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cannot but be unpleasing both to the unskilful and over musical ear; the one being affected with only a shallow and casy matter, the other with a smooth and current disposition: so that I well foresee in the timely publication of these my concealed Satires, I am set upon the rack of many mercilesse and peremptory censures; which, sith the calmest and most plausible writer is almost fatally subject to, in the curiosity of these nicer times, how may I hope to be exempted upon the occasion of so busy and stirring a subject? One thinks it mis-beseeming the author, because a poem ; another, unlawful in itself, because a satire; a third, harmful to others, for the sharpness; and a fourth, unsatire-like, for the mildness: the learned, too perspicuous, being named with Juvenal, Persius, and the other ancient satires: the unlearned, savourless, because too obscure, and obscure, because not under their reach. What a monster must he be that would please all !

"Certainly look what weather it would be, if every almanac should be verified: much-what like poems, if every fancy should be suited. It is not for this kind to desire or hope to please, which na. turally should only find pleasure in displeasing: notwithstanding, if the fault finding with the vices of the time may honestly accord with the good will of the parties, I had as lieve ease my self with a slender apology, as wilfully bear the brunt of causeless anger in my silence. For poetry itself, after the so effectual and absolute endeavours of her honoured patrons, either she needeth no new defence, or else might well scorn the offer of so impotent and poor a client. Only for my own part, though were she a more unworthy mistress, I think she might be inoffensively served with the broken messes of our twelve o'clock hours, which homely service she only claimed and found of me, for that short while of my attendance: yet having thus soon taken my solemn farewell of her, and shaked hands with all her retinue, why should it be an eye-sore unto any, sith it can be no loss to my self? "For my Satires themselves, I see two obvious cavils to be answered: one concerning the matter; than which I confess none can be more open to danger, to envy; sith faults loath nothing more than the light, and men love nothing more than their faults, and therefore, what through the nature of the faults, and fault of the persons, it is impossible so violent an appeachment should be quietly brooked. But why should vices be unblamed for fear of blame? And if thou mayest spit upon a toad unvenomed, why mayest thou not speak of vice without danger? Especially so warily as I have endeavoured; who, in the unpartial mention of so many vices, may safely profess to be altogether guiltless in myself to the intention of any guilty person who might be blemished by the likelihood of my conceived application, thereupon choosing rather to marre mine own verse than another's name: which notwithstanding, if the injurious reader shall wrest to his own spight, and disparaging of others, it is a short answer, Art thou guilty? Complain not, thou art not wronged. Art thou guiltless? Complain not, thou art not touched. The other, concerning the manner, wherein perhaps too much stooping to the low reach of the vulgar, I shall be thought not to have any whit kindly raught my ancient Roman predecessors, whom in the want of more late and familiar precedents, I am constrained thus far off to imitate: which thing I can be so willing to grant, that I am further ready to warrant my action therein to any indifferent censure. First, therefore, I dare boldly avouch that the English is not altogether so natural to a satire as the Latin; which I do not impute to the nature of the language itself, being so far from disabling it any way, that methinks I durst equal it to the proudest in every respect; but to that which is common to it with all the other common languages, Italian, French, German, &c. In their poesies, the fettering together the series of the verses, with the bonds of like cadence or desinence of rhyme, which, if it be unusually abrupt, and not dependent in sense upon so near affinity of words, I know not what a loathsome kind of harshness and discordance it breedeth to any judicial ear: which if any more confident adversary shall gainsay, I wish no better trial than the translation of one of Persius's Satires into English the difficulty and dissonance whereof shall make good my assertion: besides,' the plain experience thereof in the Satires of Ariosto, (save which, and one base French Satire, I could never attain the view of any for my direction, and that also might for need serve for an excuse at least) whose chain-verse, to which he fettereth himself, as it may well afford a pleasing harmony to the ear, so can it yield nothing but a flashy and loose conceit to the judgment. Whereas the Roman numbers tying but one foot to another, offereth a greater freedom of variety, with much more delight to the reader. Let my second ground be, the well-known dainties of the time, such, that men rather chuse carelesly to lose the sweet of the kernell, than to urge their teeth with breaking the shell wherein it was wrapped: and therefore sith that which is unseen is almost undone, and that is almost unseen which is unconceived, either I would say nothing to be untalked of, or speak with my

mouth open that I may be understood. Thirdly, the end of this pains was a satire, but the end of my satire a further good, which whether I attain or no I know not; but let me be plain with the hope of profit, rather than purposely obscure only for a bare name's sake.

"Notwithstanding, in the expectation of this quarrel, I think my first Satire doth somewhat resemble the sour and crabbed face of Juvenal's, which I, endeavouring in that, did determinately omit in the rest, for these forenamed causes, that so I might have somewhat to stop the mouth of every accuser. The rest to each man's censure: which let be as favourable as so thankless a work can deserve or desire."

It is needless to detain the reader longer, further than to mention, that the three first books are called Toothless Satires, poetical, academical, moral. The three last, Biteing Satires.

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Too good (if ill) to be expos'd to blame:

SATIRES.

BOOK I.

Too good, if worse, to shadow shamelesse vice. Ill, if too good, not answering their name:

So good and ill in fickle censure lies. Since in our satire lies both good and ill, And they and it in varying readers will.

Witnesse, ye Muses, how I wilful sung

These heady rhimes, withouten second care;
And wish'd them worse, my guilty thoughts among;
The ruder satire should go ragg'd and bare,
And show his rougher and his hairy hide, [pride.
Though mine be smooth, and deck'd in carelesse

Would we but breathe within a wax-bound quill,
Pan's seven-fold pipe, some plaintive pastoral;
To teach each hollow grove, and shrubby hill,
Each murmuring brook, each solitary vale
To sound our love, and to our song accord,
Wearying Echo with one changelesse word.

Or list us make two striving shepherds sing,
With costly wagers for the victory,
Under Menalcas judge; while one doth bring

A carven bowl well wrought of beechen tree,
Praising it by the story, or the frame,
Or want of use, or skilful maker's name.

Another layeth a well-marked lamb,

Or spotted kid, or some more forward steere, And from the paile doth praise their fertile dam; So do they strive in doubt, in hope, in feare, Awaiting for their trusty umpire's doome, Faulted as false by him that 's overcome.

Whether so me list my lovely thought to sing,
Come dance, ye nimble Dryads, by my side,
Ye gentle wood-nymphs, come; and with you bring
The willing fawns that mought your music guide.
Come nymphs and fawns, that haunt those shady
While I report my fortunes or my loves. [groves,

Or whether list me sing so personate,

My striving selfe to conquer with my verse,
Speake, ye attentive swains that heard me late,
Needs me give grasse unto the conquerors.
At Colin's fect I throw my yielding reed,
But let the rest win homage by their deed.

But now (ye Muses) sith your sacred hests
Profaned are by each presuming tongue;
In scornful rage I vow this silent rest,

That never field nor grove shall heare my song.
Only these refuse rhimes I here mis-spend
To chide the world, that did my thoughts offend,

DE SUIS SATIRIS.

DUм satyræ dixi, videor dixisse sat iræ
Corripio; aut istæc non satis est satyra.

Ia facit satyram, reliquum sat temperat iram;
Pinge tuo satyram sanguine, tum satyra est.
Ecce novam satyram: satyrum sine cornibus! Euge
Monstra novi monstri hæc, et satyri et satyræ,

PROLOGUE.

I FIRST adventure, with fool-hardy might,
To tread the steps of perilous despite.
first adventure, follow me who list,
And be the second English satirist.
Envy waits on my back, Truth on my side;
Envy will be my page, and Truth my guide.
Envy the margent holds, and Truth the line:
Truth doth approve, but Envy doth repine.
For in this smoothing age who durst indite
Hath made his pen an hired parasite,
To claw the back of him that beastly lives,
And pranck base men in proud superlatives.
Whence damned Vice is shrouded quite from shame,
And crown'd with Virtue's meed, immortal name!
Infamy dispossess'd of native due,
Ordain'd of old on looser life to sue:

The world's eye-bleared with those shameless lyes,
Mask'd in the show of meal-mouth'd poesies.
Go, daring Muse, on with thy thanklesse task,
And do the ugly face of Vice unmask:
And if thou canst not thine high flight remit,
So as it mought a lowly satire fit,

Let lowly satires rise aloft to thee:

Truth be thy speed, and Truth thy patron be.

SATIRE I.

Nor ladie's wanton love, nor wandring knight,
Legend I out in rhimes all richly dight.
Nor fright the reader with the pagan vaunt
Of mightie Mahound, and great Termagaunt.
Nor list I sonnet of my mistress' face,
To paint some Blowesse with a borrowed grace;
Nor can I bide to pep some hungrie scene
For thick-skin ears, and undiscerning eyne.
Nor ever could my scornful Muse abide
With tragic shoes her ankles for to hide.
Nor can I crouch, and writhe my fawning tayle
To some great patron, for my best avayle.
Such hunger-starven trencher-poetrie,
Or let it never live, or timely die:
Nor under every bank and every tree,
Speak rhymes unto my oaten minstralsie:
Nor carol out so pleasing lively laies,

As mought the Graces move my mirth to praise.
Trumpet, and reeds, and socks, and buskins fine,
I them bequeath: whose statues wandring twine
Of ivy mix'd with bays, circling around
Their living temples likewise laurel-bound.
Rather bad I, albe in careless rhymes,

Check the mis-order'd world, and lawless times.
Nor need I crave the Muse's midwifry,
To bring to light so worthless poetry:
Or if we list, what baser Muse can bide,
To sit and sing by Granta's naked side?

1 Earl of Surrey, Wyat, Sidney, Dyer, &c.

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