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;

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But having caft his cowle, and left thofe laws,
Adds to Chrift's pray'r, the Power and Glory claufe.

The lands are bought; but where are to be found Those ancient woods, that shaded all the ground? We fee no new-built palaces afpire,

No kitchens emulate the veftal fire.

Where are those troops of Poor, that throng'd of yore The good old landlord's hospitable door!

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Well, I could wifh, that ftill in lordly domes

Some beats were kill'd, tho' not whole hecatombs ;

When Luther was profest, he did defire
Short Pater-nofters, faying as a Fryer

Each day his Beads; but having left thofe laws, Adds to Chrift's prayer, the power and glory clause) 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 almes? 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;

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And all mankind might that juft Mean observe,
In which none e'er could furfeit, none could ftarve.
Thefe as good works, 'tis true, we all allow;
But oh these works are not in fashion 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.

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None ftarve, 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 ftatutes jawes.

SATIRE IV.

W

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 commiffion from his Grace;
I bought no benefice, I begg'd no place;
Had no new verses, nor new fuit to show;

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.

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10

My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor hath been Poyfon'd with love to fee or to be feen,

I had no fuit there, nor new fuit to fhow,
Yet went to Court; but as Glare which did go

But, as the Fool that in reforming days
Would go to Mafs in jeft (as ftory fays)
Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd,
Since 'twas no form'd defign of ferving God;
So was I punish'd, as if full as proud
As prone to ill, as negligent of good,
As deep in debt, without a thought to pay,
As vain, as idle, and as falfe, as they
Who live at Court, for going once that way!
Scarce was I enter'd, when, behold! there came
A thing which Adam had been pos'd to name;
Noah had refus'd it lodging in his Ark,
Where all the Race of Reptiles might embark:
A verier monfter, than on Africk's fhore

The fun e'er got, or flimy Nilus bore,

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20

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To Mafs in jeft, catch'd, was fain to disburse
Two hundred markes, which is the Statutes curfe,
Before he 'fcap'd; fo it pleas'd my destiny
(Guilty of my fin of going) to think me
As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
full, as proud, luftfull, and as much in debt,
As vain, as witless, and as false, as they
Which dwell in Court, for once going that way.
Therefore I fuffer'd this; towards me did run
A thing more ftrange, than on Nile's flime the Sun
E'er bred, or all which into Noah's Ark came:
A thing which would have pos'd Adam to name:
Stranger than feven Antiquarics ftudies,

Than Africk Monfters, Guianaes rarities,
Stranger than frangers: one who, for a Dane,
In the Danes Maffacre had fure been flain,

Or Sloane or Woodward's wondrous fhelves contain, Nay, all that lying Travellers can feign.

The watch would hardly let him pafs at noon,

At night, would fwear him dropt out of the Moon.

One whom the mob, when next we find or make
A popish plot, shall for à Jefuit take,
And the wife Justice starting from his chair

Cry, by your Priesthood tell me what you are?

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Such was the wight: Th' apparel on his back, Tho' coarfe, was rev`rend, and tho' bare was black: The fuit, if by the fashion one might guels,

Was velvet in the youth of good Queen Bess,

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But mere tuff-taffety what now remain'd;

So Time, that changes all things, had ordain'd!
Our fons fhall fee it leifurely decay,

Firft turn plain rafh, then vanifh quite away.

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This thing has travel'd, fpeaks each language too,

And knows what's fit for ev'ry ftate to do;

If he had liv'd then; and without help dies,
When next the Prentices 'gainst strangers rife ;
One whom the watch at noon lets fcarce go by ;
One, to whom the examining Justice fure would cry
Sir, by your Priesthood tell me what you are?

His cloaths were ftrange, tho' coarfe, and black, though bare,

Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
Velvet, but 'twas now (fo much ground was feen)
Become Tufftaffaty; and our children fhall

See it plain rafh a while, then nought at all.

The thing hath travail d, and, faith, fpeaks all

tongues,

And only knoweth what to all States belongs,