English Satires Part 8

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 bordered 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: s.l.u.t.]

[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 advertis.e.m.e.nt affixed to the door of St. Paul's. "Si Quis" (if anyone) was the first word of these advertis.e.m.e.nts. 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 inc.u.mbents 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 inc.u.mbent.]

[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 Parna.s.sus_ and Parrot's _Springes for Woodc.o.c.ks_ (1613) for a.n.a.logous 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 const.i.tutes 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?