« EelmineJätka »
Adjust their cloaths, and to confession draw
Thofe venial sins, an atom, or a straw;
But oh! what terrors must distract the soul
Convicted of that mortal crime, a hole;
Or should one pound of powder lefs bespread
Those monkey tails that wag behind their head,
Thus finish'd and corrected to a hair,
They march to prate their hour before the Fair.
So first to preach a white-glov'd Chaplain goes
With band of lily, and with cheek of Rose,
Sweeter than Sharon, in immac late trim,
Neatness itself impertinent in him.
Let but the Ladies smile and they are bleft:
Prodigious! how the things protest, protest :
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 timb, and with strings the odds tries
Of his neck to his leg, and waist 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 owos
Him not so much as good will, he arrests,
And unto her protests, protests, protests,
So much as at Rome would serve to have throwd
Ten Cardinals into the Inquisition;
Peace fools, or Gonfon will for Papists seize you,
If once he catch you at your Jefu! Jesu!
Nature made every Fop to plague his brother,
Just as one Beauty mortifies another.
But here's the Captain that will plague them both,
Whose air cries Arm! whose very look's an oath :
The Captain's honest, Sirs, and that's enough,
Tho' his soul's bullet, and his body buff.
He spits fore-right; his haughty chest before,
Like batt'ring rams, beats open every door ;
And with a face as red, and as awry,
As Herod's hang-dogs in old Tapestry,
Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curse,
Has yet a strange ambition to look worse;
And whispers by Jefu fo oft, that a
Perfuevant would have ravish'd him away
For saying our Lady's Pfalter. But 'tis 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. 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 worfe; he keeps all in awe;
Jests like a licers'd fool, commands like law..
Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe,
Jests like a licenc'd fool, commands like law.
Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it so
As men from Jails to execution go;
For hung with deadly sins I see the wall,
And lin'd with Giants deadlier tban them all:
Each man an * Alkapart, of strength to toss
For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross.
Scar'd at the grizly forms, I sweat, I fly,
And shake all o'er, like a discover'd spy.
Courts are too much for wits fo weak as mine:
Charge them with Heaven's Artillery, bold Divine !
From such alone the Great rebukes endure,
Whose Satire's facred, and whose rage secure:
Tir’d, now I leave this place, and but pleas'd fo As men from goals to execution go, Go through the great chamber (why is it hung With the seven deadly sins?) being among Those Afkaparts, men big enough to throw Charing Cross for a bar, men that do know No token of worth, but Queens man, and fine Living; barrels of beef, faggons of wine. 1 look like a spied Spie-- Preachers which are Seas of Wit and Arts, you can, then dare, Drown the sins of this place, but as for me Which am but a scant brook, enough shall be 'To walh the stains away: although I yet (With Maccabees modesty) the known merit
A Giant famous in divers Romances.
'Tis mine to wash a few light stains, but theirs
To deluge sin, and drown a Court in tears.
Howe'er what's now Apocrypha, my Wit,
In time to come, may pass for Holy Writ.
Of my work lessen, yet fome wise men shall, I hope, esteem my Writs Canonical.