The brain she challengeth, the head's her seat.
But know it's a foolish brain that wanteth heat;
My absence proves it plain-her wit then flies
Out at her nose, or melteth at her eyes.
Oh, who would miss this influence of thine
To be distilled, a drop on every line!
Alas, thou hast no spirits; thy company
Will feed a dropsy or a tympany,
The palsy, gout, or cramp, or some such dolor.
Thou wast not made for soldier or for scholar.
Of greasy paunch and bloated cheeks go vaunt;
But a good head from these are dissonant.
But, Melancholy, wouldst have this glory thine?
Thou sayest thy wits are staid, subtile, and fine;
'Tis true, when I am midwife to thy birth
Thyself's as dull as is thy mother Earth.
Thou canst not claim the liver, head, nor heart,
Yet hast the seat assigned, a goodly part-
The sink of all us three, the hateful spleen;
Of that black region nature made thee queen,
Where pain and sore obstruction thou dost work,
Where envy, malice, thy companions, lurk.
If once thou 'rt great, what follows thereupon
But bodies wasting and destructiön ?
So base thou art that baser cannot be,
The excrement adustiön of me.
But I am weary to dilate your shame;
Nor is it my pleasure thus to blur your name,
Only to raise my honor to the skies,
As objects best appear by contraries.
But arms and arts I claim, and higher things,
The princely qualities befitting kings,
Whose profound heads I line with policies:
They're held for oracles, they are so wise;
Their wrathful looks are death, their words are laws;
Their courage it foe, friend, and subject awes.
But one of you would make a worthy king
Like our sixth Henry, that same virtuous thing
That, when a varlet struck him o'er the side,
'Forsooth, you are to blame,' he grave replied.
Take choler from a prince, what is he more
Than a dead lion, by beasts triumphéd o'er?
Again, you know how I act every part
By the influence I still send from the heart;
It's nor your muscles, nerves, nor this, nor that
Does aught without my lively heat, that's flat.
Nay, the stomach, magazine to all the rest,
Without my boiling heat cannot digest.
And yet, to make my greatness still more great,
What differences the sex but only heat?
And one thing more, to close up my narration,
Of all that lives I cause the propagation.
I have been sparing what I might have said.
I love no boasting; that's but children's trade.
To what you now shall say I will attend,
And to your weakness gently condescend."
"Good sisters, give me leave, as is my place,
To vent my grief and wipe off my disgrace.
Yourselves may plead your wrongs are no whit less—
Your patience more than mine I must confess.
Did ever sober tongue such language speak,
Or honesty such ties unfriendly break?
Dost know thyself so well, us so amiss?
Is it arrogance or folly causeth this?
I'll only show the wrong thou 'st done to me,
Then let my sisters right their injury.
To pay with railings is not mine intent,
But to evince the truth by argument.
I will analyze this thy proud relation,
So full of boasting and prevarication;
Thy foolish incongruities I'll show,
So walk thee till thou 'rt cold, then let thee go.
There is no soldier but thyself, thou sayest;
No valor upon earth, but what thou hast.
Thy silly provocations I despise,
And leave it to all to judge where valor lies.
No pattern, nor no patron, will I bring
But David, Judah's most heroic king,
Whose glorious deeds in arms the world can tell,
A rosy-cheeked musician thou knowest well;
He knew well how to handle sword and harp,
And how to strike full sweet, as well as sharp.
Thou laughest at me for loving merriment,
And scornest all knightly sports at tournament.
Thou sayest I love my sword because it's gilt;
But know I love the blade more than the hilt,
Yet do abhor such temerarious deeds
As thy unbridled barbarous choler breeds.
Thy rudeness counts good manners vanity,
And real compliments base flattery.
For drink, which of us twain likes it the best
I'll go no farther than thy nose for test.
Thy other scoffs, not worthy of reply,
Shall vanish as of no validity.
Of thy black calumnies this is but part,
But now I'll show what soldiër thou art.
And though thou 'st used me with opprobrious spite,
My ingenuity must give thee right.
Thy choler is but rage when 't is most pure,
But useful when a mixture can endure.
As with thy mother Fire, so 't is with thee-
The best of all the four when they agree;
But let her leave the rest, then I presume
Both them and all things else she would consume.
Whilst us for thine associates thou takest,
A soldier most complete in all points makest;
But when thou scornest to take the help we lend,
Thou art a fury or infernal fiend.
Witness the execrable deeds thou 'st done,
Nor sparing sex nor age, nor sire nor son.
To satisfy thy pride and cruelty
Thou oft hast broke bounds of humanity.
Nay, should I tell, thou wouldst count me no blab,
How often for the lie thou 'st given the stab.
To take the wall's a sin of so high rate
That naught but death the same may expiate.
To cross thy will, a challenge doth deserve;
So sheddest that blood thou 'rt bounden to preserve.
Wilt thou this valor, courage, manhood, call?
No; know 't is pride most diabolical.
If murders be thy glory, 't is no less.
I'll not envy thy feats nor happiness.
But if in fitting time and place 'gainst foes
For country's good thy life thou darest expose,
Be dangers ne'er so high, and courage great,
I'll praise that prowess, fury, choler, heat.
But such thou never art when all alone,
Yet such when we all four are joined in one.
And when such thou art, even such are we,
The friendly coadjutors still of thee.
Nextly, the spirits thou dost wholly claim,
Which natural, vital, animal, we name.
To play philosopher I have no list,
Nor yet physician, nor anatomist;
For acting these I have no will nor art,
Yet shall with equity give thee thy part.
For natural, thou dost not much contest;
For there is none, thou sayest, if some, not best
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