Or if that femblance fuit not everie deale,
Like a broad shak-forke with a slender steel.
Defpifed nature fuit them once aright,
Their bodie to their coate, both now mif-dight.
Their bodie to their clothes might shapen be,
That nill their clothes shape to their bodie.
Mean while I wonder at fo proud a backe,
Whiles th' empty guts loud rumblen for long
lacke:

The belly envieth the back's bright glee,
And murmurs at fuch inequality.

The backe appeares unto the partial eyne,
The plaintive belly pleads they bribed been :
And he, for want of better advocate,
Doth to the ear his injury relate.

The back, infulting o'er the belly's need,
Says, thou thyself, I others eyes muft feed.

I

(Like to a merchant's debt-roll new defac'd,
When fome crack'd manour cross'd his book at laff)
Should all in rage the curfe-beat page out rive,
And in each duft heap bury me alive,
Stamping like Pucephall, whofe flacken'd raines
And bloody fetlocks fry with feven mens braines,
More cruel than the cravon fatire's ghost,
That bound dead bones unto a burning post;
Or fome more strait-lac'd juror of the reft,
Impannel'd of an Holyfax inqueft:

Yet well bethought, ftoops down and reads anew;
The best lies low, and loathes the fhallow view,

Quoth old Eudemon, when his gout-swolne fift
Gropes for his double ducates in his chift:
Then buckle clofe his careleffe lids once more,
To pofe the pore-blind fnake of Epidaure.
That Lycius may be match'd with Gaulard's fight,
That fees not Paris for the houses height;
Or Wily Cyppus, that can winke and fnort
While his wife dallies on Mæcenas' skort:
Yet when he had my crabbled pamphlet read
As oftentimes as Philip hath been dead,
Bids all the furies haunt each peevish line
That thus have rack'd their friendly reader's eyne;
Worse than the Logogryphes of later times,
Or hundreth riddles fhak'd to fleeveleffe rhymes.
Should I endure thefe curfes and defpight
While no man's care fhould glow at what I write?
Labeo is whipt, and laughs me in the face :
Why? for 1 fmite and hide the galled place.
Gird but the cynick's helmet on his head,
Cares he for Talus, or his flayle of lead?
Long as the crafty cuttle lieth fure

In the blacke cloud of his thicke vomiture,
Who list complaine of wronged faith or fame,
When he may fhift it to another's name?
Calvus can feratch his elbow and can fmile,
That thriftleffe Pontice bites his lips the while.
Yet I intended in that felfe device

To checke the churle for his knowne covetife.
Each points his ftraight forefinger to his friend,
Like the blind dial on the belfry end.
Who turns it homeward, to fay this is I,
As bolder Socrates in the comedy?

But fingle out, and fay once plat and plaine
That coy Matrona is a courtezan;

Or thou falfe Cryfpus choak'dft thy wealthy guest
Whiles he lay fnoring at his midnight rek,
And in thy dung-cart didft the carkaffe shrine
And deepe intombe it in Port-esquiline,
Proud Trebius lives, for all his princely gait,
On third-hand fuits, and fcrapings of the plate.
Titius knew not where to fhroude his head
Until he did a dying widow wed,
Whiles fhe lay doating on her death's bed.
And now hath purchas'd lands with one night's
paine,

And on the morrow wooes and weds againe.
Now fee I fire flakes fparkle from his eyes,
Like a comet's tail in th' angry skies;
His pouting cheeks puff up above his brow,
Like a fwolne toad touch'd with the fpider's

blow;

His mouth shrinks fideward like a fcornful playfe,
To take his tired car's ingrateful place.
His ears hang living like a new lugg'd fwine,
To take fome counfel of his grieved eyne.
Now laugh I loud, and breake by fplene to fee
This pleafing paflime of my pochie;
Much better than a Paris-garden beare,
Or prating puppet on a theatre ?
Or Mimoe's whistling to his tabouret,
Selling a laughter for a cold meal's meat.
Go to then, ye my facred Semonees,

And please me more, the more you do displease.
Care we for all thofe bugs of idle feare?
For Tigels grinning on the theatre ?

Or fear-babe threatenings of the rafcal crew;
Or wind-spent verdicts of each ale-knight's view?
Whatever breast doth freeze for fuch false dread,
Befhrew his bafe white liver for his meed.
Fond were that pity, and that feare were fin,
To fpare wafte leaves that fo deserved bin.
Thofe toothleffe toys that dropt out by mishap,
Be but as lightning to a thunder-clap.
Shall then that foul infamous Cyned's hide
Laugh at the purple wales of other's fide?
Not if he were as near as, by report,
The flewes had wont to be th' tennics court:
He that, while thousands envy at his bed,
Neighs after bridals, and fresh maidenhead;
While flavish Juno dares not to look awry,
To frowne at fuch imperious rivalry;
Not though fhe fees her wedding jewels dreft
To make new bracelets for a ftrumpet's wreft;
Or like fome strange disguised Messaline,
Hires a night's lodging of his concubine;
Whether his twilight torch of love do call
To revels of uncleanly muficall,
Or midnight plays, or taverns of new wine,
Hye ye white aprons to your landlord's figne;
When all, fave toothleffe age, or infancy,
Are fummon'd to the court of venery.

Who lift excufe? when chafter dames can hire
Some fnout fair ftripling to their apple fquire,
Whom ftaked up like to some stallion steed,
They keep with eggs and oysters for the breed.
O Lucine! barren Caia hath an heir,
After her husband's dozen years despair.
And now the bribed midwife fwears apace,
The baftard babe doth bear his father's face.
But hath not Lelia pafs'd her virgin years?
For modest shame (God wot!) or penal fears?
He tells a merchant tidings of a prize,
That tells Cynedo of fuch novelties,
Worth little lefs than landing of a whale,
Or Godes' spoils, or a churl's funerale.
Go bid the banes and point the bridal day,
His broking bawd hath got a noble prey;
A vacant tenement, an honeft dowre
Can fit his pander for her paramoure,

That he, bafe wretch, may clog his wit-old head,
And give him hanfel of his Hymen-bed.
Ho! all ye females that would live unfhent,
Fly from the reach of Cyned's regiment.
If Trent be drawn to dregs and Low refufe,
Hence, ye hot lecher, to the steaming ftewes.
Tyber, the famous fink of Christendome,
Turn thou to Thames, and Thames run towards
Rome.

Whatever damned ftreams but thine were meet
To quench his lufting liver's boiling heat?
Thy double draught may quench his dog-days rage
With fome ftale Bacchis, or obfequious page,
When wirthen Lena makes her fale-fet fhews
Of wooden Venus with fair limned brows;
Or like him more fome vailed matron's face,
Or trained prentice trading in the place.
The clofe adultreffe, where her name is red, [bed,
Comes crawling from her husband's luke-warm
Her carrion skin bedaub'd with odours fweet,
Groping the poftern with his bared feet.
3 A iiij

Now play the fatire whofo lift for me,
Valentine felf, or fome as chafte as he.
In vaine fhe wifheth long Alkmæna's night,
Curfing the hafty dawning of the light;
And with her cruel lady-ftar uprofe
She feeks her third rouft on her filent toes,
Befmeared all with loathfome fmoake of luft,
Like Acheron's fteams, or fmoldring fulphur duft.
Yet all day fits the fimpering in her mew,
Like fome chafte dame, or fhrined faint in fhew;
Whiles he lies wallowing with a wefty-head
And palifh carcaffe, on his brothel-bed,
Till his falt bowels boil with poifonous fire;
Right Hercules with his fecond Deianire.
O Efculape! how rife is phyfick made,
When each braffe bafon can profeffe the trade
Of ridding pocky wretches from their paine,
And do the beafly cure for ten groats gaine?
All thefe and more deferve fome blood-drawn
lines,

But my fix cords beene of too loose a twine:
Stay till my beard fhall fweep mine aged breast,
Then fhall I feem an awful fatirift:

While now my rhymes relifh of the ferule ftill,
Some nofe-wife pedant faith; whofe deep-feen skill
Hath three times conftrued either Flaccus o'er,
And thrice rehears'd them in his trivial floore,
So let them tax me for my hot blood's rage,
Rather than fay I doated in my age.

OLD driveling Lelio drudges all he can
To make his eldest fonne a gentleman.
Who can defpaire to fee another thrive,
By loan of twelvepence to an oyster-wive?
When a craz'd fcaffold, and a retten stage,
Was all rich Nævius his heritage.
Nought spendeth he for feare, nor fpares for coft:
And all he spends and fpares befides is loft.
Himfelfe gocs patched like fome bare cottyer,
Left he might ought the future ftocke appeyre,
Let giddy Cofmius change his choice array,
Like as the Turk his tents, thrice in a day,
And all to fun and air his fuits untold
From fpiteful moths, and frets, and hoary mold,
Bearing his pawn-laid lands upon his backe
As fnailes their fhells, or pedlers do their packe.
Who cannot fhire in tiffues and pure gold
That hath his lands and patrimony fold?
Lolio's fide coat is rough pampilian
Gilded with drops that downe the bofome ran,
White carfey hofe patched on either knee,
The very embleme of good hufbandry,
And a knit night-cap made of coarseft twine,
With two long labels button'd to his chin;
So rides he mounted on the market-day,
Upon a straw-ftufft pannel all the way,
With a maund charg'd with houfhold merchandize,
With eggs, or white-meate, from both dayries;
And with that buys he roast for Sunday noone,
Proud how he made that week's provifion.

Elfe is he ftall-fed on the worky day,
With browne-bread crufts foften'd in fodden whey,
Or water-gruel, or those paups of meale
That Maro makes his fimule, and cybeale :
Or once a weeke, perhaps for novelty,
Reez'd bacon foords fhall feaft his family;
And weens this more than one egg cleft in twaine
To feaft fome patrone and his chappelaine :
Or more than is fome hungry gallant's dole,
That in a dearth runs fneaking to an hole,
And leaves his man and dog to keepe his hall
Left the wild room fhould run forth of the wall.
Good man! him lift not spend his idle meales
In quinfing plovers, or in wining quailes;
Nor toot in cheap-fide baskets earn and late
To fet the first tooth in fome novell cate.
Let sweet-mouth'd Mercia bid what crowns the
please

For half-red cherries, or greene garden pease,
Or the first artichoaks of all the yeare,
To make fo lavish coft for little cheare:
When Lolio feafteth in his revelling fit,
Some ftarved pullen fcoures the rusted spit.
For elfe how fhould his fonne maintained be
At iuns of court or of the chancery:
There to learn law, and courtly carriage,
To make amends for his mean parentage;
Where he unknowne and ruffling as he can,
Goes currant each where for a gentleman?
While yet he roufteth at fome uncouth figne,
Nor ever red his tenures fecond line.
What broker's lousy wardrobe cannot reach
With tiffued pains to pranck each peafant's breech?
Couldst thou but give the wall, the cap, the knee,
To proud Sartorio that goes ftraddling by.
Wert not the needle pricked on his fleeve,
Doth by good hap the fecret watch-word give?
But hear'ft thou Lolio's fonne? gin not thy gaite
Until the evening owl or bloody bat:
Never until the lamps of Paul's been light,
And niggard lanterns fhade the moon-fhine night;
Then when the guilty bankrupt, in bold dreade,
From his clofe cabbin thrufts his fhrinking heade,
That hath been long in fhady fhelter pent
Imprifoned for feare of prisonment.
May be tome ruffet-coat parochian
Shall call thee coufin, friend, or countryman,
And for thy hoped fift croffing the streete
Shall in his father's name his god-fon greete.
Could never man work thee a worfer shame
Than once to minge thy father's odious name?
Whofe mention were alike to thee as lieve
As a catch-poll's fist unto a bankrupt's fleeve;
Or an bos ego from old Petrarch's fpright
Unto a plagiary fonnet-wright.

There, foon as he can kifs his hand in gree,
And with good grace bow it below the knee,
Or make a Spanish face with fawning cheere,
With th' ifland conge like a cavalier,

And shake his head, and cringe his neck and fide,
Home hies he in his father's farm to bide.
The tenants wonder at their landlord's fonne,
And bleffe them at fo fudden coming on,
More than who vies his pence to view fome trick
Of franges Mercco's dumb arithmetick,