A NEW
SATYR,
Written Against,
LYING
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TIs reported about this Famous Town,
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There is a Man Pretending to the Gown.
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One that is Much given unto Lying,
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The high-way to a Mans never dying.
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For which by all good Men he is blamed,
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And him in Question calld and named.
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That he should be givn to such folly,
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As each Whore-master has his Trolly Lolly.
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A Gent the noble Picture of the brave,
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Such Company detests, they will not have.
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A Lyar, being as bad as a Thief,
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Mushroomes, more fit for him, then powdred Beef.
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Romancers are, fitter Companions, for Knaves,
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High-way Men, Foot-pads, and such as lie in Caves.
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Then Men of sence, and Understanding high,
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Th mighty Favorites, of the mighty Sky.
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A Talkative Fellows, like an unbracd Drum,
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Talking the more, after a Glass of Mum.
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All his discourse avails so very small,
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It troubles the Hearers, and their Organs, all.
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For Gent love Men that they of wit should talk,
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Whereby in Conversations Grove to walk.
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Any, thing thats ingenious to be understood,
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Honors th Blazeing Star of the Purest blood.
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He walkd to France, and lay with the French King,
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A Rope, he did, thats more a probable thing.
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Where he went for an English Marquess gay,
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So that the Ladies there, with him did play.
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An English-mans in esteem th World over,
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From Turky to crose the Lyne to Dover.
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For Lyars, they need to be well hung,
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With fine words, good memory, and a Song.
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Wore cloathes, for seven years together,
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Strange some things, dont change in no kind of weather.
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Then running a Man through his Silk-Stockings fine,
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Twas askd by some, Gent noble, and Divine,
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How he perceived that they were Silk or no,
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Said, a Lifeguard-Man in Boots wore them you know.
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An answer strang to know silk through Boots,
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Like a Musician, playes on Violin and Lutes.
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A Lyar like Angry Gamesters, drives at all,
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Having lost his Money, though it was but small.
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For he that gives himself to so base a thing,
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Turns Adder, and all Mankind does sting.
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Then for his Diet, tis nine-pence every Meal,
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He loveth flesh, but hateth Fish and Tael.
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A Trencher Man, in that very compleat,
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He knows his Stomack, and knows how to Eat.
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Like the [w]hale devours all the little Fry,
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From Mutton, Lamb, and so, to Pudding-Pye.
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He is a Poet too, now is his time,
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To answer this, for I have, divulgd his crime.
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Answer he must, although it will be weak,
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Vice is a Coward, and out of doors, does creep.
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For what can a Man say, to a great Truth?
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No more than for to say, Man has no Tooth.
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Which each person condemns from common sense,
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By Natures light, and her intelligence.
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Whose Picturs lately drawn, twas very foul,
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Of all Creatures, the likest to an Owl.
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One Monster beholding of another,
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The form of him, who is a younger Brother.
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As AEsops Crow, by th Birds was hooted at,
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By every Cock, Mag-Pie, Chicken, and Cat.
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So is a Liar laughed at by Men,
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Like to a German-Goose, or a French-Hen.
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A Liar is a Traitor to his own Soul,
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Where will he go, when after Death must roll?
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For a Romancer only deals with Fate,
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Rendring him unhappy, in his humane state.
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For a Man making it, his business to lie,
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Is neither fit to live, nor fit to die.
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Nor fit to mount to the blest Joyes on High,
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Where will he go, neither know You or I.
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Beware, beware you much untoward Fiend,
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Else you will come to an intimely end.
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Th Oracle, Proclaiming against the Lying-Crew,
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They shall not enter th Jerusalem New.
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But go to the Devil a pick a pack,
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To open Hells Wares, crying, what do ye lack?
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Leave off the Vice, and you shall come in Agen,
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To keep the Company of Gentlemen.
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But if your resolvd to persevere indeed,
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Hell has its Chyrurgeons for to make you Bleed.
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Lanch Cut open, and mangle your poor Thigh,
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In its dark Regions to Eternity.
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