LITMIR.BIZ

      Be a whore still: they love thee not that use thee;

      Give them diseases, leaving with thee their lust.

      Make use of thy salt hours: season the slaves

      For tubs and baths; bring down rose-cheeked youth

      To the tub-fast and the diet. (IV, 3: 1758–1762) 90

      That, by killing of villains,

      Thou wast born to conquer my country.

      Put up thy gold: go on, – here's gold, – go on;

      Be as a planetary plague, when Jove

      Will o'er some high-viced city hang his poison

      In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one:

      Pity not honour'd age for his white beard;

      He is an usurer: strike me the counterfeit matron;

      It is her habit only that is honest,

      Herself's a bawd: let not the virgin's cheek

      Make soft thy trenchant sword; for those milk-paps,

      That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes,

      Are not within the leaf of pity writ,

      But set them down horrible traitors: spare not the babe,

      Whose dimpled smiles from fools exhaust their mercy;

      Think it a bastard, whom the oracle

      Hath doubtfully pronounced thy throat shall cut,

      And mince it sans remorse <…>

      <…> be whores still;

      And he whose pious breath seeks to convert you,

      Be strong in whore, allure him, burn him up;

      Let your close fire predominate his smoke,

      And be no turncoats: yet may your pains, six months,

      Be quite contrary: and thatch your poor thin roofs

      With burthens of the dead; – some that were hang'd,

      No matter: – wear them, betray with them: whore still;

      Paint till a horse may mire upon your face,

      A pox of wrinkles! (IV, 3: 1785–1830) 91

      Consumptions sow

      In hollow bones of man; strike their sharp shins,

      And mar men's spurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,

      That he may never more false title plead,

      Nor sound his quillets shrilly: hoar the flamen,

      That scolds against the quality of flesh,

      And not believes himself: down with the nose,

      Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away

      Of him that, his particular to foresee,

      Smells from the general weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald;

      And let the unscarr'd braggarts of the war

      Derive some pain from you: plague all;

      That your activity may defeat and quell

      The source of all erection. There's more gold:

      Do

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