95

Or City Heir in mortgage melts away;
Satan himself feels far lefs joy than they.
Piecemeal they win this acre firft, then that,
Glean on, and gather up the whole eftate.
Then ftrongly fencing ill-got wealth by law,
Indentures, Covenants, Articles they draw,
Large as the fields themselves, and larger far
Than Civil Codes, with all their Gloffes, are;
So vaft, our new Divines, we must confefs,
Are Fathers of the Church for writing lels.
But let them write for you, each rogue impairs
The deeds, and dextroufly omits, fes heires: 100
No Commentator can more flily pafs
Over a learn'd, unintelligible place:
Or, in quotation, fhrewd Divines leave out
Thofe words that would against them clear the
doubt.

So Luther thought the Pater-nofter long, 105 When doom'd to lay his beads and Even-fong; But having caft his cowl, and left thofe laws, Adds to Chrift's prayer the Power and Glory

claufe.

The lands are bought ; but where are to be found Those ancient woods, that fhaded all the ground? 110

We fee no new-built palaces afpire,
No kitchens emulate the veftal fire.
Where are thofe troops of poor that throng'd

of yore

The good old landlord's hofpitable door?
Well, I could with, that ftill in lordly domes 115
Some beafts were kill'd, though not whole heca-

tombs;

That both extremes were banish'd from their walls,
Carthufian fafts, and fulfome Bacchanals;
And all mankind might that juft Mean observe,
In which none e'er could furfeit, none could
ftarve.

Thefe as good works, 'tis true, we all allow,
But oh! thefe 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 faid, I truft, without of-
125

fence;

Let no Court Sycophant pervert my fenfe, Nor fly informer watch these words to draw Within the reach of Treason, or the Law.

IV.

SATIRE WELL, if it be my time to quit the ftage, Adieu to all the follies of the age!

Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd, Since 'twas no form'd defign of ferving God; So was I punish'd, as if full as prond,

As

20

prone to ill, as negligent of good,
As deep in debt, without a thought to pay,
As vain, as idle, and as falfe, 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 pos'd to name; 25
Noah had refus'd it lodging in his Ark,
Where all the Race of Reptiles might embark:
A verier monster, than on Afric's fhore
The fun e'er got, or flimy Nilus bore,
Or Sloane or Woodward's wondrous fhelves
contain,

Nay, all that lying Travellers can feign.
The watch would hardly let him pass at noon,
At night would fwear him dropp'd out of the

Moon.

One, whom the mob, when next we find or make

35

A popifh plot, fhall for a Jefuit take,
And the wife Juftice starting from his chair
Cry, By your Priesthood tell me what you are?
Such was the wight: Th' apparel on his back,
Though coarse, was reverend, and though bare,
was black:

40

The fuit, if by the fashion one might guess,
Was velvet in the youth of good Queen Bef;,
But mere tuff-taffety what now remain'd;
So Time, that changes all things, had ordain'd!
Our fons fhall fee it leifurely decay,
Firft turn plain rafh, then vanifh quite away. 45
This thing has travell'd, and speaks 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, sa
Henly himself I 've heard, and Budgel too.
The Doctor's wormwood ftyle, the Hash of
tongues

A Pedant makes, the ftorm of Gonfon's lungs,
The whole Artillery of the terms of War,
And (all thofe Plagues in one) the bawling Bar; 55
Thefe I could bear; but not a rogue fo civil,
Whofe tongue will compliment you to the devil.
A tongue, that can cheat Widows, caneel scores,
Make Scots fpeak treason, cozen subtleft whores,
With royal Favourites in flattery vie,
And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.

60

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 fatires, 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 fir'd,
Nor the vain itch t'admire, or be admir'd;
I hop'd for no commiffion from his Grace;
I bought no benefice, I begg'd no place:
Had no new verfes, nor new fuit to fhow;
Yet went to Court!---the Devil would have it fo.
But, asthe Fool that in reforming days
Would go to Mafs in jeft (as story fays)

10

15

To crave your sentiment, if 's your name. What Speech esteem you most ?" The King's,"

faid I.

But the best words ?---" O Sir, the Dictionary." You mifs my aim! I mean the most acute

70

And perfect Speaker?---" Onflow, paft difpute."
But, Sir, of writers?" Swift, for closer ftyle,
"But Hoadly for a period of a mile."
Why yes, 'tis granted, thefe indeed may pass:
Good common linguists, and fo Panurge was; 75

3 F 2

oth th’Apostles (though perhaps too rough) se a pretty gift of Tonques enough: *nce were all peor Gentlemen! I dare n, 'twas Travel made them what they were. as others talents' having nicely fhown, 80 me by fire transition to h own:

ey'd out, You prove yourself fo able,

was not Draggerman at Babel; add they found a linguift half fo good, aeftion but the Tower had food. 85 hi, Sir! for Courts you fire were made:

en for ever bury'd in the shade?

i like you, fhould ice and thould be feen, The King would imile on you---at least the Queen."

Ah, gentle Sir! you Courtiers to criole ns--- 90
But Tully has it," Nunquam minus folus :'
And as for Courts, forgive me, if I fay
No leffons now are taught the Spartan way:
Though in his pictures Luft be full di play'd,
Few are the Converts Aretine has made; 95
And though the Court fhow Vice exceeding clear,
None fhould, by my advice, leira Virtue there.
At this entrane'd, he lifts his hands and eyes,
Squeaks like a high-ftretch'd luteftring, and re-
plies;

105

"Oh, 'tis the fweeteft of all earthly things ICC "To gaze on Prince, and to talk of Kings!" Then, happy Man who fhows the Tombs faid I, He dwells amidst the Royal Family: He every day from King to Ling can walk, Of all our Huries, all our Edwards talk ; And get, by fpeaking truth of monarchs dead, What few can of the living, Eale and Bread. "Lord, Sir, a mere Mechanic! ftrangely low, "And courte of phrase,---your English all are fo. "How elegant your Frenchmen!" Mine,' d'ye mean?

115

I have but one: I hope the fellow's clean.
"Oh-Sir, politely fo! nay, let me die,
"Your only wearing is your Padun'oy.'
Not, Sir, my only, I have better ftill,
And this you fee is but my difhabille---
Wild to get loofe, his patience I provoke,
Miftake, confound, object at all he spoke."
But as coarfe iron, fharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch mott hurts when anger'd to a fore;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis fill the curfe, 120
You only make the matter worfe and worfe.

125

He paft it o'er affects an eafy fmile At all my peevifhnefs, and turns his ftyle. He asks, "What news?" I tell him of new Plays, New Eunuchs, Harlequins, and Operas. He hears, and as a ftill with fimples in it, Between each drop it gives, ftavs half a minute, Loth to inrich me with too quick replies, By little, and by little, drops his lies. Mere houfhold trash! of birthnights, balls, and fhows, 130

More than ten Hollingfheds, or Halls, or Stows. When the Queen frown'd, or fmil'd, he knows; and what

A fubtle Minifter may make of that:
Who fins with whom: who got his Penfion rug,
Or quicken'd a Reverfion by a drug: 135
Whofe place is quarter'd out, three parts in four,
And whether to a Bishop, or a Whore:

What Lady's face is not a whited wall.

145

150

160

As one of Woodward's patients, fick, and fore, I puke, Inaufeate,---yet he thrufts in more: Trims Europe's balance, tops the ftatefiman's part, And talks Gazettes and Puftboys o'er by heart. 155 Like a big wife at fight of loathfeme meat Ready to caft, I yawn, I figh, and sweat. Then as a licens'd fg, whom nothing can Silence or hurt, he libels every Man; Swears every place entail'd for years to come, In fure fucceffion to the day of doom: He names the price for every office paid, And lays cur wars thrive ill, becaufe delay'd; Nay hints, 'tis by connivance of the Court, Than Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's ftill a Port. 165 Not more amazement feiz'd on Circe's guests, To see themselves fall headlong into beafts, Than mine to find a fubject stay'd and wife Already half turn'd traitor by furprife. I felt th' infection flide from him to me; As in the pox, fome give it to get free: And quick to fwallow me methought I faw One of our Giant Statues ope its jaw.

170

175

In that nice Moment, as another Lye Stood juft a-tilt, the Minifter came by. To him he flies, and bows, and bows again, Then, clote as Umbra, joins the dirty train. Not Fannius' felf more impudently near, When half his nofe is in his Prince's ear. I quak'd at heart; and, ftill afraid to fee All the Court fill'd with ftranger things than be, Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail, And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.

180

190

Bear me, fome God! oh quickly bear me hence To whole ome Solitude, the nurie of Sense; 185 Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings, And the free foul looks down to pity Kings! There fober thought purfued th' amusing theme, Till Fancy colour'd it, and form'd a Dream. A Vifion hermits can to Hell tranfport, And forc'd ev'n me to fee the darnn'd at Court. Not Dante, dreaming all th' infernal state, Beheld fuch fcenes of envy, fin, and hate. Bafe Fear becomes the guilty, not the free; Suits Tyrants, Plunderers, but fuits not me: 195 Shall I, the Terror of this finful town, Care, if a livery'd Lord or fimile or frown? Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can, Tremble before a noble Serving-man? O my fair mistress, Truth! fhall I quit thee 200. For huffing, braggart, puft Nobility? Thou, who fince yesterday haft roll'd o'er all The bufy, idle blockheads of the ball,

Go fee Sir ROBERT--

30

P. See Sir ROBERT ---hum--And never laugh---for all my life to come? Seen him I have, but in his happier hour Of Social Pleasure, ill-exchang'd for Power; Seen him, uncumber'd with a Venal tribe Smile without Art, and win without a Bribe. Would be oblige me! let me only find, He does not think me what he thinks mankind. Come, come, at all I laugh he laughs, no doubt; 35 The only difference is, I dare laugh out.

F. Why yes with Scripture ftill you may be

free;

:

40

A Horfe-laugh, if you please, at honefty;
A Joke on JEKYLL, or fome odd Old Whig,
Who never chang'd his Principle, or Wig;
A Patriot is a Fool in every age,
Whom all Lord Chamberlains allow the Stage:
Thefe nothing hurts; they keep their Fashion ftill,
And wear their ftrange old virtue, as they will.
If any ask you," Who 's the Man so near
"His prince, that writes in Verfe, and has his
ear?"

45

That first was H---vy's, F---'s next, and then,
The S---te's, and then H---vy's once agen.
O come, that ealy Ciceronian ftyle,
So Latin, yet fo English all the while,
As, though the Pride of Middleton and Bland, 75
All Boys may read, and Girls may understand!
Then might I fing, without the leaft offence,
And all I fung fhould be the Nation's Sente;
Or teach the Meiancholy Mufe to mourn,
Hang the fad Verfe on CAROLINA's Urn, 80
And hail her paffage to the Realms of Reft,
All parts perform'd, and all her Children bleft!
80---Satire is no more---I feel it die---
No Gazetteer more innocent than I---

And let, a God's name, every Fool and Knave 85
Be grac'd through life, and flatter'd in his Grave,

F. Why fo? if Satire knows its Time and Place, You ftill may lafh the greatest---in Disgrace: For merit will by turns forfake them all; Would you know when? exactly when they fall.90 But let all Satire in all Changes fpare Immortal S---k, and grave Dere. Silent and foft, as Saints remov'd to Heaven, All Ties diffolv'd, and every fin forgiven, These may fome gentle minifterial Wing Receive, and place for ever near a King! There, where no Paffion, Pride, or Shame tranfport,

95

Lull'd with the fweet Nepenthe of a Court; There, where no Father's, Brother's, Friend's difgrace

Once break their reft, or ftir them from theit
Place:

But paft the Senfe of human Miferies,
No cheek is known to bluth, no heart to throb,
All tears are wip'd for ever from all eyes;
Save when they lose a Question, or a Job.

P. Good Heaven forbid, that I should blaft their glory,

Who know how like Whig Minifters to Tory, And when three Sovereigns dy'd, could searce be

vext,

Have I, in filent wonder, feen fuch things
Confidering what a gracious Prince was next.

As Pride in Slaves, and Avarice in Kings; 110
And at a Peer, or Peerefs, fhall I fret,
Who ftarves a Sifter or forfwears a Debt?
Virtue, I grant you, is an empty boast;
But fhall the dignity of Vice be loft?
Ye Gods! fhall Cibber's Son, without rebuke, 115
Swear like a Lord, or Rich out whore a Duke?
A Favourite's Porter with his Mafter vie,
Be brib'd as often, and as often lie?
Shall Ward draw Contracts with a Statesman's
skill?

Or Japhet pocket, like his Grace, a Will? 120
It is for Bond, or Peter, (paltry things)
To pay their Debts, or keep their Faith, like
Kings?

If Blount di patch'd himself, he play'd the man ;
And fo mayft thou, illuftrious Pafferan
But fhall a Printer, weary of his life,
Learn, from their Books, to hang himself and
Wife?

125

This, this, my friend, I cannot, muft not bear;
Vice thus abus'd, demands a Nation's care:
This calls the Church to deprecate our Sin,
And hurls the Thunder of the Laws on Gin. 135
Let modeft Fofter, if he will, excell
Ten Metropolitans in preaching well;
A fimple Quaker, or a Quaker's Wife,
Outdo Landaffe in Doctrine,---yea in Life:
Let humble Allen, with an aukward Shame, 135
Do good by ftealth, and blush to find it Fame;
Virtue may choose the high or low Degree,
Tis juft alike to Virtue, and to me;
Dwell in a Monk, or light upon a King,
She's ftill the fame belov'd, contented thing. 140
Vice is undone, if the forgets her Birth,
And ftoops from Angels to the dregs of Earth:
But 'tis the Fall degrades her to a Whore;
Let Greatnefs own her, and she's mean no more,