THE Whipping of the Satire. Imprinted at London, for john Flasket. 1601. TO THE VAYNEGLORIOUS, the Satirist, Epigrammatist, and Humorist. MOst worthy Triumuiri, no marvel though ye marvel at my adventurous boldness, attempting beyond your expectation, & yet daring beyond my attempt, notwithstanding moved by the lines and letters of such just Asses of Coram, as I knew you to be, and supposing ye had sat of a commission, ad Inquirendum de moribus, I endeavoured to do you a pleasure, if it please you to accept of my endeavour: for seeing our lives by your worships censured, our manners by your censures controlled, our credit by your controlment impeached, I thought good to solicit a Melius inquirendum, because yours, after some examination being found false and forged, was at divers and sundry sit put down in the house of office: for had ye gone forward with approbation, as ye began with presumption, ye would shortly have proved as mischievous to the Inhabitants of England, as Tyrone hath been to the Frontiers of Ireland. For as Demosthenes said to the Citizens of Athens, An accusing slanderer is an evil full of quarrelous sedition. It passeth the infinity of thought to conceive, and the apprehension of conceit to understand the reach of your purpose: for the courses of you three in that employment seem as wonderful, as the courses of all the stars in the firmament, because (by all likelihood) ye intended to begin some new Empire: for ye took upon you to tax all the world, like Augustus Cesar, making every man subject to your censure. Indeed this was a point of resolution, yet this resolution was not worth a point, because aiming at too great a purchase of glory, ye sustained much loss of good will. For, after the boldness of your speech had uncovered the baldness of your conceit, no body took greater pleasure, then to take displeasure against you. Notwithstanding, suppose you had as pregnant pates as Ulysses or Tully, yet misemploying their faculties, ye will prove (as Plato rightly affirmeth) so much the more pernicious: so that it is better not to have wit to employ at all, than not to employ well the wit we have, because our want of wit we may oft impute to nature, but the abuse wholly rests in ourselves. I will thus argue therefore. He that wants discretion, is no more than a fool, and he that useth none, is no less than an Ass, and he that is no more than a fool, is too bad to teach others, and he that is no less than an Ass, others are too good to teach him. Notwithstanding I have not thought scorn to admonish you as friends by an Epistle, because I am bound to love you as brethren, by the Gospel▪ and sure I must needs commend you for one thing, and that is your magnanimous resolution, in undertaking the censorship of this populous Commonwealth▪ wherein ye behaved yourselves very unpartially▪ for ye neither spared the vicious for favour, nor favoured the virtuous for envy, but dealt so equally with all men in their penal punishments, as though you had been borne under the very Equinonctiall line. Notwithstanding, I marvel you would enter into such a Labyrinth of business with so little a thread of discretion▪ but you had nothing to do, and therefore would not be idle, as though idleness were, as the vulgar take it, to do nothing▪ Nay, men are much deceived in the nature of it: for Scaliger Exercit. 6 text 9 Cessatio ab actione, est quies, non otium: for he only is said to be idle▪ Qui cum debet, & potest agere, non ag●t, as Scaliger also saith. Well, my good Countrymen, ye know, Humanum est errar●, and therefore offences should be borne withal, and injuries forgotten: why deal ye then more unchristianly in reprehending our faults, than we inhumanly, in deserving reprehension? It is ill to think of that which should be forgotten: worse, to speak of that which should not be thought: worst of all, to write of that which should not be spoken: Quod enim verbis palam fari non decet, scriptis pa●●● fieri non oportet. But what ye thought worthy of nothing, others think worth nothing, and therefore it is no great matter. To omit this, it is not long since that a friend of mine being merrily disposed, told me for great news, that there were three persons in the Realm, had undertaken a notable piece of travel, at their own costs and charges. Whither, said I? Marry, quoth he, to discover a whole Island, and the manners of the people, bidding me ge●se, who those three were. I, after a long ●●●urre, thought (God forgive me) that the one should be Sir Francis Drake, the other Sir Martin Frobysher, and the third Captain Candish: but then the remembrance of their deaths, was the death of my opinion: at last I told him, I could not tell, demanding to what Country they were bound, and who might be their Pilot? Faith (quoth he) their Pilot is better for judgement, than ever Pontius Pilate was, and for experience the best in the world. The devil as soon (quoth I.) At that he smiled (unmasking the jest) and told me, it was the devil indeed, that had played the Pilot, in guiding these three vessels of iniquity, the Satirist, Epigrammatist, and the Humorist, to discover and lay open the infirmities of their Country men. But I fear I am overlargely troublesome, notwithstanding, sith I writ with more affection of kindness, than affectation of tediousness, I presume on your patience. Now a word with you alone friend Satirist, for I may not forget you in any case: O mihi post nullos Satirist, memorande sodales! By the Mass, & yet that oath is unlawful▪ for sigh the saying of the Mass is put down, me thinks▪ the swearing of the Mass should not be tolerable: by yea and by nay therefore, you show your Countrymen great discourtesy, for whereas you should salute them with an ave, you threaten me with A-uae. Think you that foul words can beget fair manners? If you do, I will not bate you an ace of an asse●: for experience gives you the lie to your face. But your affection overrules your reason, and therefore you are as sudden of passion in all matters, as an Interjection, and yet as defective in most cases, as an Heteroclite: you gathered up men's vices, as though they had been Strawberries, and picked away their virtues, as they had been but the stalks. They shall not make me believe, but that you were the devils Intelligencer, for there went not a lie abroad, but it was presently entertained of your ear: and every sin kept under writing, for fear lest the devil waxing almost six thousand years of age, should fail in his memory, and so chance to forget it. Beshrew my heart, if I think you not a very prompt and politic Gentleman: Prompt, wanting no words to express your anger: and politic, using much hypocrisy to conceal your malice. So that if a man should blazon you aright, he must make your tongue passant: your anger rampant▪ and your malice couchant. As for you, signor Epigrammatist, your head is troubled with such a rheum of conceit, as I know not whether to wish you a better head to contain it, or a better heed to guide it. For (hark in mine ear a little) the rankest Ragamuffin, that ever swaggered in Shoreditch, is not loser in his living, than you in your writing: but yet there is time to amend, for nunquam sero, si serio. I know you will note that, because its serviceable for your purpose, but withal, Hic tibi pra●terea quaedam sunt graeca notanda: that is, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. temporize not therefore too long. But what a God's name mean you to negotiate in every man's matter? Doubtless you were super-fantastically infatuated, when you skipped up and down from one estate to another, like a Squirrel on a tree, and snapped at every man, as though he had been a venison Pastry. O, ye were as busy as a Bee, and as angry as a Wasp, the heat of your colour evaporated her imagination, and the liberality of your tongue maintained most absolute lies for the achieving of the whetstone. You made more reckoning of a jest, than a scholar doth of a Maundy Thursday, or Cheshire-men of the Newfound well, and yet when all come to all, was as blunt as a Hob nail, which need not have been, sith (as I said) you might have had the whetstone for lying. The whole Epigram doth nothing but make way for the two last lines, which are brought in like a piece of cheese and a manchet, to digest all that went before. And verily you have greatly troubled yourself in naming certain particular persons. Such a one you call Fabius, and another, Felix, anon comes me Rufus and Clodius, and such a company of Imaginary persons and invisible Ideas, to hold your worship talk, as would fat a man with laughter, or fill him with wonder. In the end, when your page hath played the knave with every one a little, you turn over a new leaf, and call for more company, with whom, lest any should suspect you to be no great scholar, you talk of the Intellectual Quintessence, Genius, and such great secrets of Art wonderful luxuriously. How your tongue rioted in bawdry, I am ashamed to rehearse, only thus much I dare say, that if you had lived in the time of Ovid, he would have given you his daughter to wife, conditionally for some instructions, when he was writing DE ARTE AMANDI. For, touching examples of Venery, I think, you had gotten a whole Sampler-full from Venus herself, so that you might well have a place and applause above all others for that faculty: & as you were in these things lascivious, so you are in each thing frivolous, in some things ridiculous, in most things malicious, & in all things vain glorious. Now by your leave. Monsieur Humorist, you that talk of men's humours and dispositions, as though you had been a Constellation-setter seven years in the firmament, or had cast account of every man's nativity with the stars: but if I were as the Astronomers, I would call you into question for it, seeing you have so abused their Art. But, had you been but so mean a Philosopher, as have known, that mores sequuntur humores, you would questionless have made better humours▪ if it had been but to better our manners, and not in stead of a moral medicine, to have given them a mortal poison: but I consider of you, as of a younger brother: you wanted this same multis nimium; and nulli satis, coin (a goodyere of it) and therefore opus & usus put you to such a pinch, that you made sale of your Humours to the Theatre, and there played Pee boo with the people in your humour, than out of your humour. I do not blame you for this: for though you were guilty of many other things, yet I dare say, you were altogether without guilt at that time, notwithstanding I suppose you would ha●e written for love, and not for money: but I see you are one of those that if a man can find in his purse to give them presently, they can find in their hearts to love him everlastingly: for now▪ adays A●s in praesent● perfectum format amorem. But it makes the less matter, because I know but few but are corrivals with you in the love of silver: so that if the question were asked, Quis amat pecuniam? Experience would answer the voice with a double Echo, Quisquis. And indeed I see no reason, why every true subject should not love the Q. coin. To conclude therefore, if you demand why my Epistle is so long, and my book so short: I answer▪ The first is for your credit, to show that you are no barren subject: and the other, for my own advantage, that I might buckle the better with you. My reason is entailed to the ground of this Axiom, Vis unita fortior: for a man gives a sorer blow with his closed fist, then with his open hand: Whence I suppose the fist was called, Pugnus of Pugno, to fight, as fittest for blows, and the palm, Palma, because the Palm is an Emblem of victory and peace. Moreover, in doing much, it is hard to do well, and in doing well, hard to do much: for the difficulty of an action consists in doing well, in doing much, or in doing often. Nam agere recte, ●●ulta, aut saepe, difficile est, saith Aristotle, lib. 2. caeli. cap. 12. Briefly, therefore, my book is brief. Nam frustra fit per plura▪ quod fieri potest per pauciora. Thus wishing I were as potential to please my friends, as I am optative to pleasure my foes, I beseech yo● accept of a poor Pilgrim's devotion. W. I. Ad Lectorem. ASpera succincto cantabit Musa libello: Quae? lege: sic videas: Qualia? visa legas: Pauca tibiscribo, scribens ut amicus amico. Si cupias, capias: si capias, faveas. Multis pauca placent, sed paucis multa placebunt: Multis quam paucis, me placuisse placet. Si quis me nescit, ne sit me scire molestus: Si mea quis poscit, possit habere mea. W. I. To his friend. YOu that come by, and chance this book to see, Peruse it well, and judge indifferently; Yield him no more that made it, but his own, And give him leave to reap what he hath sown. But if it chance to stand within the sight Of any time-observing Parasite; Or any vain obsequious sycophant Think with a bended front his Muse to daunt, Him doth this little little book despise, And seems as flashing lightning to his eyes: In this as in a glass, those men may see The true proportion of their vanity. Then view him well, that with impartial eye, Dares scourge the Scourger of base villainy, And ye shall find Wit, Poetry, and Art, Each in his function play his several part. I. F. The Pilgrim's Story. wandering I was unto the holy Town, By which the waves of Iordans Crystal flood With silver surge quietly wanders down, Watering the suburbs that about it stood, In Pilgrim's weed, to do devotion At the sepulchre of our Lady's Son. But by the way I chanced to espy Two twinlike sisters discontented sit, Glistering with such celestial majesty, As made me tremble in beholding it, Supposing them as I did musing stand, The Tutelares Dee of that Land. From th' Arctic pole full fifty two degrees, That land doth lie within the temperate Zone, Flourishing green with groves of goodly trees, And from the world sequestered all alone, Walled with the billows of the foaming main, Into an Island on a pleasant plain. The pleasant fields enameled naturally With Lilies, Cowslips, and the Violet sweet; On which the beasts tumbled lasciviously, And purple Strawberries trodden under feet: No Tiger, Wolf, Lion, or savage Bear, Or any hurtful creature liveth there. The lofty hills did Limbicke-like distill, Th' enclosed air shed down in Crystal showers, Which through the verdant valleys streamed still, With silver waves playing among the flowers, Whose gentle current did their beauty bless, Pampering the plains with fruitful pleasantness. Then ran dispersed in shallow Azure brooks, Befringed with banks of shady mirtild trees, And pleasant palms, glazing their lovely looks Over the trembling superficies, Whose leafy locks, for more eye-pleasing view, The heavens embalmed with Ambrosial dew. About the Cities and frequented towns, The gowned people of that blessed Land, Sat in their Orchards, decked with Rosed crowns, Singing Eliza, and then clap their hand, Shrouded in bowers of shady wandering vines, Embroidered all with fragrant Eglantines. The pleasant rows of dainty Apricockes, Quadrangle walks did Laborinth-like compose, Richly adorned from their contiguous tops, With damask hangings of the purple Rose, Which the celestial Angels seem to dress: So supernatural was their pleasantness. There breathed the spirit of sweet Zephyrus, Among the leaves whispering with still est voice, And Crystal springs through silver pipes did gush, Inviting sleep with gentle muttering noise: There sweetly warbled natures feathered quires, Embowed with shady bough-combynding briars. Well, here I stayed gathering my wandering wits, Rapt with this blessed sense-intraunsing sight, And nearer strait went on by wandering fits, To view that pair, shining like Angels bright: But trembling fear withdrew my doubtful feet, And back I slinckt me, thinking it unmeet. Then mused awhile; strait, as resolved quite, I trod the steps that I untrode before, Ost starting back at mine own shadows sight, And every sinowe shivering wondrous sore: Now stood I listening, straight peerd with mine eye, Spying about, lest any should espy. Then on I stepped, as soft as mouse could tread, And e'er two strides (me thought I went too fast) Crouching me down, lest they should see my head; And so crept on jollily near at last. Then squat I laid, even like a timorous Hare. So dear strange visions unto Pilgrims are. Fearful through doubt, yet doubtful what to say: (For fear is fostered by uncertain doubt) Doubtful through danger that I thought was nigh: (For danger is conceived by fearful thought,) Careful through both, and wary through my care, I dare not stir, because I did not dare. But at the last (for long I lent mine ear,) I heard the younger say with heavy heart, Sister, more crosses I am borne to bear, Then tongue can speak, or speeches can impart; Yet none hath heaped such sorrows in my breast, As those which now; and sighed out the rest. Nay, said her sister, do not smothered so, Impart it soon, if it import relief: I prithee (sweet) communicate thy woe, And let me share in sympathy of grief: Seem not to be what it beseems not thee, So miserable of thy misery. Then she replied, You know (I little doubt) How I have brought up three, I know not what, That viperlike would eat my bowels out; Whom you baptised first, but after that, They changed their names to fit their quality, And so were taken changelings for to be. Each to his name his disposition framed, Sat. rough, severe: Ep. skip-Iacke jester like: Hu. with new-fangled neuterisme inflamed, All nought. Then she her sigh-swoln breast did strike And said, Their vice my voice fails to lament, Spending my speech before my grief is spent. But then her sister, with divinest grace, Opened her lips like glorious Cherubins, Her eyes with tears threatening to drown her face, Maiestickly at last she thus gins: Oft cause of grief proves comfort to the grieved, And hope of comfort cause to be relieved. And therefore, sister, be you ruled by me, Though they neglect, do you your duty show, And sith I gave them Christianity, Duty enioyn's me to join in with you; For they are blest, that labour to repress The course of sin, and curse of sinfulness. If my advice may sway your troubled mind, Do not your heart with such vexation fret, And seem not over-motherly inclined; What sorrow begets, reason must forget. But take me Satire, and with angry look Sharply correct him, for the course he took. But yet I think it far the better way, That you procure some other in your stead: For you will strait your tender heart bewray, And fail to strike, and fall to stroke his head. Provide you therefore some sufficient man, That can perform, and will do what he can. Then let him take the other two apart, And show how lewdly they their time misspent, Who being of a milder-moulded heart, May happily in Christian sort relent. conceive you this? I (said her Sister) well; But know no man dares practise what you tell. At this I smiled, for fear enfranchised me. When by their talk, this glorious pair I knew, The sacred Church and Common wealth to be, My fingers itched at Satire, to say true: For I supposed some pains bestowed on them, Would please God more, then on jerusalem. With this resolved, I went me soft and fair, And with obeisance on my bended knee, 'Gan thus salute them, You celestial pair, Though I be come, as it becomes not me, Yet pardon grant, diviner Powers ordained, That I should hear to help what ye complained. I will not tell you of this wonderment, And gracious speech replied when it was past, For they by miracles supposed me sent: But to be short, I was the man at last, They both assigned, and bade me straight provide, To take up Satire, and take down his pride. My charge once given, lo, on my humbled knee ● took my leave, and from the holy land, Turned back unto a sinful Niniveh, And here, my Masters, now before you stand: God save ye all, I am a Pilgrim poor, Expect not then, nay I am blunt, no more. In Satyrum. THe Satirist now, like a masty dog, Chained in his kennel for to make him cursed Lay grinning long, at last he broke his clog But with his collar almost choked first, And with full mouth, or rather foul-mouthed speech He roared at all, or else he worried each. What though the world was surfeited with sin And with the surfeit dangerously sick, And with the sickness had miscarried been? Must it of force his filthy physic lick, Who little knowing what it ought to have, For purging pills, a piled purgation gave? And seeming wondrous carefully inclined, Did L●pos-like pretend Arch villainy, Mixing the poison of malicious mind, Stead of a present sovereign remedy: For we may think there's poison foisted in, Because the world swells bigger sin with sin. Behold, thou misconceyving Satirist, The quaffing ale-knight hath a reeling pace: The Cobbler always shows a dirty fist: Who lives a Smith, must needs besmere his Face. Then know, thou filthy sweepe-chimney of sin, The soil thereof defiles thy soul within. O wonder great! Is it not villainy, That one should live by reckoning up of vice, And be a sinne-monger professedly, Inuoluming offences for a price? Yet by the same doth purchase but the shame, And blaming others, merits others blame. O, is it not a work of wickedness, To pick up sin, and pack up villainies, To flesh one's pen with fat of filthiness, And heap together men's iniquities? Fearing belike, (but fearing it to show) That some dear year of sin would soon ensue Nay, you preserved them wondrous daintily, As though they had been Pheps or Quinches all, And in the closet of your memory Kept them, as though against some Festival, Then brought them out to us your Countrymen, That we might all make merry with them then. Thus you supposed the people's hearts to win By Machiavellian damned policy: For seeing men inclined to such sin, You feasted them with all variety, And lest you should this wild pretence reveal, Did hypocrite it with a show of zeal: As a blind beggar guided by his boy, Stands in the way of some frequented place, And cries, Alas, I do no sight enjoy: For jesus sake take pity on my case; Bestow one penny; God your sight maintain; The Lord in heaven will you reward again. And still his boy (like a Parenthesis) Comes in, For God's sake help the poor & blind; And leads him forward with a string, I wisse, Spying about some Gentleman to find. Then they poor souls make toward him a pace, And both together plead their woeful case. If he doth pass, and doth not pass for it, The boy runs after with a ruthful cry, Good courteous Gentleman, for God's sake yet▪ Here's a three halfpence, but one halfpenny: So your blind error by devotion led, Wearies the senses of the Readers head. Well, yet you show a noble confidence, That with the force of your persuasion, Durst undertake so notable pretence, As drive the devil from possession: Yet thus you prove as all men witness can, No notable, but a not able man. As lesser flame, the greater smoke we see: As smallest treble is the loudest found: As badst weeds the soonest grown will be: As empty vessel gives the greatest sound: As poorer purse, the prouder stomach still: So weaker reason hath the stronger will. My spleen would burst, ere I could laugh my fill, At that same combat that you late were in, Whose pygmy wit took up a Goose's quill, Stead of a bulrush, to encounter sin: And with a pen, as with a pikestaffe came, To set upon the Devil and his Dame. Faith, this will make the Chronicle to shine, That in the year (it skills not for the day) 1 5 9 & 9 A Satire on the Devil made a fray: And with a pen because you made the same, Satyr-Pen-Dragon we will call your name. O, it's a jest to laugh an Emperor, I'll have the manner of the combat all, Painted in colours by some Picturer, And have it up upon my study wall. Beshrew my heart else, I'll this cost bestow, we'll put down George a horseback quite I trow. Can you seem wise to any simple men, That seemed so simple unto all the wise, And fit far to hold the plough, than pen, Such incompt stuff you rudely Poetize? Yet I confess, there's much conceit in it, For you have shown great store of little wit. Take me your staff, and walk some half score miles, And I'll be hanged, if in that quantity You find me out but half so many styles, As you have made within your Poesy: Nay, for your style, there's none can you excel, You may be called john a Style full well. A man may see, that hath but half an eye, The naked knowledge that's in you, God knoweth, Scraping acquaintance of Philosophy, To filch some praise out of the vulgars' mouth: Indeed this saviours of some Sophistry; Here's a Fallation from Simplicity. But he that mounts into the air of Fame, Must have two wings, Nature and Art to fly, And that he may soar safely with the same, Must take his rise low from humility; And not with you, a Goose's quill to take, Thinking with that, an eagle's flight to make. Your stately Muse starched with stiffnecked pride Dain'd it amongst us most imperiously, With lavish laughter she did each deride, That came within the prospect of her eye: Despising all, all her again despise, Contemned of foolish, and condemned of wise. Can you have given her some good portion Of wit or learning to maintain her state, She might have purchased reputation, While she by pride hath but procured hate. For who loves her, that's not in any part Endued with virtue, or endowed with Art? Your Readers tongue at every leaf doth tire: Then for a bait of fresher breath doth stay, Each line he thinks a lane, and doth desire, It were as plain as Dunstable high way; When I dare speak it, at the best man's table, You deal as plain as any Dunce is able. Plainly you speak; Plaine-lyes I would have said, But that I thought I should have spoke too plain, And by your plainness, plainly hath bewrayed The pride you take your plainness to maintain. There's no estate but vildly you impeach, And loudest lies report in lewdest speech. Sure, some pot-furie did possess your brain, For many holds a Poet should not write, Till the Almighty bless his hopeful pain, Or strong Sir Claret Bordeaux Redcrosse Knight Dubs him a Poet. To such I say yet, Water made wine once; but wine never wit. No juie-bush, but laurel branch must be The pleasing object of a Poet's eye: The tippling a Potoque, Potavi & potus; titubo, titubavi. etc. head hath toppling feet we see; He that calls Hostess, calls his enemy: Wit waxeth poor, when wine at pledge doth lie, For wine and wisdom are at enmity. Why then in such a loving Trinity, Do Mars and Bacchus and Apollo go, In b sunt Divorum, Mars, Bacchus, Apollo etc. propria quae maribus so nigh? I'll tell you why: Bacchus was tippled so, That Mars and god Apollo for good will, Were feign to hold him up betwixt them still. But some may say, Then I would gladly weet, Why such quick wits in Poets find we may? I answer, Cause a verse hath many feet, And therefore with ones wit runs quite away: So that the heads of Poets often be Carried away with feet of Poesy. Had you been sober, as it had behoved, Shame would have shrived your misdemeaned pen, it had such a devilish Beldame proved, Setting at strife your quiet countrymen. He that accord by wrong would altered see, He in a cord by right should haltered be. Was not one hanged of late for libeling? Yes questionless. And you deserve the same: For you before whole volumes forth did bring, And whom you pleased, did liberally defame. For shall we his by right a Libel call, That toutcht but some? not yours, that aimed at all? Envy herself (me thinks) shames you full ill: For always she some good thing feeds upon. Evil is not envied, but hated still. You rauened on all wild Abustion. Will you bestow worse diet on your mind. Then Envy doth? O be not so unkind. Poets like jewels should seem to men's ears, Rare in themselves, and rich in others view, Not peevishly displeasing all that hears: For that man seems no jewel, but a jewe. Hardhearted Scribe, seek not with lawless pen, To crucify the sons, but sins of men. If speaking ill deserves the bell of praise, Down with the Grammar, God be with In speech, Rhetoric adieu, farewell sweet Tully's phrase, These were glad tidings to a scholars breech: For what need they learn speaking well by Art, Sith praise is got by speaking ill by heart? I cry you mercy, I had quite forgot, You were a Linguisht since you were but young, And have the tongues full perfectly, I wot, The lying, slandering and back biting tongue: Indeed for these, I think you may full well Have pearls of praise, for you have got the bell. And I could wish, each honest minded man Subscribe unto your commendation: For you did spare no tongue when you began, But dealt full roundly, using every one: Roundly indeed, or some deceived are: For I'll be sworn, you were much out of square. There was no ho, your tongue ran like a spout, An extreme stream of flowing eloquence Gushed from your mouth, & all your wit burst out, There was that gathered, as they said from thence, Whole mands & baskets full of fine sweet praise, That grew like Primroses, and went their ways. I searched all Galen and Hipocrates, Learned Fernelius and Alexis to, To know if it was not some strange disease That troubled you, and asked Physicians more. O ●●su God I cannot tell again, What pains I took, and pleasures in the pain. Now master Doctor, came I first to one; Cut steps his man, & prays me for to stay; There were some States within, when they were gone, I should be served: but on I went straightway, And peeped in, to see who they might be; Faith, there the States in urinals I see. Well, for his counsel him I questioned: And presently he answers me again: Gross humours do intoxicate his head, Proceeding, as I take it, from some strain. Why then (quoth I) it may be justly deemed, He strained his wit, because too gross it seemed. Yet to be sure of this uncertain thing, I sought another, who made this reply, He hath took surfeit of a Goose's wing. jesus (quoth I) you answer learnedly. Nay, this (quoth he) requires no learned skill▪ For see the print here of the Goose's quill. Yet not content, I would some other try, And ask one, he told me 'twas the spleen, The next said 'twas the gout undoubtedly. It may well be (quoth I) for well I ween, His verses feet to swell so sore begin, That he is feign in sheets to wrap them in. Forth to another went I speedily, Asked him, What, is he loose or bound? (quoth he) No Sir, (quoth I) he is at liberty. But friend (quoth he) his body bound may be. It may indeed (said I) but by S. Steven, Both mind and body yet are loosely given. Now weighing how they all did disagree, I sought a famous Cantabrigian, And brought a picture with me for a fee. He hastily replied, Thou foolish man, It is the flux of a luxurious tongue; Give him a spoonful of some new cows dung. But hark, I hear the Cynic Satire cry, A man, a man, a kingdom for a man. Why, was there not a man to serve his eye? No, all were turned to beasts that headlong ran. Who cried a man, c Nec vox hominis sonat: O fera certe. a man then was he none, No, but a beast by his confession. faith, Satire, thou art overmuch severe: For say, that we had brutish been indeed; I shall make proof, & proof shall make it clear, That brutishness to us small shame can breed. An Englishman may better brutish be, Then any nation in the world save he. For doth it us become a shame to stand, Of our most noble Ancestors this day, The valiant Brute, first father of our land? Shall not we show of whom we come, I pray? If we be brutish, you must it impute, That we be so in memory of Brute. I dare here speak it, and my speech maintain, That Sir john Falstaff was not any way More gross in body, than you are in brain. But whether should I (help me now, I pray) For your gross brain, you like I▪ Falstaff grant, Or for small wit, suppose you john of Gaunt? But be not proud, and I'll in courtesy Prove yours a quick wit, if you think it meet: For you are at your wits end presently: Doubtless your head will far outrun your feet▪ But wit will soon a time-torne Relic grow: Your Muse's wardrobe stronger stuff can show. A rash conceit exceeding strong you had, Tongue all of Say, subject to fretting sore; A linsey-woolsey conscience very bad; Mockado mouth, even such as Momus wore; Freezeado love, belike the air was cold, Perpetuana hate, that long will hold. I prithee Satire, do not chafe at this, Because I think I shall provoke you more; As once I served a friend of mine I wisse, Healing his bile by launching of the sore: I'll tell the manner, briefly for your sake, Though for the matter it no matter make. A Gentleman he was of right good blood, To whom I said, Faith Sir, you are too blame, Beside your wife, to keep one in a hood, For your own pleasure, whom I well could name. Wounds, blood, (qd. he) prove who, or thou shalt die. Content yourself, it is your Hawk (qd. I.) At that he paused, and knew not what to think, For he was guilty of the deed indeed, Hk. felt him galled and gulled too, yet did wink, judging my speech did of the jest proceed. So if you be offended, it is best, To be persuaded that I spoke in jest. But all this while, we truant but the time; For you (perhaps) can Usher out your deed, And I of spleen have charged you of crime, That chid the but such as foul offences breed, That they might see, and seeing might amend The faults they saw: This seemed the Satyr's end. Well, list a while, if that you list to hear, How he and I will wrestle for this fall: I fear nought else, but that you think I fear, Because he took the vantage first of all: But come Sir Satire, wert thou Saturn now, By jupiter thou tumblest downfall low. First by his choler I will take my hold, For it was his unpatient peevishness, That was the whetstone for to sharp him bold, And not the hate of human wickedness; For than he would have bridled so his pen, As he might best have rid the vice of men▪ The world grows old, & age grows froward still, With gentlest speech it therefore should be won, It's sore with sin, and sin swell sorer will: Yet stead of balm, he powers out blame thereon: With filthy rancour still he vomits out The poisoned malice of his spiteful thought. O, is not this a vild preposterous course, To wean from vice, and win to virtuousness. Our sins are ill, but his offence is worse, That heapeth sin on heaps of wickedness: As though that bitter evil slanderous speech, Were fittest method virtuous deeds to teach. Thought you the devil would have been afeard, That feareth all, and yet he none doth fear, When he your thunderclap of threatening heard, As children are, that of a bugbear hear? Nay, if you thought, he would be scared so, You should have sung, Come take him boggle bo. Ho Oedipus, here's work for you to do, Come riddle me, riddle me, what is this? That when it goes, it lies, go to, go to, I hold a crown, you know not what it is. Hark in thine ear, and I'll the riddle show. It is the satires tongue, not speaking true. I durst have sworn, but that I love not swear, That some familiar made the satires book, For I espied the devils method there, Slanderous, accusing, whence his name he took: Yet sure if it should a familiar be, He would have spoken more familiarly. judge, hath he not abused much his pen, W●ose pen hath spared no man to abuse? Men can abuse themselves, what need they then Care for abusing to a needless use? Nay, if you will needs to abuses fall, Let all abuse him that abuseth all. Thus have I closed with him, and kept my hold; Now will I trip him in his own foul play; He scourgeth villainies in young and old, As boys scourge tops for sport on Lenten day; So scourges he the great ●owne-●op of sin, And puts his wit's felicity therein. Do not you know, long since I knew it well, How he was made, for his brave deeds of harms, Vicegerent to the great black Prince of hell, And gives the top & scourge-stick for his arms, Tyron●ing it with such wild English words, As hurts more men than the wild Irish swords? A friend of mine, whom I must not forget, Is grown a monstrous desperate swaggerer, Proud, given to whores, a drunken beast & cet. I hate this vice, but love the man full dear; And think it fit to think of fittest course, How I may teach or touch him with remorse. At last I penned me all his vices down, Lest I should not make reckoning of the least: And go and cry them all about the town, Setting him out for some strange manlike beast: If chance I met him, as such chance may be, Hear how I will salute him presently. My friend, you are a vild whoremongring knave, A lecherous Rogue, a brabbling quarreler, A drunken To-pot, and a swearing Slave, A selfe-exalting second Lucifer, The very sucke-dugge of iniquity, I all become that ill becometh thee. You see my course; now say, for God's sake say, Whether you think this will reclaim my friend, Or may not strait incense him, at that may, To badder course, and I well coursed in th'end, That in this bitter raging fit begun, More like a fiend, then like a friend hath done▪ Thus with the world, her friend Sir Satire plays, Stately and stoutly domineering it; Only this distance lies betwixt our ways; I railed of one but even a little fit: He spits the venom of his bitter gall, Not all at some, but rather some at all. Malice did twist what discontent had spun, (For malice always doubles discontent) Anger drew out what malice double twonne, (For anger still unfoldeth bad intent:) From discontent the malice did proceed, And from the malice did the anger breed. This trip brings vantage: now have for the fall; A ring, a ring, see who shall bear the bell: What odds, my Masters, who bets aught at all? The Satyr's play is perilous you can tell. Well, let's go to now, we have breathed awhile, I'll give the fall, or else I'll take the soil. Our noble Princess (Lord preserve her Grace) Made godly laws to guide this Commonweal, And hath appointed Officers in place, By those her Laws with each offence to deal: Well look the rolls, no office overskippe, And see if you can find the Satyrshippe. If not, dare you usurp an office then, Without the licence of her Majesty, To punish all her Subjects with the pen, Against the Law of all Civility? I have him up, 'tis petty treason all, And therefore fear to break his neck this fall. I, but he sees the laws are broken still, And cannot bridle men's licentious lives. Well, if they cannot, yet his worship will, And in these, Satyrship above it ●●●●ues, Thinking (O heavens) his vild injurious speech Will Princes laws, laws justice over-teach. O, here's a noble self-conceited Sir, Climbed to the very pinnacle of pride, That thinks his limbs ten ti●es sufficienter, Then all the laws within the Realm be side: As though the vapour of his windfull words, Would blow up vices on their own accords. Is't not a stout-tongued valiant Cavalier, That of himself dares menace such a land, Pressing out all the roguish words there were, For jewish service that he had in hand? When all was done, on him they turned their backs, And serve now under General Ajax. I muse what fostered his presumptuous thoughts, Sith railing shows the beggary of wit: For if that foul-mouthed speeches merit aught, I'll have an Oyster-wife with Palm to sit: Fie, praise not men, like hounds, for cry of mouth, Sith words are wind, that's seldom in good South. What? shall the Satire then, that climbed so high, As he might overlook both laws and life, Come down so low from his Vsurperie, As be inferior to an Oyster wife? O, here's a fall, I told you he should downe; For joy I pray make bonfires in the Town. In Epigrammatistam & Humoristam. COme hither now, friend Epigrammatist, And do not wring my words to wrong my speech, hearken thou likewise, captious Humourist, And hear that mildly, what I friendly teach: For those that speak in love and charity, Should both believed and beloved be. Ye (God forgive ye) mock, deride, miscall, Revile, scoff, flout, defame and slander to, Yet here is not the sum (but some) of all, Ransack your conscience, you shall find it so: For to our eye it still reflects our ill; Man may be bribed, his conscience never will. Blush then, thou graceless Epigrammatist, That troubled art in troubling other men, To make thy glory in their shame consist, Disquieting with thy grace-tempting pen, Whom great jehovah crowns with laurel peace, As heirs apparent unto happiness. O, who should then so mis-employ his wit, To plod and plot against his native soil, And cloaked with zeal, to play the jesuite, Seeking a Trophy of his Country's spoil? Which spite of spites, still like mount Zion stands, In gowned peace clapping her happy hands. No land for peace, no peace for happiness Excelleth so, but ours it equal will; No hap for joy, nor joy for pleasantness Will equal ours, it so excelleth still. Such peace, such hap, such joy, such pleasures slow, As passeth speech, and poseth wit to show. Our gracious Prince with peace our laws protects, Our laws protected, make good government, Good government our peace with laws directs, Our peace directed maketh sweet content: Our sweet content, thou seeking to prevent, Hat'st Prince, peace, laws, and all good government. Shameless of shame, how darest thou attempt To pluck the plume of England's happiness, And broach the malice of thy base contempt, In civil jars bred by uncivilnesse? Woe worthy thou, that seekest to dispossess The blessed state of real blessedness. I will not sooth our land in sinfulness. No, God forbidden, nay, God forbidden the same: It is polluted with all wickedness, And vice deserves to be combe-cut with blame, But not reviled with upbraiding speech, Malignantly mens credit to impeach. You kept such revel with your careless pen, As made me think you of the Inns of Court: For they use Revels more than any men. So what you do in any evil sort, You may defend it, and build hereupon, That you were taught by revelation. Go to, go to, y''re odd companions. Mistake not odd; ye deal unfriendly then: This odd makes even your commendations: For still odd fellows are the wisest men. My reason mounts above a likelihood, Because the 7. wise men of Greece were odd. You say, our Land is given to gluttony, Epicurizing with such sumptuous fare, As breeds a surfeit of Intemperancy: But in this case you much deceived are. For each rich glutton that too much doth eat, There's ten poor beggars starve for want of meat. So, if you speak it universally Of this our Land, your speech is most untrue: For go ye to the University, And you shall there no sumptuous Commons view. What? said I, None? Yes, yes, the truth to touch, Their fare is sumptuous, for it costs them much. I will not tell you, though their meals be small, How they have certain bevers that they hunt, Which stead of venison doth serve them all, 'Cause I imagine that you know their wont. But they in wisdom know what best befits; Sith loaden bellies make but leaden wits. But for the vulgar, let them freely eat, Because most of them, we most graceless see, And never to have grace, but at their meat; And therefore then best occupied be: For though the most of them be rude and base, Come they to meat, they'll eat ye with a grace Much pains you take in handling Lechery, Lavishing out such wild lascivious speech, As would invite one unto Venery, Disclosing things that never Bawd could teach. I cannot I, express them, nor I will, Sith bawdy words, must be subaudi still. If chance a woman smiles in company, She must be light (forsooth) and loosely live; If frown, she hypocryes her luxury, And lists to take that others lusts to give: If neither, than she seems an Innocent, And may the sooner any way be bend. But women take him for a simple Gull, That calls a gallant Love-alluring Dame, A common quean, when she's a proper Trull, And says, she's painted, when she blushed for shame. Nay, men for painting we may more condemn: For they are painted every day by them. But I'm ashamed, that ye are not ashamed, To craze the credit of your own good name, And by defaming others be defamed, Sith loss of life is less than loss of fame. How can ye then strain curtsy to confess Your shameful fault of shameless faultiness? O, could ye look with an unpartial eye, Upon the fault of your offensive speech, And by the jury of your conscience try The injury that ye have done to each, The world might then by your confession know, What shame will now by your confusion show. Ye may be taken, and I fear ye will, For Seminaries of seditious strife, Who through devotion seek division still, And the subversion of our quiet life. Fie, do not think the Pope can pardon this. Man cannot licence men to do amiss. Do not deny, that ye such persons be: Men know backbiters, as they horses know, Both by their mouths, your mark is yet to see, Imprinted so, as few but can it show. But learn ye this, a slanderer at one time, Injuries three persons by his hateful crime: Himself that speaks it, pairing his good name, For he is after noted for a knave: Him that he speaks it of, by his defame, For he shall causeless ill opinion have: Him that he speaks it to, deceived so, For he takes it for truth, and tells it to. A flatterer, whose supple-tongued talk Soothes all in speech, but never speaks in sooth, Yet of the two a better way doth walk, And shows no malice, as the slanderer doth; Who spits the poison of his spiteful heart, The other doth but wag his tongue by Art. Nature hath parkt within an ivory pale, The tongue of man, for fear lest it should stray, And made a goodly Lodge full round and tall, Wherein the Keeper, Reason, watch it may: Who when it is about to faun, should see It range not out, and so miscarried be. If then the tongue for fear of flattery, Seems to require such circumspect regard, Doubtless for slanderous makebate mockery, Reason had need keep daily watch and ward, Lest it should break out, as it oft doth prove, From bounds of reason, or from bounds of love. The ancient Greeks' did not for nought adore Harpocrates goddess of silence so, Whose finger on her lips lay evermore. The Romans had their Angerona too: No idle Idol as they did suppose, But such as show'd that they should nought disclose. For let's observe the tongue in parts of man, Of softest slippery substance doth consist: And therefore by the nimble nature can Give him the slip, ere his discretion witted▪ Ye be examples, though ye be but bad: Yours slipped away with all the wit ye had. Bid god be with it, and so let it go, The loss will never hinder you so much, Because the profit benefits no more, The bareness and the barrenness is such. But what cared ye such profit for to raise, So ye might suck the honie-sweete of praise? But he doth ill, if ye consider it, That prostitutes before each careless eye, The naked beggary of a threadbare wit, To get an alms of commendations by: For each should earn the price of praise indeed, And doing so, not one should need to need. But ye perhaps, as Satire, argue well, Yet sought not for reversion of the praise, But public good in taxing public ill, And reprehending men's blameworthy ways▪ Well, let that be, that seemed but your intent: Yet I will it convince by Argument. Were one endued with all celestial grace, Had he the tongue of men and Angels too, Should he remove the mountains from their place, Can he alone what no man else can do, Yet wanteth love, (as ye) when all is done, Were he a Prophet, he could profit none. Want ye not love, that with malignant spite, Uncovered all the frail infirmities Of your weak brethren, to the wide world's sight? Want ye not love, that all men do despise, And would extort from others open shame, Your famous glory and your glorious fame? Either ye could and would not vanquish vice, Or else, ye would and could not happily, Or neither could or would in any wise, Or else both would and could, and dare not try: Or could, and would, and dared, but did not so: Or could, and would, and dared, and did it to. If could, and would not, than ye spiteful were; If would, and could not, insufficient men; If neither could nor would, ye both appear, If could, & would, and dared not, cowards then: If could, and would, and dared, why did not ye? If could, would, dared, and did, no vice have we. This needs must be the true conclusion: Yet this will not a true conclusion be; We shall resolve it by distinction, True then in fear, in matter false we see. For proof of which we all have vice to show, True that it's false then, and false that it's true. It seems your brother Satire and ye twain, Plotted three ways t● put the Devil down; One should outray le him by invective vain, One all to flout him like a country clown; And one in action, on a stage outface, And play upon him to his great disgrace. You Humorist, if it be true I hear, d Against the book of Humours. An action thus against the Devil brought, Sending your humours to each theater, To serve the writ that ye had gotten out. e Pasquil's Madcap. That Madcap yet superior praise doth win, Who out of hope even casts his cap at sin. Why did ye such unchristian courses take, As loathes the ears of the offended wise? Can ye make sin against itself to make, Or wring the Devil out by his own vice? It's past your power, to bring your will to pass, Your vain attempting, but a tempting was. Experience, the looking-glass of fools, Shows much contention, little good affords, And ye might learn this at the Grammar schools, That man is wise, that speaks few things or words. Much worth, more worthy is a quiet life, Then strife in nought, but how to cease from strife. Leave that ambition, that led ye away, To censure men and their mis-governement, judging the world before the latter day, As though ye would the Son of God prevent: Leave it I say, and lay it quite aside. How can men rise, sith Angels fell, by pride? Is't like, the air of three men's breaths at last, Should purify the sink of all men's sin, When as their words, like loathsome vomit cast, Not purifies, but putrefies within? For, that your speech do most men's minds infect, Some swears, more says, most thinks, and all suspect. What will ye say? your end though good may be, Ye meaned well, whatsoe'er ye have done; God grant ye did, and I will grant it ye; Nought me contents less than contention: But your good meaning little profits now, Unless that ye in action do it show. A good intent fair virtues hand hath kissed, And that's the most, which small availeth us, For virtue still in action doth consist, Else it were nothing to be virtuous: Sith ever the most Heroic purposes Are easily thought, but are not done with ease. If virtuous Esse then in action be, Show your good deeds; but they are not to show: And, though they were, they would not profit ye; For doing good, is not sufficient now▪ If this profound, or else profaned appear, First hear my proof, than censure what ye hear, In doing good, a man may badly do; Because good deeds ill done do turn to nought; For doing good, it must be well done to; Good done, doth no good, nor done as it ought: One may do good, and yet do evil still; For good must be well done, or else it's ill▪ Sith than ye see how far ye do digress, Consider now what first depraved your mind; It anger seems, mixed with vaine-gloriousnesse, If trees by fruit, and fruit by taste we find: The bitter nature of your speech is such, And then the glory taken in't as much. A fiery spirit of presumption, An airy vapour of soone-melted wit, A watery humour of affection, An earthy grossness of conceit with it, Compounds your natures: as small palmistry May by the lines of your right hand descry. But human anger is of triple kind; As ancient Greek Philosophers say all. The first, we still in choleric natures find, Soon moved, soon pleased, whom cholerik men we call, Whose colour will their choler straight bewray, But lightning-like it flashes soon away. The next is slower of conceit than this, But long remaineth steeped in peevish thought, And in the melancholic nature is, So close concealed, as few misdoubteth aught: At last bursts out into some sudden ill, Or mitigates by physics sovereign skill. The third most cruel, soon usurps the mind, And never dies till it revenge doth see, Which in depraved sanguines we may find, Who undispleased still most pleasant be: But vex them much, and Lion-like they'll rage's, Their blood will rise, & scarce with blood will suage. But Phlegmatic slowest to wrath of all, Cause their cold humours quench their heat of blood, Rather displeased, then angry we may call, Of later kind yours, then is understood; Thirsting revenge in most mischievous thought, Till with your pen you had your purpose wrought▪ Now jesus God, how swiftly did you scour, With Hue and Cry, for apprehending vice; Your tongues ran after twenty miles an hour, No Irish lackey dare it enterprise: Many like posts do follow after ill, That should like pillars stand by virtue still. But all this while we have employed our speech, To bring to light the works that light do shun, And what ye did, we did but only teach. Now I'●e advise you what you should have done: See then my love, and think of what you see, Beholding it, for it beholding be. Not so profane, with unprepared mind, Polluted lips, unsanctified heart, Teach human kind, in such inhuman kind, As not belongeth to a Christians part: But have bewailed the world's unhappiness, First drowned for sin, now drowned with sinfulness. What heathen-hearted Saracene could see His native Countrymen lovesick with sin, Espouse their souls to foul iniquity, And not with grief have everwhelmed been? Who to their foes could more unfriendly do, Or to their friends have been a greater foe? Or if ye would not for your country's sake, (Whose love should be the supreme of your breast) Yet it behooved a Christian care to take Of your own selves as sinful as the rest. For if this Land be Sodomized with sin, It's not your lots to be at Lots therein. Accept in love what I with grief unfold, Hold that in mind what ye accept in love: Try that in proof what ye in mind do hold: Use that in life what ye in trial prove: That life through proof, & mind through love may choose, What it accepts, to hold, and tries, to use. That is, to change your mis-employed course, And wean your wit from sucking still of shame, To feed on purer substance of discourse, That it may manage deeds of endless fame; And not disgraced so ignobly lurk, Deprived of good, depraved by evil work. Long not to be, what ye too long have been. Rare is the tree that fruit in Winter bears▪ O sacrifice your sorrow for your sin, And bathe your cheeks with dew of timely tears▪ Procrastination breeds but future sorrow; Then to repentance never bid good morrow. As many days as in the year there be, So many years each day to me will seem; As many hours as in the day we see, So many days each hour I shall esteem; As many minutes as each hour doth spend, So many hours each minute will extend, Until I find, what yet I cannot see, Your words less evil and your deeds more sound; Until I see, what yet I doubt will be, Your love more deep, your malice less profound: Until I hear, what yet I cannot know, Your ill to good, your good to better grow. But jesus God, I have forgot me much, My hope is bootless thus dispent on ye, This gentle dealing will ye little touch, Proud-stomackt graceless Rakehells as ye be. Few minds their faults, and fewer mends the same, Till punishment supply the place of blame. Come on your ways, I'll ye no more reprove, But what your friends bad, that perform I must, Correct ye sharply, not for hate, but love; Stand not on points, than they must be untrust: Parate vos, dispatch, content your mind, Ye hear before, what ye shall feel behind. Yet soft awhile, and first the causes see; Inprimis you have played the truants, I can show, Spending your time on lewdest company. Item, you said In speech, not one word true. Item, you brawled and quarrelled from your place, And so forgot the Concord in that case. Nay, ye are grown to all ungraciousness, Mocking and flouting still at every one: Your happiness is in unhappiness, The world cries out of your abusion: So that to spring to growth of any grace, The case is clear, you are clear out of case. Not one a venial scourge escaping crime, Each more deserves then I'll inflict for all; And yet of one I thought not all this time: That is, because your betters ye miscall, Nicknaming all your fellows, there's no ho, But tag and rag, and cut and long tail to. I, if ye meet a Noble man or so, In stead of reverence (as becometh us) Ye will abase him and abuse him to, And so forget Cede Maioribus. Come on your ways, the reckoning is come in; To make a purse, now I must flay your skin. Yet if I saw one spark of grace in ye, The kindling hope would melt my anger clear; Well masters, ye may thank God heartily, This Gentleman is busy reading here: For whose disturbance I must keep the peace, And cease to strive, or rather strive to cease. Down on your knees, though in humility, (For time deposes such as pride exalts, And ask the world forgiveness instantly; I did recount, do ye recant your faults. Now I have done: say, do no verdicts grudge; Whether enough, too little, or too much. Too much, if bad; not good enough, if much; If good enough, then here's too little here, To whom it's little, it's not bad to such, To whom it's much, not good enough I fear: If bad and little, than the less your pain, If good and much, why then the more your gain. FINIS.