It's good be wary, whilst the sun shines clear (Quoth that old chuff that may dispend by year Three thousand pound), whilst he of good pretence Commits himself to Fleet, to save expense. No country's Christmas--rather tarry here, The Fleet is cheap, the country hall too dear. But, Codrus, hark! the world expects to see Thy bastard heir rot there in misery. What! will Luxurio keep so great a hall That he will prove a bastard in his fall? 10 No; "Come[453] on five! St. George, by Heaven, at all!" Makes his catastrophe right tragical! At all? till nothing's left! Come on, till all comes off, Ay, hair and all! Luxurio, left a scoff To leprous filths! O stay, thou impious slave, Tear not the lead from off thy father's grave To stop base brokeage!--sell not thy father's sheet-- His leaden sheet, that strangers' eyes may greet Both putrefaction of thy greedy sire And thy abhorrèd viperous desire! 20 But wilt thou needs, shall thy dad's lacky brat Wear thy sire's half-rot finger in his hat? Nay, then, Luxurio, waste in obloquy, And I shall sport to hear thee faintly cry, "A die, a drab, and filthy broking knaves, Are the world's wide mouths, all-devouring graves." Yet Samus keeps a right good house, I hear-- No, it keeps him, and free'th him from chill fear Of shaking fits. How, then, shall his smug wench, How shall her bawd (fit time) assist her quench 30 Her sanguine heat? Lynceus, canst thou scent? She hath her monkey and her instrument Smooth fram'd at Vitrio. O grievous misery! Luscus hath left his[454] female luxury; Ay, it left him! No, his old cynic dad Hath forc'd him clean forsake his Pickhatch[455] drab. Alack, alack! what peace of lustful flesh Hath Luscus left, his Priape to redress? Grieve not, good soul, he hath his Ganymede, His perfumed she-goat, smooth-kemb'd and high fed. 40 At Hogson[456] now his monstrous love he feasts, For there he keeps a bawdy-house of beasts. Paphus, let Luscus have his courtezan, Or we shall have a monster of a man. Tut! Paphus now detains him from that bower, And clasps him close within his brick-built tower. Diogenes,[457] thou art damn'd for thy lewd wit, For Luscus now hath skill to practise it. Faith, what cares he for fair Cinædian boys, Velvet-caped[458] goats, Dutch mares? Tut! common toys! Detain them all on this condition, 51 He may but use his cynic friction. O now, ye male stews, I can give pretence For your luxurious incontinence. Hence, hence, ye falsèd seeming patriots, Return not with pretence of salving spots, When here ye soil us with impurity, And monstrous filth of Doway seminary. What, though Iberia yield you liberty, To snort in sauce of Sodom villainy? 60 What, though the blooms of young nobility,