Doth far exceed the Paphian blandishment), Whilst I (like to some mute Pythagoran) Halter my hate, and cease to curse and ban Such brutish filth? Shall Matho raise his fame By printing pamphlets in another's name, And in them praise himself, his wit, his might, All to be deem'd his country's lanthorn-light? 130 Whilst my tongue's tied with bonds of blushing shame, For fear of broaching my concealèd name? Shall Balbus, the demure Athenian, Dream of the death of next vicarian, Cast his nativity, mark his complexion, Weigh well his body's weak condition, That, with gilt sleight, he may be sure to get The planet's place when his dim shine shall set? Shall Curio streak[467] his limbs on his day's couch, In summer bower, and with bare groping touch 140 Incense his lust, consuming all the year In Cyprian dalliance, and in Belgic cheer? Shall Faunus spend a hundred gallions Of goat's pure milk to lave his stallions, As much rose-juice? O bath! O royal, rich, To scour Faunus and his salt-proud bitch. And when all's cleans'd, shall the slave's inside stink Worse than the new cast slime of Thames ebb'd brink, Whilst I securely let him over-slip, Ne'er yerking him with my satiric whip? 150 Shall Crispus with hypocrisy beguile, Holding a candle to some fiend a while-- Now Jew, then Turk, then seeming Christian, Then Atheist, Papist, and straight Puritan; Now nothing, anything, even what you list, So that some gilt[468] may grease his greedy fist? Shall Damas use his third-hand ward as ill As any jade that tuggeth in the mill? What, shall law, nature, virtue be rejected, Shall these world-arteries be soul-infected 160 With corrupt blood, whilst I shall Martia task, Or some young Villius all in choler ask How he can keep a lazy waiting-man, And buy a hood, and silver-handled fan, With forty pound? Or snarl at Lollius' son, That with industrious pains hath harder won His true-got worship and his gentry's name Than any swineherd's brat that lousy came To luskish[469] Athens and, with farming pots, Compiling beds, and scouring greasy spots, 170 By chance (when he can, like taught parrot, cry "Dearly belov'd," with simpering gravity) Hath got the farm of some gelt[470] vicary, And now, on cock-horse, gallops jollily; Tickling, with some stol'n stuff, his senseless cure, Belching lewd terms 'gainst all sound literature? Shall I with shadows fight, task bitterly Rome's filth, scraping base channel roguery, Whilst such huge giants shall affright our eyes With execrable, damn'd inpieties? 180 Shall I find trading Mecho never loath Frankly to take a damning perjured oath? Shall Furia broke her sister's modesty, And prostitute her soul to brothelry? Shall Cossus make his well-faced wife a stale,[471]