Carolyn Wells - A Satire Anthology стр 5.

ALL the worlds a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits, and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurses arms:
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress eyebrow: Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannons mouth: And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lind,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipperd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well savd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

TO thee, whose forehead swells with roses,
Whose most haunted bower
Gives life and scent to every flower,
Whose most adoréd name encloses
Things abstruse, deep, and divine;
Whose yellow tresses shine
Bright as Eoan fire:
Oh, me thy priest inspire!
For I to thee and thine immortal name,
In in in golden tunes,
For I to thee and thine immortal name
In sacred raptures flowing, flowing, swimming, swimming:
In sacred raptures swimming,
Immortal name, game, dame, tame, lame, lame, lame,
(Foh) hath, shame, proclaim, oh
In sacred raptures flowing, will proclaim. (No!)
Oh, me thy priest inspire!
For I to thee and thine immortal name,
In flowing numbers filled with spright and flame,
(Good! good!)
In flowing numbers filled with spright and flame.

DON SURLY, to aspire the glorious name
Of a great man, and to be thought the same,
Makes serious use of all great trade he knows.
He speaks to men with a rhinocerotes nose,
Which he thinks great; and so reads verses too;
And that is done as he saw great men do.
He has tympanies of business in his face,
And can forget mens names with a great grace.
He will both argue and discourse in oaths,
Both which are great, and laugh at ill-made clothes;
Thats greater yet, to cry his own up neat.
He doth, at meals, alone his pheasant eat,
Which is main greatness; and at his still board
He drinks to no man: thats, too, like a lord.
He keeps anothers wife, which is a spice
Of solemn greatness; and he dares, at dice,
Blaspheme God greatly; or some poor hind beat,
That breathes in his dogs way: and this is great.
Nay, more, for greatness sake he will be one
May hear my epigrams, but like of none.
Surly, use other arts; these only can
Style thee a most great fool, but no great man.

I  WAS a scholar: seven useful springs
Did I deflower in quotations
Of crossd opinions bout the soul of man;
The more I learnt, the more I learnt to doubt.
Delight my spaniel slept, whilst I bausd leaves,
Tossd oer the dunces, pored on the old print
Of titled words: and still my spaniel slept.
Whilst I wasted lamp-oil, baited my flesh,
Shrunk up my veins: and still my spaniel slept.
And still I held converse with Zabarell,
Aquinas, Scotus, and the musty saw
Of antick Donate: still my spaniel slept.
Still on went I; first, an sit anima;
Then, an it were mortal. Oh, hold, hold! at that
Theyre at brain buffets, fell by the ears amain
Pell-mell together; still my spaniel slept.
Then, whether t were corporeal, local, fixt,
Ex traduce, but whether t had free will
Or no, hot philosphers
Stood banding factions, all so strongly propt,
I staggerd, knew not which was firmer part,
But thought, quoted, read, observd, and pryed,
Stufft noting-books: and still my spaniel slept.
At length he wakd, and yawned; and by yon sky,
For aught I know he knew as much as I.

SHALL I, wasting in despair,
Die because a womans fair?
Or my cheeks make pale with care
Cause anothers rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowery meads in May,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pined
Cause I see a woman kind;
Or a well-disposéd nature
Joinéd with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
Turtle-dove or pelican,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a womans virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her merits value known
Make me quite forget my own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of Best,
If she seem not such to me,
What care I how good she be?

Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do
Who without them dare to woo;
And unless that mind I see,
What care I though great she be?

Great or good, or kind or fair,
I will neer the more despair;
If she loves me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go;
For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?

OUT upon it! I have loved
Three whole days together,
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.

Time shall moult away his wings
Ere he shall discover
In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.

But the spite on t is, no praise
Is due at all to me:
Love with me had made no stays,
Had it any been but she.

Had it any been but she,
And that very face,
There had been at least ere this
A dozen dozen in her place.

WHY so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well cant move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well cant win her,
Saying nothing dot?
Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move,
This cannot take her;
If of herself she will not love,
Nothing can make her:
The devil take her!