[382] Dr. Grosart quotes from Hall’s Satires, vi. i. 81-2:—
“When erst our dry-soul’d sires so lavish were
To charge whole bootsful to their friends’ welfare.”
SATIRE III.
Quædam et sunt, et videntur.
Now, grim Reproof, swell in my rough-hued rhyme,
That thou mayst vex the guilty of our time.
Yon is a youth whom how can I o’er-slip,
Since he so jump doth in my meshes hit?
He hath been longer in preparing him
Than Terence wench; and now behold he’s seen.
Now, after two years’ fast and earnest prayer
The fashion change not (lest he should despair
Of ever hoarding up more fair gay clothes),
Behold at length in London street he shows. 10
His ruff did eat more time in neatest setting
Than Woodstock’s[383] work in painful perfecting;
It hath more doubles far than Ajax’ shield
When he ’gainst Troy did furious battle wield.
Nay, he doth wear an emblem ’bout his neck;
For under that fair ruff so sprucely set,
Appears a fall, a falling-band forsooth.
O dapper, rare, complete, sweet nitty[384] youth!
Jesu Maria! How his clothes appear
Cross’d and recross’d with lace, sure for some fear 20
Lest that some spirit with a tippet mace[385]
Should with a ghastly show affright his face.
His hat, himself, small crown and huge great brim,
Fair outward show, and little wit within.
And all the band with feathers he doth fill,
Which is a sign of a fantastic still.
Why, so[386] he is, his clothes do sympathise
And with his inward spirit humorise,
As sure as (some do tell me) evermore
A goat doth stand before a brothel door. 30
His clothes perfumed, his fusty mouth is aired,
His chin new swept, his very cheeks are glaired.[387]
But ho! what Ganymede is that doth grace
The gallant’s heels? One who for two days’ space
Is closely hired. Now who dares not call
This Æsop’s crow—fond, mad, fantastical?
An open ass, that is not yet so wise
As his derided fondness to disguise.
Why, thou art Bedlam mad, stark lunatic,
And glori’st to be counted a fantastic; 40
Thou neither art, nor yet will seem to be,
Heir to some virtuous praisèd quality.
O frantic man! that thinks all villany
The complete honours of nobility!
When some damn’d vice, some strange misshapen suit,
Make youths esteem themselves in high repute.
O age! in which our gallants boast to be
Slaves unto riot and rude luxury!
Nay, when they blush, and think an honest act
Doth their supposèd virtues maculate! 50
Bedlam, Frenzy, Madness, Lunacy,
I challenge all your moody empery
Once to produce a more distracted man
Than is inamorato Lucian.
For when my ears received a fearful sound
That he was sick, I went, and there I found
Him laid of love, and newly brought to bed
Of monstrous folly and a frantic head.
His chamber hang’d about with elegies,
With sad complaints of his love’s miseries; 60
His windows strew’d with sonnets, and the glass
Drawn full of love-knots. I approach’d the ass,
And straight he weeps, and sighs some sonnet out
To his fair love! And then he goes about
For to perfume her rare perfection
With some sweet-smelling pink epitheton;
Then with a melting look he writhes his head,
And straight in passion riseth in his bed;
And having kiss’d his hand, stroke up his hair,
Made a French conge, cries, “O cruel fear!” 70
To the antic bedpost. I laugh’d amain,
That down my cheeks the mirthful drops did rain.
Well, he’s no Janus, but substantial,
In show and essence a good natural;
When as thou hear’st me ask spruce Duceus
From whence he comes; and he straight answers us,
From Lady Lilla; and is going straight
To the Countess of (——), for she doth wait
His coming, and will surely send her coach,
Unless he make the speedier approach: 80
Art not thou ready for to break thy spleen
At laughing at the fondness thou hast seen
In this vain-glorious fool, when thou dost know
He never durst unto these ladies show
His pippin face? Well, he’s no accident,
But real, real, shameless, impudent;
And yet he boasts, and wonders that each man
Can call him by his name, sweet Ducean;
And is right proud that thus his name is known.
Ay, Duceus, ay, thy name is too far blown: 90
The world too much, thyself too little know’st,
Thy private self. Why, then, should Duceus boast?
But, humble Satire, wilt thou deign display
These open nags, which purblind eyes bewray?
Come, come, and snarl more dark at secret sin,
Which in such labyrinths enwrappèd bin,
That, Ariadne, I must crave thy aid
To help me find where this foul monster’s laid;
Then will I drive the Minotaur from us,
And seem to be a second Theseus. 100
[383] The maze at Woodstock.
[384] I suppose that “nitty” = spruce (Lat. nitidus). The usual meaning of “nitty” is—lousy.
[385] Carried by the sheriff’s officer when he arrested a man for debt.