A MASTIF WHELP with other ruff-Island-lik Curs fetched from amongst the Antipedes. Which bite and bark at the fantastical humorists and abusers of the time. In earnest i'll but jest Imprinted amongst the Antipedes, and are to be sold, where they are to be bought. To my very loving Friends, GF. RN. WS. RG. IF. IG. Gentlemen of the Innee Temple. REnoewned flattcapps (worthy sprighted men) Accept (but do't with thanks) fruits of my pen Protect with tongues (for tongues are lawyers helps) My toothless (though much seeming-bitten) whelps Protect 'em wags, and when their teeth grows long They shall with teeth ' protect each Lawyer's tongue Defend 'em wags, and when I come from war (If you'll stand for't) * I mean ●oe ●urse I'll have you called to'th bar. Ever yours William Goddard. TO THE READER. EXpect no fine phrase from a Soldiers pen For (Reader) we the bluntest are of men Our Eloquence we utter with our sword Making our deeds to pollishe o'er our words But if thou lik'st a harsh unpolished vain Why then read o'er this infant of my brain It knows not how to fawn, it wants his wits To claw the back, like true-bredd parrasitts Its ' like (as 'tis) the Mastif whelp which bites Those whom it plays with, more than it delights It is no lewe to please a ladies sight It barks too loud, 'twould wake her in the night If thou affectst a right-bredd dog forth ' Bear Then keep this whelp: this dog such beasts will tear Or wouldst have Raynard hunted to his den? he'll hunt him to't and fetch him out agenn he'll seazs upon the wolf, (so bitten's he) No beast this dog will dread that he can see he'll hunt the hogg, and shalt not need be feared, For he'll descry eatche knave with in thy yard If thou canst like a Cur which is so ruff Then take thou this● he's full as fierce as tough. W. G. The Mastiff Whelp. Satire 1. Go Mastiff Whelp disdenn thyself a while With sullen sport make thou thy masters smile: Be wanton: yet amidst thy best delight Not only bark, but make as if thou'dst bite Grynn, snarl, and on thy best friend look so grim As if thou'dst at one snapp devover him. Satire 2. THou pen of mine do not with myld-calme rhymes▪ Sooth-up th'abuses of these barbarous times But like a Lion come thou ruf and fierce And with black boy strous storms these men-beastes pierce Let thy ruff galls be such as make them search, And scud to find a safe place where to pearche Blaste-black their hues who against gods sacred dyetie Has belched the pitch-black-blazes of impiety Dread not the greatest: thart licensed pen to do't But if he open lies, I charged the shoot, Spare not to say there's no such villainy As is Deathe-staringe-cruell tyranny Scorn thou the troubled ensigns of pale fear Do't souldyer-like with bold and lively cheer With bussinge whispers flye-blowe not the ear But what thou dost, with boldness let, tappeare Go boldly pen, go bluntly guy th'asault And lash each man according to his fault. Satire 3. GAllants you will be Dying this Christmas I'll Pray that either of you well may pass I pray now pardon me, for this doubt I That some of you at this time Ill will die And then my noble wags (excuse me hoe) There is a thing calls on you, Westward ho? Dye well (mad wags) and here I will presage To gold (if feynds bar not) you'll have passage. Satire 4. SOlus the student takes on him such state That sure the gallants Lordefyd ' of late My Goldsmith is quoth he the best i'th' town And none could Shr●dd my Tailor ere put down Push, push quoth he, look on my rapy'rs guilt None like my Cutler fashions out a hilt If others talk of Barbers, he'ele cry tutt Away 'tis my that has the exlentst cut What do I prate? he may use this word my For sure the wait on him which watchful eye But shall I tell you how? and cease to jest Oh! 'tis with Seriannts Solus to arrest. Satire 5. Now fpitefull Fortune do the worst you can Yet jack will rise to be a gentleman Did not jacks Lord lean on his shoulders late Chock him on the chynn, stroke him on the pate lending jack smiles when jack speaks but a word Ah here be hopeful greaces from a Lord Who er'es a winner, yet if jack have th●se I cannot see how jack can rise and lose Satire 6. SVrveyinge Summus scorns to tell a lie Yet he can number all the stars i'th' sky he'll tell how many gras-blades grows i'th' lands he'll justly number all the ocean sands How many hours 'tis since the world began He reckon can: and count the moats i'th' sun These by his Art can he do exc'llent well Yet in's own purse he near could twelve pence tell. Satire 7. A Stromus, every night on's back does lie Surveying of each thing i'th' starry sky He gazeth on the Bear, and Charles his wain On all Celestial signs that foretells reign He'el tell you when th'clips shallbe i'th' Sun This year he'ele tell what next year shallbe done Yet for his life he cannot tell before The certain times, when's wife means play the— Satire 8. WIll Lestas love his book? I faith Sir no, he'll be more constanter I hope then so Has not he vowed ' his thoughts to'th good ale pot●? He knows inconstancy in love's a blot What's in a book to yield delight to man? Just nought to that which is i'th' alehowse can The can has that which whetts the dulled wit But books holds nought but that which dulleth it Lestas, be wise, and lie close to thy love Though friends do babble, do not thou remove. Satire 9 THou Fernydus, away thou wicked man I scorn to write on thee although I can Scud silver-scraper: rich wretch, hence, away Thou ow'st thy guts a debt, that debt go pay, Go clothe thy back, it's more than half unstript Its now, just as i● were, when thou wert whipped Go broane-bread-eater, think that this my pen Much scorns to write on water drinking men. Satire 10. Ask who they be? demand not that of me Nor I, nor none (I think) knows who they be To day they'll devils be, but next day then They'll neither Devils be nor Earthly men An other day they'll kings unto you seem The next day (happ'lye) you'll them beggars deem No● shape, nor form, they ever long contain Lest be the fools, but that they still maintain If they nor apes, nor fools, nor Players be Then who they are I cannot answer ye. Satire 11. COtts pluttronells her was appused be Her was a shent leman all worl was see Was not her father effer wheare coat freeze? And effer trink coat trynk? was tossed coat sheeze Was not he make her create pig foe to yeyld Killed a create deal a shyaunts in te feyld her was a gentleman, all worl was see Pie Cott, and pluttronells was wronged be. Satire 12. PRatus; thou art a busybody grown ●oo talkative 'Pon matters not thy own What though the Spaniard, Pope, and Devil plots? Let 'em Pratus: they do not deal with Sots The States are wise, they can see fire in smother It is not sects can part the tone from other They'll hold in peace: 'tis not their public foe Shall take t'h advantadge of a parting blow And therefore man, of thy own business prate They'll hold their friend which helps them hold their state. Go busie-bodyed foolish-pratinge mome Busy thy body, on thy wife at home: Get her with child: it's high time she had one joined thirty years? it is a shame thou'st none Let states alone: thou needst ' not them to teach They are to wise to make their foes a breach Satire. 14 COmfort thyself old Mops, & do not weep What needest thou woman such a whining keep? Thy son's as well as any man i'th' land, Why all he did, was bid a man but stand, And told him coin he lacked; there's those do worse, Then bid an honest man deliver's purse. He spoke him fair, and took but what he had, Then what needest ' weep old girl? what art thou mad? Come: cheer up Lass, for 'tis a general thing, That youth (do what thou canst) will have their swinge. Satire. 15. Quoth hom-bred Hodge would god above c'had put Will t'zchoole C'hadd la're than a groat, c'had larnt him but his Zaltar C'hadd than done well enough, c'hadd ne'er been begged a Fool By maz-la, c'hadd made umall vurst joockt a halter, C'has eyes, c'has' ears, chas lips, & yet c'hiss begged a fool Vath c'ham in vault my self, c'hud ne'er put boy t'zchoole. Maz wive Zibb-la, watt ze'st? c'hill to the Court my self, C'hill try t'an beg the boy; it's but a saying nay, C'hill spend vort-shillinges & more a pelf But c'hill ha' my zonn William urom 'em all away. But ear'ste tou me Zibb? ecche veare me this will come to pass, Now th●y ha' got my Fool, thay'le come & beg my Ass. Satire. 16. Captayve Turne-hir-upp hath not Idle been, hot was the service he of late hath seen, Lowe-countreye service affords great danger So he reports; but greatest to a stranger, Yet this he says, if one may but believe him The pays so good, small wounds would never grieve him. To his great detriment he lost a joint, But judge where 'twas: oh! hard at's Codpiece point (To his praise I speak it) yet heed ' not out, But there took a bigger [aye] as he fought: For which (brave man) he's fain to keep his bed And's banckropt turned of all the hair on's head, Oh! how he banns the wounding whir igig, For causing him to wear this perrywigg, Nay never beggar hath ever cursed the stocks, As Captain Turne-hir-up hath done the— Satire 17. I Grant it (Cosmus) that fond love is blind, And incident (almost) to all mankind, Yet Cosmus though men's seeing sense does fail them, Their smelling sense (me thinks) should much avail them. Oh! cry you mercy sir, your love's a Rose, And therefore cannot choose but please your nose: Pray God she does; but faith I doubt it much, I fear me Coss, she has a poulcats touch, Nay that's not all: I fear she has such tricks As still her stalk will always have some pricks. cut off those pricks; then Cosmus prithee tell. Whether thy Rose yields not a better smell, Satire. 18 RAlus why didst thou hoist and bear thy sails so high? That none expected but thou'dst sail into the sky? Didst think that Aeolus would ever prove so kind? As never jog thy bark with one ruff blast of wind: I know thou didst; but now poor Ralus thou mayest see How safe's the shrubb, over the lofty-towring tree, Come let this pass: now Ralus think but what thou art, And quite forget (as wisdom biddesthee) what thou wert, It is no matter man what ever thou hast been, Think this! the Owle's not wondered at until he's seen. Satire 27. GAllenus thou of late art grown of wondrous fame, But Galen; prithee tell me how thou cam'st byth'same. Report does p●are, thou'st twenty patients in one day, And sometimes many more; so prating fame does say, Yet ask him who they are that comes so fast to thee, His answer is, that female creatures all they be. Faith Doctor it is well, thy study is to please The Female sex, and how their corporal griefs to ease But hark: you had a patient named Doll I'm sure, Upon whose body you did do a famous cure. Indeed (good Galen) she a right true patient were You know she put up much, and very much did bear. I pray, may but a man without authority Demand what is become of this same Dorithie? Oh! she's gone to purge, for late she took a glister: Faith Doctor you did Ill, you might have done but kist-her. A pestilence on't, that you would give so deep a touch And having skill, would over-shoot the mark so much. Satire 20. THou saidst Dematas Poet's heads are vain, And to small purpose they do take great pain: Noah Dematas; vain thy Father was, or mad To scrape much wealth for an unthrifty lad. Thou art not vain to spend in brav'rie, All what thy old Dadd got by poling knau'rie. This is not vain: nor is it vain to pine Thy struncke-up guts, to trim thy wif●●p fine No● Dematas; nor 'tis not vain to wrack Tenants: loading (with Lordships) thy wives back, These are not vain; but he which beats his brain To picture out men vain: why, he is vain. Satire 21. Nicks deeply learned, he's skilled ' in palmistry, he'll make young Girls believe he is a God, And with his chanting art of Minstrelsy, he'll make the little waggtayles finely nod, Oh! he's most rare to foretell destinies, Or by his phisnomy to know a knave, His sable carradge fits sad obsequies, His skilful tricks a coney-catching slave. Yet all these arts did not so much befriend him As once foretell that Tyburn Tree should end him. Satire 22. NOll has the skill to win and woe a wife, Then why should Noll (pray) lead a single life? He follow plough? faith sir he scorns it plain Why Ladies fair will not Noll's suit disdain. Let but his wench entreat him to sit down, He will not strait ways do it like a Clown But off witch's hat, makes leg, & answer nay, With I'm as well, forsooth, I thank you say Nay, Noll ●n's court, none comes nigh him, They all may learn; push, they must go by him: Have they the heart to sit by Mistress Frances? He has; nay more: he'll pink with pretty glances, they'll blurt forth this; they'll swear they do affect her, And from great perils they'll still protect her, Faugh, faugh: ti's stale; ti's nothing like to his, Noll's bold-spirit will serve to give akisse, And some times Noll will make his long discourse Of any thing; I, of an old brood-goose, Or of his mother's henn with ' copple crown, Oh! quoth Noll. none lays such eggs in all the Town. And then he up & tells how she's o'th' kind Such a henn quoth Noll, (oh)! 'tis rare to find. And when to walk disposed is mistress Francis, Before her like a fore-horse Nolkin praunces. can Courtiers say this is a goodly weather? Away plain wits, they can but toss a feather. can Courtiers sighing by their Looves, thus say? This Rain (alack) is to to bad for hay, Or thrice in one hour ask them what's a clock? Fie, their wits to his are dull; I, mere a block. Yet these from witty Noll extem'pre comes, Come come, to Noll all Courtiers are mere momes. Satire 23. HOw? james a man? his Rapier is not guilt, He fight? ay, when his dubletts wrought with quilt, Hang him slave, he cannot call a whore a whore, Nor with a grace break up a sinner's door, he'll say Mall, I pray Mall let me kisseyee, Or Mistress mary think how well I wish ye, Else hold her by the hand & sigh apace, Or like th'astronomer he'll stand & gaze, Gaping for changes in his mary's face. Come hang him dolt, byth' Lord he's but a gull, For wit I never knew an Ass more dull. Satire 24. THe Rule's not false that's held in learned Philosophy, How all th' four elements together does abide: Experienced Colcus does the same now justify, Alas alas, too late the'xperience he hath tried, For as he sailed along the Midd'terranian gulf, Which lies right over Bess' equenoxtiall line (Ay) there he met with such a hot & fiery wolf That has consumed quite poor Colcus friggott fine, Before that Colcus this experience had well tried, To hear this argument could Colcus ne'er abide. Satire 25. WHerein does Ovid's Echo that sweet amorous Nymph; Excel the Lady Delphis our most heavenly Imph? As Ovid's nymph would still Narcissus last words use, Like so does Delphis her sweet Pomus words peruse: Let Pomus say sweet Dilphis canst thou love quoth he? Then (Echo-like) she takes the last word [love] quoth she, Thy tempting-cherry-lipps sweet Delphis I will kiss Quoth Delphis [kiss]: so sild ' the last word would she miss, My seggs between thy snowy thighs will I entwind▪ Quoth she [untwind] thus love with ' last words does she bind. I'll do as little Cupid bids his Champions do, Quoth Delphis [do,] still unto Pomus answering so Until by Pomus she had paid her maidens debt, His last word & her first still oftentimes thus met. Satire 26. FEene Mistress Pucis with her sharpe-redd-coul'red nose One hair-bredth of her height the fixon will not lose, She trots so short, she'll reach a horse his perfectest pace, I, and a wrie-mouthed Ape to make an Antic face, Her flippaunt tongue would make a most sence-pleasing sound, Did not her wyndy-●●ppertaile the music drowned. Satire 27. WHat's a gull, that jack of gull'●ye is accused? My heart's inflamed to hear how Jack's abused, Is he a gull that ne'er will be at stand To-paye these Tailors all their whole demand? Is he a gull which bouzeth night by night With's betters? scorning they should pay a mite Or is he one that lets a Shoreditch wench The goul den entrails of his purse to drench? These be no gulls I'm sure: but if they be? Then Jack's a gull: For such a one is he. Satire 28. Paul lives by's wits, he'll swear there's no such meat, Yet sometimes bread (with heart) poor paul would eat. Paul's witty diet has made his body fine, And that's the cause in Paul's, paul oft doth dine. Where paul in lief of's dinners great expense, Oft dives a hose & picks out Peters-pences. Satire. 29. Hung Tom: what he? he's but a fool to me For tricks, you all may learn come, I'll teach thee. Tom dares not look an Emperor in the face: Hang puling Apes; he wants a manly grace. Why Tom will blush, if once he tell a lie: He has no skill i'th' world● to cog a die. Tom's wit's most blockish; faugh, 'tis too too course, I'll wadg my life the gull ne'er yet stole horse, No nor so much (I think) as e'er took purse, He thy Tutor? thou canst not choose a worse. he'll teach the this to grope a wench's plackett, Hang him Cow, he dares not dive a pocket, Or milke-sop-like to lead a wench the hay, Base-harted-babe he dares not make afraie. Forsake him Nedd: thou shalt my scholar ●ee, I'll learn thee Art my Rogue; be ruled by me. Satire 30. CLow●●● of late a Complete Knight ●as made, Dares any say, his Sire gots wealth byth' spade? he'll kill 'em then; for know you he's a knight, And all made so; are desperate men to fight. What e'er his Father was, i'm sure of it, He left his son (by far) more wealth than wit. And wealth (I hope) a gentleman du● make. And he that's so; a knight hoods rite may take, Satire 31. LArsus toth' Sun his Mistress doth compare, In deed in beauty she is somewhat rare, And says from her he has his light & life, He may be proud that has so light a wife. Yet La●sus pray thee be not wrath with me, For rather like the Moon (me thinks) is she. She'xchangeth oft (I speak it in no scorn) As thou hast light from her, so thoust the horn. Satire 32. STeltus? Fallatus makes good use of thee: Thou art his looking-glass: be ruled me, Thy looking-glass (Stelltus) make thou of him, Then both of you will dressed be neat and trimm. Looking on thee: (and further 'twill his marriage) He prunes out pride, & foole-bredd stately carriage. And shaves f●om's lips (a thing betokening wit) The starring hairs of a bold parrasitt, Now look in him, & thou shalt see it plain, That drunkenness is one o'th' foulest stain. And see in him how haggedly & lean, A man is made which useth much a quean. Look in him man; for this believe't that he Has bettred been by looking into thee. Satire 33. WAtt me thinks of all men thou shouldst ' stench desire, Since fools (as wisemen says) can quickliest quench loves fire Why could●st not beg or steal from Green on dramm of wit? And so by blurd-endashed lines have sent her it. Thou mightst ere this have revealed in luxurious game, If so thou'dsta'dst done & quenched thereby loves burningst flame. But hark thee Wart? He speaks toth' wind, that learns a fool: I●le be no Tutor, where such dunces comes toth' school. Satire 34. YEt Watt I ought not leave thee thus since I do know From whence the streaming floods of these thy passions flow, Me thinks I ought t' apply some pill to thy disease, Therefore here be simples, compound them if you please; First get a pound of Wit, of Couradge, twice as much, These are excellent simples, I know not any such, Then take of Place and Tune, of each two handful more, Seek out for opportunity, in gardens there be store, Of that one handful take; which done, these simples pound, And thou shalt see, thy burning heat they will confound. But hark thee Watt, If these receipts do add no hope, Then (do as old Diogenes bids) thats take a rope. Satire 34. LAcritus, thy heart's strait fraught with jealousy, If on thy wife, a man but glance his eye. Thou Fermidus, if one but kiss thy dame, ath' back of her, thy wand is strait forth same. Fie, fie, how bitter would be either's life, If you should take, as Wittus took his wife, You'd hardly laugh and smile upon the man, And ask; has not he overheat thee Nan? Consider: Wives can do no better deed. Then help their husbands friends at pussh of need. Satire 35. LAminus, often times it hast asked me, Why Lambas hanged was? pray answered be, His neck was short; and had thy head a reach, Thou'dst soon conceive he hanged but is neck to stretch. Why fool was thine (as hissen was) too short? No trick to lengthen it, but hanging for 't. Satire 36. Question Don Lingus but of foreign states, And you shall see how formally he prates: strait he'll up, & tell, how he hath seen, That stout & famous Amazonian Queen. Vowing it is the only worthiest sight, To see the order of th' Amazons fight, Then forward still he'll talk of Prester john, Commending him for a most worthy man, Protesting that, so soon he came on Land, He had that gallant warrior by the hand. Pussh, pussh (quoth he,) this barren Europa Is nothing like to Aethiopia, And then he shakes his head, (sighing most deep) Oh! (quoth he) why did not I myself there keep? Which done; his Audience straight'ginnes to applaud him. And though an Ass, yet like a God they laud him. Yet question him but out o'th' English style, You'll find the Goose ne'er crossed has Native I'll, Satire 37. PRince Pluto king o'th' stinking Stygian Lake, Finding himself not well, his will would make, In which, this wealthy & allworthy man, In that his Will, to this effect began. Quoth he; Imprimis here I do decree, That Pride my first-born son a Courtier be. Enjoining Envy and Ambition still (As younger brothers should t' attend his will. But as for Sloth and Avarice (quoth he) Those will I have in learning broughtup be. Where Gluttony my youngest son of all, Shall wait one them, attentive at their call. But now my daughter Lust, then shakes his head, Oh! her I'd feign see placed ere I were dead. her, her (quoth he), if I could but bestow, Then I'd not care how soon I went below. Courtiers are bad: Townsmen are often nought, And Contreymen (quoth he) are most untaught. Therefore on these she's plainly cast away: Oh! my dear Lust (quoth he,) what shall I say? Why faith (quoth he,) before shalt be quite undone, I'll see thee made myself an honest Nun So putting her amongst holly Nuns to dwell, His body dies, and 's soul departs to hell. Satire. 38. I Tell thee Tom, thou art too plain a Lad I; too too gross; a hom-bredd Country Swadd. I tell thee man, thy wit, that wit of thine Is muddy, thick, 'tis nothing nimbly-fine. With whomsoever thou dost chance to walk, All's one to thee; of corn or land's thy talk, Or of the Cows; else of thy flock of sheep, With such like stuff, a tedious coil thou'lt keep. Away plain fool: think'st Soldiers do delight In such discourse? thou art deceived quite, Or think'st it pleasing to a scholars taste? If thou think'st so? a wrong conceit thou hast, And if thou thinkst a Courtier it will please, Persuade thyself, to him 'tis much disease. Dust ' hear me Tom? I tell thee thouart too Plain: Why man? a nimble Wit fits every vain: Tooth'Souldier I'd be up with barracadoes, Raising countermures, breaking Pallazadoes. Tooth ' Scholar I'd use nought but Rhetoric, I'd up with Sophistry, or ellse with Logic. As for the Courtier; pussh, I'd makes mouth water I would on's Mistress talk; with him I'd flatter. Of Courtshipp wholly all my talk should savour, As tell him how he might attain t'ir favour. Thus Thomas all their humours I would fit, But what talk I to one which wanteth Witt. Satire 39 RElcus, thy heart's an Inn, wherein men say Lies wit; (that most rightworthy guest alway) But honesty were used to lodge with Wit; Canst ' tell me Relcus why he doth not it? One Inn, one board, one bed, did once contain Those famous, Radiant & bright-shining twain, But now; Oh now! much I muse & wonder, What cause they have to put themselves asunder. It's rare to see them two, together walk, But far more rare it is, to see them talk. Faith Relcus do a charitable deed, Relieve poor Honesty in time on's need, And Wit and he together reunite, Bith'deede much mayest thou merit by this light. Relodg them Relcus, bog enough's thy heart, And in't thou'lt show a wise and charitable part. Satire 40. BVlus to have his Taff'tie jerkin seen, Hath learned a trick o'th' Butcher's Art, I ween, For as the Butcher having open cut, His bullock's paunch; does side from side strait put. His reason why each side he sets a part, Is, cause men should see th'fat about the harte● Even just as these beast-slaying butchers doth, So right this gallant (all- Ass butcher) doth. For on each side on's cloak, each hand he lays, By which fine sleight he bears it back always. So by that means (maugre his mantles spite) His satin sleeves and jerkin shall have light. Ith' butchers Art, he has learned more than half. And can (you see) dress & set forth a Calf. Satire 41. A Right goodfellow by his purse is known, For seldom it will hold a doit on's own. This Pratus I do know: and more; I trow, I have one rule an honest man to know, For when I hear men let their judgements lose, Of any whom they term for some plain goose. True honesty (I think) in him there lies, For plains Judged is fool'rie byth' unwise. But Pratus, now one rule more would I know, And that same trick I'm wished to get from you. That's only this; Sir, how to know a knave, That kindness at your hands; pray let me have. Satire 42. WHen Souldus thinks o'th' Time, how him it fails, He then (alas pooreman) at Mars strait rails, Milke-sopp (quoth he) from Venus come advance And in her steed, come lead us men a dance: Art'not ashamed to be so weak i'th' joint? As to be held by her byth' Codpiece-point. Come, come; let Cannon's to our Meals say grace, Let bullets sing to us the Cinquepace. We long to dance: and once the ●ime were when, Thou lov'dst the bullet-banquet with us men. In such like juncquets once thou didst delight, Those were the Cates best pleased thy appetite. Come, come, foresake thy w●nton Minion trimm. But Vulcan bring, since thou hast head-peeced him. Satire 43. RAlf says that Robin has no manlike face, Nor cannot swash it with the swagg●ingst grace: He is an Ass, a very Ass he saith, A piddler in his oaths; he'll swear i'faith, Or else Introth, In-de●d, Insooth, or so, A right pure dunce, that can say I, or Noah, I'll teach him that in one half day he shall Swear every oath with grace Imperial. What I (quoth he?) let any do me wrong, Thus I'll show vigour with my sprightful tongue I'll vow by Styxes pitch-black hideous streams, By all the radiant rays of yon'same beams, By jove who makes earths Canopy to quake, Or by the ruler of the stidgian lake, That I will kill him; slash him; hew the knave. Or piece-meal cut him, to devour the slave. I will not say. Indeed-la sir I'll do't What I? by jove I will put home unto't. Satire 44. ALL says that Dulcus all in's book delights, But all those alles are all deceived quite. For's Ear (but that indeed's but part of him) To hear (oh! how it goes toth' heart of him) His smooth tongue prate: rejoiceth in such measure, As no man's Ear (by's tongue) e'er reaped like pleasiure. Oh God if you did hear the great delight His Ear does hear, you would be ravished quite. For's Tongue too's Ear convaies such words refined, As'tis not strange he's ravished in his mind. Satire 45. GOrgus a good mind bears, in this 'tis seen, For look what things ate nought, & badst been. Gorgus, to make them good doth strive amain, And in this work doth take no little pain, The wickedest lie by badst tongue ere forged, (I; were it by Hells-Maister's self disgordged) Gorgus; (though ne'er so bad) will make it good, I, and maintain it; to a drop of blood. A good mind Gorgus, to make things good of Evil, Why 'tis a work contrary to the Devil. Satire 46. BEntus, did you lie sucking at the Ale, You'd not look white, lean, waper-eide, & pale. You have been sick: your urine (if you please) I'll truly cast, & tell you your disease. You were not smaid ' at Fontus late downfall, No; to your heart that was right cordial. It Pleased you that Courtus in's suit was crossed, And that Marchantus his rich ship late lost. Those put you on so blithe a merry pin. That you from hearty laughing could not linn. It was not these, made you look hagged white; No blear-eyed Benttus; here's the wicked spite. Lately was Virtus for his virtues graced, And on bright honours seat for's Virtues placed. T' was this, thy friends advaunc'ment bred thy smart, This was the shaft, that pricked thy cank'red heart. Bentus, thouart sick: thy paleness shows thy Evil, The sor's much doubtful, which is hurt byth' Devil. Satire 47. THy heart's inflamed Ardus with this fire, Of clambering man: feign would'dst thou clamber higher Yet Ardus, Ardus, observe but well the Time, And thou shalt find, thou tak'st wrong ways to climb. 'Tis not the deeds of Arms, thou dost repeat, Can make thee mount one Inch to honour's seat. Nor will the conquering Towns help thee one whit, Recount thou these, these throws thee down from it. Canst flatter man? well learn thou but that lepp, Then thou shalt quickly gain the foremost step. Then for the second round, learn Pandrisme, And thou shalt get it strait I warrant thee. Now for the round, that toucherh honours nest, This round lies high; more daung'rous than the rest: Ardus, thou must a Politician be, Skilful to plot, & pack deep treachery. Learn these, (only take heed of Envies Eye, Then shalt thou easily mount, & clamber high. Satire 48▪ WErt not for subjects, King's unkingly were, For they be they, which props the kingly chair. And were it so, that subjects were away, The Poets poetry would strait decay, As th'one by subje&ss has his Temples crowned, So other by good subjects is renowned. Since both their states by subjects be upheld, That both are Kings it cannot be repelled. They both be Kings: But th' Poets Realm I find, Rests in the Climar of a firtle mind. A mind content, falls to their kingdoms share. Yet like my Argument most Poets are That's very weak, and most exceeding bare. Satire 49. WHen Scoggin lived, I think in those same days, Men did not well know how, nor whom to praise Because (forsooth) a fat sowse tail he greased T'applaud his wit, those wittles Graunsires' pleased, But hark ye; say they were but living now, (which did so praise the greasing of one sow) How would they praise (nay they'd do more than praise) The fatt-g●es'd-tailes, so daubed in these our days. It is not only Sows that greased be, But Hogs (a thousand in one day) grease we And grease we still▪ for greasing of that part Adds fat to fat, and then it's fit to— Satire 50. WHy Tom quoth Tharsus thouart deceived quite, I still continue Courtier by this light Thou look'dst I should have called: Sir, do ye hear? Wil't please you taste (ere go) a cup of bear? Away, away: why hark thee noble Thief, I'm none of those which feeds on powdered beef. Nor none of those that keeps a standing house: Away with Gulls: come; thee & I'll carouse: we'll swallow healths; not of your fulsome bear T'shallbe no Earthly stuff; but stuff to nectar near: Come Tom with Heavenly stuff thy maw I'll feed With that stuffs Quintessence which still does breed. In man's low breast: high thoughts which still aspire, And upwards mount, as heavens up-mounting fire. A Pox on't Tom, I thus dull humours choke, And thus confound them with a Pipe of smoke. Have at thee Tom, Tobaccoe's heart of Oak. Satire. 51. ONe of the Nation of that sprightful French. took arms to join in battle with a wench: Well fell he on; and so well dealt each blow As at the first he gave an overthrow, But few there was, which did behold that sight, But Judged the wench would have the worst o'th' fight: Yet she in wars Art very politic, Compels her forces stand: by which same trick, (Charging again with all; (who at it would not scoff? Again she (with a Pox) makes him fall off. His seccoud: (a Nation which shall nameless be) Fell well on too; but came not off Scott-free, Yet as the French, at first encount'red well; But to retreat (Pox on't) at last he fell. Alas the first so fleshed her, as that he, she'd ne'er eudure, to come off quite Scott-free. Satire. 51. THe pampered Horse at Mares ne'er neigheth more, Theu Lustus at all times doth at a— And as the lustful Stallion strives to be With every beast (of's kind) his Eye doth see. So likewise Lustus doth: but Lord 'tis strange, That man should out of reasons bounds so range. The Horse is young, and full of strength his veins, A beast: he has no reason to guide's rains. But he's a man (he should be so at least) (And ruled with reason, deff'rent from a beast) An aged man, a man gray-haired & old. Whose withered-shrinkimg Veins must needs be cold, Whose parched body's from all moisture dry; Yet seldom times he sees a Wench pass by, But he with (bad intent) go to her must, To quench (what should he quench?) a divelsh Lust. Oh beastelie man: the beastli'st beast we find, (If quenched in Corpses) ne'er thirsteth in his mind. Satire 53. KAmatus being sick through too much drink, That he should die the holy man did think. And being more than half resolved to die, This Epitaph he framed as he did lie: KAmatus, once a Pearl in each girls Eye, Now mortiefied, here does that worthy Lie. Of loving Parents first I took my name But now to Children I will leave the same Of stymie Earth this flesh first took his frame, It now retornes to Earth, from whence it came As for my soul (Oh) she in great delight, In post to Heaven (with joy) she makes her flight: This framed once, then down again he lies, And turns about, making as though he dies, With's Eyes close shut, a while he fast does wink When opening them cries whores; fill me more drink. Satire 54. YOu Cryttiekes, which invectively do write, To you whose pens so bitterly do bite, To yond I speak; of you I ask but why You how rely do great Lordings so bely? You prate how Lords vn-manned are in this age, You saieed is well if they have but a page. Come prating Parretts let your tattlings cease, And let but this susfice to make you peace. Do not they Women keep? which every year More costly are then e'er old blue-coats were: For every man their Grandsires kept before. These keep three women for't, or rather more. Contrariwise; 'twas never seen i'th' Land, (As now they are) the women half so man'd. Recount but these, you lavish writers large, And you shall find they are at treble charge, Satire 55. THere is no Land upon earths Centre known, Like th' English soil, so wond'tous wealthy grown. That jeuwell, which all Nations holds so dear, We tread in dirt; not caring for it here. Why what's Plain dealing? some this jeman does h●ld, A jeuwell far in prize surpassing gold. But we (it seems) o'rcloyd with it of late. Hold, and esteem it at a strange low rate. So low a rate: that 'tis fetched from's so fast, As, much I fear, all wil●e fetched at at last. Satire 56. VErbositus at words from Latin carved Dus snatch, as if his wits were hunger-starved: And well he does; for faith so lean 'tis grown, That from Annotomie 'tis hardly known. It is so weak, as (truly) I protest, Fine phrase retoricalled will not digest. Hark Would by-wise? by good words all applied, The Ass to be a fool by's own tongue's tried, Then if th' art wise, thy tongue hath thee belied, Satire 57 A Way with him quoth gold-daubed Thamaccus, His speechless silence shows he is an Ass, A Dunce you see, that knows not how to look, Some braine-beater or porrer on a book. Tell him o'th' mounting Falcons brave made flight, Or what mouthed hound makes huntsmen best delight. Discourse to him of which Dog made a fault, How Thunder spent, or what made Tyndall haut, Away, away: away with senseless blocks, far better 'tis to tell it unto stocks. Thus sh'wes Sir Gold-cold-witted Ass his skill, And flouts the Poore-ritch-minded scholar still, Satire 58. BEfore I marrieed was to my fair wife, Oh Lord! how solitary was my life: But now to be partaker of my sport, Gallants to my house (as to a Court) resort: One cause he would acquinte himself with me. Takes his occasion my fine Nag to see, Another comes to hear my Kennels cry, The third perhaps to see my Falcon fly. Oh! who would not get apreettie wench too's wife, That hates to lead a solitary life. Satire 59 PVsa is got with child, Sam▪ do not flatter; But speak; hadst not a finger in the matter: It was Ill hand'led Samwell; for in truth, The wench says none but Samwell is the youth, Pox on't Sam; Cradles forth ' child to sleep, With Candles, Soap, & Washing, will grow deep. Besides all this (but this is to thy grace) In white-sheet thou must wait a Sermons space. Faith Sam, what luck hadst thou so well to speed? As to be graced for thy masters deed. Satire 60. WHen Dick for want of drunken mates grows sick, Then with himself to work goes faithful Dick. The butt'rie door t'ymselfe he shutteth close, That done, then goes the pot strait ways to's nose: A health (quoth noble Dick: each Hogshead than, Must seeming pledge this honest faithful man. But strait from kindness Dick to humours grows, And then too th' barrels he his valour shows, Throwing about the cups, the pots, & glasses, And rails o'th' tuns; calling them drunken Asses. From this to kindness he does come; and then, A fresh a drinking Richard falls again, ne'er ceasing this same faithful coil to keep, T●ll under th' Hogshead he falls fast a sleep. Satire 61. AS Boastus all alone in's Hall did walk, Thus to himself, did Boastus bravely talk. Oh! that old Troy (quoth he) had been vnsacked, I would (I trow) have made the Grecians pactr. And this right arm the Troyans' would have found, Should soon have beat the Grecians from their ground. And then his sword about his head he flasheth, Ah hah quoth he; & then the posts he slasheth. Then strait he wisheth for great Charlemagne, Or for that never conqered Tamberlayne. Oh! Earth disgorge thyself of Allexander, I long to fight (quoth he) with that Commander. Good Grandam let them but appear in sight, That they may once but taste of this arms might. And then again too's flashing work he goes, Wishing that all those posts were deadly foes. Would here were Roman Ceasar Rome's great King, I'faith (quoth he) I'd make his Coxcomb sing, And then he foines & strikes, (without all stay) Stools, Chairs, Forms, boards, or what else is in's way. Still executing's wrath upon those men, Till's angry wife came in, and rescued them For in she came, and in her hand a Ladle, With which she swinged him well about the noddle. And why? alas he rocked not well the cradle. Satire 62. Metamorphized Nick: where's thy Target man? What changed into a lisping Ladies fan? Is dubb a dubb Bellona's warlike notes, Changed to fa lafoy lafoy, streind through shrill Eunuches throats? Art turned from grimm-faceed Mars his valiance, To smiling Venus her tempting dalliance? Me thinks those legs oft harnessed with bright steel, To twinned with Nymphs weak limbs no sweet should feel, Hast learned to skipp, smile, kiss, & look demure? Ith' steed of charge or raise a, For shame rechaunge, thou maiden-chaunged Nick Come use thy pike; thou'st used too long thy— Satire 63. WHy how now drowsy Dick? what half a sleep? Come madd-capp; follow me & I will sleep Thy muddy brains in sparkling Charnico, Come rise damned Rogue; 'slid skabb it shall be so, Why how now Ass? what ayel'st t'ou fool to whine? What crying? s'harte this is excellent fine, Thou pullest, & snul'st: a great piece matter why? Forsooth by cause thou told'st thy Dadd a lie. Why whoreson fool, was't not done in thy drink? 'Slid; thou'lt prove an Idyeot (sure) I think. Didst ever see me in this pulling pass? Yet I have called (ere now) my Father Ass. My wife young Witch, my Mother worn-out Punk. Well: what a this? they'd say but I was drunk. Come faithful Dick, let's drink, thou must not cry, Thou't ne'er make Thief, that pullest so at a lie. Satire 64. I Tell thee jack, amidst thy cups of wine, Thou art not brave; thy tongue's not nimble fine. Sullen thou sittest, as seeming discontent. At thy assotiats jovall merriment. Be jovall lad; stirr-up thy tongue to walk, A man in's cups is priueleged to talk. Why leaden-harted-man, why hadst thou birth But to consume thy time in sprightful mirth? So thy tongue flippant be, care not man Let it prate; no matter what 'tis an. Let thy comparissons mount up tooth ' sky: Say, what are Kings but men? and so am I thouart not true bradd, thou dreamest of thy end, Come, Rouse-up lad, what old-Dadds get we'll spend. Satire 65. I Grant thee Allexander thou wast great, And that this cravin world thou once didst beat: Nay more, I do believe & think 'tis true That part o'th' warlike Gods thou didst subdue. Yet what a this? I mean not blaze thy name But with a brighter light to daske the same. The cause why thou great Ioues high Throne hast kissed, I pry thee tell whereon it doth consist? Thou't say on Conquests, which with blood thou got'st, And that by these all others Fame thou blott'st. Come come, thy greatest great is merely small, To blown faced Blundulus of stature tall. Hast thou a leg more bog than any Oak? Or thigh whose bone will bide a Canon stroke? Hast thou a paunch wherein may Armies h●dd, As in the Grecian Horse long since there did? Come, to be short, unless thou hast all this, Blundulus is great, and thou but small I wis. Satire 66. THings which of Death do put great men in mind, Are always not the welcomest things we find: Since so; why do we muse they so reject, All Serving men? and of them not respect. Oh blame them not; for (faith lafoy) do ye hear? To see Death; what is he that would not fear? And what is he that Servingmen should see, To gape, as wait? but judge would that was he, For just as Death waits only to devour, E'en so do they, and have the self same power. To keep 'em, then, I pray great men excuse. For so to think one Death they could not choose. Satire 67. Give way Orlando Furious man I say, (For furiousness) to Spendus give thou way. 'tis true (Inraged-man) that at one stroke, (ere now) thou hast made fall the sturdi'st Oak, But what is one Oaks fall? Spendus at one blow, Whole woodds o'th' biggest Oaks does overthrow. Orlando: thouart composed of Earth and Aeire, And of the Crystal running-water fair. But Spendus (worthy Spendus) I presume, Is all of fire, for he does all consume. Satire 68 I Will rail at thee Nature; for I find My body's small, and answers not my mind. How haps thou'st made me of a Dwarfish stature? Fie, fie, I tell thee thou'rt too blame Dame Nature. Why Woman-God, too much thoust wronged me, For by my mind, a Giant I should be. 'tis great; I wondrous great, then how comes it That to't my body thou so i'll didst fit? Go corrupt Dame; I tell thee I do find I should have been a Soldier by my mind: I'm proud, stout, & though I'm nothing covetous, Yet (soldier-like) I am ambitious. What's in a soldiers mind's in mine: then why To my great mind so small a man am I? Satire 69. GO Ridus teach Tellatus some true skill. To make his Beast (while he gets up) stand still, He dares not mount; Ridus how shall he do? And when he'd mount, then starts she to and fro. Faith help him Ridus; he must have her man'd He loves the Beast that's broken to his hand. About it man, thou hast the onely'st name, To make (by riding) wild things truly tame. Satire 70. Know you not him with Peacock-spreading-plumes? That great-bigg-mountaine-looker which so fumes. He whose Rock-rending-looke grimm Mars would make (As frozen-synewed) with could fear to quake, And make the troubled Ensigns of pale fear, At sight of it, in his base cheeks appear Most strange! know you not him? oh mudds foul slime! Why he's the thunder threatener of our time, Whyt's razer-witted Clitus; that same Lad. Which Gods (er●e now) to speake-to has been glad, It's he whose Hobby-mounting thoughts so sor'd. That less than jove none thought he'd be adored. Know you not him? why faith 'tis wondrous strange, Yet 'tis not, cause o'th' Man-Gods now great change. Satire 71. HOb-carting Tom and's Father's gone to plough. Leaving old Madge at home to feed the Sow, Ka Tom too's Father; Father erst tou me? I● my boy Tom; wat zest? zay on ka he Maz Vather-la would God eech had a wife, Ma thinks eech would ha' won rare than my life Oh boy ka he tis nought, 'twill spoil thy groat, Twull mare thee Tom; twull make thee vull a zloath, Nai● hold tere Father; would tou wouldst not lie, But whare twull or no la (ka Tom I●le try, Eke wot well Father eech forego my zleepe, While you lie snoring, eech oft cry & weep. While you lie gruntling like a drowsy hogg, Eke madditate, watt eech should send my jugg. Zest Father wat tou wult: do all though't do, Yet eech shall try my best a wife to woe. Wilt Tom ka he? but I'd not ha' thee yet Vurst ha' thy land in heart, & then thouart fit. land in heart? that's vine ka Tom; land in varte, I'll ha' a wive else Dole himself zelue gooed cart Well Tom ka's Father; make no more a do, And eech my self will help thee one to woe. Gramercy Father; zest well like a mon, Do as thou zest; and eech will love thee thou. Satire 72. WHo would not follow Wars that has his wit? Which always has such music follows it, The privat'st Soldier lying in his nest, By warbling lullabies is brought too's rest. Not by your wanton-wench-like Eunuches voice, But by a heau'nlike thundering Cannons noise. Unto whose song the trumpet so does play, As tween them both they ravishsence a way, So sweet's the music, which do follow wars, That cities dance, and capers to the stars. Satire 73. PRoudus thouart not (so far as I can see) In outward show, what inward thou mayst be. Although thouart all in rags, yet I do find, Under those rags a whole Imperial mind. Few big-fast Lords: push, of Lords what do I prate? Few Kings can look so bog as thou of late. In faith (but I'm to bold) hadst thou but pelf. Speak great-smale-man, what wouldst think on thyself? A man? a Earthly man? noe: thoughts would breed Thou wert engendered of some heaunlie seed. I faith, (but tell me) sometimes dust not guess That jupiter unto thy Mother had access? I know great-thoughted-man by thy looks strain That such high thoughts, thy brave heart does maintaine● Well still look great, and one day thou shalt see, A great purse to thy looks, will answer thee, Satire 74. DArtus, if thou'dst a Courtier learn to be, Then take a glass; that book shall strait teach thee. Look in thy glass, and frown, or scowl, or smile And shalt see one do so an other while, Laugh thou, there's one will laugh: shed thou a tear A tear there's one will shed; I dust thou hear? Thy body bow, gape, wink, or nod thy pate, Do what thou wilt, there's one will imitate. To great men (if thou wilt a Courtier be) Thou must do, as thy shadow does to thee, Satire 75. While my apparel was not fine, but plain, At Assus but this style, could I obtain. God morrow Sir; How do ye sir to day? But when in my apparel I grew gay, Why then God morrow to your Worship sir, Then's tongue without a worship ne'er would stir. But look when my apparel was not gay I certain was no worship t'have that day Tailors: sure honourable men you be, For you men worshippfull can make I see. Satire 76. CVntrey Tailors themselves tooth ' Court betake, As th'old saying is, but for mere fashion sake, They go toth' Court as many Courtiers go, Unto the Church; that is to see, or so More matter on't what need I make? Since up they go, only for fashion sake. They make the Court (for fashion s●ke) their School●, Whereby to fashion out each Country fool. Satire 77. WIl't be a Servingman? thou art not fit, Thy stubborn pate affords no reatching wit: If thou wouldst so; thou must lose learning than, That ornament gets small forth ' serving-man. But wilt a statesman serve? where's thy brains stretch? Fie, 'twill not plot, 'tis nought; 'twill not retch. Wilt follow his young son? fool, away: Fie, Examine how thou art in quality. Canst hawk, hunt; or haste the horseman's skill? Canst drab, dice, drink, or's wenching lust fulfil? If not? away; away: will be thy cheer, With this addition, What makes this Ass here? W●lt wait on's daughter? ah hah, there's a Lass: How's thy humour? If sad? then th' art an ass. Canst neither dance, nor sing? fool then away Why qualities is all in all, I say, If canst not music play, or dandle Pearl Or go (if sent) in private to an Earl, If canst not these do? (credit me or try) Thou't be reputed of no quality. Aw●ie thou'lt turned be, (want'st but those parts) And held a fool, maugre thy librall arts. Satire 76. Descend thou monstrous damn'd-deluding Gold, Into thy father's black infernal hold, Pueilas cold-chast thoughts had been unthaud, Hadst thou not been, thou most enticing bawd Old Father's lives in sons eyes were no moats, Wert not for thee, thou temp'st 'em cut their throats. Thou truebred Feynd right make-bare in these years, 'tis thou setst Kings together by their ears. Varlat avaunt, keep out my sight th' add'st best. Else I'll en-dungeon thee in strong-bared chest. Satire 80. COme Lord that would-be, I'll condole with thee, 'Cause what thou wouldst be made, will never be. What though thou never wast wast foreseiged Town With thunder-threatniug Gnnns to gun it downe● Or complete armed upon a fitie steed? Making on every side thy foes to bleed. Why though thou ne'er didst so, yet Lord that would-bee, Honour in my mind appertains to thee. Deserves he honour which entrencheth towns? And he no honour which entrencheth grounds? Me thinks he which in field St. George does cry, Deserves no more, then If's way he did fly. Come Lord that would-be, get more Cows & sheep, And honour will come on you, though you sleep. Satire 81. Talk you with Poet-Asse sitting in's seat, You'll hear him excellent, Epigrams repeat, Demand him whose they be, they run so fine, He answers strait, fruits of this brain of mine, Yet let a well-read Poet hear the vain, Hee'lle find they came out of a Bastards brain. Dust hear me Poet-asse? I'll prophysee, That when thouart married, thou'lt a Cuckold be: Thou fath'rest now things got by other men, What wilt thou do when thou art married then? I pry thee good jack-dawe give each b●rd's own, That for a plain jack Daw thou mayst be know●●. Satire 82. Bear hence my Sceptre and my massy Crown, I cannot bear them but they'll bear me down, Sad cares and fears attendeth on them so, As I their burdens cannot undergo. Bring me my Hook, my Scripp, my Flock of sheep, I long again that quiet Realm to keep. Satire 83. THe Printer says, good books do baddly sell, Then mine (cause bad (I'm sure) must needs take well. but howsoever good or bad they be, To take-well (Lawyers) let 'em learn of ye. Pray teach 'em it; that part ye are perfectest in, Teach 'em take well: for God sake learn 'em sin. Satire 84. IF Vennym'd-mouth'd-fell-bitten Zoilus stir. Then Whelp be fierce upon that snarling Cur. Let him no sooner grinn, but on him fly, And thou shalt see, his way, away he'll high With's tail ' tweene's legs away he'll scud & gadd, Only he'll bark & howl as he were mad. Satire 85. Go churlish whelp, away go thou and sleep, And till I call, again, thy kennel keep. Thou barkest loud; too loud thou barkest Whelp, I must have whippetts now, that do but yelp. I hunt no beasts; I've altered now my wont, My pleasiurs now the Vermin chase to hunt Be gone young Cur, yet if fowl swine do rout, I'll whistle then, and then again come out. AN apology. AN Idle humour has possessed my pen, To writ invective against ill humoured men. It is not over one, it's general. That I have sprinck'led this my bitter gall. My general meaning's generally to those. Whose humours, these bad humours do disclose. Therefore (I me sure) the wise, what ere they think. If they their faults do see, they'll see & wink. By others how they're ta'en, or what they say, I'll take no care, let them themselves bewray. If any says but JUIS ATYRYZE Ask why men I do pertick 'larize I answer those, I only feign a name; All knows this kind of vain requires the same. I've done no wrong, I●ue offered none abuse, Let them that has so, seek & crave excuse. FINIS. DOGS FROM THE Antippedes. Satire 1. MY angry Whelp I've turned to's kennel now, Fearing fair Ladies, that he would fear you. But in his place (I hope to your delight) Here's Dogs shall be more pleasing in your sight. Accept them Ladies, in them thre's no harm, Each take her Dog, & bear him in her arm. Satire 2. LAdies, they say things which be fetched far, To many of you, still most pleasing are. I knowing what your humours best require, Have travailed far, to fit your sweet desire. 'Cause little Dogs your fancy best do please. I journeied for them to Th'antipodes. Accept them then, such Dogs they are I wis, As sweetly will your sweet lips lick & kiss. Satire 3. women I've done my worst, toth' worst of men. But now I'll occupy on you my pen. Pray give me leave to do't: Old Chaucer's jest With some of you (I knew) agrees with ' best With whom that earnest jest does best agree Let them (for bawdy phrase) find fault with me. Satire 4. Matchless Mistress, thou pure unspotted Dame, Hadst had one spot, I would have shown the same. But since thou art, as never woman was, I'll print thee there, where ne'er was printed Lass. Paper's too fowl to bear so fair a part, Therefore I'll print thy praises in my heart. Satire. 5. TO lee Morilla in her Coach to ride, With her long lock of hair upon one side, With heart & feather worn i'th' swaggring'st guise, With butt'ned bodies skirted dub●●t-wise. Unmasked, and sittith ' boot without a fan, Speak: could you judge her less than be some man? If less? then this I' me sure you'd judge at least, She was part man, part woman; part a beast. Satire 6. ERe long I think that Deela means to try, If she like birds i'th' air can soar & fly. Few Fowls like to this fowl, more feathers wears For on her head & hands, huge plumes she bears, And cause she will the easilier take her flight, She makes her heart & heels exceeding light, Her heels, with lightest cork this light-one stuffs, Her heart, (through quills of pride) with wind she puffs. Oh sure shee●le fly, ●nd thus she'll make her flight, From Lust his land, to Letchr'ies' soil outright. Satire 7. I Pray you speak is not this time grown strange, When feeble women unto warriors change? 'tis not the Court dame Lusta doth commend, Her days 'fore seiged Cities she will end. Her humour brooks no Courtlike dalliance, But loves th' encounter of true valiance. Milke-sopps are men which lulls in Lady's sapps, And dare not bide (like her) loud Culu'ryn clapps. Perdieu she'll lie, and sometime Sentry stand, And Kiu'la cry, with firelock in her hand. This is a wench will make all Courtiers shamed, If once her acts be to their ears but named. ay, this is she which has such service shown, As now she is an Ancient-bearer grown. Satire 8. WHen Gillyan and her Gossipps all are met, And in the match of gossiping down set, And plain Master Parson cutting bread forth ' Table, To tell how fast they talk, my tongue's not able. One tells strange news, other God-swerbert cries, The third shakes head, the fourth alock replies She on her hens, this on her ducks do talk, On thousand things at once their tongues shall walk. So long as Cocks can tread, & Hens will lay, Gill and Gills gossippes, will have words to say. Satire 9 LIke to a Castle is fair Kitchen Kate, And like the same, she was sacked & spoilt of late, A Castle's strongly trenched, & fenced with stones, Kate's corpses as strongly fenced with good whalebones. A Castle hath percullize at each gate, As good a fence as that has bonny Kate. She hath a busk, there's no device more strong, That once let down, her portal takes no wrong. Yet vengeance take her watch, had they not slept, Kate's strongest hold un-ransakt had been kept. Satire 10. FIca's fair: none sees fairer if he winks, she's sweet; as any muskatt when she stinks To see her when she readeth on her book, (I mean her glass,) on which she oft doth look, 'twould make you laugh, nay laugh until you weep, At th'action she unto her shade does keep, Now she'll smile, now she'll gloyt: nay this she'll do, See'le kiss the same, nay seek t'embrace it too. Yet watt ye what still makes them two to part? should I but t●ll't, you'd laugh ●till break your heart, 'tis this: when she had smiled & done her best, Then does she frown, make mouths, and do the rest. Which when the shade i'th' glass does do the like, Then she in raged, does it a pieces strike. Faith speak, deserveth not that glass a knock That harbours apes, to give such apes a mock? Satire 11. WHy husband (quoth Miss Merchant) where's my Pynck▪ Oh God his hair's not kymmed down I think: Come pretty Pynck come, thy noun Mistress kiss, Thy Meyster (Pink) might thought on thee ere this, Featherstone husband faith; I'm mitch grown in your debt That my sweet Puppy you would so forget. Y'are troubled sore: what he ye else te tend? You leave to hear me chide, else this yield mend. Pre will ye fetch●e kemm & kemm him strait, Elas sweet Mopps, he's nought to make thee wait. What, he ye brought it? Featherstone ye're such a one, That less ye're chidden nothing willbe done, Ebout him pre: Lard how leisurely ye do't, It seems ye he but little mind unto't. Yet pray now ste: What eyles sweet Pynck to groan? Oh! Pincke would piss: Pray have pink all elone. What hes he done't? Pre make him clean again, End pink and I, will untoth ' garden then. So: Now he's well, but hear ye? when I'm gone, I pray be ye a gadding straight from home. Satire 12. WHen Minta from her Chamber down descendeth, All things below she straightways discommendeth, Queans (quoth she:) how haps my Kitchen's thus disgraced? I were not wont to have a spoon displaced, Then strait tooth ' Hall, where if a rush she spies, Where have these sluts been broughtup Lard she cries? Then faugh she cries: out on't: what's this does smell? Must I be served thus? why maids 'tis well. So leaving them, tripping upon her toes, Into her shop, t'ir prentices she goes, Where if she sees a boy but look a wry, Why saucebox, what stare you on she'll cry? And then she plies her work which is a band, Which to be hemmed, has hung ten years in band. Satire 13 AS jynn and Pegg did in their Couches lie, Thus did sweet Pegg young jynn instructifie, Why jynn wutt ne'er leave poring on a book? Come take a glass, that's fitter on to look, If thou didst know how good books dulls the brain, Thou'dst ne'er thus booke-it while thou livedst again. Do as thy sister Pegg does, chain in arms Her sweetheart bound with love-linckt-charmes, Read in his face the pleasing lines of love, And they thy soul, to sweet delights will move. Art rising jynn? I prithee sweete-harte stay, Hear me speak one word more, and then away. Thou must not blussh: Why this is maiden's chart, we're private girl, we'll talk we care not what. I'll say no harm, I'll tell thee only this, What pleaseth women best, and what it is. Oh 'tis man! who doth possess a treasure, Whose taste (for sweetness) hath no measure A treasure wench: such treasures there are none, A jewel 'tis: oh hadst thou such a one, Thou wouldst esteem it at so high a rate, As ne'er no jewel was so prized of late. Unto it (girl) sour is the sweetest honey, It's wine toth' heart, but Nectar to the— These were the reasons Margett did allege, Which first did set fair jynns' white teeth an edge, Satire 14. IN trothla maids what thouhtes possesseth ye, just suchlike thoughts sometimes possesseth me, Mine sometimes wanton are: Maids you all know That we that Maidens are, our thouhts are so. To see a gallant gape (Maids your mouths wipe) To entertain a fair Tobacco-pipe. Believe me Maids, my maiden-thoughts it moves To think of what doth pass between two that loves. It at a word (Oh that I might come at her) Does make my Maiden-mouth o're-flowe with water. Satire 15 SOme thinks that Farthingales that's monstrous wide, At first invented were only for pride, But truly none that thinketh so as this, But guess (believe me) too too much a miss, For they (I certainly it's so surmi'sd,) For these three reasons were at first devised. first, for hot girls that subject are to sweat, It lets up air whereby to cool their heat. Then for the girl whose bum standeth not right, (Tough hopper-tailed) yet that will hide it quite. But chiefly does the wench, who through an Itch, Has got: alas I scratch a— 'tis she I say that wears it not for Pride For she (god wot) can never hate too wide; She must have tricks, (I deal too plain to scoff) To bear up clothes, else they'd rub plasters off. Satire 16. WHen Seelas Taylor measure came to take, Of her small body, bodies new to make They disagreed (yet time did give them leisure) How she should stand, when he should take her measure▪ he'd have her upright stand, or else he should ne'er fit her body with a perfect mould, But she not liking it, made this reply, I'll have my body measured as I lie. And full of bones I'd have my bodies be, The bones stitched in, and quilted well quoth she. Now if thou think'st my bodies thou canst fit, I prithee honest Tayle-hir measure it. The man mistakeing still her meaning quite Lies on her more, to have her stand upright▪ But she (hoping to beat it in his brain) The second time replies to him again. Tailor quoth she, I'm sure that I shall find Bodies made like thine fitting'st to my mind, No other measure for my body take, But by thy body, my new bodies make. Alas quoth he those bodies ne'er will fit. Ah Ass quoth she, that Noddies had but wit Then might my body, bodies have right good, And easily I m●ght have been understood. ‛ Way hence (quoth she) thou art some botching Noddy, That canst not measure right a woman's body. Satire 17▪ IF Gossippes once be got to sit and prattle. It's needles then to bid their tongues to tattle. Woe to their husbands, for alas poor men▪ Its only they shall smart and pay for't then. One by her trothla swears how she does find, Her husband grown already much unkind, For let me ask him but a toy to give, he'll snapp me up, with Let's learn first to live, I bad him buy (quoth she) shoes that would creak, Yet did he not: oh! this would make one speak. I charged him buy me hose quoth she of red, He bought 'em blue: I, I, he'd have me dead: I Gossipps I, there's none so matched as I, Then strait ways put she finger into eye. At which: Gossipps: says one, you gri●e to soon, Another tells her, yet 'tis honny-moone, A third steps up: for sooth quoth she they say That we must husband's honour & obey, But had we strength, I half the strength of men, It should be seen quoth she: Ifaith-lathan. And there she stops, setting her teeth so close, As if she feared her madd-tongue would break loose. The fourth more wise: says weake-ones must toth' wall, we're borne to bear quoth she: le●ts put up all. And then the bowl, the gossipps bowl gins walk, But that once off: again their tongues must talk. Satire 18. WHen as my cream is sour, I straightways meet With sugar which does make my sour cream sweet, And when my drink is sour, or that ways blame, I meet with twenty things to mend the same. But faith do what I can, yet for my life, I cannot mend the sourness of my wife. Yet honeyed terms upon her every hour I duly power: yet still my wife is sour. May not I doubt her sourness ne'er will fleet, When such sweet things wants powere to make her sweeete. Satire 19 AT this time Liba thou'dsta'dst no need to weep, Hadst had the wit but of a silly sheep, Couldst not thou mark whereon that harmless beast does hourly choose to make her daily feast? she's seldom seeve the tale long grass devour: And why? because 'tis rank & always sour. But on the short: with which when she does meet On that she feeds; and why? because 'tis sweet. Ah Liba hadst o'th' sheep but learned this, Thy tall man had not had thee then I wis. Faith wench, hadst but a low man half an hour, Thou'dst tell me all that's tall, are rank & sour, Satire 20. I Must distill my wits best quintessence, To Carractrise the wisdom of wise Prudence, Her worthy acts are of such noble fame, As I'll have Hall to Chronicle the same. You long to hear her deeds? I know you do: Will you be silent then? well then go toe. She 'fore her Father, Mother, folks and all, Sets up her leg ath'mantle-tree i'th' wall, Quoth she now Father I'll do wonders great, The old folks hearing that (with fear) gann sweat, She seeing that, she bids them nothing doubt. For I (quoth she) will only puffed this fire out. And therewithal she let forth such a— That half the spacious world (for fear) 'gan start Oh here's a Girl to live i'th' Commonweal, Who can defend it with her very tail. Satire 21. NOthing's hard unto a mind that's willing, It's seen by Winda in her nightly drilling, Hark Musketeers: if Mnsketeers you'll make, And learn all posterns right, her course but take, She every night as in her bed she lies, Does all her posterns, before she e'er let flies, She cocks, she tries her match, she guards her pann, Which done, sh'ungardes it, and presents it than, And with as good a grace as you'd desire She blows her match, and bravely then gives fire. Then does she cast about, prune & blow, Rechardge & to her former posterns go. Soldiers; Drilling's not hard, If you'd do so. Satire 22. FOr certain, yet in women there's some sweet, With which we blinde-men yet could never meet, By reason natural it must be so. To prove the same let's to the Beehive go, Why did dame Nature give the Bee a sting? Some reasons she'd to give her such a thing. And place it in her ta●le (men mark the case) The pretty Bees sweetst best & richest place, Her reason why she placed it in her tail, Was this (if my opinion do not fail) Because that place her treas'rie is: in which Lies all her wealth: For Bees be sweetly rich. Now as with stings dame Nature made the Bee, So women hath she made with stings we see, For all their heads (I hope I do none wrong) Containeth stings: If not a sting, a tongue, But let us term't a sting; for it will prick, And he that strives with it, 'gainst thorns does kick: They having stings, no question if we search, Shall honey find where those sharp stings do perch. Yet as you do, do not, for men you'll fail, If Belike for the sweet, you search the () Satire 23. MIlda? since you betook yourself to wive, I hope y'ave ta'en the skillfulst tricks to thrive. The time was Milda when your slender back, (To cover it) a gown wellnigh did lack. But now, nor gown, nor nothing else you want, What can you ask? but strait it has a grant. Many Maidens, many things would choke, Had they (as you have) Milda such a cloak. For do you hear? it may not be denaied But cloaks fits wives, when they'll not do a maid Yet Milda faith I speak it to your grace, You should have chose your cloak with better face. Satire 24 A Lady fairer far than fortunate, (In dancing) thus o'reshott herself of late, The music not in tune, pleased not her mind, For which: she with the fiddlers fault did find. Fiddlers quoth she, your fiddles tune for shame. But as she was a speaking of the same, (To mend the consort) let she did a () Whereat the fiddling knaves thus did her greet Madam your pipe's in tune, it plays most sweet, strike up quoth they, (but then the knaves do smile) And as you pipe, we'll dance an other while. At which, away the blushing Lady flings, But as she goes, her former notes she singes. Satire 25. WElthus, none of your daughters that I saw, But half did tempt me be your son in law: And just but half: For ever I did see, In eech of them, somewhat to alter me. Kate's Virtues my affection much did move. But straight her crookedness did quench that love. Black Sues great portion made me wish her well, But thinking on her pride my love strait fell. Bess for her beauty I could much affect, But Bess wants wit, that made me Bess reject, With Doll for her housseffrie I could hold, But blame not small men, much to fear a scold. Ellen for her silence I could love: but Although I hate a scold, I loathe a slut. Were Nan no wanton, she'd my humour fit, But Nan has wantonness unto her wit, Yet Wealthus give me Nan, for do you hear? With wantonness (as most men does) I'll bear. Satire 26. SWeet Mistress, I'll not put thee (thou shalt find) In this my books disgracefulst place behind, In that place will I toothless Liva put, And flout at her, cause she's so rank a slut. And Minsa there I'll put, who eats at table, As if to eat at all, she were not able. her, there I●le put, cause 'fore folks she'll not eat, But in a corner eat up worlds of meat. Likewise I'll Lica put into that place, For Cuckolding her man before his face. But Mistress, you behind I'll never put, Worlds of wealth, shall ne'er persuade me to't. Where ●ouers put their loves, there do you look To be inrouled, and put in my book: Ith' middle, and before, (can I do less?) There will I put you, my sweet Misteresse. Where I will write on you; things of delight, Things fittli'st fitting true-love's appetite. Satire 27. ANd pray now why is there no likelihood That Agus should do his young wife no good? Hear my example, and I'll prove it then. That none please young Girls like these aged men. A youngman having matter to indite, With many words superfluous he doth write, Loading the paper with much Idle stuff, O ' rechardging it with much more then enough. Whereas an aged man does never write, But untoth ' purpose he does still indite. What e'er old men do do: (I do not flatter) Tothth' purpose 'tis: they roundly go toth' matter. And therefore Tatlus, why art such a one, To think that Agus son, is not his son? I●st cause the boy is such a chopping lad? Or cause he is not haired like his old dadd? If this be all? then thou a fault art in, Why Tatlus, he is like his mother's kin, His mother cozens hath: fine proper men, The boy in favour may be like to them. Or like his godfathers the boy may be, That falls out oft, although no kin you see. Fie Tatlus, I'faith thou hast a slaund rows tongue, To do an old-man's yong-wife so much wrong: Why oldmen's breath gets boys, it is so strong. Satire 28. LOrd, what mean you Gossipp? pray forbear, My husband notes your often coming here, So soon as ever he is got toth' Plough, You are here: pray la-bee: what ail you now? I will not faith: good-lord y'are such a man, I hope you'll rest: he will be here a nan: Y'are such an other: who'd think you such a one? Oh! I hear my husband: pray be gone. La-bee I say: fie, fie: I pray la-bee, he's in the yard, he's crying hutt and give. Hark, hark; I'faith I hear him: oh 'tis sore! Neighbour: sneak out, & I will watch at door. Satire 29 WHy john quoth Nan, I pray now john forbear: You'll not a done, I'faith I'll hit your ear, who'd be a Chambermaid? why john? fie, fie: A done I say; I'faith john Iwill cry, Pussh, pussh: pray leave, another time you shall, Why hark; pray hark: I'faith my Mistress call. she'd rise and make her ready: out alas, How will she tie her shoes and want her glass? I'm in a fine case to go to her sir: Fie john: are not you shamed to keep this stir? I'd not ha' thought you would have used me so, How is my colour? fie how I do blow? Shame you not to put me in this heat? A handkerchief: fie, how my face does sweat. Well, well▪ I'faith did not I love you well, Of this your wagg'rie to your shame I'd tell, Lord my ruff! set it with thy finger john, Hark, hark; pies on her, how she raps for Nan. Farewell, I'll tell her, sh'as a waggish man, Satire 30 I Could allow your suit; but do you her●? My credit Sir: my reputation's dear, What greater blot could to my Credit be? Then yield my love to such a one as ye. Again you know your master grows of late, To have a mar'les suspicious jeolous pate. H'immagins what has past: and john you know, We have too open been; 'twas long of you. Let's chary Bee: my deeds shall then approve, That like to thee, none shall attain my love. Satire 31. PRouda: your Father on his deathbed lies, 'tis ten to one, within this hour he dies. For Godsake Prouda while as he doth live, Go unto him; & his great fault forgive. He does desire the same: he pra●es that he (ere die) to you may reconciled be. For Godsake Prouda let his latest breath Make you a mends: he'll seal the same with Death. Were I a maid, my Father should be bold To say, & say again that I were old. Alas your father takes it on his death, He meant no harm with uttering of that breath. He vows, he little thought to womankind, That saying would have troubled so their mind. Good young- Prouda, now show yourself t' ave wit, And but unto his death hate him for it. Satire 32. Widows? your Push, nor Pray Sir stand away, No nor your fie for shame, forbear I pray, Can make a soldier cease his enterprise; I tell you widows, soldiers are too wise, They know that breaches into Towers are made, To enter them; whereby the Tower t'in●ade. They know that ask, shall I enter in? ● Is not the way a Tower, or Fort to win. Their discipline is such, they use small speech, But with true courage, falls-upp intoh ' breach. Where maugre Dangers worst, they'll make th'adventure, And (as true spirits should) bravely enter. They will not with beseechings pray them yield, For falls they'll take, but they will win the field. Satire 33. WHy Matrita, what will it pray boot me? To blab, or tell a ●atling tale of thee, Should I gain aught to say thou lovest john? That smooth-chinned youth thy father's servingman, Not for a thousand Millions I'll report, That nightly to his bed thou dust resort. Why, I could tell what tricks he puts on thee: But they shall never be revealed for me, The gettings will but little fill my purse, To tell of thy two children sent to nurse. Or tell how closely every thing was wrought, As how the midwife, blindfolded was brought. I'faith but Idle I myself should show, If I should make the world, these secrets know. Come wench: none shall know't: be no whit dismaiede, Some Londonier will take thee for a maid. Satire 34. Deep desperate danger in this Satire lies, 'Cause desperate folks it does annotomize. It tells what manner chat, when women mere, They each the other commonly do greet. Kate bids her Gossipp sit, which once down set, Then fall they unto that, for which they met. That is to prate as they occasion take. As each occasion for their purpose make, Occasion good kind Kate has full enough. To praise her gossipps fashonable ruff. Her gossipp sits not mumm, but sh●e again, Looks on Kate's gown, and much commends it then, Or on her hat, orelse upon her tire, Commending (for the fashion) her high wire. Protesting if her husband were no clown, She would (e'er long) have such a fashioned gown. He has enough (quoth she) and then she weeps, But me (I'faith (the hogg) at hardmeat keeps. At which; her gossipp Kate comforts her then, And tells her there's no best amongst these men. 'tis thought that I quoth she lead a good life, But Gossipp, gossipp, since I were his wife, God knows it gossipp (speak to you I may) I have endured many a stormy day, And then does too-kinde Kate a crying fall, At end of which▪ she curseth mankind all. Yet faith quoth she why should we fre●t at man? They'll all be nought, let us do● what we can. ay, quoth her gossipp, they be crabby elves, But let's be wise, & make much of our selves. And then the Custards fetched to cheer the heart, At eating which, they'll laugh until they— Satire 35. MY ruf-rude pen would women fain befriend Conld it but find one worthy to commend It finds but one, my Mistress is that one Else had this barren world afforded none Yet ne're-seene-shee how shall I set her forth? Contains in her a treble world of worth. Satire 36. AMbitious girl, why altered I my state? How sowre's my life to what it was of late While I in Cottadge did myself contain Poor simple I, knew nothing that was vain Then might I gam some Bee with modesty Yet unsuspected rest, from jeolosie The Milk-maydes life, oh happ'ire 'tis I ween Then is the life to be an Emprours' Queen. Satire 37. BEcause mad Girls I know what you love best Out of my love you see I've got you priest If there b● faults escaped, I do not fear: I know with presse-scapt-faultes you use to bear I love you Girls, then how could I do less? Then put you (sin● I love you) intooth press. Satire 38. BY Putting other women intooth press A kind of love to them I did express Because that most of them are pleased best When by their loves they most of all are priest But thou my love: (my heart is known to thee) By none but by myself shalt pressed be All works I write on thee, (If there's no let) I will myself those works both print and set Sweet wench, so stiff my love shall stand to thee As I will set, print, press and write on thee. Satire 39 WOmen, you term me Idle: I confess, My Idle works doth show I am no less But now my Idle work I will lay by To pray you better occupyd ' then I Ill occupid' I am; and cause 'tis ill Otherwise (as you be) occupyd ' I will. Satire 40. YOu little Dogs, my farr-fetcht merchandise My sweetest foists, my things of highest prize Hark to the charged I shall impose on you Not only hark, but see the same you do Such as shall use you well: Dogs unto such Be fawninge on; of them still make you much If any rates or kicks at you: then hark At them turn you again, and grynn and bark But see that you with biting none assail excepting those who'd have you lick the tail Th●s●●nelie bite: I that place bite a good D●● so your fangs, as if they were all blood. Satire 41. CEase whippets now, no more a barking keep Be quiet Dogs, the Ladies will go sleep Commit them to their rest; and do ye hatke If pryvate friends come to them, do not bark Ava●t you Curs; commit them to their ease And scud yond back to your Antipedes. FINIS.