Of former curses, projects unmade up,
Abuses yet unfashioned, thoughts corrupt,
Misshapen cavils, palpable untroths,
Inevitable errors, self-accusing loaths:
'These, like those atoms swarming in the su
'Throng in her bosom for creation.
I blush to give her half her due; yet say,
No poison's half so bad as Julia.
A TALE OF A CITIZEN AND HIS WIFE.
I SING no harm, good sooth, to any wight,
To lord, to fool, cuckold, beggar or knight,
To peace-teaching lawyer, proctor, or brave
Reformed or reduced captain, knave,
Officer, juggler, or justice of peace,
Juror or judge; I touch no fat sow's grease;
I am no libeller, nor will be any,
But (like a true man) say there are too many:
I fear not ore tenus, for my tale
Nor count nor counsellor will red or pale.
A citizen and his wife the other day,
Both riding on one horse, upon the way
I overtook; the wench a pretty peat,
And (by her eye) well fitting for the feat;
I saw the lecherous citizen turn back
His head, and on his wife's lip steal a smack,
Whence apprehending that the man was kind,
Riding before to kiss his wife behind,
To get acquaintance with him I began,
And sort discourse fit for so fine a man;
I asked the number of the plaguy bill,
Asked if the custom-farmers held out still,
Of the Virginian plot, and whether Ward
The traffic of the midland seas had marred ;
Whether the Britain Bourse did fill apace,
And likely were to give the Exchange disgrace
Of new-built Aldgate, and the Moorfield crosses,
Of store of bankrupts and poor merchants' losses,
I urged him to speak; but he (as mute
As an old courtier worn to his last suit)
Replies with only yeas and nays; at last
(To fit his element) my theme I cast
On tradesmen's gains; that set his tongue agoing,
Alas, good Sir (quoth he) there is no doing
In court nor city now: she smiled and I,
And (in my conscience) both gave him the lie
In one met thought. But he went on apace,
And at the present times with such a face
He railed, as frayed me; for he gave no praise
To any
but my Lord of Essex's days:
Called those the age of action: true (quoth he)
There's now as great an itch of bravery,
And heat of taking up, but cold lay-down ;
For put to push of pay, away they run :
Our only city trades of hope now are
Bawds, tavern-keepers, whore and scrivener;
The much of privileged kinsmen, and the store
Of fresh protections make the rest all poor:
In the first state of their creation
Though many stoutly stand, yet proves not one
A righteous paymaster. Thus ran he on
In a continued rage: so void of reason
Seemed his harsh talk, I sweat for fear of treason.
And (troth) how could I less? when in the prayer
For the protection of the wise Lord Mayor,
And his wise brethren's worships when one
prayeth,
He swore that none could say amen with faith.
To get him off from what I glowed to hear,
(In happy time) an angel did appear,
The bright sign of a loved and well-tried inn,
Where many citizens with their wives had been
Well-used and often; here I prayed him stay,
To take some due refreshment by the way;
Look, how he looked that hid his gold, his hope,
And at's return found nothing but a rope;
So he on me; refused and made away,
Though willing she pleaded a weary day:
I found my miss, struck hands, and prayed him
(To hold acquaintance still) where he did dwell; He barely named the street, promised the wine; But his kind wife gave me the very sign.
To make the doubt clear, that no woman's true,
Was it my fate to prove it strong in you?
Thought I, but one had breathed purest air,
And must she needs be false, because she's fair?
Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth,
Or your perfection not to study truth?
Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes,
Or those it hath smile at your perjuries?
Are vows so cheap with women, or the matter
Whereof they 're made, that they are writ in
And blown away with wind? Or doth their breath
(Both hot and cold) at once make life and death?
Who could have thought so many accents sweet
Formed into words, so many sighs should meet,
As from our hearts, so many oaths, and tears
Sprinkled among (all sweetened by our fears)
And the divine impression of stolen kisses,
That sealed the rest, should now prove empty
blisses?
Did you draw bonds to forfeit? sign to break?
Or must we read you quite from what you speak,
And find the truth out the wrong way? or must
He first desire you false, who 'd wish you just?
O. I profane: though most of women be
This kind of beast, my thoughts shall except thee,
My dearest Love; though froward jealousy
With circumstance might urge thy inconstancy,
Sooner I'll think the sun will cease to cheer
The teeming earth, and that forget to bear:
Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames
With ribs of ice in June will bind his streams;
Or Nature, by whose strength the world endures,
Would change her course, before you alter yours.
But oh! that treacherous breast, to whom weak
Did trust our counsels, (and we both may rue,
Having his falsehood found too late,) 't was he
That made me cast you guilty, and you me;
Whilst he (black wretch) betrayed each simple
word
We spake, unto the cunning of a third;
Curst may he be, that so our love hath slain,
And wander on the earth, wretched as Cain,
Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity;
In plaguing him let misery be witty.
Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye,
Till he be noisome as his infamy;
May he without remorse deny God thrice,
And not be trusted more on his soul's price;
And after all self-torment when he dies,
May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes;
Swine eat his bowels; and his falser tongue,
That uttered all, be to some raven flung;
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