• lift he spend the time in sportful game, daily courting of his lovely dame, ing on her lips, melt in her wanton eye, ince in her hand, joy in her jollity; re's little perill, and much leffer paine, timely Hymen do the reft restraine. re, wanton Gallio, and wed betime,

spent,

eft thou the rofe-leaves fall ungathered?

en hye thee, wanton Gallio, to wed.

t ring and ferule meet upon thine hand,

d Lucine's girdle with her fwathing band.

re thee, and give the world yet one dwarfe more,

th as it got when thou thy felfe waft bore: oke not for warning of thy bloomed chin, n ever happineffe too foone begin? rginius vow'd to keep his maidenhead, id eats chaft lettice, and drinks poppy-feed, id fmells on camphire fafting; arul that done, ng hath he liv'd, chafte as a vailed nunne; ce as a new-abfolved damofell,

at frier Cornelius fhrived in his cell, ll now he wax'd a toothleffe bachelour, thaws like Chaucer's frofty Januere, nd fets a month's mind upon fmiling May, id dyes his beard that did his age bewray; ing on annys-feede and rosemarine, hich might the fume of his rot lungs refine : ow he in Charon's barge a bride doth feeke, e maidens mocke, and call him withered leeke, Dat with a greene tayle hath an hoary head, and now he would, and now he cannot wed,

SATIRE V.

Stupet albius are.

OULD now that Matho were the fatyrift, hat fome fat bribe might grease him in the fift, For which he need not brawl at any bar, or kiffe the book to be a perjurer;

ho elfe would fcorne his filence to have fold, nd have his tongue tyed with strings of gold? urius is dead, and buried long fince,

nd all that loved golden abftinence. light he not well repine at his old fee, Would he but fpare to speake of ufury? irelings enow befide can be fo base,

hough we should feorne 'each bribing varlet's braffe :

et he and I could fhun each jealous head, ticking our thumbs close to our girdle-stead. hough were they manicled behind our backe, Another's fift can ferve our fees to take.

et purfy Euclio cheerly fmiling pray'd

hat my fharp words might curtail their fide trade:

For thousands beene in every governall
That live by loffe, and rife by others fall.
Whatever fickly fheepe fo fecret dies,

3ps fome foule raven hath bespoke his eyes?

To rub his life out till the latest day.
Another fhifting gallant to forecast

To gull his hoftefs for a month's repast,

With fome gall'd trunk, ballast with straw and ftone,

Left for the pawn of his provision.

Had F's fhop layn fallow but from hence,
His doores clofe feal'd, as in fome peftilence,
Whiles his light heeles their fearful flight can take,
To get fome badgeleffe blue upon his back.
Tocullio was a wealthy ufurer,

Such ftore of incomes had he every year,
By bushels was he wont to mete his coine,
As did the old wife of Trimalcion.

Could he do more that finds an idle roome
For many hundreth thousands on a toombe?
Or who rears up four free-schooles in his age
Of his old pillage, and damn'd furplufage?
Yet now he fwore by that sweete croffe he kiss'd
(That filver croffe, where he had sacrific'd
His coveting foule, by his defire's own doome,
Daily to die the devil's martyrdome)
His angels were all flowne up to their sky,
And had forfooke his naked treasury.
Farewell, Aftrea, and her weights of gold,
Untill his lingring calends once be told;
Nought left behind but wax and parchment

fcroles,

Like Lucian's dreame, that filver turn'd to coals.
Should't thou him credit that nould credit thee?
Yes, and may'it fweare he fwore the verity.
The ding-thrift heir, his fhift-got fumme miffent,
Comes drooping like a penleffe penitent,
And beats his faint fift on Tocullio's doore;
It loft the laft, and now muft call for more.
Now hath the fpider caught a wand'ring fly,
And draws her captive at her cruel thigh:
Soon is his errand read in his pale face,
Which bears dumb characters of every cafe.
So Cyned's dulky cheeke and fiery eye,
And hairleffe brow, tells where he last did lye.
So Matho doth bewray his guilty thought,
While his pale face doth fay his caufe is nought.
Seeft thou the wary angler trayle along
His feeble line, foone as fome pike too strong
Hath wallowed the baite that fcornes the fhore,
Yet now near-hand cannot refift no more.
So lieth he aloofe in fmooth pretence,
To hide his rough intended violence;
As he that under name of Christmas cheere
Can ftarve his tennant's all th' enfuing yeare.
Paper and wax, (God wot!) a weake repay
For fuch deepe debts and downcaft fums as they :
Write, feale, deliver, take, go fpend and speede,
And yet full hardly could his prefent need
Part with fuch fum; for but as yelter-late
Did Furnus offer per-worths at caly rate,

the bird Ruc that bears an elephant,
nermaids that the foutherne feas do haunt,
headlesse men, of savage cannibals,
: fashions of their lives and governals;
at monftrous cities there erected be,
ro, or the city of the Trinity.

w are they dunghill cocks that have not feene
:bordering Alpes, or elfe the neighbour Rhine:
I now he plies the newes-full grafhopper,
voyages and ventures to inquire.

land mortgag'd, he, sea-beat in the way,
hes for home a thousand fighs a day :
1 now he deems his home bred fare as leafe
his parcht biket, or his barrel'd beefe.
ngst all these ftirs of difcontented strife,
let me lead an academick life;

know much, and to think we nothing know;
hing to have, yet think we have enowe;
kill to want, and wanting feek for more;
veale nor want, nor wish for greater store.
y ye monarchs, with your proud exceffe,
our low fayle, and our high happinesse.

fays thefe Romish pageants been too high be the scorne of sportful poesy? tes not all the world fuch matter wist are the feven hills, for a fatyrift. die I loath an hundred Mathoes tongues, hundred gamefters shifts, or landlords wrongs, Labeo's poems, or bafe Lolio's pride, ever what I thought or wrote befide. en once I think if carping Aquine's spright fee now Rome, were licenc'd to the light,

his enraged ghoft would stamp and stare, at Cæfar's throne is turn'd to Peter's chayre; fee an old fhorné Lozell perched high, ffing beneath a golden canopy;

e whiles a thoufand hairleffe crownes crouch low,

kiffe the precious cafe of his proud toe; d for the lordly Fafces borne of old, fee two quiet croffed keyes of gold, Cybele's frine, the famous Pantheon's frame, rn'd to the honour of our Lady's name. it that he most would gaze and wonder at, th' horned mitre, and the bloody hat,

he crooked staffe, their coule's ftrange form and store,

ve that he faw the fame in hell before;

To fee the broken nuns, with new-fhorne heads,
In a blind cloyfter toffe their idle beades,
Or louzy coules come fmoking from the ftewes,
To raife the lewd rent to their lord accrewes,
(Who with ranke Venice doth his pompe advance
By trading of ten thousand courtezans)
Yet backward muft abfolve a female's finne,
Like to a falfe diffembling Theatine,

Who when his fkin is red with fhirts of male
And rugged haire-cloth scoures his greafy nayle,
Or wedding garment tames his stubborne backe,
Which his hempe girdle dies all blue and black;
Or of his almes-boule three dayes supp'd and
din'd,

Trudges to open ftewes of either kinde;
Or takes fome cardinal's ftable in the way,
And with fome pampered mule doth weare the
day,

Kept for his lord's own faddle when him lift.
Come, Valentine, and play the fatyrift,
To fee poor fucklings welcom'd to the light
With fearing irons of fome foure Jacobite,
Or golden offers of an aged foole,

To make his coffin fome Francifcan's coule;
To fee the Pope's blacke knight, a cloaked frere,
Sweating in the channel like a scavengere;
Whom erft thy bowed hamme did lowly greete,
When at the corner-croffe thou didst him meeté,
Tumbling his rofaries hanging at his belt,
Or his barretta, or his towred felt:
To fee a lazy dumbe Acholithite

Armed against a devout flye's defpight,
Which at th' high altar doth the chalice vaile
With a broad flie-flappe of a peacocke's tayle,
The whiles the liquorous prieft fpits every trice
With longing for his morning facrifice,
Which he reares up quite perpendiculare,
That the mid church doth fpighte the chancel's
fare,

Beating their empty mawes that would be fed
With the fcant morfels of the facrifts bread:
Would he not laugh to death when he should
heare

The fhameleffe legends of St. Chriftopher,
St. George, the Sleepers, or St. Peter's well,
Or of his daughter good St. Petronell?

But had he heard the female father's groane,
Yeaning in mids of her proceffion;
Or now fhould fee the needlefle tryal-chayre,
(When each is proved by his baftard heyre)
Or faw the churches, and new calendere
Pefter'd with mongrel faints and relicks deare,
Should he cry out on Codro's tedious toombes,
When his new rage would ask no narrower
roomes?

SATIRE 1.

Sit pæna merenti.

PARDON, ye glowing eares; needs will it out,
Though brazen walls compafs'd my tongue about
As thick as wealthy Scrobio's quick-fet rowes
In the wide common that he did enclose.
Pull out mine eyes, if 1 fhall fee no vice;
Or let me fee it with detefting eyes.
Renowned Aquine, now I follow thee,
Far as I may, for feare of jeopardy;
And to thy hand yield up the ivy-mace
From crabbed Perfius, and more fmooth Horace;
Or from that fhrew, the Roman poetesse,
That taught her goflips learned bitternesse;
Or Lucile's mufe, whom thou didst imitate,
Or Menips old, or Pafquillers of late.
Yet name I not Mutius or Tigilline,
Though they deferve a keener ftyle than mine;
Nor meane to ranfack up the quiet grave,
Nor burn dead bones, as he example gave,
I taxe the living; let the dead ashes reft,
Whofe faults are dead, and nailed in their chest.
Who can refrain that's guiltleffe of their crime,
Whiles yet he lives in fuch a cruel time?
When Titio's grounds, that in his grandfire's
dayes,

But one pound fine, one penny rent did raise,
A fummer (now-ball, or a winter rose,
Is growne to thousands, as the world now goes.
So thrift and time fets other things on floate,
That now his fonne foups in a filken coate,
Whofe grandfire happily, a poore hungry fwaine,
Begg'd fome cast abbey in the church's wayne:
And but for that, whatever he may vaunt,
Who knows a monk had been a mendicant?
While freezing Matho, that for one lean fee
Won't term each term the term of Hillary,
May now, instead of those his simple fees,
Get the fee-fimples of faire manneries.

What, did he counterfeat his prince's hand.
For fome streave lordship of concealed land?
Or on each Michael and Lady-day,
Tooke he deepe forfeits for an hour's day!
And gain'd no leffe by fuch injurious brawl,
Than Gamius by his fixth wife's burial?
Or hath he wonne fome wider intereft,
By hoary charters from his grandfire's che
Which late fome bribed scribe, for flendir way
Writ in the characters of another age,
That Plowdon felfe might ftammer to check
Whose date o'erlooks three centuries of
Who ever yet the tracks of weale foy
But there hath been one beaten way bride?
He, when he lets a leafe for life, or yar
(As never he doth until the date expires;
For when the full ftate in his fift doth
He may take vantage of the vacancy)
His fine affords fo many treble pounds
As he agreeth yeares to leafe his ground
His rent in fair refpondence must arife
To double trebles of his one yeare's prim
Of one baye's breadth, God wot! a fr
Whose thatched spars are furr'd with fu
A whole inch thick, fhining like buis
brows,

Through fmoke that down the headdik a
At his bed's feet feeden his ftalled teet;
His swine beneath, his pullen o'er the tume
A starved tenement, fuch as I gueffe
Stands ftraggling in the waftes of Haber
Or fuch as fhiver on a Peake hill side,
When March's lungs beate on their tur
Such as nice Lipfius would grudge to let
Above his lodging in wild Weftphalye;
Or as the Saxon king his court might make
When his fides playned of the neat-bear)
Yet muft he haunt his greedy landlord's
With often prefents at each feftival:
With crammed capons every New-years
Or with green cheeses when his theep are

Or many maunds full of his mellow fruite,
To make fome way to win his weighty fuite.
Whom cannot gifts at laft caufe to relent,
Or to win favour, or flee punishment?
When griple patrons turn their sturdie steele
To waxe, when they the golden flame do feele:
When grand Mæcenas cafts a glavering eye
On the cold prefent of a poefy:

And left he might more frankly take than give,
-Gropes for a French crowne in his empty fleeve.
Thence Clodius hopes to fet his fhoulders free
From the light burden of his Napery.
The fmiling landlord fhewes a fun-fhine face,
Feigning that he will grant him further grace,
And leers like fop's foxe upon a crane
Whose neck he craves for his chirurgian:
So lingers off the leafe until the last,
What recks he then of paines or promise past?
Was ever feather, or fond woman's mind
More light than words? the blasts of idle wind!
What's fib or fire, to take the gentle flip,
And in th' exchequer rot for furetyfhip?
Or thence thy ftarved brother live and die,
Within the cold Coal harbour fanctuary?
Will one from Scots-bank bid but one groate more,
My old tenant may be turned out of doore,
Though much he spent in th' rotten roof's repaire,
n hope to have it left unto his heir:

Though many a lead of marle and manure layd, Reviv'd his barren leas, that erft lay dead. Vere he as Furius, he would defy such pilfering flips of petty landlordry: And might diflodge whole colonies of poore, And lay their roofe quite level with the floore, Whiles yet he gives as to a yielding fence, heir bag and baggage to his citizens, And fhips them to the new-nam'd Virgin-lond, r wilder Wales where never wight yet wonn'd. Would it not vex thee where thy fires did keep, o fee the dunged folds of dag-tay!'d sheep? And ruin'd houfe where holy things were faid, Whose free-tone walls the thatched roofe upbraid, Whole fhrill faint's bell hangs on his lovery, While the reft are damned to the plumbery. 'et pure devotion lets the steeple ftand, And idle battlements on either hand: eft that, perhaps, were all thofe relicks gone, urius his facrilege could not be knowne.

Till once furviv'd his wardship's laten eve,
His eyes are clos'd, with choice to die or live.
Plenty and He dy'd both in that same yeare,
When the fad fky did fhed fo many a teare.
And now, who lid not of his labour faile,
Mark, with Saturio my friendly tale.
Along thy way thou canst not but defcry
Fair glittering halls to tempt the hopeful eye,
Thy right eye 'gins to leap for vaine delight,
And furbeat toes to tickle at the fight;
As greedy T-- when in the founding mould
He finds a fhining potfhard tip'd with gold;
For never fyren tempts the pleased cares,
As thefe the eye of fainting paffengers.
All is not fo that feemes, for furely then
Matrona fhould not be a courtezan;
Smooth Chryfalus fhould not be rich with fraud,
Nor honeft R- be his own wife's bawd.
Look not afquint, nor ftride across the way
Like fome demurring Alcide to delay;
But walk on cheerly, till thou have elpy'd
Saint Peter's finger at the church-yard fide.
But wilt thou needs when thou art warn'd fo well
Go fee who in fo garish walls doth dwell?
There findest thou fotne stately Dorick frame,
Or neat Ionick worke;-

Like the vain bubble of Iberian pride,
That overcroweth all the world befide.
Which rear'd to raise the crazy monarch's fame,
Strives for a court and for a college name;
Yet nought within but loufy coules doth hold,
Like a fcabb'd cuckow in a cage of gold.
So pride above doth fhade the shame below;
A golden periwig on a black moor's brow.
When Mavio's first page of his pocfy,
Nail'd to an hundred poftes for novelty,
With his big title an Italian mot,
Layes fiege unto the backward buyer's groat;
Which all within is drafty fluttish geere,
Fit for the oven, or the kitchen fire.
So this gay gate adds fuel to thy thought,
That fuch proud piles were never rais'd for
nought.

Beat the broad gates a goodly hollow found
With double echoes doth again rebound;
But not a dog doth bark to welcome thee,
Nor churlish porter canst thou chafing fee:
All dumb and filent, like the dead of night,
Or dwelling of fome fleepy Sybarite.
The marble pavement hid with defart weed,
With houfe-leck, thistle, dock, and hemlock feed:
But if thou chance can up thy wond'ring eyes,
Thou shalt discern upon the frontispiece
ΟΥΔΕΙΣ ΕΙΣΙΤΩ graven up on high,
A fragment of old Plato's poefy:

The meaning is "Sir foole ye may be gone,
"Go back by leave, for way here licth none."
Look to the tow'red chimnies which fhould be
The windpipes of good hofpitality,

Through which it breatheth to the open aire,
Betekening life, and liberal welfare:
Lo! there th' unthankful fwallow takes her reft,
And fills the tunnell with her circled neft;
Nor half that incke from all his chimnies goes
Which one tobacco pipe drives through his nofe,