THE SATIRES OF DR. JOHN DONNE, DEAN OF ST. PAUL's, VERSIFIED. "Quid vetat et nosmet Lucili scripta legentes. HOR. SATIRE II. Y ES; thank my stars! as early as I knew This Town, I had the fenfe to hate it too: Yet here, as ev'n in Hell, there must be ftill One Giant-Vice, fo excellently ill, That all befide, one pities, not abhors; As who knows Sappho, fmiles at other whores. It brought (no doubt) th' Excise and Army in: Catch'd like the Plague, or Love, the Lord knows how, But that the cure is starving, all allow. Yet like the Papift's, is the Poet's state, ΙΟ hate! Hère S S A TIRE II. IR; though (I thank God for it) I do hate Perfectly all this town: yet there's one state In all ill things, fo excellently beft, That hate towards them, breeds pity towards the rest, As I think, that brings dearth and Spaniards in: Is poor, difarm'd, like Papists, not worth hate, Here a lean Bard, whose wit could never give So prompts, and faves a rogue who cannot read. 15 20 One fings the Fair: but fongs no longer move; No rat is rhym'd to death, nor maid to love : In love's, in nature's fpite, the fiege they hold, And scorn the flesh, the devil, and all but gold. These write to Lords, fome mean reward to get, 25. As needy beggars fing at doors for meat. Thofe One (like a wretch, which at barre judg'd as dead, Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot read, And faves his life) gives Idiot Actors means (Starving himself) to live by's labour'd scenes. As in fome Organs Puppits dance above, And bellows pant below, which them do move. One would move love by rhymes; but witchcraft's charms Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms; Piftolets are the best artillery. And they who write to Lords, rewards to get, Are they not like fingers at doors for meat? And they who write, because all write, have ftill Those write because all write, and fo have ftill. Wretched indeed! but far more wretched yet 'Tis chang'd, no doubt, from what it was before; I pass o'er all those Confeffors and Martyrs, 30 35 Act fins which Prifca's Confeffor scarce hears. 49. But he is worst, who beggarly doth chaw To outdrink the fea, t' outfwear the Letanie, Of Of whose strange crimes no Canonist can tell In what Commandment's large contents they dwell. 45 Whom crimes gave wealth, and wealth gave Impudence: More pert, more proud, more positive, than he. 55 60 Language Whose strange fins Canonifts could hardly tell Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches pox, |