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Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd,
Since 'twas no form'd design of serving 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 false, 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 monster, than on Afric's shore
The sun e'er got, or slimy Nilus bore,

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

The watch would hardly let him pass at noon,

At night would swear him dropp'd out of the moon.
One, whom the mob, when next we find or make
A popish plot, shall for a Jesuit take,

As vain, as witless, and as false, as they
Which dwell in court, for once going that way.
Therefore I suffer'd this; towards me did run
A thing more strange, than on Nile's slime 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 seven antiquaries' studies,
Than Africk monsters, Guianaes rarities,
Stranger than strangers: one who, for a Dane,
In the Danes massacre had sure been slain,
If he had liv'd then; and without help dies,
When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise;
One, whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by:
One, to whom th' examining justice sure would cry,
'Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are?"
His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black,
though bare,

Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been

Velvet, but 'twas now, (so much ground was seen)

And the wise justice starting from his chair
Cry, By your priesthood tell me what you are?'
Such was the wight: th' apparel on his back,

Though coarse was reverend, and though bare was black:

The suit, if by the fashion one might guess,
Was velvet in the youth of good queen Bess,
But mere tuff-taffety what now remain'd;
So time, that changes all things, had ordain'd;
Our sons shall see it leisurely decay,
First turn plain rash, then vanish quite away.
This thing has travell'd, and speaks language too,
And knows what's fit for every state to do;
Of whose best phrase and courtly accent join'd,
He forms one tongue, exotic and refin'd.
Talkers I've learn'd to bear; Morteux I knew,
Henley himself I've heard, and Budgel too.
The doctor's wormwood style, the hash of tongues
A pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs,
The whole artillery of the terms of war,

And (all those plagues in one) the bawling bar;

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Become tuff-taffaty; and our children shall
See it plain rash a while, then nought at all.
The thing hath travail'd, and faith, speaks all

tongues,

And only knoweth what to all states belongs,
Made of th' accents, and best phrase of all these,
He speaks one language. If strange meats displease,
Art can deceive, or hunger force my tast;
But pedants motly tongue, soldiers bombast,
Mountebanks drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
Are strong enough preparatives to draw
Me to hear this; yet I must be content

With his tongue, in his tongue call'd complement:
In which he can win widows, and pay scores,
Make men speak treason, couzen subtlest whores,
Outflatter favourites, or outlie either

Jovius, or Surius, or both together.

These I could bear; but not a rogue so civil,
Whose tongue will compliment you to the devil.
A tongue that can cheat widows, cancel scores,
Make Scots speak treason, cozen subtlest whores,
With royal favourites in flattery vie,

And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.

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He spies me out; I whisper, 'Gracious God! What sin of mine could merit such a rod ? That all the shot of dulness now must be From this thy blunderbuss discharg'd on me! 'Permit,' he cries, no stranger to your fame To crave your sentiment, if ****'s your name. What speech esteem you most?' The king's,' said I. But the best words ? O, sir, the dictionary.' You miss my aim! I mean the most acute

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And perfect speaker?'- Onslow, past dispute.'
But, sir, of writers?'

Swift for closer style,

But Hoadly for a period of a mile.'

Why yes, 'tis granted these, indeed may pass ; Good common linguists, and so Panurge was;

He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, God, How have I sinn'd that thy wrath's furious rod, This fellow, chuseth me! he saith, 'Sir,

I love your judgement, whom do you prefer
For the best linguist?' and I seelily

Said that I thought Calepines dictionary.
Nay, but of men, most sweet sir? Beza then,
Some Jesuits, and two reverend men

Of our two academies I nam'd. Here

He stopt me, and said, 'Nay your apostles were
Good pretty linguists; so Panurgus was.
Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass
By travail. Then, as if he would have sold
His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told,
That I was fain to say, " If you had liv'd, sir,
Time enough to have been interpreter
To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood.'
He adds, If of court life you knew the good,

Nay troth th' apostles (though perhaps too rough)
Had once a pretty gift of tongues enough:
Yet these were all poor gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas travel made them what they were.'
Thus, others' talents having nicely shown,

He came by sure transition to his own:
Till I cry'd out, You prove yourself so able,
Pity! you was not Druggerman at Babel;
For had they found a linguist half so good,
I make no question but the tower had stood.'
Obliging sir! for eourts you sure were made:
Why then for ever bury'd in the shade?

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Spirits like you, should see and should be seen,
The king would smile on you-at least the queen.'
Ah, gentle sir! you courtiers so cajole us--
But Tully has it, Nunquam minus solus:
And as for courts, forgive me if I say
No lessons now are taught the Spartan way:
Though in his pictures lust be full display'd,
Few are the converts Aretine has made;

You would leave loneless.' I said, 'Not alone
My loneless is; but Spartanes fashion
To teach by painting drunkards doth not last,
Now, Aretine's pictures have made few chaste;
No more can princes courts (though there be few
Better pictures of vice) teach me virtue.'

He like to a high-strecht lutestring squeaks, 'O sir,
'Tis sweet to talk of kings.' At Westminster,'
Said I, the man that keeps the abbey-tombs,
And for his price, doth with whoever comes
Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk,
From king to king, and all their kin can walk:
Your ears shall hear nought but kings; your eyes
Kings only: the way to it is King-street.' [meet
He smack'd, and cry'd, He's base, mechanique,
So are your Englishmen in their discourse. [coarse,
Are not your Frenchmen neat? Mine, as you see,
I have but one, sir, look, he follows me.'

And though the court show 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

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 every 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, ease and bread.'
'Lord, sir, a mere mechanic! strangely low,
And coarse 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.'
O! sir, politely so! nay, let me die,
Your only wearing is your paduasoy.'
Not, sir, my only, I have better still,
And this you see is but my dishabille'--

'Certes they are neatly cloath'd. I of this mind am, Your only wearing is your grogram.'

Not so, sir, I have more.', Under this pitch
He would not fly; I chaff'd him but as itch
Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt-iron ground
Into an edge, hurts worse: So, I (fool) found,
Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness,
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 enrich me, so tells many a ly.
More than ten Hollensheds, or Halls, or Stows,
Of trivial houshold trash, he knows. He knows
When the queen frown'd or smil'd; and he knows
A subtle statesman may gather of that: [what
He knows who loves whom; and who by poison
Hasts to an officer's reversion;

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