The lettin[g] of humours blood in the head-vaine with a new morissco, daunced by seauen satyres, vpon the bottome of Diog[e?]nes tubbe.

4. SATIRE.

Melflunious, sweete Rose-watred elloquence, Thou that hast hunted Barbarisme hence, And taught the goodman Cobbin at his plow, To be as elloquent as Tullie now: Who nominic ates his Bread and Cheese a name, (That doth vntrusle the nature of the same) His stomacke stayer. How dee like the phrase? Are Plowmen simple fellowes now a dayes? Not so my Maisters: What meanes Singer then? And Pope the Clowne, to speake so Boorish, when They counterfaite the clownes vpon the Stage? Since Countrey fellowes grow in this same age, To be so quaint in their new printed speech, That cloth will now compare with Veluet breech Let him discourse euen where, and when he dare, Talke nere so Ynk-horne learnedly and rare, Sweare Cloth breech is a pessant (by the Lord)

Threaten to draw his wrath-venger, his sworde: Tush, Cloth-breech doth deride him with a laugh, And lets him see Bone-baster, thats his staffe: Then tels him brother, friend, or so foorth, heare ye Tis not your knitting-needle makes me feare ye. If to ascention you are so declinde, I haue a restitution in my minde: For though your beard do stand so fine mustated, Perhaps your nose may be transfistic ated. Man, I dare challenge thee to throw the sledge, To iumpe or leape ouer a ditch or hedge, To wrastle, play a stooleball, or to runne, To pitch the barre, or to shoote off a gunne, To play at loggets, nine holes, or ten pinnes, To trie it out at foot-ball by the shinnes; At Ticktacke, Irish, Noddie, Maw, and Ruffe: At hot-cockles, leape-frogge, or blindman-buffe. To drinke halfe pots, or deale at the whole canne: To play at base, or pen-and Ynk-horne sir Ihan: To daunce the Morris, play at barly-breake: At all exploytes a man can thinke or speake: At shoue-groate, venter-poynt, or crosse and pile. Atbeshrow him that's last at yonder stile,

At leaping ore a Midsommer bon-fier, Or at the drawing Dun out of the myer: At any of these, or all these presently, Wagge but your finger, I am for you, I. I scorne (that am a youngster of our towne) To let a Bow-bell Cockney put me downe. This is a Gallant farre beyond a Gull, For very valour filles his pockets full. Wit showers vpon him Wisedomes raine in plent For heele be hangd, if any man finde twenty In all their parish, whatsoere they be, Can shew a head so polleticke as he. It was his fathers lucke of late to die Untestate; he about the Legacie To London came, inquiring all about, How he might finde a Ciuill-villin out, Being vnto a Ciuill Lawyer sent, Pray Sir (quoth he) are you the man I meant: That haue a certaine kind of occupation, About dead men, that leaue things out of fashion Death ••ath done that which t'answere he's not ab My father he is dyed detestable: I being his eldest heire, he did prefer

Me Sir, to be his Executioner: And verie breifly my request to finnish, Pray how may I by law, his goods diminnish? Was this a Clowne? tell true, or was a none? You make fatte Clownes, if such as he be one: A man may sweare, if he were vrg'd to it. Foolisher fellowes, haue not so much wit. Oh such as he, are euen the onely men, Loue letters in a Milke-maydes praise to pen: Lines that will worke the curstest sullen shrow, To loue a man whether she will or no. Being most wonderous patheticall, To make Cisse out a cry in loue withall: He scornes that maister Scholemaister shold think He wants his aide in halfe a pen of ynke: All that he doth it commeth euery whit, From natures dry-fat, his owne mother wit.

As thus:

Thou Honnysuckle of the Hawthorne hedge, Vouchsafe in Cupids cuppe my hart to pledge, My hartes deare blood sweete Cis, is thy carouse, Worth all the Ale in Gammer Gubbins house: I say no more, affaires call me away,

My Fathers horse for prouender doth stay, Be thou the Lady Cressit-light to mee, Sir Trollelolle I will proue to thee. Written in haste: farewell my Cowslippe sweete, Pray lets a Sunday at the Ale-house meete.

FINIS.