He strives to look worfe; he keeps all in awe; Go, through the great chamber (why is it hung Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curse, 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 Artill'ry, bold Divine! From fuch alone the Great rebukes endure, Whofe Satire's facred, and whose rage fecure: "Tis mine to wash a few light ftains, but theirs To deluge fin, and drown a Court in tears. 285 Howe'er what's now Apocrypha, my Wit, In time to come, may pass for holy writ. NOTES. VER. 274. For hung with deadly fins] The Room hung with old Tapestry, representing the feven deadly fins. P. |