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Tho' in his pictures Lust be full display'd,
95 And tho' the Court Chow Vice exceeding clear, None should, by my advice, learn Virtue there.
At this entranc'd, he lifts his hands and eyes, Squeaks like a high-stretch'd lutestring, and replies: " Oh 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things
TOO “ To gaze on Princes, and to talk of Kings! Then, happy Man who shows the Tombs ! faid I, He dwells amidst the royal Family; He ev'ry day, from King to King can walk, Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk,
105 And get by speaking truth of monarchs dead, What few can of the living, Ease and Bread. " Lord, Sir, a meer Mechanic! strangely low, 66 And coarse of phrase, --your English all are so. 6 How elegant your Frenchmen?” Mine, d'ye mean? I have but one, I hope the fellow's clean,
III • Oh! Sir, politely fo! nay, let me die, 6. Your only wearing is your Padua-soy." Not, Sir, my only, I have better ftill, And this
tator has given us more than an equivalent in that fine troke of moral Satire in the 106 and 1071h lines.
Not so, Sir, I have more.
Under this pitch He would not fly; I chaf’d him: but as Itch Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt Iron ground Into an edge, hurts worse : So, I (fool) found, Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness, He to another key his style doth dress; And asks what news; I tell him of new playes, He takes my hand, and as a Still which stayes A Sembrief, 'twixt each drop, he niggardly, As loth to inrich me, so tells many a ly. More than ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stows, Of trivial houfhold trash : He know, he knows When the Queen frown'd or smild, and he knows what A subtle Statesman may gather of that; He knows who loves whom ; and who by poison Hafts to an Offices reverfion;
Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes,
Who loves whores
He knows who hath sold his land, and now doth beg
But as coarse iron, sharpen’d, mangles more,
He past it o'er; affects an easy smile
129 Meer houshold trash! of birth-nights, balls, and shows, Mcre than ten Hollingsheads, or Halls, or Stows. When the Queen frown'd, or smild, he knows; and
140 And cheats th' unknowing Widow and the Poor: Who makes a Trust or Charity a Job, And gets an Act of Parliament to rob:
shortly boys shall not play At span-counter, or blow-point, but shall pay Toll to some Courtier; and wiser than all us, He knows what Lady is not painted. Thus He with home meats cloyes me. I belch, fpue, spit, Look pale and fickly, like a Patient, yet He thrusts on more, and as he had undertook, To say Gallo-Belgicus without book, Speaks of all States and deeds that have been fince The Spaniards came to th' loss of Amyens. Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat, Ready to travail: so I sigh, and sweat To hear this a Makaron talk : in vain, for yet, Either my humour, or his own to fit, He like a privileg'd spie, whom nothing can Discredit, libels now'gainst each great man. He names the price of ev'ry office paid ; He saith our wars thrive ill because delaid ;
a Whom we call an Ass, the Italians style Maccheroni.
VER. 151. What Lady's face etc.] The Original is here very humourous. This torrent of Tcandal concludes thus,
And wiser than all us He knows what Lady the reader expects it will conclude..what Lady is painted. No, just the contrary,
what Lady is not painted, satirically infinuating, that that is a better Proof of the goodness of bis intelligence than the other. The Reader
Why Turnpikes rise, and now no Cit nor clown
As one of Woodward's patients, sick, and fore, I puke, I nauseate,----yet he thrusts in more: Trim’s Europe's balance, tops the statesman's part, And talks Gazettes and Poft-boys o'er by heart. Like a big wife at sight of loathsome meat Ready to caft, I yawn, I sigh, and sweat. Then as a licens'd spy, whom nothing can Silence or hurt, he libels the great Man; Swears ev'ry place entail'd for years to come,
160 In fure succession to the day of doom : He names the price for ev'ry office paid, And says our wars thrive ill, because delay'd :
NOTES. sees there is greater force in the use of these plain words, than in those which the Imitator employs. And the reason is, because the satire does not turn upon the odiousness of painting ; in which case the terms of a painted wall had given force to the expression ; but upon the frequency of it, which required only the fimple mention of the thing.
VER. 152. As one of Woodward's patients,] Alluding to the effects of his use of oils in bilious disorders.