Which caus'd Æneas once again retire,
Drown'd Ætna's hill, and burnt the sea with fire.
Nilus for feare to see the ocean burn,
Went still on forward in a quick return.
Then was that broyl of Agamemnon's done,
When trembling Ajax to the battell come,
He struck stark dead (they now are living still)
Five hundred mushrooms with his martial bill.
Nor had himselfe escaped, as some men say,
If he being dead, he had not run away.
O monstrous, hideous troops of dromidaries,
How bears and buls from monks and goblins varies!
Nay would not Charon yeeld to Cerberus,
But catch'd the dog, and cut his head off thus:
Pluto rag'd, and Juno pleas'd with ire,
Sought all about, but could not find the fire:
But being found, well pleas'd, and in a spight
They slept at Acharon, and wakt all night:
Where I let passe to tell their mad bravadoes,
Their meat was tosted cheese and carbonadoes.
Thousands of monsters more besides there be
Which I fast hoodwink'd, at that time did see;
And in a word to shut up this discourse,
A rugd-gowns ribs are good to spur a horse.
Like to the tone of unspoke speeches,
Or like a lobster clad in logick breeches,
Or like the gray freeze of a crimson cat,
Or like a moon-calfe in a slipshooe-hat,
Or like a shadow when the sunne is gon,
Or like a thought that ne'r was thought upon :
Even such is man, who never was begotten,
Untill his children were both dead and rotten.
Like to the fiery touchstone of a cabbage,
Or like a crablouse with his bag and baggage,
Or like th'abortive issue of a fizle,
Or the bag-pudding of a plow-mans whistle,
Or like the foursquare circle of a ring,
Or like the singing of hey down a ding;
Even such is man, who breathles, without doubt, Spake to small purpose when his tongue was out.
Like to the green fresh fading rose,
Or like to rime or verse that runs in prose,
Or like the humbles of a tinder-box,
Or like a man that's sound, yet hath the pox,
Or like a hob-naile coyn'd in single pence,
Or like the present preterperfect tense:
Even such is man who dy'd, and then did laugh To see such strong lines writ on's epitaph.
I sing the praises of a fart;
That I may do't by rules of art,
I will invoke no deity
But butter'd pease and furmity,
And think their help sufficient
To fit and furnish my intent.
For sure I must not use high straines
For fear it bluster out in graines :
When Virgils gnat, and Ovids flea,
And Homers frogs strive for the day;
There is no reason in my mind,
That a brave fart should come behind;
Since that you may it parallel
With any thing that doth excell:
Musick is but a fart that's sent
From the guts of an instrument:
The scholler but farts, when he gains
Learning with cracking of his brains.
And when he has spent much pain and toile,
Thomas and Dun to reconcile;
And to learn the abstracting art,
What does he get by't? not a fart.
The souldier makes his foes to run
With but the farting of a gun;
That's if he make the bullet whistle,
Else 'tis no better then a fizle:
And if withall the wind do stir up
Rain, 'tis but a fart in syrrup.
They are but farts, the words we say,
Words are but wind, and so are they.
Applause is but a fart, the crude
Blast of the fickle multitude.
Five boats that lye the Thames about,
Be but farts severall docks let out.
Some of our projects were, I think,
But politick farts, foh how they stink!
As soon as born, they by and by,
Fart-like but only breath, and dy.
Farts are as good as land, for both
We hold in taile, and let them both :
Onely the difference here is, that
Farts are let at a lower rate.
I'll say no more, for this is right,
That for my guts I cannot write,
Though I should study all my dayes,
Rimes that are worth the thing I praise,
What I have said, take in good part,
If not, I do not care a fart.
One here is bent to quarrell, and he will
(If not prevented) this his fellow kill:
He fumes, and frets, and rages; in whose face
Nothing but death and horror taketh place.
But being parted, 'tother odd jugg, or two,
Makes them all friends again with small adoe.
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