Collected Works of Michael Drayton

by Michael Drayton

  Whilst that Knave-foole which well himselfe doth knowe,

  Smiles at the Coxcombe, which admires him so:

  His time and wealth, thus lewdly that doth spend,

  As it were lent him to no other end:

  Untill this Moone-Calfe, this most drunken puffe,

  Even like a Candle burnt into the snuffe:

  Fierd with surfet, in his owne greace fries,

  Sparkles a little, and then stinking dies.

  The wealth his Father by extortion wonne,

  Thus in the spending helps to damne the Sonne,

  And so falls out indifferently to either,

  Whereby in hell they justly meete together;

  And yet the World much joyes in her behalfe,

  And takes no little pleasure in her Calfe,

  Had this declining time the Freedome now,

  Which the brave Romane once did it alowe:

  With Wyer and Whipcord yee should see her payde,

  Till the luxurious Whore should be afrayde

  Of prostitution, and such lashes given,

  To make her blood spirt in the face of Heaven;

  That men by looking upward as they goe,

  Should see the plagues layd on her here belowe.

  But now proceede we with the other Twin

  Which is most woman who shall soone begin

  To shew her selfe; no sooner got the Teenes,

  But her owne naturall beauty she disdaines,

  With Oyles and Broathes most venomous and base,

  Shee plaisters over her well-favoured face;

  And those sweet veynes by nature rightly plac’d,

  Wherewith she seem’d that white skin to have lac’d,

  Shee soone doth alter; and with fading blewe,

  Blanching her bosome, she makes others newe;

  Blotting the curious workmanship of nature;

  That e’re she be arriv’d at her full stature,

  E’re she be drest, she seemeth aged growne,

  And to have nothing on her of her owne:

  Her black, browne, aburne or her yellow hayre,

  Naturally lovely, she doth scorne to weare;

  It must be white to make it fresh to show,

  And with compounded meale she makes it so:

  With fumes and powdrings raising such a smoke,

  That a whole Region able were to choke:

  Whose stench might fright a Dragon from his den,

  The Sunne yet ne’re exhal’d from any Fen;

  Such pestilencious vapours as arise,

  From their French Powdrings, and their Mercuries.

  Ireland, if thou wilt able be alone,

  Of thine owne power to drive out thy Tyrone:

  By heaping up a masse of Coyne together,

  Sheere thy olde Wolves, and send their Fleeces hether.

  Thy white Goates hayre, Wales, dearer will be solde

  Then silke of Naples, or then Thred of golde.

  Our Water-dogs, and Islands here are shorne;

  White haire so much of women here is worne.

  Nay more then this, they’ll any thing endure,

  And with large summes they stick not to procure:

  Hayre from the dead, yea and the most uncleane,

  To helpe their pride they nothing will disdaine.

  Then in attiring her, and in her sleepe,

  The dayes three parts she exercis’d doth keepe,

  And in ridiculous visits she doth spend

  The other fourth part, to no other end;

  But to take note how such a Lady lies,

  And to gleane from her some deformities,

  Which for a grace she holds, and till she get,

  She thinkes her selfe to be but counterfet.

  Our Merchants from all parts twixt either Inde,

  Cannot get Silke to satisfie her minde:

  Nor Natures perfect’st patternes can suffise,

  The curious draughts for her imbroyderies:

  She thinks her honour utterly is lost,

  Except those things doe infinitely cost

  Which she doth weare; nor thinke they can her dresse,

  Except she have them in most strange excesse.

  And in her fashion she is likewise thus,

  In every thing she must be monstrous:

  Her Picadell above her crowne up-beares;

  Her Fardingale is set above her eares:

  Which like a broad sayle with the winde doth swell,

  To drive this faire Hulke headlong into Hell.

  After againe, note, and you shall her see,

  Shorne like a man, and for that she will be

  Like him in all, her congies she will make,

  With the mans curtsie, and her Hat off take,

  Of the French fashion, and weare by her side

  Her sharpe Stillato in a Ryband tide,

  Then gird her selfe close to the paps she shall,

  Shap’d, breast, and buttock, but no waste at all.

  But of this she Calfe now, to cease all strife;

  Ile by example lim her to the life.

  Not long agone it was my chance to meete

  With such a Fury, such a female spright;

  As never man sawe yet, except twere shee,

  And such a one as I may never see

  Againe I pray: but where I will not name,

  For that the place might so pertake her shame:

  But when I sawe her rampant to transcend

  All womenhead, I thought her (sure) a friend,

  And to my selfe my thoughts suggested thus,

  That she was gotten by some Incubus,

  And so remembring an olde womans tale,

  As she sate dreaming o’r a pot of Ale,

  That on a time she did the Devill meete,

  And knew him onely by his cloven feete:

  So did I looke at hers, where she did goe,

  To see if her feete, were not cloven so.

  Ten long-tongu’d Tapsters in a common In,

  When as the Guests to flock apace begin,

  When up-stayre one, down-stayre another hies,

  With squeaking clamours, and confused cries;

  Never did yet make such a noyse as she,

  That I dare boldly justifie, that he,

  Who but one houre her lowd clack can endure,

  May undisturbed, safely, and secure

  Sleepe under any Bells, and never heare

  Though they were rung, the clappers at his eare,

  And the long’st night with one sweet sleepe beguile,

  As though he dreamt of Musick all the while.

  The very sight of her when she doth rore,

  Is able to strike dumbe the boldest Whore

  That ever traded: shee’ll not stick to tell,

  All in her life that ever her befell;

  How she hath layne, with all degrees, and ages,

  Her Plow-Boyes, Scullians, Lackies, and some Pages,

  And sweare when we have said all that we can,

  That there is nothing worth a pin in man,

  And that there’s nothing doth so please her minde,

  As to see Mares, and Horses, doe their kinde;

  And when she’s Tipsey, how so e’re t’ offend,

  Then all her speech to Bawdry doth intend:

  In Womens secrets, and shee’ll name yee all

  Red to the Midwives at the Surgeons Hall.

  Were the poore Coxcomb, her dull Husband dead,

  He that durst then this female Moone-Calfe wed,

  Should quite put downe the Roman which once leepe,

  Into the burning Gulfe, thereby to keepe

  His Country from devouring with the flame:

  Thus leave we her, of all her sex the shame.

  Amongst the rest, at the Worlds labour there,

  Foure good olde women, most especiall were,

  Which had beene jolly Wenches in their dayes,

  Through all the Parish, and had borne
the praise,

  For merry Tales: one Mother Red-Cap hight,

  And mother Howlet, somewhat ill of sight,

  For she had hurt her eyes with watching late;

  Then mother Bumby a mad jocound Mate

  As ever Gossipt, and with her there came

  Olde Gammer Gurton, a right pleasant Dame,

  As the best of them; being thus together,

  The businesse done for which they had come thither:

  Quoth jolly mother Red-Cap at the last,

  I see the night is quickly like to waste;

  And since the World so kindly now is layde,

  And the childe safe, which made us all afraide:

  Let’s have a night on’t wenches, hang up sorrow,

  And what sleepe wants now, take it up to morrow.

  Stirre up the fire, and let us have our Ale,

  And o’r our Cups, let’s each one tell her Tale:

  My honest Gossips, and to put you in,

  Ile breake the Ice, and thus doth mine begin.

  There was a certaine Prophesie of olde,

  Which to an Ile had anciently beene tolde,

  That after many yeares were com’n and gone,

  Which then came out, and the set time came on;

  Nay, more it told, the very day and howre,

  Wherein should fall so violent a showre;

  That it new Rivers in the earth should weare,

  And Dorps, and Bridges quite away should beare:

  But where this Ile is, that I cannot showe,

  Let them enquire that have desire to knowe:

  The Story leaves out that, let it alone;

  And Gossip with my Tale I will goe on:

  Yet what was worse the Prophecie this spake,

  (As to warne men defence for it to make)

  That upon whom one drop should chance to light,

  They should of reason be deprived quite.

  This Prophecie had many an Age beene heard,

  But not a man did it one pin reguard;

  For all to folly did themselves dispose,

  (On veryer Calves the Sunne yet never rose)

  And of their laughter made it all the Theame,

  By terming it, the drunken Wizards Dreame.

  There was one honest man amongst the rest,

  That bare more perfect knowledge in his breast;

  And to himselfe his private houres had kept,

  To talke with God, whilst others drunke or slept,

  Who in his mercy to this man reveal’d,

  That which in Justice he had long conceal’d

  From the rude Heard, but let them still runne on

  The ready way to their destruction.

  This honest man the Prophecie that noted,

  And things therein more curiously had quoted,

  Found all those signes were truly come to passe,

  That should fore-showe this raine, and that it was

  Neerely at hand; and from his depth of skill,

  Had many a time fore-warn’d them of their ill,

  And Preach’d to them this Deluge (for their good)

  As to th’ olde World Noe did before the Flood;

  But lost his labour, and since t’was in vaine,

  To talke more to those Idiots of the raine;

  He let them rest: and silent sought about,

  Where he might finde some place of safety out,

  To shroud himselfe in, for right well he knewe,

  That from this shower, which then began to brewe,

  No roofe of Tyle, or Thatch he could come in,

  Could serve him from being wet to the bare skin.

  At length this man bethought him of a Cave

  In a huge Rock, which likely was to save

  Him from th’ shower, upon a hill so steepe,

  As up the same a man could hardly creepe,

  So that except Noahs Flood should come againe,

  He never could be raught by any raine;

  Thither at length, though with much toyle he clome,

  Listning to heare what would thereof become.

  It was not long e’re he perceiv’d the skies

  Setled to raine, and a black cloud arise,

  Whose foggy grosnesse so oppos’d the light,

  As it would turne the noone-sted into night.

  When the winde came about with all his power,

  Into the tayle of this approching shower,

  And it to lighten presently began;

  Quicker then thought, from East to West that ran:

  The Thunder following did so fiercely rave,

  And through the thick clouds with such fury drave,

  As Hell had been set open for the nonce,

  And all the Divels heard to rore at once:

  And soone the Tempest so outragious grew,

  That it whole hedgerowes by the roots up threw,

  So wondrously prodigious was the weather,

  As heaven and earth had meant to goe together:

  And downe the shower impetuously doth fall,

  Like that which men the Hurricano call:

  As the grand Deluge had beene come againe,

  And all the World should perish by the raine.

  And long it lasted; all which time this man

  Hid in the Cave doth in his judgement scan,

  What of this inundation would ensue,

  For he knew well the Prophecie was true:

  And when the shower was somwhat over-past,

  And that the skies began to cleare at last:

  To the Caves mouth he softly put his eare,

  To listen if he any thing could heare:

  What harme this storme had done, and what became

  Of those that had beene sowsed in the same.

  No sooner he that nimble Organ lent

  To the Caves mouth; but that incontinent

  There was a noyse as if the Garden Beares,

  And all the Dogs together by the eares,

  And those of Bedlam had enlarged bin,

  And to behold the Bayting had come in:

  Which when he heard, he knew too well alasse,

  That what had beene fore-told, was come to passe;

  Within himselfe good man, he reasoned thus:

  Tis for our sinnes, this plague is falne on us.

  Of all the rest, though in my wits I be,

  (I thanke my Maker) yet it greeveth me,

  To see my Country in this piteous case;

  Woe’s me that ever they so wanted grace:

  But when as man once casts off vertue quite,

  And doth in sinne and beastlinesse delight,

  We see how soone God turnes him to a Sot:

  To showe my selfe yet a true Patriot,

  Ile in amongst them, and if so, that they

  Be not accurst of God, yet, yet I may,

  By wholesome counsell (if they can but heare)

  Make them as perfect as at first they were,

  And thus resolv’d goes this good poore man downe;

  When at the entrance of the Neighbouring Towne,

  He meetes a woman, with her Buttocks bare,

  Got up a stride upon a wall-eyde Mare,

  To runne a Horse-race, and was like to ride

  Over the good man: but he stept aside;

  And after her, another that bestroad

  A Horse of Service, with a Lance she rode

  Arm’d, and behinde her on a Pillian satt

  Her frantique Husband, in a broad-brim’d Hatt,

  A Maske and Safeguard; and had in his hand

  His mad Wifes Distaffe for a ryding Wand:

  Scarse from these mad folke, had he gone so farre,

  As a strong man, will eas’ly pitch a Barre:

  But that he found a Youth in Tissue brave,

  (A daintier man one would not wish to have)

  Was courting of a loathsome mezzeld Sowe,

  And in his judgement, swore he must alowe

  Hers, the p
rime Beauty, that he ever sawe,

  Thus was she sued to (by that prating Dawe)

  Who, on a dunghill in the loathsome gore,

  Had farrowed ten Pigs scarce an houre before.

  At which this man in melancholly deepe,

  Burst into laughter, like before to weepe.

  Another foole, to fit him for the weather,

  Had arm’d his heeles with Cork, his head with feather;

  And in more strange and sundry colours clad,

  Then in the Raine-bowe ever can be had:

  Stalk’d through the Streets, preparing him to flie,

  Up to the Moone upon an Embassie.

  Another seeing his drunken Wife disgorge

  Her pamperd stomack, got her to a Forge,

  And in her throat the Feverous heat to quench

  With the Smiths horne, was giving her a Drench:

  One his next Neighbour haltred had by force,

  So frantique, that he tooke him for a Horse,

  And to a Pond was leading him to drinke;

  It went beyond the wit of man to thinke,

  The sundry frenzies that he there might see,

  One man would to another married be:

  And for a Curate taking the Towne Bull,

  Would have him knit the knot: another Gull

  Had found an Ape was chained to a Stall,

  Which he to worship on his knees doth fall;

  To doe the like and doth his Neighbours get,

  Who in a Chaire this ill-fac’d Munky set,

  And on their shoulders lifting him on hie,

  They in Procession beare him with a crie;

  And him a Lord will have at least, if not,

  A greater man: another sort had got

  About a Pedlar, who had lately heard,

  How with the mad men of this Ile it far’d:

  And having nothing in his Pack but toyes,

  Which none except meere mad men, and fond boyes

  Would ever touch; thought verily that he

  Amongst these Bedlams, would a gayner be,

  Or else loose all; scarce had he pitch’d his Pack,

  E’re he could scarcely say, what doe yee lack:

  But that they throng’d about him with their mony,

  As thick as Flyes about a Pot of hony;

  Some of these Lunaticks, these frantique Asses,

  Gave him Spurryalls for his farthing Glasses:

  There should you see another of these Cattell,

  Give him a pound of silver for a Rattle;

  And there another that would needsly scorse,

  A costly Jewell for a Hobby-Horse:

  For Bells, and Babies, such as children small,

  Are ever us’d to solace them withall:

  Those they did buy at such a costly rate,

  That it was able to subvert a State;

  Which when this wise and sober man beheld,

  For very griefe his eyes with teares were sweld.