Transcriber’s Note: This text was originally printed in 1608, and uses the spelling of that period. The only alterations made (for readability) are to use s rather than long-s and j rather than i, and to standardise u/v to modern convention. One or two punctuation errors have also been corrected (poems should end with full stops). Any remaining apparent errors in the text are as printed.
Hunterian Club
No. II.—1871-2.
HUMORS
LOOKING GLASSE
BY
SAMUEL ROWLANDS
REPRINTED FROM THE FIRST EDITION
1608
PRINTED FOR THE HUNTERIAN CLUB
1872
HUMORS
LOOKING
Glasse.
LONDON.
Imprinted by Ed. Allde for William Fere-
brand and are to be sold at his Shop in
the popes-head Pallace, right over a-
gainst the Taverne-dore.
1608.
To his verie Loving Friend Master
George Lee.
Esteemed friend, I pray thee take it kinde,
That outward action beares an inward minde,
What objects heere these papers do deliver,
Bestow the viewing of them for the giver.
I make thee a partaker of strange sights,
Drawne antique works of humours vaine delights.
A mirrour of the mad conceited shapes,
Of this our ages giddy-headed apes,
These fash’on mongers, selfe besotted men
Of kindred to the fowle that wore my pen,
Are at an howers warning to appeare,
And muster in sixe sheetes of Paper heere.
And this is all at this time I bestow,
To evidence a greater love I owe.
Yours Samuel rowlands.
Reader.
As many antique faces passe,
From Barbers chaire unto his glasse,
There to beholde their kinde of trim,
And how they are reform’d by him,
Or at Exchang where Marchants greete,
Confusion of the tongues do meete,
As English, French, Italian, Dutch,
Spanish, and Scot’sh, with divers such.
So from the Presse these papers come
To show the humorous shapes of some.
Heere are such faces good and bad,
As in a Barbers shop are had,
And heere are tongues of divers kindes,
According to the speakers mindes.
Beholde their fashions, heare their voice,
And let discretion make thy choice.
Samuell rowlands.
Epigram.
Some man that to contention is inclin’de;
With any thing he sees, a fault wil finde,
As, that is not so good, the same’s amisse,
I have no great affection unto this.
Now I protest I doe not like the same,
This must be mended, that deserveth blame,
It were farre better such a thing were out,
This is obscure, and that’s as full of doubt.
And much adoe, and many words are spent
In finding out the path that humours went,
And for direction to that Idle way
Onely a busie tongue bears all the sway.
The dish that Aesope did commend for best;
Is now a daies in wonderfull request,
But if you finde fault on a certaine ground,
Weele fall to mending when the fault is found.
Epigram.
Pra’y by your leave, make moūsieur humors roome
That oft hath walk’d about Duke Humphries tombe
And sat amongst the Knights to see a play,
And gone in’s suite of Sattin ev’ry day,
And had his hat display a bushie plume,
And’s verie beard deliver forth perfume.
But when was this? aske Frier Bacons head
That answered Time is past, O time is fled!
Sattin and silke was pawned long agoe,
And now in canvase, no knight can him knowe.
His former state, in dark oblivion sleepes,
Onely Paules Gallarie, that walke he keepes.
Epigram.
Crosse not my humor, with an ill plac’d worde,
For if thou doest, behold my fatall sworde:
Do’st see my countenance begin looke red?
Let that fore-tell ther’s furie in my hed.
A little discontent will quickely heate it.
Touch not my stake, thou wert as good to eate it,
These damned dice how cursed they devoure:
I lost some halfe score pound in halfe an houre.
A bowle of wine, sirha: you villaine, fill:
Who drawes it Rascall? call me hether Will.
You Rogue, what ha’st to Supper for my dyet?
Tel’st me of Butchers meate? knave I defie it.
Ile have a banquet to envite an Earle,
A Phœnix boyld in broth distil’d in Pearle.
Holde drie this leafe, a candle quickly bring,
Ile take one pipe to bed, none other thing.
Thus with Tabacco he will sup to night:
Flesh-meate is heavie, and his purse is light.
Epigram.
Two Gentlemen of hot and fierie sprite,
Tooke boate, and went up Westward to goe fight
Imbarked both, for Wens-worth they set saile,
And there ariving with a happie gaile,
The Water-men discharged for their fare,
Then to be parted, thus their mindes declare.
Pray Ores (said they) stay heere and come not nie,
We goe to fight a little, but heere by.
The Water-men with staves did follow then,
And cryd, oh holde your hands good Gentlemen,
You know the danger of the law, forbeare:
So they put weapons up and fell to sweare.
Epigram.
One of these Cuccold-making Queanes
did graft her husbands head:
who arm’d with anger, steele and horne
would kill him stain’d his bed,
And challeng’d him unto the field,
Vowing to have his life,
Where being met, sirha (quoth he,)
I doe suspect my Wife
Is scarce so honest as she should,
You make of her some use:
Indeed said he I love her well,
Ile frame no false excuse.
O! d’ye confesse? by heavens (quoth he)
Had’st thou deni’de thy guilt,
This blade had gone into thy guts,
Even to the verie Hilt.
Epigram.
Occasion late was ministred for one to trie his friend,
Ten pounds he did intreat him yᵗ of all love he would lēd
His case was an accursed case, no comfort to be found,
Unles he friendly drew his purse, & blest him with tē poūd
He did protest he had it not, making a solemne vow,
He wāted means & money both, to do him pleasure now.
Thē sir (quoth he) you know I have a Gelding I love wel,
Necessitie it hath no law, I must my Gelding sell,
I have bin offered twelve for him, with ten ile be cōtent,
Well I will trie a friend (said he,) it was his chest he ment.
So fectch’d the money presently, tother sees Angels shine
Now God amercy horse (quoth he) thy credit’s more then mine.
Epigram.
Dice diving deepe into a Ruffians purse,
Leaving it nothing worth but strings and leather:
He presently did fall to sweare and curse,
That’s life and money he would loose together,
Tooke of his hat, and swore, let me but see
What Rogue dares say this same is blacke to me?
Another lost, and he did money lacke,
And thus his furie in a heate revives:
Where is that Rogue denies his hat is blacke?
Ile fight with him, had he ten thousand lives.
Oh sir (quoth he) in troth you come too late,
Choller is past, my anger’s out of date.
Epigram.
A Kinde of London-walker in a boote,
(Not George a Horse-backe, but a Gerge a foote,)
On ev’ry day you meete him through the yeare,
For’s bootes and spurs, a horse-man doth appeare.
Was met with, by an odde conceited stranger,
Who friendly told him that he walk’d in danger.
For Sir (in kindenes no way to offend you)
There is a warrant foorth to apprehend you.
Th’offence they say, you riding through thee streete,
Have kil’d a Childe, under your Horses feete.
Sir I protest (quoth he) they doe me wrong,
I have not back’d a horse, God knows how long,
What slaves be these, they have me false bely’d?
Ile proove this twelve-month I did never ride.
Epigram.
What feather’d fowle is this that doth approach
As if it were an Estredge in a Coach?
Three yards of feather round about her hat,
And in her hand a bable like to that:
As full of Birdes attire, as Owle, or Goose,
And like unto her gowne, her selfe seemes loose.
Cri’ye mercie Ladie, lewdnes are you there?
Light feather’d stuffe befits you best to weare.
A deafe eare, in a just cause.
A Poore man came unto a Judge & shew’d his wronged state,
Entreating him for Jesus sake to be compassionate,
The wrōgs were great he did sustaine, he had no help at al
The Judge sat stil as if the man had spoken to the wall.
With that came two rude fellows in, to have a matter tride
About an Asse, that one had let the other for to ride:
Which Asse the owner found in field, as he by chance past by,
And he that hired him a sleepe did in the shadow lye.
For which he would be satisfied, his beast was but to ride:
And for the shadow of his Asse, he would be paid beside.
Great raging words, and damned othes, these two asse-wrangles swore,
Whē presently the Judge start up, that seem’d a sleep before
And heard yᵉ follies willingly of these two sottish men,
But bad the poore man come againe, he had no leasure thē.
Epigram.
A Jolly fellow Essex borne and bred,
A Farmers Sonne, his Father being dead,
T’expell his griefe and melancholly passions,
Had vowd himselfe to travell and see fashions.
His great mindes object was no trifling toy,
But to put downe the wandring Prince of Troy.
Londons discoverie first he doth decide,
His man must be his Pilot and his guide.
Three miles he had not past, there he must sit:
He ask’t if he were not neere London yet?
His man replies good Sir your selfe besturre,
For we have yet to goe sixe times as farre.
Alas I had rather stay at home and digge,
I had not thought the worlde was halfe so bigge.
Thus this great worthie comes backe (thoewith strife)
He never was so farre in all his life.
None of the seaven worthies: on his behalfe,
Say, was not he a worthie Essex Calfe?
The Humors that haunt a Wife.
A Gentleman a verie friend of mine,
Hath a young wife and she is monstrous fine,
Shee’s of the new fantastique humor right,
In her attire an angell of the light.
Is she an Angell? I: it may be well,
Not of the light, she is a light Angell.
Forsooth his doore must suffer alteration,
To entertaine her mightie huge Bom-fashion,
A hood’s to base, a hat which she doth male,
With bravest feathers in the Estridge tayle.
She scornes to treade our former proud wives traces.
That put their glory in their on faire faces,
In her conceit it is not faire enough,
She must reforme it with her painters stuffe,
And she is never merry at the heart,
Till she be got into her leatherne Cart.
Some halfe amile the Coach-man guides the raynes,
Then home againe, birladie she takes paines.
My friend seeing what humours haunt a wife,
If he were loose would lead a single life.
A poore Mans pollicy.
Next I will tell you of a poore mans tricke,
Which he did practise with a polliticke,
This poore man had a Cow twas all his stocke,
Which on the Commons fed: where Catell flocke,
The other had a steere a wanton Beast,
Which he did turne to feede amongst the rest.
Which in processe although I know not how,
The rich mans Oxe did gore the poore mans Cow.
The poore man heereat vexed waxed sad,
For it is all the living that he had,