An Epigramme called the Ciuill Deuell

It chanc't one euening as I went abroad,
To cheere my cares, and take away my loads,
Of disagreeing passions, which were bred
By the distemper of a troubled head,
Midst of my walke, spying an Allye doore,
(Which I protest I neuer spied before)
I entred in, and being entred in,
I found the entry was to th'house of sinne.
Yet much I wondred, how sin there could be.
Where th'sinnes protectresse show'd most modest
A ciuill matron, lisping with sorsooth,
As one that had not heart to sweare an oath,
In Graue attire, French hood, all Frencheside,
For she had some-thing more of French beside,
Her outward rayment in a loose-gowne made.
Right after fashion, with a countnance staid,
And which is stranger (shamefast) her Iaboord
(Like a young nouice letcher) making each word
A protestation; she that knew'th deuice,
T'ensnare a greene wit, seem'd wondrous ie,
Reprouing of my errour Sir, I am
(For thus she tooke me vp) wife to a man
Of due respect, one that has office borne,
Twice in the Citty, therefore pray forbeare,
You doe mistake your selfe, there's none such heere
As you make sure for. I as one dismaid,
That durst not iustifie what I had said,
Began to slinke away; she seeing this,
Fearing least she should such a Gudgeon misse.
Recants what she had said, swearing though she
Were such a mans wife of the Marshalsie,
One that had neuer yet incurd ill name,
Or knew ought more then modesty or shame
Though she nere was defam'd in all her life
Or loued more then as becom'd a wife,
Though her affection neuer yet was showne
(Saue to her husband) vnto any one,
Though she was graue in yeers, and therefore might
Tread rightly now, that had so long trod right,
She would pawne name, fame, modestie, and all
Affection, husband, yea what ere befall
Her grauer yeeres should once dispence with time
"She would, forsooth, remaine entirely mine,
This alteration made me strangely doubt
And though my feet were in, my mind was out.
Yet so was I embralld by tempting sinne,
Though Vertue forc't me out, Vice kept me in.
That did my tempting Genius, sweare, protest,
That of all creatures she did loue me best,
And with dissembling teares disguise her ill,
Fond is that man, and fonder is his will,
That's thus deprau'd: how seruile are men growne.
When these same Vertues we esteeme our owne
Are thus Eclips'd by Hyene faced whores,
That protestation make they will be ours,
When they proue nothing lesse, las I do know
And by experience, whatsoere they show.
Their paintedVizards couer naked sinne,
Which seeming faire, are euer foule within.
A whiten wall, a rotten odious tombe,
That prostitutes her selfe to all that come.
To all that come, hence then's affection crost,
For loue is pure, but lust for them bid most.
But to my Saint-like Deuill: she thus precise
At first held credit deere, but now her eyes
Like wandring stars prest to induce some sin
Makes me (the silly fish) catcht by her gin.
Reason did tell me, and suggest her name,
Whispring me in the eare, it was a shame
To gage my reputation to a whore:
But las who knows it not, sense hath more power
Then reason in these acts: I gaue consent
To her inducements, thought her Innocent,
And a right modest matron: yet how farre,
Did sense from reason in her Verdict erre?
For how could she be modest that so soone,
Was gain'd ere crau'd, so quickly wood and worme?
Lasse that my simple straine should be so weake,
As to continue for a wantons sake,
So firme in my affection? she was graue,
Its true, she was so: but how many haue
That forme of grauity, the more their sinne,
Being so graue without, so gay within,
But she protested; true, she swore an oath,
As any other tempting wanton doth,
When shee's in hope of gaine, vnhappy I,
To leane so much to harlots forgery.
Well my braue Curtizan, since I am won,
To doe that act by which I am vndone.
Since I am snared, and like a Bird thats caught,
Fledged in bird-lime, am of wit distraught,
And senses too: I will runne headlong to it,
And doe it with force, since I perforce must doe it.
Downe goes the silken Carpet all the while,
Showing those sheets, which louers doe be guile,
Those sheets of lust perfum'd deliciously,
With rosie odours, where variety
Of obiects made recourse: see wantons see,
How many motiues now enuiron me?
Heere my lasciuions Matron wooes with teares,
There a repose for lusts retrait appeares.
Heere a protesting whore (see whoredomes shelfe)
Rather then loose me, she will damme her selfe.
There Adons picture, clipping Venus round,
Here Ioue Europa lying on the ground.
Heere Mars disarm'd in Beauties chariot drawen,
Where faire Eryca couer'd ore with lawne,
Bids him her best of welcome, and is ledde,
For want of roomes vnto her Husbands bedde.
Heere Dane stood (admiring diuine power)
Which did descend like to a goulden shoure,
Into her Virgin-lap, there straight I spide
The tempting Omphale, and on one side,
Her wanton sister, on the other, faire
Alcinous daughter, courted for her haire
By great Apollo: but below her foote,
Sat Hrcles spinning, she enioynd him too't.
Here I beheld the nimble Satyres dance
The Druids sung, the water-Sea-nimphs praunce,
Ore the delicious Mede: there was the Queene
Of Amorous meetings pictur'd as sh'ad beene
Taking a greene-gowne (many such there are)
Of Mars that Martiall Enginer of warre.
Heere Vulcane lay, poore Cuckold as he was,
And saw them mating on the greeny grasse,
Yet durst say nought, how many such there be,
That see enough, but dare not say they see?
Sweet heart (quoth she) and smild, seeing me eye
This picture more then any one was nie,
Leaue me the shadow, to the substance goe,
What thou now seest, let louers action know,
Ile be thy Venus, pretty Ducke I will,
And though lesse faire, yet I haue farre more skill,
In Loues affaires: for if I Adon had,
As Venus had: I could haue taught the lad.
To haue beene farre more forward then he was
And not haue dallied with so apt a lasse.
Come, come (my youngling) though I nere could be
Immodest yet, Ile sow my selfe to thee,
A lasse of mettall: Come, in faith thou shalt,
Thou't Mars, I Venus, he that limping halt,
My Vlean-husband, pox on't he is gone,
And I my selfe as desolate alone,
Will entertaine thee: I in manlike shape,
Being a man, a man should imitate.
Protested I would doe, yet had no power,
For who can deale so ably with a whore,
Or with so free-bred actions, since I know,
None can affection with election show,
Sincerely or entirely, but whose strife,
S'transform'd from wanton action to a wife
Of modest action: this is she can doe,
And euery night has new conceits to wooe,
Though she be won, las what is wooing then,
Since wooing, winning, be small change in men?
Who knowes not whores affection purchs'd soon.
And that they are not sooner woo'd then wonne?
Or as the world goes, for its more common,
Women woe men more oft then men woe women.
Hence nature seemes to haue transform'd vs quite,
Couerting day vnto a drerie night,
Vertue to vice, a good-names eminence,
Expos'd to shame, and publique impudence.
Once women knew a blushing shame-fastnesse,
But now a blush is least that they expresse;
Vnlesse for shame of hauing done some ill
They feare is known, which they would shadow stil,
Shine brightest heauen (if thou wilt deigne to shine.
And with thy beames dispell this hideous crime,
Which now (protection has): curbe them, that call
Such sinnes as veniall, Venereall.
Let not an Ile of an Angelicke name
Expose her glory to the house of shame:
Let not those many Tropheies of her worth
Loose their renowne or honour in our birth.
Let not faire Albion, stil'd from cliffes so white,
Change Vertues day-star to a vicious night.
Let not those many conquests she hath got
Seeme now deprest, as if remembred not.
Let not our peace (like Halcion daies) be tane
From vs and ours and giuen to other men:
Let not this sacred Vine which planted is
In Albion, shaken be by wantonnesse.
Let not our plenty and aboundant store
Occasion be that we should sinne the more:
Let not our Realme vnite, diuide that loue
Which we should beare vnto the King aboue:
Let not our want of wars inuasion bring vs
A lust-full war encountring within vs.
Let not those manie blessings we receiue,
Make vs interre our honour in our graue
Let not our seasons yeerly fruitfulnesse
Produce in vs a loathed barrannesse.
Let not those many strange conspiracies
Which heauen preuented, close our thanklesse eyes.
Let not our being make vs not to be,
For God is God and will auenged be.
He seemes some time to sleepe and suffer all
But calls at last for vse and principall.
Many, I know, there be of crimes that's ill,
Drawne from the source of our depraued will.
But of all crimes that euer were or be,
None in this Ile claimes more impunity.
A purple sin (for who will not allow it)
Since purple-fathers oft-times go vnto it?
The Citties Elders (which though they reproue)
They doe but chastice what themselues do loue.
Statists haue lov'd it too: but marke (my friend)
For all their state they had a loathsome end,
Like stinking Herod, loth'd Hertogenes,
Crook't Damocles, lowsie Pherecides;
All these experience had of this fowle euill.
And could describe too-well a ciuell Diuell.