The filth of Jakes, and stench of ev'ry Stew!
Here reeking Punks like Ev'ning Insects swarm;
The Polecat's Perfume much the Happier Charm...
Discreet in this, their Faces not to shew;
The Mask the best Complexion of the two.
Their Noses falling and their Eyes sunk in,
A wrinkl'd Forehead and a Parchment Skin...
Choak't with the stench of Brimstone, 'twill be fit
To Visit next the Boxes and the Pit,
And for the Muse a Nobler Scene prepare,
And let Her breathe awhile in Milder Air.
But such a sudden Glare invades her Eyes,
So vast a Crowd of diffe'rent Vanities,
She knows where not to fix her Rancour first;
So very Wicked all, that all are worst!...
Such Giddy Insects here for ever come,
And very little Dare, but much Presume:
Perpetually the Ladies Ears they Ply,
And whisper Slander at the Standers by:
Then laugh aloud; which now is grown a part
Of Play-house Breeding, and of Courtly Art.
The true Sign of Your Modish Beau Garson
Is Chatt'ring like a Ladies lewd Baboon,
Shewing their Teeth to charm some pretty creature;
For Grinning, amoung Fops, is held a Feature...
All People now, the Place is grown so ill,
Before they see a Play shou'd make their Will:
For with much more Security , a Man
Might take a three Years Voyage to Japan.
Robert Gould, 1685
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