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| SATYRES. |
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| Satyre I. |
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| Away thou fondling motley humorist, |
| Leave mee, and in this standing woodden chest, |
| Consorted with these few bookes, let me lye |
| In prison, and here be coffin'd, when I dye; |
| Here are Gods conduits; grave Divines, and here |
| Natures Secretary, the Philosopher. |
| And jolly Statesmen, which teach how to tie |
| The sinewes of a cities mistique bodie; |
| Here gathering Chroniclers, and by them stand |
| Giddie fantastique Poëts of each land. |
| Shall I leave all this constant company, |
| And follow headlong, wild uncertaine thee? |
| First sweare by thy best love in earnest |
| (If thou which lov'st all, canst love any best) |
| Thou wilt not leave mee in the middle street, |
| Though some more spruce companion thou dost meet, |
| Not though a Captaine do come in thy way |
| Bright parcell gilt, with forty dead mens pay, |
| Not though a briske perfum'd piert Courtier |
| Deigne with a nod, thy courtesie to answer. |
| Nor come a velvet Justice with a long |
| Great traine of blew coats, twelve, or fourteen strong,
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[CW: Wilt] |