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Tho' in his pi&tures Lust be full display'd,
95 And tho' the Court Ihow 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 IO “ To gaze on Princes, and to talk of Kings! Then, happy Man who shows the Tombs! said 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, IOS And get by speaking truth of monarchs dead, What few can of the living, Ease and Bread. « Lord, Sir, a meer Mechanic ! strangely low, " And coarfe of phrase, -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-soy. Not, Sir, my only, I have better still, And this you see is but my difhabille
I15 Wild to get loose, his Patience I provoke, Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke.
NOTES. tator has given us more than an equivalent in that fine ftroke of moral fatire in the 106 and 107th lines.
Not so, Sir, I have more. Under this pitch
He knows who loves whom; and who by poison
Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes,
Who loves whores
He knows who hath fold his land, and now doth beg
But as coarse iron, sharpen'd, mangles more,
He past it o'er; affects an easy fmile
shortly boys shall not play At span-counter, or blow-point, but shall 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, spue, 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 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 Discredit, libels now'gainst each great man. He names the price of ev'ry office paid ; He saith our wars thrive ill because delaid ;
NOTES, 2 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 scandal concludes thus,
And wifer 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 his intelligence than the other. The Reader
Why Turnpikes rise, and now no Cit nor clown
As one of Woodward's patients, fick, and fore,
VER. 152. As one of Woodward's patients,] Alluding to the effects of his use of oils in bilious disorders.