Our fons shall see it leisurely decay,
First turn plain rash, then vanish quite away.
This thing has travel'd, speaks each language too, And knows what's fit for every state to do;
Of whose best phrase and courtly accent join'd,
He forms one tongue, exotic and refin'd.
Talkers I've learn'd to bear; Motteux I knew,
Henley himself I've heard, and Budgel too.
The Doctor's wormwood ftyle, the Hash of tongues
A Pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs,
The whole Artillery of the terms of War,
And (all thofe Plagues in one) the bawling Bar;
Thefe I could bear; but not a rogue fo civil,
Whose tongue will compliment you to the devil.
A tongue, that can cheat Widows, cancel fcores,
Make Scots speak treason, cozen fubtlest whores,
The thing hath travail'd, and faith, speaks all tongues,
And only knoweth what to all States belongs,
Made of th' accents, and beft phrase of all these,
He speaks one language. If ftrange meats difpleafe,
Art can deceive, or hunger force my tast;
But pedants motly tongue, foldiers bumbast,
Mountebanks drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
Are strong enough preparatives to draw
Me to hear this, yet I must be content
With his tongue, in his tongue call'd Complement :
In which he can win widows, and pay scores,
Make men speak treason, couzen subtlest whores,
With royal Favourites in flattery vie,
And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.
He fpies me out; I whisper, Gracious God! What fin of mine could merit fuch a rod?
That all the fhot of dulnefs now must be
From this thy blunderbuss discharg'd on me!
Permit (he cries) no stranger to your fame
To crave your fentiment, if -'s your name.
What Speech efteem you moft?" The King's," said I.
But the best words?" O Sir, the Dictionary."
You mifs my aim! I mean the most acute
And perfect Speaker?" Onflow, paft difpute."
But, Sir, of writers?" Swift, for closer style,
"But Hoadly for a period of a mile.”
Why yes, 'tis granted, these indeed may pass:
Good common linguifts, and fo Panurge was;
Outflatter favourites, or outlie either
Jovius, or Surius, or both together.
He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, God, How have I finn'd, that thy wrath's furious Rod,
'This fellow, chufeth me! He faith, Sir,
I love your Judgment, whom do you prefer
For the best Linguist? and I feelily
Said that I thought Calepines Dictionary.
Nay, but of men, moft sweet Sir? Beza then,
Some Jefuits, and two reverend men
Of our two academies I nam'd.
He stopt me, and said, Nay your Apostles were
Nay troth th' Apostles (though perhaps too rough)
Had once a pretty gift of Tongues enough :
Yet thefe were all poor Gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas Travel made them what they were.
Thus, others talents having nicely shown,
He came by fure tranfition to his own:
Till I cry'd out, You prove yourself so able,
Pity! you was not Druggerman at Babel;
For had they found a linguist half fo good,
I make no question but the Tower had stood.
"Obliging Sir! for Courts you fure were made:
"Why then for ever bury'd in the fhade? "Spirits like
you, fhould fee and should be feen,
The King would smile on you—at least the Queen.”
Ah gentle Sir! you Courtiers fo cajole us-
But Tully has it, "Nunquam minus folus :”
Good pretty Linguifts; fo Panurgus was.
Yet a poor
By travail. Then, as if he would have fold
Gentleman; all thefe may pafs
His tongue, he prais'd it, and fuch wonders told,
That I was fain to fay, If you had liv'd, Sir,
Tume enough to have been Interpreter
To Babel's Bricklayers, fure the Tower had stood.
He adds, If of Court life you knew the good,
You would leave lonelefs. I faid, Not alone
My loneness is; but Spartanes fashion
To teach by painting drunkards doth not laft
Now, Aretine's pictures have made few chaste;
And as for Courts, forgive me, if I fay
No leffons now are taught the Spartan way:
Though in his pictures Luft be full display'd,
Few are the Converts Aretine has made;
And though the Court show Vice exceeding clear,
None should, by my advice, learn Virtue there.
At this entranc'd, he lifts his hands and eyes, Squeaks like a high-stretch'd luteftring, and replies; "Oh, 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things
"To gaze on Princes, and to talk of Kings !"
Then, happy Man who shows the Tombs! faid I,
He dwells amidst the Royal Family;
He every day from King to King can walk,
Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk.
And get by speaking truth of monarchs dead,
What few can of the living, Eafe and Bread.
No more can Princes Courts (though there be few
Better pictures of vice) teach me virtue.
He like to a high-stretcht Luteftring fqueaks, O Sir,
'Tis sweet to talk of Kings. At Westminster,
Said I, the man that keeps the Abbey-tombs,
And for his price, doth with whoever comes
Of all our Harrys and our Edwards, talk,
From King to King, and all their kin can walk :
Your ears shall hear nought but Kings; your eyes meet
Kings only: the way to it is Kings-street.
He smack'd, and cry'd, He's base, mechanique, coarse, So are all your Englishmen in their discourse.
"Lord, Sir, a mere Mechanic! ftrangely low,
"And coarse of phrase,-your English all are fo. "How elegant your Frenchmen !" Mine, d'ye mean? I have but one, I hope the fellow's clean. "Oh! Sir, politely fo! nay, let me die, "Your only wearing is your Paduasoy.”
Not, Sir, my only, I have better still,
And this fee is but you
Wild to get loofe, his patience I provoke,
Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke.
But as coarfe iron, sharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch moft hurts when anger'd to a fore;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis still the curfe,
You only make the matter worse and worse.
He past it o'er; affects an easy finile
At all my peevishness, and turns his style.
He afks, "What News?" I tell him of new Plays,
New Eunuchs, Harlequins, and Operas.
Are not your Frenchmen neat? Mine, as you fee,
I have but one, Sir, look, he follows me.
Certes they are neatly cloath'd. I of this mind am,
Your only wearing is your Grogaram.
Not fo, Sir, I have more. Under this pitch
He would not fly; I chaff'd him: but as Itch
Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt Iron ground
Into an edge, hurts worfe: So, I (fool) found,
Croffing hurt me. To fit my fullennefs,
He to another key his style doth dress;
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