A Satire Anthology. Wells Carolyn
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Название: A Satire Anthology

Автор: Wells Carolyn

Издательство: Public Domain

Жанр: Юмор: прочее

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СКАЧАТЬ WAS a scholar: seven useful springs

      Did I deflower in quotations

      Of cross’d opinions ’bout the soul of man;

      The more I learnt, the more I learnt to doubt.

      Delight my spaniel slept, whilst I baus’d leaves,

      Toss’d o’er the dunces, pored on the old print

      Of titled words: and still my spaniel slept.

      Whilst I wasted lamp-oil, baited my flesh,

      Shrunk up my veins: and still my spaniel slept.

      And still I held converse with Zabarell,

      Aquinas, Scotus, and the musty saw

      Of antick Donate: still my spaniel slept.

      Still on went I; first, an sit anima;

      Then, an it were mortal. Oh, hold, hold! at that

      They’re at brain buffets, fell by the ears amain

      Pell-mell together; still my spaniel slept.

      Then, whether ’t were corporeal, local, fixt,

      Ex traduce, but whether ’t had free will

      Or no, hot philosphers

      Stood banding factions, all so strongly propt,

      I stagger’d, knew not which was firmer part,

      But thought, quoted, read, observ’d, and pryed,

      Stufft noting-books: and still my spaniel slept.

      At length he wak’d, and yawned; and by yon sky,

      For aught I know he knew as much as I.

John Marston.

      THE MANLY HEART

      SHALL I, wasting in despair,

      Die because a woman’s fair?

      Or my cheeks make pale with care

      ’Cause another’s rosy are?

      Be she fairer than the day,

      Or the flowery meads in May,

      If she be not so to me,

      What care I how fair she be?

      Shall my foolish heart be pined

      ’Cause I see a woman kind;

      Or a well-disposéd nature

      Joinéd with a lovely feature?

      Be she meeker, kinder, than

      Turtle-dove or pelican,

      If she be not so to me,

      What care I how kind she be?

      Shall a woman’s virtues move

      Me to perish for her love?

      Or her merit’s value known

      Make me quite forget my own?

      Be she with that goodness blest

      Which may gain her name of Best,

      If she seem not such to me,

      What care I how good she be?

      ’Cause her fortune seems too high,

      Shall I play the fool and die?

      Those that bear a noble mind

      Where they want of riches find,

      Think what with them they would do

      Who without them dare to woo;

      And unless that mind I see,

      What care I though great she be?

      Great or good, or kind or fair,

      I will ne’er the more despair;

      If she loves me, this believe,

      I will die ere she shall grieve;

      If she slight me when I woo,

      I can scorn and let her go;

      For if she be not for me,

      What care I for whom she be?

George Wither.

      THE CONSTANT LOVER

      OUT upon it! I have loved

      Three whole days together,

      And am like to love three more,

      If it prove fair weather.

      Time shall moult away his wings

      Ere he shall discover

      In the whole wide world again

      Such a constant lover.

      But the spite on ’t is, no praise

      Is due at all to me:

      Love with me had made no stays,

      Had it any been but she.

      Had it any been but she,

      And that very face,

      There had been at least ere this

      A dozen dozen in her place.

Sir John Suckling.

      THE REMONSTRANCE

      WHY so pale and wan, fond lover?

      Prithee, why so pale?

      Will, when looking well can’t move her,

      Looking ill prevail?

      Prithee, why so pale?

      Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

      Prithee, why so mute?

      Will, when speaking well can’t win her,

      Saying nothing do’t?

      Prithee, why so mute?

      Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,

      This cannot take her;

      If of herself she will not love,

      Nothing can make her:

      The devil take her!

Sir John Suckling.

      SAINTSHIP VERSUS CONSCIENCE

      “WHY didst thou choose that cursed sin,

      Hypocrisy, to set up in?”

      “Because it is the thriving’st calling,

      The only saints’ bell that rings all in;

      In which all churches are concern’d,

      And is the easiest to be learn’d.”

…

      Quoth he, “I am resolv’d to be

      Thy scholar in this mystery;

      And therefore first desire to know

      Some principles on which you go.

      What makes a knave a child of God,

      And one of us?” “A livelihood.”

      “What renders beating out of brains,

      And murder, godliness?” “Great gains.”

      “What’s tender conscience?” “’Tis a botch

      That will not bear the gentlest touch;

      But, breaking out, despatches more

      Than th’ epidemical’st plague-sore.”

      “What makes y’ encroach upon our trade,

      And damn all others?” “To be paid.”

      “What’s orthodox and СКАЧАТЬ