Satires 1.2 (Creech): Ambubaiarum Collegia

THe Players, Pimps, and Hectors of the Town,
The Rooks, the Gamesters, all lament and moan
For their Tigellius that is dead and gone:
For He was a free Soul, a Prodigal,
He had a fair Estate, and spent it all:
Others t'avoid that Name refuse to spend
One single Cross upon a needy Friend;
Their heaps are Sacred, and they spare their Gold,
Altho he dyes for Want, and starves with Cold:
Now if you take the first to task, and say,
Why dost Thou squander thy Estate away?
Why wast thy Ancient Lands on Paltry guests,
And borrow Money to maintain thy Feasts?
He answers streight, I hate to be confin'd,
I have no sordid, nor a narrow Mind;
No, I a free and generous humor love;
And this some discommend, and some approve.
Fusidius rich in Money out at Use,
And Lands, yet fears to be esteem'd profuse;
For five times double He would Sums ingage,
And sues Young Heirs when newly come of Age:
The greatest Prodigals He presses most,
And lends them Money till their Lands are lost.
Who when He hears all this would not complain,
Good God! yet thus He damns himself for gain:
"And one would scarce believe a Man for Pelf
"Should be so great an Enemy to himself:
That He in Terence when His Son was gone,
Tho He laments, and crys He is undone,
The most unhappy Man the Sun can see,
Yet liv'd not half so bad a Life as He:
And all this proves whil'st Fools one Vice condemn
They run into the Opposite Extream:
Malthin with Gowns below his heels is grac't,
Another Humorist tucks them to his wast:
Rufillus smells like any Civet Cat,
Gorgonius like a Goat, or worse than that:
Men keep no Mean; One, when his Blood boils o're,
Will take a Matron only for his Whore,
Whil'st others all but common Jades refuse,
They fly the sober Whores, and rake the Stews:
A certain famous Bully of the Town
When He did leave the Stews, was often known
To use old Cato's words, Go bravely on:
Here our hot Youths should come to cool their flame,
And never use the marry'd City Dame:
But Cupien says, I'le not be prais'd for this,
That Cupien that admires a Matron Miss.

Now you that wish these base Adulterers ill,
And Punishment as bad as is their Will;
Must needs be pleas'd to hear my Muse explain
What small delight they with great danger gain,
And how their Pleasure's sadly mixt with Pain:
For one found faulty with another's Wife
Must from a Window leap to save his life:
Another's finely kickt and jilted too,
Or taken, bribes the Slaves to let him go:
Another's kickt into the Common Shore,
There stifled, and a thousand Mischiefs more,
Another's Guelt, his Dancing days are gone,
And All but Galba say 'twas justly done.

But come let's see now how the Matter falls,
Is't safer trading with the Abigals,
Whom Salust so admires, and so adores,
As much as those that use the marry'd Whores?
Now did not this Man make his gifts too great,
But fit, and equal to his small Estate:
He might be counted kind, preserve his Name,
Not ruine his Estate, nor lose his Fame:
But what cares He for this? He boasts alone
He knows no Matron, and He tempts not one:
Or as Marsaeus whom a jilting Whore
An Actress hath undone, and made him Poor:
Methinks, says He, I lead a civil Life,
I never meddle with another's Wife:
Ay, but with Whores and Players; and by that
Thy Fame is ruin'd more than thy Estate:

Is it enough to say, when faults are done,
I did it not with such or such a one;
And not take Care to shun the Action still,
The Action that's intrinsecally ill,
And scandalous in its self? to wast thy Time,
Thy Fame, or thy Estate is such a Crime,
'Tis bad on whomsoe're you lose it all,
Or Matron, Common-Whore, or Abigal:
Young Villius He to Sylla's Daughter kind,
Almost a Son in Law, so oft He sin'd
Poor wretch, thus cheated, smarted o're and o're;
Being soundly beaten, stab'd, kickt out of Door,
Whil'st poor Longarenus clasp't the jilting Whore:
Suppose his Whore-Pipe now being vext at this,
Should ask him, did I want a Noble Miss,
A Whore of Quality to cool my Flame?
No, I had been content with meaner Game:
What answer could be given? what be said?
Only, forsooth, She was a Noble Maid:
But how much better Nature's Laws provide,
How great the gifts bestow'd, how small deny'd?
If you distinguish well, if well design,
No things forbidden with the granted joyn:
Is it all one? can you no difference see
Whether the Fault be in the Things, or Thee?
Then tempt no Matrons, for suppose you gain,
The Sweet is little, but immense the Pain:
'Tis true her costly Jewels court our Eye,
But yet She's not more soft, more plump her thigh,
No, tho such Gems as soft Cerinthus wore,
She does no better than a trading Whore:
Besides, her Trade is fair, I like it well,
She freely shows what e're She has to sell:
And you may turn her, and view every part,
And see that all is Nature, and not Art:
She does not show her best to tempt the Eye,
And strive to cover a Deformity,
All's seen, and if you like it, you may buy:
Our Jockys, when a Horse is set to sale,
Take off the Covering-Cloaths, and look on all;
Lest by a well-shap't Neck and cleanly made
The greedy Chapman be at last betray'd,
And buys a spavin'd or a founder'd Jade:
This care is good, thus when you choose a Lass,
Be not too Eagle-ey'd to view a grace;
And blind as Hypsea is to spy a fault,
For such as judge by halves are often caught:
How neat her Arm and Leg! 'tis true, but stay,
Her Wast is short, Nose long, her Feet are splay.

Besides, a Matron's Face is seen alone
But Kate's that Female Bully of the Town,
For all the rest is cover'd with the Gown:
But if you'ld tast, for that doth raise thy heat,
A Dainty but forbidden Dish of Meat:
There are a thousand stops, a thousand spyes,
A Chamber-maid, a Foot-boys curious Eyes,
These must be fee'd, and each will claim his share,
Besides a Gown doth hide the precious Ware:
But now a trading Girl is freely show'd,
You see her Naked, or almost as good;
Her Coats are thin, and you may fairly try
If strait her Wast, Feet Good, if plump her Thigh,
There's free admission to the Chapman's Eye:
Wou'd you be cheated? the Occasion's fair,
Since you would buy before you see the Ware.

As Hunters trace their Hares thro frost & snow,
Like not the Flesh as well as others do,
As if they caught it only to bestow:
Just so my Love, it scorns an easie prey,
But hotly follows that that flyes away:

What can'st Thou think that this mean Verse can tame
Thy wild Desires, that this can quench thy Flame?
And doth not Nature steddy Rules ordain,
Fixt Laws which should thy wildest wish contain,
And which divide the solid Goods from vain?
Doth She not tell, what she would have supply'd,
And what She cannot bear to be deny'd?
When Thirst doth burn thy Throat, and call for ease,
Will nothing but a golden Goblet please?
And when thy Hunger bites, and fain would eat,
Is all refus'd but rare, and dainty meat?
Or when thy Lust calls for a speedy Joy,
And Thou hast ready a mean Girl or Boy,
What wilt thou rather burn than those employ?
I'm of another Mind, I'm not so nice,
I love a Miss that comes at easie Price:
And says, Yes, when my Husband's out of Doors,
Or, Sir, One Guiney more, and I am yours:
Says Philodem let patient Eunuchs Court
Such formal Ladies, I'm for quicker Sport:
I love a Miss that flies into my Arms,
And sets at easie rate her tempting Charms,
Let her be strait and fair, of comely grace,
And let her bring no more than Nature's face:
Whil'st we embrace, whil'st She my Arms doth fill,
She's my Egeria, or what e're I will:
Then I'le fear nothing, for no harm can come,
No jealous Husband is returning home,
No Doors broke open, or the Servants rais'd,
Whil'st She poor Wretch starts from my Arms amaz'd,
And with a guilty shriek crys I'm undone,
Oh now I'm caught, and all my Joynture's gone;
(For that's the Punishment of marry'd Whores)
Whil'st I poor guilty Rogue sneak out of Dores,
Unbutton'd, and barefoot, to shun the Shame,
And save my Purse, my Flesh, or else my Fame:
Then leave the marry'd Women, be advis'd,
'Tis sad, ask Fabius else, to be surpris'd.