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For you he sweats and labours at the laws,
Takes God to witness he affects your cause,
And lies to every Lord in every thing,
Like a King's Favourite-or like a King.
These are the talents that adorn them all,
From wicked Waters even to godly
Not more of Simony beneath black gowns,.
Not more of bastardy in heirs to Crowns.
In shillings and in pence at first they deal;
And steal so little, few perceive they steal ;
Till, like the sea, they compass all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover strand ::
And when rank Widows purchase luscious nights,
Or when a Duke to Jansen punts at White's,
Or City-Heir in mortgage melts away ;
Satan himself feels far lefs joy than they..

And to every suitor 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 alles, and more shameless farre
Than carted whores, lye to the grave Judge; for
Bastardy abounds not in the King's titles, nor
Simony and Sodomy in Church-men's lives,
As these things do in him ; by these he thrives.
Shortly (as th' fea) he'll compass all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover strand :
And spying heirs melting with Luxury,
Satan will not joy at their fins as he :

Piecemeal they win this acre first, then that,
Glean on, and gather up the whole estate.
Then strongly fencing ill-got wealth by law,
Indentures, Covenants, Articles they draw,
Large as the fields themselves, and larger far
Than Cival Codes, with all their Glosses, are;
So vast, our new Divines, we must confess,
Are Fathers of the Church for writing less.
But let them write for you, each rogue impairs
The deeds, and dextrously omits, ses heires :
No Commentator can more Nily pass
O'er a learn’d, unintelligible place :
Or, in quotation, Ihrewd Divines leave out
Those words, that would against them clear the doubt.

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For (as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen-stuff,
And barreling the droppings, and the snuffe
Of wasting candles, which in thirty year,
Reliquely kept, perchance buys wedding chear)
Piecemeal he gets lands, and spends as much time
Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime.
In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws
Assurances, big as glofs'd i. il laws,
So huge that men (in our times forwardness)
Are Fathers of the Church for writing less.
These he writes not ; no: fo. these written payes,
Therefore spares no length (5 in those first dayes)
When Luther was profest, he did desire
Short Pater-nojters, laying as a Fryer.

So Luther thought the Pater-noster long, When doom'd to say his beads and Even-fong; But having cast his cowl, and left those laws, Adds to Christ's prayer, the Power and Glory clause.

The lands are bought; but where are to be found Those ancient woods, that shaded all the ground? We see no new-built palaces aspire, No kitchens emulate the vestal fire. Where are those troops of Poor, that throng'd of yore The good old landlord's hospitable door ? Well, I could wish, that still in lordly domes Some beasts were kill'd, tho' not whole hecatombs; That both extremes were banilh'd from their walls, Carthusian fasts, and fulsome Bacchanals; And all mankind might that just Mean observe, In which none e'er could surfeit, none could starve.

Each day his beads; but having left those laws,
Adds to Christ's prayer, the power and glory clause.
But when he sells or changes land, h’impaires
The writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out, ses beires,
As Nily as any Commenter goes by
Hard words, or sense ; or, in Divinity
As controverters in vouch'd Texts, leave out
Shrewd words, which might against them clear the

stofore Where are those spread woods which cloath'd hereThose bought lands ? not built, nor burnt within door. Where the old landlords troops, and alms! In halls Carthulian Fasts, and fulsome Bacchanals

These 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 said, I trust without offence?.
Let no Court Sycophant pervert my sense,
Nor fly Informer watch these words to draw
Within the reach of Treason, or the Law.

Equally I hate, Mean's blest. In rich men's homes
I bid kill some beasts, but no hecatombs;
None starve, none surfeit so. But (oh) we allow
Good works as good, but out of fashion now,
Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws
Within the vast reach of th' huge statutes jaws.

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WELL, if it be my time to quit the ftage,

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 satires, 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 suit to show;
Yet went to Court! the Dev'l would have it so.





may now receive, and die. My fin Indeed is great, but yet I have been in A Purgatory, such as fear'd Hell is A recreation, and scant map of this.

My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor had been Poyson’d with love to see or to be seen, I had no fuit there, nor new suit to show, Yet went to Court; but as Glare which did go

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