Short Poems

M ARCUS his wifes great modesty doth hate,
And sweares hee loues the impudence of Kate:
For to a lustfull humor, modestie
Is nothing but a cooling card, saith hee:
Well Marcus, if such coolers thou dost loth
Thy Kate perhaps will coole and burne thee both.

F LORELLAS wombe is full (that see I well)
Of Persian delicates hir mawe is full;
Such fulnesse of her mawe so made her swell:
For, kine well fedd the sooner take the bull:
Then, sith she long'd for such sweete puffing bitts,
She (like a mother) hath these swelling fitts.

C LOPHUS his small eies his large conscience showes;
His great head and large eares, his little wit:
Yet is he held the ferret of Gods foes
And wise as Salomon, al times to fit;
Fits he all times? and Gods foes ferret too?
Then doth he more than angels well can doe:
Yet angels at no time can be more strong
Sith they can (if they list) do right or wrong.

They say bright beauty is faire Vertue's inne;
That I deny; for Prudence being faire
And yet a puncke no vertue is therein:
Yet to that signe of vertue men repaire
For lone of both; where they finde (with a trice)
Prudence, a puncke; a vertue turn'd to vice.

O LDE men can more then young, wine's powers command,
By reason of their reason, and their age:
And can more easily Lust's stormes withstand,
Raisd by the flouds of wines vnruly rage:
But yet when olde men quaffing still are seene,
Their heads are white (like leekes) their tailes are greene:
For when olde vessels still, wine fraught do saile
Their poopes will leake and loose be at the taile.

B Y'S beard the goate, by his bushe-taile the fox,
By's pawes the lion, by his hornes the oxe,
By these all these are knowne; and by her locks
That now are fall'n, Kate's known to have the pox.

K ATE still exclaimes against great medlers,
A busie-body hardly she abides,
Yet she's well pleased with all bum-fiddlers,
And hir owne body stirring still besides:
I muse her stomacke now so much should faile
To loath a medlar, being an open-taile.

K EEP'ST thou a parrat and a parrakyt?
Why so good Formia, tell me Formia why?
Is't for thou dost in prating so delight?
Or for they be so gaudy to the cye?
Thou art more gaudy, and prat'st more by farre:
Then spare thy birds, or gauds, and prating spare.

T HRAXUS once kissing a lasciuious whore,
About his waste her grappling armes did cast,
As if from her he should depart no more:
Vnlock (quoth he) what mean'st to make me fast?
If thou (to catch a wood-cocke) snare me so,
He flutter in thy cocke-shoote till I go:
But better (Thraxus) then to do so ill,
Still (wood-cock like) to hang but by the bill.

Sith Venus had hir mole, Helen hir staine,
Cynthia hir spots: the swan hath sable feet:
The clearest day some cloude, the smoothest plaine
Some hole or hillock; why should Phryna frett?
When she is saied to haue a ruby nose
Sith that is riche, and all her rarenesse showes.