SATIRE X.[577]
Satira Nova.
Stultorum plena sunt omnia.
TO HIS VERY FRIEND, MASTER E. G.
From out the sadness of my discontent,
Hating my wonted jocund merriment
(Only to give dull time a swifter wing),
Thus scorning scorn, of idiot fools I sing.
I dread no bending of an angry brow,
Or rage of fools that I shall purchase now;
Who’ll scorn to sit in rank of foolery,
When I’ll be master of the company?
For prithee, Ned, I prithee, gentle lad,
Is not he frantic, foolish, bedlam mad, 10
That wastes his sprite, that melts his very brain
In deep designs, in wit’s dark gloomy strain?
That scourgeth great slaves with a dreadless fist,
Playing the rough part of a satirist,
To be perused by all the dung-scum rabble
Of thin-brain’d idiots, dull, incapable,
For mimic apish scholars, pedants, gulls,
Perfumed inamoratos, brothel-trulls?
Whilst I (poor soul) abuse chaste virgin time,
Deflow’ring her with unconceived rhyme. 20
“Tut, tut; a toy of an idle empty brain,
Some scurril jests, light gewgaws, fruitless, vain,”
Cries beard-grave Dromus; when, alas! God knows
His toothless gums ne’er chaw but outward shows.
Poor budge-face,[578] bowcase sleeve: but let him pass;
“Once fur and beard shall privilege an ass.”
And tell me, Ned, what might that gallant be,
Who, to obtain intemperate luxury,
Cuckolds his elder brother, gets an heir,
By which his hope is turnèd to despair? 30
In faith (good Ned), he damn’d himself with cost;
For well thou know’st full goodly land was lost.
I am too private. Yet methinks an ass
Rhymes well with viderit utilitas;
Even full as well, I boldly dare aver,
As any of that stinking scavenger
Which from his dunghill be dedaubèd on
The latter page of old Pygmalion.
O that this brother of hypocrisy
(Applauded by his pure fraternity) 40
Should thus be puffèd, and so proud insist
As play on me the epigrammatist!
“Opinion mounts this froth unto the skies,
Whom judgment’s reason justly vilifies.”
For (shame to the poet) read, Ned, behold
How wittily a master’s hood can scold!
An Epigram which the Author Vergidemiarum caused to be pasted to the latter page of every Pygmalion that came to the Stationers of Cambridge.
I ask’d Physicians what their counsel was
For a mad dog, or for a mankind ass?
They told me, though there were confections’ store
Of poppy-seed and sovereign hellebore, 50
The dog was best cured by cutting and kinsing,[579]
The ass must be kindly whipped for winsing.
Now then, S. K., I little pass.
Whether thou be a mad dog or a mankind ass.
Smart[580] jerk of wit! Did ever such a strain
Rise from an apish schoolboy’s childish brain?
Dost thou not blush, good Ned, that such a scent
Should rise from thence, where thou hadst nutriment?
“Shame to Opinion, that perfumes his dung,
And streweth flowers rotten bones among! 60
Juggling Opinion, thou enchanting witch!
Paint not a rotten post[581] with colours rich.”
But now this juggler, with the world’s consent,
Hath half his[582] soul; the other, compliment;
Mad world the whilst. But I forget me, I,
I am seducèd with this poesy,
And, madder than a bedlam, spend sweet time
In bitter numbers, in this idle rhyme.
Out on this humour! From a sickly bed,
And from a moody mind distemperèd, 70
I vomit forth my love, now turn’d to hate,
Scorning the honour of a poet’s state.
Nor shall the kennel rout of muddy brains
Ravish my muse’s heir, or hear my strains,
Once more. No nitty[583] pedant shall correct
Enigmas to his shallow intellect
Enchantment, Ned, have ravishèd my sense
In a poetic vain circumference.