Chapter 5

Syne Sweirness, at the second bidding, Came like a sow out of a midding, Full sleepy was his grunyie:[133] Mony swear bumbard belly huddroun,[134] Mony slut, daw, and sleepy duddroun, Him servit aye with sonnyie;[135] He drew them furth intill a chain, And Belial with a bridle rein Ever lashed them on the lunyie:[136] In Daunce they were so slaw of feet, They gave them in the fire a heat, And made them quicker of cunyie.[137]

VIII.

Then Lechery, that laithly corpse, Came berand like ane baggit horse,[138] And Idleness did him lead; There was with him ane ugly sort, And mony stinking foul tramort,[139] That had in sin been dead: When they were enterit in the Dance, They were full strange of countenance, Like torches burning red.

IX.

Then the foul monster, Gluttony, Of wame insatiable and greedy, To Dance he did him dress: Him followit mony foul drunkart, With can and collop, cup and quart, In surfit and excess; Full mony a waistless wally-drag, With wames unweildable, did furth wag, In creesh[140] that did incress: Drink! aye they cried, with mony a gaip, The fiends gave them het lead to laip, Their leveray was na less.[141]

X.

Nae minstrels played to them but doubt,[142] For gleemen there were halden out, Be day, and eke by nicht; Except a minstrel that slew a man, So to his heritage he wan, And enterit by brieve of richt.[143] Then cried Mahoun for a Hieland Padyane:[144] Syne ran a fiend to fetch Makfadyane, Far northwast in a neuck; Be he the coronach[145] had done shout, Ersche men so gatherit him about, In hell great room they took: Thae tarmigants, with tag and tatter, Full loud in Ersche begoud to clatter, And roup like raven and rook.[146] The Devil sae deaved[147] was with their yell; That in the deepest pot of hell He smorit[148] them with smoke!

[Footnote 110: Mahoun, or the devil, proclaimed a dance of sinners that had not received absolution.]

[Footnote 111: The evening before Lent, usually a festival at the Scottish court.]

[Footnote 112: go prepare a show in character.]

[Footnote 113: gambols.]

[Footnote 114: Holy harlots (hypocrites), in a haughty manner. The term harlot was applied indiscriminately to both sexes.]

[Footnote 115: Names of spirits, like Robin Goodfellow in England, and Brownie in Scotland.]

[Footnote 116: Pride, with hair artfully put back, and bonnet on side: "vaistie wanis" is now unintelligible; some interpret the phrase as meaning "wasteful wants", but this seems improbable, considering the locality or scene of the poem.]

[Footnote 117: His cassock for the nonce or occasion.]

[Footnote 118: a cheat or impostor.]

[Footnote 119: groans.]

[Footnote 120: bear.]

[Footnote 121: Boasters, braggarts, and bullies.]

[Footnote 122: Arrayed in the accoutrements of war.]

[Footnote 123: In coats of armour, and covered with iron network to the heel.]

[Footnote 124: Wild was their aspect.]

[Footnote 125: brands beat.]

[Footnote 126: many strong dissemblers.]

[Footnote 127: With feigned words fair or white.]

[Footnote 128: spreaders of false reports.]

[Footnote 129: usurers.]

[Footnote 130: Misers.]

[Footnote 131: a great quantity.]

[Footnote 132: gold of every coinage.]

[Footnote 133: his grunt.]

[Footnote 134: Many a lazy glutton.]

[Footnote 135: served with care.]

[Footnote 136: loins.]

[Footnote 137: quicker of apprehension.]

[Footnote 138: neighing like an entire horse.]

[Footnote 139: corpse.]

[Footnote 140: grease.]

[Footnote 141: Their reward, or their desire not diminished.]

[Footnote 142: No minstrels without doubt--a compliment to the poetical profession: there were no gleemen or minstrels in the infernal regions.]

[Footnote 143: letter of right.]

[Footnote 144: Pageant.]

[Footnote 145: By the time he had done shouting the coronach or cry of help, the Highlanders speaking Erse or Gaelic gathered about him.]

[Footnote 146: croaked like ravens and rooks.]

[Footnote 147: deafened.]

[Footnote 148: smothered.]

SIR DAVID LYNDSAY.

(1490-1555.)

VI. SATIRE ON THE SYDE TAILLIS--ANE SUPPLICATIOUN DIRECTIT TO THE KINGIS GRACE--1538.

The specimen of Lyndsay cited below--this satire on long trains--is by no means the most favourable that could be desired, but it is the only one that lent itself readily to quotation. The archaic spelling is slightly modernized.

Schir! though your Grace has put gret order Baith in the Hieland and the Border Yet mak I supplicatioun Till have some reformatioun Of ane small falt, whilk is nocht treason Though it be contrarie to reason. Because the matter been so vile, It may nocht have ane ornate style; Wherefore I pray your Excellence To hear me with great patience: Of stinking weedis maculate No man nay mak ane rose-chaplet. Sovereign, I mean of thir syde tails, Whilk through the dust and dubis trails Three quarters lang behind their heels, Express again' all commonweals. Though bishops, in their pontificals, Have men for to bear up their tails, For dignity of their office; Richt so ane queen or ane empress; Howbeit they use sic gravity, Conformand to their majesty, Though their robe-royals be upborne, I think it is ane very scorn, That every lady of the land Should have her tail so syde trailand; Howbeit they been of high estate, The queen they should nocht counterfeit.

Wherever they may go it may be seen How kirk and causay they soop[149] clean. The images into the kirk May think of their syde taillis irk;[150] For when the weather been maist fair, The dust flies highest in the air, And all their faces does begarie. Gif they could speak, they wald them warie...[151] But I have maist into despite Poor claggocks[152] clad in raploch-white, Whilk has scant twa merks for their fees, Will have twa ells beneath their knees. Kittock that cleckit[153] was yestreen, The morn, will counterfeit the queen: And Moorland Meg, that milked the yowes, Claggit with clay aboon the hows,[154] In barn nor byre she will not bide, Without her kirtle tail be syde. In burghs, wanton burgess wives Wha may have sydest tailis strives, Weel borderéd with velvet fine, But followand them it is ane pyne: In summer, when the streetis dries, They raise the dust aboon the skies; Nane may gae near them at their ease, Without they cover mouth and neese... I think maist pane after ane rain, To see them tuckit up again; Then when they step furth through the street, Their fauldings flaps about their feet; They waste mair claith, within few years, Nor wald cleid fifty score of freirs... Of tails I will no more indite, For dread some duddron[155] me despite: Notwithstanding, I will conclude, That of syde tails can come nae gude, Sider nor may their ankles hide, The remanent proceeds of pride, And pride proceeds of the devil, Thus alway they proceed of evil.

Ane other fault, sir, may be seen-- They hide their face all but the een; When gentlemen bid them gude-day, Without reverence they slide away... Without their faults be soon amended, My flyting,[156] sir, shall never be ended; But wald your Grace my counsel tak, Ane proclamation ye should mak, Baith through the land and burrowstouns,[157] To shaw their face and cut their gowns.

Women will say this is nae bourds,[158] To write sic vile and filthy words. But wald they clenge[159] their filthy tails Whilk over the mires and middens trails, Then should my writing clengit be; None other mends they get of me.

[Footnote 149: sweep.]

[Footnote 150: be annoyed.]

[Footnote 151: curse or cry out.]

[Footnote 152: draggle-tails.]

[Footnote 153: hatched.]

[Footnote 154: houghs.]

[Footnote 155: slut.]

[Footnote 156: scolding, brawling.]

[Footnote 157: burgh towns.]

[Footnote 158: scoffs.]

[Footnote 159: cleanse.]

BISHOP JOSEPH HALL.

(1574-1656.)

VII. ON SIMONY.

This satire levels a rebuke at the Simoniacal traffic in livings, then openly practised by public advertisement affixed to the door of St. Paul's. "Si Quis" (if anyone) was the first word of these advertisements. Dekker, in the _Gull's Hornbook_, speaks of the "Siquis door of Paules", and in Wroth's _Epigrams_ (1620) we read, "A Merry Greek set up a _Siquis_ late". This satire forms the Fifth of the Second Book of the _Virgidemiarum_.

Saw'st thou ever Siquis patcht on Pauls Church door To seek some vacant vicarage before? Who wants a churchman that can service say, Read fast and fair his monthly homily? And wed and bury and make Christen-souls?[160] Come to the left-side alley of St. Paules. Thou servile fool, why could'st thou not repair To buy a benefice at Steeple-Fair? There moughtest thou, for but a slendid price, Advowson thee with some fat benefice: Or if thee list not wait for dead mens shoon, Nor pray each morn the incumbents days were doone: A thousand patrons thither ready bring, Their new-fall'n[161] churches, to the chaffering; Stake three years stipend: no man asketh more. Go, take possession of the Church porch door, And ring thy bells; luck stroken in thy fist The parsonage is thine, or ere thou wist. Saint Fool's of Gotam[162] mought thy parish be For this thy base and servile Simony.

[Footnote 160: baptize.]

[Footnote 161: newly fallen in, through the death of the incumbent.]

[Footnote 162: Referring to Andrew Borde's book, _The Merry Tales of the Mad Men of Gotham_.]

VIII. THE DOMESTIC TUTOR'S POSITION.

This satire forms the Sixth of Book II. of the _Virgidemiarum_, and is regarded as one of Bishop Hall's best. See the _Return from Parnassus_ and Parrot's _Springes for Woodcocks_ (1613) for analogous references to those occurring in this piece.

A gentle squire would gladly entertain Into his house some trencher chapelain; Some willing man that might instruct his sons, And that would stand to good conditions. First, that he lie upon the truckle-bed Whiles his young master lieth o'er his head. Second that he do on no default Ever presume to sit above the salt. Third that he never change his trencher twice. Fourth that he use all common courtesies: Sit bare at meals and one half rise and wait. Last, that he never his young master beat, But he must ask his mother to define, How many jerks she would his breech should line. All these observed, he could contented be, To give five marks and winter livery.

IX. THE IMPECUNIOUS FOP.

This satire constitutes Satire Seven of Book III. The phrase of dining with Duke Humphrey, which is still occasionally heard, originated in the following manner:--In the body of old St. Paul's was a huge and conspicuous monument of Sir John Beauchamp, buried in 1358, son of Guy, and brother of Thomas, Earl of Warwick. This by vulgar mistake was called the tomb of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, who was really buried at St. Alban's. The middle aisle of St. Paul's was therefore called "The Duke's Gallery". In Dekker's _Dead Terme_ we have the phrase used and a full explanation of it given; also in Sam Speed's _Legend of His Grace Humphrey, Duke of St. Paul's Cathedral Walk_ (1674).

See'st thou how gaily my young master goes, Vaunting himself upon his rising toes; And pranks his hand upon his dagger's side; And picks his glutted teeth since late noon-tide? 'Tis Ruffio: Trow'st thou where he dined to-day? In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humphrey. Many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer, Keeps he for every straggling cavalier; An open house, haunted with great resort; Long service mixt with musical disport. Many fair younker with a feathered crest, Chooses much rather be his shot-free guest, To fare so freely with so little cost, Than stake his twelvepence to a meaner host. Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say He touched no meat of all this livelong day; For sure methought, yet that was but a guess, His eyes seemed sunk for very hollowness, But could he have--as I did it mistake-- So little in his purse, so much upon his back? So nothing in his maw? yet seemeth by his belt That his gaunt gut no too much stuffing felt. See'st thou how side[163] it hangs beneath his hip? Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip. Yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by, All trapped in the new-found bravery. The nuns of new-won Calais his bonnet lent, In lieu of their so kind a conquerment. What needed he fetch that from farthest Spain, His grandame could have lent with lesser pain? Though he perhaps ne'er passed the English shore, Yet fain would counted be a conqueror. His hair, French-like, stares on his frighted head, One lock[164] Amazon-like dishevelled, As if he meant to wear a native cord, If chance his fates should him that bane afford. All British bare upon the bristled skin, Close notched is his beard, both lip and chin; His linen collar labyrinthian set, Whose thousand double turnings never met: His sleeves half hid with elbow pinionings, As if he meant to fly with linen wings. But when I look, and cast mine eyes below, What monster meets mine eyes in human show? So slender waist with such an abbot's loin, Did never sober nature sure conjoin. Lik'st a strawn scarecrow in a new-sown field, Reared on some stick, the tender corn to shield, Or, if that semblance suit not every deal, Like a broad shake-fork with a slender steel. Despised nature suit them once aright, Their body to their coat both now disdight. Their body to their clothes might shapen be, That will their clothës shape to their bodie. Meanwhile I wonder at so proud a back, Whiles the empty guts loud rumblen for long lack.

[Footnote 163: long.]

[Footnote 164: the love-locks which were so condemned by the Puritan Prynne. Cf. Lyly's _Midas_ and Sir John Davies' Epigram 22, _In Ciprum_.]

GEORGE CHAPMAN.

(1559-1634.)

X. AN INVECTIVE WRITTEN BY MR. GEORGE CHAPMAN AGAINST MR. BEN JONSON.

This satire was discovered in a "Common-place Book" belonging to Chapman, preserved among the Ashmole MSS. in the Bodleian Library, Oxford.

Great, learned, witty Ben, be pleased to light The world with that three-forked fire; nor fright All us, thy sublearned, with luciferous boast That thou art most great, most learn'd, witty most Of all the kingdom, nay of all the earth; As being a thing betwixt a human birth And an infernal; no humanity Of the divine soul shewing man in thee.

* * * * *

Though thy play genius hang his broken wings Full of sick feathers, and with forced things, Imp thy scenes, labour'd and unnatural, And nothing good comes with thy thrice-vex'd call, Comest thou not yet, nor yet? O no, nor yet; Yet are thy learn'd admirers so deep set In thy preferment above all that cite The sun in challenge for the heat and light Of heaven's influences which of you two knew And have most power in them; Great Ben, 'tis you. Examine him, some truly-judging spirit, That pride nor fortune hath to blind his merit, He match'd with all book-fires, he ever read His dusk poor candle-rents; his own fat head With all the learn'd world's, Alexander's flame That Cæsar's conquest cow'd, and stript his fame, He shames not to give reckoning in with his; As if the king pardoning his petulancies Should pay his huge loss too in such a score As all earth's learned fires he gather'd for. What think'st thou, just friend? equall'd not this pride All yet that ever Hell or Heaven defied? And yet for all this, this club will inflict His faultful pain, and him enough convict He only reading show'd; learning, nor wit; Only Dame Gilian's fire his desk will fit. But for his shift by fire to save the loss Of his vast learning, this may prove it gross: True Muses ever vent breaths mixt with fire Which, form'd in numbers, they in flames expire Not only flames kindled with their own bless'd breath That gave th' unborn life, and eternize death. Great Ben, I know that this is in thy hand And how thou fix'd in heaven's fix'd star dost stand In all men's admirations and command; For all that can be scribbled 'gainst the sorter Of thy dead repercussions and reporter. The kingdom yields not such another man; Wonder of men he is; the player can And bookseller prove true, if they could know Only one drop, that drives in such a flow. Are they not learned beasts, the better far Their drossy exhalations a star Their brainless admirations may render; For learning in the wise sort is but lender Of men's prime notion's doctrine; their own way Of all skills' perceptible forms a key Forging to wealth, and honour-soothed sense, Never exploring truth or consequence, Informing any virtue or good life; And therefore Player, Bookseller, or Wife Of either, (needing no such curious key) All men and things, may know their own rude way. Imagination and our appetite Forming our speech no easier than they light All letterless companions; t' all they know Here or hereafter that like earth's sons plough All under-worlds and ever downwards grow, Nor let your learning think, egregious Ben, These letterless companions are not men With all the arts and sciences indued, If of man's true and worthiest knowledge rude, Which is to know and be one complete man, And that not all the swelling ocean Of arts and sciences, can pour both in: If that brave skill then when thou didst begin To study letters, thy great wit had plied, Freely and only thy disease of pride In vulgar praise had never bound thy [hide].

JOHN DONNE.

(1573-1631.)

XI. THE CHARACTER OF THE BORE.

From Donne's _Satires_, No. IV.; first published in the quarto edition of the "Poems" in 1633. See Dr. Grosart's interesting Essay on the Life and Writings of Donne, prefixed to Vol. II. of that scholar's excellent edition.