Alazono-Mastix: OR THE Character of a Cockney: IN A Satyricall Poem. Dedicated (as a New-years-gift) to the Apprentices of LONDON.
By Junius Anonymus, A London Apprentice.
Capiat, qui capere potest.
The Cockneyes eat their Breakfasts in their beds,
And spend the day in dressing of their heads:
Though God in mercy may doe much to save them,
Yet what a case are they in that shall have them?
LONDON, Printed by R. I. 1652.
To the Heroicall and Magnanimous, the Apprentices of the City of LONDON.
More especially, to such of them, as are lovers of Learning, Junius Anonymus, their unworthy Brother, dedicateth, and consecrateth the first fruits of his publike Labors.
Gentlemen,
TO whom may I better presume, to offer this small Pamphlet, then to your selves? for whose sake it obtained its originall being, and if it be any wayes serviceable to you, in defending you as a Bulwarke against all the inticing allurements of that generation of Vipers (for as the Viper is the death of its parents, so do these Vipers undoe more in this City by their exorbitancies, then all other casualties whatsoever) I shall have attained the utmost limits of my ambition; And to those, that by no admonitions, will bee premonished, I shall onely say, that,
Qui ante non cavet, post dolebit,
He that bewareth not in time,
He shall too late repent his crime.
[Page] For my owne part, I have verified this Distich,
Nescio quid sit amor, nec amo, nec amor, nec amavi,
Sed scio si quis amat, uritur igne gravi.
Peradventure it will seem strange, that one of our Profession, should dare to adventure upon the publike Stage in this scribling Age; yet what I have written, I have written; And if any shall expect Apologies, they are like to bee frustrate of their expectation: I am confident I shall offend none, but such as are conscious of their owne guilt: And it is below my Genius to crave pardon of them. I dare not enlarge, lest I should make the Porch so great, that the House runne out at the doores: I shall onely adde, that if you please to extend the benevolent aspect of your favour, to this poore Pamphlet, it shall ingage me to requite you with something that shall be more worthy of your acceptation. In the interim I remaine,
Your most affectionate Servitor, I. A.
The Character of a Cockney.
The Prologue.
THe triple Trine of old Parnassus Hill,
Should I invoke to direct my Quill;
Or if that great Apollo's sacred Quire,
I should intreat my Muse for to inspire:
It would transcendently my Theame disgrace,
For to implore the aid of things so base.
The liquor of the Heliconian grape,
Did never yet my Pericranium rape;
Nor Nectar, or Ambrosia will I quaffe,
Such fictious fancies, I esteem but draffe;
For why? they are no better then a dream,
Compar'd to this divine Celestial theame.
For though the Muses, as the Poets feigne,
Could really intoxicate the braine,
With Extasies and Raptures, yet thinke I
None will be so audacious to deny
Unto our Cockny's, the preheminence
Above them, for unhappy influence.
Which have produced more dismall effects,
Then ever the unfortunate Aspects,
Of the Erratick and Malevolent
Planets, that wander in the Firmament:
The mischiefes, which to Mars or Saturn's square
Are subsequent, thereto may not compare.
Their power extends, not onely to the braine,
Infusing it with notions, idly vain,
But wounds the heart with horrid pangs of paine,
Which never perfectly are cur'd againe,
Yea by their art, with a dissembling smile,
They many of their senses doe beguile.
And for the sake of such unhappy men,
I have adventured to take my pen
In hand, for to delineate their folly,
If possible, to cure their melancholy,
That when their Idols pourtraiture they see,
They of their madnesse may ashamed be.
The Character.
THese Cockney's then, of which my Muse doth sing,
They are the eldest daughters of the King
Of Pride, old Lucifer, and may compare
With all his off-spring, for their filiall care
To tread his steps: for Prides Epitome,
In them compris'd exactly, you may see.
They doe conceit, that the whole world, was
Created for their lust, and will not passe
For cost, or paines, to satisfie their will,
And their extravagant desires fulfill;
Nor East, nor Western-Indies able are
To suffice their ambitious mindes by far.
They hang at once, more wealth upon their backs,
Then is contained in forty Pedlers packs,
In Silks, and Sattins, Pearls, and Diamond rings,
And many other superfluous things:
To which the Seller liberally affords,
Bumbastick names of long six-footed words.
For if their Names to understand were plaine,
They with the greatest scorne would them disdaine:
Like as the Rustick slights an Almanack,
If an uselesse Anatomy it lack:
For all strange things which are not understood,
Admired are, and judged very good.
If they be Snout-fair, then they doe despise
All others, and doe seeme in their owne eyes
Cóelestiall Angels; and they thinke that all
Too little is for such Angelicall
Creatures; who must by any meanes not be
Adorn'd, with things of low, and base degree.
But if they be as ugly as old Nick,
They doe conceit, they have more need to trick,
And paint themselves; least their deformity
Should be conspicuous to every eye;
Which to effect, they no small paines doe take,
Thinking fine Feathers gallant Birds doe make.
If that crook'd shoulder'd, hopper-ar-they are,
Bunch-back't, or any other things that mar
Their sale; they are obscur'd from humane sight,
And they forsooth are made to goe upright:
And this is wrought by vertue of the Art
Of Monsieur Prick-louse, who doth act his part.
Yea, they have learn'd so much Philosophy,
That contraries each other best descry;
Therefore about their necks they ever weare
Black Halters, for to make them white appeare:
Though naturally they'r of themselves as dun,
As if they had been parcht with India's Sun.
Nor are they in the mode, except their Tail
At least a yard upon the ground doth traile:
Bare Necks and Breasts, to th' middle of their back,
Which is in English, Sirs, what doe you lack?
Then to compleat this bravery, is put
In th' midst of all, a simple dirty Slut.
But Pride in them is not predominant
Alone, but likewise Idlenesse doth hant
Them so inseparably close, that it
To them is as a second nature knit:
For that which once within the bone is bred,
Will never from the flesh be severed.
Idlenesse unto them doth come by kinde,
And thereto they doe wholly give their minde;
They suck't it from their Mothers, and will give
Themselves to it, as long as they doe live:
And slothfulnesse, and want of exercise,
They are the greatest nourishers of vice.
They never are, neither undrest, nor drest
Without the help of one or two, at least;
And if their Lady-ships by ten doe rise,
They thinke that they have done a mighty prize:
And then the rest oth' day, till noon, they passe
Away, in gazing in a Looking-glasse.
The after-noon most commonly they spend
In Gossiping, and tatling without end;
Or else are Coacht, to th' Old, or New Exchange,
To see if there they can spie any strange
New Fashions, which are daily there invented,
To please such fooles as never are contented.
There have they Patches, for to represent,
Their faces like the starry Firmament:
Of Stars, horn'd Cinthia, and Pleiades, are
The most affected; Sextile, Trine, and square
Of Aspects, perfectly are imitated,
And all are unto Venus consecrated.
Or rather for to counterfeit the skars
Of Souldiers, which are gotten in the Wars;
And there they have, what ever else beside
Sub-servient is unto the sinne of Pride:
There may be had more fashions, if you wil,
Then would ten hundred thousand Horses kill.
And who unto the contrary can tell,
But that sometimes as well as buy, they sell?
Or one good turne doe for another change,
(Which thing among them is not very strange)
For they who doe for other things pay deare,
Had need sell somewhat, part o'th' charge to beare.
And all the work that e're they goe about,
Is for to make fine Fool-toyes on a Clout;
They also for to Sing, and Dance, doe learne,
And when Trades faile, their livings for to earne.
It's work enough, if that they can but tell,
How to set out an ill-bred Jade to sell.
And as they study for to live at ease,
So they delight their palat for to please,
With dainties and delicious delicates,
Which must be purchas'd at any rates,
For skill in tasts so exquisite they are,
They doe surpasse the Art of Galen farre.
Religion usually they send before,
And say, they'l over-take it at threescore;
But yet with it they seldome promise keep,
For e're that time they in the dust doe sleep,
Or else through custome are infatuated
With sinne, and unto it habituated.
But yet the eyes of the world for to bleare,
They most demurely holy will appeare;
And unto Church they will goe every day,
Yet not regarding what the Preachers say:
To see, and to be seene, is their chiefe end,
And not to learne, whereby their lives to mend.
Likewise sometimes their way they doe mistake,
And for the Church, perhaps a Taverne take;
Meane time the Boy that doth on them attend,
Must marke exactly how the time doth spend,
Lest if they should forget themselves, and stay
Too long, their Roguery they might betray.
For cankred malice, they doe farre excell
All creatures, that in th' Universe doe dwell;
For when with envie once they are conceiv'd,
They are of all their sences quite bereav'd:
And are possest with such precipitate rage,
That nothing but revenge can it asswage.
Did you observe them, after what a fashion,
And height of pride, they Rant it in their passion;
You never after would feare any evil,
No, though that you perchance should meet the Devil;
For why? there's nothing can more horrid be
Then them, in their mad fury for to see.
To see, how here, and there they fling and frisk,
With eyes more poysonous then a Basilisk;
And faces, frownes, and gestures, that would fray
The stoutest Lion; so that one would say
That sees them, If themselves they did but see
I'th Glasse, to scold they would ashamed be:
But yet, to none they greater malice beare,
Then unto those, that better Gownes doe weare,
Then their ability wil wel procure,
Whom they by any meanes cannot endure:
For they disdaine that they should be out-vy'd,
By any Lady in the Land for pride.
Nor is their hatred such a fixed thing,
But that their friendship is as wavering;
For by the least displeasure it is lost,
If of their will by any they are cro'st:
Then all their former kindnesse is forgot,
And in Oblivions Grave doth lye and rot.
It may be well compared to the blaze,
Which from a fire of Straw it selfe doth raise,
For furiously it to its height doth rise,
And suddenly it is extinct and dyes;
For of this thing you may your selfe assure,
That no extremes doe ever long endure.
The fickle, wavering, and unconstant winds
Are stedfast, if compared to their mindes,
For they are so most vainly variable,
So foolishly unsteady, and unstable,
That they cannot attaine by all their skil,
An hour before-hand, for to know their wil.
They now doe one thing wil, and by and by
Their mindes are changed to the contrary;
Anon, they will doe neither this, nor that,
But some way else, if they could tell but what:
What they would have themselves, they cannot tell,
Nor ever are content when they are well.
They'l laugh, and cry, and frown, and smile together,
And make more change of faces, then the weather;
An hundred times they wil their humours change,
Whilst the Earth once doth round her Axis range:
Their fury to more Shapes transformed is,
Then Jove in Ovids Metamorphosis.
And if to their owne mindes they strangers be,
Then a grand Foole, and Idiot is he,
That thinkes that he can ever please their humour
So long as they are troubled with the tumour
Of swelling Pride, and selfe-conceitednesse:
The Tythe whereof my Muse cannot expresse.
They all have a fantasticall conceit
Of their owne Beauty, which they thinke most great,
Though in their judgements they doe goe alone,
For of the same opinion there are none:
They all doe judge themselves exceeding faire,
To finde another of that minde were rare.
They, for dissimulation, doe excel
All people, that in this vast world doe dwel;
And can so cunnlngly lye, and dissemble,
That one would think they Angels did resemble,
At the first view they seem precisely pure,
Religious, holy, modest, and demure;
False hearts and tongues in them inherent are,
In words professing what from th' heart is far;
For to dissemble, flatter, feigne, and lye,
It is as easie as to drinke, when dry:
But though they have this Art exactly learn'd,
But the judicious it is soon discern'd.
They are of all right Reason wholly void,
And with good manners scorne to be annoy'd;
All that is truly good, as Vertue, Grace,
They doe esteeme as things too low, and base
For their high birth, their breeding, and their bloud,
It would dishonour be for to be good.
No Mediocrity they know, when they
Set on a thing it is no saying nay;
To whatsoe're their fancie is inclin'd,
It's to no purpose to gain-say their mind;
Over their passion, wil, and fond opinion,
Nor right, nor reason, e're shall have dominion.
These rare creatures, thus richly qualified,
As unto you, I briefly have descried,
At fifteen years of age begin to whine
For husbands, and to wear away, and pine
With fretting and lamenting, if that they
Against their wills do any longer stay.
And by the force of melancholy flegme,
They in the night most fearfully do dreame,
As if they troubled with the Night-mare were,
And hideous sights doe unto them appear:
With great anxiety, the time they passe,
To thinke how hard it is to catch an Asse.
And when unto the age of twenty she
Hath once attain'd; they will no elder be,
Not in a dosen years, or halfe a score,
But boldly will affirm, they are no more:
Though it perspicuous be to every eye
How that their faces give their mouths the lye.
Their fathers carefully doe cast in minde,
Where for these Girles, they may good husbands find,
Because they are a sort of brittle ware,
And unto ill mischances subject are
Delayes in such like cases danger breeds,
It's good to stay no longer then must needs.
Therefore they, this, and that young man espy,
And on them keep a strict observant eye,
And if they finde that he is in a way
To thrive, they will strive hard to make a prey
Of him, and doe unto the utmost bend
Their wits, that so they may attaine their end.
But yet (forsooth) their worships are asham'd,
That in their owne cause, they should once be nam'd,
And that the matter they may closely carry,
They do obtain some running Emissary,
Whom for sinister ends they do procure,
To turn Fool-catcher, and these Gulls allure.
Then this Gull-groper doth most craftily
Intrude himself into the company
Of this same Woodcock, and he doth pretend
Himselfe to be to him a cordiall friend;
But all for gold that glisters do not take,
Under the greenest grasse lyes hid the snake.
And when he hath a fit occasion caught
As at an Ale-house ore a mornings draught,
His minde he breaks, and saith, Sir, I admire
That you to marry should have no desire;
Since that the greatest blessing of this life,
Is to obtaine a good, and vertuous wife.
And if your minde to marry do incline,
There's such a Gentleman, a friend of mine,
Who hath a daughter, which in my judgement,
Would make a wife for you to your content;
She handsome is, and every way compleat,
Besides she hath a portion very great.
Then he affirmes with great asseverations,
And many deep and serious protestations,
That he his welfare meerly doth intend,
And hath not any by-respects, or end;
And also addes, how that he cannot tell,
Whether or no, her friends will like it well.
And saith, in them he hath some interest,
And for him will not faile to doe his best:
Unto that end he doth him thither take
to see her once or twice, and then doth make
The motion to her father, that they may
Have his consent, to come in such a way.
And he with much reluctancy doth grant
Them their desires, but seems most ignorant
Of this before contriv'd pernicious plot,
(Which was a babe that his owne braine begot:)
I on this knavery doe insist the more,
Because its grown an epidemick sore.
The hook that's covered with a silver bait,
Doth all the senses so intoxicate,
That they all opportunities do watch,
Whereby they may enabled be to catch
That, which at length will prove a poysoned Pill,
Sweet in the mouth, though at the heart it kill.
The glittering gold doth often blinde the eyes
Of those that are judicious otherwise:
This is the only thing that all affect,
Which to attain their courses they direct,
So that they may their golden god but win
At any rate they weigh it not a pin.
Like as the Magnet constantly doth bend
Unto the Artick-Pole; so all their end
Is to attain that which by no means can
Not in this world make happy any man,
As suddenly they by experience finde,
All cannot purchase sweet content of minde.
This one word, Money, doth their hearts so varish,
That to obtain it, they of gifts are lavish;
Themselves in Paradise they then do thinke;
They'r so ore-joy'd they scarce can eat or drink;
And are like Epicures securely sleeping,
When judgement on them every hour is creeping.
All things concurring thus to their desire,
It setteth their affections all on fire
Untill they have the businesse consummate,
Which they are like for to repent too late;
They every day conceit a month, a yeare,
But do not thinke gold may be bought too dear.
The match is made, all parties are agreed
The Nuptials to celebrate with speed,
That so the Creature may be made a Bride,
And then the Gordyan knot full fast is ty'd,
Which for the time that Cinthia runneth round,
The Zodiac may with all joy abound.
But by that time be fully overpast,
Their rashnesse they doe then perceive at last;
Their folly for to see they do begin,
And what a labyrinth they'r plunged in:
The vices which before the gold did cover,
Do now themselves at leasure all discover.
He now perceives how finely he is match'd,
And that in truth his worships Cunny-catch'd;
But now it is too late for to repent,
And come what can, hee's like to be content;
The Proverb saith, for what there is no cure,
The onely remedy is to indure.
Now all the qualities, which I before
Have briefly here describ'd, and many more
Do all most perspicuously appear,
And they begin to rant, and domineere,
Far more then the Athenian Tyrants, and
What ere come on't, they'l have the upper hand.
She doth suppose that he to her is ty'd
For nothing but for to support her pride,
And to maintaine her in an idle life;
Is he not (thinke you) fitted with a wife?
If to be such a one, she may be said,
Seeing a wife was for an helper made.
Yet they are helpers, but it is to spoile
That which their husbands got by pains and toyle;
It is their chiefe, yea onely earthly joy
To help for to consume, waste, and destroy,
By satisfying of their vanity,
And in this sense they help abundantly.
For all for which these Gallants ever care,
Is to go fine, and daintily to fare,
Unto which end they diligently view
Abroad, amongst their neighbours, and what new
Fashions they see, they presently do cry,
O, such a one hath so, why may not I?
Litigious, and prone unto contention,
Loving to make perpetuall dissention;
And they are worse then mad, who will contend
With them, for why? in vaine their breath they spend:
So rashly they'r addicted to their will,
And will not from it, be it good, or ill.
With that all-conquering word, Because, they can
Vanquish the reasons of the wisest man:
This is the speciall, onely argument,
Which all the force of Logick cannot rent;
By it most learnedly they all things prove,
Yea heaven to be below, and hell above.
And of all other torments, that there be,
There's none that halfe so bad appear to me,
As unto death, with non-sence to be worded,
By such, who a good reason ne'r afforded,
Which he is like to be perpetually,
That doth himselfe unto a Cockney tye.
They are imperious, proud, perverse, and cruel,
And love unto all mischiefe to adde fuel;
Their mindes are so inconstant, that they mock
The various turnings of the Weather-cock,
And if so be you diligently minde them,
An houre in one opinion, you'l ne'r finde them.
They use the utmost of their art, and skill,
To make their children like them in all ill;
They'r so unnaturall, they never nurse them,
And for their breeding, they have cause to curse them;
They teach them onely pride, to sing, and dance,
And of all good to live in ignorance.
And that I may my Reader recreate,
A pleasant story I will here relate,
Though I thereby my selfe may much endanger
For to the truth thereof, I am no stranger:
I all the parties know exceeding well,
Stories by hear-say, I love not to tell.
A creature in this City, of that tribe,
Which in this Poem, I to you describe,
Had married beene about two years, or more,
And did not fructifie, which vext her sore,
She pin'd and whin'd, and greatly did lament
The case wherein she was deficient.
At length her maid, a bird of the same feather,
(For like to like do best agree together:)
Upon a day when she her Mistresse lac't,
She said forsooth you'r thicker in the waste
Within this fortnight by at least two inch,
Your gowne and bodies you extreamly pinch.
She at this word (poor soul) was struck amaz'd,
But presently her courage up she rais'd:
And said, i' [...]t so? how happy then am I!
Thus was she neatly gulled with a lie,
And void of reason, streight she did conceit.
Her self with childe, for to be very great.
Passion o're reason did so far prevaile,
That to provide all things they did not faile,
That necessary were, against that she
Of this great nothing should delivered be;
When this supposed time, drew near, it fell
Most happily out, she was not very well.
O, what a stir was there, (it was but need)
The mid-wife then was sent for with all speed,
And all the good wives that did live thereby,
Were call'd to see this Trage-comedy;
And all this hurly-burly, and this trouble,
At length amounted but unto a buble.
If that by force he thinke to be her master,
Shee'l scold, and frown, and mischief make the faster,
And if by lenity he do intend
To try if she will her conditions mend,
She for a coward then doth streight-way take him,
And ten to one she doth a Cuckold make him.
And now he doth by dear experience finde,
Riches compar'd to a contented mind
Are nothing; nay his wealth adds to his grief,
When she her portion casteth in his teeth;
For though he lov'd it well, it doth not please
Him, for to hear on't in such tearms as these.
VVhy? what? I pray, saith she, did I not bring
So, and so much, that you at every thing
Should thus think much, whereto I have a mind,
That hardly cloaths you to my back will find?
Your betters far, know that I might have had,
And they thereof would have been very glad.
If that of me a fool you think to make,
I tell you that your self you do mistake.
Then the poor man doth fret, and chase, and vexe
And various thoughts his minde doe sore perplex:
The day he curseth that he e're was borne,
And leades a life most wretched, and forlorne.
Epilogue.
ANd you my Brethren, for whose only sake
The spirit mov'd me, for to under-take
This Work, you every one can testifie,
That what I here have written is no lye;
And if that Zoilus carp, and Momus rage,
Because I lash the crimes of this our Age;
I weigh it not a rush, nor doe I care,
Although they doe their worst, let them not spare;
I know that none but the gal'd Horse will kick,
If so, i'le deale them such another trick:
At what here's writ if any be offended,
It is not like by me to be amended.
And thou my Muse, who yet was ne're out-witted
By them, although too many have been fitted;
Flourish thou still, and live for to disdaine
The sweet temptations of such bitter gaine;
Those who their mindes to it doe wholly bend,
May they of sorrow never know an end.
FINIS.