Selected quad for the lemma: book_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A07075
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The metamorphosis of Pigmalions image And certaine satyres.
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Marston, John, 1575?-1634.
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1598
(1598)
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STC 17482; ESTC S109897
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16,578
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90
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lisp'd like an Amorist Am turn'd into a snaphaunce Satyrist O tytle which my iudgement doth adore But I dull-sprighted fat Boetian Boore Doe farre of honour that Censorian seate But if I could in milk-white robes intreate Plebeians fauour I would shew to be Tribunus plebis gainst the villany Of these same Proteans whose hipocrisie Doth still abuse our fond credulity But since my selfe am not imaculate But many spots my minde doth vitiate I'le leaue the white roabe and the biting rimes Vnto our moderne Satyres sharpest lines VVhose hungry fangs snarle at some secret sinne And in such pitchy clouds enwrapped beene His Sphinxian ridles that old Oedipus Would be amaz'd and take it in foule snufs That such Cymerian darknes should inuolue A quaint conceit that he could not resolue O darknes palpable Egipts black night My wit is stricken blind hath lost his sight My shins are broke with groping for some sence To know to what his words haue reference Certes sunt but non videntur that I know Reach me some Poets Index that will show Imagines Deorum Booke of Epithites Natales Comes thou I know recites And mak'st Anatomie of Poesie Helpe to vnmaske the Satyres secresie Delphick Apollo ayde me to vnrip These intricate deepe Oracles of wit These darke Enigmaes and strange ridling sence Which passe my dullard braines intelligence Fie on my senceles pate Now I can show Thou writest that which I nor thou doo'st know Who would imagine that such squint-ey'd sight Could strike the worlds deformities so right But take heede Pallas least thou ayme awry Loue nor yet Hate had ere true iudging eye Who would once dreame that that same Elegie That faire fram'd peece of sweetest Poesie Which Muto put betwixt his Mistris paps When he quick-witted call'd her Cruell chaps And told her there she might his dolors read Which she oh she vpon his hart had spread Was penn'd by Roscio the Tragedian Yet Muto like a good Vulcanian An honest Cuckold calls the bastard sonne And brags of that which others for him done Satyre thou lyest for that same Elegie Is Mutos owne his owne deere Poesie VVhy tis his owne and deare for he did pay Ten crownes for it as I heard Roscius say VVho would imagine yonder sober man That same deuout meale-mouth'd Precisean That cries good brother kind sister makes a duck After the Antique grace can alwayes pluck A sacred booke out of his ciuill hose And at th'op'ning and at our stomacks close Sayes with a turn'd-vp eye a solemne grace Of halfe an houre then with his silken face Smiles on the holy crue And then doth cry O manners ô times of impurity VVith that depaints a church reformed state The which the female tongues magnificate Because that Platos odd opinion Of all things common hath strong motion In their weake minds Who thinks that this good man Is a vile sober damn'd Polititian Not I till with his baite of purity He bit me sore in deepest vsury No Iew no Turke would vse a Christian So inhumanely as this Puritan Diomedes Iades were not so bestiall As this same seeming-saint vile Canniball Take heede ô world take heede aduisedly Of these same damned Anthropophagy I had rather be within a Harpies clawes Then trust my selfe in their deuouring iawes Who all confusion to the world would bring Vnder the forme of their new discipline O I could say Briareus hundred hands Were not so ready to bring Ioue in bands As these to set endles contentious strife Betwixt Iehoua and his sacred wife But see who's yonder true Humility The perfect image of faire Curtesie See he doth daine to be in seruitude Where he hath no promotions liuelihood Marke he doth curtsie and salutes a block Will seeme to wonder at a wethercock Trenchmore with Apes play musick to an Owle Blesse his sweet honours running brasell bowle Cries brauely broake when that his Lordship mist And is of all the thurnged scaffold hist. O is not this a curteous minded man No foole no a damn'd Macheuelian Holds candle to the deuill for a while That he the better may the world beguile That's fed with shows He hopes thogh som repine VVhen sunne is set the lesser starres will shine He is within a haughty malecontent Though he doe vse such humble blandishment But bold-fac'd Satyre straine not ouer hie But laugh and chuck at meaner gullery In fayth yon is a well fac'd Gentleman See how he paceth like a Ciprian Faire Amber tresses of the fairest haire That ere were waued by our London aire Rich laced sute all spruce all neat in truth Ho Linceus What's yonder brisk neat youth Bout whom yon troupe of Gallants flocken so And now together to Brownes common goe Thou knowst I am sure for thou canst cast thine eie Through nine mud wals or els odd Poets lie Tis loose legg'd Lais that same common Drab For from good Tubro looke the mortall stab Ha ha Nay then I'le neuer raile at those That weare a codpis thereby to disclose VVhat sexe they are since strumpets breeches vse And all mens eyes saue Linceus can abuse Nay steed of shadow lay the substance out Or els faire Briscus I shall stand in doubt VVhat sex thou art since such Hermaphrodites Such Protean shadowes so delude our sights Looke looke with what a discontented grace Bruto the trauailer doth sadly pace Long VVestminster ô ciuill seeming shade Marke his sad colours how demurely clad Staidnes it selfe and Nestors grauity Are but the shade of his ciuility And now he sighes O thou corrupted age Which slight regard'st men of sound carriage Vertue knowledge flie to heauen againe Daine not mong these vngratefull sots remaine Well some tongs I know some Countries I haue seene And yet these oily Snailes respectles beene Of my good parts O worthles puffie slaue Did'st thou to Venis goe oft els to haue But buy a Lute and vse a Currezan And there to liue like a Cyllenian And now frō thence what hether do'st thou bring But surpheulings new paints and poysonings Aretines pictures some strange Luxury And new found vse of Venis venery VVhat art thou but black clothes Say Bruto say Art any thing but onely say array Which I am sure is all thou brought'st from France Saue Naples poxe and French-mens dalliance From haughty Spayne what brought'st thou else beside But lofty lookes and their Lucifrian pride From Belgia what but theyr deepe bezeling Their boote-carouse and theyr Beere-buttering Well then exclaime not on our age good man But hence poluted Neopolitan Now Satyre cease to rub our gauled skinnes And to vnmaske the worlds detested sinnes Thou shalt as soone draw Nilus riuer dry As clense the world from foule impietie SATYRE 3. Quedam et sunt et videntur NOw grim Reprofe swel in my rough-heu'd rime That thou maist vexe the guilty of our time Yon is a youth whom how can I ore'slip Since he so iumpe doth in my mashes hit He hath been longer in preparing him Then Terence