Audit the end: How can humanity, Preferved be in ruin of mankind? Both fear and courage feel her cruelty, The good and bad, like fatal ruin find: Her enemies do ftill provide her food, From thofe fhe ruins, fhe receives her good.
Lord Brooke of Wars. Scipio, advanced like the god of blood,
Leads up grim war, that father of foul wounds,
Whose finewy feet are steep'd in gore, whofe hideous voice
Makes turrets tremble, and whole cities shake;
Before whofe brows, flight and disorder hurry, With whom march burnings, murder, wrong, waft,
Behind whom, a fad train is feen, woe, fears, Torture, lean need, famine, and helpless tears.
For all the murders, rapes, and thefts, Committed in the horrid luft of war, He that unjustly caus'd it firft proceed, Shall find it in his grave, and in his feed.
Webster's White Devil. Some sharp their fwords, fome right their morions fet, Their greaves and pouldrons others rivet fast,
The archers now their bearded arrows whet,
Whilst ev'ry where the clam'rous drums are brac'd; Some taking view where they fure ground might get, Not one, but fome advantage doth forecast : With ranks and files each plain and meadow swarms, As all the land were clad in angry arms.
All wars are bad yet all wars do good;
And, like to furgeons, let fick kingdoms blood.
Dekker's Second Part of the Honeft Whore.
He is unwife that to a market goes,
Where there is nothing to be fold but blows.
Thefe fair exordiums are the ways to win, It is war's rhet'rick bravely to begin,
Nor is it wifdom where no treafons are, To hope for fuccour from a ftrange fupply: Money's the nerve and ligament of war,
In makes them fight, and keeps from mutiny. Leaders are fouls, armies the bodies, coin The vital fpirits that do both combine.
Nor can we there too much difpute, where, when We err, 'tis at a kingdom's charges; peace And war are in themselves indifferent,
And time doth ftamp them either good or bad: But here the place is much confiderable; War in our own, is like to too much heat Within, it makes the body fick; when in Another country, 'tis but exercife, Conveys that heat abroad, and gives it health.
Ceflation for fhort times in war, are like Small fits of health, in defp'rate maladies: Which while the inftant pain feems to abate, Flatters into debauch and worse estate.
Though war's great shape beft educates the fight, And makes fmall foft'ning objects lefs our care; Yet war, when urg'd for glory, more than right, Shews victors, but authentick murd'rers are. Sir W, Davenant's Gondibert. How various are th' effects of war!
O'er human fenfe, that we should struggle to Deftroy in mangled wounds, our life, which Heav'n decreed fo fhort? It is a mystery, Too fad to be remember'd by the wife,
That half mankind confume their noble blood In caufes not belov'd, or understood.
Sir W. Davenant's Love and Honour.
To broach a war, and not to be affur'd Of certain means to make a fair defence, Howe're the ground be juft, may justly seem A wilful madness.
Hemmings's Jews Tragedy. 1. I ne'er thought fame a lawful cause of war. 2. Wars are good phyfick, when the world is fick: But he, who cuts the throats of men for glory, Is a vain favage fool; he ftrives to build Immortal honours upon man's mortality: And glory on the shame of human nature, Το prove himself a man by inhumanity: He puts whole kingdoms in a blaze of war, Only to ftill mankind into a vapour; Emptys the world to fill an idle story:
In fhort, I know not why he should be honour'd, And they that murder men for money hang'd.
Crown's Ambitious Statesman.
War, is the harveft fir, of all ill men :
In war, they may be brutes with reputation.
WHORE.
A hufwife, that, by felling her defires,
Buys her felf bread and cloth. It is a creature That dotes on Caffio; as 'tis the ftrumpet's plague To beguile many, and be beguil'd by one.
"Tis there civility to be a whore;
He's one of blood and fashion! and with thefe The bravery makes, fhe can no honour leefe.
To do't with cloth, or ftuffs, luft's name might merit; With velvet, plush, and tiffues, it is fpirit!
Johnson's Underwoods. Farewell thou private ftrumpet, worse than common; Man were on earth an angel, but for woman!
That feven-fold branch of hell from them doth Pride, luft, and murther, they raise from below, With all their fellow fins. Women were made
Of blood, without fouls: when their beauties fade, And their luft's past, avarice or bawdery Makes them still lov'd: then they buy venery, Bribing damnation, and hire brothel flaves; Shame's their executors, infamy their graves.
Marfton's Infatiate Countess.
Alas, good creatures! what would you have them do ? Would you have them get their living by the Curfe of man, the sweat of their brows? fo they Do, every man must follow his trade,
And every woman her occupation : A poor decayed mechanical man's
Wife, her husband is lay'd up, may not fhe Lawfully be lay'd down, when her husband's Only rifing is by his wife's falling?
A captain's wife wants means, her commander Lies in open field abroad, may not fhe Lie in civil arms at home? a waiting Gentlewoman, that had wont to take, say, To her lady, miscarrys, or fo; the
Court misfortune throws her down, may not the City courtesy take her up? do you know No alderman would pity fuch a woman's Cafe? why is charity grown a fin, or Relieving the poor and impotent an Offence? you will fay beasts take no money For their fleshly entertainment; true, because They are beafts, and therefore beaftly; only men Give to loofe, because they are men, therefore Manly; and indeed, wherein should they bestow Their money better? in land, the title May be crack'd; in houses, they may be burnt; In apparrel, 'twill wear; in wine, alas for pity, Our throat is but fhort: but employ your money Upon women, and a thousand to nothing,
Some one of them will bestow that upon you, Which shall stick by you as long you live: They are no ingrateful perfons, they will
Give you quid for quo: do you proteft, they'll fwear; Do you rife, they'll fall, do you fall, they'll rife? Do you give them the French crown, they'll give You the French- Ojuftus, jufta, juftum.
They fell their bodies; do not better perfons
Sell their fouls? nay, fince all things have been fold, Honour, juftice, faith, nay ev'n God himself, Ay me, what base ignobleness is it
To fell the pleafures of a wanton bed?
Why do men scrape, why heaps to full heaps join? But for his mistress, who would care for coin? For this I hold to be deny'd of no man,
All things are made for man, and man for woman.
Marfion's Dutch Courtezan.
Who keeps a harlot, tell him this from me, He needs nor thief, disease, or enemy. Middleton's Mad World my Stand forth-thou one of thofe,
For whofe close lufts the plague ne'er leaves the city. Thou, worse than common; private, subtle harlot, Thou doeft deceive three with one feigned lip; Thy husband, the world's eye, and the law's whip: Thy zeal is hot, for 'tis to luft and fraud, And doft not dread to make thy book thy bawd. Thou'rt curfe enough to husbands ill got gains, For whom the court rejects, his gold maintains. How dear and rare was freedom wont to be? How few but are by their wives copies free, And brought to fuch a head, that now we fee, City and fuburbs wear one livery.
Middleton's Phanix. Our term ends once a month; we should get more Than the lawyers, for they have but four terms A year, and we have twelve, that makes them Run fo faft to us in the vacation.
Middleton's Michaelmas Term.
« EdellinenJatka » |