Selected quad for the lemma: book_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A07078
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The scourge of villanie Three bookes of satyres.
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Marston, John, 1575?-1634.
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1598
(1598)
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STC 17485; ESTC S104629
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28,311
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124
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smug ryme O barbarous dropsie noule Think'st thou that Genius that attends my soule And guides my fist to scourge Magnifico's Wil daigne my mind be ranck'd in Paphian showes Think'st thou that I which was create to whip Incarnate fiends will once vouchsafe to trip A Paunis trauerse or will lispe sweet loue Or pule Aye me some female soule to moue Think'st thou that I in melting poesie Will pamper itching sensualitie That in the bodyes scumme all fatally Intombes the soules most sacred faculty Hence thou misiudging Censor know I wrot Those idle rimes to note the odious spot And blemish that deformes the lineaments Of moderne Poesies habiliments Oh that the beauties of Invention For want of Iudgements disposition Should all be soyl'd ô that such treasurie Such straines of well-conceited poesie Should moulded be in such a shapelesse forme That want of Art should make such wit a scorne Here 's one must invocate some lose-legg'd dame Some brothell drab to helpe him stanzaes frame Or els alas his wits can haue no vent To broch conceits industrious intent Another yet dares tremblingly come out But first he must invoke good Colyn Clout Yon 's one hath yean'd a fearefull prodigie Some monstrous mishapen Balladry His guts are in his braines huge Iobbernoule Right Gurnets-head the rest without all soule Another walkes is lazie lyes him downe Thinkes reades at length some wonted sleep doth crowne His new falne lids dreames straight tenne pound to one Out steps some Fayery with quick motion And tells him wonders of some flowrie vale Awakes straight rubs his eyes and prints his tale Yon 's one whose straines haue flowne so high a pitch That straight he flags tumbles in a ditch His sprightly hote high-soring poesie Is like that dreamed of Imagerie Whose head was gold brest siluer brassie thigh Lead leggs clay feete ô faire fram'd poesie Here 's one to get an vndeseru'd repute Of deepe deepe learning all in fustian sute Of ill-plac'd farre-fetch'd words attiereth His period that all sence forsweareth Another makes old Homer Spencer cite Like my Pigmalion where with rare delight He cryes O Ouid. This caus'd my idle quill The worlds dull eares with such lewd stuffe to fill And gull with bumbast lines the witlesse sence Of these odde naggs whose pates circumference Is fild with froth O these same buzzing Gnats That sting my sleeping browes these Nilus Rats Halfe dung that haue their life from putrid slime These that doe praise my loose lasciuious rime For these same shades I seriously protest I slubber'd vp that Chaos indigest To fish for fooles that stalke in goodly shape What though in veluet cloake yet still an Ape Capro reads sweares scrubs and sweares againe Now by my soule an admirable straine Strokes vp his haire cryes passing passing good Oh there 's a line incends his lustfull blood Then Muto comes with his new glasse-set face And with his late kist-hand my booke dooth grace Straight reades then smyles lisps t is prety good And praiseth that he neuer vnderstood But roome for Flaccus he 'le my Satyres read Oh how I trembled straight with inward dread But when I saw him read my fustian And heard him sweare I was a Pythian Yet straight recald sweares I did but quote Out of Xilinum to that margents note I could scarce hold keepe my selfe conceal'd But had well-nigh my selfe and all reueal'd Then straight comes Friscus that neat gentleman That newe discarded Academian Who for he could cry Ergo in the schoole Straight-way with his huge iudgement dares controle What so'ere he viewes that is prety prety good That Epethite hath not that sprightly blood Which should enforce it speake that 's Perseus vaine That 's Iuvenals heere 's Horrace crabbed straine Though he nere read one line in Iuvenall Or in his life his lazie eye let fall On duskie Perseus O indignitie To my respectlesse free-bred poesie Hence ye big-buzzing-little-bodied Gnats Yee tatling Ecchoes huge tongu'd pigmy brats I meane to sleepe wake not my slumbring braine VVith your malignant weake detracting vaine VVhat though the sacred issue of my soule I heare expose to Ideots controule What though I bare to lewd Opinion Lay ope to vulgar prophanation My very Genius Yet know my poesie Doth scorne your vtmost rank'st indignitie My pate was great with child here t is eas'd Vexe all the world so that thy selfe be pleas'd SATYRE VII A Cynicke Satyre A Man a man a kingdome for a man Why how now currish mad Athenian Thou Cynick dogge see'st not streets do swarme With troupes of men No no for Circes charme Hath turn'd them all to swine I neuer shall Thinke those same Samian sawes authenticall But rather I dare sweare the soules of swine Doe liue in men for that same radiant shine That lustre wherwith natures Nature decked Our intellectuall part that glosse is soyled With stayning spots of vile impietie And muddy durt of sensualitie These are no men but Apparitions Ignes fatui Glowormes Fictions Meteors Ratts of Nilus Fantasies Colosses Pictures Shades Resemblances Ho Linceus Seest thou yon gallant in the sumptuous clothes How brisk how spruce how gorgiously he showes Note his French-herring bones but note no more Vnlesse thou spy his fayre appendant whore That lackyes him Marke nothing but his clothes His new stampt complement his Cannon oathes Marke those for naught but such lewd viciousnes Ere graced him saue Sodom beastlines Is this a Man Nay an incarnate deuill That struts in vice and glorieth in euill A man a man peace Cynick yon is one A compleat soule of all perfection What mean'st thou him that walks al opē brested Drawne through the eare with Ribands plumy crested He that doth snort in fat-fed luxury And gapes for some grinding Monopoly He that in effeminate inuention In beastly source of all pollution In ryot lust and fleshly seeming sweetnes Sleepes sound secure vnder the shade of greatnes Mean'st thou that sencelesse sensuall Epicure That sinck of filth that guzzell most impure What he Linceus on my word thus presume He 's nought but clothes senting sweet perfume His very soule assure thee Linceus Is not so big as is an Atomus Nay he is sprightlesse sence or soule hath none Since last Medusa turn'd him to a stone A man a man Loe yonder I espie The shade of Nestor in sad grauitie Since old Sylenus brake his Asses back He now is forc'd his paunch and gutts to pack In a fayre Tumbrell VVhy sower Satirist Canst thou vnman him Here I dare insist And soothly say he is a perfect soule Eates Nectar drinks Ambrosia saunce controule An invndation of felicitie Fat 's him with honor and huge treasurie Canst thou not Linceus cast thy searching eye And spy his immynent Catastrophe He 's but a spunge and shortly needs must leese His wrong got iuyce when greatnes fist shal squeese His liquor out Would not some shallowe head That is with seeming shadowes onely fed Sweare yon same