Nor fearful beast can dig his cave so low, As could he further than earth's centre go; As that the air, the earth, or ocean, Should shield them from the gorge of greedy man. Hath utmost Ind ought better than his own? Then utmost Ind is near, and rife to gone, O nature! was the world ordain'd for nought But fill man's maw, and feed man's idle thought? Thy grandsire's words savour'd of thrifty leeks, Or manly garlic; but thy furnace reeks Hot steams of wine; and can aloof descry The drunken draughts of sweet autumnitie. They naked went; or clad in ruder hide, Or home-spun russet, void of foreign pride: But thou canst mask in garish gauderie To suit a fool's far-fetched livery. A French head join'd to neck Italian: Thy thighs from Germany, and breast from Spain: An Englishman in none, a fool in all: Many in one, and one in several. Then men were men; but now the greater part Beasts are in life, and women are in heart. Good Saturn self, that homely emperor, In proudest pomp was not so clad of yore, As is the under-groom of the ostlery, Husbanding it in work-day yeomanry. Lo! the long date of those expired days, Which the inspired Merlin's word foresays; When dunghill peasants shall be dight as kings, Then one confusion another brings: Then farewell, fairest age, the world's best days, Thriving in ill, as it in age decays. SATIRE VII. Seest thou how gaily my young master goes, Vaunting himself upon his rising toes; And pranks his hand upon his dagger's side, And picks his glutted teeth since late noontide? 'Tis Ruffio: Trow'st thou where he dined to-day? In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humphray. Many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer, Keeps he for every straggling cavalier, And open house, haunted with great resort; Long service mix'd with musical disport. Many fair younker with a feather'd crest, Chooses much rather be his shot-free guest, To fare so freely with so little cost, Than stake his twelvepence to a meaner host. Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say He touch'd no meat of all this livelong day. For sure methought, yet that was but a guess, His eyes seem'd sunk for very hollowness; But could he have (as I did it mistake) So little in his purse, so much upon his back? So nothing in his maw? yet seemeth by his belt, That his gaunt gut no too much stuffing felt. Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip? Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip; Yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by, All trapped in the new-found bravery. The nuns of new-won Calais his bonnet lent, In lieu of their so kind a conquerment. What needed he fetch that from furthest Spain. His grandam could have lent with lesser pain? Though he perhaps ne'er pass'd the English shore, Yet fain would counted be a conqueror. His hair, French-like, stares on his frighted head, One lock, Amazon-like, dishevelled, As if he meant to wear a native cord, If chance his fates should him that bane afford. All British bare upon the bristled skin,