Like fo many bubbles in a bason of water,
Twenty feveral crabbed faces; many times
Makès his own fhadow his cuckold-maker.
1. Diftruft from others fprings, Timagoras,
From diffidence in ourfelves. But I'll strive,
With th'affurance of my worth, and merits,
To kill this monster, jealousy.
In wisdom never to be entertain'd
On trivial probabilities; but when
He does appear in pregnant proofs, not fafhion'd
By idle doubts and fears, to be receiv'd.
They make their own horns, that are too fecure;
As well as fuch as give them growth, and being
From mere imagination.
Maffinger's Bondman.
O let their beds be chafte; and banish thence
As well all jealoufy, as all offence !
For fome men I have known, whofe wives have been As chafte as ice; fuch as were never feen
In wanton dalliance; fuch as till death,
Never fmelt any, but their husband's breath :
Yet the good man, ftill dream'd of horns, ftill fearing
His forehead would grow harder ; ftill appearing
To his own fancy, bull, or ftag, or more;
Ox at the leaft, that was an ass before.
If fhe would have new cloaths, he ftraight will fear
She loves a taylor; if fhe fad appear,
He gueffes foon it is 'caufe he's at home;
If jocund, fure fhe has fome friend to come;
If the be fick, he thinks no grief fhe felt,
But wishes all phyficians had been gelt.
But ask her how the does, fets him a fwearing;
Feeling her pulfe, is love tricks paft the bearing:
Poor wretched wife! fhe cannot look awry,
But without doubt 'tis flat adultery :
And jealous wives there be, that are afraid
To entertain a handfome chamber-maid.
Our paffions, I wonder nature made
The worst, foul jealoufy, her favourite ;
And if it be not fo, why took fhe care
That ev'ry thing fhould give the monster nourishment, And left us nothing, to destroy it with.
Thou wond'rous yellow fiend!
Temper an antidote with antimony,
And 'tis infectious: Mix jealoufy with marriage,
It poifons virtue: Let the child feel the fting,
He'll fly the honey-comb: Has fhe one action
That can difpofe you to distrust?
Davenport's City Night-Cap.
Oh jealousy,
Love's eclipfe! thou art in thy disease,
A wild mad patient; wond'rous hard to please.
Muft ftill be ftrangled in its birth; or time
Will foon confpire, to make it ftrong enough,
To overcome the truth.
Sir W. Davenant's Cruel Brother. The foolish world does jealousy mistake; 'Tis civil care, which kindness does improve : Perhaps the jealous are too much awake; But others dully fleep o'er thofe they love.
Sir W. Davenant's Siege of Rhodes." 1. This curfed jealousy, what is't? 2. 'Tis love, that hath loft itself in a mist. 3. 'Tis love, being frighted out of his wits. 4. 'Tis love, that has a fever got; Love, that is violently hot;
But troubled with cold and trembling fits.
'Tis yet a more unnatural evil,
'Tis the god of love, 'tis the god of love, poffeft with
I. Tis rich corrupted wine of love,
Which sharpeft vinegar does prove.
2. From all the sweet flow'rs which might honey make, It does a deadly poifon bring.
3. Strange ferpent, which itfelf doth fting! 4. It never can fleep, and dreams still awake: It stuffs up the marriage bed with thorns;
It gores it felf, it gores it felf, with imagin'd horns.
Sir W. Davenant's Siege of Rhodes.
When this disease of jealousy can find
A way to feize upon a crazy mind;
Moft things, instead of help, or giving cafe,
The humour feed, and turn to the disease.
Sir Robert Howard's Vestal Virgin.
But fate, thou art unjust, in making me
To quit the love, yet keep the jealousy;
Which is of love's fair tree the fouleft fruit :
A branch, whofe nourishment offends the root.
Shall jealoufy a pow'r o'er judgment gain,
Though it does only in the fancy reign?
With knowledge thou art inconfiftent still:
The mind's foul Monster, whom fair truth does kill.
Thy tyranny fubverts ev'n nature's laws;
For oft thou haft effects, without a cause :
And, which thy ftrength, or weakness does detect,
Thou often haft a caufe without effect :
In all thou dost, thou ever dost amiss ;
Seeft what is not, or feeft not that which is :
While thou doft live, fickness does thee pursue;
And he who cures thee, needs must kill thee too.
E. of Orrery's Henry V.
Through a falfe optick, madam, ftill we look ;
When jealoufy has once poffeffion took.
E. of Orrery's Black Prince. Hold! he is innocent, and fhe may be :
Shall I skin o'er my wound, with that may be
And probe no further? no, 'twill fester then.
Oh, better fee her once in the foul act,
And fo conclude my torment, and her fin;
Than fee her hourly finning in my thoughts!
I have faid fo much, to cure your jealousy,
As would make an old Italian truft his
Wife with a young painter, and leave her with
Him to draw her naked.
Sir W. Davenant's The Man's the Mafter. JEST 1. Mirth cannot move a foul in agony.
2. Why, that's the way to choak a gibing spirit,
Whofe influence is begot of that loofe grace,
Which shallow laughing hearers give to fools:
A jeft's profperity lies in the ear
Of him that hears it, never in the tongue
Of him that makes it.
Shakespear's Love's Labour's Loft.. 1. And, now and then, breaks a dry bisquet-jeft, Which that it may more easily be chew'd,
He fteeps in his own laughter. 2. Why, will that
Make it be fooner fwallow'd? 1. O, affure you;
Or if it did not, yet, as Horace fings,
Jejunus rarò ftomachus vulgaria temnit ;
Mean cates are welcome ftill to hungry guests.
Johnfon's Every Man out of his Humour.
When thou doft tell another's jeft, therein
Omit the oaths, which true wit cannot need:
Pick out of tales, the mirth; but not the fin :
He pares his apple, that would cleanly feed.
Laugh not too much; the witty man laughs least :
For wit is news only to ignorance :
Lefs at thine own things laugh; left in the jeft
Thy perfon fhare, and the conceit advance.
Make not thy fport, abuses: for the fly
That feeds on dung, is coloured thereby.
Pick from thy mirth, like ftones out of the ground,
Profaneness, filthinefs, abufiveness:
Thefe, are the fcum with which coarfe wits abound:
The fine may fpare this well, yet not go lefs.
All things are big with jeft: nothing that's plain,
But may be witty, if thou haft the vein.
Herbert.
My trade is jefting now, or quibble speaking ;
Strange trade, you'll fay, for it's fet up with breaking!
Randolph's Pedlar. The wit and courage of his talk, now refts, In their impatient keeping, that steal jests : His jefts, who e'er fhall father, and repeat, Shall memory need.
IGNORANCE.
At laft, with creeping crooked pace forth came
An old old man, with beard as white as snow,
That on a staff his feeble steps did frame,
And guide his weary gaite both to and fro;
For his eye-fight him failed long ygo:
And on his arm a bunch of keys he bore,
The which unused ruft did overgrow;
Those were the keys of ev'ry inner door,
But he could not them ufe, but kept them ftill in ftore.
But very uncouth fight was to behold
How he did fashion his untoward pace :
For as he forward mov'd his footing old,
So backward ftill was turn'd his wrinkled face :
Unlike to men, who ever as they trace,
Both feet and face one way are wont to lead.
This was the ancient keeper of that place,
And foster father of the giant dead;
His name Ignaro, did his nature right aread,
Spenfer's Fairy Queen.
-Ignorance
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