would true honour crush And make her soule vnto her minde a brush And loues entirely where she takes affection Makes mans life happie in his loues direction She that is Nobly borne and Princely bredde Heauenly enclin'd and holily disposed A Sarahs spirit and a Indiths head And haue her comforts in that care enclosed That haue their rest in vertue all reposed Such an Angelicall Creature in a wife Might make a king to knowe a happie life She that doth rather loue to heare than speake And rather striues to vnderstand than teach And neuer will the bands of honour breake Nor euer seeke to clime aboue her reach Nor in her thoughts let folly make a breach Such a wise wench in true wits wealthinesse Will make a man finde his lifes happinesse Shee that will rather a defect amend Then to defend or any way excuse Nor coine a lie nor an vntrueth defend Nor from a friend a good aduise refuse Nor the true honour of her loue abuse Nor hath that blame that worthily may blot her Makes the man happy for a wife hath got her She that will weare according to her calling Such decent garments as she may maintaine And will not in her busbands eare be bawling To feede her humour with an idle vaine And make his purse beyond his penny straine Such a kinde wench that so her will doth cary Doth make him happy that doth liue to marry She that can goe to market for her meate And not stay twatling there with good wife Twat Come home and dresse it and can kindly eate That which God sendes and be content with that And take the leane together with the fat Know when to be a spender when a sauer Wil make a poore man happy that could haue her She that doth weare but her owne proper heare And hath no beautie but of Natures blisse Can not commaund a kinde of fained teare But when iust cause of hearty sorrowe is And rich or poore will neuer runne amisse Such a true wench to make a happie wife Would make a man to leade a blessed life She that doth beare the eye of modestie The face of grace minde of humilitie The tongue of trueth the heart of honesty The parentage of true Gentilitie In the true notes of true Nobilitie In my conceit would surely prooue a wife To make a Lord to lead a happie life She that is full of liberalitie And to the begger neuer shuts her doore And loues to keepe good hospitalitie And hath delight for to relieue the poore Yet hath a care for to enrich her store Doth make a man a very happie Creature That marries with a wench of such a Nature She that doth hate to brabble brawle and scolde To sweare and lie and talke of Robin Hood And will no longer any question holde Then while she wel may make her iudgemeÌ„t good To prooue that shee her selfe hath vnderstood Such a rare wench for a well gouernd wit Wold make him happy that were matcht with it She that is free from infamies deface Wealthie in lands her Cophers full of golde Her minde of vertue and her heart of grace And doth no honour but in vertue holde That true sweete Ladie be she young or olde Will make that man to leade a happie life That knowes what makes man happy in a wife Shee that is mistresse of her owne affection And vnto reason hath subdued her will And will not harken vnto imperfection To leaue the good to entertaine the ill In the true rules of my experience skill I thinke that woman where she is a wife Doth make a man to know a happy life Shee that in wealth and wo sicknes and health Is all alike vnto her setled loue And in the world doth count her chiefest wealth But in the life but of her turtle doue And seekes on earth no other heauens to proue In my conceit who had her to a wife Had no small means to make a happy life She that is wholly giuen to godlynesse And hates to leade the life of wantonnesse And hath true patience in vnhappinesse And onely seekes the spirits wealthinesse In the true weight of honours worthinesse If that a man were in hearts heauinesse With such a wife might liue in blessednesse Now hoping that although the birde be rare The Phoenix in a woman may be found And doubting not but many women are Of their good husbands happinesse the ground I wish the wise a womans worth to sound And deerely loue her for that worthinesse That makes a man to liue in happinesse But if that Youth for wealth wil match with Age And witlesse age will dote on wanton Youth If discontent doe growe to rancors rage When hollow hearts do hammer with vntruthe If ruine then be subiect vnto ruthe What shall I say but sobbe for such a woing Where kindnesse hath no coÌ„fort in the doing Make then thy choyce not all alone by chaunce Let reason guide thine eye honour thy minde Vertue thy heart and so thy thought aduance That wisdomes care may happie comfort finde That if that fortune fall to be vnkinde Yet heauenly loue that doth the life reioyce Will make thee happie in a heauenly choyce If thou canst get thee wealth then doe not want But chiefely take good heed thou want not grace For gratious spirits in the world are skant And conscience liues in such a pittious case That faith on earth can hardly shewe her face And simple loue alas without some liuing Is like a present hardly worth the giuing And therefore leauing each one to their lot To like to loue and liue as likes them best To keepe their choyce or if it like them not When as they feele their spirits most opprest To vse their best discretion for their Rest I wish good husbands all to haue good wiues And all good louing wenches all good liues So hoping that the best will be content To know the worst must haue a time to mend Who haue bin ill may haue a good intent To bring bad humours to a better end Vnto your kindnesse kindly I commend Pasquils mad humour to describe a woman Fit to be lou'd of all or lik't of no man FINIS ⧠PASQVILS DESCRIPTION OF HIS Mistresse with a passion vpon the Ielousie of her match MY sweete Muse beholde a creature Of the world the sweetest feature Garnisht with those inward graces That adorne the fairest faces Which described in their essence Shew the earth a heauenly presence Haires no haires but golden wires Binding life in loues desires Eyes no eyes but starry glories Reasons states and honours stories Cheekes enchaining hearts beholding Lippes maintaining loues vnfolding Necke no necke but alablaster Natures mistresse Reasons master Breasts not breasts but beauties mouÌ„tains Of Mineâ—uas milke the fountaines Armes embracing loues deseruing Hands vnlacing loues preseruing Belly no but Venus bedding All too faire for Vulcans wedding Nauell not but Natures signet All the graces grau'n within it For the secret sweete
of reason Careful thoughts must speak no treason Thighes no thighes but beauties pillers Made for beauties best welwillers Knees not knees but Pallaes bending While Diana was commending Legs no legs but honours passage To the life of louers message Feete no feete but fauours staying Where no fauours are decaying Toes not toes but each a token Of more trueth then may be spoken That in all for much perfection Natures draught by loues direction This faire creature wonder-woman Scene to few and knowne to no man By those heauenly powers created That haue hellish humours hated While the Angels all were sleeping Fell to cursed creatures keeping Cursed creatures carnall diuels Hates of good and grounds of euils Wronging vertue killing reason Vowing trueth but working treason These oh these by loues illusion Wrought the course of my confusion Hatefull course in heart concealed But by hell to be reuealed In wich briefely is contained Neuer eased euer pained In which cruell cares termented Liues my comfort discontented Pittie weepes to see this wonder Loue and vertue liue asunder Honour sigheth without ceasing To beholde this hell increasing And the heart of loue is dying While he heares his darling crying Oh how is the soule agrieued Where no sorrowes are relieued And where crosses are so many Nor the comforts can be any Thinke if this be hell mistaken So of heauenly hopes forsaken But oh wicked wretched freâ—nzy That hast so corrupted fancy Helplesse hopelesse matchlesse shamelesse Dost thou thinke thou shalt be namelesse No the world shall knowe thine euill Ielouzie thou art the diuell This is that same inward treason That hath so confounded reason This is that same hellish humour Fils the world so full of rumour This is it that kils the louer That he neuer can recouer This is that same hellish fiende That was neuer vertues friend This is that same foolish blindnesse That confoundeth louers kindnesse This is it by proofe of many Neuer yet did good to any Then on thee and thy possessor Wilfull follies plaine professor That hast so my mistresse wronged And her helplesse woes prolonged Fall the curse of loues confusion By the death of loues illusion A description of Ielousie VVIthin the hart ther breeds a kind of thought Begotten as some gesse it by the eye But I doe rather thinke it to be wrought By a blinde sight that euer lookes awry And only feedes but of a Lunacy Which being gotten kindly in the head Workes a weake wit to bring a foole to bed It thinks it knowes not what nor how nor why But once perswaded t will not beremooued Cares for no trueth belieueth euery lye That hath apparance though it be not prooued Loues but in feare and feares it is not loued Frets chafes and grieues and neuer is at rest Because the worst doth euer doubt the best It workes and watches pries and peeres about Takes counsell staies yet goes on with intent Bringes in one humour puts another out And findes out nothing but all discontent And keepes the spirit still so passion-rent That in the world if that there be a hell Aske but in loue what ielousie can tell It would haue more then all it doth possesse And turnes content vnto a crosse conceite It brings discretion but into distresse Where feare doth onely but on folly waite While doubts do only dwell vpon deceite It doth abuse the wit distract the minde And knows not what to seeke nor how to finde It doth amaze the eye enchaunt the eare And wholie kils the stomackes appetite With spightfull thoughts it doth the spirit teare And keepes poore patience in a pitious plight While darke suspicion makes the day a night It is in summe a very hellish fiende That neuer yet was loue nor beauties friend It is a plague that Nature was ordained In beauties eie to wounde the heart of loue An inward poyson that hath throughly vain'd The haplesse wit that workes for wils behoue To make a Iacke Dawe of a turtle Doue Where best contentmeÌ„ts are too much abused While wilfull follies can not be excused It is the death of ioy twixt man and wife Where loue is too much loaden with mistrust It makes the maide to feare the married life Least firmest faith should fall to be vniust It beats the braine and grindes the wit to dust It makes the wise a foole the wealthie poore And her that wold kepe house to ope the dore Oh t is a childe of an vnhappie choyce Nurst by the milke of an ilfauour'd beast Which neuer suffers reason to reioyce But keepes the heart within an Hornets neast Which nought but venome bring into the breast It is in summe a kinde of secret ill That neuer yet did good nor euer will How it hath handled many a haplesse heart Let them describe it that do better knowe it But how it workes the sowles continuall smart He that is able let him truely showe it Or seeke by all meanes how he may forgoe it But for my selfe I say no more but this God blesse me from it and my misteris And such as will be madde let them be so Who cannot iudge of good conceiue it ill He that will take a finger for a toe Must either blame his wit or else his will That knowes his folly and will be so still Who will be ledde but onely by illusion Must be content to fall vpon confusion And thus my friend what so thou be that readest These fewe inuectiue lines of Iealousie Hoping that thou thy fancie better feedest Then with the aspen leaues of Lunacy Whose iuyce giues nothing but inconstancie I wish thy loue more kindly to be borne Or for thy iealous head a huge great horne What art thou angry are thy ribbes so gaid They cannot bide the chinking of a spurre Be still a while and be not so appald A thousand gownes are surd with Cony furre Euery one 's not dead that hath the Murre Loueâ—s may looke and laugh and happ'ly like But many a one may frowne that wil not strike Because her eye is faire shall thine be fowle Because that she is wise wilt thou be fond Because that thee doth smile must thou needs scoule Because that she is free wilt thou be bod Oh make not to a puddle of a pond Be pleâ—sd to thinke of euery thing the best Fâ—r Ielousie is but an idle iest Mistrust doth argue but a misconceit Suspiâ—ion sâ—â—ewhat in thy selfe amisse Doubt but a dreaming only on deceite Feare but a curse where neuer fell a blisse Tush smile and laugh emâ—â—ace and coll kisse And thou shalt liue as merry as a cricket While Iealousie shall stand without the wicket FINIS
PASQVILS Mistresse Or THE WORTHIE AND vnworthie woman VVith his description and passion of that Furie Iealousie ¶ Imprinted at London for Thomas Fisher and are to be soulde at his shoppe at the Signe of the White Hart in Fleetestreete 1600. ⧠THE BEST MERIriest wit in true honest kindnesse not king Humfrey but Humfrey King God and a good wife make a happie man in this world LVstie Humfrey honest wagge hearing of late of your determination to enter into the honourable course of kindnesse which after many mad Roundes will be the best daunce to continue with hopeing that you are olde enough to knowe what is good for your selfe and yet not so wilful in conceipt but you will take aduisement of your good friends for the better instruction of your iudgement in this loues lawe-case I haue thought good to set you downe such notes worthy memory as may giue you great light in the best way to your comfort where finding the true description of the worthy and vnworthy woman you may by gods helpe make a choyce worth the chusing Pasquill sent them to me and I to you hoping that if they be not as they should be you will blame him and not me So wishing thine honest heart as good fortune as my selfe and as much better as shall please God if you light well to be glad but not proude of it if otherwise to be as patient as your poore friendes hoping that you wil finde a iewell worth the keeping and drosse but worth the discarding I cōmit my booke to your kinde reading my loue to your like keeping and so rest Your affectionate friende Salohcin Treboun ⧠To the Reader PASQVILL as you haue heard hauing had many madde humours in his heade could neuer be at quiet in his heart till he had eased his minde of his melācholy now of late leauing boyes play to goe to coytes to put toyes out of his heade fell to studie of loue which finding out a Mistresse for his humour put his wits to many good seruices scarce worthie the reciting But in briefe he was so graueled in the admiration of her perfections that he look't so farre into her minde as made him haue minde almost of nothing else till finding the varietie of her inclination hee grewe out of loue with loue his mistresse was but a dreame and women were strange creatures if they were as they should be they were to hard to come by if as too many be they were better lost than founde And in this quandarie of quimeddledy how now according to the olde country Rounde Take the best and leaue the worst and breake none of the pale hee hath written his minde of all that came to his thought hoping the best will be quiet and the rest wil mende And so wishing euery man to take his fortune as patiently as hee may and to speake as well of him as he list he rests after his olde fashion Pasquill ⧠Pasquill in general to women YEE that are worthie of honour I willingly giue it yee yee that deserue ill I will pray for yee that God wil amend yee but yee that are gratious be not proud least yee fallere yee be aware and yee that are too blame be not desperate God is mercifull among yee all let none be more pieuish than another to take ill to her selfe What is good take it yee that deserue it what is ill I bequeath it to none at all for I knowe not her whome particularly I will touch with imperfections Some kinde of shadowes I dreamed of that were like women which when I awooke I found nothing such And therfore hoping all women will deserue some good thought or other I will honour the best pray for the worst and so rest Pasquill ⧠PASQVILS MISTRESSE NOt shee that braues a picture for a face Nor shee whose waste is little as a wand Nor shee whose eye can glance it with a grace Nor shee that hath a Spider fingred hand Nor shee that doth vpon her Tiptoes stand Nor shee that is with beauties drosse bedight Is she of whom my Muse doth meane to write For Beautie fadeth like a Morning flower And sicknesse windes the bodie soone awry And Pride is but the shadowe of a power Nor in a finger doth all fairenesse lie For when foote hand head heart and al must die And death hath made a Carcasse of a Creature What good do then the Ornaments of Nature No no there is an other kinde of thing Which in the heart doth grow as some do gesse That secretly doth through the spirit spring And heauenly powers especially doe blesse Which as it growes by measure more or lesse Doth beautifie the bodie where it growes As wit and reason all in wonder showes Which some do call the Quintessence of Nature Other set downe for reasons gouernment And some do call the forme of honours feature And other some the spirits Instrument That giues each limme sense their ornament But all and some agree on this I finde It is the wonder in a womans minde It is the Minde that giues the Maiestie The purest beautie is within the Minde It is the Minde that makes the dignitie It is the Minde that makes the Nature kinde And keepes the eye that neuer can be blinde It is the Minde that guids both heart head For kill the Minde the body is but dead And this same mind that monarcheth the thought Wherein it doth by inspiration dwell By whom the ground of euery grace is sought The eye to see eare heare the tongue to tell How euery sense may in it selfe excell This minde I say the maiestie of Nature Is onely it that makes the perfect Creature This minde the gift of the Supernall grace Descending from the life of Mercies loue Which in true musique skorns to touch the Base But in the height of honours best behooue Doth the true consort of contentments prooue This minde is it that in true happinesse Doth onely make a womans worthinesse For let her be as faire as Curds and Creame Yet if her minde be made of Milke and Cheese Her water is but like a common streame That in a puddle doth her honour leese A Waspish minde is not for hony Bees While the true minde where honour hath her height Can not descend into a base conceit And let her be a bagge of golde for wealth Yet if withall she beare a begger minde The gratious eye that sees the spirits health Knowes that the heart that is to hell enclinde In vertues heauen can neuer honour finde While the true minde where vertue hath her place Makes gold but drosse to purchase honors grace And let her be a very Ape for wit Yet if she be enclinde to Monkies toyes Vertue that doth the heart to honour fit Findes it too full of follies fowle annoyes To seeke the Iewell of true Graces ioyes While wisdome showes that in the soule doth sit There is no honour in an Apishe
a Carde of ten And speake no word but truely and indeede And seeme as though she could abide no men And had no ioy but holy bookes to reede Looke like a flower and be a wicked weede And for her gaine can play the Parasite She were a fit wife for an Hypocrite If she be neither honest faire nor kinde Well fac't wel bodied handed legg'd nor footed Good hart good thought good nature nor good minde But in the poyson of all rancour rooted And in the mire vp to the knees be booted Such a strāge monster fit to match with no mā I thinke t were pittie should be cald a woman But if shee can vse cunning words of Art To make her copper seeme good currant coyne And weepe sweare her loue is from the heart And with an humour iumpe and Issue ioyne And finely so can giue a foole the foine Though she her matters carry nere so cleane She shall be but a conny-catching queane But if she be a foole that can not speake But only blush and looke the tother way And will alone into a corner sneake Because alas she knowes not what to say But loues with children with fooles to play Such a sweete Parnell if a man were mad Might thinke himselfe halfe happie if he had But if she can but picke her fingers ends And pare her nailes and wash wipe her hands Runne to the Faire be merry with her friends And tell her mother how the market stands And picke the sheaues who euer make the bands Such an odde Mawkin were a mistresse fit To make a rich man with the begger sit But if she can both seawe and knit and spinne Seawe slight knit false and spin a rau'led threede And cunningly can play Ioane Siluer pinne With idle humours how a foole to feede If such a lesson she can kindly reede She and a Tinker in a market towne Would helpe to cosen many a silly clowne But if she can be quiet and content Speake faire make curtsie feare for to offend And looke as sober as a Iacke of Lent What is amisse be carefull to amend And bring distempers to a quiet end Oh such a wench would be a member fit To cosen twenty thousand with her wit But if she haue no patience in her passions No settled humour but all in selfe wil No pleasing fansie but in proouing fashions Nor for her meale goe further than the Mill And cares not whether it be good or ill Such a vile baggage were a purgatory To sinke a very soule in misery She that is giuen but to all wickednesse And loues to liue but all in wantonnesse And will be led but all by wilfulnesse And spend her yeares but all in wretchednesse Not caring how to ende in wofulnesse Such a fowle fiend is fit in filthinesse To match the diuell in his hellishnesse She that can looke a head and stroake a beard And picke a moath and finely set a ruffe And make her selfe of euery flie afeard And seeme to take all idle wordes in snuffe And weare no cloath but of the purest stuffe And make her Coll a Nightcap for the cough God helpe the man for she is well enough She that can haue her breakefast in her bed And sit at dinner like a maiden Bride And all the morning learne to dresse her head And after dinner how her eye to guide To shewe her selfe to be the childe of pride God in his mercy may do much to saue her But what a case were he in that should haue her She that will ride but on an ambling Nagge And trauell not aboue a mile an howre Will not be pleased but with the golden bagge And haue her coyne come raining like a showre And giue an Angell for a Gilliflowre That is a wench that if she had a spring Would make a begger that were halfe a King She that can walke the by-lanes and the Allies And make close matches twixt yōg lads wēches And from the mountaines can suruey the vallies And lay such Ambuscadoes in her trenches That she will make her profit of her benches Such an odde whiffler swears that shewil thriue As long as she can finde one man aliue But if she will be cosened with faire speech And think all golde that makes a glistring show And doth mistake a blacke thorne for a Beech Because she doth no better timber knowe If heedelesse will doe feele a helpelesse woe What saies the wag that got the wēch with child Had she beene wise she had not beene beguilde She that can neither boyle nor bake nor brue Nor rarely well conceited for her wit Nor scarcely honest nor was euer true But euery way an idle headed Tit Yet thinkes her selfe for a good husband fit Oh how accursed was that creature borne That tooke that wench to dub him with a horn But hoping there is no such kinde of woman But t was a dreame of some mistaken creatures That women will be curst nor false to no man But of good humours of better Natures And haue their fancies fitting to their features I will describe those gratious womens liues That make good husbāds happy in their wiues She that is faire and wise curteous and kinde Patient to beare the crosses of conceite Of Nature milde and of an humble minde Constant in loue and free from all deceit And will the time of her content awaite Such a true virgine to become a wise Will make a man to knowe a happie life She that is carefull ouer that she hath Painfull in that she wisely vndertaketh And will not tread out of discretions path But all fond idle thriftlesse waies forsaketh That to the least of her dishonour maketh She that is knowne to haue this kinde of cariage Will make a man halfe happie in her mariage She that doth loue to keepe within her house And to the doore can haue a watchfull eye She in her heade that will not leaue a louse Nor in her heart a thought to goe awry From the true course of vertues constancy And keeps the honor of her husbāds bedding Doth make a man twise happy in her wedding She that doth goe to Church but for deuotion And feareth God and loues his word in deede And in her heart will harbour no ill motion That may her fancie with corruption feede And in her garden will abide no weede She to that man that on her vertue staies Giues a prolonging of his happie daies She that forbeares to talke with euery Tit And will not bend her eare to euery tale And will employ the spirit of her wit In keeping passions in true patience pale And for a Nut will not mistake a shale But shun all sly conceits that may beset her Wil make his life thrice happy that can get her She that can truely iudge twixt good and ill And paints her face but with a Maiden blush And to the best doth euer bend her will And cramp all thoughts that