What that depaints[367] a church-reformed state, The which the female tongues magnificate, Because that Plato's odd opinion Of all things common hath strong motion In their weak minds;--who thinks that this good man Is a vile, sober, damned politician? 70 Not I, till with his bait of purity He bit me sore in deepest usury. No Jew, no Turk, would use a Christian So inhumanely as this Puritan. Diomedes' jades were not so bestial As this same seeming saint--vile cannibal! Take heed, O world! take heed advisedly Of these same damnèd anthropophagi. I had rather be within a harpy's claws Than trust myself in their devouring jaws, 80 Who all confusion to the world would bring Under the form of their new discipline. O I could say, Briareus' hundred hands Were not so ready to bring Jove in bands, As these to set endless contentious strife Betwixt Jehovah and his sacred wife! But see--who's yonder? True Humility, The perfect image of fair Courtesy; See, he doth deign to be in servitude Where he hath no promotion's livelihood! 90 Mark, he doth courtesy, and salutes a block, Will seem to wonder at a weathercock; Trenchmore[368] with apes, play music to an owl, Bless his sweet honour's running brasil[369] bowl; Cries "Bravely broke!" when that his lordship miss'd, And is of all the throngèd[370] scaffold hiss'd; O is not this a courteous-minded man? No fool, no; a damn'd Machiavelian; Holds candle to the devil for a while, That he the better may the world beguile, 100 That's fed with shows. He hopes, though some repine, When sun is set the lesser stars will shine; He is within a haughty malcontent, Though he do use such humble blandishment. But, bold-faced Satire, strain not over-high, But laugh and chuck at meaner gullery. In faith, yon is a well-faced gentleman; See how he paceth like a Cyprian! Fair amber tresses of the fairest hair That ere were wavèd by our London air; 110 Rich lacèd suit, all spruce, all neat, in truth. Ho, Lynceus! what's yonder brisk neat youth 'Bout whom yon troop of gallants flocken so, And now together to Brown's Common go? Thou know'st, I am sure; for thou canst cast thine eye Through nine mud walls, or else old poets lie. "'Tis loose-legg'd Lais, that same common drab For whom good Tubrio took the mortal stab."[371] Ha, ha! Nay, then, I'll never rail at those That wear a codpis,[372] thereby to disclose 120 What sex they are, since strumpets breeches use, And all men's eyes save Lynceus can abuse. Nay, stead of shadow, lay the substance out, Or else, fair Briscus, I shall stand in doubt What sex thou art, since such hermaphrodites, Such Protean shadows so delude our sights. Look, look, with what a discontented grace Bruto the traveller doth sadly[373] pace