Fronti nulla fides.
Marry, God forefend! Martius swears he’ll stab:
Phrygio, fear not, thou art no lying drab.
What though dagger-hack’d mouths of his blade swears
It slew as many as figures of years
Aquafortis eat in’t, or as many more
As methodist[430] Musus kill’d with hellebore
In autumn[431] last; yet he bears that male lie[432]
With as smooth calm as Mecho rivalry.
How ill his shape with inward form doth fage,[433]
Like Aphrogenia’s ill-yoked marriage! 10
Fond physiognomer, complexion
Guides not the inward disposition,
Inclines I yield; thou sayst law; Julia, ⎫
Or Cato’s often-curst Scatinia, ⎬
Can take no hold on simp’ring Lesbia. ⎭
True, not on her eye; yet alum oft doth blast
The sprouting bud that fain would longer last.
Chary Casca, right pure, or Rhodanus,
Yet each night drinks in glassy Priapus.[434]
Yon pine is fair, yet foully doth it ill 20
To his own sprouts; mark, his rank drops distill
Foul Naples’ canker[435] in their tender rind.
Woe worth, when trees drop in their proper kind!
Mistagogus, what means this prodigy?
When Hiadolgo speaks ’gainst usury,
When Verres rails ’gainst thieves, Milo doth hate
Murder, Clodius cuckolds, Marius the gate
Of squinting Janus shuts? Run beyond bound
Of Nil ultra, and hang me when one’s found
Will be himself. Had nature turn’d our eyes 30
Into our proper selves, these curious spies
Would be ashamed: Flavia would blush to flout
When Oppia calls Lucina help her out,
If she did think Lynceus did know her ill,
How nature art, how art doth nature spill.
God pardon me! I often did aver,
Quod gratis grate, the astronomer
An honest man; but I’ll do so no more.
His face deceived me; but now, since his whore
And sister are all one, his honesty 40
Shall be as bare as his anatomy,
To which he bound his wife. O, packstaff[436] rhymes!
Why not, when court of stars shall see these crimes?
Rods are in piss—ay, for thee, empirick,
That twenty grains of opium will not stick
To minister to babes. Here’s bloody days,
When with plain herbs Mutius more men slays
Than ere third Edward’s sword! Sooth, in our age,
Mad Coribantes need not to enrage
The people’s minds. You, Ophiogeni[437] 50
Of Hellespont, with wrangling villainy
The swoll’n world’s inly stung, then deign a touch,
If that your fingers can effect so much.
Thou sweet Arabian Panchaia,
Perfume this nasty age: smug Lesbia
Hath stinking lungs, although a simp’ring grace,
A muddy inside, though a surphuled[438] face.
O for some deep-searching Corycean,
To ferret out yon lewd Cinædian![439]
How now, Brutus, what shape best pleaseth thee? 60
All Protean forms, thy wife in venery,
At thy enforcement takes? Well, go thy way,
She may transform thee, ere thy dying day.
Hush, Gracchus hears, that hath retail’d more lies,
Broachèd more slanders, done more villainies,
Than Fabius’ perpetual golden coat
(Which might have Semper idem for a mott)
Hath been at feasts, and led the measuring[440]
At court, and in each marriage revelling;
Writ Palæphatus’[441] comment on those dreams 70
That Hylus takes, ’midst dung-pit reeking steams
Of Athos’ hot-house. Gramercy, modest smile,
Chremes asleep! Paphia, sport the while.
Lucia, new set thy ruff; tut, thou art pure,
Canst thou not lisp “good brother,” look demure?
Fie, Gallus, what, a sceptic Pyrrhonist,
When chaste Dictynna breaks the zonelike twist?
Tut, hang up hieroglyphics. I’ll not feign,
Wresting my humour from his native strain.
[430] A regular physician, opposed to an empiric.
[431] Imitated from Juvenal, x. 221, “Quot Themison aegros autumno occiderit uno.”
[432] “Male lie”—great, strong lie: perhaps in imitation of Gr. ἄρσην.
[433] Fadge.
[434] From Juvenal—“Vitreo bibit ille Priapo,” Sat. ii. 95. The vitreus Priapus was a drinking-cup fashioned in the shape of a Priapus.