ON THE TOWN'S HONEST MAN by BEN JONSON

You wonder, who this is! And, why I name
Him not, aloud, that boasts so good a fame:
Naming so many, too! But, this is one,
Suffers no name, but a description:
Being no vicious person, but the Vice
About the town; and known too, at that price.
A subtle thing, that doth affections win
By speaking well of the company it's in.
Talks loud, and bawdy, has a gathered deal
Of news, and noise, to sow out a long meal.
Can come from Tripoli, leap stools, and wink,
Do all, that 'longs to the anarchy of drink,
Except the duel. Can sing songs, and catches;
Give every one his dose of mirth: and watches
Whose name's unwelcome to the present ear,
And him it lays on; if he be not there,
Tells of him, all the tales, itself then makes;
But, if it shall be questioned, undertakes,
It will deny all; and forswear it too:
Not that it fears, but will not have to do
With such a one. And therein keeps its word.
'Twill see its sister naked, ere a sword.
At every meal, where it doth dine, or sup,
The cloth's no sooner gone, but it gets up
And shifting of its faces, doth play more
Parts, than the Italian could do, with his dore.
Acts old Iniquity, and in the fit
Of miming gets the opinion of a wit.
Executes men in picture. By defect,
From friendship, is its own fame's architect.
An engineer, in slanders, of all fashions,
That seeming praises, are, yet accusations.
Described, it's thus: defined would you it have?
Then, the town's honest man's her errant'st knave.

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