[Page] VIRGIDEMIARVM Sixe Bookes.

First three Bookes, Of Tooth-lesse Satyrs. 1. Poeticall. 2. Academicall. 3. Morall.

[figure]

LONDON Printed by Iohn Harison, for Robert Dexter. 1602.

His Defiance to Enuie.

Nay: let the prouder Pines of Ida feare
The sudden fires of heauen: and decline
Their yeelding tops, that dar'd the skies whilere:
And shake your sturdie trunks ye prouder Pines,
VVhose swelling graines are like be gald alone,
VVith the deepefurrowes of the thunder-stone.
Stand ye secure, ye safer shrubs below,
In humble dales, whome heauns doe not despight:
Nor angrie clouds conspire your ouerthrow,
Enuying at your too-disdainfull hight.
Let high attempts dread Enuy, and ill tongues,
And cowardly shrinke for feare of causles wrongs
So wont big Okes feare winding Yuy-weed:
So soaring Egles feare the neighbour Sonne:
[...]o golden Mazor wont suspicion breed,
deadly Hemlocks poysoned Potion,
So Adders shroud themselues in fairest leaues:
So fouler Fate the fayrer thing bereaues.
Nor the low bush feares climbing Yuy-twine:
Nor lowly Bustard dreads the distant rayes.
Nor earthen Pot wont secret death to shrine:
Nor suttle Snake doth lurke in pathed wayes.
Nor baser deed dreads Enuy and ill tongues,
Nor shrinks so soone for feare of causelesse wrongs.
Needs me then hope, or doth me need mis-dread:
Hope for that honor, dread that wrongfull spight:
Spight of the partie, honor of the deede,
VVhich wont alone on loftie obiects light.
That Enuie should accoast my Muse and me,
For this so rude, and recklesse Poesie.
VVould she but shade her tender Browes with Bay,
That now lye bare in carelesse wilfull rage:
And trance her selfe in that sweete Extasey,
That rouzeth drouping thoughts of bashfull age.
(Tho now those Bays, and that aspired thought,
In carelesser age, she sets at worse then nought.)
Or would we loose her plumy pineon,
Manicled long with bonds of modest feare:
Soone might she haue those Kestrels proud out gone,
VVhose flightie wings are dew'd with weeter aire;
And hopen now to shoulder from aboue
The Eagle from the stayrs of friendly Ioue
Or list she rather in late Triumph reare
Eternall Trophees to some Conqueror,
VVhose dead deserts slept in his Sepulcher,
And neuer saw, nor life, nor light before:
To lead sad Pluto captiue with my song,
To grace the triumphs he obscur'd so long.
Or scoure the rusted swords of Eluish knighes,
Bathed in Pagan blood: or sheath them new
In misty morall Types; or tell their fights,
VVho mightie Giants, or who Monsters slew.
And by some strange inchanted speare and shield▪
Vanquisht their foe, and wan the doubtfull field.
May be she might in stately Stanzaes frame
Stories of Ladies, and aduenturous knights,
To raise her silent and inglorious name,
Vnto areach-lesse pitch of Prayses hight.
And somewhat say, as more vnworthie done.
VVorthie of Brasse, and hoary Marble stone.
Then might vaine Enuy waste her duller wing,
To trace the aerysteps, she spiting sees:
And vainly faint in hoplesse following
The clouded paths her natiue drosse denies.
But now such lowly Satyres here I sing,
Not worth our Muse, not worth their enuying.
To good (if ill) to be expos'd to blame:
Too good, if worse, to shadow shamlesse vice.
Ill, if too good, not answering their name:
So good and ill infickle censure lies.
Since in our Satyre lyes both good and ill,
And they and it, inuarying readers will.
VVitnesse ye Muses how I wilfull song
These heddy rimes, withoutē second care:
And wish't them worse, my guiltie thoughts among:
The ruder Satyre should go rag'd and bare:
And show his rougher and his hairy hide:
Tho mine be smooth, and deckt in carelesse pride.
VVould we but breath within a wax-bound quill.
Pans seuenfold Pipe, some plaintiue Pastor all:
To teach each hollow groue, and shrubby hill,
Ech murmuring brooke, each solit arie vale
To sound our loue, and to our song accord,
VVearying Eccho with one changelesse word.
Or list vs make two striuing shephards sing,
VVith costly wagers for the victorie,
Vnder Menalcas iudge: whiles one doth bring
A caruen Bole well wrought of Beechen tree:
Praysing it by the storie, or the frame,
Or want of vse, or skilfull makers name.
Another layeth a well-marked Lambe,
Or spotted Kid, or some more forward Steere;
And from the Payle doth praise their fertile dam:
So doe they striue in doubt, in hope, in feare,
A wayting for their trustie Vmpires doome,
Faulted as false, by him that's ouercome.
VVhether so me list my louely thought to sing,
Come daunce ye nimble Dryads by my side:
Ye gentlewood- Nymphs come: and with you bring
The willing Faunes that mought your musick guide
Com Nimphs and Faunes, that haunt those shady groues
VVhiles I report my fortunes or my loues.
Or whether list me sing so per sonate,
My striuing selfe to conquer with my verse:
Speake ye attentiue swaynes that heard me late,
Needs me giue grasse vnto the Conquerers.
At Colins feete I throw my yeelding reede:
But let the rest win homage by their deed.
But now (ye Muses) sith your sacred hests
Profaned are by each presuming tongue:
In scornfull rage I vow this silent rest,
That neuer field nor groue shall heare my song.
Only these refuse rymes I here mispend,
To chide the world, that did my thoughts offend.

De suis Satyris.

Dum Satyrae dixi, videor dixisse Satirae
Corripio; aut istaec non satis est Satyra.
Irafacit Satyram, reliquum Sat temperat iram;
Pinge two Satyram sanguine, tum Satyra est.
Ecce nouam Satyram: Satyrum sine cornibus! Euge
Monstra noui monstri haec, & Satyri & Satyrae.

[Page]VIRGIDEMIARVM.
LIB. I.

Prologue.

I First aduenture, with foole-hardie might,
To treade the steps of perilous despight:
I first aduenture, follow me who list,
And be the second English Satyrist.
Enuy waits on my backe, Truth on my side:
Enuy will be my Page, and Truth my Guide.
Enuie the margent holds, and Truth the line:
Truth doth approue, but enuie doth repine.
For in this smoothing age who durst indite,
Hath made his pen an hyred Parasite.
To claw the back of him that beastly liues,
And pranck base men in Proud Superlatiues.
VVhence damned vice is shrouded quite from shame
And crown'd with Vertues meed, immortall Name:
Infamy dispossest of natiue due,
Ordain'd of old on looser life to sue:
The worlds eye bleared with those shamelesse lyes,
Mask'd in the shew of meal-mouth'd Poesies.
Go daring Muse, on with thy thanklesse taske,
And do the vgly face of vice vnmaske:
And if thou canst not thine high flight remit,
So as it mought a lowly Satyre fit,
Let lowly Satyres rise a loft to thee:
Truth be thy speede, & Truth thy Patron bee.

SAT. I.

NOr Ladies wanton loue, nor wandring knight,
Legend I out in rimes all richly dight.
Nor fright the Reader with the Pagan vaunt
Of mightie Mahound, and greate Termagaunt.
Nor list I Sonnet of my Mistresse face,
To paint some Blowesse with a borrowed grace,
Nor can I bide to pen some hungrie Scene
For thick-skin eares, and vndescerning eyne.
Nor euer could my scornfull Muse abide
With Tragick shooes her ankles for to hide.
Nor can I crouch, and writhe my fauning tayle
To some greate Patron, for my best auayle.
Such hunger-staruen Trencher Poetrie,
Or let it neuer liue, or timely die:
Nor vnder euerie bank, and euerie Tree,
Speake rymes vnto my oten Minstralsie:
Nor caroll out so pleasing liuely laies,
As mought the Graces moue my mirth to praise.
Trumpet, and reeds, and socks, and buskins fine,
I them bequeath: whose statues wandring Twine
Of Yuy, mixt with Bayes, circlen around
Their liuing Temples likewise Laurell-bound.
Rather had I, albee in carelesse rymes,
Check the mis-ordered world, and lawlesse times.
Nor need I craue the Muses mid-wifry,
To bring to light so worth-lesse Poetry:
Or if we list, what baser Muse can bide,
To sit and sing by Grantaes naked side?
They hunt the tyded Thames and salt Medway,
Ere since the same of their late Bridall day.
Nought haue we here but willow-shaded shore,
To tell our Grant his banks are left for lore.

SAT. II.

VVhilome the sisters nine were Vestall maides,
And held their Temple in the secret shades.
Of faire Parnassus that two-headed hill,
Whose auncient fame the Southern world did fill.
And in the stead of their eternall fame,
Was the coole streame, that tooke his endles name,
From out the fertile hoofe of winged steed:
There did they sit and do their holy deed,
That pleas'd both heauen and earth: till that of late,
Whome should I fault? or the most righteous Fate?
Or heauen, or men, or fiends, or ought beside,
That euer made that foule mischance betide?
Some of the sisters in securer shades.
Defloured were:
And euer since disdaining Sacred shame.
Done ought that might their heauenly stock defame.
Now is Pernassus turned to a stewes:
And on Bay-stocks the wanton Myrtle grewes.
Cythêron hill's become a Brothel-bed,
And Pyrene sweete, turnd to a poysoned head
Of cole-blacke puddle: whose infectious staine
Corrupteth all the lowly fruitfull plaine.
Their modest stole, to garish looser weede,
Deck't with loue-fauors: their late whordoms meed.
And where they wont sip of the simple flood,
Now tosse they bowles of Bacchus boyling bloud,
I maruelled much with doubtfull iealousie,
Whence came such Litturs of new Poetrie;
Mee thought I fear'd, least the horse-hoofed well
His natiue banks did proudly ouer-swell
In some late discontent, thence to ensue
Such wondrous rablements of Rime-sters new:
But since, I saw it painted on Fames wings,
The Muses to be woxen Wantonings.
Each bush, each bank, and ech base Apple-squire,
Can serue to sate their beastly lewd desire.
Ye bastard Poets see your Pedigree
From common Trulls and loathsome Brothelry.

SAT. III.

VVith some Pot-furie rauisht from their wit,
They sit and muse on some no-vulgar writ:
As frozen Dung-hils in a winters morne,
That voyd of Vapours seemed all beforne,
Soone as the Sun, sends out his piercing beames,
Exhale out filthie smoke and stinking steames:
So doth the base, and the fore-barren braine,
Soone as the raging wine begins to raigne.
One higher pitch'd doth set his soaring thought
On crowned kings that Fortune hath low brought:
Or some vpreared, high-aspiring swaine
As it might be the Turkish Tamberlaine.
Then weeneth he his base drink-drowned spright,
Rapt to the threefold loft of heauen hight,
When he conceiues vpon his fained stage
The stalking steps of his greate personage,
Graced with huf-cap termes, and thundring threats,
That his poore hearers hayre quite vpright sets.
Such soone, as some braue minded hungrie youth
Sees fitly frame to his wide-strained mouth,
He vaunts his voyce vpon an hyred stage,
With high-set steps, and princely carriage;
Now soouping in side robes of Royaltie,
That earst did skrub in lowsie brokerie.
There if he can with termes Italianate,
Big-sounding sentences, and words of state,
Faire patch me vp his pure Iambick verse,
He rauishes the gazing Scaffolders:
Then certes was the famous Corduban
Neuer but halfe so high Tragedian.
Now, least such frightfull showes of Fortunes fall,
And bloudy Tyrants rage, should chance appall
The dead stroke audience, midst the silent rout,
Comes leaping in a selfe-mis formed lout,
And laughes, and grins, and frames his Mimik face,
And iustles straight into the princes place.
Then doth the Theatre Eccho all aloud,
With gladsome noyse of that applauding croud.
A goodly hoch-poch; when vile Russettings,
Are match with monarchs, and with mightie kings.
A goodly grace to sober Tragick Muse,
When each base clowne, his clumbsie fist doth bruise
And show his teeth in double rotten-row,
For laughter at his selfe-resembled show.
Meane while our Poets in high Parliament,
Sit watching euerie word, and gesturement,
Like curious Censors of some doughtie geare,
Whispering their verdit in their fellowes eare.
Wo to the word whose margent in their scrole,
Is noted with a blacke condemning Cole.
But if each periode might the Synode please,
Ho, bring the Iuy boughs, and bands of Bayes
Now when they part and leaue the naked stage,
Gins the bare hearer in a guiltie rage,
To curse and ban, and blame his likerous eye,
That thus hath lauisht his late halfe-penie.
Shame that the Muses should be bought and sold,
For euerie peasants brasse, on each scaffold.

SAT. IIII.

TOo popular is Tragicke Poesie,
Strayning his tip-toes for a farthing fee,
And doth besides on Rimelesse numbers tread,
Vnbid Iambicks flow from carelesse head.
Some brauer braine in high Heroick rimes
Compileth worm-eate stories of olde times:
And he like some imperious Maronist,
Coniures the muses that they him assist.
Then striues he to bumbast his feeble lines
With farre-fetcht phrase:
And maketh vp his hard-betaken tale
With strange enchantments, fetcht from darkesome vale
Of some Melissa, that by Magicke doome
To Tuscans soyle transporteth Merlins toombe:
Painters and Poets holde your auncient right:
Write what you will, and write not what you might:
Their limits be their list, their reason will.
But if some Painter in presuming skill,
Should paint the stars in center of the earth,
Could ye forbeare some smiles, and taunting mirth?
But let no rebell Satyre dare traduce
Th'eternall Legends of thy Faerie Muse,
Renowmed Spencer: whom no earthly wight
Dares once to emulate, much lesse dares despight.
Salust of France, and Tuscan Ariost,
Yeeld vp the Lawrell garland ye haue lost:
And let all others willow weare with me,
Or let their vndeseruing Temples bared be.

SAT. V.

ANother, whose more heauie hearted Saint
Delights in nought but notes of rufull plaint,
Vrgeth his melting Muse with sollem teares
Rime of some drerie fates of lucklesse peeres.
Then brings he vp some branded whining Ghost,
To till how old misfortunes had him tost.
Then must he ban the guiltlesse fates aboue,
Or fortune fraile, or vnrewarded loue.
And when he hath parbrak'd his grieued minde,
He sends him downe where earst he did him find,
Without one penie to pay Charons hire,
That waiteth for the wandring ghosts retire.

SAT.

ANother scorns the home-spun thred of rimes,
Match'd with the loftie feete of elder times:
Giue me the numbred verse that Virgill sung,
And Virgill selfe shall speake the English toung:
Manhood and garboiles shall he chaunt with chaunged feete
And head-strong Dactils making Musicke meete.
The nimble Dactils striuing to out-go
The drawling Spondees pacing it below.
The lingring Spondees, labouring to delay,
The breath-lesse Dactils with a sodaine stay.
Who euer saw a Colte wanton and wilde,
Yoakt with a slow-foote Oxe on fallow field?
Can right areed how handsomely besets
Dull Spondees with the English Dactilets?
If Ioue speake English in a thundring cloud,
Thwick thwack, and Riffe raffe, rores he out aloud.
Fie on the forged mint that did create
New coyne of words neuer articulate.

SAT. VII.

GReat is the folly of a feeble braine,
Ore-rulde with loue, and tyrannous disdaine:
For loue, how-euer in the basest brest,
It breedes high thoughts that feed the fancie best.
Yet is he blinde, and leades poore fooles awrie,
While they hang gazing on their mistresse eye.
The loue-sicke Poet, whose importune prayer
Repulsed is with resolute dispaire,
Hopeth to conquer his disdainfull dame,
With publike plaints of his conceiued flame.
Then powres he foorth in patched Sonettings,
His loue, his lust, and loathsome flatterings:
As tho the staring world hāgd on his sleeue,
When once he smiles, to laugh: and when he sighs, to grieue.
Careth the world, thou loue, thou liue, or die?
Careth the world how faire thy faire one be?
Fond wit-wal that wouldst lode thy wit-lesse head
With timely hornes, before thy Bridall bed.
Then can he terme his durtie ill-fac'd Bride
Ladie and Queene, and virgin deified:
Be shee all sootie-blacke, or berie browne,
Shee's white as morrows milk, or flakes new blowne.
And tho she be some dunghill drudge at home,
Yet can he her resigne some refuse roome
Amids the well-knowne stars: or if not there,
Sure will he saint her in his Calendere.

SAT. VIII.

HEnce ye prophane: mell not with holy things,
That Sion Muse from Palestina brings.
Parnassus is transform'd to Sion-hill,
And Iury-palmes her steepe ascents done fill.
Now good S. Peter weepes pure Helicon,
And both the Maries make a Musicke mone:
Yea and the Prophet of the heauenly Lire,
Great Salomon, sings in the English Quire,
And is become a new found Sonetist,
Singing his loue, the holy spouse of Christ:
Like as she were some light-skirts of the rest,
In mightiest Ink-hornismes he can thither wrest.
Ye Sion Muses shall by my deare will,
For this your zeale, and farre-admired skill,
Be straight transported from Ierusalem,
Vnto the holy house of Bethleem.

SAT. IX.

ENuie ye Muses, at your thriuing Mate,
Cupid hath crowned a new Laureat:
I saw his statue gayly tyr'd in greene,
As if he had some second Phoebus beene.
His Statue trimd with the Venerean tree,
And shrined faire within your Sanctuarie.
What, he, that ea [...]st to gaine the riming Goale
The worne Recitall-post of Capitol,
Rimed in rules of Stewish ribaldrie,
Teaching experimentall bauderie?
Whiles th'itching vulgar tickled with the song,
Hanged on their vnreadie Poets tongue.
Take this ye patient Muses: and foule shame
Shall waite vpon your once profaned name.
Take this, ye Muses, this so high despight,
And let all hatefull lucklesse birds of night:
Let Scriching Owles nest in your razed roofes,
And let your sloore with horned Satyres hoofes
Be dinted and defiled euerie morne:
And let your walles be an eternall scorne.
What if some Shordich furie should incite
Some lust-stung letcher: must he needes indite
The beastly rites of hyred Venerie,
The whole worlds vniuersall bawd to be?
Did neuer yet no damned Libertine,
Nor elder Heathen, nor new Florentine,
Tho they were famous for lewd libertie,
Venture vpon so shamefull villanie
Our Epigrammatarians olde and late,
Were wont be blam'd for too licentiate.
Chast men, they did but glaunce at Lesbias deed,
And handsomely leaue off with cleanly speed.
But Arts of Whoring: stories of the stewes,
Ye Muses, will ye beare, and may refuse?
Nay let the Diuell, and Saint Valentine,
Be gossips to those ribald rimes of thine.
FINIS.

VIRGIDEMIARVM.
LIB. II.

Prologue.

OR beene the Manes of that Cynick spright,
Cloth'd with some stubborn clay & led to light?
Or doe the relique ashes of his graue
Reuiue and rise from their for saken caue?
That so with gall-weet words and speeches rude,
Controls the maners of the multitude.
Enuie belike incites his pining heart,
And bids it sate it selfe with others smart.
Nay, no despight: but angrie Nemesis,
VVhose scourge doth follow all that done amisse:
That scourge I beare, albe in rude fist,
And wound, and strike, and pardon whom she list.

SAT. I.

FOr shame write better Labeo, or write none,
Or better write, or Labeo write alone,
Nay call the Cynick but a wittie foole,
Tnence to abiure his handsome drinking bole:
Because the thirstie swaine with hollow hand,
Conueied the streame to weet his drie weasand.
Write they that can, tho they that cannot, doe:
But who knowes that, but they that do not know.
Lo what it is that makes white rags so deare,
That men must giue a teston for a queare.
Lo what it is that makes goose-wings so scant,
That the distressed Semster did them want,
So, lauish ope-tyde causeth fasting-lents,
And starueling Famine comes of large expence.
Might not (so they where pleasd that beene aboue)
Long Paper-abstinence our death remoue?
Then manie a Lollerd would in forfaitment,
Beare Paper-fagots ore the Pauement.
But now men wager who shall blot the most,
And each man writes. Ther's so much lobour lost,
That's good, that's great: Nay much is sildome well,
Of what is bad, a littl's a greate deale.
Better is more: but best is nought at all.
Lesse is the next, and lesser criminall.
Little and good, is greatest good saue one,
Then Labeo, or write little or write none.
Tush but small paynes can be but little art,
Or lode full drie-fats fro the forren mart.
With Folio-volumes, two to an Oxe hide,
Or else ye Pamphleter go stand a side,
Reade in each Schoole, in euerie margent coted,
In euerie Catalogue for an autour noted.
There's happinesse well giuen, and well got,
Lesse gifts, and lesser gaines I weigh them not.
So may the Giant rome and write on high,
Be he a Dwarfe that writes not their as I.
But well fare Strabo, which as stories tell,
Contriu'd all Troy within one Walnut shell.
His curious ghost now lately hither came.
Arriuing neere the mouth of luckie Tame:
I saw a Pismire strugling with the lode,
Dragging all Troy home towards her abode.
Now dare we hither, if we durst appeare,
The subtile Stithy-man that liu'd while eare:
Such one was once, or once I was mistaught,
A Smith at Uulcans owne forge vp brought,
That made an Iron-chariot so light,
The coach-horse was a Flea in trappings dight.
The tame-lesse steed could well his wagon wield,
Through downes and dales of the vneuen field.
Striue they laugh we: meane while the black storie
Passes new Strabo, and new Straboes Troy.
Little for great: and great for good: all one:
For shame or better write, or Labeo write none.
But who coniur'd this bawdie Poggies ghost,
From out the stewes of his lewde home-bred coast:
Or wicked Rablais dronken reuellings,
To grace the mis-rule of our Tauernings?
Or who put Bayes into blind Cupids fist,
That he should crowne what Laureats him list?
Whose words are those, to remedie the deed,
That cause men stop their noses when they read?
Both good things ill, and ill things well: all one?
For shame write cleanly Labeo, or write none.

SAT. II.

TO what end did our lauish auncestours,
Erect of old these stately piles of ours?
For thred-bare clearks, and for the ragged Muse
Whom better fit some cotes of sad secluse?
Blush niggard Age, and be asham'd to see,
These monuments of wiser ancestrie.
And ye faire heapes the Muses sacred shrines,
(In spight of time and enuious repines)
Stand still and flourish till the worlds last day,
Vpbrayding it with former loues decay.
Here may you Muses, our deare Soneraignes,
Scorne each base Lordling euer you disdaines,
And euerie peasant churle, whose smokie roofe
Denied harbour for your deare behoofe.
Scorne ye the world before it do complaine,
And scorne the world that scorneth you againe.
And scorne contempt it selfe that doth incite
Each single-sold Squire to set you at so light.
What needes me care for anie bookish skill,
To blot white papers with my restlesse quill:
Or poare on painted leaues: or beat my braine
With far-fetch thought, or to consume in vaine
In latter Euen, or midst of winter nights,
Ill sinelling oyles, or some still-watching lights.
Let them that meane by bookish buisinesse
To earne their bread: or hopen to professe
Their hard got skill: let them alone for mee;
Busie their braines with deeper bookerie.
Great gaines shall bide you sure, when ye haue spent
A thousand Lamps: and thousand Reames haue rent
Of needlesse papers, and a thousand nights
Haue burned out with costly candle lights.
Ye palish ghosts of Athens; when at last,
Your patrimonie spent in witlesse wast,
Your friends all wearie, and your spirits spent,
Ye may your fortunes seeke: and be forwent

SAT. III.

VVho doubts? The lawes fel down frō heauēs height,
Like to some gliding starre in winters night.
Themis the Scribe of God did long agone,
Engraue them deepe in during Marble-stone,
And cast them downe on this vnruly clay,
That men might know to rule and to obay.
But now their Characters depraued bin,
By them that would make gain of others sin.
And now hath wrong so maistered the right,
That they liue best, that on wrongs off all light;
So loathly flye that liues on galled wound,
And scabby festers inwardly vnsound,
Feedes fatter with that poysnous carrion,
Then they that haunt the healthy lims alone.
Wo to the weale where many Lawiers bee,
For there is sure much store of maladie.
T'was truely said, and truely was foreseene
The fat kine are deuoured of the leane.
Genus and Species long since barefoote went,
Vpon their ten-toes in wilde wanderment:
Whiles father Bartoll on his footcloth rode,
Vpon high pauement gayly siluer-strowd.
Each home-bred science percheth in the chaire,
While sacred artes grouell on the groundsell bare.
Since pedling Barbarismes gan be in request,
Nor classicke tongues, nor learning found no rest.
The crowching Client, with low-bended knee,
And manie Worships, and faire flatterie,
Tels on his tale as smoothly as him list,
But still the Lawyers eye squints on his fist:
If that seeme lined with a larger fee,
Doubt not the suite, the law is plaine for thee.
Tho must he buy his vainer hope with price,
Disclout his crownes, and thanke him for aduice.
So haue I seene in a tempestuous stowre,
Some bryer-bush shewing shelter from the showre,
Vnto the hopefull sheepe, that faine would hide
His fleecie coate from that same angrie tide.
The ruthlesse breere regardlesse of his plight,
Laies holde vpon the fleece he should acquite,
And takes aduantage of the carelesse pray,
That thought she in securer shelter lay.
The day is faire, the sheepe would fare to feede:
The tyrant Brier holdes fast his shelters meed,
And claimes it for the fee of his defence:
So robs the sheepe, in fauours faire pretence.

SAT. IIII.

VVOrthie were Galen to be weighed in gold,
Whose help doth sweetest life & helth vphold
Yet by S. Escnlape he sollemne swore,
That for diseases they were neuer more,
Fees neuer lesse, neuer so little gaine,
Men giue a groate and aske the rest againe.
Groats-worth of health, can anie leech allot?
Yet should he haue no more that giues a groate:
Should I on each sicke plliow leane my brest.
And grope the pulse of euerie mangie wrest:
And spie out maruels in each Vrinall:
And rumble vp the filths that from them fall,
And giue a Dosse for euerie disease,
In prescripts long and tedious Recipes:
All for so leane reward of Art and me?
No Horse-leach but will looke for larger fee.
Meane while if chaunce some desp'rate patient die,
Com'n to the Period of his destinie:
(As who can crosse the fatall resolution,
In the decreed day of dissolution:)
Whether ill tendment, or recurelesse paine,
Procure his death; the neighbours all complaine,
Th'unskilfull leech murdred his patient,
By poyson of some foule Ingredient.
Hereon the vulgar may as soone be brought
To Socrates-his poysoned Hemlock-drought,
As to the wholsome Iulap, whose receat
Might his diseases lingring force defeat.
If nor a dramme of Triacle soueraigne,
Or Aqua vitae, or Sugar Candian,
Nor Kitchin-cordials can it remedie,
Certes his time is come, needs mought he die.
Were I a leech, as who knowes what may be,
The liberall man should liue, and carle should die.
The sickly Ladie, and the gowtie Peere
Still would I haunt, that loue their life so deare.
Where life is deare, who cares for coyned drosse?
That spent, is counted gaine, and spared, losse:
Or would coniure the Chymick Mercurie,
Rise from his hors-dung bed, and vpwards flie:
And with glasse-stils, and sticks of Iuniper,
Raise the Black-spright that burnes not with the fire:
And bring Quintessence of Elixir pale,
Out of sublimed spirits minerall.
Each powdred graine raunsometh captiue kings,
Purchaseth Realmes, and life prolonged brings.

SAT. V.

SAw'st thou euer Siquis patch'd on Pauls Church doore,
To seeke some vacant Vicarage before?
Who wants a Churchman, that can seruice sey,
Read fast, and faire, his monthly Homiley?
And wed, and burie, and make Christen-soules?
Come to the left-side Alley of Saint Poules.
Thou seruile Foole, why could'st thou not repaire
To buy a Benefice at Steeple-Faire?
There moughtest thou for but a slender price,
Aduowson thee with some fat benefice:
Or if thee list not waite for dead mens shoon,
Nor pray ech morn th'incumbents daies were doon:
A thousand Patrons thither ready bring,
Their new-falne Churches to the Chaffering,
Stake three yeares Stipend; no man asketh more:
Go take possession of the Church-porch-doore:
And ring thy bels; lucke stroken in thy fist:
The Parsonage is thine or ere thou wist.
Saint Fooles of Go [...]am, mought thy parish be,
For this thy base and seruile Symonie.

SAT. VI.

A Gentle Squire would gladly intertaine
Into his house, some trencher-Chaplaine:
Some willing man that might instruct his sons,
And that would stand to good conditions.
First that He lie vpon the Truckle-bed,
Whiles his yong maister lieth ore his hed.
Second, that he do, on no default,
Euer presume to sit aboue the salt.
Third, that he neuer change his trencher twise.
Fourth, that he vse all common courtesies:
Sit bare at meales, and one halfe rise and wait.
Last, that he neuer his yong master beat,
But he must aske his mother to define,
How manie ierkes she would his breech should line.
All these obseru'd, he could contented bee,
To giue fiue markes and winter liuerie.

SAT. VII.

IN th'heauens vniuersall Alphabet.
All earthly thinges so surely are foreset,
That who can read those figures, may foreshew
What euer thing shall afterwards ensue
Faine would I know (might it our Artist please)
Why can his tell-troth Ephemerides
Teach him the weathers state so long beforne:
And not fore-tell him, nor his fatall horne
Nor his deaths-day, nor no such sad euent
Which he mought wisely labour to preuent?
Thou damned mock-art, and thou brainsick tale,
Of old Astrologie: where didst thou vaile
Thy cursed head thus long: that so it mist
The black bronds of some sharper Satyrist.
[...] [...]
Some doting gossip mongst the Chaldee wiues,
Did to the credulous world thee first deriue:
And superstition nurs'd thee euer sence,
And publisht in profounder Arts pretence:
That now who pares his nailes, or libs his swine,
But he must first take counsell of the signe.
So that the Vulgars count for faire or foule,
For liuing or for dead, for sicke or whole:
His feare or hope, for plentie or for lacke,
Hangs all vpon his New-yeares Almanack.
If chance once in the spring his head should ake:
It was foretold: Thus sayes mine Almanack.
In th'heauens High-streete are but dozen roomes,
In which dwels all the world, past and to come:
Twelue goodly Innes they are, with twelue fayre signes,
Euer well tended by our Star-diuines.
Euerie mans head Innes at the horned Ramme,
The whiles the necke the Black-buls guest became:
The'arms by good hap, meet at the wrastling twins,
Th' heart in the way at the Blew-lion innes.
The legs their lodging in Aquarius got,
That is the Bride-streete of the heauen, I wot.
The feete tooke vp the Fish with teeth of gold:
But who with Scorpio lodg'd, may not be told.
What office then doth the Star-gazer beare?
Or let him be the heauens Ostelere:
Or Tapsters some: or some be Chamberlaines,
To waite vpon the guests they entertaine.
Hence can they reade, by vertue of their trade,
When anie thing is mist where it was laide.
Hence they diuine, and hence they can deuise:
If their ayme faile, the Stars to moralize.
Demon my friend once liuer-sicke of loue,
Thus learn'd I by the signes his griefe remoue.
In the blinde Archer first I saw the signe,
When thou receiu'dst that wilfull wound of thine:
And now in Uirgo is that cruell mayd,
Which hath not yet with loue thy loue repaide.
But marke when once it comes to Gemini,
Straight way Fish-whole shall thy sicke liuer be.
But now (as th'angrie Heauens seeme to threat
Manie hard Fortunes, and disastres great:
If chance it come to wanton Capricorne,
And so into the Rams disgracefull horne,
Then learne thou of the vgly Scorpion,
To hate her for her fowle abusion:
Thy refuge then the Ballance be of Right,
Which shall thee from thy broken bond acquite:
So with the Crab, go backe whence thou began,
From thy first match: and liue a single man.
FINIS.

VIRGIDEMIARVM.
LIB. III.

Prologue.

Some say my Satyres ouer-loosely flowe,
Nor hide their gall inough from open showe:
Not riddle like, obscuring their intent;
But packe-staffe plaine, vttring what thing they ment:
Contrarie to the Roman ancients,
VVhose words were short, and darkesome was their sence.
VVho reades one line of their harsh poesies,
Thrise must he take his winde, and breath him thrise.
My Muse would follow them that haue fore-gone,
But cannot with an English pineon,
For looke howfarre the ancient Comedie
Past former Satyres in her libertie:
Sofarre must mine yeeld vnto them of olde.
'Tis better be too bad, then be too bolde.

SAT. I.

TIme was, and that was term'd the time of Gold,
When world and time were young, that now are old.
(When quiet Saturne swaid the mace of lead,
And Pride was yet vnborne, and yet vnbred.)
Time was, that whiles the Autumne fall did last,
Our hungrie sires gapte for the falling mast of the Dodonian oakes.
Could no vnhusked Akorne leaue the tree,
But there was challenge made whose it might be.
And if some nice and licorous appetite,
Desir'd more daintie dish of rare delite,
They scal'd the stored Crab with clasped knee,
Till they had sated their delicious eye:
Or search'd the hopefull thicks of hedgy-rowes,
For brierie berries, or hawes, or sowrer sloes:
Or when they meant to fare the fin'st of all,
They lickt oake-leaues besprint with hony fall.
As for the thrise three-angled beech nut-shell,
Or chesnuts armed huske, and hid kernell,
No Squire durst touch, the law would not afford,
Kept for the Court, and for the kings owne bord.
Their royall Plate was clay, or wood, or stone:
The vulgar, saue his hand, else had he none.
Their onely seller was the neighbour brooke.
None did for better care, for better looke.
Was then no playning of the Brewers scape,
Nor greedie Uintner mixt the strained grape.
The kings pauilion, was the grassy green,
Vnder safe shelter of the shadie treen.
Vnder each banke men layd their lims along,
Not wishing anie ease, not fearing wrong:
Clad with their owne, as they were made of old,
Not fearing shame, not feeling anie cold,
But when by Ceres huswifrie and paine,
Men learn'd to burie the reuiuing graine:
And father Ianus taught the new found vine,
Rise on the Elme, with many a friendly twine..
And base desire bad men to deluen low,
For needlesse mettals: then gan mischiefe grow.
Then farwell fayrest age, the worlds best dayes:
Thriuing in ill as it in age decaies.
Then crept in Pride, and peeuish Couetise:
And men grue greedie, discordous and nice.
Now man, that earst Haile fellow was with beast,
Woxe on to weene himselfe a God at least.
No aerie foule can take so high a flight,
Tho she her daring wings in clouds haue dight:
Nor fish can diue so deepe in yeelding Sea.
Tho Thetis-selfe should sweare her safetie:
Nor fearfull beast can dig his caue so lowe,
All could he further then earths center go:
As that the ayre, the earth, or Ocean,
Sould shield them from the gorge of greedie man.
Hath vtmost Inde ought better then his owne?
Then vtmost Inde is neare, and rife to gone.
O Nature: was the world ordain'd for nought,
But fill mans maw, and feede mans idle thought?
Thy Grandsires words sauor'd of thriftie Leekes,
Or manly Garlicke, But thy furnace reekes,
Hote steams of wine: and can a loofe descrie
The drunken draughts of sweete Autumnitie.
They naked went: or clad in ruder hide:
Or home-spun Russet, void of forraine pride:
But thou canst maske in garish gauderie,
To suit a fooles far-fetched liuerie.
A French head ioyn'd to necke Italian:
Thy thighs from Germanie, and brest fro Spains:
An Englishman in none, a foole in all:
Many in one, and one in seuerall.
Then men were men, but now the greater part
Beasts are in life, and women are in heart.
Good Saturne selfe, that homely Emperour?
In proudest pompe was not so clad of yore,
As is the vnder-groome of the Ostlerie,
Husbanding it in work-day yeomanrie.
Lo the long date of those expired daies,
Which the inspired Merlins word fore-saies:
When dunghill Pesants shall be dight as kings,
Then one confusion another brings:
Then farewell fairest age, the worlds best daies,
Thriuing in ill, as it in age decaies.

SAT. II.

GReat Osmond knowes not how he shalbe known
When once great Osmond shalbe dead & gone:
Vnlesse he reare vp some rich monument,
Ten furlongs nearer to the firmament.
Some stately tombe he builds, Egyptian wise,
Rex Regum written on the Pyramis:
Where as great Arthur lies in ruder oke,
That neuer felt none but the fellers stroke.
Small honour can be got with gaudie graue:
Nor it thy rotten name from death can saue.
The fairer tombe, the fowler is thy name.
The greater pompe procuring greater shame,
Thy monument make thou thy liuing deeds:
No other tombe then that, true vertue needs,
What? had he nought whereby he might be knowne,
But costly pilements of some curious stone?
The matter, Natures, and the workmans frame,
His purses cost; where then is Osmonds name?
Deseru'dst thou ill? well were thy name and thee.
Wert thou inditched in great secrecie,
Where as no passenger might curse thy dust,
Nor dogs sepulchrall sate their gawning lust.
Thine ill deserts cannot be graued with thee,
So long as on thy graue they ingraued bee.

SAT. III.

THe curteous Citizen bad me to his feast,
With hollow words, and ouerly request:
Come, will ye dine with me this Holy day?
I yeelded, tho he hop'd I would say Nay:
For had I mayden'd it, as many vse:
Loath for to graunt, but loather to refuse.
A lacke sir, I were loath, Another day:
I should but trouble you: pardon me, if you may.
No pardon should I need; for, to depart
He giues me leaue: and thanks too, in his heart.
Two words for monie, Darbishirian wise:
(That's one too manie) is a naughtie guise,
Who lookes for double biddings to a feast,
May dine at home for an importune guest.
I went, then saw, and found the greate expence:
The fare and fashions of our Citizens.
Oh: Cl [...]lopatricall: what wanteth there
For curious cost, and wondrous choise of cheare?
Beefe, that earst Hercules held for finest fare:
Porke, for the fat Boeotian, or the hare
For Martiall: fish for the Venetian,
Goose-liuer for the likorous Romane,
Th' Athenians goate, Quaile, Iolans cheere,
The Hen for Esculape; and the Parthian Deere,
Grapes for Arcesilas, figs for Platoes mouth,
And Chesnuts faire for Amarillis tooth.
Had'st thou such cheere, wer't thou euer there before
Neuer: I thought so: nor come there no more.
Come there no more; for so ment all that cost:
Neuer hence take me for thy second host.
For whome he meanes to make an often guest,
One dish shall serue; and welcome make the rest.

SAT. IIII.

VVEre yesterday Polemons Natals kept
That so his threshold is all freshly steept
With new-shed bloud? could he not sacrifice
Some sorry morkin that vnbidden dies:
Or meager heifer, or some roten Ewe:
Rut he must needs his Posts with bloud embrew,
And on his way-doore fixe the honned head,
With slowers, and with ribbands garnished?
Now shall the passenger deeme the man deuout.
What boots it be so, but the world must know't?
O the fond boasting of vaineglorious man:
Does he the best, that may the best be seene?
Who euer giues a paire of veluet shooes
To th' holy Road: or liberally allowes:
But a new rope, to ring the Couure-feu Bell,
But he desires that his great deed may dwell,
Or grauen in the Chancel-window-glasse,
Or in the lasting tombe of plated brasse.
For he that doth so few deseruing deeds,
T' were sure his best sue for such larger meeds.
Who would inglorious liue, inglorious die,
And might eternize his names memorie?
And he that cannot brag of greater store,
Must make his somewhat much, and little more.
Nor can good Myson weare on his left hond,
A signet ring of Bristol-diamond:
But he must cut his gloue, to shew his pride,
That his trim Iewel might be better spide:
And that men monght some Burgesse him repute,
With Satten sleeues hath grac'd his sackeloth sure.

SAT. V.

FIe on all Curtesie, and vnruly windes,
Two onely foes that faire disguisement findes.
Strange curse! But fit for such a sickle age,
When Scalpes are subiect to such vassalage.
Late trauailing along in London way,
Mee met, as seem'd by his disguis'd aray,
A lustie Courtier, whose curled head,
With abron locks was fairely furnished.
I him saluted in our lauish wise:
He answeres my vntimely courtesies.
His bonnet vail'd, ere euer he could thinke,
Th'unruly winde blowes off his Periwinke.
He lights, and runs, and quickly hath him sped,
To ouertake his ouerrunning head.
The sportfull winde, to mocke the Headlesse man,
Tosses apace his pitch'd Rogerian:
And straight it to a deeper ditch hath blowne:
There must my yonker fetch his waxen crowne.
I lookt, and laught, whiles in his raging minde,
He curst all Curtesie, and vnruly winde.
I lookt, and laught, and much I meruailed,
To see so large a Caus-way in his head.
And me bethought, that when it first begon,
T'was some shroad Autumne, that so bar'd the bone.
Is't not sweete pride, when men their crownes must
With that which ierks the hams of euery iade
Or floor-strowd locks from off the Barbers sheares?
But waxen crownes well gree with borrowed haires.

SAT. VI.

WHen Gullion di'd (who knowes not Gullion?)
And his drie soule arriu'd at Acheron,
He faire besought the Feryman of hell,
That he might drinke to dead Pantagruel.
Charon was afraid least thirstie Gullion,
Would haue drunke drie the riuer Acheron.
Yet last consented for a little hyre,
And downe he dips his chops deepe in the myre,
And drinks, and drinks, and swallows in the streeme,
Vntill the shallow shores all naked seeme.
Yet still he drinkes, nor can the Botemans cries,
Nor crabbed oares, nor prayers make him rise.
So long he drinkes, till the blacke Carauell,
Stands still fast grauel'd on the mud of hell.
There stand they still, nor can go, nor retyre,
Tho greedie ghosts quicke passage did require.
Yet stand they still, as tho they lay at rode,
Till Gullion his bladder would vnlode.
They stand, and waite, and pray for that good houre:
Which when it came, they sailed to the shore.
But neuer since dareth the Feryman,
Once intertaine the ghost of Gullian.
Drinke on drie soule, and pledge sir Gullion:
Drinke to all healths, but drinke not to thine owne.

Desunt nonnulla.

SAT. VII.

SEest thou how gayly my yong maister goes,
Vaunting himselfe vpon his rising toes,
And pranks his hand vpon his daggers side,
And picks his glutted teeth since late Noon-tide?
Tis Russio: Trow'st thou where he din'd to day:
In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humfray.
Manie good welcoms, and much Gratis cheere,
Keepes he for euerie stragling Caualiere:
An open house haunted with greate resort,
Long seruice mixt with Musicall disport.
Manie faire yonker with a fether'd crest,
Chooses much rather be his shot free guest,
To fare so freely with so little cost,
Then stake his Twelue-pence to a meaner host.
Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say,
He touch't no meat of all this liue-long day.
For sure me thought, yet that was but a ghesse,
His eyes seeme sunke for verie hollownesse,
But could he haue (as I did it mistake)
So little in his purse, so much vpon his backe:
So nothing in his maw: yet seemeth by his belt,
That his gaunt gut, no too much stuffing felt.
Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip?
Hunger, and heauie Iron makes girdles slip.
Yet for all that, how stifly strits he by,
All trapped in the new-found brauerie.
The Nuns of new-woon Cales his bonnet lent,
In lieu of their so kind a Conquerment.
What needed he fetch that from farthest Spaine,
His Grandame could haue lent with lesser paine?
Tho he perhaps neuer past the English shore;
Yet faine would counted be a Conquerour.
His haire French like; stares on his frighted hed,
One locke Amazon-like disheueled:
As if he ment to weare a natiue cord,
If chaunce his Fates should him that bane afford,
All Brittish bare vpon the bristled skin,
Close noched is his beard both lip and chin:
His linnen collar Labyrinthian-set,
Whose thousand double turnings neuer met:
His sleeues halfe hid with elbow- Pineonings,
As if he ment to flie with linnen wings.
But when I looke and cast mine eyes below,
What monster meets mine eyes in humane show?
So lender wast with such an Abbots loyne,
Did neuer sober Nature sure conioyne.
Lik'st a strawne scar-crow in the new-sowne field,
Reard on some sticke, the tender corne to shield:
Or if that semblance suite not eueric deale,
Like a broad shak-forke with a slender steale.
Despised Nature suit them once aright,
Their bodie to their cote: both now mis-dight:
Their bodie to their clothes might shapen bee,
That nill their clothes shape to their bodie.
Meane while I wonder at so prowd a backe,
Whiles th'emptie guts lowd rumblen for long lacke,
The bellie enuieth the backs bright glee,
And murmurs at such inequalitie.
The backe appeares vnto the partiall [...]ine,
The plaintiue belly pleads they bribed beene:
And he for want of better Aduocate,
Doth to the eare his iniurie relate.
The backe insulting ore the bellies need,
Saies: thou thy selfe, I others eyes must feed.
The maw, the guts, all inward parts complaine
The backs great pride, and their owne secret paine.
Ye witlesse gallants, I beshrew your hearts,
That sets such discord twixt agreeing parts,
Which neuer can be set at onement more,
Vntill the mawes wide mouth be stopt with store.

THE CONCLVSION of all.

THus haue I writ in smoother Cedar tree,
So gentle Satyrs, pend so easily.
Henceforth I write in crabbed oake-tree rindes
Search they that meane the secret meaning finde.
Holde out ye guiltie, and ye galled hides,
And meete my far-fetch't stripes with waiting sides.
FINIS.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.