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Wild to get loose, bis patience I provoke, Like a big wife at sight of loathsome meat
Then as a licens'd spy, whom nothing can
Silence or hurt, he libels every man; So when you plague a fool, 'tis still the curse, Swears every place entail'd for years to come, You only make the matter worse and worse. In sure succession to the day of doom : He past it o'er; affects an easy smile
He names the price for every office paid, At all my peevishness, and turns his style. And says our wars thrive ill, because delay'd ; He asks,
"What news ?” I tell him of new plays, Nay hints, 'tis by contrivance of the court, New eunuchs, harlequins, and operas.
That Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a port, He hears, and as a still with simples in it, Not more amazement seis'd on Circe's guests, Between each drop it gives, stays half a minute, To see themselves fall headlong into beasts, Loth to enrich me with too quick replies,
Than mine to find a subject stay'd and wise
Stood just a-tilt, the minister came by.
Then, close as Umbra, joins the dirty train. Who, having lost his credit, pawn'd his rent,
Not Fannius' self more impudently near, Is therefore fit to have a government :
When half his nose is in his prince's ear. Who, in the secret, deals in stocks secure, I quak'd at heart; and, still afraid to see And cheats th' unknowing widow and the poor :
All the court fill'd with stranger things than he, Who makes a trust of charity a job,
Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail, And gets an act of parliament to rob :
And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail. Why turnpikes rise, and now no cit nor clown Can gratis see the country, or the town:
Like a big wife, at sight of loathed ineat, Shortly no lad shall chuck, or lady vole,
Ready to travail : so I sigh, and sweat But some excising courtier will have toll.
To hear this makaron talk : in vain, for yet,
He names the price of every office paid ;
Do with the Spaniards share, and Dunkirkers. Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground I more amaz'd than Circe's prisoners, when Into an edge, hurts worse: So, I (fool) found, They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myseif then Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness,
Becoming traytor, and methought I saw He to another key his style doth dress ;
One of our giant statues ope its jaw And asks what news ; I tell him of new playes, To suck me in for hearing him : I found He takes my hand, and as a still, which stayes That as burnt venemous leachers do grow sound A sembrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly, By giving others their sores, I might grow As loth to enrich me, so tells many a ly.
Guilty, and be free : Therefore I did show More than ten Hollensheds, or Halls, or Stows, All signs of loathing ; but since I am in, Of trivial houshold trash, he knows: he knows I must pay mine, and my forefathers sin When the queen frown'd or smild; and he knows To the last farthing. Therefore to my power A subtle statesman may gather of that : (what Toughly and stubbornly I bear; but th' hower He knows who loves whom; and who by poison Of mercy was now come: he tries to bring Hasts to an officer's reversion ;
Me to pay a fine to 'scape a torturing, Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes; And says, “Sir, can you spare me—?" I said, Who loveth whores
* Willingly;" He knows, who hath sold his land, and now doth beg • Nay, sir, can you spare me a crown ?" Thank A licence, old iro), boots, shoes, and egge.
fully I Shells to transport;
Gave it, as ransom; but as fillers, still, shortly boys shall not play Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will At span-counter, or blow.point, but shall pay Thrust on more jigg upon you : so did he Toll to some courtier; and wiser than all us. With his long complimental thanks vex me. He knows what lady is not painted. Thus
But he is gone, thanks to his needy want, He with home racats cluys me. I belch, spue, spit, | And the prerogative of my crown ; scant Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet
His thanks were ended, when I (which did see He thrusts on more, and as he had undertook, All the court fill'd with more strange things than he) To say Gallo Belgicus without book,
Ran from thence with such, or more haste than Speaks of all states and deeds that have been since The Spaniards came to th' loss of Amyens. Who fears more actions, doth hast from prison.
Bear me, some god! oh quickly bear me hence , And why not players strut in courtiers clothes ? To wholesome Solitude, the nurse of Sense; For these are actors too, as well as those : Where Contemplation prunes ler ruffled wings, Wants reach all states: they beg but better drest, And the free soul looks down to pity kings | And all is splendid poverty at best. There sober thought pursued th' amusing theme, Painted for sight, and essenc'd for the smell, Till Fancy colour'd it, and forud a dream. Like frigates fraught with spice and cochinell, A vision hermits can to Hell transport,
Sail in the ladies : how each pirate eyes And forc'd ev'n me to see the damn'd at court. So weak a vessel, and so rich a prize! Not Dante, dreaming all th' infernal state, Top-gallant he, and she in all her trim, Beheld such scenes of envy, sin, and hate. He boarding her, she striking sail to him: [hit ! Base fear becomes the guilty, not the free; “Dear countess ! you have charms all hearts to Suits tyrants, plunderers, but suits not me: And “Sweet sir Fopling! you have so much wit !" Shall I, the terror of this sinful town,
Such wits and beauties are not prais'd for nought, Care, if a livery'd lord or smile or frown?
For both the beauty and the wit are bought. Who cannot fatter, and Jetest who can,
"Twould burst even Heraclitus with the spleen, Tremble before a noble serving-man?
To see those anticks, Fopling and Courtin : O my fair mistress, Truth! shall I quit thee The presence seems, with things so richly odd, For huffing, braggart, puft nobility?
The mosque of Mahound, or some queer pa-god Thou, who since yesterday hast rolld o'er all See them survey their limbs by Durer's rules, The busy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Of all beau kind the best proportion'd fools !
Those venial sins, an atom, or a straw :
Those monkey-tails that wag behind their head!
Sec! where the British youth, engag'd no inore, So first to preach a white-glov'd chaplain goes, At Fig?s, at White's, with felons, or a whore, With band of lily, and with cheek of rose, Pay their last duty to the court, and come Sweeter than Sharon, in immac'late trim, All fresh and fragrant, to the drawing room; Neatness itself impertinent in him. In hues as gay, and odours as divine,
Let but the ladies smile, and they are blest : As the fair fields they sold to look so fine.
Prodigious! how the things protest, protest ! “ That's velvet for a king !” the flatterer swears ; Peace, fools, or Gonson will for papists seize you, 'Tis true, for ten days hence 'twill be king Lear's. If once he catch you at your Jesu! Jesu ! Our court may justly to our stage give rules, That helps it both to fool's coats and to fools. At stage, as courts: all are players. Whoe'er looks
(For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapside books, At home in wholesome solitariness
Shall find their wardrobes inventory. Now My piteous soul began the wretchedness
The ladies come. As pirates (which do know Of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance That there came weak ships fraught with cutchanel) Like his, who dreamt he saw Hell, did advance The men board them: and praise (as they think) Itself o'er me; such men as he saw there
well, I saw at court, and worse and more. Low fear Their beauties; they the mens wits; both are boughts Becomes the guilty, not the accuser : Then Why good wits ne'er wear scarlet gowns, I thought Shall I, none's slave, of highborn or rais'd men This cause, these men, mens wits for speeches buy, Pear frowns : and my mistress Truth, betray thee And women buy all red which scarlets dye. For the huffing, bragart, puft nobility ?
He call'd her beauty lime-twigs, her hair net : No, no, thou which since yesterday hast been She fears her drugs ill lay'd, her hair loose set. Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen, Wouldn't Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine O Sun, in all thy journey, vanity,
From hat to shoe, himself at door refine, Such as swells the bladder of our court? I
As if the presence were a mosque; and lift Think he which made your waxen garden, and His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to shrift, Transported it from Italy, to stand
Making them confess not only mortal With us, at London, flouts our courtiers; for Great stains and holes in them, but venial Just such gay painted things, which no sap, nor Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate: Taste have in them, onrs are; and natural And then by Durer's rules survey the state Some of the stocks are ; their fruits bastard all. Of his each limb, and with strings the odds tries
'Tis ten a clock and past; all whom the Mues, Of his neck to his leg, and waste to thighs. Baloun, or tennis, diet, or the stews
So in immaculate clothes and symmetry
To preach, he enters, and a lady which owes
Ten cardinals into the Inquisition; Wauts reach all states : me seems they do as And whispers by Jesu so oft, that a well
Pursuevant would have ravish'd him away
Nature made every fop to plague his brother, You grow correct, that once with rapture writ, Just as one beauty inortities another.
And are, besides, too moral for a wit. But here's the captain that will plague them both, Decay of parts, alas! we all must feel Whose air cries arm! whose very look's an oath : Why now, this moment, don't I see you steal ? The captain's hopest, sirs, and that's enough, "Tis all from Horace ; Horace long before ye 'Though his soul's bullet, and his body butt. Said, “ Tories call'd bim Whig, and Whigs a Torys He spits fore-right; his haughty chest before, And taught his Romans, in much better metre, Like battering rams, beats open every door: " To laugh at fools who put their trust in Peter." And with a face as red, and as awry,
But Horace, sir, was delicate, was nice; As Herod's hangdogs in old tapestry,
Bubo observes, he lash'd no sort of více : Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curse, Horace would say, sir Billy serv'd the crown, Has yet a strange ambition to look worse :
Blunt could do business, Higgins knew the town ; Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe, In Sappho touch the failings of the sex, Jests like a licens'd fool, commands like law. In reverend bishops note some small neglects,
Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it so And own the Spaniard did a waggish thing, As men from jails to execution go);
Who cropt our ears, and sent them to the king. For hung with deadly sins I see the wall,
His sly, polite, insinuating style And lin'd with giants deadlier than them all : Could please at court, and make Augustus smile: Fach man an Askapart, of strength to toss An artful manager, that crept between For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross. Ilis friend and shame, and was a kind of screen. Scar'd at the grizly forins, I sweat, I ty,
But 'faith your very friends will soon be sore ; And shake all o'er, like a discover'd spy.
Patriots there are, who wish you'd jest no inore Courts are too much for wits so weak as mine: And where's the glory? 'twill be only thought Charge them with Heaven's artillery, bold divine! The great man never offer'd you a groat. From such alone the great rebukes endure,
Go see sir RobertWhose satire's sacred, and whose rage secure :
P. See sir Robert !-hum "Tis mine to wash a few light stains; but theirs And never laugh—for all my life to come ? To deluge sin, and drown a court in tears.
Seen him I have, but in his happier hour Howe'er, what's now Apocrypha, my wit,
Of social pleasure, ill-exchang'd for power ; In time to come, may pass for holy writ.
Seen him, uncumber'd with a venal tribe,
He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
The only difference is, I dare laugh out.
F. Why yes: with scripture still you may be
A horse-langh, if you please, at honesty ;
A joke on Jekyll, or some odd old whig, Fr. Not twice a twelvemonth you appear in print, Who never chang’d his principle, or wig; And when it comes, the court see nothing in't.
A patriot is a fool in every age,
Whom all lord chamberlains allow the stage : For saying our lady's Psalter. But 'tis fit These nothing hurts; they keep their fashion still, That they each other plague, they merit it. And wear their strange old virtue as they will. But here comes Glorious that will plague 'em both, If any ask you, “ Who's the man, so near Who in the other extreme only doth
His prince, that writes in verse, and has his ear?” Call a rough carelesness good fashion :
Why answer Lyttelton; and I'll engage Whose cloak his spurs tear, or whom he spits on,
The worthy youth shall nc'er be in a rage : He cares not, he. His ill words do no harın
But were his verses vile, his whisper base, To him ; he rushes in, as if arm, arm,
You'd quickly find him in lord Fanny's case. He meant to cry; and though his face be as ill Scianus, Wolsey, hurt not honest Fleury, As theirs which in old hangings whip Christ, still
But well may put some statesman in a fury. He strives to look worse ; he keeps all in awe; Laugh then at any, but at fools or foes ; Jests like a licens'd fool, commands like law. These you but anger, and you mend not those.
Tir'd, now, I leave this place, and but pleas'd so Laugh at your friends, and, if your friends are sore, As men from gaols to execution go,
So much the better, you may laugh the more. Go, through the great chamber (why is it hung,
To vice and fully to contine the jest, With these seven deadly síns ?) being among
Sets half the world, God knows, against the rest ; Those Askaparts, men big enough to throw Charing-cross, for a bar, men that do know No token of worth, but queens man, and fine After ver. 2, in the MS. Living; barrels of beef, Aaggons of wine.
You don't, I hope, pretend to quit the trade, I shook like a spied spie--Preachers which are Because you think your reputation made : Seas of wit and arts, you can, then dare,
Like good sir Paul, of whom so much was said, Drown the sins of this place, but as for me
That when his name was up, he lay a-bed. Which am but a scant brook, enough shall be Come, come, refresh us with a livelier song, To wash the stains away: Although I yet
Or, like sir Paul, you'll lie a-bed too long. (With Maccabees modesty) the known inerit P. Sir, what I write, should be correctly writ.
my work lessen, yet some wise men shall, F. Correct! "l'is what no genius can admit. I hope, esteem my writs canonical.
Besides, you grow too moral for a wit.
Did not the sneer of more impartial men
But shall a printer, weary of his life, At sense and virtue balance all again.
Learn, from their books, to hang himself and wife? Judicious wits spread wide the ridicule,
This, this, my friend, I cannot, must not bear ; And charitably comfort knave and fool.
Vice thus abus'd, demands a nation's care: P. Dear sir, forgive the prejudice of youth: This calls the church to deprecate our sin, Adieu distinction, satire, warmth, and truth! And hurls the thunder of the laws on gin. Come, harmless characters that no one hit;
Let modest Foster, if he will, excell Come, Henley's oratory, Osborn's wit!
Ten Metropolitans in preaching well ; The honey dropping from Favonio's tongue, A simple quaker, or a quaker's wife, The flowers of Bubo, and the flow of Young ! Outdo Landaffe in doctrine,-yea in life: The gracious dew of pulpit eloquence,
Let humble Allen, with an aukward shame, And all the well-whipp'd cream of courtly sense, Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fáme; That first was H-vy's, F's next, and then, Virtue may choose the high or low degree, The Ste's, and then H-vy's once agen.
'Tis just alike to Virtue, and to me; come, that easy Ciceronian style,
Dwell in a monk, or light upon a king, So Latin, yet so English all the while,
She's still the same belov'd, contented thing. As, though the pride of Middleton and Bland, Vice is undone, if she forgets her birth, All boys may read, and girls may understand! And stoops from angels to the dregs of earth : Then might I sing, without the least offence, But 'tis the fall degrades hier to a whore; And all i sung should be the nation's sense; Let greatness own her, and she's mean no more, Or teach the melancholy Muse to mourn,
Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess, Hang the sad verse on Carolina's urn,
Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless; And hail her passage to the realıns of rest, In golden chains the willing world she draws, All parts perform’d, and all her children blest ! And hers the gospel is and hers the laws; So-Satire is no more I feel it die
Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head, No gazetteer more innocent than 1
And sees pale Virtue carted in her stead. And let, a God's name, every fool and knave Lo! at the wheels of her triumphal car, Be grac'd through life, and flatter'd in his grave. Old England's genius, rough with many a scar,
F. Why so ? if Satire knows its time and place, Dragg'd in the dust! his arms hang idly round, You still may lash the greatest-in disgrace: His flag inverted trails along the ground ! For merit will by turns forsake them all ;
Our youth, all livery'd o'er with foreign gold, Would you know when ? exactly when they fall. Before her dance: behind her, crawl the old ! But let all satire in all changes spare
See thronging millions to the pagod run, Immortal S-k, and grave Dere.
And offer country, parent, wife, or son! Silent and soft, as saints remov'd to Heaven, Hear her black trumpet through the land proclaim, All ties dissolv'd, and every sin forgiven,
That not to be corrupted is the shame. These may some gentle ministerial wing
In soldier, churchman, patriot, man in power, Receive, and place for ever near a king;
'Tis avarice all, ambition is no more! There, where no passion, pride, or shame transport, See, all our nobles begging to be slaves ! Lull’d with the sweet nepenthe of a court; See, all our fools aspiring to be knaves ! There, where no father's, brother's, friend's disgrace | The wit of cheats, the courage of a whore, Once break their rest, or stir them from their place: Are what ten thousand envy and adore : But past the sense of human miseries,
All, all look up, with reverential awe, All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes;
At crimes that 'scape, or triumph o'er the law: No cheek is kuown to blush, no heart to throb, While truth, worth, wisdom, daily they decry Save when they lose a question, or a job. (glory, “ Nothing is sacred now but villainy."
P. Good Heaven forbid, that I should blast their Yet may this verse (if such a verse remain)
P. Not yet, my friend! tomorrow 'faith it may ; But shall the dignity of vice be lost?
And for that very cause I print to-day. Ye gods ! shall Cibber's son, without rebuke, How should I fret to mangle every line, Swear like a lord, or Rich outwhore a duke ? In reverence to the sins of thirty-nine ! A favourite's porter with his master vie,
Vice with such giant-strides comes on amain, Be brib'd as often, and as often lie?
Invention strives to be before in vain ; Shall Ward draw contracts with a statesman's skill? Peign what I will, and paint it e'er so strong, Or Japhet pocket, like his grace, a will ?
Some rising genius sins up to my song. Is it for Bond, or Peter, (paltry things)
F. Yet none but you by name the guilty lash; To pay their debts, or keep their faith, like kings? Even Guthry saves half Newgate by a dash. If Blunt dispatch'd himself, he play'd the man; Spare then the person, and expose the vice. And so mayst thou, illustrious Passeran!
P. How, sir! not damn the sharper, but the dice!
Come on then, Satire ! general, unconfind,
Spread thy broad wing, and souse on all the kind.. Ver. 112, in some editions :
Ye statesinen, priests, of one religion all !
Ye tradesmen, vile, in army, court, or hall!
Ye reverend atheists. F. Scandal! name them, How pleasing Atterbury's softer hour! who?
How shind the soul, unconquerid in the Tower! P. Why that's the thing you bid me not to do. How can I Pulteney, Chesterfield forget, Who starv'd a sister, who forswore a debt, While Roman spirit charms, and Attic wit: I never nam'd; the town's enquiring yet.
Argyll, the state's whole thunder born to wield, The poisoning dame--F. You mean-P. I don't-| And shake alike the senate and the field : F. You do.
Or Wyndham, just to freedom and the throne, P. See, now I keep the secret, and not you! The master of our passions, and his own? The bribing statesinan-F. Hold, too high you go. Names, which I long have lov'd, nor lov'd in vain, P. The brillid elector-F. There you stoop too Rank'd with their friends, not number'd with their low.
And if yet higher the proud list should end, [train ; P. I fain would please you, if I knew with what; Still let me say, No follower, but a friend. Tell me, which knave is lawful game, which not? Yet think not, friendship only prompts my lays: Must great offenders, once escap'd the crown, I follow Virtue ; where she shines, I praise ; Like royal harts, be never more run down? Points she to priest or elder, Whig or Tory, Adinit your law to spare the knight requires, Or round a Quaker's beaver cast a glory. As beasts of nature may we bunt the sjuires? I never (to my sorrow I delare) Suppose I censure--you know what I mean Din'd with the man of Ross, or niy Lord Mayor. To save a bishop, may I name a dean?
Some, in their choice of friends (nay, look not grave) F. A dean, sir? no ; his fortune is not made, Have still a secret bias to a knave : You hurt a man that's rising in the trade.
To find an honest man, I beat about; P. If not the tradesmian who set up to day, And lore bim, court him, praise him, in or out. Much less the prentice who tomorrow inay.
· F. Then why so few commended ? Down, down, proud Satire! though a realm be
P. Not so fierce; spoild,
Find you the virtue, and I'll find the verse. Arraign no mightier thief than wretched Wild; But random praise--the task can ne'er be done : Or, if a court or country's made a job,
Each mother asks it for her booby son, Go drench a pickpocket, and join the mob. Each widow asks it for the best of men,
But, sir, I beg you, (for the love of Vice!) For him she weeps, for him she weds again. The matter's weighty, pray consider twice; Praise cannot stoop, like Satire, to the ground: Have you less pity for the needy cheat,
The number may be hang’d, but not be crown'd. The poor and friendless villain, than the great ? Enough for half the greatest of these days, Alas! the small discredit of a bribe
To 'scape my censure, not expect my praise. Scarce hurts the lawyer, but undoes the scribe. Are they not rich? what more can they pretend? Then better sure it Charity becomes
Dare they to hope a poet for their friend To tax directors, who (thank God) have plums; What Richelicu want:d, Louis scarce could gain, Still better, ministers; or, if the thing
And what young Ammon wish'd, but wish'd in raju. May pinch ev'n there-why lay it on a king. No power the Muse's friendship can command ; I. Stop! stop!
No power, when Virtue clains it, can withstand: P. Must Satire, then, nor rise nor fall ? To Cato, Virgil paid one honest line ; Speak out, and bid me blame no rogues at all. Olet ny country's friends illumine mine! (no sin,
F. Yes, strike that Wild, I'll justify the blow. -What are you thinking? F. Faith the thought's P. Strike? why the man was hang’d ten years I think your friends are out, and would be in.
P. If merely to come in, sir, they go out, Who now that obsolete example fears?
The way they take is strangely round about. Evin Peter trembles only for his ears.
F. They too may be corrupted, you'll allow? F. What, always Peter? Peter thinks you mad, P. I only call those knaves who are so now. You make men desperate, if they once are bad. Is that too little ? Come then, I'll complyElse might be take to virtue some years hence- Spirit of Amall! aid me while I lie.
P. As S-k, if he lives, will love the prince. Cobham's a coward, Polwarth is a slave,
And Lyttelton a dark, designing knave;
O all-accomplish'd St. John' deck thy shrine? Er'n in a bishop I can spy desert.
What? shall each spur-gall’d hackney of the day, Secker is decent ; Rundel has a heart;
Wben Paxton gives him double pots and pay, Manners with caprlour are to Benson given; Or <a h new-pensiou'd sycophant, pretend To Berkley every virtue under Heaven.
To break my windo'vs if I treat a friend ; Put dous the court a worthy man remove? Then wisely plead, to me they meant no hurt, That instant, I declare, he has my lore:
Put 'twas my guest at whom they throw the dirt? i shun his zenith, court his mild decline;
Sure, if I spare the ininister, no rules
Sure, if they cannot cut, it may be said