Classic Poem

Against Nefarius his base and beastly carelesnes in his lechery.

H O , Sirrah, boy (which some young Witt do call)
Looke mee a rodde that may fetch bloud with all:
I haue an execution to performe,
So giue it mee; and now pull out the forme
Nefarius bee content, and take your paine
With patience if you can: if not refraine
From crying like a schoole boy; for I must
Whippe you for lying now you lie vntrust:
I haue tane you with the manner (too too vilde)
Vntrusse: to spare the rodd's to spill the childe.
What? Wilt thou lye as nere man did before
With one too vile to bee a common whore?
Fy! out vpon't: a gilden gentleman
Lye with a rogue reiected curtezan!
Keepe downe your heeles; nay, take away your hands;
And answer mee (in breefe) to these demands
Haue not you twice two hundred pounds a yeere?
Yes. A handsome man? Yes. Sound flesh not deere?
No. Nor hard to get? O no. Then filthy beast!
How can thy bumme (here bare) but blush (at least)
For lying with an ougly common sinck?
Come hold him downe, lle whippe him till he stinck
To call thee asse, baboone, goate, boare or ealfe,
Is farre too good: for thou art worse by halfe.
Then I will call thee cattell: that is all
That is most nastye, fowle and bestiall
Nay yet lie still, I haue but yet begun
To teach you how you shall such carrion shunne
Thou art a reall diuell, whose chiefe blisse
Is in the place that most most filthy is.
It griues me I haue nought more nought then he
To which I may most iustly liken thee
Go to, I say, lie still: or Ile haue bands:
What I lie you at your guard? pull vp his hands:
Downe with his heeles: so, so: now golden asse,—
The simily's too deare,—thou snake of brasse!
Tushe, brasse is pure gold in comparison
Of thy base-metled minds corruption
O! that I could (that all the world might see)
Fetch bloud at euery blow I fetch for thee.
O forlorne filthy foole, what shall betide thee?
Thou art so beastly no man can abide thee.
Well, I am sorry but I cannot weepe,
To see thee looke so like a rotten sheepe.
Peace lowing cow-babe, lubberly hobberdy hoy:
Spit out, choke not, cry lowder, there lo, thou boy!
Now wipe thine nose (sweete babe!) vpon thy sleeue:
What wilt i' faith? Why well sedd I perceiue
Th' wilt do as thou art bidde: O spare thy mouth,
And leaue thy sobbing tender-harted youth
Froth of infirmity and Slutteries skumme:
Why how now? Yelling yet? No more, peace, mumme
So let him go: Now Sirrah by this time
You know what tis to be well whipt in rime.
Goe mend your manners; fough, go get the gon:
Now spare mee as I spare correction.
Put vp your hose, leaue yexing: so tis well:
Now none can know thee whipt, but by the smell
Another time (if you of force must whore it)
Take mee a clearer, or Ile scowre you for it.
 And if thou mendst not then, then I protest
 He whip thee cleane past Time and Death in iest.