home | index | concordance | composite list of variants | help |
Sat: 2.a
Sr, Though (I thanke God for it) I do hate [f. 3v]
Perfectly all this towne, yet ther is one State
In all ill things so excellently best
That hate towards them breeds pity towards ye rest.
Though Poetry indeed be such a Sin
As I thinke yt brings dearths and Spanyards in;
Though like ye pestilence or old fashiond loue
It ridlingly catch men, and doth remoue
Neuer till it be steru'd out, yet their State
Is poore, disarm'd, like Papists, not worth hate.
One like a wretch wch at barr iudgd as dead
Yet prompts him wch stands next, and could not read
And saues his Life, giues Ideot Actors meanes
Steruing himselfe to liue by his Labord Sceanes.
As in some Organes puppets dance aboue
And bellows pant below wch them do moue.
One would moue Loue by rhimes; but witchcrafts char\mes
Bring not now their old feares, nor their old harmes.
Ramms and Slings now are seely batteree
Pistolets are the best artilleree.
And they who write to Lords; rewards to gett
Are they like boyes singing at dores for meat?
And they who write because all write, haue still
That Scuse for wrighting and for wrighting ill.
But he is worst, who beggerly doth chaw
Others witts fruites, and in his rauenous maw
Rawly digested doth those things outspue
As his owne things, and they'are his owne: tis true.
for if one eate my meate, though it be knowne
The meat was myne, the excrement is his owne.
But these do me no harme. Nor they wch vse
To outswive dildoes; and out vsure Iewes:
To out drinke the Sea: outsweare the Letanee:
Who wt Sins all kinds as familiar bee
As Confessors: and for whose sinfull sake
Schoolemen new tenements in hell must make.