Ben Jonson: The Masque of Owles

from
The Masque of Owles
by Ben Jonson

A pure native Bird
This and though his hue
Be not Coventrie-blue
Yet he is undone
By the thread he has spunne,
For since the wise towne
Has let the Sports downe
Of May-games and Morris,
For which he right sorry is:
Where their Maides, and their Makes,
At Dancings and Wakes,
Had their Napkins, and poses,
And the wipers for their noses,
And their smocks all-be-wrought
With his thred which they bought:
It now lies on his hands,
And having neither wit, nor lands,
Is ready to hang, or choke him,
In a skeyne of that, that broke him.
Hey, Owle, fourth.

from:
The Masque of Owles at Kenilworth,
in The Works of Ben Jonson,
Edited by Herford, Simpson and Simpson.,
Vol. VII 1941 Clarendon Press, Oxford, p.785, ll.120-136.

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