J r. Clement Cottrell K t. Master of the Ceremonyes
HVMORS ANTIQVE FACES.
Drawne in proportion to his seuerall Antique Iestures.
LONDON Imprinted for Henry Rockett, and are to bee solde at the long Shop vnder S. Mildreds Church in the Poultrie. 1605.
To the Reader.
HE that to please all humors doth intend,
May well begin but neuer make an ende:
S
[...]nce euerie humor hath his seuerall vaine,
Which in themselues strange obiects doe retaine
I then will write at random: hit as t'will,
If some be pleas'd, of some be impleased still.
To him that likes it best, to him I send it,
Mislike it not till you your selfe can mend it.
Then if my humor hath done humors wrong
Ile rather mend it or else hould my tongue.
Meane while comment but rightly on the text
I will present strange fashions to you next.
Prologue.
VNder the shadowe of the gloomy night,
When silent sleepe arrests each mortall wight,
When fayrie
Oberon and his night Queene
In
Cinthias honor friskes ore euerie greene.
Sleepe, parting from mee, gaue inuention light
To finde some subiect for my pen to wright
When musing how the world I best might fit,
I saw how Poets humor'd out their wit.
Nay then thought I write all of what they list,
Once in my daies ile proue a humorist.
When on the Sudden as I thought the thing,
I was encountred by the Fayrie King.
Mortall (quoth hee) I charge thee to ingage,
Thy pen to scourge the humors of this age,
Thou shalt not neede to make a long relation,
What thou canst get by tediouse obseruation.
Fayries haue left their lowe infernall places,
The seuerall formes of humors in their faces.
Take what, and where thou list while it is night,
But send them home before the day be light.
Epigram.
O By your leaue I pray you giue them vent,
Heere comes braue courtship gallant complement
Hee meetes his friend nay then he keepes a stur,
Illustrous, generous, most accomplisht Sur.
Kisses his hand and sends it to his foote
As if he ought some duetie to his boote
Phoebus bright lampe good halfe an houre might burne,
Courtly contending, each doth keepe his turne.
Vntill their Courtship pester so the way,
By comes a cart, and then dissolues the fray.
Then out comes wordes more eloquent then Hermes,
The quintessence of all your Inkchorne termes.
As we are Alians I am sorrie thoe,
Tis your defect Sir: you will haue it soe.
Moste admirable be the wordes they speake,
T' expresse their mindes plaine english is to weake.
To these strange wordes, which these braue gallants cogge,
A courtly conge is the Epilogue.
For hauing now so frankely spent their store,
Needes must they parte when they can speake no more
Epigram.
A Hansome fellow and a proper Squire,
A little hanging would promote him higher,
A man I tell you of the better sorte,
Amongst his equals hath a good reporte,
His dealings on the market day doth rall
At newgate market, Cheape and Leaden-Hall.
He is a taker, indeede is he soe,
I meane a taker vp of Purses thoe:
This fellowe comming lately downe Cheape-side,
Afemall bootie suddenly espide.
Twas Market day, but quight out of his minde:
For he had left his Instruments behinde.
But his conceite that is no barren spring,
With little musing had bethought a thing.
Was it the womans lucke or fortune whether
That she should weare both purse and knife together?
The Cut-purse swore and bound it with a curse,
The womans knife should cut the womans purse,
And did it too: good reason by my troth,
For would you that a man should breake his oathe,
Twas not for neede I pray conceaue the best,
His humor was to cut a Purse in iest.
Epigram.
ROome Sirs, I pray for Bachus Cousen heere,
Whose paunch (the fatal tombe to al good cheare)
Welters in tallowe and huge cakes of grease,
Such burlie fellowes make good men of peace,
He is of such a huge insatiat size
His whole daies worke nothing but gurmandize.
He has a belly circular and rounde,
Is neuer full, O sir it is profound.
He has a huge and dreadefull fierie nose,
God blesse Paules steeple when hee puffes and blowes,
He dares not goe vngirded not two meales,
For then his guts would fall about his heeles.
Poore Painters were vndone if he were dead,
They loose the patterne of a Sarzens head,
I met him once riding downe Holborne late,
I surely thought the mouth at Bishops-gate
Had been on progresse, out in Oxfordshire
For to deuoure all Mutton and porredge there.
Well blame not him, he has a care to carue,
For otherwise poore church-yard wormes wold starue.
Epigram.
Sweete Signeor swash was late orecome with passion
Because his life was quite worne out of fashion:
For he protests, nay and you wil, heele sweare
That he hath bin in London halfe a yeare.
Yet all this while that hee in London lay:
Twas not his lucke so much as see a play.
Nay which is more, he hath not seene great Hunckes,
Nor yet hath bin in Shor-diteh mongst his Punckes.
And God forgiue him he is not precise,
Much to frequent any good exercise.
Why this is strange a riddle not a rime,
Where hath this gallant yonker spent his time.
To tell the Iest I thinke t'will make you smile,
He hath bin in the Counter all this while.
Epigram.
ONe tolde a Courser where he should repayre,
And finde a field wel fraught with praunsing wate
Whither he went without let or denyall
Before he bought, thinking to steale a tryall.
Some two or three he backes, but doth reiourne,
The dull pac'd Iades they wold not serue his turne,
At last he back'd one, whose heeles did rebound,
As if his vaultage seemde to scorne the ground.
And though his rider keept him on the racke,
Ran quight away, his chapman on his backe:
His courage was of such a fierie pitch,
As bore the Courser ouer hedge and ditch.
But seeing one he feared would reueale him,
He raygn'd him in, he did not meane to steale him
It was the owner, then he keepes a sturre,
Houlds backe his head, but giues his sides the Snurre.
As if indeede he could not holde him still,
But that he stole a Horse against his will.
Nothing but this, yet he was hang'd they say,
Because the horse did carrie him away.
Epigram.
DOe you knowe this fellowe in the veluet Iacke?
His first beginning was with, what doe ye lacke?
But now indeede the man in age doth droppe,
Therefore vnfit to keepe a Trades-mans Shoppe.
And he hath found the trade of bonds and libles,
The Deuill found it for his owne Desciples.
A Vsurer, O Sir tis verie true!
A faithfull vnlaine and an honest Iewe.
He will not sticke to lend his money foorth,
So hee haue pawne for fiue times more then worth.
Hee'le send you money vppon all your state,
Be it in Landes, in Iewels, or in plate.
Heele smooth you vp, and speake you wondrous faire,
Pay when you can some weekes shall breake no square.
Trust not his kindenesse, then your case is euill,
As good to be behoulding to the Deuill.
Epigram.
IF you to knowe this gallant doe desire,
Hee is the ofspring of a couetous sire,
No sooner is the Father dead, scarce colde,
But his braue Sonne beguilds his purse with golde.
Vnto his Fathers Closset doth he hie,
In faith he longs to see these Angelles flie.
Where like some potent fellowe in his fumes,
Ruffles his feathers and displayes his plumes.
And for his signet takes his fathers ring
Angel his subiects; O most gallant King▪
To whome as one to pittie onely bent,
(Saith he) I long bewayl'd your prisonment.
My father he kept you in slauerie,
But I am come to giue you libertie,
Next he takes care if he shall liue or not,
To spend the wealth his couetous Father got.
[Page] Good faith tis trewe his worshippe lackes a man,
Heele make a shift heele spend it if he can.
Ten pound a yeare heele giue, each day three meales,
Onely to carrie golde after his heeles.
To beare foorth presents, bee his apple squire,
To make al
[...]gge, and say
Ouy Mounsire.
This being done out of the doores hee throwes,
To seeke companions my young Master goes.
Some twentie pound this day he doth disburse,
He scornes to bring home fragments in his purse,
Ere long his father must be layde in clay,
And then he sweares heele make that day a day,
All the good Lāds in England at the least,
Must lend their presence for to grace his feast,
Thus euerie day he reuels and makes sporte,
Why he doth well his Kingdome is but short.
Epigram.
BVt who is this that commeth creeping heere,
That like the King of Hunger doth appeare,
O tis the braue resolued Gentleman,
That taketh Phisicke therefore looketh wan,
A strong purgation, hee hath had of late,
It purg'd his Purse and hath refind his state.
His purpose is to liue at rest and quiet,
Therefore hath bound himselfe to keepe a diet.
For these a weeke he doth abstaine to eate,
Not for deuotion, but for lacke of meate,
Alas good prodigall he knowes not where to dine,
His ordinarie is amongst the swine.
I was a foole (quoth hee) to thinke this thing,
That golden Angells had bin lame of wing.
VVho dares not trust his wife before his eye:
A horne plague meetes him for his Iealousie.
Epigram.
A Fellowe once diseased in the head,
Liu'd much in doubt that he was cuckoled,
He asked counsell of his neighbor by,
If any meanes there were the truth to trie,
His friend comes ore him with a wondrous storie,
Of Saint
Lukes share the Cuckoldes consistorie.
And sayes i'ft please him thither to repayre,
All night to inuocate that Saint with prayer,
If it were so, he did assure him well,
Ere morning come the Oracle would tell.
Till night was come my foole liu'd in confusion,
He was a fyer to trie this strange conclusion.
Well hee is shipped off at Lyon kaye,
For his boone voyage at Saint
Lucas baye.
He landed, doth vnto the alter goe
Whereon amaz'd he saw great hornes to growe.
He makes his prayer, tels the poste his plight,
All a colde, long, and teadiouse winter night.
[Page] And euerie night-Bird that he hear'd to creake,
He still suppos'd the Oracle would speake.
Meane while his friend (he did before importune)
Supplide his roome and gaue my foole his fortune.
Well, morne is come no voice that hee can heare,
Hee thankes the Saint that his good wife is cleere.
Hauing performed his obsequious rightes,
Forthwith is dub'd one of Saint
Lucas Knights.
Tis for his praise I hope, hee hath ingroste,
A payre of hornes more on Saint
Lucas poste.
Increast himselfe although his wit was worne,
For he returned heauier by the horne.
Well home he comes thinking to take a nappe,
Alas his head had quight out growen his cappe.
This made him wonder but his wife was cleene,
He rather thought
Diana he had seene.
Epigram.
A Poore Slaue once with penurie aflicted,
Yet to Tobacco mightily adicted
Sayes, they that take Tobacco keepes their health,
Are worthie fellowes in a common wealth.
For if (sayth he) Tobacco were our cheare,
Then other victuals neuer would be deere.
Fye on excesse it makes men faint and meeke,
A pennie loafe might serue a man a weeke.
Were we conform'd to the Camelions fare,
To liue by smoake as they doe liue by ayre.
O how our men oppresse and spoyle their sence,
in making hauoke of the elements.
He can giue reason for what he hath spoake,
My Salamander liues by fire and smoake.
Necessitie doth cause him to repeate,
Tobaccos praise for want of other meate.
Epigram.
A Iolly fellow Essex borne and bred,
A Farmers Sonne his Father being dead,
T'expell his griefe and melancholly passions,
Had vowd himselfe to Trauell and see fashions.
His great mindes obiect was no trifling toy,
But to put downe the wandring Prince of Troy,
Londons discouerie, first he doth decide,
His man must be his Pilot and his guide.
Three miles he had not past, there he must sit:
He ask't if he were not neere London yet,
His man replies, good Sir your selfe besturre,
For we haue yet to goe sixe times as farre.
Alas I had rather stay at home and digge,
I had not thought the worlde was halfe so bigge.
Thus this great worthie comes backe thoe with strife,
he neuer was so farre in all his life.
None of the seauen worthies: on his behalfe,
Say, was not he a worthie Essex Calfe?
The Humors that haunt a VVife.
A Gentleman a verie friend of mine,
Hath a young wife and she is monstrous fine,
Shee's of the newe fantastique humor right,
In her attire an angell of the light.
Is she an Angell▪ I
[...] it may be well,
Not of the light, she is a light Angell.
Forsooth his doore must suffer alteration,
To entertaine her mightie huge Bom-fashion,
A hoode's to base, a hat which she doth male,
With brauest feathers in the Estridge tayle.
She scornes to treade our former proud wiues taces.
That put their glorie in their owne faire face,
In her conceite it is not fayre enough
She must reforme it with your painters stuffe,
And she is neuer merrie at the heart,
Till she be got into her leatherne Cart.
Some halfe a mile the Coach-man guides the raynes,
Then home againe, birlady she takes paines.
My friend seeing what humors haunt a wife,
If he weare loose would leade a single life.
A Poore Mans pollicy.
NExt I will tell you of a poore man tricke,
Which he did practise with a polliticke,
This poore man had a Cowe twas all his stocke,
Which on the Commons fed: where Catell flocke,
The other had a steere a wanton Beast,
Which he did turne to feede amongst the rest.
Which in processe although I knowe not how,
The rich mans Oxe did gore the poore mans Cow,
The poore man heereat vexed waxed sad,
For it is all the liuing that he had,
And he must loose his liuing for a song,
Alas he knew not how to right his wrong.
He knew his enemie had pointes of law,
To saue his purse, fill his deuouring mawe,
Yet thought the poore man how so it betide,
Ile make him giue right sentence on my side.
[Page] Without delay vnto the Man he goes,
And vnto him this feyned tale doth gloze,
(Quoth he) my Cowe which wich your Oxe did feede,
Hath kild your Oxe and I make knowne the deede.
Why (quoth my Politique) thou shouldst haue helpt it rather,
Thou shalt pay for him if thou wert my father.
The course of lawe in no wise must be stayde,
Least I an euill president be made.
O Sir (quoth he!) I cry you mercie nowe,
I did mistake, you Oxe hath gorde my Cowe.
Conuict hy reason he began to brawle,
But was content to let his action fall.
As why? (quoth he) thou lookst vnto her well,
Could I preuent the mischeife that befell?
I haue more weightie causes now to trie.
Might orecomes right without a reason why.
Epigram.
ONe of the damned crew that liues by drinke,
And by Tobacco's stillified stinke
Met with a Countrie man that dwelt at Hull
Thought he this peasant's fit to be my Gull.
His first salute like to the French-mans wipe.
Wordes of encounter, please you take a pipe?
The Countrie man amazed at this rable,
Knewe not his minde yet would be conformable.
Well in a petty Ale-house they ensconce
His Gull must learne to drinke Tobacco once.
Indeede his purpose was to make a iest.
How with Tobacco he the peasant drest.
Hee takes a whiffe, with arte into his head,
The other standeth still astonished.
Till all his sences he doth backe reuoke,
Sees it ascend much like Saint Katherins smoake.
[Page] But this indeede made him the more admire,
He saw the smoke: thought he his head's a fyer,
And to increase his feare he thought poore soule,
His scarlet nose had been a fyerie cole.
Which circled round with Smoke, seemed to him
Like to some rotten brand that burneth dim.
But to shew wisdome in a desperat case,
He threw a Can of beere into his face,
And like a man some furie did inspire,
Ran out of doores for helpe to quench the fire.
The Ruffin throwes away his Trinidado,
Out comes huge oathes and then his short poynado,
But then the Beere soe troubled his eyes,
The countrie man was gon ere he could rise,
A fier to drie him he doth now require,
Rather then water for to quench his fire.
Epigram.
COme my braue gallant come vncase, vncase,
Neare shall Obliuion your great actes deface.
He has been there where neuer man came yet,
An vnknowne countrie, I, ile warrant it,
Whence he could Ballace a good ship inholde.
With Rubies, Saphers, Diamonds and golde,
Great Orient Pearles esteem'd no more then moates,
Sould by the pecke as chandlers measure oates,
I meruaile then we haue no trade from thence,
O tis to far it will not beare expence.
Twere far indeede, a good way from our mayne,
If charges eate vp such excessiue gaine,
Well he can shew you some of Lybian grauel,
O that there were another world to trauel,
I heard him sweare that hee (twas in his mirth)
Had been in all the corners of the earth.
[Page] Let all his wonders be together stitcht,
He threw the barre that great
Alcides pitcht:
But he that sawe the Oceans farthest strands,
You pose him if you aske where Douer stands.
He has been vnder ground and hell did see
Aeneas neare durst goe so farre a hee.
For he hath gone through
Plutoes Regiment,
Saw how the Feindes doe Lyers there torment.
And how they did in helles damnation frye,
But who would thinke the Traueller would lye?
To dine with
Pluto he was made to tarrie,
As kindely vs'd as at his Ordinarie.
Hogsheades of wine drawne out into a Tub,
Where hee did drinke hand-smooth with
Belzebub,
And
Proserpine gaue him a goulden bow
Tis in his chest he cannot shew it now.
Of one that cousned the Cut-purse.
ONe toulde a Drouer that beleeu'd it not,
What booties at the playes the Cut-purse got,
But if' twere so my Drouers wit was quicke,
He vow'd to serue the Cut-purse a new tricke.
Next day vnto the play, pollicy hy'd,
A bagge of fortie shillings by his side,
Which houlding fast hee taketh vp his stand,
If stringes be cut his purse is in his hand.
A fine conceited Cut-purse spying this,
Lookt for no more, the fortie shillings his,
Whilst my fine Politique gazed about,
The Cut-purse feately tooke the bottom out.
And cuts the strings, good foole goe make a iest,
This Dismall day thy purse was fairely blest.
Houlde fast good Noddy tis good to dreade the worse,
Your monie's gone, I pray you keepe your purse.
The Play is done and foorth the foole doth goe,
Being glad that he cousned the Cut-purse soe.
He thought to iybe how he the Cut-purse drest,
And memorize it for a famous iest.
But putting in his hand it ran quight throw
Dash't the conceite, heele neuer speake on't now,
You that to playes haue such delight to goe,
The Cut-purse cares not, still deceiue him so.
A drunken fray.
DIcke met with
Tom in faith it was their lot,
Two honest Drunkards must goe drinke a pot,
Twas but a pot or say a little more,
Or say a pot that, s filled eight times ore.
But beeing drunke, and met well with the leese,
They drinke to healthes deuoutly on their knees,
Dicke drinkes to
Hall to pledge him
Tom reiectes,
And scornes to doe it for some odde respects
Wilt thou not pledge him that't a gull, a Scab,
Wert with my man-hood thou deseruest a stab,
But tis no matter drinke another bout,
Weele intot'h field and there weele trie it out.
Lets goe (saies Tom) no longer by this hand,
Nay stay (quoth Dicke) lets see if we can stand.
Then foorth they goe after the Drunken pace,
Which God he knowes was with a reeling grace,
Tom made his bargaine, thus with bonnie Dicke
If it should chance my foote or so should slipp,
How wouldst thou vse me or after what Size,
Wouldst pare me shorter of wouldst let me rise.
Nay God forbid our quarrells not so great,
To kill thee on aduantage in my heate.
[Page] Tush weele not fight for any hate or soe,
But for meere loue that each to other owe.
And for thy learning loe Ile shew a tricke,
No sooner spoke the worde but downe comes Dicke,
Well now (quoth Tom) thy life hangs on my sword,
If I were downe how wouldst thou keepe thy worde?
Why with these hilts I'de braine thee at a blow,
Faith in my humor cut thy throate or soe,
But
Tom he scornes to kill his conquered foe,
Lets
Dicke arise and too't againe they goe.
Dicke throwes downe
Tom or rather
Tom did fall,
My hilts (quoth
Dicke) shall braine thee like a maull,
Is't so (quoth
Tom good faith what remedie,
The Tower of Babelles fallen and soe am I
But
Dicke proceedes to giue the fatall wound,
It mist his throate: but run into the ground.
but he supposing that the man was slaine,
Straight fled his countrie, shipt himselfe for Spaine,
Whilst valiant Thomas dyed dronken deepe,
Forgot his danger and fell fast a sleepe.
Epigram.
WHats he that stares as if he were afright
The fellowe Sure hath seene some dreadfull spright
Masse rightly guest, why sure I did diuine,
Hee's haunted with a Spirit feminine.
In plaine termes thus, the Spirit that I meane,
His martiall wife that notable curst queane,
No other weapons but her nailes or fist,
Poore patient Ideot he dares not resist,
His neighbor once would borrow hut his knife,
Good neighbor stay (quoth hee) ile aske my wife.
Once came he home Inspired in the head,
Hee found his neighbor and his wife a bed,
Yet durst not sturre, but hide him in a hole,
He feared to displease his wife poore sole.
But why should he so dreade and feare her hate,
Since she had giuen him armour for his pate?
Next day forsooth he doth his neighbor meete,
Whome with sterne rage thus furiously doth greete,
Villaine ile slit thy nose, out comes his knife,
Sirra (quoth he) goe to Ile tell your wife.
Apaled at which terror meekely saide
Retire good knife my furie is all laide.
Proteus.
TIme seruing humour thou wrie-faced Ape,
That canst transforme thy selfe to any shape:
Come good
Proteus come away apace,
We long to see thy mumping Antique face.
This is the fellow that liues by his wit,
A cogging knaue and fawning Parrasit,
He has behauiour for the greatest porte,
And hee has humors for the rascall sorte,
He has been greate with Lordes and high estates,
They could not liue without his rare conceites,
He was associat for the brauest spirits,
His gallant carriage such fauour merrits.
Yet to a Ruffin humor for the stewes,
A right graund Captaine of the damned crewes,
With whome his humour alwaies is vnstable
Mad, melancholly, drunke and variable.
[Page] Hat without band like cutting Dicke he go'es,
Renowned for his new inuented oathes.
Sometimes like a Ciuilian tis strange
At twelue a clocke he must vnto the Change,
Where being thought a Marchant to the eye,
Hee tels strange newes his humor is to lie.
Some Damaske coate the effect thereof must heare,
Inuites him home and there he gets good cheare.
but how is't now such braue renowned wits,
Weare ragged robes with such huge gastly slitts,
Faith thus a ragged humor he hath got
Whole garments for the Summer are to hot.
Thus you may censure gently if you please,
He weares such Garments onely for his ease.
Or thus, his creadit will no longer waue.
For all men know him for a prating knaue.
Epilogue.
VAnish ye hence ye changelings of the night,
For I descry your enemie the light:
Flye through the westerne Gate see you darke gleames,
Least in the east you meete with Phoebus beames
Descend into your Orbes I say begon,
And thanke your gentle Master Oberon.
Tell him how well your gestures fit our rime,
being roughly model'd in so short a time.
For what you see presented to your sight,
I onely write to tyer out the night,
Wherein if you delight to heere me sing
Weele haue more trafique with the fayrie King.
E. M.
FINIS.