Nor sly informer watch these words to draw Within the reach of treason, or the law.
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 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 hope 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.
So huge that men (in our times forwardness) Are fathers of the church for writing less. These he writes not; nor for these written payes, Therefore spares no length (as in those first dayes When Luther was profess'd, he did desire Short Pater-nosters, saying as a fryer
Each day his beads: but having left those laws, Adds to Christ's prayer, the power and glory clause) But when he sells or changes land, he impaires The writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out sesheires As slily as any commentator goes by
Hard words, or sense; or, in divinity
As controverters in vouch'd texts, leave out
Shrewd words, which might against them clear the doubt.
Where are these spread woods which clothed here
Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within door. Where the old landlords troops and almes? In halls Carthusian fasts, and fulsome bacchanals
Equally I hate. Means bless'd. In rich men's homes I bid kill some beasts, but no heccatombs ;
None starve, none surfeit so. But (oh) we allow Good works as good, but out of fashion now, Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws Within the vast reach of the huge statutes jawes.
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 go 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,
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; Noah had rufused it lodging in his ark, Where all the race of reptiles might embark: A verier monster, than on Afric's shore The sum e'er got, or slimy Nilus bore,
Or Sloan or Woodward's wondrous shelves contain, 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 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 refined. Talkers I've learn'd to bear; Morteux I knew, Henley himself I've heard, and Budgel too, The doctor's wormwood style, the hash of tongues
A pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs, The whole artillery of the terms of war,
And (all those plagues in one) the bawling bar; These I could bear; but not a rogue so civil, Whose tongue will complement you to the devil. A tongue that can cheat widows, cancel scores, Make Scots speak treason, cozen subtlest whores.
To mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse Two hundred markes which is the statues curse. Before he scaped; so it pleased my destiny (Guilty of my sin of going) to think me As prone to all ill, and good as forget- ful, 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, Guianaes 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 scarce lets go by: One, to whom the examining justice sure would cry, Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are?' His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black, though bare,
Sleeveless his jerkin was, and had it been
Velvet, but 'twas now, (so much ground was seen) Become tuff-taffaty; and our children shall See it plain rash awhile, then nought 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 displease, Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste; But pedants motly tongue, soldiers 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, Outflatter favourites, or outlie either Jovius, or Surius, or both together. With royal favourites in flattery vie, And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie. He spies me out; I whisper, 'Gracious God! What sin of mine could merit such a rod? That all the shot of dulness now must be From this thy blunderbuss discharged on me.' 'Permit,' he cries, 'no stranger to your fame, To crave your sentiment, if—'s your name. What speech esteem you most?' the king's,' said I. 'But the best words?'-O, sir, the dictionary. You miss my aim! I mean the most acute
And perfect speaker?'-' Onslow, past dispute.' 'But, sir, of writers ?
But Hoadly for a period of a mile.'
"Why yes, 'tis granted, these indeed may pass ;
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