Selected quad for the lemma: death_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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hold by seruile villenage Poore brats were slaues of bond-men that were borne And marted sold but that rude law is torne And disanuld as too too inhumane That Lords ore pesants should such seruice straine But now sad change the kennell sinck of slaues Pesant great bloods and seruile seruice craues Bondslaues sonnes had wont be bought sold But now Heroes heires if they haue not told A discreet number fore theyr dad did die Are made much of how much from merchandie Tail'd and retail'd till to the pedlers packe The fourth-hand ward-ware comes alack alack Would truth did know I lyde but truth and I Doe know that fence is borne to miserie Oh would to God this were their worst mischance Were not theyr soules sold to darke ignorance Faire goodnes is foule ill if mischiefes wit Be not represt from lewd corrupting it O what dry braine melts not sharp mustard time To purge the snottery of our slimie time Hence idle Cave vengeance pricks me on VVhen mart is made of faire Religion Reform'd bald Trebus swore in Romish quiere He sold Gods essence for a poore denier The Egyptians adored Onions To Garlicke yeelding all deuotions O happy Garlick but thrice happy you Whose senting gods in your large gardens grew Democritus rise from thy putrid slime Sport at the madnes of that hotter clime Deride their frenzie that for policie Adore Wheate dough as reall deitie Almighty men that can their Maker make And force his sacred body to forsake The Cherubines to be gnawne actually Deuiding indiuiduum really Making a score of Gods with one poore word I so I thought in that you could afford So cheape a penny-worth O ample fielde In which a Satyre may iust vveapon weelde But I am vext when swarmes of Iulians Are still manur'd by lewd Precisians Who scorning Church rites take the simbole vp As slouenly as carelesse Courtiers slup Their mutton gruell Fie who can with-hold But must of force make his milde Muse a scold When that he greeued sees with red vext eyes That Athens antient large immunities Are eye sores to the fates Poore cells forlorne I st not enough you are made an abiect scorne To iering Apes but must the shadow too Of auncient substance be thus wrung from you O split my hart least it doe breake with rage To see th'immodest loosenes of our age Immodest loosenes fie too gentle word When euery signe can brothelrie afford When lust doth sparkle from our females eyes And modestie is rousted in the skies Tell me Galliottae what meanes this signe When impropriat gentiles will turne Capuchine Sooner be damn'd O stuffe Satyricall Whē rapine feedes our pomp pomp ripes our fall When the guest trembles at his hosts swart looke The sonne doth feare his stepdame that hath tooke His mothers place for lust the twin-borne brother Malinges his mate that first came from his mother When to be huge is to be deadly sick When vertuous pesants will not spare to lick The deuils taile for poore promotion When for neglect slubbred Deuotion Is wan with greefe When Rufus yawnes for death Of him that gaue him vndeserued breath When Hermus makes a worthy question Whether of Wright as Paraphonalion A siluer pispot fits his Lady dame Or i st too good a pewter best became When Agrippina poysons Claudius sonne That all the world to her own brat might run When the husband gapes that his stale wife would die That he might once be in by curtesie The big paunch'd wife longs for her loth'd mates death That she might haue more ioyntures here on earth VVhen tenure for short yeeres by many a one Is thought right good be turn'd forth Littleton All to be headdie or free hold at least VVhen t is all one for long life be a beast A slaue as haue a short term'd tenancie When dead 's the strength of Englands yeomanrie VVhen invndatiou of luxuriousnes Fatts all the world with such grosse beastlines Who can abstaine what modest braine can hold But he must make his shamefac'd Muse a scold SATYRE III. Redde age quae deinceps risisti IT 's good be warie whilst the sunne shines cleere Quoth that old chuffe that may dispend by yere Three thousand pound whilst hee of good pretence Cōmits himselfe to Fleet to saue expence No Countries Christmas rather tarry heere The Fleet is cheap the Country hall too deere But Codrus harke the world expects to see Thy bastard heire rotte there in misery What VVill Luxurio keepe so great a hall That he will proue a bastard in his fall No come on fiue S. George by heauen at all Makes his catastrophe right tragicall At all till nothing's left Come on till all comes off I haire and all Luxurio left a scoffe To leaprous filthes ô stay thou impious slaue Teare not the lead from off thy Fathers graue To stop base brokage sell not thy fathers sheete His leaden sheete that strangers eyes may greete Both putrefaction of thy greedie Sire And thy abhorred viperous desire But wilt thou needes shall thy Dads lackie brat VVeare thy Sires halfe-rot finger in his hat Nay then Luxurio waste in obloquie And I shall sport to heare thee faintly cry A die a drab and filthy broking knaues Are the worlds wide mouthes all deuouring graues Yet Samus keepes a right good house I heare No it keepes him and free'th him from chill feare Of shaking fitts How then shall his smug wench How shall her bawd fit time assist her quench Her sanguine heate Linceus canst thou sent Shee hath her Monkey her instrument Smooth fram'd at Vitrio O greeuous misery Luscus hath left his female luxurie I it left him No his old Cynick Dad Hath forc'd him cleane forsake his Pickha'ch drab Alack alack what peece of lustfull flesh Hath Luscus left his Priape to redresse Grieue not good soule he hath his Ganimede His perfum'd shee-goate smooth kemb'd high fed At Hogsdon now his monstrous lust he feasts For there he keepes a baudy-house of beasts Paphus let Luscus haue his Curtezan Or we shall haue a monster of a man Tut Paphus now detaines him from that bower And claspes him close within his brick-built tower Diogenes th' art damn'd for thy lewd wit For Luscus now hath skill to practise it Fayth what cares he for faire Cynedian boyes Veluet cap'd Goates duch Mares tut cōmon toies Detaine them all on this condition He may but vse the Cynick friction O now yee male stewes I can giue pretence For your luxurious incontinence Hence hence yee falsed seeming Patriotes Returne not with pretence of saluing spots VVhen here yee soyle vs with impuritie And monstrous filth of Doway seminary What though Iberia yeeld you libertie To snort in source of Sodom vilanie What though the bloomes of young nobilitie Committed to your Rodons custodie Yee Nero like abuse yet neuer heere approch Your newe S. Homers lewdnes for to broch Tainting our Townes and hopefull Accademes With your lust-bating most abhorred meanes Valladolid our
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