Oldalképek
PDF
ePub

A vapour vild, and of an abject birth,
Extracted from the humble wombe of earth
Yet proud, and still aspiring, soares upright,
Till heaven it selfe lookes angry at the sight.
Now 'tis dispersed by the scorching sunne,
New frozen up in some cold region.
Here, and then there, it can no resting find,
But lightly fleetes before each gale of wind:
Each tempest hurries it about, each stormes
Mangles, and rends it into a thousand formes :
Till at length tost by night, consum'd by day,
It melts in teares and vanishes away.

178. To Coracine.

If so be, Coracine, thou had'st disburst
But twenty Nobles when I ask'd them first,
Th'hadst done a timely courtesie, and then
I should have ow'd thee twenty more for them,
But since thou didst it with such strange delay,
After some ten long months, or twelve months stay
Shall I tell truth? why by yon starres that shine,
Th'hast lost thy twenty Nobles, Coracine.

179. On Tasso.

Tasso writes verses, and imagines them

Farre longer-liv'd than old Methusalem:

When I say nay, he straight sweares in his rage;
Th'are stronger than the iron teeth of age.

Trust thy friends, Tasso, when they tell thee right; Why should'st thou think so? since in a short night, Neither the spite of fury, fire, nor flames,

But one poore rat devour'd ten epigrams.

180. On Stella.

As the pale moon, and stars shin'd clearly bright,
My fairest faire stood gazing on the skyes:

O that I had beene heaven then, that I might?
Have view'd my Stella with so many eyes.

181. Who best friend.

A louse I say: for when a man's distrest,
And others fall off, she stickes surest.

A lecherous gallants blood, a Jesuites
Devisefull braine, the teares of hypocrites,
Salted with jeasts, and scurrill wantonnesse,
Saint Kitts tobacco, chopt for herbes all these,
Sod with the fop'ries of Arminian,

Ith' scull of a profound magitian,

And peppar'd well with every seed of evill,
Would make a messe of pottage for the devill.

182. To fortune.

Thou art a froward jade, and being such,
I cannot scold or raile at thee too much :

Doting on fooles, thou hid'st thee from the wise,
Thou prostitut'st thy selfe to avarice.

Thou runn'st a whoring with the world, and sinne;
Thou cramm'st bold buzzards & lett'st eagles pine;
Thou bowl'st thy golden pieces, where I can
Not get a mite: by the Justitian

Mantles his students all in robes of state,

And by the gallon makes his fortunate :
Yet I live poore, and while base ideots ride,
Marullo footes in Cuerpo by their side.

Untoward trull, could but this hand attatch thee,
Could all my skill, and best endeavours reach thee:
On thy owne wheele (proud dame) I'de make thee spin
Tissues, and Tyrian silkes to clothe mee in:
I'de make thee (blindfold as thou art) find out
All that is rare, and good, the world about,
To make mee happy, and for the least frowne,
I'de braine thee, with the ball thou stand'st upon..

183. To Momus.

Thou that dost wrest thy wrinkled face awry,
And canst not read these trifles willingly;

May'st thou for ever envy other men,
But none have cause, to envy thee agen.

184. On Phaulo.

Phaulo weares brave clothes, yet his spirits faile;
Phaulo eates wholsome meate, and yet he's pale,

Phaulo takes physick, yet his spirits faile;
Phaulo hath good attendance, yet he's pale.
Phaulo's a glutton, yet his spirits faile;

Phaulo drinks deepe, and whores, and yet he's pale.

185. To Susa.

Why do I scorn to kiss thee? thy nose runs,
Thy teeth are blacke and rotten in thy gums:
Why do I scorne to kisse thee? thy breath stinks
Far worse than twenty fish-stalls, or town-sinks :
Why do I scorne to kisse thee? thou art all
Surfeited, nasty, ill-complexion'd, pale,

Who scornes not (Susa) to kisse thee will scarce
Scorne to kisse (I thinke) a sick hang-mans arse.

186. On Quacksalve.

This man is brother to the wormes, and can
Not live, but by corruption of man :

Deaths harbinger, that for bare one he saves,
Sends hundreds young, and old to people graves.
Yet still he lives in repute; he hath pelf,
And each good deed he does, proclaims it self,
But every bad one (as perforce it must)
With the dead corse lyes buried in the dust.
Diseases are his health, and Quacksalve thrives
By purchasing ill fame, and selling lives.
'Tis well he knowes me not: for I must think,
If I come in his hands, hee'l make me stink.

187. On Saint Bernard.

Saint Bernards painted halfe, and ever shall:
For not a man a live can paint him all.

188. On Captain Drad-nought and Lieutenant
Slaughter.

Slaughter he swels, and proudly gives the lie,
Which Drad-nought vowes to make him justifie.
Slaughter will kill, or else be killed ith' place :
Lieutenant curses, Captaine swears apace.
Lieutenant Slaughter belches out disdain,
And Captaine Drad-nought breathes all fire again
The rest, good gentlemen, stand trembling there,
Ready to quit the tavern all for feare:

There's not a man, but sues, and wooes, and sends
For what the house can yeeld, to make 'em friends.
Anchovise, Wine, dry'd Tongues, are brought in hast
Which sight perswades their stubborne soules at last.
Anger abates, the storme is over-blowne,

And in rich Sack they drink the quarrell down.

189. The Heavens mourn.

Why do the clouds showr rain so fast down? why, Blusters the North-winde so impetuously?

This is the reason, as Divines give out,

[blocks in formation]

Why do I climb Parnassus, since my hope

Can but expect cold water at the top?

« ElőzőTovább »