Read Donne for Free Online Page B

(beggarly) doth chaw
    Others wits fruits, and in his ravenous maw
    Rankly digested, doth those things out-spue,
    As his owne things; and they are his owne, ’tis true,
    For if one eate my meate, though it be knowne
    The meate was mine, th’excrement is his owne:
    But these do mee no harme, nor they which use
    To out-doe Dildoes, and out-usure Jewes;
    To out-drinke the sea, to out-sweare the Letanie;
    Who with sinnes all kindes as familiar bee
    As Confessors; and for whose sinfull sake,
    Schoolemen new tenements in hell must make:
    Whose strange sinnes, Canonists could hardly tell
    In which Commandements large receit they dwell.
    But these punish themselves; the insolence
    Of Coscus onely breeds my just offence,
    Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches poxe,
    And plodding on, must make a calfe an oxe)
    Hath made a Lawyer, which was (alas) of late
    But a scarce Poët; jollier of this state,
    Then are new benefic’d ministers, he throwes
    Like nets, or lime-twigs, wheresoever he goes,
    His title of Barrister, on every wench,
    And wooes in language of the Pleas, and Bench:
    A motion, Lady; Speake Coscus; I have beene
    In love, ever since
tricesimo
of the Queene,
    Continuall claimes I have made, injunctions got
    To stay my rivals suit, that hee should not
    Proceed, spare mee; In Hillary terme I went,
    You said, If I return’d next size in Lent,
    I should be in remitter of your grace;
    In th’interim my letters should take place
    Of affidavits: words, words, which would teare
    The tender labyrinth of a soft maids eare,
    More, more, then ten Sclavonians scolding, more
    Then when winds in our ruin’d Abbeyes rore;
    Which sicke with Poëtrie, and possest with muse
    Thou wast, and mad, I hop’d; but men which chuse
    Law practise for meere gaine, bold soule, repute
    Worse then imbrothel’d strumpets prostitute.
    Now like an owlelike watchman, hee must walke
    His hand still at a bill, now he must talke
    Idly, like prisoners, which whole months will sweare
    That onely suretiship hath brought them there,
    And to every suitor lye in every thing,
    Like a Kings favourite, yea like a King;
    Like a wedge in a blocke, wring to the barre,
    Bearing like Asses, and more shamelesse farre
    Then carted whores, lye, to the grave Judge; for
    Bastardy abounds not in Kings titles, nor
    Symonie and Sodomy in Churchmens lives,
    As these things do in him; by these he thrives.
    Shortly (as the sea) hee will compasse all the land,
    From Scots, to Wight; from Mount, to Dover strand.
    And spying heires melting with luxurie,
    Satan will not joy at their sinnes, as hee.
    For as a thrifty wench scrapes kitching-stuffe,
    And barrelling the droppings, and the snuffe,
    Of wasting candles, which in thirty yeare
    (Relique-like kept) perchance buyes wedding geare;
    Peecemeale he gets lands, and spends as much time
    Wringing each Acre, as men pulling prime.
    In parchment then, large as his fields, hee drawes
    Assurances, bigge, as gloss’d civill lawes,
    So huge, that men (in our times forwardnesse)
    Are Fathers of the Church for writing lesse.
    These hee writes not; nor for these written payes,
    Therefore spares no length; as in those first dayes
    When Luther was profest, He did desire
    Short
Pater nosters
, saying as a Fryer
    Each day his beads, but having left those lawes,
    Addes to Christs prayer, the Power and glory clause.
    But when he sells or changes land, he’impaires
    His writings, and (unwatch’d) leaves out,
ses heires
,
    As slily as any Commentator goes by
    Hard words, or sense; or in Divinity
    As controverters, in vouch’d Texts, leave out
    Shrewd words, which might against them cleare the doubt.
    Where are those spred woods which cloth’d hertofore
    Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within dore.
    Where’s th’old landlords troops, and almes? In great hals
    Carthusian fasts, and fulsome Bachanalls
    Equally I hate; meanes blesse; in rich mens homes
    I bid kill some beasts, but no Hecatombs,
    None starve, none surfet so; But (Oh) we