Call Tibbald Shakespear, and he'll fwear the Nine,
Dear Cibber! never match'd one Ode of thinè.
Lord! how we ftrut thro' Merlin's Cave, to fee
No Poets there, but Stephen, you, and me.
Walk with refpect behind, while we at ease
Weave laurel Crowns, and take what names we please.
My dear Tibullus!" if that will not do,

"Let me be Horace, and be Ovid you :

"Or, I'm content, allow me Dryden's strains,
"And you shall rife up Otway for your pains."
Much do I fuffer, much, to keep in peace
This jealous, wafpifh, wrong-head, rhyming race;
And much must flatter, if the whim should bite
To court applaufe by printing what I write:
But let the fit pafs o'er, I'm wife enough
To ftop my ears to their confounded stuff.

IBID. P. 295.

THE MANNERS OF A COURT. IN that nice Moment, as another-Lye Stood just a-tilt, the Minifter came by: To him he flies, and bows, and bows again, Then, close as Umbra, joins the dirty train. Not Fannius' felf more impudently near, When half his nofe is in his Prince's ear. I quak'd at heart; and ftill afraid, to fee All the Court fill'd with ftranger things than he, Ran out as faft, as one that pays his bail, And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.

Bear me, fome God! oh quickly bear me hence To wholesome Solitude, the nurse of Sense:

Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings,
And the free foul looks down to pity Kings!
There fober thought pursu'd th' amufing theme,
Till Fancy colour'd it, and form'd a Dream.
A Vifion hermits can to Hell transport,

And forc'd e'en me to see the damn’d at Court.
Not Dante, dreaming all th' infernal state,
Beheld fuch fcenes of envy, fin, and hate.
Bafe Fear becomes the guilty, not the free;
Suits Tyrants, Plunderers, but suits not me:
Shall I, the Terror of this finful town,
Care, if a liv'ry'd Lord or fmile or frown?
Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can,
'Tremble before a noble Serving-man ?
O my fair miftrefs, Truth! fhall I quit thee
For huffing, braggart, puft Nobility?
Thou, who fince yefterday haft roll'd o'er all
The bufy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Haft thou, oh Sun! beheld an emptier fort,
Than fuch as fwell this bladder of a court ?
Now pox on thofe who fhew a Court in wax!
It ought to bring all Courtiers on their backs:
Such painted puppets fuch a varnish'd race
Of hollow gewgaws, only drefs and face!
Such waxen nofes, ftately ftaring things→→
No wonder fome folks bow, and think them Kings.

See! where the British youth, engag'd 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

In hues as gay, and odours as divine,

As the fair fields they fold to look fo fine.

"That's Velvet for a King!" the flatt're swears;
'Tis true, for ten days hence 'twill be King Lear's.
Our Court may justly to our ftage give rules,
That helps it both to fools coats, and to fools.
And why not players ftrut in courtiers clothes?
For thefe are actors too, as well as thofe :
Wants reach all ftates; they beg but better dreft,
And all is fplendid poverty at best.

Painted for fight, and effenc'd for the smell,
Like frigates fraught with spice and cochinell,
Sail in the Ladies: how each pyrate eyes
So weak a veffel, and fo rich a prize!
Top-gallant he, and fhe in all her trim;
He boarded her, fhe ftriking fail to him: +
"Dear Countefs! you have charms all hearts to hit ?”"
And "Sweet Sir Fopling you have so much wit!"
Such wits and beauties are not prais'd for nought,
For both the beauty and the wit are bought.
"Twould burft e'en Heraclitus with the spleen,
To fee those anticks, Fopling and Courtin:
The Prefence feems, with things fo richly odd,
The mofque of Mahound, or fome queer Pa-god.
See them furvey their limbs by Durer's rules,
Of all beau-kind the best proportion'd fools!
Adjust their cloaths, and to confeffion draw
Thofe venial fins, an atom, or a straw;
But oh! what terrors muft diftract the foul
Convicted of that mortal crime, a hole;
P 3

Or

Or fhould one pound of powder lefs befpread
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-glov'd Chaplain goes,
With band of Lily, and with cheek of Rose,
Sweeter than Sharon, in immac❜late trim,
Neatness itfelf impertinent in him.

Let but the Ladies fmile, and they are bieft:
Prodigious! how the things proteft, proteft
Peace, fools, or Gonfon will for Papifts feize you,
If once he catch you at your Jesu! Jesu!

Nature made ev'ry Fop to plague his brother, Just as one Beauty mortifies another.

But here's the Captain that will plague them both,
Whofe air cries Arm! whofe very look's an oath :
The Captain's honeft, Sirs, and that's enough,
Tho' his foul's bullet, and his body buff.
He fpits fore-right; his haughty cheft before,
Like batt'ring-rams, beats open ev'ry door;
And with a face as red, and as awry,
As Herod's hang-dogs in old Tapestry,
Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curfe,
Has yet a ftrange ambition to look worfe :
Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe,
Jefts like a licens'd fool, commands like law.
Frighted I quit the room, but leave it fo

As men from Jails to execution go;
For hung with deadly fins I fee the wall,
And lin❜d with Giants deadlier than 'em all;

Each

Each Man an Afkapart, of strength to tofs,
For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing Cross
Scar'd at the grisly forms, I fweat, I fly,
And shake all o'er, like a discover'd spy.

Courts are too much for wits fo weak as mine: Charge them with Heav'n's Artillery, bold Divine! From fuch alone the Great rebukes endure, Whofe Satire's facred, and who rage fecure: 'Tis mine to wash a few light stains, but theirs. To deluge fin, and drown a Court in tears. Howe'er, what's now Apocrypha, my Wit, In time to come, may pass for Holy Writ.

SATIRES OF DR. DONNE VERSIFIED v. 2. p. 330.

F. Why fo? if Satire knows its Time and Place, You ftill may lash the greatest-in Disgrace: For Merit will by turns forfake them all; Would you know when? exactly when they fall. But let all Satire in all Changes fpare

Immortal S-k, and grave De

e

re.

Silent and foft, as Saints remov'd to Heav'n,
All Tyes diffolv'd, and ev'ry Sin forgiv❜n,
These may fome gentle minifterial Wing
Receive, and place for ever near the King!
There, where no Paffion, Pride, or Shame tranfport,
Lull'd with the fweet Nepenthe of a Court,
There, where no Father's, Brother's, Friend's
difgrace

Once break their reft, or ftir them from their Place:

But