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The Unicorne did not put his home into the streame to chase away venome before he drunke, for there was no such thing as venome extant in the water or on the earth. Serpents were as harmlesse to mankinde, as they are still one to another: the rose had no cankers, the leaues no caterpillers, the sea no Syrens, the earth no vsurers. Goates then bare wooll, as it is recorded in Sicily they doo yet.
But still 'tis own'd, and is most apparent, there is something also Natural in the Case too, since there are some particular Vessels Nature thinks necessary, to the more exact Composition of this nice thing call'd a Wit, which as they are, or are not Interrupted in the peculiar Offices for which they are appointed, are subject to various Distempers, and more particularly to Effluxions and Vapour, Diliriums Giddiness of the Brain, and Lapsa, or Looseness of the Tongue; and as these Distempers, occasion'd by the exceeding quantity of Volatiles, Nature is obliged to make use of in the Composition, are hardly to be avoided, the Disasters which generally they push the Animal into, are as necessarily consequent to them as Night is to the Setting of the Sun; and these are very many, as disobliging Parents, who have frequently in this Country whipt their Sons for making Verses; and here I could not but reflect how useful a Discipline early Correction must be to a Poet; and how easy the Town had been had N -t, E -w, T. B P -s, D S D -fy, and an Hundred more of the jingling Train of our modern Rhymers, been Whipt young, very young, for Poetasting, they had never perhaps suckt in that Venome of Ribaldry, which all the Satyr of the Age has never been able to scourge out of them to this Day.
More happie than the Patriarches were I, if crusht to death with the greatest torments Romes tyrants haue tride, there might be quintessenst out of me one quart of precious poyson. I haue a leg with an issue, shall I cut it off, and from his fount of corruption extract a venome worse than anie serpents?
Tully, Virgil, Ouid, Seneca, were neuer such ornaments to Italy as thou hast beene. I neuer thought of Italy more religiously than England til I heard of thee. Peace to thy Ghost, and yet mee thinkes so indefinite a spirite should haue no peace or intermission of paines, but be penning Ditties to the Archangels in another world. Puritans spue forth the venome of your dull inuentions.
Pedro. Whilst I meet A Thunder strikes me dead. Oh, poore, wrongd Lady, The poyson which the villaine poures on thy honour Runs more into my veines then all the Venome He spitts at me or my deare Boy, his brother. My Lords, your pardon that I am transported With shame & sorrow thus beyond my selfe, Not paying to you my duty. All. Your love, Don Pedro. Mac.
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