Read Ebook: La Panhypocrisiade ou le spectacle infernal du seizième siècle by Lemercier N Pomuc Ne Louis

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Ebook has 258 lines and 46215 words, and 6 pages

Now having replenish'd my Stock once again, My Hostess and Daughter I vow to refrain Their Company quite, and betake my self to a Wife, With whom I hope to live a sober Life, Life, Life, With whom I hope to live a sober Life.

Then in came a Damsel as fresh as a Rose, He gave her a Kiss, and began for to close, In Courting, and said, canst love an honest Tar, Who for this Six or Seven Years has travell'd far, Far, far, Who for this Six or Seven Years has travell'd far.

His offer was noble, his Guineas was good, And therefore the innocent Maid never stood To make a Denial, but granted his Request, And now she's with a jolly Sailor, Sailor blest. Blest, blest, And now she's with a jolly Sailor, Sailor blest.

Through the cold shady Woods, As I was ranging, I heard the pretty Birds, Notes sweetly changing: Down by the Meadow's side, There runs a River A little Boy I spy'd With Bow and Quiver.

If thou dost but the least, At my Laws grumble; I'll pierce thy stubborn breast, And make thee humble, If I with Golden Dart, Wound thee but surely, There's no Physitians Art, That e're can cure thee.

Of powerful shafts you see, I am well stored; Which makes my Deity, So much adored: With one poor Arrow now, I'll make thee shiver; And bend unto my Bow, And fear my Quiver.

And now this gallant Heart Sorely lies bleeding; He felt the greatest smart, From Love proceeding; He did her help implore, Whom he affected, But found that more and more, Him she rejected.

For by his present plaint, He was regarded; And his adored Saint, His Love rewarded: And now they live in Joy, Sweetly embracing, And left the little Boy, In the Woods chasing.

And now, now the Duke's March, Let the Haut-boys play; And his Troops in the Close, Shall Huzza, Huzza, Huzza: And now, now the Duke's March, Let the Haut-boys play; And his Troops in the Close, Shall Huzza, Huzza, Huzza.

Do not rumple my Top-knot, I'll not be kiss'd to Day; I'll not be hawl'd and pull'd about, Thus on a Holy-day: Then if your Rudeness you don't leave, No more is to be said; See this long Pin upon my Sleeve, I'll run up to the Head: And if you rumple my head Gear, I'll give you a good flurt on the Ear.

Come upon a Worky-day, When I have my old Cloaths on; I shall not be so nice nor Coy, Nor stand so much upon: Then hawl and pull, and do your best, Yet I shall gentle be: Kiss hand, and Mouth, and feel my Breast, And tickle to my Knee: I won't be put out of my rode, You shall not rumple my Commode.

Gentle murmurs sweet complaining, Sighs that blow the fire of Love; Soft Repulses, kind Disdaining, Shall be all the Pains you prove.

Every Swain shall pay his Duty, Grateful every Nymph shall prove; And as these excel in Beauty, Those shall be renown'd for Love.

Hang this whining way of Wooing, Loving was design'd a sport; Sighing, talking without doing, Makes a sily Idol court: Don't believe that Words can move her, If she be not well inclin'd; She herself must be the Lover, To perswade her to be kind: If at last she grants the Favour, And consents to be undone; Never think your Passion gave her, To your wishes, but her own.

To the Reader.

Stand clear, my Masters 'ware your Shins, For now to Bark my Muse begins, Tis of a Dog, I write now: Yet let me tell you for excuse, That Muse or Dog, or Dog or Muse, Have no intent to bite now.

In Doggrel Rhimes my Lines are writ, As for a Dog I thought it fit, And fitting best his Carkass. Had I been silent as a Stoick, Or had I writ in Verse Heroick, Then had I been a Stark Ass.

He is no Mastiff, huge of Lim, Or Water-spaniel, that can Swim, Nor Blood-Hound nor no Setter: No Bob-tail Tyke, or Trundle-tayl, Nor can he Partridge spring or Quail, But yet he is much better.

Two rows of Teeth for Arms he bore, Which in his Mouth he always wore, Which serv'd to fight and feed too: His grumbling for his Drum did pass, And barking his Ordnance was, Which help'd in time of need too.

His Tail his Ensign he did make, Which he would oft display and shake, Fast in his Poop uprear'd: His Powder hot, but somewhat dank, His Shot in most dangerous rank, Which sometimes made him feared.

For Guns, nor Drums, nor Trumpets clang. Nor hunger, cold, nor many a pang, Could make him leave his Master: In Joy, and in Adversity, In Plenty, and in Poverty, He often was a Taster.

I wish my Hands could never stir, But I do love a thankful Curr, More than a Man ingrateful: And this poor Dog's Fidelity, May make a thankless Knave descry, How much that Vice is hateful.

For why, of all the Faults of Men, Which they have got from Hell's black Den, Ingratitude the worst is: For Treasons, Murders, Incests, Rapes, Nor any Sin in any shapes, So bad, nor so accurst is.

I hope I shall no Anger gain, If I do write a word Or twain, How this Dog was distressed; His Master being wounded dead, Shot, cut and slash'd, from Heel to Head, Think how he was oppressed.

To lose him that he loved most, And be upon a Foreign Coast, Where no Man would relieve him: He lick'd his Masters Wounds in Love, And from his Carkass would not move, Altho' the sight did grieve him.

I lov'd thy Master, so did all That knew him, great and small, And he did well deserve it: For he was Honest, Valiant, Good, And one that Manhood understood, And did till Death preserve it.

How happy's the Husband, how happy's the Husband, Whose Wife has been try'd, has been try'd, Not damn'd to the Bed, not damn'd to the Bed of an ignorant Bride; Secure of what's left, secure of what's left, he ne'er misses the rest, But where there's enough, enough, enough, but where there's enough, supposes a Feast: So foreknowing the Cheat, He escapes the Deceit; And in spight of the Curse he resolves, he resolves to be blest. And in spight of the Curse he resolves, he resolves to be blest. He resolves to be blest, he resolves, he resolves to be blest. If Children are blessings, his comfort's the more, Whose Spouse has been known to be fruitful before; And the Boy that she brings ready made to his Hand, May stand him in stead for an Heir to his Land: Shou'd his own prove a Sot, When 'tis lawfully got As when e'er it is so, if it won't I'll be hang'd.

If ever you mean to be kind, To me the Favour, the Favour allow; For fear that to Morrow should alter my Mind, Oh! let me now, now, now, If in Hand then a Guinea you'll give, And swear by this kind Embrace; That another to Morrow, as you hope to live, Oh! then I will strait unlace: For why should we two disagree, Since we have, we have opportunity.

I know her false, I know her base, I know that Gold alone can move; I know she Jilts me to my Face, And yet good Gods, and yet good Gods I know I Love.

I see too plain and yet am Blind, Wou'd think her true, while she forsooth; To me and to my Rival's kind, Courts him, courts me, courts him, courts me, and Jilts us both.

I Am come to lock all fast, Love without me cannot last: Love, like counsels of the Wise, Must be hid from vulgar Eyes; 'Tis holy, 'tis holy, and we must, we must conceal it, They prophane it, they prophane it, who reveal it, They prophane it, they profane it, who reveal it.

After the pangs of fierce Desire, The doubts and hopes that wait on Love; And feed by turns the raging Fire, How charming must Fruition prove: When the triumphant Lover feels, None of those Pains which once he bore; Or when reflecting on his Ills, He makes his Pleasure, Pleasure more, He makes his Pleasure, Pleasure more.

My Passion with your kindness grew, Tho' Beauty gave the first desire, But Beauty only to pursue, Is following a wandring Fire.

As Hills in perspective, suppress, The free enquiry of the sight: Restraint makes every Pleasure less, And takes from Love the full delight.

Faint Kisses may in part supply, Those eager Longings of my Soul; But oh! I'm lost, if you deny, A quick possession of the whole.

Curse on my Fate, who plac'd me here, In a Sphere, a Sphere, so much below, My Love, my Life, my all that's dear; And yet she must not know: The torment for her I sustain, Shall ill, shall ill rewarded be; When loving, when loving, and not Lov'd again, Does prove, does prove, a Hell to me.

If Wine be a Cordial why does it Torment? If a Poison oh! tell me whence comes my Content? Since I drink it with Pleasure, why should I complain? Or repent ev'ry Morn when I know 'tis in vain: Yet so charming the Glass is, so deep is the Quart, That at once it both drowns and enlivens my Heart.

Where there is no place, For the Glow-worm to lie: Where there is no space, For receipt of a Flye: Where the Gnat she dares not venture, Lest her self fast she lay: But if Love come he will enter, And will find out the way.

You may esteem him A Child by his force; Or you may deem him A Coward, which is worse: But if he whom Love doth Honour, Be conceal'd from the Day; Set a Thousand Guards upon him Love will find out the way.

Some think to lose him, Which is too unkind; And some do suppose him, Poor Heart to be Blind: But if ne'er so close you wall him, Do the best that you may; Blind Love, if so you call him, Will find out the way.

Well may the Eagle Stoop down to the Fist; Or you may inveagle, The Phenix of the East: With Tears the Tyger's moved, To give over his Prey; But never stop a Lover, He will post on his way.

The gordian Knot, Which true Lovers knit; Undo you cannot, Nor yet break it: Make use of your Inventions, Their Fancies to betray; To frustrate your intentions, Love will find out the way.

From Court to Cottage, In Bower and in Hall; From the King unto the Beggar, Love conquers all: Tho' ne'er so stout and Lordly, Strive do what you may; Yet be you ne'er so hardy, Love will find out the way.

Love hath power over Princes, Or greatest Emperor; In any Provinces, Such is Love's Power: There is no resisting, But him to obey; In spight of all contesting, Love will find out the way.

If that he were hidden, And all Men that are; Were strictly forbidden, That place to declare: Winds that have no abiding, Pitying their delay; Will come and bring him tydings, And direct him the way.

If the Earth should part him. He would gallop it o're: If the Seas should overthwart him, He would swim to the Shore: Should his Love become a Swallow, Thro' the Air to stray; Love would lend Wings to follow, And would find out the way.

There is no striving, To cross his intent: There is no contriving, His Plots to prevent: But if once the Message greet him, That his true Love doth stay; If Death should come and meet him, Love will find out the way.

No, no, poor suffering Heart, no change endeavour; Chuse to sustain the smart rather than leave her: My ravish'd Eyes behold such Charms about her, I can Dye with her, but not live without her, One tender Sigh of her to see me Languish: Will more than pay the price of my past Anguish, Beware, oh cruel Fair how you smile on me, 'Twas a kind look of yours that has undone me.

Sometimes I am a Tapster new, And skilful in my Trade Sir, I fill my Pots most duly, Without deceit or froth Sir: A Spicket of two Handfuls long, I use to Occupy Sir: And when I set a Butt abroach, Then shall no Beer run by Sir.

Sometimes I am a Butcher, And then I feel fat Ware Sir; And if the Flank be fleshed well, I take no farther care Sir: But in I thrust my Slaughtering-Knife, Up to the Haft with speed Sir; For all that ever I can do, I cannot make it bleed Sir.

Sometimes I am a Baker, And Bake both white and brown Sir; I have as fine a Wrigling-Pole, As any is in all this Town Sir: But if my Oven be over-hot, I dare not thrust in it Sir; For burning of my Wrigling-Pole, My Skill's not worth a Pin Sir.

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