The thing hath travail'd, and, faith, speaks all tongues, And only knoweth what to all States belongs, Art can deceive, or hunger force my taft; 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, He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, God, Our fons shall fee it leisurely decay, First turn plain rash, then vanish quite away. 45 This thing has travel'd, speaks each language too, And knows what's fit for every state to do; Of whose best 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 Budgel too. The Doctor's Wormwood style, the Hash of tongues A Pedant makes, the storm of Gonfon's lungs, The whole Artill'ry of the terms of War, And (all those plagues in one) the bawling Bar: 55 These I cou'd bear; but not a rogue so civil, Whose tongue will compliment you to the devil. A tongue, that can cheat widows, cancel scores, Make Scots speak treason, cozen fubtlest whores, With royal Favourites in flatt'ry vie, And Oldmixon and Burnet both out-lie. 60 He spies me out, I whisper, Gracious God! 65 To crave your sentiment, if-'s your name. Nay, but of men, most sweet Sir? Beza then, Some Jesuits, and two reverend men Of our two academies I nam'd: here He stopt me, and faid, Nay your Apoftles were Good pretty Linguists; so Panurgus was, Yet a poor Gentleman; all these may pass By travail. Then, as if he would have fold To Babels Bricklayers, fure the Tower had stood. He adds, If of Court life you knew the good, You would leave loneness. I said, Not alone My loneness is; but Spartanes fashion NOTES. 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 You miss my aim; I mean the most acute ! But, Sir, of writers? " Swift, for closer style, 70 75 85 "Obliging Sir! for Courts you sure were made: "Why then for ever bury'd in the shade? Spirits like you, should fee and should be seen, "The King would smile on you--at least the Queen. Ah gentle Sir! you Courtiers so cajol us But Tully has it, Nunquam minus folus : And as for Courts, forgive me, if I fay १० No lessons now are taught the Spartan way: NOTES. poverty with the reflection that Panurge himself, the great Traveller and Linguist in Rabelais, went a begging. *P To teach by painting drunkards doth not last He like to a high-ftretcht Lute-string squeaks, O Sir, 'Tis sweet to talk of Kings. At Westminster, Your ears shall hear nought but Kings; your eyes meet Kings only: The way to it is Kings-street. He smack'd, and cry'd, He's base, mechanique, course, So are all your Englishmen in their difcourse. Are not your Frenchmen neat? Mine, as you see, NOTES. VER. 104. He ev'ry day from King to King can walk,] There is something humourous enough in the words of the Original. The way to it is Kings-street. But the Imi |