Nay hints, 'tis by connivance of the court, That Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a port. Not more amazement seized on Circe's guests, To see themselves fall headlong into beasts, Than mine to find a subject staid and wise Already half turn'd traitor by surprise. I felt the infection slide from him to me; As in the pox, some give it to get free; And quick to swallow me, methought I saw One of our giant statutes ope its jaw.
In that nice moment, as another lie Stood just a-tilt, the minister came by. To him he flies, and bows, and bows again, Then, close as Umbra, joins the dirty train. Not Fannius' self more impudently near, When half his nose is in his prince's ear.
As the last day; and that great officers Do with the Spaniards share, and Dunkirkers. I more amazed than Circe's prisoners, when They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then Becoming traytor, and methought I saw One of our giant statutes ope its jaw
To suck me in for hearing him: I found That as burnt venemous leachers do grow sound By giving others their sores, I might grow Guilty, and be free: therefore I did show All signs of loathing; but since I am in, I must pay mine, and my forefathers sin To the last farthing. Therefore to my power Toughly and stubbornly I bear; but the hower Of mercy now was come: he tries to bring Me to pay-a fine to 'scape a torturing;
And says, 'Sir, can you spare me-?' I said, 'Willingly!* Nay, sir, can you spare me a crown? Thankfully I
Gave it, as ransom: but as fiddlers, still,
Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will Thrust one more jigg upon you; so did he With his long complimented thanks vex me, But he is gone, thanks to his needy want, And the prerogative of my crown; scant VOL. II.
I quaked at heart and, still afraid to see All the court fill'd with stranger things than he, Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail, And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail. Bear me, some god! oh quickly bear me hence- To wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense! Where contemplation prunes her ruffled wings, And the free soul looks down to pity kings! There sober thought pursued the amazing theme, Till fancy colour'd it, and form'd a dream. A vision hermits can to hell transport,
And forced e'en me to see the damn'd at court. Not Dante, dreaming all the infernal state, Beheld such scenes of envy, sin, and hate. Base fear becomes the guilty, not the free; Suits tyrants, plunderers, but suits not me: Shall I, the terror of this sinful town, Care, if a liveried lord or smile or frown? Who cannot flatter, and detest who can, Tremble before a noble serving-man? O my fair mistress, Truth! shall I quit thee For huffing, braggart, puft nobility?
Thou, who since yesterday hast roll'd o'er all The busy, idle blockheads of the ball,
His thanks were ended, when I (which did see All the court fill'd with more strange things than he) Ran from thence with such, or more haste than one Who fears more actions, doth hast from prison. At home in wholesome solitariness
My piteous soul began the wretchedness Of suitors at court to mourn; and a trance Like his, who dreamt he saw hell, did advance Itself o'er me; such men as he saw there I saw at court, and worse and more. Becomes the guilty, not the accuser: Then, Shall I, none's slave, of highborn or raised men Fear frowns; and my mistress Truth, betray thee For the huffing, bragart, puft nobility? No, no, thou which since yesterday has been Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen,
Hast thou, oh Sun! beheld an emptier sort, Than such as swell this bladder of a court? Now pox on those that show a court in wax! It ought to bring all courtiers on their backs : Such painted puppets! such a varnish'd race Of hollow gewgaws, only dress and face! Such waxen noses, stately staring things- No wonder some folks bow, and think them kings. See! where the British youth, engaged no more, At Fig's, at White's, with felons, or a whore, Pay their last duty to the court, and come All fresh and fragrant, to the drawing-room; In hues as gay, and odours as divine,
As the fair fields they sold to look so fine. "That 's velvet for a king!' the flatterer swears; 'Tis true; for ten days hence 'twill be king Lear's. Our court may justly to our stage give rules, That helps it both to fools' coats and to fools. And why not players strut in courtiers' clothes? For these are actors too, as well as those :
O Sun, in all thy journey, vanity,
Such as swells the bladder of our court? I Think he which made your waxen garden, and Transported it from Italy, to stand
With us, at London, flouts our courtiers; for Just such gay painted things, which no sap, nor Taste have in them, ours are: and natural Some of the stocks are; their fruits bastard all. 'Tis ten o'clock and past; all whom the mues, Baloun, or tennis, diet, or the stews Had all the morning held, now the second Time made ready, that day, in flocks are found In the presence; and I (God pardon me) As fresh and sweet their apparels be, as be Their fields they sold to buy them. For a king Those hose are, cried the flatterers: and bring Them next week to the theatre to sell.
Wants reach all states: me seems they do as well At stage, as courts: all are players. Whoe'er looks (For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapside books,
Wants reach all states: they beg but better dress'd, And all is splendid poverty at best.
Painted for sight, and essenced for the smell, Like frigates fraught with spice and cochineal, Sail in the ladies: how each pirate eyes So weak a vessel, and so rich a prize! Top-gallant he, and she in all her trim, He boarding her, she striking sail to him:
'Dear countess! you have charms all hearts to hit "' And 'Sweet sir Fopling! you have so much wit!' Such wits and beauties are not praised for nought, For both the beauty and the wit are bought. "Twould burst e'en Heraclitus with the spleen, To see those antics, Fopling and Courtin: The presence seems, with things so richly odd, The mosque of Mahound, or some queer pagod. See them survey their limbs by Durer's rules, Of all beau-kind the best proportion'd fools!
Shall find their wardrobes inventory. Now The ladies come. As pirates (which do know That there came weak ships fraught with cutchanel) The men board them: and praise (as they think)
Their beauties; they the men's wits: both are
Why good wits ne'er wear scarlet gowns, I thought This cause, these men, mens wits for speeches buy, And women buy all red which scarlets dye. He call'd her beauty lime-twigs, her hair net : She fears her drugs ill lay'd, her hair loose set: Wouldn't Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine From hat to shoe, himself at door refine, As if the presence were a mosque; and lift His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to shrift, Making them confess not only mortal Great stains and holes in them, but venial Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate; And then by Durer's rules survey the state Of his each limb, and with strings the odds tries Of his neck to his leg, and waste to thighs.
Adjust their clothes, and to confession draw, Those venial sins, an atom, or a straw: But, oh! what terrors must distract the soul Convicted of that mortal crime, a hole : Or should one pound of powder less bespread Those monkey-tails that wag behind their head. Thus finish'd, and corrected to a hair,
They march, to prate their hour before the fair. So first to preach a white-gloved chaplain goes, With band of lily, and with cheek of rose, Sweeter than Sharon, in immaculate trim, Neatness itself impertinent in him.
Let but the ladies smile, and they are bless'd: Prodigious! how the things protest! protest! Peace, fools, or Gonson will for papist seize you, If once he catch you at your Jesu! Jesu!
Nature made every fop to plague his brother, Just as one beauty mortifies another.
But here's the captain that will plague them both, Whose air cries, Arm! whose very look's an oath : The captain's honest, sirs, and that's enough, Though his soul's bullet, and his body buff.
So in immaculate clothes and symmetry Perfect as circles, with such nicety As a young preacher at his first time goes To preach, he enters, and a lady which owes Him not so much as good-will, he arrests, And unto her protests, protests, protests,
So much as at Rome would serve to have thrown Ten cardinals into the Inquisition :
And whispers by Jesu so oft, that a Pursuevant would have ravish'd him away For saying our lady's Psalter. But 'tis fit That they each other plague, they merit it.
But here comes Glorious that will plague 'em both : Who in the other extreme only doth
Call a rough carelessness good fashion:
Whose cloak his spurs tear, or whom he spits on, He cares not, he. His ill words do no harm Tc him; he rushes in, as if Arm, arm,
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