A verier monster, than on Africk's fhore
The fun e'er got, or flimy Nilus bore,
Or Sloan or Woodward's wondrous fhelves contain,
Nay, all that lying Travellers can feign. 31
The watch would hardly let him pass at noon,
At night would fwear him dropt out of the Moon.
One, whom the mob, when next we find or make
A popish plot, shall for a Jefuit take,
And the wife Justice starting from his chair
Cry, By your Priesthood tell me what you are?
Such was the wight: Th' apparel on his back,
Tho' coarse, was rev'rend, and tho' bare, was black:
The fuit, if by the fashion one might guess, 35
Was velvet in the youth of good Queen Bess,
But meer tuff-taffety what now remain'd;
So Time, that changes all things, had ordained!
Our fons shall see it leisurely decay,
First turn plain rafh, then vanish quite away. 45
This thing has travel'd, fpeaks each language too,
And knows what's fit for ev'ry state to do;
Of whofe beft phrafe and courtly accent join'd,
He forms one tongue, exotic and refin'd.
Talkers I've learn'd to bear; Motteux I knew, 50
Henley himself I've heard, and Bugdell too.
The Doctor's Wormwood style, the Hash of tongues
A Pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs,
The whole Artill'ry of the terms of War,
And (all those plagues in one) the bawling Bar:55
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 fubtlest whores, Out-flatter favourites, or out-lie 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 beft Linguift? and I feelily
Said that I thought Calepine's Dictionary.
Nay, but of men, most sweet Sir? Beza then,
Some Jefuits, and two reverend men
Of our two academies I nam'd. Here
He ftopt me, and faid, Nay your Apostles were Good pretty Linguifts; fo Panurgus was,
Yet a poor Gentleman; all these may pafs
VER. 73. A period of a mile.] A falium of Euripides was a standing joke amongst the Greeks. By the fame kind of pleafantry, Cervantes has called his Hero's countenance, a fee of half a league long; which, because the humour, as well as
These I could bear; but not a rogue fo civil,
Whofe tongue will compliment you to the devil.
A tongue, that can cheat widows, cancel scores,
Make Scots speak treason, cozen subtleft whores,
With royal Favourites in flatt'ry vie,
And Oldmixon and Burnet both out-lie.
He spies me out; I whisper, Gracious God!
What fin of mine could merit such a rod?
That all the fhot of dulnefs now must be
From this thy blunderbufs discharg'd on me! 65
Permit (he cries) no stranger to your
fame
To crave your sentiment, if's your name.
What Speechesteem you moft?"The King's, faid I."
But the best words? O Sir, the Dictionary."
You miss my aim; I mean the most acute,
And perfect Speaker?" Onslow, paft difpute."
But, Sir, of writers?" Swift for closer style,
"But Ho**y for a period of a mile."
Why yes, 'tis granted, these indeed may pass :
Good common linguifts, and fo Panurge was; 75
Nay troth th' Apostles (tho' perhaps too rough)
Had once a pretty gift of Tongues enough:
the measure of the expreffion was exceffive, all his translators have judiciously agreed to omit; without doubt paying due attention to that fober rule of Quintilian, licet omnis hyperbole fit ultra fidem, non tamen debet effe ultra MODUM.
Then, as if he would have fold
His tongue, he prais'd it, and fuch wonders told, That I was fain to fay, If you had liv'd, Sir, Time 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 loneness. I faid, Not alone My loneness is; but Spartanes fashion
To teach by painting drunkards doth not last Now, Aretines pictures have made few chaste; No more can Princes Courts (though there be few Better pictures of vice) teach me virtue.
He like to a high-ftretcht Lute-string squeaks,
"Tis fweet 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:
VER 78. Yet these were all poor Gentlemen!] Our Poet has here added to the humour of his Original. Donne makes his thread-bare Traveller content himself under his poverty, with the reflection that Panurge himself (the great Traveller and Linguist in Rabelais) went a begging.
Yet these were all poor Gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas Travel made them what they were.
Thus others talents having nicely fhown, 80
He came by fure transition 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 so good, 85
I make no question but the Tow'r had stood.
Obliging Sir! for Courts you fure were made:
Why then for ever bury'd in the shade?
Spirits like
you, fhould fee and should be feen, "The King would fmile on you-at least the
Ah gentle Sir! you Courtiers fo cajol us-
But Tully has it, Nunquam minus folus :
And as for Courts, forgive me, if I say
No leffons now are taught the Spartan way:
Tho' in his pictures Luft be full display'd,
Few are the Converts Aretine has made;
And tho' the Court fhow 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-ftretch'd luteftring, and replies; Oh 'tis the sweeteft of all earthly things 100 To gaze on Princes, and to talk of Kings !" Then, happy Man who shows the Tombs! faid I, He dwells amidst the royal Family;
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