Of his each limb, and with strings the odds tries
Of his neck to his leg, and waste to thighs.
So in immaculate clothes, and fymmetry
Perfect as circles, with fuch nicety

As a young preacher at his first time goes
To preach, he enters, and a lady which owes
Him not fo much as good will, he arrests,
And unto her protefts, protests, protests,

So much as at Rome would ferve to have thrown
Ten cardinals into the inquifition;

And whifpers by Jefu fo oft, that a
Purfuevant would have ravish'd him away

For faying our Lady's pfalter. But 'tis fit
That they each other plague, they merit it.
But here comes Glorious that will plague them both,
Who in the other extreme only doth

Call a rough carelesness, good fashion :

Whofe cloak his fpurs tear, or whom he spits on,
He cares not, he. His ill words do no harm
To him; he rushes in, as if arm, arm,

He meant to cry; and though his face be as ill
As theirs which in old hangings whip Christ, still
He ftrives to look worfe; he keeps all in awe ;
Jets like a licens'd fool, commands like law.

Tir'd, now I leave this place, and but pleas'd so As men from goals to execution go,

Go, through the great chamber (why is it hung
With the feven deadly fins?) being among
Thofe Askaparts, men big enough to throw
Charing-crofs for a bar, men that do know
No token of worth, but queens inan, and fine
Living; barrels of beef, flaggons of wine.

Thus finish'd, and corrected to a hair,

They march, to prate their hour before the fair.
So first to preach a white-glov'd chaplain goes,
With band of lily and with cheek of rose,
Sweeter than Sharon, in immac'late trim,
Neatness itself impertinent in him.
Let but the ladies smile, and they are bleft:
Prodigious! how the things proteft, proteft :
Peace, fools, or Gonson will for papists seize
If once he catch you at your Jesu! Jesu !

Nature made ev'ry fop to plague his brother,
Juft as one beauty mortifies another.

you,

But here's the captain that will plague them both.
Whofe air cries Arm! whofe very look's an oath:
The captain's honeft, Sirs, and that's enough,
Tho' his foul's bullet, and his body buff.
He fpits fore-right; his haughty chest before,
Like batt'ring rams, beats open ev'ry door :
And with a face as red, and as awry,
As Herod's hang-dogs in old tapestry,
Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curse,
Has yet a strange ambition to look worse;
Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe,
Jefts like a licens'd fool, commands like law.
Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it fo
As men from jails to execution go;
For, hung with deadly fins, I fee the wall,
And lin❜d with giants deadlier than 'em all:
Each man an Askapart, of strength to toss
For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross,
Scar'd at the grizly forms, I sweat, I fly,
And shake all o'er, like a discover'd fpy.

Preachers which are

I shook like a spied spie
Seas of wit and arts, you can, then dare,

Drown the fins of this place, but as for me
Which am but a scant brook, enough shall be
To wash the ftains away. Although I yet
(With Maccabees modefty) the known merit
Of my work leffen, yet some wife men shall,
I hope, efteem my writs canonical.

Courts are too much for wits fo weak as mine: Charge them with heaven's artill❜ry, bold Divine! From fuch alone the great rebukes endure, Whose fatire's facred, and whofe rage fecure: 'Tis mine to wash a few light stains, but theirs To deluge fin, and drown a court in tears, Howe'er what's now Apocrypha, my wit, In time to come, may pass for holy writ.

PILOGUE