But having cast his cowl, and left those laws, Adds to Christ's prayer the power and glory clause. The lands are bought; but where are to be found Those ancient woods that shaded all the ground? We see no new-built palaces aspire,
No kitchens emulate the vestal fire.
Where are those troops of poor, that throng'd of
The good old landlord's hospitable door?
Well, I could wish that still in lordly domes
Some beasts were kill'd, though not whole heca
That both extremes were banish'd from their walls;
Carthusian fasts, and fulsome Bacchanals;
And all mankind might that just mean observe,
In which none e'er could surfeit, none could starve.
These as good works, 'tis true, we all allow,
But, O! these works are not in fashion now:
Like rich old wardrobes, things extremely rare,
Extremely fine, but what no man will wear.
Thus much I've said, I trust, without offence; Let no court sycophant pervert my sense; Nor sly informer watch these words, to draw Within the reach of treason, or the law.
WELL! I may now receive, and die. My sin
Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
A purgatory, such as fear'd hell is
A recreation, and scant map of this.
My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor hath been
Poyson'd with love to see or to be seen:
I had no suit there, nor new suit to show;
Yet went to court; but as Glare, which did
To mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse
Two hundred markes, which is the statute's curse,
Before he 'scaped; so it pleased my destiny
(Guilty of my sin of going) to think me
WELL, if it be my time to quit the stage,
Adieu to all the follies of the age!
I die in charity with fool and knave,
Secure of peace at least beyond the grave.
I've had my purgatory here betimes,
And paid for all my satires, all my rhymes.
The poet's hell, its tortures, fiends, and flames,
To this were trifles, toys, and empty names.
With foolish pride my heart was never fired,
Nor the vain itch to admire, or be admired;
I hoped for no commission from his grace;
I bought no benefice, I begg'd no place;
Had no new verses, nor new suit to show;
Yet went to court!-the devil would have it so.
But, as the fool that in reforming days
Would go to mass in jest, (as story says)
Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd,
Since 'twas no form'd design of serving God;
So was I punish'd, as if full as proud,
As prone to ill, as negligent of good,
13 Had no new verses. In allusion to the short-lived honors of panegyrical verse, Warburton amusingly remarks, that 'court poetry, like court clothes, only comes thither in honor of the sovereign; and serves but to supply a day's conversation.'
As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
full, as proud, lustful, and as much in debt,
As vain, as witless, and as false, as they
Which dwell in court, for once going that way.
Therefore I suffer'd this; towards me did run
A thing more strange than on Nile's slime the sun
E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came :
A thing, which would have posed Adam to name:
Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies,
Than Africk monsters, Guinea's rarities,
Stranger than strangers: one who, for a Dane,
In the Danes' massacre had sure been slain,
If he had lived then; and without help dies,
When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise;
One, whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by;
One, to whom the examining justice sure would
Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are.' His cloathes were strange though coarse, and black though bare;
Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
Velvet, but 'twas now (so much ground was seen)
Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall
See it plain rash awhile, then naught at all.
The thing hath travail'd, and, faith, speaks all tongues,
And only knoweth what to all states belongs; Made of the accents, and best phrase of all these, He speaks one language. If strange meats dis
As deep in debt, without a thought to pay,
As vain, as idle, and as false, as they
Who live at court, for going once that way!
Scarce was I enter'd, when, behold, there came
A thing, which Adam had been posed to name; 25
Noah had refused it lodging in his ark,
Where all the race of reptiles might embark:
A verier monster, than on Afric's shore
The sun e'er got, or slimy Nilus bore,
Or Sloane or Woodward's wondrous shelves con
Nay, all that lying travellers can feign.
The watch would hardly let him pass at noon;
At night, would swear him dropp'd out of the moon:
One, whom the mob, when next we find or make
A popish plot, shall for a Jesuit take;
And the wise justice, starting from his chair,
Cry, By your priesthood, tell me what you are."
Such was the wight: the apparel on his back,
Though coarse, was reverend; and though bare,
was black :
The suit, if by the fashion one might guess,
Was velvet in the youth of good queen Bess,
But mere tuff-taffety what now remain'd;
So time, that changes all things, had ordain'd!
Our sons shall see it leisurely decay;
First turn plain rash, then vanish quite away.
This thing has travell'd, speaks each language
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 refined.
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