurances big as glofs'd Civil laws;

So huge, that men (in our time's forwardness)
Are fathers of the church for writing less.
These he writes not, nor for these written pays,
Therefore fpares no length, (as in those first days,
When Luther was profeft, he did defire
Short Pater-nofters, faying, as a friar,
Each day his beads: but having left thofe laws,,
Adds to Chrift's prayer the power and glory
claufe)

But when he fells or changes land, h' impairs
His writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out fes beires,
And flily, as any commenter, goes by
Hard words or fenfe; or in divinity
As controverters in vouch'd texts leave out
Shrewd words, which might against them clear
the doubt.

Where are those spread woods which cloth'd here

tofore

[door.
Thofe bought lands? not built, nor burnt within
Where the old landlord's troops and alms? In halls
Carthufian fafts and fulfome Bacchanals
Equally I hate. Mean's bleft. In rich men's homes
I bid kill fome beasts, but no hecatombs ;
None starve, none furfeit fo. But (oh) w' allow
Good works as good, but out of fashion now,
Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none
draws

Within the vast reach of th' huge ftatute-laws.

SATIRE III.

KIND pity checks my fpleen; brave scorn forbids
Thofe tears to iffue which fwell my eye-lids.
I must not laugh nor weep fins, but be wife:
Can railing then cure there worn maladies?
Is not our mistress, fair Religion,
As worthy of our fouls' devotion
As virtue was to the first blinded age?
Are not heaven's joys as valiant to affuage
Lufts as earth's honour was to them? Alas!
As we do them in means, fhall they surpass
Us in the end? and fhall thy father's fpirit
Meet blind philofophers in heav'n, whose merit
Of strict life may b'imputed faith, and hear
Thee, whom he taught fo eafe ways and near
To follow, damn'd? Oh! if thou dar'ft, fear this:
This fear great courage and high valour is

Which cries not Goddess! to thy mistress, draw
Or eat thy poisonous words? courage of ftraw!
O defperate coward! wilt thou seem bold, and
To thy focs and his (who made thee to stand
Centinel in this world's garrifon) thus yield,
And for forbid wars leave th' appointed field?
Know thy foes: the foul devil (he whom thou
Striv'ft to please) for hate, not love, would allow
Thee fain his whole realm to be quit; and as
The world's all parts wither away and pass,
So the world's felf, thy other lov'd foe, is
In her decrepit wane, and thou loving this
Doft love a withered and worn ftrumpet laft;
Flesh (itself's death) and joys, which flesh can taste,
Thou lov'ft; and thy fair goodly foul, which doth
Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou doft loath.
Seek true religion. O where Mirreus,
Thinking her unhous'd here, and fled from us,
Seeks her at Rome; there, because he doth know
That she was there a thousand years ago.
He loves the raggs fo, as we here obey
The state-cloth where the prince fate yefterday.
Grants to fuch brave loves will not be inthrall'd,
But loves her only who at Geneva is call'd
Religion, plain, fimple, fullen, young,
Contemptuous, yet unhandfome; as among
Lecherous humours there is one that judges
No wenches wholesome but coarfe country drudges.
Grajus ftays ftill at home here; and because
Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws
Still new like fashions, bid him think that the
Which dwells with us is only perfect, he
Embraceth her whom his godfathers will
Tender to him, being tender; as wards ftill
Take fuch wives as their guardians offer, or
Pay values. Careless Phrygius doth abhor
All, because all cannot be good; as one
Knowing fome women whores dares marry none:
Gracchus loves all as one, and thinks that fo
As women do in diverfe countries go
In diverfe habits, yet are ftill one kind,
So doth, fo is Religion; and this blind-
Nefs too much light breeds. But unmoved thou
Of force muft one, and forc'd but one, allow,
And the right; afk thy father which is fhe;
Let him afk this. Though Truth and Falsehood be
Near twins, yet Truth a little elder is:
Be bufie to feek her; believe me this,
He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best.
T'adore or fcorn an image, or protest,
May all be bad. Doubt wifely. In ftrange way
To ftand inquiring right is not to ftray;
To fleep or run wrong is. On a huge hill,
Cragged and steep, Truth ftands; and he that will

Dar't thou aid mutinous Dutch? and dar'ft thou Reach her about muft, and about it, go,

lay

Thee in fhips' wooden fepulchres, a prey
To leader's rage, to ftorms, to fhot, to dearth?
Dar'ft thou dive feas, and dungeons of the earth?
Haft thou courageous fire to thaw the ice
Of frozen north-difcoveries, and thrice
Colder than falamanders! like divine
Children in th' oven, fires of Spain and the line,
Whofe countries limbecks to our bodies be,
Canft thou for gain bear? and must every he

And what the hill's fuddennefs refifts win fo.
Yet ftrive fo that before age, death's twilight,
Thy foul reft; for none can work in that night.
To will implies delay, therefore now do:
Hard deeds the body's pains; hard knowledge to
The mind's endeavours reach; and myfteries
Are like the fun, dazzling, yet plain t' all eyes.
Keep the truth which thou hast found; men de
not ftand

In fo ill cafe, that God hath with his hand

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