Volume 3 — EPIGRAMS BY J[ohn] D[avies].

Fly, merry Muse, unto that merry town, Where thou mayst plays, revels, and triumphs see; The house of fame, and theatre of renown, Where all good wits and spirits love to be. Fall in between their hands that praise and love thee,[456] And be to them a laughter and a jest: But as for them which scorning shall reprove[457] thee, Disdain their wits, and think thine own the best. But if thou find any so gross and dull, That thinks I do to private taxing[458] lean,10 Bid him go hang, for he is but a gull, And knows not what an epigram doth[459] mean, Which taxeth,[460] under a particular name, A general vice which merits public blame.

Oft in my laughing rhymes I name a gull; But this new term will many questions breed; Therefore at first I will express at full, Who is a true and perfect gull indeed. A gull is he who fears a velvet gown, And, when a wench is brave, dares not speak to her; A gull is he which traverseth the town, And is for marriage known a common wooer; A gull is he which, while he proudly wears A silver-hilted rapier by his side,10 Endures the lie[461] and knocks about the ears, Whilst in his sheath his sleeping sword doth bide; A gull is he which wears good handsome clothes, And stands in presence stroking up his hair, And fills up his unperfect speech with oaths, But speaks not one wise word throughout the year: But, to define a gull in terms precise,— A gull is he which seems and is not wise.[462]

Rufus the courtier, at the theatre, Leaving the best and most conspicuous place, Doth either to the stage[463] himself transfer, Or through a grate[464] doth show his double face, For that the clamorous fry of Inns of Court Fill up the private rooms of greater price, And such a place where all may have resort He in his singularity doth despise. Yet doth not his particular humour shun The common stews and brothels of the town,10 Though all the world in troops do thither run, Clean and unclean, the gentle and the clown: Then why should Rufus in his pride abhor A common seat, that loves a common whore?

Quintus the dancer useth evermore His feet in measure and in rule to move: Yet on a time he call'd his mistress whore, And thought with that sweet word to win her love. O, had his tongue like to his feet been taught, It never would have utter'd such a thought!

Faustinus, Sextus, Cinna, Ponticus, With Gella, Lesbia, Thais, Rhodope, Rode all to Staines,[466] for no cause serious, But for their mirth and for their lechery. Scarce were they settled in their lodging, when Wenches with wenches, men with men fell out, Men with their wenches, wenches with their men; Which straight dissolves[467] this ill-assembled rout. But since the devil brought them thus together, To my discoursing thoughts it is a wonder,10 Why presently as soon as they came thither, The self-same devil did them part asunder. Doubtless, it seems, it was a foolish devil, That thus did part them ere they did some evil.

Titus, the brave and valorous young gallant, Three years together in his town hath been; Yet my Lord Chancellor's[468] tomb he hath not seen, Nor the new water-work,[469] nor the elephant. I cannot tell the cause without a smile,— He hath been in the Counter all this while.

Faustus, nor lord nor knight, nor wise nor old, To every place about the town doth ride; He rides into the fields[470] plays to behold, He rides to take boat at the water-side, He rides to Paul's, he rides to th' ordinary, He rides unto the house of bawdry too,— Thither his horse so often doth him carry, That shortly he will quite forget to go.

Kate, being pleas'd, wish'd that her pleasure could Endure as long as a buff-jerkin would. Content thee, Kate; although thy pleasure wasteth, Thy pleasure's place like a buff-jerkin lasteth, For no buff-jerkin hath been oftener worn, Nor hath more scrapings or more dressings borne.

Liber doth vaunt how chastely he hath liv'd Since he hath been in town, seven years[472] and more, For that he swears he hath four only swiv'd, A maid, a wife, a widow, and a whore: Then, Liber, thou hast swiv'd all womenkind, For a fifth sort, I know, thou canst not find.

Great Captain Medon wears a chain of gold Which at five hundred crowns is valuèd, For that it was his grandsire's chain of old, When great King Henry Boulogne conquerèd. And wear it, Medon, for it may ensue, That thou, by virtue of this massy chain, A stronger town than Boulogne mayst subdue, If wise men's saws be not reputed vain; For what said Philip, king of Macedon? "There is no castle so well fortified,10 But if an ass laden with gold comes on, The guard will stoop, and gates fly open wide."

Gella, if thou dost love thyself, take heed Lest thou my rhymes unto thy lover read; For straight thou grinn'st, and then thy lover seeth Thy canker-eaten gums and rotten teeth.

Quintus his wit, infus'd into his brain, Mislikes the place, and fled into his feet; And there it wanders up and down the street,[474] Dabbled in the dirt, and soakèd in the rain. Doubtless his wit intends not to aspire, Which leaves his head, to travel in the mire.

The puritan Severus oft doth read This text, that doth pronounce vain speech a sin,— "That thing defiles a man, that doth proceed From out the mouth, not that which enters in." Hence is it that we seldom hear him swear; And therefore like a Pharisee, he vaunts: But he devours more capons in a year Than would suffice a hundred protestants. And, sooth, those sectaries are gluttons all, As well the thread-bare cobbler as the knight;10 For those poor slaves which have not wherewithal, Feed on the rich, till they devour them quite; And so, like Pharaoh's kine, they eat up clean Those that be fat, yet still themselves be lean.

Leuca in presence once a fart did let: Some laugh'd a little; she forsook the place; And, mad with shame, did eke her glove forget, Which she return'd to fetch with bashful grace; And when she would have said "this is[476] my glove," "My fart," quod she; which did more laughter move.

Thou canst not speak yet, Macer; for to speak, Is to distinguish sounds significant: Thou with harsh noise the air dost rudely break; But what thou utter'st common sense doth want,— Half-English words, with fustian terms among, Much like the burden of a northern song.

"That youth," said Faustus, "hath a lion seen, Who from a dicing-house comes moneyless." But when he lost his hair, where had he been? I doubt me, he[477] had seen a lioness.

Cosmus hath more discoursing in his head Than Jove when Pallas issu'd from his brain; And still he strives to be deliverèd Of all his thoughts at once; but all in vain; For, as we see at all the playhouse-doors, When ended is the play, the dance, and song, A thousand townsmen, gentlemen, and whores, Porters, and serving-men, together throng,— So thoughts of drinking, thriving, wenching, war, And borrowing money, ranging in his mind,10 To issue all at once so forward are, As none at all can perfect passage find.

The false knave Flaccus once a bribe I gave; The more fool I to bribe so false a knave: But he gave back my bribe; the more fool he, That for my folly did not cozen me.

Thou, doggèd Cineas, hated like a dog, For still thou grumblest like a masty[478] dog, Compar'st thyself to nothing but a dog; Thou say'st thou art as weary as a dog, As angry, sick, and hungry as a dog, As dull and melancholy as a dog, As lazy, sleepy, idle[479] as a dog. But why dost thou compare thee to a dog In that for which all men despise a dog? I will compare thee better to a dog;10 Thou art as fair and comely as a dog, Thou art as true and honest as a dog, Thou art as kind and liberal as a dog, Thou art as wise and valiant as a dog. But, Cineas, I have often[480] heard thee tell, Thou art as like thy father as may be: 'Tis like enough; and, faith, I like it well; But I am glad thou art not like to me.

Geron, whose[482] mouldy memory corrects Old Holinshed our famous chronicler With moral rules, and policy collects Out of all actions done these fourscore year; Accounts the time of every odd[483] event, Not from Christ's birth, nor from the prince's reign, But from some other famous accident, Which in men's general notice doth remain,— The siege of Boulogne,[484] and the plaguy sweat,[485] The going to Saint Quintin's[486] and New-Haven,[487]10 The rising[488] in the north, the frost so great, That cart-wheel prints on Thamis' face were graven,[489] The fall of money,[490] and burning of Paul's steeple,[491] The blazing star,[492] and Spaniards' overthrow:[493] By these events, notorious to the people, He measures times, and things forepast doth show: But most of all, he chiefly reckons by A private chance,—the death of his curst[494] wife; This is to him the dearest memory, And th' happiest accident of all his life.20

When Marcus comes from Mins',[495] he still doth swear, By "come[496] on seven," that all is lost and gone: But that's not true; for he hath lost his hair, Only for that he came too much on[497] one.

The fine youth Cyprius is more terse and neat Than the new garden of the Old Temple is; And still the newest fashion he doth get, And with the time doth change from that to this; He wears a hat now of the flat-crown block,[498] The treble ruff,[499] long coat, and doublet French: He takes tobacco, and doth wear a lock,[500] And wastes more time in dressing than a wench. Yet this new-fangled youth, made for these times, Doth, above all, praise old George[501] Gascoigne's rhymes.[502]10

When Cineas comes amongst his friends in morning, He slyly looks[503] who first his cap doth move: Him he salutes, the rest so grimly scorning, As if for ever they had lost his love. I, knowing how it doth the humour fit Of this fond gull to be saluted first, Catch at my cap, but move it not a whit: Which he perceiving,[504] seems for spite to burst. But, Cineas, why expect you more of me Than I of you? I am as good a man,10 And better too by many a quality, For vault, and dance, and fence, and rhyme I can: You keep a whore at your own charge, men tell me; Indeed, friend Cineas, therein you excel me.[505]

Gallus hath been this summer-time in Friesland, And now, return'd, he speaks such warlike words, As, if I could their English understand, I fear me they would cut my throat like swords; He talks of counter-scarfs,[506] and casamates,[507] Of parapets, curtains, and palisadoes;[508] Of flankers, ravelins, gabions he prates, And of false-brays,[509] and sallies, and scaladoes.[510] But, to requite such gulling terms as these, With words to my profession I reply;10 I tell of fourching, vouchers, and counterpleas, Of withernams, essoins, and champarty. So, neither of us understanding either, We part as wise as when we came together.

Audacious painters have Nine Worthies made; But poet Decius, more audacious far, Making his mistress march with men of war, With title of "Tenth Worthy" doth her lade. Methinks that gull did use his terms as fit, Which term'd his love "a giant for her wit."

If Gella's beauty be examinèd, She hath a dull dead eye, a saddle nose, An ill-shap'd face, with morphew overspread, And rotten teeth, which she in laughing shows; Briefly, she is the filthiest wench in town, Of all that do the art of whoring use: But when she hath put on her satin gown, Her cut[512] lawn apron, and her velvet shoes, Her green silk stockings, and her petticoat Of taffeta, with golden fringe around,10 And is withal perfum'd with civet hot, Which doth her valiant stinking breath confound,— Yet she with these additions is no more Than a sweet, filthy, fine, ill-favour'd whore.

Sylla is often challeng'd to the field, To answer, like a gentleman, his foes: But then doth he this[513] only answer yield, That he hath livings and fair lands to lose. Sylla, if none but beggars valiant were, The king of Spain would put us all in fear.

Who dares affirm that Sylla dare not fight? When I dare swear he dares adventure more Than the most brave and most[514] all-daring wight That ever arms with resolution bore; He that dare touch the most unwholesome whore That ever was retir'd into the spittle, And dares court wenches standing at a door (The portion of his wit being passing little); He that dares give his dearest friends offences, Which other valiant fools do fear to do,10 And, when a fever doth confound his senses, Dare eat raw beef, and drink strong wine thereto: He that dares take tobacco on the stage,[515] Dares man a whore at noon-day through the street, Dares dance in Paul's, and in this formal age Dares say and do whatever is unmeet; Whom fear of shame could never yet affright, Who dares affirm that Sylla dares not fight?

Heywood,[516] that did in epigrams excel, Is now put down since my light Muse arose;[517] As buckets are put down into a well, Or as a schoolboy putteth down his hose.

Amongst the poets Dacus number'd is, Yet could he never make an English rhyme: But some prose speeches I have heard of his, Which have been spoken many a hundred time; The man that keeps the elephant hath one, Wherein he tells the wonders of the beast; Another Banks pronouncèd long agone, When he his curtal's[519] qualities express'd: He first taught him that keeps the monuments At Westminster, his formal tale to say,10 And also him which puppets represents, And also him which with the ape doth play. Though all his poetry be like to this, Amongst the poets Dacus number'd is.

When Priscus, rais'd from low to high estate, Rode through the street in pompous jollity, Caius, his poor familiar friend of late, Bespake him thus, "Sir, now you know not me," "'Tis likely, friend," quoth Priscus, "to be so, For at this time myself I do not know."

Brunus, which deems[520] himself a fair sweet youth, Is nine and thirty[521] year of age at least; Yet was he never, to confess the truth, But a dry starveling when he was at best. This gull was sick to show his nightcap fine, And his wrought pillow overspread with lawn; But hath been well since his grief's cause hath line[522] At Trollop's by Saint Clement's Church in pawn.

When Francus comes to solace with his whore, He sends for rods, and strips himself stark naked; For his lust sleeps, and will not rise before, By whipping of the wench, it be awakèd. I envy him not, but wish I[523] had the power To make myself his wench but one half-hour.

Of speaking well why do we learn the skill, Hoping thereby honour and wealth to gain? Sith railing Castor doth, by speaking ill, Opinion of much wit, and gold obtain.

Septimius[524] lives, and is like garlic seen, For though his head be white, his blade is green. This old mad colt deserves a martyr's praise, For he was burnèd[525] in Queen Mary's days.

Homer of Moly and Nepenthe sings; Moly, the gods' most sovereign herb divine, Nepenthe, Helen's[526] drink, which gladness brings, Heart's grief expels, and doth the wit refine. But this our age another world hath found, From whence an herb of heavenly power is brought; Moly is not so sovereign for a wound, Nor hath nepenthe so great wonders wrought. It is tobacco, whose sweet subtle[527] fume The hellish torment of the teeth doth ease,10 By drawing down and drying up the rheum, The mother and the nurse of each disease; It is tobacco, which doth cold expel, And clears th' obstructions of the arteries, And surfeits threatening death digesteth well, Decocting all the stomach's crudities;[528] It is tobacco, which hath power to clarify The cloudy mists before dim eyes appearing; It is tobacco, which hath power to rarify The thick gross humour which doth stop the hearing;20 The wasting hectic, and the quartan fever, Which doth of physic make a mockery, The gout it cures, and helps ill breaths for ever, Whether the cause in teeth or stomach be; And though ill breaths were by it but confounded, Yet that vild[529] medicine it doth far excel, Which by Sir Thomas More[530] hath been propounded, For this is thought a gentleman-like smell. O, that I were one of these mountebanks Which praise their oils and powders which they sell!30 My customers would give me coin with thanks; I for this ware, forsooth,[531] a tale would tell: Yet would I use none of these terms before; I would but say, that it the pox will cure; This were enough, without discoursing more, All our brave gallants in the town t'allure.

Crassus his lies are no[532] pernicious lies, But pleasant fictions, hurtful unto none But to himself; for no man counts him wise To tell for truth that which for false is known. He swears that Gaunt[533] is three-score miles about, And that the bridge at Paris[534] on the Seine Is of such thickness, length, and breadth throughout, That six-score arches can it scarce sustain; He swears he saw so great a dead man's skull At Canterbury digg'd out of the ground,10 As[535] would contain of wheat three bushels full; And that in Kent are twenty yeomen found, Of which the poorest every year[536] dispends Five thousand pound: these and five thousand mo So oft he hath recited to his friends, That now himself persuades himself 'tis so. But why doth Crassus tell his lies so rife, Of bridges, towns, and things that have no life? He is a lawyer, and doth well espy That for such lies an action will not lie.20

Philo, the lawyer,[537] and the fortune-teller, The school-master, the midwife,[538] and the bawd, The conjurer, the buyer and the seller Of painting which with breathing will be thaw'd, Doth practise physic; and his credit grows, As doth the ballad-singer's auditory, Which hath at Temple-Bar his standing chose, And to the vulgar sings an ale-house story: First stands a porter; then an oyster-wife Doth stint her cry and stay her steps to hear him;10 Then comes a cutpurse ready with his[539] knife, And then a country client presseth[540] near him; There stands the constable, there stands the whore, And, hearkening[541] to the song, mark[542] not each other; There by the serjeant stands the debitor,[543] And doth no more mistrust him than his brother: This[544] Orpheus to such hearers giveth music, And Philo to such patients giveth physic.

Fuscus is free, and hath the world at will; Yet, in the course of life that he doth lead, He's like a horse which, turning round a mill, Doth always in the self-same circle tread: First, he doth rise at ten;[545] and at eleven He goes to Gill's, where he doth eat till one; Then sees a play till six;[546] and sups at seven; And, after supper, straight to bed is gone; And there till ten next day he doth remain; And then he dines; then sees a comedy;10 And then he sups, and goes to bed again: Thus round he runs without variety, Save that sometimes he comes not to the play, But falls into a whore-house by the way.

The smell-feast[547] Afer travels to the Burse Twice every day, the flying news to hear; Which, when he hath no money in his purse, To rich men's tables he doth ever[548] bear. He tells how Groni[n]gen[549] is taken in[550] By the brave conduct of illustrious Vere, And how the Spanish forces Brest would win, But that they do victorious Norris[551] fear. No sooner is a ship at sea surpris'd, But straight he learns the news, and doth disclose it; No[552] sooner hath the Turk a plot devis'd To conquer Christendom, but straight he knows it. Fair-written in a scroll he hath the names Of all the widows which the plague hath made; And persons, times, and places, still he frames To every tale, the better to persuade. We call him Fame, for that the wide-mouth slave Will eat as fast as he will utter lies;20 For fame is said an hundred mouths to have, And he eats more than would five-score suffice.

By lawful mart, and by unlawful stealth, Paulus, in spite of envy, fortunate, Derives out of the ocean so much wealth, As he may well maintain a lord's estate: But on the land a little gulf there is, Wherein he drowneth all this[553] wealth of his.

Lycus, which lately is to Venice gone, Shall, if he do return, gain three for one;[554] But, ten to one, his knowledge and his wit Will not be better'd or increas'd a whit.

Publius, a[555] student at the Common-Law, Oft leaves his books, and, for his recreation, To Paris-garden[556] doth himself withdraw; Where he is ravish'd with such delectation, As down amongst the bears and dogs he goes; Where, whilst he skipping cries, "To head, to head,"[557] His satin doublet and his velvet hose Are all with spittle from above be-spread; Then is he like his father's country hall, Stinking of dogs, and muted[558] all with hawks;10 And rightly too on him this filth doth fall, Which for such filthy sports his books forsakes, Leaving old Ployden, Dyer, and Brooke alone, To see old Harry Hunkes and Sacarson.[559]

When I this proposition had defended, "A coward cannot be an honest man," Thou, Sylla, seem'st forthwith to be offended, And hold'st[560] the contrary, and swear'st[561] he can. But when I tell thee that he will forsake His dearest friend in peril of his life, Thou then art chang'd, and say'st thou didst mistake; And so we end our argument and strife: Yet I think oft, and think I think aright, Thy argument argues thou wilt not fight.10

Dacus,[562] with some good colour and pretence, Terms his love's beauty "silent eloquence;" For she doth lay more colours on her face Than ever Tully us'd his speech to grace.

Why dost thou, Marcus, in thy misery Rail and blaspheme, and call the heavens unkind? The heavens do owe[563] no kindness unto thee, Thou hast the heavens so little in thy mind; For in thy life thou never usest prayer But at primero, to encounter fair.

See, yonder melancholy gentleman, Which, hood-wink'd with his hat, alone doth sit! Think what he thinks, and tell me, if you can, What great affairs trouble his little wit. He thinks not of the war 'twixt France and Spain,[564] Whether it be for Europe's good or ill, Nor whether the Empire can itself maintain Against the Turkish power encroaching still;[565] Nor what great town in all the Netherlands The States determine to besiege this spring,10 Nor how the Scottish policy now stands, Nor what becomes of the Irish mutining.[566] But he doth seriously bethink him whether Of the gull'd people he be more esteem'd For his long cloak or for[567] his great black feather By which each gull is now a gallant deem'd; Or of a journey he deliberates To Paris-garden, Cock-pit, or the play; Or how to steal a dog he meditates, Or what he shall unto his mistress say. Yet with these thoughts he thinks himself most fit To be of counsel with a king for wit.

Peace, idle Muse, have done! for it is time, Since lousy Ponticus envies my fame, And swears the better sort are much to blame To make me so well known for my ill rhyme. Yet Banks his horse[568] is better known than he; So are the camels and the western hog, And so is Lepidus his printed dog[569]: Why doth not Ponticus their fames envy? Besides, this Muse of mine and the black feather Grew both together fresh in estimation;10 And both, grown stale, were cast away together: What fame is this that scarce lasts out a fashion? Only this last in credit doth remain, That from henceforth each bastard cast-forth rhyme, Which doth but savour of a libel vein, Shall call me father, and be thought my crime; So dull, and with so little sense endued, Is my gross-headed judge the multitude. J. D.

I[570] love thee not for sacred chastity,— Who loves for that?—nor for thy sprightly wit; I love thee not for thy sweet modesty, Which makes thee in perfection's throne to sit; I love thee not for thy enchanting eye, Thy beauty['s] ravishing perfection; I love thee not for unchaste luxury, Nor for thy body's fair proportion; I love thee not for that my soul doth dance And leap with pleasure, when those lips of thine Give musical and graceful utterance To some (by thee made happy) poet's line; I love thee not for voice or slender small: But wilt thou know wherefore? fair sweet, for all. Faith, wench, I cannot court thy sprightly eyes, With the base-viol plac'd between my thighs; I cannot lisp, nor to some fiddle sing, Nor run upon a high-stretch'd minikin; I cannot whine in puling elegies, Entombing Cupid with sad obsequies; I am not fashion'd for these amorous times, To court thy beauty with lascivious rhymes; I cannot dally, caper, dance, and sing, Oiling my saint with supple sonneting; I cannot cross my arms, or sigh "Ay me, Ay me, forlorn!" egregious foppery! I cannot buss thy fist,[571] play with thy hair, Swearing by Jove, "thou art most debonair!" Not I, by cock! but [I] shall tell thee roundly,— Hark in thine ear,—zounds, I can (——) thee soundly. Sweet wench, I love thee: yet I will not sue, Or show my love as musky courtiers do; I'll not carouse a health to honour thee, In this same bezzling[572] drunken courtesy, And, when all's quaff'd, eat up my bousing-glass[573] In glory that I am thy servile ass; Nor will I wear a rotten Bourbon lock,[574] As some sworn peasant to a female smock. Well-featur'd lass, thou know'st I love thee dear: Yet for thy sake I will not bore mine ear, To hang thy dirty silken shoe-tires there; Nor for thy love will I once gnash a brick, Or some pied colours in my bonnet stick:[575] But, by the chaps of hell, to do thee good, I'll freely spend my thrice-decocted blood.