Classic Poem

I Cannot hold, I cannot I indure
To view a big womb'd foggie clowde immure
The radiant tresses of the quickning sunne.
Let Custards quake, my rage must freely runne.
Preach not the Stoickes patience to me,
I hate no man, but mens impietie.
My soule is vext, what power will'th desist?
Or dares to stop a sharpe fangd Satyrist?
Who'le coole my rage? who'le stay my itching fist
But I will plague and torture whom I list?
If that the three-fold walls of Babilon
Should hedge my tongue, yet I should raile vpon
This fustie world, that now dare put in vre
To make IEHOV A but a couerture,
To shade ranck filth, loose conscience is free ,
From all conscience, what els hath libertie?
As't please the Thracian Boreas to blow,
So turnes our ayerie conscience, to, and fro.
What icye Saturnist , what northerne pate
But such grosse lewdnes would exasperate?
I thinke the blind doth see, the flame God rise
From Sisters couch, each morning to the skies:
Glowing with lust. Walke but in duskie night,
With Linceus eyes, and to thy piercing sight
Disguised Gods will show, in pesants shape,
Prest to commit some execrable rape.
Here Ioues lust pander, Maias iugling sonne,
In clownes disguise, doth after milk-maides runne.
And fore he'le loose his brutish lechery,
The truls shall tast sweet Nectars surquedry.
There Iunos brat, forsakes Neries bed,
And like a swaggerer, lust fiered,
Attended onely with his smock sworne page,
Pert Gallus , slilie slippes along, to wage
Tilting incounters, with some spurious seede
Of marrow pies, and yawning Oystars breede.
O damn'd!

Who would not shake a Satyres knottie rod?
When to defile the sacred seate of God
Is but accounted gentlemens disport?
To snort in filth, each hower to resort
To brothell pits: alas a veniall crime,
Nay, royall, to be last in thirtith slime.
Ay me, hard world for Satyrists beginne
To sette vp shop, when no small petty sinne
Is left vnpurg'd, once to be pursie fat
Had wont be cause that life did macerate.
Marry the iealous Queene of ayre doth frowne,
That Ganimede is vp, and Hebe downe.
Once Albion liu'd in such a cruell age
That men did hold by seruile villenage.
Poore brats were slaues, of bond-men that were borne,
And marted, sold, but that rude law is torne,
And disanuld, as too too inhumane,
That Lords ore pesants should such seruice straine.
But now, (sad change!) the kennell sinck of slaues,
Pesant great Lords, and seruile seruice craues.
Bondslaues sonnes had wont be bought & sold,
But now Heroes heires (if they haue not told
A discreet number, fore theyr dad did die)
Are made much of, how much from merchandie?
Tail'd, and retail'd, till to the pedlers packe,
The fourth-hand ward-ware comes, alack, alack,
Would truth did know I lyde, but truth, and I,
Doe know that fence is borne to miserie.
Oh would to God, this were their worst mischance,
Were not theyr soules sold to darke ignorance.
Faire goodnes is foule ill if mischiefes wit
Be not represt from lewd corrupting it.
O what dry braine melts not sharp mustard rime
To purge the snottery of our slimie time?
Hence idle Cave , vengeance pricks me on,
When mart is made of faire Religion,
Reform'd bald Trebus swore in Romish quiere
He sold Gods essence, for a poore denier.
The Egyptians adored Onions,
To Garlicke yeelding all deuotions.
O happy Garlick, but thrice happy you,
Whose senting gods, in your large gardens grew.
Democritus , rise from thy putrid slime
Sport at the madnes of that hotter clime.
Deride their frenzie, that for policie
Adore Wheate dough, as reall deitie.
Almighty men, that can their Maker make,
And force his sacred body to forsake
The Cherubines, to be gnawne actually,
Deuiding indiuiduum , really.
Making a score of Gods with one poore word,
I, so I thought, in that you could afford,
So cheape a penny-worth. O ample fielde,
In which a Satyre may iust weapon weelde.
But I am vext, when swarmes of Iulians
Are still manur'd by lewd Precisians.
Who scorning Church rites, take the simbole vp
As slouenly, as carelesse Courtiers slup
Their mutton gruell. Fie, who can with-hold,
But must of force make his milde Muse a scold?
When that he greeued sees, with red vext eyes,
That Athens antient large immunities,
Are eye sores to the fates; Poore cells forlorne!
Ist not enough you are made an abiect scorne
To iering Apes, but must the shadow too
Of auncient substance, be thus wrung from you?
O split my hart, least it doe breake with rage
To see th'immodest loosenes of our age.
Immodest loosenes? fie too gentle word,
When euery signe can brothelrie afford.
When lust doth sparkle from our females eyes
And modestie, is rousted in the skies.
Tell me Galliottae , what meanes this signe
When impropriat gentiles will turne Capuchine ?
Sooner be damn'd. O stuffe Satyricall?
When rapine feedes our pomp, pomp ripes our fall.
When the guest trembles at his hosts swart looke,
The sonne, doth feare his stepdame, that hath tooke
His mothers place for lust, the twin-borne brother
Malinges his mate, that first came from his mother.
When to be huge, is to be deadly sick,
When vertuous pesants, will not spare to lick
The deuils taile for poore promotion.
When for neglect, slubbred Deuotion
Is wan with greefe. When Rufus , yawnes for death
Of him that gaue him vndeserued breath.
When Hermus makes a worthy question,
Whether of Wright , as Paraphonalion
A siluer pispot fits his Lady dame?
Or i'st too good? a pewter best became.
When Agrippina poysons Claudius sonne,
That all the world to her own brat might run.
When the husband, gapes that his stale wife would die,
That he might once be in by curtesie .
The big paunch'd wife, longs for her loth'd mates death,
That she might haue more ioyntures here on earth.
When tenure for short yeeres, (by many a one)
Is thought right good be turn'd forth Littleton ,
All to be headdie , or free hold at least
When tis all one, for long life be a beast,
A slaue, as haue a short term'd tenancie
When dead's the strength of Englands yeomanrie,
When invndation of luxuriousnes,
Fatts all the world with such grosse beastlines.
Who can abstaine? what modest braine can hold,
But he must make his shamefac'd Muse a scold?