Page images

S A T I R E S.



What, did he counterfeat his prince's hari

For some streave lordship of concealed laš? Sit pæna merenti.

Or on each Michael and Lady-day,

Tooke he deepe forfeits for an hour's celt! Pardox, ye glowing cares ; needs will it out,

And gain'd no lesse by such injurious brown Though brazen walls compass’d my tongue about Than Gamius by his fixth wife's burial! As thick as wealthy Scrobio's quick-set rowes Or hath he wonne some wider intereid, In the wide common that he did enclose.

By hoary charters from his grandüre's else! Pull out mine eyes, if I shall see no vice;

Which late some bribed scribe, for icoda *** Or let me sce it with detesting eyes.

Writ in the characters of another age, Renowned Aquine, now I follow thee,

That Plowdon felfe might stammer toket Far as I may, for feare of jeopardy;

Whose date o erlooks three centuries d 133 And to thy hand yield up the ivy-mace

Who ever yet the tracks of weale foon'. From crabbed Persius, and more smooth Horace ; But there hach been one beaten way bed? Or from that shrew, the Roman poetesse, He, when he lets a lease for life, or years 'That taught her gossips learned bitternesse ; (As never he doth until the date expires; Or Lucile's muse, whom thou didit imitate, For when the full state in his fift doch lie, Or Menips old, or Pasquillers of late.

He may take vantage of the vacancy) Yet name I not Mutius or Tigilline,

His fine affords so many treble pounds Though they deserve a keener style than mine; As he agreeth yeares to lease his grouse : Nor meane to ransack up the quiet grave, His rent in fair refpondence must arie Nor burn dead bones, as he example gave, To double trebles of his one yeare's price. I taxe the living ; let the dead ashes reft,

Of one baye's breadth, God wot! a boca Whose faults are dead, and nailed in their chest.

Whose thatched spars are furr'd with loca Who can refrain chat's guiltleffe of their crime, A whole inch thick, thining like biace. Whiles yet he lives in such a cruel time?

brows, When Titio's grounds, that in his grandfire's Through smoke that down the head. dayes,

At his bed's feet feeden his falled ters; But one pound fine, one penny rent did raise, His swine beneath, his pullen o'er the use A sunimer (now-ball, or a win:er rose,

A starved tenement, such as I guesse 1s growne to thousands, as the world now goes. Stands ftraggling in the wastes of Helost's So thrist and time fets other things on floare, Or such as biver on 2 Peake hill ide, 'That now his sonne soups in a filken coate, When March's lungs beate on their terce*** Whose grandfire happily, a poore hungry swaine, such as nice Lipsius would grudze tie? Begg'd some cast abbey in the church's wayne : Above his lodging in wild Westphalye; And but for that, whatever he may vaunt, Or as the Saxon king his court might oako Who knows a monk had been a mendicant?

When his Gides playned of the Deat-hearted While freezing Matho, that for one lean fee Yet must he haunt his greedy landlord's brain Won'e term each term the term of Hillary, With often presents at each feftival : May now, instead of those his simple fees, With crammed capons every New-yeares Get ilic fcc-simples of faire manneries.

Os with green cheeses when bis letras De

[merged small][ocr errors]

Or many maunds full of his mellow fruite, Till once surviv'd his tvardfhip's laten eve,
To make some way to win his weighty fuite. His eyes are clos'd, with choice to die or live,
Whom cannot gifts at last cause to relent, Plenty and He dy d both in that same yeare,
Or to win favour, or fee punishment ?

When the sad sky did shed so many a tcare.
When griple patrons turn their sturdie steele And now, who lidt rot of his labour faile,
To waxe, when they the golden flame do feele : Mark, with Saturio my friendly tale.
When grand Mæcenas casts a glavering eye Along thy way thou canst not but desery
On the cold present of a poesy :

Fair glittering halls to tempt the hopeful eye, And left he might more frankly take than give, Thy right eye 'gins to leap for vaine delight, Gropes for a French crowne in his enipty sleeve. And surbeat toes to tickle at the fight; l'hence Clodius hopes to set his shoulders free As greedy T-- when in the founding mould from the light burden of his Napery.

He finds a shining potthard tip'd with gold; "he smiling landlord Thewes a fun-fhine face, For never fyren tempts the pleased cares, eigping that he will grant him further grace, As these the eye of fainting passengers. Ind leers like Æsop's foxe upon a crane

All is not so that seemes, for surely then Vhose neck he craves for his chirurgian :

Marrona should not be a courtezan; o lingers off the lease until the last,

Smooth Chrysalus should not be rich with fraud, Vhat recks he then of paines or promise past? Nor honest Rbe his own wife's bawd. Vas ever feather, or fond woman's mind

Look not asquint, nor stride across the way Tore light than words? the blasts of idle wind! Like some demurring Alcide to delay; Vhat's sib or fire, to take the gentle flip,

But walk on cheerly, till thou have espy'd nd in th’exchequer rot for furetyship?

Saint Peter's finger at the church-yard lide. T thence thy starved brother live and die,

But wilt thou needs when tbou art warn'd so well Pithin the cold Coal harbour sanctuary?

Go see who in fo garish walls doth dwell? Oill one from Scots-bank bid but one groate more, There findest thou forne stately Dorick frame, ly old ecnant may be turned out of drore, Or neat Ionick workc ;hough much he spent in th' rotten roof's repairc, Like the vain bubble of Iberian pride, hope to have it left unto his heir :

That overcruweth all the world belide. hough many a load of marle and manure layd, Which rear'd to raise the crazy monarchi's fame, eviv'd his barren leas, that erst lay dead.

Strives for a court and for a college name; Pere he as Purius, he would defy

Yet nought within but lousy coules doth hold, ich pilfering flips of petty landlordry :

Like a scabb'd cuckow in a cage of gold. nd might dislodge whole colonies of poore, So pride above doth fade the fame below; nd lay their roofe quite level with the floure, A golden periwig on a black mour's brow. "hiles yet he gives as to a yielding fence,

When Mævio's first page of his poely, heir bag and baggage to his citizens,

Naild to an hundred poftes for novelty, nd ships them to the new-nam'd Virgin-lond, With his big title an Italian mot, - wilder Wales where never wight yet wonn’d. Layes siege unto the backward buyer's groat ; Could it not vex thee where thy fires did keep, Which all within is drafty fluttish geere, o fee the dunged folds of dag-tay!'d (heep? Fit for the oven, or the kitchen fire. nd ruin'd house where holy things were said, So this gay gate adds fuel to tby thought, 'hose free-stone walls the thatched roofe upbraid, That such proud piles were never fais'd for Those ihrill saint's bell hangs on his lovery,

nought. Thile the rest are damned to the plumbery? Beat the broad gates a goodly hollow sound et pare devotion lets the steeple stand,

With double echoes doth again rebound; ind idle battlements on either hand :

But not a dog doch bark to welcome thee, eft that, perhaps, were all those relicks gone,

Nor churlish porter canst thou chafing fee : urius his sacrilege could not be knowne.

All dumb and filent, like the dead of night,
Or dwelling of some sleepy Sybarite.

The marble pavemene hid with defast wedd,

With house-leek, thistle, dock, and hemlock seed :

But if thou chance cal up thy wond'ring eyes, Héc quærite Trojam,

Thou shalt diicern upon the frontispiece

ΟΥΔΕΙΣ ΕΙΣΙΤΩ graven up on high, , OUSE-KEEPING's dead, Sacurio, wof'lt thou A fragmrat old Plato'- poesy : where?

Tnc ineaning is “ Sir foole ye may be gope, Orfooth they say far hence in Breckneckshire. “ Go back by leave, for way here lieth none." und ever since, they say that feel and taste, Look to the tow'red chimoies which thould be Chat men may breck their neck soon as their faft. The windripes of good hospitality, crtes, if pity dy'd at Chaucer's date,

Through which it breatheth to the open aire, Le liv'd á widower long behind his mate : Bet kening life, and liberal welfare; ve that I fee fonie rotten bed-rid fire,

Lo! there th’unthankful swallow takes her rest, hich to outstrip the nonage of his heire,

And fills the tunnell with her circled welt; cranım'd with golden broths, and drugs of price, Nor half that imoke from all his chimnies goes und each day dying lives, and living dies; Which one tobacco pipe drives througú his nose,


So raw-bone hunger scorns the mudded walls, What though the scornful waiter lookes zitriz, And 'gios to revel it in lordly halls.

And peuts and frowns, and curseth thee tv, So the

black prince is broken loose againe And takes bis farewell with a jealous ofs, That saw no sunne save once (as stories saine) At every morsell he his last fháil fee? That once was, when in Trinacry I weene And if but one exceed the common lize, He stole the daughter of the harvest queene, Or make an hillock in thy checke arife, And gript the mawes of barren Sicily

Or if perchance thou shouldest, ete thon sid, With long conftraint of pineful penury;

Hold thy knife upright in thy griped fit, And they that should relift his second rage, Or fittelt double on thy backward (cal, Have pent themselves up in the private cage Or with thine elbow shad'At thy fared mtz, of fonie blind lane, and there they lurk unknowne He laughs thee, in his fellow's eate to corne, Till th' hungry tempest once be overblowne: And asks aloud, where Trebius was borne! Then like the coward after neighbour's fray, Though the third sewer takes thee quite away They creep forth boldly, and ask, Where are they? Without a staffe, when thou would't longer be}

Meanwhile the hunger starv'd appurtenance What of all this? Is't not enough to say,
Must bide the brant, whatever ill mischance : I din'd at Virro his owne board co-day?
Grim Famine fits in their fore-pined face,
All full of angles of unequal space,
Like to the plane of many sided squares,
That wont be drawne cat by geometars;

So sharp and meager that who should them see
Would Iwear they lately came from Hungary.

When their brasse pans and winter coverlid The satire should be like the porcupine,
Have wip'd the maunger of the horse's bread, That shoots sharp quills out in cach angry lies
Oh me! what odds there seemeth 'twixt their And wounds the blushing checke, and fiery me,

Of him that hears, and readeth guiltils. And the swolne bezzle at an alehouse fire, Ye antique satires, how I blefse your days That tonnes in gallons to his burften paunch, That brook'd your bolder ftile, their ows Uppels Whose Dimy draughts his drought can nevet And well near wish, yet joy my wish is Faas, staunch?

I had been then, or they been now agaice! For shame, ye gallants ! grow more hospital, For now our eares been of more brittle mil, And turn your needlefle wardrobe to your hall. Than those dull earthen eares that were feil: As lavifh Virro that keeps open doores,

Sith theirs, like anvils, bore the hamne's Like Janus in the warres,

Our glasse can never touch unshivered. Except the twelve days, or the wake-day feast, But from the ashes of my quiet file What time he needs niuft be his coufin's guest. Henceforth may rise fome raging rough lat, Philene hath bid him, can he choose but come? That máy with Æschylus both find and is Who should pull Virro's fleeve to stay at home? The fnaky trefies of th' Eumenides: All yeare besides who mealtime can attend : Meanwhile, fufficeth me, the world map at Come Trebius, welcome to the table's end. That I chefe vices loach'd another day, What though he chires on purer manchet's crowne, which I hane done with as devout a cheese While his kind client grindes on blacke and As he that rounds Poul's pillars in the year browne,

Or bends his ham downe in the naked A jolly rounding of a whole foot broad,

'Twas ever said, Frontine, and ever feces. From off the mong.corne heap shall Trebius load. That golden clerkes but wooden lawyers What though he qaaffe pure amber in his bowle Could ever wise man with, in good elas. Of March brew'd wheat, yet hecks my thirtting The use of all things indiscriminate? foul

Who wots not yet how well this did belum With palish oat, frothing in Bofton clay,

The learned master of the academe? Or in a shallow cruise, nor must that ftay

Plato is dead, and dead is his device, Within thy reach, for feare of thy craz': braine, Which some thought witty, none thougă But call and crave, and have thy cruise agaite : Yet certes Mæcha is a Platonilt Else how should even tale be registred,

To all, they say, save whoso do not IA; Or all thy draughts, on the chalk'd barrel's head? Because her husband, a far trafick'd mat, And if he list revive his heartless graine

Is a profess'd Peripatecian. With some French grape, or pure Canariane And so our grandfires were in ages paf, When pleasing Bourdeaux falls into his lot, That let their lands lie all fo widely : Some fow'rish Rochelle cuts thy thirsting throate. That nothing was in pale or hedge year What though himselfe craveth his welcome friend Withiu some province, or whole hire's With a cool'd pittance froni his trencher's end, As nature made the earth, so did it lie, Must Trebius' lip hang toward his trencher side ? Save for the furrowes of their husbands: Nor kifle his fift to take what doth betide ? Whenas the neighboor lands so cooched as What though to spare thy teeth he employs thy That all bore shew of one fair champian tongue

Some headlelle crofle they digged on the best la buly quetions all the dinner long?

Or roll'd some marked mcare-loace

Poor simple men ! for what mought that availe, Whiles yet he may not for the treble price
That my field might not fill my neighbour's payle, Buy out the remnant of his royalties?
More than a pilled stick can stand in stead, Go on and thrive, my petty tyrant's pride,
To bar Cynedo from his neighbour's bed; Scorne thou to live, if others live beside;
More than the thread-bare client's poverty And trace proud Castile that aspires to be
Debars th' atrorney of his wonted fee?

In his old age a young fifth monarchy:
If they were thriftlefse, mought not we amend, Or the red hat chat cries the luckleffe mayne,
And with more care our dangered fields defend? For wealthy Thames to change his lowly Rhine,
Each mau can guard what thing he deemeth deare,
As fearful merchants do their female heir,
Which, were it not for promise of their wealth,
Need not be stalled up for fear of stealth ;

Would rather Rick upon the bellman's cries,
Though proffer'd for a branded Indian's price.

Poffunt, quia pole videntur,
Then raise we muddy bulwarks on our banks, Villius, the wealthy farmer, left his heire
Belet around with creble quick set ranks; Twice twenty sterling pounds to spend by ycare :
Or if those walls be over weak a ward,

The neighbours praisen Villio's hide-bound sonnej l'he squared bricke may be a better guard. And say it was a goodly portion.. Go to, my thrifty yeoman, and upreare

Not knowing how some inerchants dow'r can rise, 1 brazen wall to fhend thy land from feare. By Sunday's cale to fifty centuries; Do so; and I shall praise thee all the while, Or to weigh downe a leaden bride with gold, to be thou sake not up the common Tyle; Worth all that Mathu bought, or Pontice sold. o be thou hedge in nought but what's thine But whiles ten pound goes to his wife's new owne;

gowne, o be thou pay what tithes thy neighbours donc ; Nor little lesse can serve to suit his owne; o be thou let not lie in fallow'd plaine

Whiles one piece pays her idle waiting-man, What which was wont yield ufury of graine. Os buys an hoode, or filver handled fanne, But when I see thy pitched stakes do stand Or hires a Friezeland trotter, halfe yard deepe, On thy incroached piece of common land, To drag his tumbrell through the faring Cheape; Vhiles thou discommoneft thy neighbour's kyne, Or whiles he rideth with two liveries, and warn'st that none feed on thy field save thine; And's ereble rated at the sublidies; rag mo more, Scrobius, of thy mudded bankes, One end a kennel keeps of thriftlefTe hounds; for thy deep ditches, nor three quicksec rankcs. What think ye rests of all my younker's pounds happy dayes of old Ducalion,

To diet him, or deal out at his doorc, Vhen one was lardlord of the world alone! To coffer up, or stocke his wasting store? ut now whose choler would not rise to yield If then I reckon'd right, it should appeare peasant halfc stakes of his new mown field, That forty pounds ferre not the farmer's heite, Vou, li.



[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]



Patrons are honest now, o'er they of eid, Sernel infunivimus.

Can now no benefice be bought or fold?

Give him a geiding, or some two yeares tale, Labeo reserves a long naile for the nonce, For he all bribes and fimony defy'th. To wound my nargeant through ten leaves at is not one pick-thank stirring in the court,

That seld was free tiil now, by all report. Much worse than Aristarchus his blacke pile But some one, like a claw-back paralis, That pierc'd old Homer's side;

Pick'd mothes from his master's cloake in ist And makes such faces that me seemis I sec Whiles he could pick out both his eyes for tra Some foul Megara in the tragedy,

Mought they but it and him in some better Threat'ning her twined snakes at Tantale's ghost; Nor now no more smell-feast Vitellio Or the griñi vitage of fome frowning post Siniles on his master for a meal or two, The crabtree porter of the Guiidhall gates; And loves him in his maw, loaths in his box, While he his frightful beetle elevates,

Yet frohes, and yeas and nays on either the His angry cyne look all fo glaring bright, Tartelius, the new-come traveller, Like th' hunted badger in a moonlesse night: With his disguised coate and ringed eare. Or like a painted staring Saracen ;

Trampling the bourse's marble twice a dar His cheeks change hue like th’ais-fed vermin skin, Tells nothing but stark vruths I dare we Now red, now sale, and (wol'n above his eyes Nor would he have them known for anyone Like to the old Coloflian imageries.

Though all the vault of his loud murmu But when he doth of my recanting heare, Not one man tells a lie of all the years, · Away ye angry fircs, and froits of seare,

Except the Almanack or Chronicier. Give place unto his hopeful temper'd thought But not a man of all the damned crew, 'That yields to peace, ere ever peace be sought : For hills of gold would sweare the thin Then let me now repent me of my rage

Panfophus now, though all in the cold as Tor writing satires in so righteous age.

Dares venture through the feared castkuga Whereas I should have stroak’d her tow'rdly head, Albe the faithful oracies have foresayte, And cry'd evæe in my fatires stead;

The wiseft senatot fhall there be ilaise: Sith now not one of thousand does amiffe, That made him long keepe hone as Was never age ! weene so pure as this.

Till now he hopeth of some wiser wigli As pure as old Labulla from the banes,

The vale of Standgate, or the Suter's List As pure as through faire channels when it raines; Or westerne plaine rrfree from feared in As pure as is a black noor's face by night, Let him that hath nought, feare nought :* ats dung-clad skin of dying Heraclite.

But he that hath oug!t hye him, and Go! Socke over all the world, and tell me where Nor drunken Deonis duth, by breake of Thou find'f a proud man, or a flattercr ; Stumble into blind taverns by the way, A thief, a drunkard, or a paricide,

And reel me homeward at the ev'ning itar: A lecher, liar, or what vice beside ?

Or ride more eas'iy in his peigłıboar's cher Merchants are no whit covetous of late,

Well might these checks have fited for me : Nor make no mart of time, gair of deceit. And thoulder'd angry Skelton's brcable...

« PreviousContinue »