Has his daughters brought him to this pass?
Has his daughters brought him to this pass?—
Couldst thou save nothing? Wouldst thou give 'em all?
Nay, he reserved a blanket, else we had been all shamed.
Now all the plagues that in the pendulous air
Hang fated o'er men's faults light on thy daughters!
He hath no daughters, sir.
Thou ow'st the worm no silk, the beast no hide,the sheep no wool, the cat no perfume
Death, traitor! Nothing could have subdued nature
To such a lowness but his unkind daughters.
Is it the fashion that discarded fathers
Should have thus little mercy on their flesh?
Judicious punishment! ‘Twas this flesh begot
Those pelican daughters.
Pillicock sat on Pillicock Hill. Alow, alow, loo, loo.
This cold night will turn us all to fools and madmen.
Take heed o' th' foul fiend. Obey thy parents,
keep thy word's justice, swear not, commit not with
man's sworn spouse, set not thy sweet heart on
proud array. Tom's a-cold.
What hast thou been?
A servingman, proud in heart and mind, that
curled my hair, wore gloves in my cap, served the
lust of my mistress' heart and did the act of
darkness with her, swore as many oaths as I spake
words and broke them in the sweet face of heaven;
one that slept in the contriving of lust and waked to
do it. Wine loved I deeply, dice dearly, and in
woman out-paramoured the Turk. False of heart,
light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in
stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in
prey. Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling
of silks betray thy poor heart to woman. Keep thy
foot out of brothels, thy hand out of plackets, thy
pen from lenders' books, and defy the foul fiend.
Still through the hawthorn blows the cold wind;
says suum, mun, nonny. Dolphin my boy, boy, sessa!
Let him trot by.
Thou wert better in a grave than to answer with
thy uncovered body this extremity of the skies.—Is
man no more than this? Consider him well.—Thou
ow'st the worm no silk, the beast no hide, the sheep
no wool, the cat no perfume. Ha, here's three on ‘s
are sophisticated. Thou art the thing itself; unaccommodated
man is no more but such a poor, bare,
forked animal as thou art. Off, off, you lendings!
Come, unbutton here.
Tearing off his clothes.
Prithee, nuncle, be contented. ‘Tis a naughty
night to swim in. Now, a little fire in a wild field
were like an old lecher's heart—a small spark, all
the rest on ‘s body cold.