Author: liza.blake

¹

A bunch of keys did hang² by Nature’s side,
Which she, to open her five³ boxes,⁴ tried.
The first was wit; that⁵ key unlocked the ear,
Opened the brain to see what things were there.
The next was beauty’s key, unlocked the eyes,                     5
Opened the heart to see what therein lies.
The third was appetite, which quick did go,⁶
Opening the stomach to put meat into.⁷
The key of scent unlocked⁸ the brain, though hard,
For of a stink the nose is much afeard.                                   10
The key of pain did open⁹ touch, but slow,
For Nature’s loath any disease to show.¹⁰

In Nature’s cabinet, the brain, you’ll find
Many a toy¹ which doth delight the mind:
Several colored ribbons of fancies² new
To tie in hats or hair of lovers true;
Imagination’s masks, where nothing’s shown³                        5
But th’eyes of knowledge, all the rest unknown;⁴
Fans of opinion, which do waft⁵ the wind
According as the heat is in the mind;
Gloves of remembrance to⁶ draw off and on—
Thoughts in the brain sometimes are⁷ there, then gone.       10
Veils of forgetfulness the thoughts do hide,
Which when⁸ turned up, then is their face espied.
Pendants of understanding heavy there⁹
Are found, but do not hang¹⁰ in every ear.
Patches¹¹ of ignorance to stick upon¹²                                       15
The face of fools—this cabinet is shown.

The sun crowns Nature’s head with beams so fair;¹
The stars do hang as jewels in her hair.²
Her garment’s made of pure bright watchet sky,
Which round her waist the zodiac doth³ tie.
The polar circles are bracelets⁴ for each wrist;                5
The planets round about her neck do twist.
The gold and silver mines, shoes for her feet,
And for her garters are soft flowers sweet.⁵
Her stockings are of grass that’s fresh and green;
The rainbow is like colored ribbons seen.⁶                       10
The powder for her hair is milk-white snow,
And when she comes,⁷ her locks the winds do blow.
Light, a thin veil, doth hang upon her face,
Through which her creatures see in every place.

Death is the cook of Nature, and we find
Creatures¹ dressed several ways to please her mind.
Some Death doth roast² with fevers burning hot,
And some he³ boils with dropsies in a pot;
Some are consumed for jelly⁴ by degrees,                                 5
And some with ulcers, gravy out to squeeze;
Some, as with herbs, he⁵ stuffs with gouts and pains;
Others for tender meat he hangs⁶ in chains;
Some in the sea he pickles up to keep;
Others he, as soused brawn,⁷ in wine doth⁸ steep;                 10
Some flesh and bones he with the pox chops⁹ small,
And doth a french fricassee make¹⁰ withall;
Some on gridir’ns of calentures are¹¹ broiled,
And some are¹² trodden on,¹³ and so quite spoiled.
But some¹⁴ are baked, when smothered they do die;             15
Some meat he doth by hectic fevers¹⁵ fry;
In sweat sometimes he¹⁶ stews with savory smell:
A hodge-podge of diseases tasteth¹⁷ well.
Brains dressed with apoplexy to Nature’s wish,¹⁸
Or swim with sauce of megrims in a dish.¹⁹                             20
And tongues he²⁰ dries with smoke from stomachs ill,
Which as the second course he²¹ sends up still.
Throats he doth cut, blood puddings for²² to make,
And puts them in the guts, which colics rack.
Some hunted are by him²³ for deer, that’s red,²⁴                     25
And some as stall-fed oxen knocked o’th’head;²⁵
Some, singed and scald for bacon, seem most rare²⁶
When with salt rheum and phlegm they powdered are.²⁷

The brain is like an oven, hot and dry,
Which bakes all sorts of fancies, low and high.
The thoughts are wood, which motion sets on fire;
The tongue a peel; the hand which draws,¹ desire.
By² thinking much, the brain too hot will grow               5
And burn them³ up; if cold, fancies⁴ are dough.

Life scums the cream of beauty with time’s spoon,
And draws the claret wine of blushes soon.
Then¹ boils it in a skillet clean of youth,
And² thicks it well with crumbled bread of truth,
And sets it on³ the fire of life, which does⁴                           5
Burn clearer much when health her bellows⁵ blows.
Then takes the eggs of fair and bashful eyes,
And puts them in a countenance that’s wise,
And cuts a lemon in of⁶ sharpest wit;
Discretion, as a knife, is used for it.⁷                                      10
A handful of chaste thoughts double refined,
Six spoonfuls of a nobl’and⁸ gentle mind,
A grain of mirth, to give’t a little taste,
Then takes it off, for fear the substance waste,
And puts it in a basin of good health,⁹                                   15
And with¹⁰ this meat doth Nature please herself.

¹

Life takes a young and tender lover’s heart
That hunted was, and struck² by Cupid’s dart,
Then sets it on³ the fire of love, and blows
That fire with sighs, by which the flame high grows,
And boils it with the water of fresh tears,                            5
Flings in a bunch of hope, desires, and fears.
More sprigs of passions⁴ throws into the pot,
Then takes it off⁵ when it is seething hot,
And puts it in a clean dish of delight,
That scoured was from envy and from spite.                      10
Then doth she press and squeeze in juice of youth,
And casts⁶ therein some sugar of sweet truth.
Sharp melancholy gives a quick’ning taste,
And temperance doth cause it long to last.
Then she with smiles doth garnish it⁷ and dress,               15
And serves it up, a fair and beauteous mess.
But Nature’s apt to surfeit of this meat,
Which makes that she doth seldom of it⁸ eat.

A forehead which is high,¹ broad, smooth, and sleek;²
A large great eye that’s black³ and very quick;
A brow that’s arched, or like a bow that’s⁴ bent;
A rosy cheek, and in the midst a dent;
Two cherry lips, whereon the dew lies wet;                         5
A nose between the eyes that’s even set;
A chin that’s neither short nor very long;
A sharp, and quick, and ready pleasing tongue;
A breath of musk and amber; breasts which silk⁵
In softness do resembl’in whiteness milk;⁶                          10
A body plump, white, of an even growth,
That’s active, lively, quick, and⁷ void of sloth;
A heart that’s firm and sound;⁸ a liver good;
A speech that’s plain and eas’ly⁹ understood;
A hand that’s fat, and smooth,¹⁰ and very white,                15
The¹¹ inside moist, and red like rubies bright;
A brawny arm; a wrist that’s round and small;
And fingers long, and joints not big withal;
A stomach strong and easy to digest;
A swan-like neck; and an out-bearing chest.                        20
All these when mixed¹² with pleasure and delight,
And strewed upon with eyes most¹³ quick of sight,
Are put into¹⁴ a dish of admiration,
And so served¹⁵ up with praises of a nation.

A wanton eye that seeks but¹ to allure;
Dissembling countenance that looks demure;
A griping hand that holds what’s none of his;
A jealous mind, which thinks all is amiss;
A purple face, where mattery pimples stood;                     5
A slandering tongue that still dispraises² good;
A frowning brow, with rage and anger bent;
A good proceeding³ from an ill intent;
Large promises, which for performance stayed,⁴
And proffered gifts, which no acceptance had;⁵                10
Affected words that signified⁶no thing,
And feignèd laughter which no mirth doth bring;⁷
Thoughts idle, foolish, unuseful, and⁸ vain,
Which are created in⁹ a lover’s brain;
Antic postures, where no coherence¹⁰ is;                            15
Well-meaning mind,¹¹ which¹² always doth¹³ amiss;
A voice that’s hoarse, where notes cannot agree;
And squinting¹⁴ eyes, that no true shape can see;
Wrinkles, which¹⁵ time hath set in every face;
Vainglory brave that falls¹⁶ in full disgrace;                       20
A self-conceited pride without a cause;
A painful desperate act¹⁷ without applause;
Verses no sense nor fancy have, but¹⁸ rhyme;
Ambitious¹⁹ falls, when²⁰ highest hopes do climb.
All these Life i’th’pot of dislike boils²¹ fast,                         25
And stirs them with the²² ladle of distaste.
She makes therein the fat of gluttons²³ flow,
And roots of several vices throws into,²⁴
With²⁵ several herbs —as agèd thyme²⁶ that’s dry,
Heart-burning parsley, funeral²⁷ rosemary—                    30
Then pours²⁸ it out into repentant dishes,
And sends it up by shadows of vain wishes.

Life takes a heart, and passions puts therein,
And covers it with a dissembling skin.
Takes anger, which like pepper keen doth¹ bite,
And vinegar that’s sharp and made of spite.
Ginger of revenge, grated, in is² flung,                         5
To which she adds a lying cloven tongue.
A lazy flake of mace, which³ lies down flat;
Some salt of slander she doth put⁴ to that.
Then serves it up with sauce of jealousy,
In dishes of most careful⁵ industry.                              10