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So raw-bone hunger scorns the mudded walls, What though the scornful waiter lookes zitriz, And 'gios to revel it in lordly halls.
And peuts and frowns, and curseth thee tv, So the
black prince is broken loose againe And takes bis farewell with a jealous ofs, That saw no sunne save once (as stories saine) At every morsell he his last fháil fee? That once was, when in Trinacry I weene And if but one exceed the common lize, He stole the daughter of the harvest queene, Or make an hillock in thy checke arife, And gript the mawes of barren Sicily
Or if perchance thou shouldest, ete thon sid, With long conftraint of pineful penury;
Hold thy knife upright in thy griped fit, And they that should relift his second rage, Or fittelt double on thy backward (cal, Have pent themselves up in the private cage Or with thine elbow shad'At thy fared mtz, of fonie blind lane, and there they lurk unknowne He laughs thee, in his fellow's eate to corne, Till th' hungry tempest once be overblowne: And asks aloud, where Trebius was borne! Then like the coward after neighbour's fray, Though the third sewer takes thee quite away They creep forth boldly, and ask, Where are they? Without a staffe, when thou would't longer be}
Of him that hears, and readeth guiltils. And the swolne bezzle at an alehouse fire, Ye antique satires, how I blefse your days That tonnes in gallons to his burften paunch, That brook'd your bolder ftile, their ows Uppels Whose Dimy draughts his drought can nevet And well near wish, yet joy my wish is Faas, staunch?
I had been then, or they been now agaice! For shame, ye gallants ! grow more hospital, For now our eares been of more brittle mil, And turn your needlefle wardrobe to your hall. Than those dull earthen eares that were feil: As lavifh Virro that keeps open doores,
Sith theirs, like anvils, bore the hamne's Like Janus in the warres,
Our glasse can never touch unshivered. Except the twelve days, or the wake-day feast, But from the ashes of my quiet file What time he needs niuft be his coufin's guest. Henceforth may rise fome raging rough lat, Philene hath bid him, can he choose but come? That máy with Æschylus both find and is Who should pull Virro's fleeve to stay at home? The fnaky trefies of th' Eumenides: All yeare besides who mealtime can attend : Meanwhile, fufficeth me, the world map at Come Trebius, welcome to the table's end. That I chefe vices loach'd another day, What though he chires on purer manchet's crowne, which I hane done with as devout a cheese While his kind client grindes on blacke and As he that rounds Poul's pillars in the year browne,
Or bends his ham downe in the naked A jolly rounding of a whole foot broad,
'Twas ever said, Frontine, and ever feces. From off the mong.corne heap shall Trebius load. That golden clerkes but wooden lawyers What though he qaaffe pure amber in his bowle Could ever wise man with, in good elas. Of March brew'd wheat, yet hecks my thirtting The use of all things indiscriminate? foul
Who wots not yet how well this did belum With palish oat, frothing in Bofton clay,
The learned master of the academe? Or in a shallow cruise, nor must that ftay
Plato is dead, and dead is his device, Within thy reach, for feare of thy craz': braine, Which some thought witty, none thougă But call and crave, and have thy cruise agaite : Yet certes Mæcha is a Platonilt Else how should even tale be registred,
To all, they say, save whoso do not IA; Or all thy draughts, on the chalk'd barrel's head? Because her husband, a far trafick'd mat, And if he list revive his heartless graine
Is a profess'd Peripatecian. With some French grape, or pure Canariane And so our grandfires were in ages paf, When pleasing Bourdeaux falls into his lot, That let their lands lie all fo widely : Some fow'rish Rochelle cuts thy thirsting throate. That nothing was in pale or hedge year What though himselfe craveth his welcome friend Withiu some province, or whole hire's With a cool'd pittance froni his trencher's end, As nature made the earth, so did it lie, Must Trebius' lip hang toward his trencher side ? Save for the furrowes of their husbands: Nor kifle his fift to take what doth betide ? Whenas the neighboor lands so cooched as What though to spare thy teeth he employs thy That all bore shew of one fair champian tongue
Some headlelle crofle they digged on the best la buly quetions all the dinner long?
Or roll'd some marked mcare-loace
Poor simple men ! for what mought that availe, Whiles yet he may not for the treble price
In his old age a young fifth monarchy:
Poffunt, quia pole videntur,
The neighbours praisen Villio's hide-bound sonnej l'he squared bricke may be a better guard. And say it was a goodly portion.. Go to, my thrifty yeoman, and upreare
Not knowing how some inerchants dow'r can rise, 1 brazen wall to fhend thy land from feare. By Sunday's cale to fifty centuries; Do so; and I shall praise thee all the while, Or to weigh downe a leaden bride with gold, to be thou sake not up the common Tyle; Worth all that Mathu bought, or Pontice sold. o be thou hedge in nought but what's thine But whiles ten pound goes to his wife's new owne;
gowne, o be thou pay what tithes thy neighbours donc ; Nor little lesse can serve to suit his owne; o be thou let not lie in fallow'd plaine
Whiles one piece pays her idle waiting-man, What which was wont yield ufury of graine. Os buys an hoode, or filver handled fanne, But when I see thy pitched stakes do stand Or hires a Friezeland trotter, halfe yard deepe, On thy incroached piece of common land, To drag his tumbrell through the faring Cheape; Vhiles thou discommoneft thy neighbour's kyne, Or whiles he rideth with two liveries, and warn'st that none feed on thy field save thine; And's ereble rated at the sublidies; rag mo more, Scrobius, of thy mudded bankes, One end a kennel keeps of thriftlefTe hounds; for thy deep ditches, nor three quicksec rankcs. What think ye rests of all my younker's pounds happy dayes of old Ducalion,
To diet him, or deal out at his doorc, Vhen one was lardlord of the world alone! To coffer up, or stocke his wasting store? ut now whose choler would not rise to yield If then I reckon'd right, it should appeare peasant halfc stakes of his new mown field, That forty pounds ferre not the farmer's heite, Vou, li.
Patrons are honest now, o'er they of eid, Sernel infunivimus.
Can now no benefice be bought or fold?
Give him a geiding, or some two yeares tale, Labeo reserves a long naile for the nonce, For he all bribes and fimony defy'th. To wound my nargeant through ten leaves at is not one pick-thank stirring in the court,
That seld was free tiil now, by all report. Much worse than Aristarchus his blacke pile But some one, like a claw-back paralis, That pierc'd old Homer's side;
Pick'd mothes from his master's cloake in ist And makes such faces that me seemis I sec Whiles he could pick out both his eyes for tra Some foul Megara in the tragedy,
Mought they but it and him in some better Threat'ning her twined snakes at Tantale's ghost; Nor now no more smell-feast Vitellio Or the griñi vitage of fome frowning post Siniles on his master for a meal or two, The crabtree porter of the Guiidhall gates; And loves him in his maw, loaths in his box, While he his frightful beetle elevates,
Yet frohes, and yeas and nays on either the His angry cyne look all fo glaring bright, Tartelius, the new-come traveller, Like th' hunted badger in a moonlesse night: With his disguised coate and ringed eare. Or like a painted staring Saracen ;
Trampling the bourse's marble twice a dar His cheeks change hue like th’ais-fed vermin skin, Tells nothing but stark vruths I dare we Now red, now sale, and (wol'n above his eyes Nor would he have them known for anyone Like to the old Coloflian imageries.
Though all the vault of his loud murmu But when he doth of my recanting heare, Not one man tells a lie of all the years, · Away ye angry fircs, and froits of seare,
Except the Almanack or Chronicier. Give place unto his hopeful temper'd thought But not a man of all the damned crew, 'That yields to peace, ere ever peace be sought : For hills of gold would sweare the thin Then let me now repent me of my rage
Panfophus now, though all in the cold as Tor writing satires in so righteous age.
Dares venture through the feared castkuga Whereas I should have stroak’d her tow'rdly head, Albe the faithful oracies have foresayte, And cry'd evæe in my fatires stead;
The wiseft senatot fhall there be ilaise: Sith now not one of thousand does amiffe, That made him long keepe hone as well.ee Was never age ! weene so pure as this.
Till now he hopeth of some wiser wigli As pure as old Labulla from the banes,
The vale of Standgate, or the Suter's List As pure as through faire channels when it raines; Or westerne plaine rrfree from feared in As pure as is a black noor's face by night, Let him that hath nought, feare nought :* ats dung-clad skin of dying Heraclite.
But he that hath oug!t hye him, and Go! Socke over all the world, and tell me where Nor drunken Deonis duth, by breake of Thou find'f a proud man, or a flattercr ; Stumble into blind taverns by the way, A thief, a drunkard, or a paricide,
And reel me homeward at the ev'ning itar: A lecher, liar, or what vice beside ?
Or ride more eas'iy in his peigłıboar's cher Merchants are no whit covetous of late,
Well might these checks have fited for me : Nor make no mart of time, gair of deceit. And thoulder'd angry Skelton's brcable...
Erc Chrysalus had barr'd the common boxe, Would'st thou the tongues that erst were learned Which oft he pick'd to store his private ftocks;
hight, But now hath all with vantage paid againe, Though our wise age hath wip'd them of their And locks and plates what doch behind remaine ;
right; When erst our dry soul'd fires so lavish were, Would'nt thou the courtly three in most request, To charge whole boots-full to their friends welfare; Or the iwo barbarous neighbours of the West ? Vow shalt thou never see the Salt beret
Bibinus felfe can have ten tongues in one, With a big-bellied gallon Hagonet.
Though in all ten not one good tongue alone. fan ebbe cruise must thirsty Silen sip,
And can deep skill lie smothering within, Chat's all forestalled by his upper lip;
Whiles neither finoke nor flame discerned bin ? omewhat it was that made his paunch so peare,
Shall it not be a wild fig in a wall, lis girdle fell ten inches in a yeare.
Or fired brimstone in a minerall ? fr when old gouty bed-rid Euclio
Do thou disdain, O ever-learned age! o his officious factor fair could shew
The tongue-ey'd filence of that Samian fage : lis name in margent of some old cast bill,
fine wits and rush into the presse, .nd say, Lo! whom I named in my will, And for the cloyed world your works addresse, Thiles he believes, and looking for the share Is not a gnat, nor fly, nor feely ant, eodeth his cumbrous charge with busy care But a fine wit can make an elephant. or but a while ; for now he sure will die, Should Bandell's throttle dic without a song, ✓ his strange qualme of liberality.
Or Adamantius, my deg, be laid along, reat thanks he gives--but God him shield and Downe in some ditch without his excquies, save
Or epitaphs, or mournful elegies? om ever gaining by his master's grave:
Folly äfelf, and baldnesle may be prais'd, ily live long and he is well repaid,
And sweet conceits from filthy objects rais'd. d wets his forced cheeks while thus he faid; What do not fine wits dare to undertake? me strong smellid onion shall ftir his eyes What dare not fine wits do for honcur's fake? ther than no falt teares shall then arise, But why doth Balbus his dead doing quill looks he like a marble toward raine,
Parch in his rusty scabbard all the while ; d wrings and snites, and weeps, and wipes His golden fleece o'ergrownc with mouldy hoare again :
And though he had his witty works for wore ! en turns his back and smiles, and looks askance, Belike of late now Balbus hath no need, s'ning again his forrow'd countenance ; Nor now belike his shrinking shoulders dread viles yet he wearies heav'n with daily cries, The catch-poll's fift-The presse may still remaing d backward death with devout sacrifice, And breathe, till Balbus be in debt againe. at they would now his tedious ghost bereav'n, Soon may that be! so I had silent beene, d wishes well, that wish'd no worse than heav'n. And not this rak'd up quiet crimes unseen. en Zoylus was sicke, he knew not where, Silence is safe, when saying stirreth fore, e his wrough nigt-cap, and lawy pillowbear. And makes the stirred puddle stink the more. d fooles! they made him fick that made him Shall the controller of proud Nemesis
In lawlesse rage upbraid each other's vice, e those away, and there's his medicine. While no man seeketh to reflect the wrong, Gellia wore a velvet mastick-parch
And curb the raunge of his misruly congue ? on ber temples when no tooth did ache; By the two crownes of Parnasse ever-green, len beauty was her sheume I fonn efpy'd, And by the cloven head of Hippocrene · could her plaifter cure her of her pride. As I true poet am, I here avow se vices were, but now they ceas'd off long: (So solemnly kiss'd he his laurell bough) o why did I a righteous age that wrong? li that bold satire unrevenged be zuld repent me were it not too late,
For this so saucy and foule injury. * not the angry world prejudicate.
So Labeo weens it my eternal shame I the seven penitential
To prove I never carn'd a poet's nanie, boufand white wands might me ought availe; But would I be a poet if I might, rent or Thames could scoure my foule offence To rub my browes three days and wake three fet me in my former innocence,
nights, uld at last repent me of my rage:
And bite my nails, and scratch my dullard head, , bear my wrong, I thine, O righteous age. And curse the backward Muses on my bed or fine wits, an hundred thousand fold About one peevith syllable; which ou:-Sought Eth our age whatever times of old.
| cake up Tales joy, lave for fore-thought * that puisne world, our fires of long How it shall please cach ale-knight's censuring eye, d hardly wag their too unwieldy tongue. And hang'd my head for fear they decm awry: ned crowes and parrots can do now,
While thread-bare Martiall curns his merry note hoary age did bend their wrinkled brow : To beg of Rufus a cast winter coate; now of lace did many a learned man
While hungry Marot leapeth at a beane, = thirty years prenticeship with Priscian; And dieth like a starved Cappuchcin; how can every novice spcake with ease Go Ariost, and gape for what may fall ar-fetch's language of th' Antipod.cs.
Tiom trercher of a flattering cardinall;
And if thou getteft but a pedant's fee,
He knowes the grace of that new clipzene, Thy bed, thy board, and courser livery,
Which sweet Phililides fetch'd of late trea ima, O honour far beyond a brazcn fhrine,
That well beseeni'd his high-til'd Aready, To fit with Tarleton on an ale poft's figne! Though others marre it with much hauty, Who had but lived in Augustus' dayes,
In epithets to joine two wordes in one
As a great poet could of Bacchus say,
Now hath not Labeo done woodrvus wel?
Her arma virum goes by two degrees,
The sheepe-cote first hach beene her ccriery
Following Virgil, and he Theocrite;
To coniment well upon a beauteous face,
As witty Pontan in great earbest laid,
Her grinders like two chalk-Itones in a
Which shall with time and wearing ware a]
Her bands mud hide her mouth if he bumi
Her eyes like silver saucers faire bele! Though Labeo reaches right (who can deay?) With thining amber, and with thady let, 'The true strains of heroick poesy :
Her lids like Cupid's bow cafe, where he was For he can tell how fury reft his sense,
The weapons that doth wound the wind And Phæbus fill'd him with intelligence.
Her chin like Pindus, or Parnafsus hill, He can implore the heathen deities
Where down descends th'o'erfoxing areas To guide his beld and busy enterprize;
fill Or filch whole pages at a clap for need
The well of her faire mouth. Ead be from honest Petrarch, clad in English woed;
praise. Wile big but ob's! each stanza can begin, Who wouid not but wed poets now ! Whose tņunk and taile Duttish and beartlelse been.