I cannot show in strange proportion,
Changing my hue like a cameleon;
But you all-canning[347] wits, hold water out,
Ye vizarded-bifronted-Janian rout.
Tell me, brown Ruscus, hast thou Gyges’ ring,
That thou presumest as if thou wert unseen?
If not, why in thy wits half capreal
Lett’st thou a superscribèd letter fall?
And from thyself unto thyself dost send,
And in the same thyself thyself commend? 10
For shame! leave running to some satrapas,
Leave glavering[348] on him in the peopled press;
Holding him on as he through Paul’s doth walk,
With nods and legs[349] and odd superfluous talk;
Making men think thee gracious in his sight,
When he esteems thee but a parasite.
For shame! unmask; leave for to cloke intent,
And show thou art vain-glorious, impudent.
Come, Briscus, by the soul of compliment,
I’ll not endure that with thine instrument 20
(Thy gambo-viol placed betwixt thy thighs,
Wherein the best part of thy courtship lies)
Thou entertain the time, thy mistress by.
Come, now let’s hear thy mounting Mercury.
What! mum? Give him his fiddle once again,
Or he’s more mute than a Pythagoran.
But oh! the absolute Castilio,[350]—
He that can all the points of courtship show;
He that can trot a courser, break a rush,
And arm’d in proof, dare dure a straw’s strong push; 30
He, who on his glorious scutcheon
Can quaintly show wit’s new invention,
Advancing forth some thirsty Tantalus,
Or else the vulture on Prometheus,
With some short motto of a dozen lines;
He that can purpose it in dainty rhymes,
Can set his face, and with his eye can speak,
Can dally with his mistress’ dangling feak,[351]
And wish that he were it, to kiss her eye
And flare about her beauty’s deity:— 40
Tut! he is famous for his revelling,
For fine set speeches, and for sonnetting;
He scorns the viol and the scraping stick,
And yet’s but broker of another’s wit.
Certes, if all things were well known and view’d,
He doth but champ that which another chew’d.
Come, come, Castilion, skim thy posset curd,
Show thy queer substance, worthless, most absurd.
Take ceremonious compliment from thee!
Alas! I see Castilio’s beggary. 50
O if Democritus were now alive,
How he would laugh to see this devil thrive!
And by an holy semblance blear men’s eyes,
When he intends some damnèd villanies.
Ixion makes fair weather unto Jove,
That he might make foul work with his fair love;
And is right sober in his outward semblance,
Demure, and modest in his countenance;
Applies himself to great Saturnus’ son,
Till Saturn’s daughter yields his motion. 60
Night-shining Phœbe knows what was begat—
A monstrous Centaur illegitimate.
Who would not chuck to see such pleasing sport—
To see such troops of gallants still resort
Unto Cornuto’s shop? What other cause
But chaste Brownetta,[352] Sporo thither draws?
Who now so long hath praised the chough’s white bill,
That he hath left her ne’er a flying quill:
His meaning gain, though outward semblance love,
So like a crabfish Sporo still doth move. 70
Laugh, laugh, to see the world, Democritus,
Cry like that strange transformèd Tereus.[353]
Now Sorbo, with a feignèd gravity,
Doth fish for honour and high dignity.
Nothing within, nor yet without, but beard,
Which thrice he strokes, before I ever heard
One wise grave word to bless my listening ear.
But mark how Good Opinion doth him rear:
See, he’s in office, on his foot-cloth placed;
Now each man caps, and strives for to be graced 80
With some rude nod of his majestic head,
Which all do wish in limbo harrièd.
But O I grieve that good men deign to be
Slaves unto him that’s slave to villany!
Now Sorbo swells with self-conceited sense,
Thinking that men do yield this reverence
Unto his virtues: fond credulity!
Ass, take[354] off Isis, no man honours thee.
Great Tubrio’s feather gallantly doth wave,
Full twenty falls[355] doth make him wondrous brave. 90
O golden jerkin! royal arming coat!
Like ship on sea, he on the land doth float.
He’s gone, he’s shipp’d, his resolution
Pricks him[356] (by Heaven) to this action.
The pox it doth! Not long since did I view
The man betake him to a common stew;
And there (I wis), like no quaint-stomach’d man,
Eats up his arms; and war’s munition,
His waving plume, falls in the broker’s chest.
Fie! that his ostrich stomach should disgest 100
His ostrich feather, eat up Venice lace!
Thou[357] that didst fear to eat poor-johns a space,
Lie close, ye slave, at beastly luxury!
Melt and consume in pleasure’s surquedry![358]
But now, thou that didst march with Spanish pike before,
Come with French pox out of that brothel door.
The fleet’s return’d. What news from Rodio?[359]
“Hot service, by the Lord,” cries Tubrio.
Why dost thou halt? “Why, six times through each thigh
Push’d with the pike of the hot enemy! 110
Hot service, hot, the Spaniard is a man;
I say no more, and as a gentleman
I served in his face. Farewell. Adieu.”
Welcome from Netherland, from steaming stew.
Ass to thy crib, doff that huge lion’s skin,
Or else the owl will hoot and drive thee in.
For shame, for shame! lewd-living Tubrio,
Presume not troop among that gallant crew
Of true heroic spirits; come, uncase,
Show us the true form of Dametas’[360] face. 120
Hence, hence, ye slave! dissemble not thy state,
But henceforth be a turncoat, runagate.
O hold my sides! that I may break my spleen
With laughter at the shadows I have seen!
Yet I can bear with Curio’s nimble feet,
Saluting me with capers in the street,
Although in open view and people’s face,
He fronts me with some spruce, neat, cinquepace;[361]
Or Tullus, though, whene’er he me espies,
Straight with loud mouth “A bandy, sir,“[362] he cries; 130
Or Robrus, who, addict to nimble fence,
Still greets me with stockado’s[363] violence.
These I do bear, because I too well know
They are the same they seem in outward show.
But all confusion sever from mine eye
This Janian bifront, Hypocrisy.
[347] i.e., all-kenning, all-knowing. Marston uses the word two or three times.
[348] Fawning.
[349] Bows.
[350] A mirror of refinement, a gallant of Castilian breeding. But there is also a reference to Baldessar Castiglione, author of the celebrated treatise Il Cortese. So in Guilpin’s Skialeheia, 1598, the name “Balthazer” is applied to a spruce courtier:—
“Come to the court, and Balthazer affords
Fountains of holy and rose-water words.
Hast thou need of him and wouldst find him kind?
Nay, then, go by, the gentleman is blind.” Sig. C. 4.