Yet to the lute if you had heard him sung, Jesu! how sweet he breath'd! You can apply. O senseless prose, judicial poesy, How ill you're link'd! This affectation, To speak beyond men's apprehension, How apish 'tis, when all in fustian suit Is cloth'd a huge nothing, all for repute Of profound knowledge, when profoundness knows 70 There's naught contain'd but only seeming shows! Old Jack of Paris-garden, canst thou get A fair rich suit, though foully run in debt? Look smug, smell sweet, take up commodities,[574] Keep whores, fee bawds, belch impious blasphemies, Wallow along in swaggering disguise, Snuff up smoke-whiffs, and each morn, 'fore she rise, Visit thy drab? Canst use a false-cut die With a clean grace and glib facility? Canst thunder cannon-oaths, like th' rattling 80 Of a huge, double, full-charg'd culvering?[575] Then Jack, troop 'mong our gallants, kiss thy fist, And call them brothers; say a satirist Swears they are thine in near affinity, All cousin-germans, save in villainy; For (sadly, truth to say) what are they else But imitators of lewd beastliness? Far worse than apes; for mow or scratch your pate, It may be some odd ape will imitate; But let a youth that hath abused his time 90 In wrongèd travel, in that hotter clime, Swoop by old Jack, in clothes Italianate, And I'll be hang'd if he will imitate His strange fantastic suit-shapes: Or let him bring o'er beastly luxuries, Some hell-devisèd lustful villanies, Even apes and beasts would blush with native shame, And think it foul dishonour to their name, Their beastly name, to imitate such sin As our lewd youths do boast and glory in. 100 Fie! whither do these monkeys carry me? Their very names do soil my poesy. Thou world of marmosets and mumping apes, Unmask, put off thy feignèd, borrowed shapes! Why looks neat Curus all so simp'ringly? Why babblest thou of deep divinity, And of that sacred testimonial, Living voluptuous like a bacchanal? Good hath thy tongue; but thou, rank Puritan, I'll make an ape as good a Christian; 110 I'll force him chatter, turning up his eye, Look sad, go grave; demure civility Shall seem to say, "Good brother, sister dear!" As for the rest, to snort in belly-cheer,[576] To bite, to gnaw, and boldly intermel With sacred things, in which thou dost excel, Unforced he'll do. O take compassion Even on your souls! Make not Religion A bawd to lewdness. Civil Socrates, Clip not the youth of Alcibiades 120 With unchaste arms. Disguisèd Messaline, I'll tear thy mask, and bare thee to the eyn Of hissing boys, if to the theatres I find thee once more come for lecherers, To satiate (nay, to tire) thee with the use Of weak'ning lust. Ye feigners, leave t' abuse