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Tho' in his pictures Luft be full display'd,
Few are the Converts Aretine has made;
And tho' the Court show Vice exceeding clear,
None fhould, by my advice, learn Virtue there.

At this entranc'd, he lifts his hands and eyes, Squeaks like a high-ftretch'd luteftring, and replies: "Oh 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things "To gaze on Princes, and to talk of Kings! Then, happy Man who shows the Tombs! faid I, He dwells amidst the royal Family;

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He ev'ry day, from King to King can walk, Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk, And get by speaking truth of monarchs dead, What few can of the living, Eafe and Bread. "Lord, Sir, a meer Mechanic! ftrangely low, "And coarfe of phrafe,-your English all are so. "How elegant your Frenchmen?" Mine, d'ye mean? I have but one, I hope the fellow's clean. "Oh! Sir, politely fo! nay, let me die, "Your only wearing is your Padua-foy." Not, Sir, my only, I have better ftill, And this you fee is but my difhabilleWild to get loose, his Patience I provoke, Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke.

NOTES.

III

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tator has given us more than an equivalent in that fine ftroke of moral fatire in the 106 and 107th lines.

Not fo, Sir, I have more.

Under this pitch

He would not fly; I chaf'd him: but as Itch
Scratch'd into fmart, and as blunt Iron groun'd
Into an edge, hurts worfe: So, I (fool) found,
Croffing hurt me. To fit my fullennefs,

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, fo tells many a ly.

More than ten Hollenfheads, or Halls, or Stows,

Of trivial houfhold trash: He know, he knows

When the Queen frown'd or finil'd, and he knows what

A fubtle Statesman may gather of that;

He knows who loves whom; and who by poifon

Hafts to an Offices reverfion;

Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes, Who loves whores

He knows who hath fold his land, and now doth beg A licence, old iron, boots, shoes, and egge

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But as coarse iron, sharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch moft hurts when anger'd to a fore;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis ftill the curfe,
You only make the matter worse and worse.

He past it o'er; affects an easy fmile

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At all my peevishness, and turns his style.
He asks," What News? I tell him of new Plays,
New Eunuchs, Harlequins, and Operas.

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He hears, and as a Still with fimples in it

Between each drop it gives, ftays half a minute,
Loth to enrich me with too quick replies,

By little, and by little, drops his lies.

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Meer houfhold trafh! of birth-nights, balls, and fhows, More than ten Hollingfheads, or Halls, or Stows. When the Queen frown'd, or fmil'd, he knows; and what

A subtle Minister may make of that :

Who fins with whom: who got his Penfion rug,
Or quicken'd a Reversion by a drug:
Whofe place is quarter'd out, three parts in four,
And whether to a Bishop, or a Whore:
Who having loft his credit, pawn'd his rent,

Is therefore fit to have a Government:

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Who in the secret, deals in Stocks fecure,

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And cheats th' unknowing Widow and the Poor :

Who makes a Truft or Charity a Job,

And gets an Act of Parliament to rob:

shortly boys fhall not play

At fpan-counter, or blow-point, but fhall pay
Toll to fome 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 fay 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 fight of loathed meat,
Ready to travail: fo I figh, 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
Difcredit, libels now 'gainft each great man.
He names the price of ev'ry office paid;
He faith our wars thrive ill because delaid;

NOTES.

▸ Whom we call an Afs, the Italians ftyle Maccheroni. VER. 151. What Lady's face etc.] The Original is here very humourous. This torrent of scandal concludes thus, And wifer than all us

He knows what Lady

the reader expects it will conclude,-what Lady is painted. No, juft the contrary,

what Lady is not painted,

fatirically infinuating, that that is a better Proof of the goodness of his intelligence than the other. The Reader.

3

Why Turnpikes rise, and now no Cit nor clown
Can gratis see the country, or the town:

Shortly no lad fhall chuck, or lady vole,
But fome excifing Courtier will have toll.
He tells what ftrumpet places fells for life,
What 'Squire his lands, what citizen his wife :
And laft (which proves him wiser ftill than all)
What Lady's face is not a whited wall.

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As one of Woodward's patients, fick, 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 fight of loathfome meat Ready to caft, I yawn, I figh, and sweat. Then as a licens'd fpy, whom nothing can Silence or hurt, he libels the great Man; Swears ev'ry place entail'd for years to come, In fure fucceffion to the day of doom: He names the price for ev'ry office paid, And says our wars thrive ill, because delay'd:

NOTES.

160

fees there is greater force in the use of these plain words, than in those which the Imitator employs. And the reafon is, because the fatire does not turn upon the odiousness of painting; in which cafe the terms of a painted wall had given force to the expreffion; 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 ufe of oils in bilious disorders.

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