What a scald humour is this iealous care,
Which turnes a man to a familiare?
See how Trebatio yonder haunts his wife,
And dares not loose sight of her for his life:
And now there's one speakes to her, mark his grace,
See how he basts himselfe in his owne greace:
Note what a squint askew he casts, as he
Already saw his heads hornd-armory.
Foule weather ielousie to a forward spring,
Makes weeds grow ranke, but spoyles a better thing:
Sowes tares (gainst haruest) in the fields of loue,
And dogged humor Dog-dayes-like doth proue:

Mary and gup! haue I then lost my cap?
It shall be a warning for an after-clap,
Not that I weigh the tributary due,
Of cap and courtship complements, and new
Antike salutes, I care not for th'embrace,
The Spanish shrug, kiss'd-hand, nor cheuerell face,
God saue you sir, good sir , and such like phrases,
Pronounc'd with lisping, and affected graces,
Moue me no more then t'heare a Parrat cry
Her by-roate lesson of like curtesie:
But this I wonder, that th'art so estrang'd,
And thy old English looks to outlandish chang'd,

Heere coms a Coach (my Lads) let's make a stand,
And take a view of blazing starres at hand:
Who's here? who's here? now trust me passing faire,
Thai're most sweet Ladies: mary and so they are.
Why thou young puisne art thou yet to learne,
A harper from a shilling to discerne?
I had thought the last mask which thou caperedst in
Had catechiz'd thee from this errors sinne,
Taught thee S. Martins stuffe from true gold lace,
And know a perfect from a painted face:
Why they are Idols, Puppets, Exchange babies,

Shall I still mych in silence and giue ayme,
To other wits which make court to bright fame?
A schoole boy still, shall I lend eare to other,
And myne owne priuate Muses musick smother?
Especially in this sinne leapered age,
Where euery Player vice comes on the stage:
Maskt in a vertuous robe? and fooles doe sit
More honored then the Prester Iohn of wit?
Where vertue, like a common gossop shieldes
Vice with her name, and her defects ore-guilds:
No no, my Muse, be valiant to controule,
Play the scold brauely, feare no cucking-stoole,

Fie on these Lydian tunes which blunt our sprights
And turne our gallants to Hermaphrodites:
Giue me a Doricke touch, whose Semphony ,
And dauncing aire may with affinity
Moue our light vaulting spirits and capering.
Woo Alexander from lewd banquetting
To armes. Bid Haniball remember Cannas ,
And leaue Salapian Tamyras embrace.
Hence with these fidlers, whose oyle-buttred lines,
Are Panders vnto lusts, and food to sinnes,
Their whimpring Sonnets, puling Elegies
Slaunder the Muses; make the world despise,

Conclusion to the Reader.

( Reader ) when thou hast read this mad-cap stuffe,
Wherein my Muse swaggers as in her ruffe:
I know these Orphants shal be soone renounced,
Of euery one, and vnto death denounced:
I know thow'lt doome them to th' Apotheta ,
To wrap Sope in, and Assifaetida:
And iustly to: for thou canst not misuse,
More then I will, these bastards of my Muse:
I know they are passing filthy, scuruey lines,
I know they are rude, harsh, and vnsauory rimes:
Fit to wrap playsters, and odd vnguents in,

To the Reader.

Some dainte eare, like a wax-rubd Citty roome,
Wil haply blame my Muse for this salt rhume,
Thinking her lewd and too vnmaidenly,
For dauncing this Iigge so lasciuiously:
But better thoughts, more discreet, will excuse
This quick Couranto of my merry Muse;
And say she keeps Decorum to the times,
To womens loose gownes suting her loose rimes:
But I, who best her humorous pleasance know,
Say, that this mad wench when she iesteth so
Is honester then many a sullen one,
Which being more silent thinks worse being alone

Of Caius.

As Caius walks the streets, if he but heare
A blackman grunt his note, he cries oh rare!
He cries oh rare , to heare the Irishmen
Cry pippe, fine pippe, with a shrill accent, when
He comes at Mercers chappell; and, oh rare ,
At Ludgate at the prisoners plaine-song there:
Oh rare sings he to heare a Cobler sing,
Or a wassaile on twelfe night, or the ring
At cold S. Pancras church; or any thing:
He'le cry, oh rare , and scratch the elbow too
To see two Butchers curres fight; the Cuckoo,

Ad Crocum.

Crocus , thou sai'st that thou do'st know more queans
Then many a poore man ears in Autum gleans?
But Crocus, Crocus , if they all know you,
I feare I-faith you haue too much to do.

Of Gellia.

Gellia intic'd her good-man to the Citty,
And often threatneth to giue him the lurch,
See how this sweet sinne makes the simplest witty:
She ( too prophane ) whilst he is at the church,
Ringing the first peale at the greatest bels
At home will ring all in with some one els.