Queen Mab and her light maids the while
Amongst themselves do closely smile,
To see the king caught with this wile,
With one another jesting:
And to the Fairy-court they went,
With mickle joy and merriment,
Which thing was done with good intent;
And thus I left them feasting.

THE MOON-CALF. Stultorum plena sunt omnia. "HELP! neighbours, help! for God's sake come with speed!

For of your help there never was such need.
Midwives, make haste, and dress ye as ye run;
Either come quickly, or we 're all undone !
The World's in labour, her throws come so thick,
That with the pangs she's waxt stark lunatic."
"But whither? whither?" one was heard to cry.
She that call'd thus, doth presently reply,
"Do ye not see, in ev'ry street and place,
The general World now in a piteous case?"

Up got the gossips, and for very haste
Some came without shoes, some came all unlac'd,
As she had first appointed them, and found
The World in labour, dropt into a swound:
Wallowing she lay, like to a boist'rons hulk,
Dropsy'd with riots, and her big-swoln bulk
Stuff'd with infection, rottenness, and stench;
Her blood so fir'd, that nothing might it quench
But the asp's poison, which stood by her still,
That in her drought she often us'd to swill.
Clothed she was in a fool's coat and cap
Of rich embroider'd silks, and in her lap
A sort of paper puppets, gauds, and toys,
Trifles scarce good enough for girls and boys,
Which she had dandled, and with them had play'd,
And of this trash her only god had made.
"Out and alas!" quoth one the rest among,
"I doubt me, neighbours, we have stay'd too long!
Pluck off your rings, lay me your bracelets by,
Fall to your bus'ness, and that speedily;
Or else I doubt, her spirits consume so fast,
That ere the birth, her strength will quite be past."
But when more wistly they did her behold,
There was not one that once durst be so bold
As to come near her, but stood all amaz'd,
Each upon other silently and gaz'd;
When as her belly they so big do see,
As if a tun within the same should be;
And heard a nose and rumbling in her womb,
As at the instant of the general doom:
Thunder and earthquakes raging, and the rocks
Tumbling down from their sites, like mighty blocks
Roll'd from huge mountains, such a noise they
make,

As tho' in sunder Heaven's huge ax-tree brake,
They either poles their heads together pasht,
And all again into the chaos dasht.

Some of slight judgment, that were standing by,
Said, it was nothing but a tympany;
Others said, sure she human help did want,
And had conceived by an elephant;
Or some sea-monster, of a horrid shape,
Committed with her by some violent rape:
Others, more wise, and noting very well

How her huge womb did past all compass swell,

Said, certainly (if that they might confess her) It would be found some devil did possess her.

Thus while they stood, and knew not what
to do,

"Women," quoth one, "why do you trifle so?
I pray you, think but wherefore ye came hither;
Shall womb and burthen perish both together?
Bring forth the birth-stool-no, let it alone-
She is so far beyond all compass grown,
Some other new device us needs must stead,
Or else she never can be brought to bed.
Let one that bath some execrable spell,
Make presently her entrance into Hell,
Call Hecate and the damn'd Furies hither,
And try if they will undertake together
To help the sick World." One is out of hand
Dispatch'd for Hell, who by the dread command
Of pow'rful charms brought Hecate away;
Who knowing her bus'ness, from herself doth lay
That sad aspect she wont to put on there
In that black empire, and doth now appear
As she's Lucina, giving strength and aid
In birth to women; mild as any maid,
Full of sweet hope her brow seem'd, and her eyes
Darting fresh comfort, like the morning skies.
Then came the Furies with their bosoms bare,
Save somewhat cover'd with their snaky hair,
In wreaths contorted, mumbling hellish charms,
Up to the elbows naked were their arms.
Megera, eld'st of these damn'd female fiends,
Gnawing her wrists, biting her fingers' ends,
Enter'd the first; Tisiphone the next,

As to revenge her sister throughly vext,
In one hand bare a whip, and in the other
A long-shape knife; the third, which seem'd to
smother

Her manner of revenge, cast such an eye,
As well near turn'd to stone all that stood by,
Her name Alecto, which no plague doth rue,
Nor never leaves them whom she doth pursue.
The women pray the goddess now to stand
Auspicious to them, and to lend her hand
To the sick World; which willingly she granted:
But at the sight, as altogether daunted,
From her clear face the sprightly vigour fled,
And but she saw the women hard bestead,
Out she had gone, nor one glance back had shot,
Till Heav'n or Hell she o'er her head had got;
Yet she herself retires next to the door.
The gossips, worse than e'er they were before,
At their wits end, know not which way to take;
At length the World beginning to awake
Out of the trance, in which she lay as dead,
And somewhat raising her unwieldy head,
To bright Lucina call'd for help, that she
Now in her travail would propitious be.
The goddess, not from feeling of her woe,
Only to see with what the World might go,
As she is dreaded Hecate, having power
Of all that keep Hell's ugly baleful bower,
Commands the Furies to step in and aid her,
And be the midwives, till they safe had laid her.
To do whose pleasure as they were about,
A sturdy housewife pertly stepping out,
Cries, "Hold a while, and let the quean alone;
It is no matter, let her lie and groan :
Hold her still to 't, we'll do the best we can
To get out of her certainly the man
Which owns the bastard: for there's not a nation
But hath with her committed fornication;

And by her base and common prostitution,
She came by this unnatural pollution.
There is a mean for women thus abus'd,
Which at this time may very well be us❜d,
That in this case, when people do desire
To know the truth, yet doubtful of the sire,
When as the woman most of life doth doubt her,
In grievous throws, to those that are about her,
He that is then at the last cast disclos'd,
The natural father is to be suppos'd;
And the just law doth faithfully decide,
That for the nursing he is to provide:
Therefore let's see what in her pangs she'll say,
Lest that this bastard on the land we lay."
They lik'd her counsel, and their help deny'd,
But bade her lie and languish till she dy'd,
Unless to them she truly would confess
Who fill'd her belly with this foul excess.
"Alas!" quoth she, "the Devil dress'd me thus,
Amidst my riot, whilst that incubus
Wrought on my weakness, and, by him beguil'd,
He only is the father of the child:
His instrument, my apish imitation

Of ev'ry monstrous and prodigious fashion,
Abus'd my weakness; women, it was she,
Who was the bawd betwixt the fiend and me:
That this is true, it on my death I take;
Then help me, women, even for pity's sake."

When ominous signs to show themselves began,
That now at hand this monstrous birth fore-ran:
About at noon flew the affrighted owl,
And dogs in corners set them down to howl;
Bitches and wolves, these fatal signs among,
Brought forth most monstrous and prodigious
young;

And from his height the earth-refreshing Sun,
Before his hour his golden head doth run
Far under us, in doubt his glorious eye
Should be polluted with this prodigy.
A panic fear upon the people grew,

But yet the cause there was not one that knew,
When they had heard this; a short tale to tell,
The Furies straight upon their bus'ness fell,
And long it was not ere there came to light
The most abhorred, the most fearful sight
That ever eye beheld, a birth so strange,
That at the view, it made their looks to change.
"Women," quoth one, "stand off, and come not

near it ;

[hide it,

The Devil, if he saw it, sure would fear it :
For by the shape, for aught that I can gather,
The child is able to affright the father."
"Out!" cries another; "now, for God's sake,
It is so ugly, we may not abide it!
The birth is double, and grows side to side,
That human hand it never can divide;
And in this wond'rous sort as they be twins,
Like male and female, they be Androgynes:
The man is partly woman, likewise she
Is partly man, and yet in face they be
Full as prodigious as in parts; the twin
That is most man, yet in the face and skin
Is all mere woman: that which most doth take
From weaker woman, nature seems to make
A man in show, thereby as to define,
A feminine man, a woman masculine,
Before bred nor begot; a more strange thing
Than ever Nile yet into light could bring,
Made as creation merely to despite,
Nor man, nor woman, scarce hermaphrodite.

Nay," quoth a third, "that must be done with
And were it done, our labour is but lost: [cost,
For when w' have wrought the utmost that we can,
He's too much woman, and she's too much man:
Therefore, as 'tis a most prodigious birth,
Let it not live here to pollute the earth."
"Gossip," quoth the last, " your reason I deny,
Tis more by law than we can justify;
For sire and dam have certainly decreed,
That they will have more comfort of their seed:
For he begot it, and 'twas born of her,
And out of doubt they will their own prefer.
Therefore, good women, better be advis'd;
For precious things should not be lightly priz'd.
This Moon-Calf, born under a lucky fate,
May pow'rful prove in many a wealthy state;
And, taught the tongues, about some few years
hence

(As now we're all tongue, and but little sense)
It may fall out, for any thing you know,
This Moon-Calf may on great employments go;
When learned men, for noble action fit,
Idly at home (unthought of once) may sit;
A bawd, or a projector, he may piove,
And by his purse so purchasing him love,
May be exalted to some thriving room,
Where seldom good men suffer'd are to come.
What will you say, hereafter when you see
The times so graceless and so mad to be,
That men their perfect human shape shall fly,
To imitate this beast's deformity?
Nay, when you see this monster, which you now
Will hardly breath upon the Earth allow,

In his caroche with four white Friezlands drawn,
And he as py'd and garish as the pawn,
With a set face, in which, as in a book,
He thinks the world for grounds of state should
When to some greater one, whose might doth

awe him,

[look,

[him? He's known a verier jade than those that draw Nay, at the last, the very killing sight, To see this Calf (as Virtue to despite) Above just honest men his head to rear, Nor to his greatness may they once come near?" Each ignorant sot to honour seeks to rise; But as for Virtue, who did first devise That title, a reward for her to be,

As most contemned and despised she,

Goes unregarded, that they who should own her,
Dare not take notice ever to have known her:
And but that Virtue, when she seemeth thrown
Lower than Hell, hath power to raise her own
Above the World, and this her monstrous birth,
She long ere this had perish'd from the Earth;
Her fautors banish'd by her foes so high,
Which look so big, as they would scale the sky.

But seeing no help, why should I thus complain?
Then to my Moon-Calf I return again,
By his dear dam the World so choicely bred,
To whom there is such greatness promised;

For it might well a perfect man amaze,

To see what means the sire and dam will raise
T'exalt their Moon-Calf, and him so to cherish,
That he shall thrive when virtuous men shall perish.
The drunkard, glutton, or who doth apply
Himself to beastly sensuality,

Shall get him many friends, for that there be
Many in every place just such as he.
The evil love them that delight in ill;

Like have cleav'd to their like, and ever will.
But the true virtuous man (God knows) hath few;
They that his straight and harder steps pursue,
Are a small number, scarcely known of any;
"God hath few friends, the Devil hath so many."
But to return, that ye may plainly see,
That such a one he likely is to be,

And that my words for truth that ye may try,
Of the World's babe thus do I prophesy:
Mark but the more man of these monstrous twins,
From his first youth, how tow'rdly he begins!
When he should learn, being learn'd to leave the
school,

This arrant Moon-Calf, this most beastly fool,
Just to our English proverb shall be scen,

Scarcely so wise at fifty, as fifteen :"

And when himself he of his home can free,
He to the city comes, where then if he,
And the familiar butterfly his page,

Can pass the street, the ord'nary, and stage,
It is enough; and he himself thinks then
To be the only absolut'st of men.

Then in his cups you shall not see him shrink,
To the grand devil a carouse to drink.
Next to his whore he doth himself apply;
And to maintain his goatish luxury,
Eats capons cook'd at fifteen crowns a piece,
With their fat bellics stuff'd with ambergrise.
And being to travel, he sticks not to lay
His post-caroches still upon his way :
And in some six days' journey doth consume
Ten pounds in suckets and the Indian fume.
For his attire, then foreign parts are sought,
He holds all vile in England that is wrought;
And into Flanders sendeth for the nonce,
Twelve dozen of shirts providing him at once,
Lay'd in the seams with costly lace, that be
Of the smock fashion, whole below the knee;
Then bathes in milk, in which when he hath been,
He looks like one for the preposterous sin,
Put by the wicked and rebellious Jews
To be a pathic in their male-kind stews.
With the ball of's foot the ground he may not
But he must tread upon his toe and heel:
Doublet and cloke, with plush and velvet lin'd; ·
Only his head-piece, that is fill'd with wind.
Rags, running horses, dogs, drabs, drink, and dice,
The only things that he doth hold in price:
Yet more than these, naught doth him so delight,
As doth his smooth-chinn'd, plump-thigh'd ca-
tamite.

[feel,

Sodom for her great sin that burning sank, Which at one draught the pit infernal drank, Which that just God on Earth could not abide, Hath she so much the devils terrify'd, As from their seat them well near to exile, Hath Hell new spew'd her up after this while?' Is she new risen, and her sin agen Embrac'd by beastly and outrageous men?

Nay, more, he jests at incest, as therein There were no fault, counts sacrilege no sin:

[not:

He would have something, but what 'tis he shows What he would speak, nay, what to think, he knows not:

He nothing more than truth and knowledge loaths,
And nothing he admires of man, but clothes.

Now for that I thy dotage dare mislike,
And seem so deep into thy soul to strike;
Because I am so plain, thou lik'st not me:
Why now, poor slave, I no more think of thee,
Than of the ordure that is cast abroad,

I hate thy vice more than I do a toad.
Poor is the spirit that fawns on thy applause,
Or seeks for suffrage from thy barbarous jaws.
Misfortune light on him, that aught doth weigh,
Ye sons of Belial, what ye think or say:
Who would have thought, whilst wit sought to
Itself so high, damn'd beastly ignorance, [advance
Under the cloke of knowledge, should creep in,
And from desert should so much credit win?
But all this poisonous froth Hell hath let fly,
In these last days, at noble Poesy,
That which hath had both in all times and places,
For her much worth, so sundry sovereign graces;
The language which the spheres and angels speak,
In which their mind they to poor mortals break,
By God's great power, into rich souls infus'd,
By every Moon-Calf lately thus abus'd:
Should all Hell's black inhabitants conspire,
And more unheard-of mischief to them hire,
Such as high Heav'n were able to affright,
And on the noonstead bring a double night,
Than they have done, they could not more dis-

grace her,

As from the Earth (ev'n) utterly to raze her:
What princes lov'd, by peasants now made hateful
In this our age, so damnably ungrateful:
And to give open passage to her fall,

It is devis'd to blemish her withal,

That th' hideous braying of each barb'rous ass,
In printed letters freely now must pass,

[mud.

In accents so untuneable and vile,
With other nations as might damn our isle,
If so our tongue they truly understood,
And make them think our brains were merely
To make her vile and ugly to appear,
Whose natural beauty is divinely clear,
That on the stationer's stall who passing looks,
To see the multiplicity of books

That pester it, may well believe the press,
Sick of a surfeit, spew'd with the excess :
Which breedeth such a dolness through the land,
'Mongst those one tongue who only understand,
Which, did they read those sinewy poems writ,
That are material, relishing of wit,
Wise policy, morality or story,

Well pourtraying th' ancients and their glory,
These blinded fools, on their base carrion feeding,
Which are (in truth) made ignorant by reading,
In little time would grow to be asham'd,"
And blush to hear those lousy pamphlets nam'd,
Which now they study, naught but folly learning,
Which is the canse that they have no discerning,
The good from bad, this ill, that well to know,
Because in ignorance they are nourish'd so.
Who for this hateful trash should I condemn,
They that do utter, or authorise them?
O that the ancients should so careful be
Of what they did impress, and only we
Loosely at random should let all things fly,
Though 'gainst the Muses it be blasphemy!
But yet to happy spirits, and to the wise,
All is but foolish that they can devise;
For when contempt of Poesy is proudest,
Then have the Muses ever sung the loudest.

But to my Calf; who, to be counted prime,
According to the fashion of the time,
Him to associate some buffoon doth get,
Whose brains he still with much expense must whet,
And ever bear about him as his guest,
Who coming out with some ridiculous jest,
Of one perhaps a god that well might be,
If but compar'd with such an ass as he,
His patron roars with laughter, and doth cry,
"Take him away, or presently I die!" [know,
Whilst that knave-fool, which well himself doth
Smiles at the coxcomb, which admires him so;
His time and wealth thus lewdly that doth spend,
As it were lent him to no other end:
Until this Moon-Calf, this most drunken puff,
Ev'n like a candle burnt into the snuff,
Fir'd with surfeit, in his own grease fries,
Sparkles a little, and then stinking dies.

The wealth his father by extortion won, Thus in the spending helps to damn the son, And so falls out indifferently to either, Whereby in Hell they justly meet together; And yet the World much joys in her behalf, And takes no little pleasure in her Calf. Had this declining time the freedom now, Which the brave Roman once it did allow, With wire and whipcord ye should see her pay'd, Till the luxurious whore should be afraid Of prostitution; and such lashes given, To make her blood spirt in the face of Heaven, That men, by looking upwards as they go, Should see the plagues lay'd on her here below.

But now proceed we with the other twin, Which is most woinan, who shall soon begin To show herself. No sooner got the teens, But her own natural beauty she disdains ; VOL. IV.

With oils and broths most venomous and base
She plaisters over her well-favour'd face;
And those sweet veins by Nature rightly plac'd,
Wherewith she seem'd that white skin to have
lac'd,

She soon doth alter; and with fading blue
Blanching her bosom, she makes others new,
Blotting the curious workmanship of Nature;
That ere she be arriv'd at her full stature,
Ere she be drest, she seemeth aged grown,
And to have nothing on her of her own.
Her black, brown, auburn, or her yellow hair,
Naturally lovely, she doth scorn to wear;
It must be white, to make it fresh to show,
And with compounded meal she makes it so,
With fumes and powd'rings raising such a smoke,
That a whole region able were to choke :
Whose stench might fright a dragon from his den;
The Sun yet ne'er exhal'd from any fen,
Such pestilentious vapours as arise
From their French powd'rings, and their mer-
Ireland, if thou wilt able be alone,

[curies.

Of thine own power to drive out thy Tyrone,
By heaping up a mass of coin together,
Shear thy old wolves, and send their fleeces hither.
Thy white goats' hair, Wales, dearer will be sold
Than silk of Naples, or than thread of gold.
Our water-dogs and islands here are shorn,
White hair of women here so much is worn.
Nay, more than this, they'll any thing endure,
And with large sums they stick not to procure
Hair from the dead, yea, and the most unclean; ?
To help their pride they nothing will disdain.
Then in attiring her, and in her sleep,
The day's three parts she exercis'd doth keep;
And in ridiculous visits she doth spend
The other fourth part, to no other end
But to take note how such a lady lies,
And to glean from her some deformities,
Which for a grace she holds, and till she get,
She thinks herself to be but counterfeit.
Our merchants from all parts 'twixt either Ind,
Cannot get silk to satisfy her mind;
Nor Nature's perfect'st patterns can suffice
The curious draughts for her embroideries.
She thinks her honour utterly is lost,
Except those things do infinitely cost

Which she doth wear; nor thinks they can her

dress,

Except she have them in most strange excess.
And in her fashion she is likewise thus,
In ev'ry thing she must be monsterous.
tier piccadil above her crown up-bears;
Her fardingale is set above her ears,
Which like a broad sail with the wind doth swell,
To drive this fair halk headlong into Hell.
After again note, and you shall her see
Shorn like a man; and for that she will be
Like him in all, her congies she will make
With the man's court'sy, and her hat off take,
Of the French fashion; and wear by her side
Her sharp stiletto in a riband ty'd;
Then gird herself close to the paps she shall,
Shap'd breast and buttock, but no waist at all.

But of this She-Calf now to cease all strife,
I'll by example limn her to the life:
Not long ago it was my chance to meet.
With such a fury, such a female sprite,
As never man saw yet, except 'twere she,
And such a one as I may never see

K

Again, I pray; but where I will not name,
For that the place might so partake her shame :
But when I saw her rampant to transcend
All womanhood, I thought her (sure) some fiend;
And to myself my thoughts suggested thus,
That she was gotten by some incubus ;
And so remembring an old woman's tale,
As she sat dreaming o'er a pot of ale,
That on a time she did the devil meet,
And knew him only by his cloven feet;
So did I look at her's where she did go,
To see if her feet were not cloven so.
Ten long-tongu'd tapsters in a common inn,
When as the guests to flock apace begin,
When up-stair one, down-stair another hies,
With squeaking clamours and confused cries,
Never did yet make such a noise as she;
That I dare boldly justify, that he
Who but one hour her loud clack can endure,
May undisturbed, safely, and secure
Sleep under any bells, and never hear
T'ho they were rung, the clappers at his ear;
And the long'st night with one sweet sleep beguile,
As tho' he dreamt of music all the while.
The very sight of her, when she doth roar,
Is able to strike dumb the boldest whore
That ever traded: she'll not stick to tell,
All in her life that ever her befell;
How she hath lain with all degrees and ages,
Her ploughboys, scullions, lackies, and some pages;
And swear, when we have said all that we can,
That there is nothing worth a pin in man;
And that there's nothing doth so please her mind,
As to see mares and horses do their kind:
And when she's tipsy, howsoe'er 't offend,
Then all her speech to bawdry doth intend;
In women's secrets, and she'll name ye all
Read to the midwives at the Surgeons-hall.
Were the poor coxcomb her dull husband dead,
He that durst then this female Moon-Calf wed,
Should quite put down the Roman, which once
Into the burning gulf, thereby to keep
His country from devouring with the flame:
Thus leave we her, of all her sex the same.
Amongst the rest at the World's labour, there
Four good old women most especial were,
Which had been jolly wenches in their days,
Through all the parish and had borne the praise
For merry tales; one, mother Redcap hight,
And mother Owlet, somewhat ill of sight,
For she had hurt her eyes with watching late,
Then mother Bumby, a mad jocund mate
As ever gossipp'd; and with her there came
Old gammer Gurton, a right pleasant dame
As the best of them: being thus together,
The bus'ness done for which they had come thither,
Quoth jolly mother Redcap at the last,
"I see the night is quickly like to waste;
And since the World so kindly now is laid,
And the child safe, which made us all afraid,
Let's have a night on 't, wenches; hang up sorrow,
And what sleep wants now, take it up to-morrow.
Stir up the fire, and let us have our ale,
And o'er our cups let each one tell her tale:
My honest gossips, and to put you in,
I'll break the ice, and thus doth mine begin.
"There was a certain prophesy of old,
Which to an isle had anciently been told,
That after many years were com'n and gone,
Which then came out, and the set time came on;

[leapt

Nay, more, it told the very day and hour,
Wherein should fall so violent a show'r,
That it new rivers in the earth should wear,
And dorps and bridges quite away should bear:
But where this isle is, that I cannot show,
Let them inquire that have desire to know:
The story leaves out that; let it alone,
And, gossips, with my tale I will go on.
Yet what was worse, the prophecy this spake,
(As to warn men defence for it to make)
That upon whom one drop should chance to light,
They should of reason be deprived quite.
This prophecy had many an age been heard,
But not a man did it one pin regard;
For all to folly did themselves dispose,
(On verier calves the Sun yet never rose)
And of their laughter made it all the theme,
By terming it, the drunken wizard's dream.
There was one honest man, amongst the rest,
That bare more perfect knowledge in his breast,
And to himself his private hours had kept,
To talk with God, whilst others drank or slept,
Who, in his mercy to this man, reveal'd
That which in justice he had long conceal'd
From the rude herd, but let them still run on
The ready way to their destruction.
This honest man the prophecy that noted,
And things therein more curiously had quoted,
Found all those signs were truly come to pass,
That should foreshow this rain, and that it was
Nearly at hand; and from his depth of skill
Had many a time forewarn'd them of their ill,
And preach'd to them this deluge (for their good)
As to th' old world Noe did before the floud,
But lost his labour; and since 'twas in vain
To talk more to those idiots of the rain,
He let them rest, and silent sought about
Where he might find some place of safety out,
To shroud himself in; for right well he knew,
That from this show'r, which then began to brew,
No roof of tile or thatch he could come in
Could serve him from being wet to the bare skin.
At length this man bethought him of a cave.
In a huge rock, which likely was to save
Him from the show'r, upon a hill so steep,
As up the same a man could hardly creep;
So that, except Noe's flood should come again,
He never could be raught by any rain:
Thither at length, tho' with much toil he clomb,
List'ning to hear what would thereof become.
It was not long ere he perceiv'd the skies
Settled to rain, and a black cloud arise,
Whose foggy grossness so oppos'd the light,
As it would turn the noonsted into night.
When the wind came about with all his pow'r,
Into the tail of this approaching show'r,
And it to lighten presently began,

Quicker than thought from east to west that ran;
The thunder following did so fiercely rave,
And through the thick clouds with such fury drave,
As Hell had been set open for the nonce,
And all the devils heard to roar at once:
And soon the tempest so outrageous grew,
That it whole hedge-rows by the roots upthrew,
So wond'rously prodigious was the weather,
As Heaven and Earth had meant to go together;
And down the show'r impetuously doth fall,
Like that which men the hurricano call;
As the grand deluge had been come again,
And all the world should perish by the rain.