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[Kitskid] Beaumont-Hamel, France, during the Battle of the Somme in 1916 [graphic]

Kitskid — 6/12/2026 1:57:55 AM

Beaumont-Hamel, France, during the Battle of the Somme in 1916

[Kitskid] [graphic]

Kitskid — 5/21/2026 2:13:09 AM

[Kitskid] musaeumscythia.substack.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ imgur.com ...

Kitskid — 11/15/2025 12:09:07 PM

musaeumscythia.substack.com

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imgur.com

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Herodotus validated once again: Scythian quivers made of human leather (Brandt et al 2023)

Copper Axe | MusaeumScythia

Dec 17, 2023

A few days ago an interesting article regarding the sources of leather in the Scythian period of southern Ukraine. By analysing leather samples through ZooMS analysis the autors were able to uncover the animal sources of the leather samples. Most interestingly to me are the findings suggesting human skin as a source for the leather of some objects.

Human and animal skin identified by palaeoproteomics in Scythian leather objects from Ukraine

Luise Ørsted Brandt, Meaghan Mackie, Marina Daragan, Matthew J. Collins, Margarita Gleba.

Published: December 13, 2023

doi.org

Abstract

Leather was one of the most important materials of nomadic Scythians, used for clothing, shoes, and quivers, amongst other objects. However, our knowledge regarding the specific animal species used in Scythian leather production remains limited. In this first systematic study, we used palaeoproteomics methods to analyse the species in 45 samples of leather and two fur objects recovered from 18 burials excavated at 14 different Scythian sites in southern Ukraine. Our results demonstrate that Scythians primarily used domesticated species such as sheep, goat, cattle, and horse for the production of leather, while the furs were made of wild animals such as fox, squirrel and feline species. The surprise discovery is the presence of two human skin samples, which for the first time provide direct evidence of the ancient Greek historian Herodotus’ claim that Scythians used the skin of their dead enemies to manufacture leather trophy items, such as quiver covers. We argue that leather manufacture is not incompatible with a nomadic lifestyle and that Scythians possessed sophisticated leather production technologies that ensured stable supply of this essential material.

The majority of the leather samples in this article were sourced from domesticated animals such as cattle, sheep and goats. Several samples were obtained from wild animals, one sample is interesting as it might have come from a feline species:

The final three ZooMS identifications stand out the most: two come from a wild carnivore (one identified as red fox (sample 45), the other could be referred to either tiger, lion, marten, wolverine, otter or hyena (sample 34).

Given that during this time period lions still roamed in the southeastern corner of Europe., it might be the case that the skin came from a lion. However caniforms such as martens or wolverines are also possible, as well as other feline species from Asia.

The most interesting finding of this article is this one of course:

Human skinThe ancient Greek ‘father of history’ Herodotus dedicated an entire book to describing Scythian history and customs, and reported upon some remarkable stories. Among these, are tales of Scythians drinking blood of their enemies, using human scalps as trophies and flaying their dead enemies in order to turn the skin into a leather cover for their quivers: ….

Our results appear to confirm Herodotus’ grizzly claim. The proteins from samples 7 and 21, deriving from quivers found in Ilyinka kurgan 4 burial 2 and Bulhakovo kurgan 5 burial 2, indicate human origin, based on both ZooMS and LC-MS/MS analysis. To our knowledge, the only other reported instance of the use of human skin in a quiver was identified in Yakovlevskiy kurgan 3 burial 1 (4th century BC) in Russia using counter-immunoelectrophoresis.

Although macabre to our modern view, other Scythian customs described by Herodotus have also been supported by archaeological findings. For example, the recent re-investigation of one of the four largest royal Scythian kurgans in southern Ukraine, the Aleksandropol mound, led to the discovery of a large funerary feasting area in the immediate vicinity of the kurgan and, within it, 11 accompanying burials of men, women and children, all of whom appear to have been killed and buried there as part of the funerary rites for the royal occupant of the burial mound. These details closely correspond to Herodotus’ description of a Scythian king’s funeral (Herodotus 4.71–72;. The description of how mourners would carry out self-mutilation during burials of kings to express their grief has also been confirmed by the excavation of the burial mound of Chortomlyk. Here, six phalanxes of human fingers, two with cut marks, belonging to three or four different people were found, suggesting that Scythians did in fact mourn their kings by cutting off fingers.

Quiver from Bulkhanovo 5 burial 2 made from human leather.

I wanted to write a quick recap of this article and how this finding validates sections of Histories, written by the world’s first historian Herodotus himself. However, the authors basically did all that, so kudos to them. The authors mentioned some other examples of archaeology validating Herodotus, such as findings that suggestive of self-mutilation at burials, so I’ll talk about another case of archaeology validating this very same passage from Herodotus' account of the Scythians and their customs.

As to war, these are their customs. A Scythian drinks the blood of the first man whom he has taken down. He carries the heads of all whom he has slain in the battle to his king; for if he brings a head, he receives a share of the booty taken, but not otherwise.

He scalps the head by making a cut around it by the ears, then grasping the scalp and shaking the head off. Then he scrapes out the flesh with the rib of a steer, and kneads the skin with his hands, and having made it supple he keeps it for a hand towel, fastening it to the bridle of the horse which he himself rides, and taking pride in it; for he who has most scalps for hand towels is judged the best man. Many Scythians even make garments to wear out of these scalps, sewing them together like coats of skin.

Many too take off the skin, nails and all, from their dead enemies' right hands, and make coverings for their quivers;the human skin was, as it turned out, thick and shining, the brightest and whitest skin of all, one might say. Many flay the skin from the whole body, too, and carry it about on horseback stretched on a wooden frame.

Herodotus, The Histories, book 4 chapter 64

The heads themselves, not all of them but those of their bitterest enemies, they treat this way. Each saws off all the part beneath the eyebrows, and cleans the rest. If he is a poor man, then he covers the outside with a piece of raw hide, and so makes use of it; but if he is rich, he covers the head with the raw hide, and gilds the inside of it and uses it for a drinking-cup. [2] Such a cup a man also makes out of the head of his own kinsman with whom he has been feuding, and whom he has defeated in single combat before the king; and if guests whom he honors visit him he will serve them with these heads, and show how the dead were his kinsfolk who fought him and were beaten by him; this they call manly valor.

Herodotus, The Histories, book 4 chapter 65

Another Scythian tradition described by Herodotus and other authors that has been verified in the archaeological record is scalping, most famously in the mummified remains of the male from the Pazyryk Barrow 2, the individual on the left on the image below:

The male from barrow 2 was an older man, who would have been around 50 to 60 years old at the time of his death. He was described as a broadly built man standing around 176 cm, a stature that significantly exceeds the average of eastern Scythians, but actually is pretty average for males in elite graves of the Pazyryk culture [1].

This male is also known for his tattoo sleeves, which you most likely have seen before:

Combining the burial, stature and tattoos, it is clear this male belonged to the upper strata of the Pazyryk society. Given the various unhealed injuries on his body he likely met his end on the battlefield.

According to Ammianus Marcellinus this was the preferred choice of death amongst Alans, and given the genetic and cultural relations to Pazyryk in addition to their war-like society you got to imagine similar sentiments were held in that population:

Just as quiet and peaceful men find pleasure in rest, so the Halani delight in danger and warfare. There the man is judged happy who has sacrificed his life in battle, while those who grow old and depart from the world by a natural death they assail with bitter reproaches, as degenerate and cowardly; and there is nothing in which they take more pride than in killing any man whatever: as glorious spoils of the slain they tear off their heads, then strip off their skins and hang them upon their war-horses as trappings.

Ammianus Marcellinus, Res Gestae, book 33 chapter 2 section 22

Herodotus also mentions decapitation, but it is unclear if that was involved here. The remains of Pazyryk mound 2 were headless when discovered actually, but the archaeologists stated this was done by later graverobbers.

The individuals had some post-mortem body modifications, such as the removal of organs for preservation of remains. This is also attested by Herodotus when describing the funeral rituals of the Royal Scythians.

Whenever their king has died, the Scythians dig a great four-cornered pit in the ground there; when this is ready, they take up the dead man—his body enclosed in wax, his belly cut open and cleaned and filled with cut marsh-plants and frankincense, and parsley and anise seed, and sewn up again—and transport him on a wagon to another tribe.

Herodotus, The Histories, book 4 chapter 71

The male from Pazyryk mound 2 also had the skin of another individual sewn over his scalped remains, in addition to a fake beard which seems to have been painted from the natural dark chestnut to black to match the hair colour of the buried male, as shaven hairs near his remains were black and these were likely his [2].

The cranium of the Pazyryk barrow 2 male contained several trepanation holes. One was argued to be for the removal of the brain, as the female from the same burial as the same thing going on. However there seem to be other holes which seemingly seem to have been struck from behind, argued to have been made for the purpose of fastening a cut-off head to the saddle, as described by Herodotus. But I do not understand why these holes would be there if the individual had not been decapitated. Perhaps he was but then his tribe members were able to retrieve his head and stitch it onto the corpse? Or more likely, his enemies were in the process of taking his head with them but had to flee, quickly scalping the individual before leaving his corpse on the battlefield.

In any case, the unique climatic conditions in the Altai mountains allowed for the preservation of soft tissue, attesting to a tradition very similar to what Herodotus described on the other end of the steppes with the Scythians of the Black Sea. It likely is the case that we have a sizable amount of Scythian period remains of individuals which had been scalped, but we have not noticed it yet as there have been few studies specifically investigating this. One other example had been uncovered after reanalyses of craniums in the Aymyrlyg burial from the Uyuk culture in Tuva [3].

Such traditions were practised throughout the history of societies on the Eurasian steppes. In the middle ages we have two notorious cases of skull cups, fashioned out of the heads of Svyatoslav I and Byzantine emperor Nikephoros I, at the hands of the Pechenegs and Bulgars respectively. However, even in the 20th century you will find something recognizable. In Mongolia during the collapse of the Qin Dynasty, an era marked by notorious figures like Baron von Ungern-Sternberg and Ja Lama, acts reminiscent of the macabre traditions observed on the steppes.

Ja Lama reportedly engaged in grisly practices, including cutting out hearts of enemies and sacrificing them to buddhist deities, and of course skinning individuals alive. One documented case involved Ja Lama skinning a Kazakh chief, and by documented I mean that we have a photograph of this skin rug. Because it's not for the faint-hearted I decided to just upload the image online rather than to put it in my post. If you want to have a view, just click here.

Although in this instance you can argue that these acts can be attributed more to extreme forms of Tibetan Buddhist practices than simply nomadic steppe culture, the underlying themes remain consistent—the extraction of rather gruesome trophies from slain enemies. A tradition seemingly as old as any on the Eurasian Steppes.

References

?.?. ??????? (1948) - ?????? ??????????? ?????? (.S.I. Rudenko (1948) - Second Pazyryk mound.) URL:http://kronk.spb.ru/library/rudenko-si-1948.htm
?.?. ??????? (1953). ???????? ????????? ??????? ????? ? ???????? ?????, ????? III. (S.I. Rudenko (1953) - Culture of the population of Gorny Altai in Scythian times, chapter III.) URL: kronk.spb.ru
Murphy, Eileen & Gokhman, Ilia & Chistov, Yuri & Barkova, Ludmila. (2002). Prehistoric Old World Scalping: New Cases from the Cemetery of Aymyrlyg, South Siberia. American Journal of Archaeology. 106. 1. 10.2307/507186.

[Maple MAGA ] Vigorish that would shame Tony Soprano By donsurber on Canada Recently I poste...

Maple MAGA — 8/8/2025 1:18:26 AM

Vigorish that would shame Tony Soprano

By donsurber on Canada

Recently I posted an e-mail from a Canadian reader on his experiences with the Canadian health care system, "Great health system unless you're sick." He sent me another e-mail outlining how instead of buying something for $899.95 outright, the Canadian health bureaucracy would rather pay $331 a month rent. This may be why Canada does not have enough neonatal intensive care beds to handle a set of quadruplets.

I was flattered you published my e-mail.

A follow up.

I was at dad's house helping him with his bill payments and I found the bill for his oxygen concentrator. The supplier of it leases it to dad through a part of the medicare system called AADL, which is Alberta Aids to Daily Living. My dad pays $82.75 per month but the total charge is $331 per month with AADL picking up the difference.

My dad's machine is a Respironics Millenium 5 LPM machine, model 605. A quick google tells me I can buy it for $899.95..

I called my dad's supplier and spoke to one of those enormously competent gravel voiced female administrator types. She gave me a wealth of information. She told me that my dad also gets service for the machine every 6 months and free repairs if it fails and free oxygen bottles for traveling about town. She also quoted me $4,000.00 plus for a portable machine. She told me that if my dad wanted a dual unit, that is it can plug in to a car cigarette lighter or household current, she could get me one but there was no government subsidy. Why? The government ain't interested in dad's convenience. The Millennium is on the list, nothing else is, they don't care if another machine more convenient for the patient is the same price, a better price or the patient is prepared to pay more.

They. Don't. Care. That's it. That's all.

The pricing on this whole mess is a complete disgrace. Taxpayers, including my dad, are paying $331 per month for a machine that retails for $900. I'll give them 4 service calls a year at $200 a pop, even though my dad's caregiver says it does not happen that often, $200 is pretty high for a guy to come and read dials and replace a filter, which is what the gravel voiced gal tells me is what happens and notwithstanding these are high reliability units with a 5 year parts and labour guarantee.

My dad does not use the oxygen cylinders much, but gravel voice tells me that if he were a cash customer they would rent for $3 per month and cost $10 to fill, with free delivery. This means the real cost of those bottles is near zero. I suppose it's possible that some old guy or gal goes through huge numbers of bottles every mionth, but I doubt it - these are old people with seriously wrecked lungs who don't go out much.

That machine pays for itself every 6 months, easily. Big Oil is happy with a five year payout on a risky venture like drilling an oil well. If they get a 3 year payout they think they've died and gone to heaven. A 6 month payout is so gross, so usurious, so foul, so immoral as to be unimaginable to me, particularly when on the backs of sick old people and the taxpayer. This is vigorish that Tony Soprano would be ashamed to take.

One of the interesting things I found was that Canadian web-sites that sell or lease this stuff seem not to quote a price. Why is that do you suppose? Perhaps they are ashamed of their enormous profit margins.

I have been describing my source at dad's supplier as gravel voice not out of direspect, but to protect her identity. I told her I was thinking of getting my dad off their rental system, buying and writing a letter exposing this and she encouraged me. If the mess is cleaned up it will probably cost her a job, but I don't want her employer to fire her just for telling me the truth.

If you would like I will black out my dad's name and the supplier name and information and send you the billings.

One of the best parts is the cover letter for the billings which says "AADL and the Respiratory Vendors have recently negotiated a new pricing…" Must have been one hell of a negotiation. I can just see it now:

Supplier: We want $250 per month.
Government Johny: No, no that's crazy, take more, how about $300.00.
Supplier: Never, we won't settle for a penny less than $331.
Government Johny: Well that's outrageously low, but you can always demand more next year and we'll roll over even more then.

Cheers from the Great White North

The health care system always looks greener on the other side of the 49th parallel.

[Kitskid] [graphic]

Kitskid — 6/26/2025 12:28:38 AM

[Kitskid] packaged-media.redd.it

Kitskid — 2/14/2025 2:07:35 AM

[Kitskid] genius.com [Verse] I was screaming into the canyon At the moment of my death T...

Kitskid — 6/8/2024 12:04:24 PM

genius.com

[Verse]
I was screaming into the canyon
At the moment of my death
The echo I created
Outlasted my last breath

My voice it made an avalanche
And buried a man I never knew
And when he died his widowed bride
Met your daddy and they made you

[Hook]
I have only one thing to do and that's
Be the wave that I am and then
Sink back into the ocean
I have only one thing to do and that's
Be the wave that I am and then
Sink back into the ocean
I have only one thing to do and that's
Be the wave that I am and then
Sink back into the ocean

[Outro]
Sink back into the o-
Sink back into the ocean
Sink back into the o-
Sink back into the ocean
Sink back into the ocean

[Kitskid] John Donne (1572–1631). The Poems of John Donne. 1896. ...

Kitskid — 1/20/2024 9:56:30 PM

John Donne (1572–1631). The Poems of John Donne. 1896.

AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD Wherein, by occasion of the untimely death of
Mistress Elizabeth Drury, the frailty and the decay of this whole world is
represented THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY

WHEN that rich soul which to her heaven is gone,

Whom all do celebrate, who know they’ve one

—For who is sure he hath a soul, unless

It see, and judge, and follow worthiness,

And by deeds praise it? he who doth not this,

May lodge an inmate soul, but ’tis not his—

When that queen ended here her progress time,

And, as to her standing house, to heaven did climb

Where, loth to make the saints attend her long,

She’s now a part both of the choir and song,

This world in that great earthquake languished;

For in a common bath of tears it bled,

Which drew the strongest vital spirits out.

But succour’d then with a perplexed doubt,

Whether the world did lose, or gain in this

—Because, since now no other way there is,

But goodness, to see her, whom all would see,

All must endeavour to be good as she—

This great consumption to a fever turn’d,

And so the world had fits; it joy’d, it mourn’d;

And as men think that agues physic are,

And th’ ague being spent, give over care;

So thou, sick world, mistakest thyself to be

Well, when, alas! thou’rt in a lethargy.

Her death did wound and tame thee then, and then

Thou might’st have better spared the sun, or man.

That wound was deep, but ’tis more misery,

That thou hast lost thy sense and memory.

’Twas heavy then to hear thy voice of moan,

But this is worse, that thou art speechless grown.

Thou hast forgot thy name thou hadst; thou wast

Nothing but she, and her thou hast o’erpast.

For, as a child kept from the fount, until

A prince, expected long, come to fulfil

The ceremonies, thou unnamed hadst laid,

Had not her coming thee her palace made.

Her name defined thee, gave thee form and frame,

And thou forget’st to celebrate thy name.

Some months she hath been dead—but being dead,

Measures of time are all determined—

But long she hath been away, long, long, yet none

Offers to tell us who it is that’s gone.

But as in states doubtful of future heirs,

When sickness without remedy impairs

The present prince, they’re loth it should be said,

The prince doth languish, or the prince is dead.

So mankind, feeling now a general thaw,

A strong example gone, equal to law,

The cement, which did faithfully compact

And glue all virtues, now resolved and slack’d,

Thought it some blasphemy to say she was dead,

Or that our weakness was discovered

In that confession; therefore spoke no more,

Than tongues, the soul being gone, the loss deplore.

But though it be too late to succour thee,

Sick world, yea dead, yea putrefied, since she,

Thy intrinsic balm and thy preservative,

Can never be renew’d, thou never live,

I—since no man can make thee live—will try

What we may gain by thy Anatomy.

Her death hath taught us dearly, that thou art

Corrupt and mortal in thy purest part.

Let no man say, the world itself being dead,

’Tis labour lost to have discovered

The world’s infirmities, since there is none

Alive to study this dissection;

For there’s a kind of world remaining still;

Though she, which did inanimate and fill

The world, be gone, yet in this last long night

Her ghost doth walk, that is, a glimmering light,

A faint weak love of virtue and of good

Reflects from her, on them which understood

Her worth; and though she have shut in all day,

The twilight of her memory doth stay;

Which, from the carcase of the old world free,

Creates a new world, and new creatures be

Produced; the matter and the stuff of this

Her virtue, and the form our practice is.

And, though to be thus elemented arm

These creatures from home-born intrinsic harm

—For all assumed unto this dignity

So many weedless paradises be,

Which of themselves produce no venomous sin,

Except some foreign serpent bring it in—

Yet because outward storms the strongest break,

And strength itself by confidence grows weak,

This new world may be safer, being told

The dangers and diseases of the old.

For with due temper men do then forego,

Or covet things, when they their true worth know.

There is no health; physicians say that we,

At best, enjoy but a neutrality.

And can there be worse sickness than to know

That we are never well, nor can be so?

We are born ruinous; poor mothers cry

That children come not right, nor orderly,

Except they headlong come and fall upon

An ominous precipitation.

How witty’s ruin, how importunate

Upon mankind! it labour’d to frustrate

Even God’s purpose, and made woman, sent

For man’s relief, cause of his languishment.

They were to good ends, and they are so still,

But accessory, and principal in ill;

For that first marriage was our funeral;

One woman, at one blow, then kill’d us all;

And singly, one by one, they kill us now.

We do delightfully ourselves allow

To that consumption; and, profusely blind,

We kill ourselves to propagate our kind.

And yet we do not that; we are not men;

There is not now that mankind which was then,

When as the sun and man did seem to strive

—Joint-tenants of the world—who should survive;

When stag, and raven, and the long-lived tree,

Compared with man, died in minority;

When if a slow-paced star had stolen away

From the observer’s marking, he might stay

Two or three hundred years to see it again,

And then make up his observation plain;

When, as the age was long, the size was great;

Man’s growth confess’d, and recompensed the meat;

So spacious and large, that every soul

Did a fair kingdom and large realm control;

And when the very stature, thus erect,

Did that soul a good way towards heaven direct.

Where is this mankind now? who lives to age

Fit to be made Methusalem his page?

Alas! we scarce live long enough to try

Whether a true-made clock run right, or lie.

Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow;

And for our children we reserve to-morrow.

So short is life, that every peasant strives,

In a torn house, or field, to have three lives;

And as in lasting, so in length is man,

Contracted to an inch, who was a span.

For had a man at first in forests stray’d,

Or shipwreck’d in the sea, one would have laid

A wager, that an elephant or whale,

That met him, would not hastily assail

A thing so equal to him; now, alas!

The fairies and the pigmies well may pass

As credible; mankind decays so soon,

We’re scarce our fathers’ shadows cast at noon.

Only death adds to our length; nor are we grown

In stature to be men, till we are none.

But this were light, did our less volume hold

All the old text; or had we changed to gold

Their silver, or disposed into less glass

Spirits of virtue, which then scatter’d was.

But ’tis not so; we’re not retired, but damp’d;

And, as our bodies, so our minds are cramp’d.

’Tis shrinking, not close weaving that hath thus

In mind and body both bedwarfed us.

We seem ambitious God’s whole work to undo;

Of nothing He made us, and we strive too

To bring ourselves to nothing back; and we

Do what we can to do ’t so soon as He.

With new diseases on ourselves we war,

And with new physic, a worse engine far.

This man, this world’s vice-emperor, in whom

All faculties, all graces are at home

—And if in other creatures they appear,

They’re but man’s ministers and legates there,

To work on their rebellions, and reduce

Them to civility, and to man’s use—

This man, whom God did woo, and, loth to attend

Till man came up, did down to man descend;

This man so great, that all that is, is his,

O, what a trifle, and poor thing he is!

If man were anything, he’s nothing now.

Help, or at least some time to waste, allow

To his other wants, yet when he did depart

With her whom we lament, he lost his heart.

She, of whom th’ ancients seemed to prophesy,

When they called virtues by the name of she;

She, in whom virtue was so much refined,

That for allay unto so pure a mind

She took the weaker sex; she that could drive

The poisonous tincture, and the stain of Eve,

Out of her thoughts and deeds, and purify

All by a true religious alchemy;

She, she is dead; she’s dead; when thou know’st this

Thou know’st how poor a trifling thing man is,

And learn’st thus much by our Anatomy,

The heart being perish’d, no part can be free,

And that except thou feed, not banquet, on

The supernatural food, religion,

Thy better growth grows withered and scant;

Be more than man, or thou’rt less than an ant.

Then as mankind, so is the world’s whole frame,

Quite out of joint, almost created lame;

For before God had made up all the rest,

Corruption enter’d and depraved the best.

It seized the angels, and then first of all

The world did in her cradle take a fall,

And turn’d her brains, and took a general maim,

Wronging each joint of th’ universal frame.

The noblest part, man, felt it first; and then

Both beasts and plants, cursed in the curse of man.

So did the world from the first hour decay;

That evening was beginning of the day.

And now the springs and summers which we see,

Like sons of women after fifty be.

And new philosophy calls all in doubt;

The element of fire is quite put out;

The sun is lost, and th’ earth, and no man’s wit

Can well direct him where to look for it.

And freely men confess that this world’s spent,

When in the planets, and the firmament

They seek so many new; they see that this

Is crumbled out again to his atomies.

’Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone,

All just supply, and all relation.

Prince, subject, father, son, are things forgot,

For every man alone thinks he hath got

To be a phœnix, and that then can be

None of that kind of which he is, but he.

This is the world’s condition now, and now

She that should all parts to reunion bow;

She that had all magnetic force alone,

To draw and fasten sunder’d parts in one;

She whom wise nature had invented then,

When she observed that every sort of men

Did in their voyage in this world’s sea stray,

And needed a new compass for their way;

She that was best, and first original

Of all fair copies, and the general

Steward to fate; she whose rich eyes and breast

Gilt the West Indies, and perfumed the East;

Whose having breathed in this world did bestow

Spice on those isles, and bade them still smell so;

And that rich Indy, which doth gold inter,

Is but as single money coin’d from her;

She to whom this world must itself refer,

As suburbs, or the microcosm of her;

She, she is dead; she’s dead; when thou know’st this,

Thou know’st how lame a cripple this world is;

And learn’st thus much by our Anatomy,

That this world’s general sickness doth not lie

In any humour, or one certain part,

But as thou saw’st it, rotten at the heart.

Thou seest a hectic fever hath got hold

Of the whole substance, not to be controll’d;

And that thou hast but one way, not to admit

The world’s infection—to be none of it.

For the world’s subtlest immaterial parts

Feel this consuming wound and age’s darts;

For the world’s beauty is decay’d, or gone

—Beauty; that’s colour and proportion.

We think the heavens enjoy their spherical,

Their round proportion, embracing all;

But yet their various and perplexed course,

Observed in divers ages, doth enforce

Men to find out so many eccentric parts,

Such diverse downright lines, such overthwarts,

As disproportion that pure form; it tears

The firmament in eight-and-forty shares,

And in these constellations then arise

New stars, and old do vanish from our eyes;

As though heaven suffered earthquakes, peace or war,

When new towers rise, and old demolish’d are.

They have impaled within a zodiac

The free-born sun, and keep twelve signs awake

To watch his steps; the Goat and Crab control,

And fright him back, who else to either pole,

Did not these tropics fetter him, might run.

For his course is not round, nor can the sun

Perfect a circle, or maintain his way

One inch direct; but where he rose to-day

He comes no more, but with a cozening line,

Steals by that point, and so is serpentine;

And seeming weary with his reeling thus,

He means to sleep, being now fallen nearer us.

So of the stars which boast that they do run

In circle still, none ends where he begun.

All their proportion ’s lame, it sinks, it swells;

For of meridians and parallels

Man hath weaved out a net, and this net thrown

Upon the heavens, and now they are his own.

Loth to go up the hill, or labour thus

To go to heaven, we make heaven come to us.

We spur, we rein the stars, and in their race

They’re diversely content to obey our pace.

But keeps the earth her round proportion still?

Doth not a Teneriffe or higher hill

Rise so high like a rock, that one might think

The floating moon would shipwreck there and sink?

Seas are so deep that whales, being struck to-day,

Perchance to-morrow scarce at middle way

Of their wish’d journey’s end, the bottom, die.

And men, to sound depths, so much line untie

As one might justly think that there would rise

At end thereof one of th’ antipodes.

If under all a vault infernal be

—Which sure is spacious, except that we

Invent another torment, that there must

Millions into a straight hot room be thrust—

Then solidness and roundness have no place.

Are these but warts and pockholes in the face

Of th’ earth? Think so; but yet confess, in this

The world’s proportion disfigured is;

That those two lees whereon it doth rely,

Reward and punishment, are bent awry.

And, O, it can no more be questioned,

That beauty’s best proportion is dead,

Since even grief itself, which now alone

Is left us, is without proportion.

She, by whose lines proportion should be

Examined, measure of all symmetry,

Whom had that ancient seen, who thought souls made

Of harmony, he would at next have said

That harmony was she, and thence infer

That souls were but resultances from her,

And did from her into our bodies go,

As to our eyes the forms from objects flow;

She, who if those great doctors truly said

That th’ ark to man’s proportion was made,

Had been a type for that, as that might be

A type of her in this, that contrary

Both elements and passions lived at peace

In her, who caused all civil war to cease.

She, after whom what form soe’er we see

Is discord and rude incongruity;

She, she is dead; she’s dead; when thou know’st this,

Thou know’st how ugly a monster this world is;

And learn’st thus much by our Anatomy,

That here is nothing to enamour thee;

And that not only faults in inward parts,

Corruptions in our brains, or in our hearts,

Poisoning the fountains whence our actions spring,

Endanger us; but that if everything

Be not done fitly and in proportion,

To satisfy wise and good lookers-on

—Since most men be such as most think they be—

They’re loathsome too, by this deformity.

For good, and well, must in our actions meet;

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.

But beauty’s other second element,

Colour and lustre, now is as near spent.

And had the world his just proportion,

Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone.

As a compassionate turquoise, which doth tell,

By looking pale, the wearer is not well;

As gold falls sick being stung with mercury,

All the world’s parts of such complexion be.

When nature was most busy, the first week,

Swaddling the new-born earth, God seem’d to like

That she should sport herself sometimes, and play,

To mingle and vary colours every day;

And then, as though she could not make enow,

Himself his various rainbow did allow.

Sight is the noblest sense of any one;

Yet sight hath only colour to feed on,

And colour is decay’d; summer’s robe grows

Dusky, and like an oft dyed garment shows.

Our blushing red, which used in cheeks to spread,

Is inward sunk, and only our souls are red.

Perchance the world might have recovered,

If she whom we lament had not been dead.

But she, in whom all white, and red, and blue

(Beauty’s ingredients) voluntary grew,

As in an unvex’d paradise; from whom

Did all things’ verdure, and their lustre come;

Whose composition was miraculous,

Being all colour, all diaphanous,

For air and fire but thick gross bodies were,

And liveliest stones but drowsy and pale to her;

She, she is dead; she’s dead; when thou know’st this,

Thou know’st how wan a ghost this our world is;

And learn’st thus much by our Anatomy,

That it should more affright than pleasure thee;

And that, since all fair colour then did sink,

’Tis now but wicked vanity, to think

To colour vicious deeds with good pretence,

Or with bought colours to illude men’s sense.

Nor in ought more this world’s decay appears,

Than that her influence the heaven forbears,

Or that the elements do not feel this.

The father or the mother barren is;

The clouds conceive not rain, or do not pour,

In the due birth-time, down the balmy shower;

Th’ air doth not motherly sit on the earth,

To hatch her seasons, and give all things birth.

Spring-times were common cradles, but are tombs,

And false conceptions fill the general wombs.

Th’ air shows such meteors, as none can see,

Not only what they mean, but what they be;

Earth such new worms, as would have troubled much

Th’ Egyptian Mages to have made more such.

What artist now dares boast that he can bring

Heaven hither, or constellate anything,

So as the influence of those stars may be

Imprison’d in an herb, or charm, or tree,

And do by touch, all which those stars could do?

The art is lost, and correspondence too,

For heaven gives little, and the earth takes less,

And man least knows their trade and purposes.

If this commerce ’twixt heaven and earth were not

Embarr’d, and all this traffic quite forgot,

She, for whose loss we have lamented thus,

Would work more fully, and powerfully on us.

Since herbs and roots by dying lose not all,

But they, yea ashes too, are medicinal;

Death could not quench her virtue so, but that

It would be—if not follow’d—wonder’d at;

And all the world would be one dying swan,

To sing her funeral praise, and vanish then.

But as some serpents’ poison hurteth not,

Except it be from the live serpent shot,

So doth her virtue need her here, to fit

That unto us, she working more than it.

But she, in whom to such maturity

Virtue was grown, past growth, that it must die;

She, from whose influence all impression came,

But by receivers’ impotencies lame;

Who, though she could not transubstantiate

All states to gold, yet gilded every state,

So that some princes have some temperance;

Some counsellors, some purpose to advance

The common profit; and some people have

Some stay, no more than kings should give, to crave;

Some women have some taciturnity;

Some nunneries some grains of chastity;

She, that did thus much, and much more could do,

But that our age was iron, and rusty too,

(She, she is dead; she’s dead; when thou know’st this

Thou know’st how dry a cinder this world is;

And learn’st thus much by our Anatomy,

That ’tis in vain to dew, or mollify

It with thy tears, or sweat, or blood; nothing

Is worth our travail, grief, or perishing,

But those rich joys which did possess her heart,

Of which she’s now partaker, and a part.

But as in cutting up a man that’s dead,

The body will not last out, to have read

On every part, and therefore men direct

Their speech to parts that are of most effect;

So the world’s carcase would not last, if I

Were punctual in this Anatomy;

Nor smells it well to hearers, if one tell

Them their disease, who fain would think they’re well.

Here therefore be the end; and blessed maid,

Of whom is meant whatever has been said,

Or shall be spoken well by any tongue,

Whose name refines coarse lines, and makes prose song,

Accept this tribute, and his first year’s rent;

Who till his dark short taper’s end be spent,

As oft as thy feast sees this widow’d earth,

Will yearly celebrate thy second birth;

That is, thy death; for though the soul of man

Be got when man is made, ’tis born but then

When man doth die; our body ’s as the womb,

And as a mid-wife death directs it home.

And you, her creatures, whom she works upon,

And have your last and best concoction

From her example and her virtue, if you

In reverence to her do think it due,

That no one should her praises thus rehearse,

As matter fit for chronicle, not verse;

Vouchsafe to call to mind that God did make

A last and lasting’st piece, a song. He spake

To Moses to deliver unto all

That song, because He knew they would let fall

The law, the prophets, and the history,

But keep the song still in their memory.

Such an opinion, in due measure, made

Me this great office boldly to invade;

Nor could incomprehensibleness deter

Me from thus trying to imprison her;

Which when I saw that a strict grave could do,

I saw not why verse might not do so too.

Verse hath a middle nature; heaven keeps souls,

The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrolls.

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San Francisco police attempt to arrest three women for wearing "inappropriate" swimwear in 1924.

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[James Seagrove] During a dull Parliament House dinner, Sophie Trudeau leaned over to chat with f...

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During a dull Parliament House dinner, Sophie Trudeau leaned over to chat with finance minister. Morneau. "I bought Justin a parrot for his birthday. That bird is so smart, Justin has already taught him to say over two hundred words!

"Very impressive," said Morneau, "but, you do realize he just speaks the words. He doesn't really understand what they all mean.”

"Oh, I know", replied Sophie “but neither does the parrot.”

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