Selected quad for the lemma: death_n
Text snippets containing the quad
|
ID |
Title |
Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
STC |
Words |
Pages |
|
A07078
|
The scourge of villanie Three bookes of satyres.
|
Marston, John, 1575?-1634.
|
1598
(1598)
|
STC 17485; ESTC S104629
|
28,311
|
124
|
Damaske-coat yon garded man Were some graue sober Cato Vtican When let him but in iudgements sight vncase He 's naught but budge old gards browne foxe-furface He hath no soule the which the Stagerite Term'd rationall for beastly appetitie Base dunghill thoughts and sensuall action Hath made him loose that faire creation And now no man since Circes magick charme Hath turn'd him to a maggot that doth swarme In tainted flesh whose foule corruption Is his fayre foode whose generation Anothers ruine O Canaans dread curse To liue in peoples sinnes Nay farre more worse To muck ranke hate But sirra Linceus Seest thou that troope that now affronteth vs They are naught but Eeles that neuer will appeare Till that tempestuous winds or thunder teare Their slimie beds But prithee stay a while Looke yon comes Iohn-á-noke and Iohn-a-stile They' are naught but slow-pac'd dilatory pleas Demure demurrers still striuing to appease Hote zealous loue The language that they speake Is the pure barbarous blacksaunt of the Geate Their onely skill rests in Collusions Abatements stopples inhibitions Heauy-pac'd Iades dull pated Iobernoules Quick in delayes checking with vaine controules Faire Iustice course vile necessary euils Smooth seeme-Saints yet damn'd incarnate deuils Farre be it from my sharpe Satirick Muse Those graue and reuerent legists to abuse That ayde Astrea that doe further right But these Megera's that inflame despight That broch deepe ranchor that doe studie still To ruine right that they their panch may fill With Irus blood these Furies I doe meane These Hedge-hogs that disturbe Astreas Scean A man a man peace Cynick yon 's a man Behold yon sprightly dread Mauortian With him I stop thy currish barking chops what meanst thou him that in his swaggering slops Wallowes vnbraced all along the streete He that salutes each gallant he doth meete With farewell sweet Captaine kind hart adew He that last night tumbling thou didst view From out the great mans head and thinking still He had beene Sentinell of warlike Brill Cryes out Que va la zownds Que and out doth draw His transformd ponyard to a Syrrenge straw And stabs the Drawer What that Ringo roote Mean'st thou that wasted leg puffe bumbast boote What he that 's drawne and quartered with lace That vvestphalian gamon Cloue-stuck face Why he is naught but huge blaspheming othes Swart snowt big lookes mishapen Swizers clothes Weake meager lust hath now consumed quite And wasted cleane away his martiall spright Infeebling ryot all vices confluence Hath eaten out that sacred influence VVhich made him man That diuine part is soak'd away in sinne In sensuall lust and midnight bezeling Ranke invndation of luxuriousnes Haue tainted him with such grosse beastlines That now the seate of that celestiall essence Is all possest with Naples pestilence Fat peace and dissolute impietie Haue lulled him in such securitie That now let vvhirlewinds and confusion teare The Center of our state let Giants reare Hill vpon hill let westerne Termagant Shake heauens vault he with his Occupant Are cling'd so close like dew-wormes in the morne That he le not stir till out his gutts are torne VVith eating filth Tubrio snort on snort on Till thou art wak'd with sad confusion Now raile no more at my sharpe Cynick sound Thou brutish world that in all vilenes drown'd Hast lost thy soule for naught but shades I see Resemblances of men inhabite thee Yon Tissue slop yon Holy-crossed pane Is but a water-spaniell that will faine And kisse the water whilst it pleasures him But being once arriued at the brim He shakes it off Yon in the capring cloake a Mimick Ape That onely striues to seeme an others shape Yon 's Aesops Asse yon sad cruilitie Is but an Oxe that with base drugerie Eares vp the Land whilst some gilt Asse doth chaw The golden wheat he well apay'd with straw Yon 's but a muckhill ouer-spred with snow Which with that vaile doth euen as fairely show As the greene meades whose natiue outward faire Breathes sweet perfumes into the neighbour ayre Yon effeminate sanguine Ganimede Is but a Beuer hunted for the bed Peace Cynick see what yonder doth approach A cart a tumbrell no a Badged coach What 's in 't some man No nor yet woman kinde But a celestiall Angell faire refinde The deuill as soone Her maske so hinders mee I cannot see her beauties deitie Now that is off shee is so vizarded So steep'd in Lemons-iuyce so surphuled I cannot see her face vnder one hood Too faces but I neuer vnderstood Or saw one face vnder two hoods till now T is the right semblance of old Ianus brow Her mask her vizard her loose-hanging gowne For her loose lying body her bright spangled crown Her long slit sleeue stiffe busk puffe verdingall Is all that makes her thus angelicall Alas her soule struts round about her neck Her seate of sence is her rebato set Her intellectuall is a fained nicenes Nothing but clothes simpering precisenes Out on these puppets painted Images Haberdashers shops torch-light maskeries Perfuming pans Duch antients Glowe wormes bright That soile our soules and dampe our reasons light Away away hence Coach-man goe inshrine Thy new glas'd puppet in port Esqueline Blush Martia feare not or looke pale all 's one Margara keepes thy set complexion Sure I nere thinke those axioms to be true That soules of men from that great soule ensue And of his essence doe participate As 't vvere by pypes when so degenerate So aduerse is our natures motion To his immaculate condition That such foule filth from such faire puritie Such sensuall acts from such a Deitie Can nere proceed But if that dreame were so Then sure the slime that from our soules doe flow Haue stopt those pipes by which it was conuai'd And now no humane creatures once disrai'd Of that fayre iem Beasts sence plants growth like being as a stone But out alas our Cognisance is gone Finis libri Secundi SATY Liber Tertius Proemium in librum tertium IN serious iest and iesting seriousnes I striue to scourge poluting beastlines I invocate no Delian Deitie Nor sacred of-spring of Mnemosyne I pray in ayde of no Castalian Muse No Nimph no femall Angell to infuse A sprightly wit to raise my flagging wings And teach me tune these harsh discordant strings I craue no Syrens of our Halcion times To grace the accents of my rough-hew'd rimes But grim Reproofe stearne Hate of villanie Inspire and guide a Satyres poesie Faire Detestation of foule odious sinne In which our swinish times lye wallowing Be thou my conduct and my Genius My wits inciting sweet breath'd Zephirus O that a Satyres hand had force to pluck Some fludgate vp to purge the world from muck VVould God I could turne Alpheus riuer in To purge this Augean oxstaule from foule sin Well I will try awake impuritie And view the vaile drawne from thy villanie SATYRE VIII Inamorato Curio CVrio aye me thy mistres Monkey's dead Alas alas her pleasures buried Goe
womans slaue performe his exequies Condole his death in mournfull Elegies Tut rather Peans sing Hermaphrodite For that sad death giues life to thy delight Sweet fac'd Corinna daine the riband tie Of thy Cork-shooe or els thy slaue will die Some puling Sonnet toles his passing bell Some sighing Elegie must ring his knell Vnlesse bright sunshine of thy grace reuiue His wambling stomack certes he will diue Into the vvhirle-poole of deuouring death And to some Mermaid sacrifice his breath Then oh oh then to thy eternall shame And to the honour of sweet Curios name This Epitaph vpon the Marble stone Must fayre be grau'd of that true louing one Heere lyeth hee hee lyeth heere that bounc'd and pitty cryed The doore not op'd fell sicke alas alas fell sicke and dyed What Mirmidon or hard Dolopian What sauage minded rude Cyclopian But such a sweet pathetique Paphian Would force to laughter Ho Amphitrion Thou art no Cuckold what though Ioue dallied During thy warres in faire Alckmenas bed Yet Hercules true borne that imbecilitie Of corrupt nature all apparantly Appeares in him ô foule indignitie I heard him vow himselfe a slaue to Omphale Puling aye mee ô valours obloquie Hee that the inmost nookes of hell did know Whose nere craz'd prowesse all did ouer-throw Lies streaking brawnie limmes in weakning bed Perfum'd smooth kemb'd new glaz'd faire surphuled O that the boundlesse power of the soule Should be subiected to such base controule Big limm'd Alcides doffe thy honors crowne Goe spin huge slaue least Omphale should frowne By my best hopes I blush with greefe and shame To broach the peasant basenes of our name O now my ruder hand begins to quake To thinke what loftie Cedars I must shake But if the canker fret the barkes of Oakes Like humbler shrubs shal equall beare the stroakes Of my respectlesse rude Satyrick hand Vnlesse the Destin's adamantine band Should tie my teeth I cannot choose but bite To view Mauortius metamorphiz'd quite To puling sighes into aye me 's state With voyce distinct all fine articulate Lisping Fayre saint my woe compassionate By heauen thine eye is my soule-guiding fate The God of wounds had wont on Cyprian couch To streake himselfe and with incensing touch To faint his force onely when wrath had end But now mong furious garboiles he doth spend His feebled valour in tilt and turneing With wet turn'd kisses melting dallying A poxe apon't that Bacchis name should be The watch-word giuen to the soulderie Goe troupe to fielde mount thy obscured fame Cry out S. George invoke thy Mistres name Thy Mistres and S. George alarum cry Weake force weake ayde that sprouts from luxurie Thou tedious workmanship of lust-stung Ioue Downe from thy skies enioy our females loue Some fiftie more Beotian gerles well sue To haue thy loue so that thy back be true O now me thinks I heare swart Martius cry Souping along in warrs fain'd maskerie By Lais starrie sront he 'le forth-with die In cluttred blood his Mistres liuorie Her fancies colours waues vpon his head O well fenc'd Albion mainly manly sped When those that are Soldadoes in thy state Doe beare the badge of base effeminate Euen on their plumie crests brutes sensuall Hauing no sparke of intellectuall Alack what hope when some ranck nasty wench Is subiect of their vowes and confidence Publius hates vainely to idolatries And laughs that Papists honor Images And yet ô madnes these mine eyes did see Him melt in mouing plaints obsequiously Imploring fauour twining his kind armes Vsing inchauntments exorcismes charmes The oyle of Sonnets wanton blandishment The force of teares seeming languishment Vnto the picture of a painted lasse I saw him court his Mistres looking-glasse Worship a busk-poynt which in secrecie I feare was conscius of strange villanie I saw him crouch deuote his liuelihood Sweare protest vow pesant seruitude Vnto a painted puppet to her eyes I heard him sweare his sighes to sacrifice But if he get her itch-allaying pinne O sacred relique straight he must beginne To raue out-right then thus Celestiall blisse Can heauen grant so rich a grace as this Touch it not by the Lord Sir t is diuine It once beheld her radiant eyes bright shine Her haire imbrac'd it ô thrice happie prick That there was thron'd and in her haire didst sticke Kisse blesse adore it Publius neuer linne Some sacred vertue lurketh in the pinne O frantick fond pathetique passion I st possible such sensuall action Should clip the wings of contemplation O can it be the spirits function The soule not subiect to dimension Should be made slaue to reprehension Of craftie natures paint Fie can our soule Be vnderling to such a vile controule Saturio wish'd him selfe his Mistres buske That he might sweetly lie and softly luske Betweene her pappes then must he haue an eye At eyther end that freely might discry Both hills and dales But out on Phrigio That wish'd he were his Mistres puppie cur to goe And licke his Mistres fist ô prettie grace That prettie Phrigio begs but Pretties place Parthenophell thy wish I will omit So beastly t is I may not vtter it But Punicus of all I 'le beare with thee That faine would'st be thy Mistres smug Munkey Here 's one would be a flea iest comicall Another his sweet Ladies verdingall To clip her tender breech Another he Her siluer-handled fanne would gladly be Here 's one would be his Mistres neck-lace faine To clip her faire and kisse her azure vaine Fond fooles well wish'd and pittie but should bee For beastly shape to brutish soules agree If Lauras painted lip doe daine a kisse To her enamor'd slaue ô heauens blisse Straight he exclaimes not to be match'd with this Blaspheming dolt goe three-score sonnets write Vpon a pictures kisse ô rauing spright I am not saplesse old or rumatick No Hipponax mishapen stigmatick That I should thus inueigh gainst amorous spright Of him whose soule doth turne Hermaphrodite But I doe sadly grieue and inly vexe To view the base dishonors of our sexe Tush guiltles Doues when Gods to force foule rapes Will turne themselues to any brutish shapes Base bastard powers whom the world doth see Traus-form'd to swine for sensuall luxurie The sonne of Saturne is become a Bull To crop the beauties of some female trull Now when he hath his first wife Metim sped And fairely chok'd least foole gods should be bred Of that fond Mule Themis his second wife Hath turn'd away that his vnbrideled life Might haue more scope Yet last his sisters loue Must satiate the lustfull thoughts of Ioue Now doth the lecher in a Cuckowes shape Commit a monstrous and incestuous rape Thrice sacred gods and ô thrice blessed skies Whose orbes includes such vertuous deities What should I say Lust hath confounded all The bright glosse of our intellectuall Is fouly soyl'd The wanton wallowing In fond delights and amorous dallying Hath dusk'd the fairest splendour of our soule Nothing now left but carkas lothsome foule