Classic Poem

SAT. 2.

Arcades ambo.

Old driueling Lolio drudges all he can,
To make his eldest sonne a Gentleman.
Who can despaire that sees another thriue,
By lone of twelue-pence to an Oyster-wiue?
When a craz'd scaffold, and a rotten stage,
Was all rich Naeuius his heritage.
Nought spendeth he for feare, nor spares for cost:
And all he spendes and spaires beside is lost;
Himselfe goes patched like some bare Cottyer ,
Least he might ought the future stocke appeyre.
Let giddie Cosmius change his choyce aray,
Like as the Turke his Tents thrise in a day.
And all to sun and ayre his suites vntold
From spitfull mothes, and frets, and hoary mold,
Bearing his paune-layd lands vpon his backe
As Snailes their shels, or Pedlers do their packe:
Who cannot shine in tissues and pure gold,
That hath his lands and patrimony sold?
Lolioes side-cote is rough Pampilian
Guilded with drops that downe the bosome ran,
White Carsy hose, patched on eyther knee,
The very Embleme of good husbandrie,
And a knit night-cap made of coursest twine,
With two long labels button'd to his chin;
So rides he mounted on the market-day
Vpon a straw-stuft pannel, all the way,
With a maund charg'd with houshold marchandise
With egs, or white-meate, from both Dayries:
And with that byes he rost for sunday-noone,
Proud how he made that weeks prouision:
Else is he stall-fed on the worky-day
With browne-bread crusts softened in sodden whey,
Or water-grewell, or those paups of meale
That Maro makes his Simule , and Cybeale :
Or once a weeke perhaps for nouelty,
Reez'd Bacon soords shall feast his familie;
And weens this more than one egge cle'ft in twaine
To feast some patrone and his Chappelaine:
Or more than is some hungry gallants dole,
That in a dearth runs sneaking to an hole,
And leaues his man and dog to keepe his hall
Least the wilde roome should run forth of the wall.
Good man! him list not spend his idle meales
In quinsing Plouers, or in winging Quales;
Nor toot in Cheap side baskets earne and late
To set the first tooth in some nouell-cate.
Let sweete-mouth'd Mercia bid what crowns she please
For halfe-red Cherries, or greene garden-pease,
Or the first Artichoks of all the yeare,
To make so lauish cost for little cheare:
When Lolio feasteth in his reueling fit,
Some sterued Pullen scoures the rusted spitt.
For else how should his sonne maintained bee,
At Ins of Court or of the Chancerie:
There to learne Law, and courtly carriage,
To make amendes for his meane parentage,
Where he vnknowne and ruffling as he can,
Goes currant each-where for a Gentleman?
While yet he rousteth at some vncouth signe
Nor neuer red his Tenures second line.
What Brokers lousy wardrop cannot reach,
With tissued paines to pranck ech peasants breech?
Couldst thou but giue the wall, the cap, the knee,
To proud Sartorio that goes stradling by,
Wer't not the needle pricked on his sleeue
Doth by good hap the secret watch-word giue?
But hear'st thou Lolioes sonne, gin not thy gate,
Vntill the euening Oule or bloody-Batt.
Neuer vntill the lamps of Paules beene light,
And niggard lanternes shade the Moon-shine night;
Then when the guiltie bankrupt in bolde dreade,
From his close Cabin thrusts his shrinking heade,
That hath beene long in shady shelter pent
Imprisoned for feare of prisonment.
May be some russet-cote Parochian
Shall call thee cosen, friend, or countryman,
And for thy hoped fist crossing the streete,
Shall in thy fathers name his God-son greete,
Could neuer man worke thee a worser shame
Then once to minge thy fathers odious name,
Whose mention were alike to thee as leeue,
As a Catch-pols fist vnto a Bankrupts sleeue;
Or an, Hos ego , from old Petrarchs spright
Vnto a Plagiarie sonnet-wright.
There soone as he can kisse his hand in gree,
And with good grace bow it below the knee,
Or make a Spanish face with fauning cheere,
With th'Iland-Conge like a Caualier,
And shake his head, and cringe his necke and side,
Home hyes he in his fathers Farme to bide.
The Tenants wonder at their land-Lords Sonne,
And blesse them at so sudden comming on,
More then who vies his pence to view some tricke
Of strange Moroccoes dumbe Arithmeticke,
Or the young Elephant, or two-tayl'd steere,
Or the rig'd Camell, or the Fidling Frere.
Nay then his Hodge shall leaue the plough & waine,
And buy a booke, and go to schoole againe:
Why mought not he aswell as others done,
Rise from his Festue to his Littleton ?
Fooles, they may feed with words & liue by ayre,
That climbe to honour by the Pulpits stayre:
Sit seauen yeares pining in an Anchores cheyre,
To win some patched shreds of Miniuere ,
And seuen more plod at a Patrons tayle,
To get a gelded Chappels cheaper sale.
Old Lolio sees and laugheth in his sleeue,
At the great hope they and his state doe giue.
But that which glads and makes him proud'st of all,
Is when the brabling neighbours on him call,
For counsell in some crabbed case of law,
Or some Indentments, or some bond to draw:
His Neighbours goose hath grazed on his Lea,
What action mought be entred in the plea?
So new falne lands haue made him in request,
That now he lookes as lofty as the best.
And well done Lolio , like a thriftie syre,
T'were pitty but thy sonne should prooue a squire.
How I fore-see in many ages past,
When Lolioes caytiue name is quite defa'st,
Thine heire, thine heyres heyre, & his heyre againe
From out the loynes of carefull Lolian ,
Shall climbe vp to the Chancell pewes on hie,
And rule and raigne in their rich Tenancie;
When pearch't aloft to perfect their estate
They racke their rents vnto a treble rate;
And hedge in all the neighbour common-lands,
And clodge their slauish tenant with commaunds,
Whiles they, poore soules, with feeling sighs complain
And wish old Lolio were aliue againe,
And praise his gentle soule and wish it well
And of his friendly facts full often tell.
His father dead, tush, no it was not hee,
He findes recordes of his great pedigree,
And tels how first his famous Ancestor
Did come in long since with the Conquerour.
Nor hath some bribed Herald first assign'd
His quartered Armes and crest of gentle kinde,
The Scottish Barnacle (if I might choose)
That of a worme doth waxe a winged goose;
Nathelesse some hungry squire for hope of good
Matches the churles Sonne into gentle blood,
Whose sonne more iustly of his gentry boasts
Than who were borne at two pide-painted postes;
And had some traunting Chapman to his syre
That trafiqu'd both by water and by fyre.
O times! since euer Rome did Kings create,
Brasse Gentlemen, and Caesars Laureate.