ΟΟΙ

No Commentator can more flily pass
O'er a learn'd, unintelligible place
Or, in quotation, shrewd Divines leave out
Those words, that would against them clear the doubt.

So Luther thought the Pater-nofter long,
When doom'd to say his beads and Even fong; 105
But having cast his cowle, and left those laws,
Adds to Chrift's pray'r, the Pow'r and Glory clause.
The lands are bought; but where are to be found
Those ancient woods, that shaded all the ground?

Where are those troops of Poor, that throng'd of yore

The good old landlord's hospitable door?

Well, I could wish, that still in lordly domes

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Some beafts were kill'd, tho' not whole hecatombs; That both extremes were banish'd from their walls,

Carthufian fasts, and fulsome Bacchanals;

And all mankind might that just Mean observe,

In which none e'er could furfeit, none could starve.
These as good works, 'tis true, we all allow;
But oh! these works are not in fashion now:
Like rich old wardrobes, things extremely rare,
Extremely fine, but what no man will wear.

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Thus much I've faid, I trust, without offence;
Let no Court Sycophant pervert my sense,
Nor fly Informer watch these words to draw
Within the reach of Treason, or the Law.

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SATIRE IV.

W

ELL;

I may now receive, and die. My fin

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 fee or to be seen,

I had no fuit there, nor new suit to show,

Yet went to Court; but as Glare which did go

To Mafs in jeft, catch'd, was fain to disburse

Two hundred markes, which is the Statutes curse,

SATIRE

WELL, if it be my time to quit the

Adieu to all the follies of the age!

IV.

stage,

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;
1 bought no benefice, I begg'd no place;
Had no new verses, nor new fuit to show;

Yet went to Court! - the Dev'l would have it fo.

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But, as the Fool that in reforming days
Wou'd go to Mass in jest (as story says)

Before he scap'd; so it pleas'd my destiny
(Guilty of my fin of going) to think me
As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
full, as proud, luftfull, 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 fuffer'd this; towards me did run
A thing more strange, than on Nile's flime the Sun
E'er bred, or all which into Noah's Ark came:
A thing which would have pos'd 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 fure been flain,
If he had liv'd then; and without help dies,
When next the Prentices 'gainst strangers rife;
One whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by;
One, to whom the examining Justice fure would cry,
Sir, by your Priesthood tell me what you are?

His cloaths were strange, tho' coarse, and black, though bare,

Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
Velvet, but 'twas now (so much ground was seen)
Become Tufftaffaty; and our children shall
See it plain rash a while, then nought at all.

Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd,
Since 'twas no form'd design of ferving 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 pos'd to name;

Noah had refus'd it lodging in his Ark,

Where all the Race of Reptiles might embark:

A verier monster, than on Africk's shore

The fun e'er got, or flimy Nilus bore,

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Or Sloane or Woodward's wondrous shelves contain,

Nay, all that lying Travellers can feign.

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The watch would hardly let him pass at noon,
At night, wou'd swear him dropt out of the Moon.
One whom the mob, when next we find or make

A popish plot, shall for a Jesuit take,
And the wife Justice starting from his chair
Cry, By your Priesthood tell me what you are?

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Such was the wight: Th' apparel on his back Tho' coarse, was rev'rend, and tho' 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!

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