What thanks, what praife, if Peter but fupplies,
And what a folemn face if he denies !
Grave, as when pris'ners fhake the head and fwear
'Twas only Suretifhip that brought 'em there.
His Office keeps your Parchment fates entire,
He ftarves with cold to fave them from the fire:
For you he walks the streets thro' rain or dust,
For not in Chariots Peter puts his truft;
For you he fweats and labours at the laws,
Takes God to witnefs he affects your caufe,
And lies to ev'ry Lord in ev'ry thing,
Like a King's Favourite-or like a King.
Thefe are the talents that adorn them all,
From wicked Waters ev'n to godly * *
Not more of Simony beneath black gowns,
Nor more of baftardy in heirs to Crowns.
In fillings and in pence at first they deal;
And fteal fo little, few perceive they steal;
Law practice for meer gain; bold foul repute
Worfe than imbrothel'd ftrumpets proftitute.
Now like an owl-like watchinan he must walk,
His hand fill at a bill; now he must talk
Idly, like prifoners, which whole months will fwear,
That only furetyfhip hath brought them there,
And to every fuitor lye in every thing,
Like a King's Favourite-or like a King.
Like a wedge in a block, wring to the barre,
Bearing like alfes, and more fhameless farre
Than carted whores, lye to the grave Judge; for
Baftardy abounds not in King's titles, nor
Simony and Sodomy in Church-men's lives,
As thefe things do in him; by thefe he thrives.
Till like the Sea, they compafs all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover ftrand:
And when rank Widows purchase luscious nights,
Or when a Duke to Fanfen punts at White's,
Or City-Heir in mortgage melts away;
Satan himself feels far lef joy than they.
Piecemeal they win this acre firft, then that,
Glean on, and gather up the whole estate.
Then ftrongly fencing ill-got wealth by law,
Indentures, Cov'nants, Articles they draw;
Large as the fields themfelves, and larger får
Than Civil Codes, with all their Gloffes, are;
So vaft, our new Divines, we must confefs,
Are Fathers of the Church for writing lefs.
But let them write for you, each rogue impairs
The dee is, and dextroufly omits, fes heires:
Shortly (as th' fea) he'll compafs all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover ftrand..
And Spying heirs melting with Luxury,
Satan will not joy at their fins as he:
For (as a thrifty wench ferapes kitchen-ftuffe,
And barrelling the droppings, and the fnuffe
Of wafting candles, which in thirty year,
Relikely kept, perchance buys wedding chear)
Piecemeal he gets lands, and fpends as much time
Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime.
In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws
Affurances, big as glofs'd civil laws,
So huge that men (in our times forwardness)
Are Fathers of the Church for writing lefs.
Thefe he writes not; nor for thefe written payes,
Therefore fpares no length (as in thofe first dayes
No Commentator can more flily pass
O'er a learn'd, unintelligible place;
Or, in quotation, fhrew'd Divines leave out
Those words, that would against them clear the doubt.
So Luther thought the Pater-nofter long, When dom'd to fay his beads and Even-fong;
But having caft his cowle, and left thofe laws,
Adds to Chrift's pray'r, the Power and Glory clause.
The lands are bought; but where are to be found Thofe ancient woods, that fhaded all the ground? We fee no new-built palaces afpire,
No kitchens emulate the vestal fire.
Where are thofe troops of Poor, that throng'd of yore The good old landlord's hofpitable door!
Well, I could wish, that still in lordly domes
Some beafts were kill'd, tho' not whole hecatombs;
When Luther was profeft, he did defire
Short Pater-noflers, faying as a Fryer
Each day his Beads; but having left thofe laws,
Adds to Chrift's prayer, the power, and glory claufe)
But when he fells or changes land, h'impaires
The writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out, fes heires, As flily as any Commenter goes by
Hard words, or fenfe; or, in Divinity
As controverters in vouch'd Texts, leave out
Shrew'd words, which might against them clear the doubt.
Where are these spread woods which cloath'd heretofore Thofe bought lands? not built, not burnt within door. Where the old landlords troops, and alines? In halls Carthufian Fafts, and fulfome Bacchanals
Equally I hate. Mean's bleft. In rich men's homes I bid kill fome beafts, but no hecatombs ;
That both extremes were banish'd from their walls, Carthufian fafts, and fulfome Bacchanals;
And all mankind might that juft Mean obferve,
In which none e'er could furfeit, none could ftarve.
These as good works, 'tis true, we all allow;
But oh thefe works are not in fafhion now:
Like rich old wardrobes, things extremely rare,
Extremely fine, but what no man will wear.
Thus much I've faid, I truft, without offence,
Let no Court Sycophant pervert my fenfe,
Nor fly Informer watch these words to draw
Within the reach of Treafon, or the Law.
None starve, none furfeit fo. But (oh) we allow
Good works as good, but out of fashion now,
Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none drawes
Within the vast reach of th' huge statutes jawes.
ELL, if it be my time to quit the stage,
Adieu to all the follies of the age!
I die in charity with fool and knave,
Secure of peace at least beyond the grave.
I've had my Purgatory here betimes,
And paid for all my fatires, all my rhymes.
The Poet's hell, its tortures, fiends, and flames,
To this were trifles, toys and empty names.
With foolish pride my heart was never fir'd,.
Nor the vain itch t'admire, or be admir'd;
I hop'd for no commission from his Grace;
I bought no benefice, I begg'd no place;
Had no new verses, nor new fuit to fhow;
Yet went to Court!-the Dev'l would have it fo.
Well; I may now receive, and die. My fin
Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
A Purgatory, fuch as fear'd hell is
A recreation, and fcant map of this.
My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor hath been Poyfon'd with love to fee or to be seen,
I had no fuit there, nor new fuit to fhow,
Yet went to Court; but as Glare which did go
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