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,
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 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 Woodward's wondrous shelves
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
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; Motteux ‡i
knew,
Henley himself I've heard, and Budgell § 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 compliment you to the devil;
* Sir Hans Sloane, a physician and naturalist. His collection of curiosities formed the foundation of the British Museum.
t John Woodward, a physician. He founded the Cambridge Professorship of Geology.
See Dunciad, Book II., 1. 412, note.
§ Ibid., Book II., 1. 397, note.
A police magistrate.
A tongue, that can cheat widows, cancel scores, Make Scots speak treason, cozen subtlest whores, 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?'-'Swift for closer style,
But Hoadley for a period of a mile.'
'Why, yes, 'tis granted these indeed may pass : Good common linguists, and so Panurge was; Nay, troth, the apostles, though perhaps too rough,
Had once a pretty "gift of tongues" enough:
Yet these were all poor gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas travel made them what they were.'
Thus others' talents having nicely shown,
He came by sure transition to his own;
Till I cried out,- You prove yourself so able,
Pity, you was not Druggerman at Babel!
For had they found a linguist half so good,
I make no question but the tower had stood.'
Obliging sir! for courts you sure were made:
Why then for ever buried in the shade?
Spirits like you should see and should be seen;
The king would smile on you-at least, the queen.'
Ah, gentle sir! you courtiers so cajole us-
But Tully has it, Nunquam minus solus :
See Dunciad, Book II., 1. 283, note. + Ibid., Book III., 1. 179, note.
Bishop Hoadley. Ibid., Book II., 1. 400, note.
And as for courts, forgive me, if I say
No lessons now are taught the Spartan way:
Though in his pictures lust be full display'd,
Few are the converts Aretine has made;
And though the court show vice exceeding clear,
None should, by my advice, learn virtue there.'
At this entranced, he lifts his hands and eyes; Squeaks like a high-stretch'd lutestring and replies :
'Oh, 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things 100 To gaze on princes, and to talk of kings!
"Then, happy man who shows the tombs!' said I; 'He dwells amidst the royal family;
He every day from king to king can walk;
Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk;
And get, by speaking truth of monarchs dead,
What few can of the living, ease and bread.'
'Lord, sir, a mere mechanic! strangely low,
And coarse of phrase; your English all are so :
How elegant your Frenchmen!'-' Mine, d'ye
110
I have but one; I hope the fellow's clean.'
'O, sir, politely so! nay, let me die,
Your only wearing is your Padua-soy.
Not, sir, my only; I have better still,
And this you see is but my deshabille-
Wild to get loose, his patience I provoke,
Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke :
But as coarse iron, sharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch most hurts when anger'd to a sore;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis still the curse, 120
You only make the matter worse and worse.
He pass'd it o'er; affects an easy smile
At all iny peevishness, and turns his style.
He asks, What news?' I tell him of new plays,
New eunuchs, harlequins, and operas.
He hears; and as a still with simples in it,
Between each drop it gives, stays half a minute,
Loth to enrich me with too quick replies,
By little and by little drops his lies:
Mere household trash, of birthnights, balls, and
More than ten Holinsheds, or Halls, or Stowes. When the queen frown'd or smiled he knows; and what
A subtle minister may make of that.
Who sins with whom: who got his pension rug, Or quicken'd a reversion by a drug:
Whose place is quarter'd out, three parts in four;
And whether to a bishop or a whore:
Who, having lost his credit, pawn'd his rent,
Is therefore fit to have a government:
Who in the secret, deals in stocks secure,
And cheats the unknowing widow and the poor:
Who makes a trust of charity a job,
And gets an act of parliament to rob:
Why turnpikes rise, and now no cit or clown
Can gratis see the country or the town:
Shortly no lad shall chuck, or lady vole,
But some excising courtier will have toll.
He tells what strumpet places sells for life,
What 'squire his lands, what citizen his wife:
And, last, which proves him wiser still than all,
What lady's face is not a whited wall.
As one of Woodward's patients, sick and sore, I puke, I nauseate ;-yet he thrusts in more; Trims Europe's balance, tops the statesman's part, And talks gazettes and post-boys o'er by heart. Like a big wife at sight of loathsome meat Ready to cast, I yawn, I sigh, and sweat. Then as a licensed spy, whom nothing can Silence or hurt, he libels the great man; Swears every place entail'd for years to come, 160 In sure succession to the day of doom: He names the price for every office paid, And says our wars thrive ill, because delay'd: Nay, hints 'tis by connivance of the court, That Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a port. Not more amazement seized on Circe's guests, To see themselves fall endlong into beasts,
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