[490] See note, p. 324. [Transcriber's Note: Footnote [470]] [491] Frequently used by Marston in the sense of _reverend_. [492] It was a common device with dishonest tradesmen to darken their shops in order to palm off inferior goods on their customers. Middleton, i. 247. [493] Loovers,--openings in the roof to let in light. [494] Faded. [495] Ed. 1599 "the." [496] Fitting a pedlar.--See note 1, p. 310. [Transcriber's Note: Footnote [436]] SATIRE VI. _Hem, nosti'n?_ Curio, know'st me? Why, thou bottle-ale,[497] Thou barmy[498] froth! O stay me, lest I rail Beyond _Nil ultra_! to see this butterfly, This windy bubble, task my balladry With senseless censure. Curio, know'st my sprite? Yet deem'st that in sad[499] seriousness I write Such nasty stuff as is _Pygmalion_? Such maggot-tainted, lewd corruption! Ha, how he glavers[500] with his fawning snout, And swears he thought I meant but faintly flout 10 My fine smug rhyme. O barbarous dropsy-noul![501] Think'st thou that genius that attends my soul, And guides my fist to scourge magnificos, Will deign my mind be rank'd in Paphian shows? Think'st thou that I, which was create to whip Incarnate fiends, will once vouchsafe to trip A pavin's[502] traverse, or will lisp "Sweet love," Or pule "Aye me," some female soul to move? Think'st thou that I in melting poesy Will pamper itching sensuality 20 (That in the body's scum all fatally Entombs the soul's most sacred faculty)? Hence, thou misjudging censor: know I wrot Those idle rhymes to note the odious spot And blemish that deforms the lineaments Of modern poesy's habiliments. O that the beauties of invention, For want of judgment's disposition, Should all be spoil'd![503] O that such treasury, Such strain of well-conceited poesy, 30 Should moulded be in such a shapeless form, That want of art should make such wit a scorn! Here's one must invocate some loose-legg'd dame, Some brothel drab, to help him stanzas frame, Or else (alas!) his wits can have no vent, To broach conceit's industrious intent. Another yet dares tremblingly come out; But first he must invoke good Colin Clout. Yon's one hath yean'd a fearful prodigy, Some monstrous misshapen balladry; 40 His guts are in his brains, huge jobbernoul,[504] Right gurnet's-head;[505] the rest without all soul. Another walks, is lazy, lies him down, Thinks, reads, at length some wonted sleep doth crown His new-fall'n lids, dreams; straight, ten pound to one, Out steps some fairy with quick motion, And tells him wonders of some flow'ry vale; Awakes, straight rubs his eyes, and prints his tale. Yon's one whose strains have flown so high a pitch,