Conceitedly dress her, and be assign'd
By you fit place for every flower and jewel, Make her for love fit fuel
As gay as Flora, and as rich as Inde; So may she fair and rich, in nothing lame, To day put on perfection, and a woman's name.
And you, frolic patricians,
Sons of those senators, wealth's deep oceans,
Ye painted courtiers, barrels of others' wits, Ye countrymen, who but your beasts love none, Ye of those fellowships, whereof he 's one,
Of study and play made strange hermaphrodits, Here shine; this bridegroom to the temple bring, Lo, in yon path which store of strow'd flow'rs graceth, The sober virgin paceth;
Except my sight fail, 't is no other thing. Weep not, nor blush, here is no grief nor shame, To day put a perfection, and a woman's name.
Thy two-leav'd gates, fair temple, unfold, And these two in thy sacred bosom hold,
Till, mystically join'd, but one they be; Then may thy lean and hunger-starved womb Long time expect their bodies, and their tomb, Long after their own parents fatten thee. All elder claims, and all cold barrenness, All yielding to new loves be far for ever, Which might these two dissever,
Always all th' other may each one possess; For the best bride, best worthy of praise and fame, To day put on perfection, and a woman's name.
Winter days bring much delight,
Not for themselves, but for they soon bring night; Other sweets wait thee than these diverse meats, Other disports than dancing jollities, Other love tricks than glancing with the eyes,
But that the Sun still in our half sphere sweats; He flies in winter, but he now stands still, Yet shadows turn; noon point he hath attain'd, His steeds will be restrain'd,
But gallop lively down the western hill; Thou shalt, when he hath run the Heav'ns' half frame, To night put on perfection, and a woman's name.
The amorous evening star is rose,
Why then should not our amorous star enclose Herself in her wish'd bed? release your strings, Musicians, and dancers, take some truce With these your pleasing labours, for great use
As much weariness as perfection brings. You, and not only you, but all toil'd beast Rest duly; at night all their toils are dispens'd; But in their beds commenc'd
Are other labours, and more dainty feasts. She goes a maid, who, lest she turn the same, To night puts on perfection, and a woman's name,
Thy virgin's girdle now untie,
And in thy nuptial bed (Love's altar) lie
A pleasing sacrifice; now dispossess
Thee of these chains and robes, which were put on T' adorn the day, not thee; for thou alone, Like virtue and truth, art best in nakedness: This bed is only to virginity
A grave, but to a better state a cradle ; Till now thon wast but able
To be what now thou art; then that by thee No more be said, "I may be," but " I am," To night put on perfection, and a woman's name.
Ev'n like a faithful man, content, That this life for a better should be spent ;
So she a mother's rich style doth prefer, And at the bridegroom's wish'd approach doth lie, Like an appointed lamb, when tenderly
The priest comes on his knees t' embowel her. Now sleep or watch with more joy; and, O light Of Heav'n, to morrow rise thou hot and early, This sun will love so dearly
Her rest, that long, long we shall want her sight. Wonders are wrought; for she, which had no name, To night puts on perfection, and a woman's name.
AWAY, thou changeling motley humourist. Leave me, and in this standing wooden chest, Consorted with these few books, let me lie In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I die: Here are God's conduits, grave divines; and here Is Nature's secretary, the philosopher; And wily statesmen, which teach how to tie The sinews of a city's mystic body; Here gathering chroniclers, and by them stand Giddy fantastic poets of each land. Shall I leave all this constant company, First swear by thy best love here, in earnest, And follow headlong wild uncertain thee? (If thou, which lov'st all, canst love any best) Thou wilt not leave me in the middle street, Though some more spruce companion thou dost Not though a captain do come in thy way [meet; Bright parcel gilt, with forty dead men's pay; Not though a brisk perfum'd pert courtier Deign with a nod thy courtesy to answer; Great train of blue-coats, twelve or fourteen strong, Nor come a velvet justice with a long Wilt thou grin or fawn on him, or prepare A speech to court his beauteous son and heir? For better or worse take me, or leave me: To take and leave me is adultery. Oh! monstrous, superstitious puritan Of refin'd manners, yet ceremonial man, That, when thou meet'st one, with inquiring eyes Dost search, and, like a needy broker, prize The silk and gold he wears, and to that race, So high or low, dost raise thy formal hat; That wilt consort none, till thou have known What lands he hath in hope, or of his own; As though all thy companions should make thee Jointures, and marry thy dear company. Why should'st thou (that dost not only approve, But in rank itchy lust, desire and love, The nakedness and barrenness t' enjoy
Of thy plump muddy whore, or prostitute boy;) Hate Virtue, though she naked be and bare? At birth and death our bodies naked are; And, till our souls be unapparelled
Of bodies, they from bliss are banished: Man's first bless'd state was naked; when by sin He lost that, he was cloth'd but in beast's skin, And in this coarse attire, which I now wear, With God and with the Muses I confer.
Sooner may one guess, who shall bear away The infantry of London hence to India; And sooner may a gulling weather-spy, By drawing forth Heav'n's scheme, tell certainly What fashion'd hats, or ruffs, or suits, next year Our giddy-headed antic youth will wear, Than thou, when thou depart'st from me, can show
Whither, why, when, or with whom, thou would'st go. But how shall I be pardon'd my offence, That thus have sinn'd against my conscience? Now we are in the street; he first of all, Improvidently proud, creeps to the wall; And so imprison'd, and hemm'd in by me, Sells for a little state his liberty;
Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet Every fine silken painted fool we meet, He them to him with amorous smiles allures, And grins, smacks, shrugs, and such an itch en- dures,
As 'prentices or school-boys, which do know Of some gay sport abroad, yet dare not go. And as fiddlers stoop lowest at highest sound,
So to the most brave stoops he nigh'st the ground. But to a grave man he doth move no more Than the wise politic horse would heretofore, Or thou, O elephant, or ape, wilt do, When any names the king of Spain to you.
SIR, though (I thank God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this town, yet there's one state In all ill things so excellently best,
That hate towards them breeds pity towards the rest. Though poetry indeed be such a sin,
As I think that brings dearth and Spaniards in: Though like the pestilence and old fashion'd love, Ridlingly it catch men, and doth remove Never, till it be starv'd out, yet their state Is poor, disarm'd, like papists, not worth hate: One (like a wretch, which at bar judg'd as dead, Yet prompts him, which stands next, and cannot And saves his life) gives idiot actors means, [read, (Starving himself) to live by 's labour'd scenes. As in some organs puppets dance above And bellows pant below, which them do move. One would move love by rhymes; but witchcraft's charms,
Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms. Rams and slings now are silly battery,
Pistolets are the best artillery.
And they who write to lords, rewards to get, Are they not like singers at doors for meat? And they who write, because all write, have still Th' excuse for writing, and for writing ill. But he is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw Others wit 's fruits, and in his ravenous maw Rankly digested, doth those things out-spew, As his own things; and they 're his own, 't is true, For if one eat my meat, though it be known The meat was mine, th' excrement is his own. But these do me no harm, nor they which use ******* and out-usure Jews,
T' out-drink the sea, t' out-swear the litany,
Now leaps he upright, jogs me, and cries, "Do you Who with sin's all kinds as familiar be
That dances so divinely."—" Oh,” said I, "Stand still, must you dance here for company?" He droop'd; we went, till one (which did excel Th' Indians in drinking his tobacco well) Met us they talk'd; I whisper'd, "Let us go, 'T may be you smell him not, truly I do." He hears not me, but on the other side A many-colour'd peacock having spy'd, Leaves him and me; I for my lost sheep stay; He follows, overtakes, goes on the way, Saying, "Him, whom I last left, all repute For his device, in handsoming a suit,
To judge of lace, pink, panes, print, cut, and plait,
Of all the court to have the best conceit." "Our dull comedians want him, let him go; But oh! God strengthen thee, why stoop'st thou so?" Why, he hath travail'd long; no, but to me Which understood none, he doth seem to be Perfect French and Italian." I reply'd, "So is the pox." He answer'd not, but spy'd More men of sort, of parts, and qualities; At last his love he in a window spies, And like light dew exhal'd he flings from me Violently ravish'd to his lechery.
As confessors, and for whose sinful sake Schoolmen new tenements in Hell must make : Whose strange sins canonists could hardly tell In which commandment's large receit they dwell. But these punish themselves. The insolence Of Coscus, only, breeds my just offence, Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches pox, And plodding on must make a calf an ox) Hath made a lawyer; which, alas! of late But scarce a poet; jollier of this state, Than are new benefic'd ministers, he throws Like nets or lime-twigs, wheresoe'er he goes, His title of barrister, on every wench, And woos in language of the pleas and bench. A motion, lady: speak, Coscus. "I have been In love e'er since tricesimo of the queen. Continual claims I 've made, injunctions got To stay my rival's suit, that he should not Proceed; spare me, in Hillary term I went ; You said, if I return'd next 'size in Lent, I should be in remitter of your grace; In th' interim my letters should take place Of affidavits." Words, words, which would tear The tender labyrinth of a maid's soft ear More, more than ten Sclavonians scolding, more Than when winds in our ruin'd abbies roar. When sick with poetry, and possess'd with Muse Thou wast and mad, I hop'd; but men, which choose Law practice for mere gain, bold souls repute Worse than imbrothel'd strumpets prostitute. Now like an owl-like watchman he must walk His hand still at a bill, now he must talk
Idly, like prisoners, which whole months will swear, | To leader's rage, to storms, to shot, to dearth? That only suretyship hath brought them there, And to every suitor lie in every thing, Like a king's favourite, or like a king; Like a wedge in a block, wring to the bar, Bearing like asses, and, more shameless far Than carted whores, lie to the grave judge: for Bastardy abounds not in kings' titles, nor Simony and sodomy in church-men's lives, As these things do in him; by these he thrives. Shortly (as th' sea) he 'Il compass all the land: From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover Strand, And spying heirs melting with luxury, Satan will not joy at their sins, as he. For (as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen-stuff, And barrelling the droppings, and the snuff Of wasting candles, which in thirty year, Relicly kept, perchance buys wedding cheer) Piecemeal he gets lands, and spends as much time Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime. In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws Assurance; big, as gloss'd civil laws,
So huge, that men (in our time's forwardness) Are fathers of the church for writing less. These he writes not; nor for these written pays, Therefore spares no length, (as in those first days, When Luther was profess'd, he did desire Short pater nosters, saying as a friar
Each day his beads, but having left those laws, Adds to Christ's prayer the power and glory clause:) But when he sells or changes land, h' impairs His writings, and, unwatch'd, leaves out ses heires, And slily, as any commenter goes by Hard words or sense; or in divinity
As controverters in vouch'd texts leave out [doubt. Shrewd words, which might against them clear the Where are those spread woods, which cloth'd here- tofore
Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within door. Where the old landlord's troops and alms? In halls Carthusian fasts and fulsome Bacchanals
Dar'st thou dive seas, and dungeons of the earth? Hast thou courageous fire to thaw the ice of frozen north discoveries, and thrice Colder than salamanders? like divine Children in th' oven, fires of Spain, and the line, Whose countries limbecs to our bodies be, Canst thou for gain bear? and must every he Which cries not, "Goddess," to thy mistress, draw, Or eat the poisonous words? courage of straw! O desperate coward, wilt thou seem bold, and To thy foes and his (who made thee to stand Centinel in this world's garrison) thus yield, And for forbid wars leave th' appointed field? Know thy foes: the foul devil (he, whom thou Striv'st to please) for hate, not love, would allow The fain his whole realm to be quit; and as The world's all parts wither away and pass, So the world's self, thy other lov'd foe, is In her decrepit wane, and thou loving this Dost love a withered and worn strumpet; last, Flesh (itself's death) and joys, which flesh can taste, Thou lov'st; and thy fair goodly soul,, which doth Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou dost lothe. Seek true religion: O where? Mirreus, Thinking her unhous'd here, and fled from us, Seeks her at Rome, there, because he doth know That she was there a thousand years ago: He loves the rags so, as we here obey The state-cloth, where the prince sat yesterday. Grants to such brave loves will not be enthrall'd, But loves her only, who at Geneva is call'd Religion, plain, simple, sullen, young, Contemptuous yet unhandsome: as among Lecherous humours, there is one that judges No wenches wholsome, but course country drudges. Grajus stays still at home here, and because Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws Still new like fashions, bid him think that she Which dwells with us, is only perfect; he Embraceth her, whom his godfathers will
Equally I hate. Mean's bless'd. In rich mens homes Tender to him, being tender; as wards still I bid kill some beasts, but no hecatombs; None starve, none surfeit so. But, (oh!) w' allow Good works as good, but out of fashion now, Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws Within the vast reach of th' huge statute laws.
KIND pity checks my spleen; brave scorn forbids Those tears to issue, which swell my eye-lids. I must not laugh, nor weep sins, but be wise; Can railing then cure these worn maladies? Is not our mistress, fair Religion, As worthy of our soul's devotion, As virtue was to the first blinded age? Are not Heaven's joys as valiant to assuage Lusts, as Earth's honour was to them? Alas! As we do them in means, shall they surpass Us in the end? Ard shall thy father's spirit Meet blind philosophers in Heav'n, whose merit Of strict life may b' imputed faith, and hear Thee, whom he taught so easy ways and near To follow, damn'd? Oh, if thou dar'st, fear this: This fear, great courage and high valour is. Dar'st thou aid mutinous Dutch? and dar'st thou lay Thee in ships' wooden sepulchres, a prey
Take such wives as their guardians offer, or Pay values. Careless Phrygias doth abhor All, because all cannot be good; as one, Knowing some women whores, dares marry none. Gracchus loves all as one, and thinks that so, As women do in divers countries go In divers habits, yet are still one kind; So doth, so is religion; and this blind-
Ness too much light breeds. But unmoved thou Of force must one, and forc'd but one allow, And the right; ask thy father which is she, Let him ask his. Though Truth and Falsehood be Near twins, yet Truth a little elder is.
Be busy to seek her; believe me this, He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best. T" adore, or scorn an image, or protest, May all be bad. Doubt wisely, in strange way To stand inquiring right, is not to stray; To sleep or run wrong, is. On a huge hill, Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he, that will Reach her, about must and about it go; And what the hill's suddenness resists, win so. Yet strive so, that before age, death's twilight, Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night. To will implies delay, therefore now do: Hard deeds the body's pains; hard knowledge to The mind's endeavours reach; and mysteries Are like the Sun, dazzling, yet plain t' ali eyes.
Keep the truth, which thou hast found; men do not In so ill case, that God bath with his hand [stand Sign'd kings blank-charters, to kill whom they hate, Nor are thy vicars, but hangmen, to fate. Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be ty'd To man's laws, by which she shall not be try'd At the last day? Or will it then boot thee To say a Philip or a Gregory,
A Harry or a Martin taught me this? Is not this excuse for mere contraries, Equally strong? cannot both sides say so? [know; That thou may'st rightly obey power, her bounds Those past her nature and name's chang'd; to be Then humble to her is idolatry.
As streams are, power is; those bless'd flowers, that dwell
At the rough stream's calm head, thrive and do well; But having left their roots, and themselves given To the stream's tyrannous rage, alas! are driven Through mills, rocks, and woods, and at last, almost Consum'd in going, in the sea are lost:
So perish souls, which more choose men's unjust Power, from God claim'd, than God himself to trust.
WEIL; I may now receive, and die. My sin Indeed is great, but yet I have been in A purgatory, such as fear'd Hell is A recreation, and scant map of this.
My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor yet hath been Poison'd with love to see, or to be seen;
I had no suit there, nor new suit to show, Yet went to court; but as Glare, which did go To mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse The hundred marks, which is the statute's curse, Before he scap'd; so 't pleas'd my destiny (Guilty of my sin of going) to think me As prone to all ill, and of good as forget- Ful, as proud, lustful, and as much in debt, As vain, as witless, and as false as they Which dwell in court, for once going that way Therefore I suffer'd this: towards me did run A thing more strange, than on Nile's slime the Sun E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came : A thing which would have pos'd Adam to name: Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies, Than Afric's monsters, Guiana's rarities, Stranger than strangers: one, who for a Dane In the Dane's massacre had sure been slain, If he had liv'd then; and without help dies, When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise; One, whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by; One, t' whom th' examining justice sure would cry, "Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are.' His clothes were strange, though coarse; and black though bare;
Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been Velvet, but 't was now (so much ground was seen) Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall See it plain rash awhile, then nought at all. The thing hath travell'd, and faith speaks all tongues, And only knoweth what t' all states belongs. Made of th' accents, and best phrase of all these, He speaks one language. If strange meats displease, Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste; But pedant's motley tongue, soldiers bombast, Mountebank's drug-tongue, nor the terms of law, Are strong enough preparatives to draw
Me to hear this, yet I must be content With his tongue, in his tongue call'd compliment: In which he can win widows, and pay scores, Make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores, Out-flatter favourites, or outlie either
Jovius or Surius, or both together.
He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, "God! How have I sinn'd, that thy wrath's furious rod, This fellow, chooseth me." He saith, "Sir, I love your judgment; whom do you prefer, For the best linguist?" and I sillily
Said, that I thought Calepine's Dictionary.
Nay, but of men, most sweet sir?" Beza then, Some Jesuits, and two reverend men
Of our two academies I nam'd; here He stopp'd me, and said: "Nay, your apostles were Good pretty linguists, so Panurgus was; Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass By travel;" then, as if he would have sold His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told, That I was fain to say, "If you had liv'd, sir, Time enough to have been interpreter
To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tow'r had stood." He adds, "If of court-life you knew the good, You would leave loneness." I said, "Not alone My loneness is; but Spartan's fashion,
To teach by painting drunkards, doth not last Now; Aretine's pictures have made few chaste; No more can princes' courts, though there be few Better pictures of vice, teach me virtue." ["O, sir, He, like to a high-stretch'd lute-string, squeak'd, 'T is sweet to talk of kings."-" At Westminster," Said I," the man that keeps the abbey tombs, And for his price doth, with whoever comes, Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk, From king to king, and all their kin can walk: Your ears shall bear nought but kings; your eyes Kings only; the way to it is King's Street." [meet He smack'd, and cry'd, "He 's base, mechanic
So 're all your English men in their discourse. Are not your Frenchmen neat?" "Mine, as you I have but one, sir, look, he follows me." "Certes they're neatly cloth'd. I of this mind am, Your only wearing is your grogaram." "Not so, sir, I have more."Under this pitch He would not fly; I chaf'd him: but as itch Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground Into an edge, hurts worse: so I, fool, found, Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness, He to another key his style doth dress : And asks, what news; I tell him of new plays, He takes my hand, and as a still which stays A semibrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly, As lothe to enrich me, so tells many a lie, More than ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stows, Of trivial household trash he knows; he knows When the queen frown'd or smil'd, and he knows what
A subtle statesman may gather of that; He knows who loves whom; and who by poison Hastes to an office's reversion;
He knows who 'hath sold his land, and now doth beg A licence old iron, boots, and shoes, and egg- Shells to transport; shortly boys shall not play At span-counter or blow point, but shall pay Toil to some courtier; and, wiser than all us, He knows, what lady is not painted. Thus He with home meats cloys me. I belch, spew, spit, Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet
He thrusts on more; and as he 'd undertook To say Gallo-Belgicus without book,
The fields they sold to buy them. Those hose are," cry the flatterers; and bring
Speaks of all states and deeds that have been since Them next week to the theatre to sell.
The Spaniards came to th' loss of Amyens. Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat, Ready to travail: so I sigh, and sweat To hear this macaron talk in vain; for yet, Either my honour or his own to fit,
He, like a privileg'd spy, whom nothing can Discredit, libels now 'gainst each great man. He names a price for every office paid; He saith, our wars thrive ill, because delay'd; That offices are entail'd, and that there are Perpetuities of them, lasting as far As the last day; and that great officers Do with the pirates share, and Dunkirkers. Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse he notes; Who loves whores, * * * * *
I, more amaz'd than Circe's prisoners, when They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then Becoming traitor, and methought I saw One of our giant statues ope his jaw To suck me in, for hearing him; I found That as burnt venomous leachers do grow sound By giving others their sores, I might grow Guilty, and he free: therefore I did show All signs of loathing; but since I am in, I must pay mine and my forefather's sin To the last farthing. Therefore to my power Toughly and stubbornly I bear this cross; but th' Of mercy now was come: he tries to bring [hour] Me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing, [lingly;" And says, "Sir, can you spare me?" I said, "Wil- "Nay, sir, can you spare me a crown?" Thank- Gave it, as ransom; but as fiddlers still, [fully I Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will Thrust one more jig upon you; so did he With his long complemental thanks vex me. But he is gone, thanks to his needy want, And the prerogative of my crown: scant His thanks were ended when I (which did see All the court fill'd with such strange things as he) Ran from thence with such, or more haste than one, Who fears more actions, doth haste from prison. At home in wholesome solitariness My piteous soul began the wretchedness Of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance Like his, who dreamt he saw Hell, did advance Itself o'er me: such men as he saw there I saw at court, and worse, and more. Becomes the guilty, not th' accuser. Shall I, none's slave, of high born or rais'd men Fear frowns? and, my mistress Truth, betray thee To th' huffing, braggart, puff'd nobility? No, no; thou, which since yesterday hast been Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen, O Sun, in all thy journey, vanity,
Such as swells the bladder of our court? I Think, he which made your waxen garden, and Transported it from Italy, to stand
With us at London, flouts our courtiers, for Just such gay painted things, which no sap nor Taste have in them, ours are; and natural Some of the stocks are, their fruits bastard all. 'T is ten o'clock and past; all whom the Meuse, Baloun, tennis, diet, or the stews
Had all the morning held, now the second Time made ready, that day in flocks are found In the presence, and I, (God pardon me) As fresh and sweet their apparels be, as be
Wants reach all states. Me seems they do as well At stage, as court: all are players; whoe'er looks (For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapside books, Shall find their wardrobe's inventory. Now The ladies come. As pirates, which do know That there came weak ships fraught with cochineal, The men board them; and praise (as they think) well [bought.
Their beauties; they the men's wits; both are Why good wits ne'er wear scarlet gowns, I thought This cause these men men's wits for speeches buy, And women buy all reds, which scarlets dye. He call'd her beauty lime-twigs, her hair net: She fears her drugs ill laid, her hair loose set. Would n't Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine From hat to shoe, himself at door refine, As if the presence were a Moschite; and lift His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to shrift, Making them confess not only mortal Great stains and holes in them, but venial Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate: And then by Durer's rules survey the state Of his each limb, and with strings the odds tries Of his neck to his leg, and waste to thighs. So in immaculate clothes and symmetry Perfect as circles, with such nicety, As a young preacher at his first time goes To preach, he enters; and a lady, which owes Him not so much as good will, he arrests, And unto her protests, protests, protests; So much as at Rome would serve to 've thrown Ten cardinals into the Inquisition; And whispers by Jesu so oft, that a Pursuivant would have ravish'd him away, For saying our lady's psalter. But 't is fit That they each other plague, they merit it. But here comes Glorious, that will plague them both, Who in the other extreme only doth Call a rough carelessness good fashion; Whose cloak his spurs tear, or whom he spits on, He cares not, he. His ill words do no harm To him, he rushes in, as if, Arm, Arm, He meant to cry; and though his face be as ill As theirs, which in old hangings whip Christ, still He strives to look worse, he keeps all in awe; Jests like a licens'd fool, commands like law. Tir'd now I leave this place, and but pleas'd so, As men from jails to execution go,
Go through the great chamber (why is it hung With the seven deadly sins?) being among Those Askaparts, men big enough to throw Charing-cross for a bar, men that do know No token of worth, but queen's man, and fine Living, barrels of beef, and flaggons of wine. I shook like a spy'd spy. Preachers, which are Seas of wit and arts, you can, then dare Drown the sins of this place, for, for me, Which am but a scant brook, it enough shall be To wash the stains away: although I yet (With Machabee, modesty) the known merit Of my work lessen: yet some wise men shall, I hope, esteem my wits eanonical.
THOU shalt not laugh in this leaf, Muse, nor they, Whom any pity warms. He which did lay
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