A strappado for the Diuell Epigrams and satyres alluding to the time, with diuers measures of no lesse delight. By Misosukos, to his friend Philokrates.
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Title
A strappado for the Diuell Epigrams and satyres alluding to the time, with diuers measures of no lesse delight. By Misosukos, to his friend Philokrates.
Author
Brathwaite, Richard, 1588?-1673.
Publication
At London :: Printed by I. B[eale] for Richard Redmer and are to be sold at the west dore of Pauls at the Starre,
1615.
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Link to this Item
http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A16682.0001.001
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"A strappado for the Diuell Epigrams and satyres alluding to the time, with diuers measures of no lesse delight. By Misosukos, to his friend Philokrates." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A16682.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 20, 2025.
Pages
An Embleme which the Author compo∣sed in honour of his Mistris, to whom he rests euer deuoted.
Allusiuely shadowing her name in the title of the Embleme, which hee en••tiles: His Frankes Anatomie.
FRanke thy name doth promise much,I•• thy nature were but such:But alasse what difference growe'Twixt those two, I onely know?
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I alas that to thy bewtieAm deuoted in all dewtie;I that once inuented layes,Singing them in Shepheards praise,I that once from loue was freeTill I fell in loue with thee:I that neuer yet beganTrade, to hold my mistris fan;I that neuer yet could knowe,Whether loue was high or lowe:I that neuer loued was,Nor could court a looking-glasse:I that neuer knew loues lawe,Nor lov'd longer then I sawe;I that knew not what's now common,To throw sheep-eyes at a woman:I that neuer yet could proue,Or make shew of heartie loue:I that neuer broke my sleepe,Nor did know what cha••ms did keepeLouers eyes: now can tellWhat would please a louer well.Shall I tell thee? yes I will,And being tolde: or saue, or kill.It would please him, if he mightEuer liue in'•• Mistris sight:It would please him t' haue the hap,But to sleep in 's Mistris lap:Or to haue his Mistris faire,VVith her hand to stroke his haire.
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Or to play at foot-St. with him,Or at barly-breake to breathe him:Or to walke a turne or two,Or to kisse, or coll, or woe;Or in some retired Groue,But to parly with his Loue.Or when none that's iealous spies,To looke babbies in his eyes:Or when action ginnes to fayle,To supply it with a tale.Venus vnto Vulcane wedde,Yet came Mars to Vulcanes bedde:He and she being both in one,Whilest poore Vulcan lies alone;Or if this will not affoordIoy enough: obserue each birdHow she singles out her makeAnd to him does onely take.See their billing each with other,(Loue and dallying younc't together)Mutuall loue inheres in either,Being birds both of one feather;Or if this yeeld no content.To resort vnto the plant,Which being grafted skilfully,Brings forth fruit aboundantly:Deeper that the plant's we see,Sooner will it fruitfull be,Which (my franke) in modesty,Thus I will apply to thee.
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Deeper that thy loue is set,More impression may it get:Riper fruits then such as growe,And are planted scarce so lowe:If you aske me what I seeme,By impression for to meane,I will tell thee: such as these,Impressions onely women please."Coine for stampe sake we allowe:So for stampe sake do we you,Weake's that Euidence you knowThat has neither scale to showe,Stampe, impression: such (I ken)Are you may de••, not stampt by m••nWeake, God wot, for why you takeYour perfection from your make:Then if thou desire to bePerfect, haue recours to me:Or some other that may giue,What old Adam gaue to Eue,'Lasse its nothing: pray thee take it,Many wish it that forsake it.But when shamefull dance is done,They could wish they had begunMany yeeres before they learnt it,(O how gladly would they earne it?)But too long, I seeme to stay,Ere thy beauty I display:Spare me sweetest for my Muse,Seldome makes so faire a chuse.
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Chuse it Lou•• what ere it be,Reade thy owne Anatomie.
Purest of Ophyr-gold, let me prepareFirst for the choice description of thy hayre,Which like the finest thrids of purple seemeClere to out-strip those of the Paprian Queene;Whose tender tresses were so neatly wrought,As Cholcos fleece seem'd to be thither brought,And sure it was▪ what ere fond Poets say,And this was th' fleece which Iason tooke away.Delicious Amber is the breath which flowesFrom those perfumed conduits of thy nose,Thy smile, a snare, which tempts the way-ward boyAdon the faire, and bids him leaue to ioyI•• Forrest pleasures, there's a fruitlesse marke,Hauing more store of game within thy parke.Thy lippes (two gates) where loue makes entrie in,And yet so modest as nere taxt of sinne:Thy cheek, that rosie circlet of pure loue,Resembling neerest that Castalian groue;Where such variety of flowers appeareThat nought seems good, which is not beter'd there▪Thy b••ush (pure blush) Em••leme of ChastitieBlushing, yet guildesse of ought done by theePortends a maidens honest-spotlesse heart,Hauing thy blush by nature not by Art.Thy chin (that dimpled mou••t) which hath last plac••Yet giues no lesser bew••y to thy face:
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Then th'greatest ornament: for it doth show,Like to a pleasant Vale seated beloweSome steepy Mount: thy christall eyes the fount,Thy chin the Vale, thy louely face the Mount.O is not then this feature, boue compare,Where breath is perfume, and pure gold is hayreWhere smiles are snares, lippes gates of Iuorie,Cheekes roses, blushes types of chastitie:Where chin a vale, the browe the mount, the faceThat Soueraigne of the heart, that keeps loues place:VVhere shall I looke then, or how shall I moueThese eyes of mine and teach them not to loue?For if my eyes should but thy haire beholde,I must be forc't to loue for it is golde:If thy delicious breath I chaunce to sip,Being the rosie verdure of thy lip;I deeme my selfe in that sweet perfume blestMuch more, in that, worse breaths be in request:If thou do smile, I loue, and wish the while,That I might only liue to see thee smile.If thou do speake (pure Orator) I'me dumb,For why? thy admiration curbs my tongue.If thou but blush (as maydes are wont to doe)My passions are perplex'd, I wot not how,'Twixt feare and loue•• feare makes me wondrous pale,Fearing thy blush came from some wanton tale.Too too immodest spoken by my selfe,Which to assoyle Ile reprehend my selfe;If I but ••utch, to tutch 's a veniall sin,The pretty circle of thy dimpled chin:
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I vowe and in my vowe giues Bewtie thanks,That chin was Venus, though it now be Franks.Yet haue I not spoke all that I dot see;Or at least iudge in thy Anatomie:For true Anatomists being men of Art,Know the exact description of each part,Member and arterie: so should my sightBe in my Franke if I describe her right,Which that I might reduce to some full end,Though there's no end in loue, I will descendTo the distinct relation of the rest,And in my Franks discouery thinke me blest.Thy waste, (with••u•• waste) like a curious frame▪Aptly proportion'd still reserues the same:Or like some well composed InstrumentExact in forme, in accent excellent;So is thy waste, and happy may he be,That's borne to make it strik•• true harmony.Thy belly (if coniectures true may be)For we must guesse at that we cannot see,Is like an orient Cordon pea••led faire,With diuerse feats of Nature here and there.Where glides a christall streameling to abate,The heate of Nature oft insatiate.Pardon me Deere: Nature ordained firstThat Fount of yours, to quench the place of thirst▪Thy thigh (imagination now must doe)For I must speake, though well I know not how,Like the laborious and the loaden Bee.That hastens to her hiue melodiously.
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Nor is her freight more luscious (Deere) then thine,For thine is full of pleasure, hers of Thyme:Thy knee like to an orbe that turnes about,Giuing free passage to thy nimble foote,Apt for each motion, actiue in loues sphere,Moouing her ioints to trip it euery where.Thy legge (like Delias) neither bigge nor small,But so well fram'd and featured in all,That Nature might seeme enuious to impart,So great a good, and hide so good a part.Thy foote the curioust module of the rest,For Art and Nature there be both exprest:Art in the motion, Nature in the frame,Where action works and motion moues the same.Nor can I credite what our Poets say,Affirming Venus chanc't vpon a dayTo pricke her foote, so as from th'blood she shed.The damaske-rose grew euer after red;For if from blood such strange effects should be,Stanger (ere this) had been deriu'd from thee:But Poets though they write, Painters portray,It's in our choice to credit what they say.Yet credit me (for I would haue thee know it)I neuer yet durst challenge name of Poet:Onely thine owne I am and still will be,For whom I writ this poore Anatomie.
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