He tells what ftrumpet places fells for life, What 'Squire his lands, what citizen his wife: And laft (which proves him wiser still than all) What Lady's face is not a whited wall. 151
As one of Woodward's patients, fick, and fore,
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 156
Ready to caft, I yawn, I figh, and sweat.
Then as a licens'd spy, whom nothing can
Silence or hurt, he libels the great Man;
Swears ev'ry place entail'd for years to come, 160
In fure fucceffion to the day of doom:
He names the price for ev'ry office paid,
And fays 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. 165
there is greater force in the use of these plain words, than in those which the Imitator employs. And the reafon is, because the fatire does not turn upon the odioufness of painting; in which cafe, the terms of a painted wall had given force to the expreffion; but upon the frequency of it, which required only the fimple mention of the thing.
VER. 152. As one of Woodward's patients,] Alluding to the effects of his ufe of oils in bilious diforders.
I more amaz'd than Circes prisoners, when
They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then
Becoming Traytor, and methought I faw
One of our Giant Statues ope his jaw,
To fuck me in for hearing him: I found
That as burnt venomous Leachers do grow found
By giving others their fores, I might grow
Guilty, and he free: Therefore I did show
All figns of loathing; but fince I am in,
I must pay mine, and my forefathers fin
To the last farthing. Therefore to my power
Toughly and ftubbornly I bear; but th' hower
Of mercy now was come: he tries to bring
Me to pay a fine, to 'fcape a torturing,
And fays, Sir, can you spare me? I faid, Willingly;
Nay, Sir, can you fpare me a crown? Thankfully I
Gave it, as ranfom; but as fidlers, ftill,
Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
Thrust one more jig upon you: fo did he
With his long complimental thanks vex me.
But he is gone, thanks to his needy want,
And the Prerogative of my Crown; fcant
His thanks were ended, when I (which did fee
All the Court fill'd with more ftrange things
than he)
Ran from thence with fuch, or more hafte than one
Who fears more actions, doth haft from prifon.
At home in wholesome folitarinefs
My piteous foul began the wretchedness
Not more amazement feiz'd on Circe's guests,
To see themselves fall endlong into beasts,
Than mine, to find a fubject ftay'd and wife
Already half turn'd traytor by surprize.
I felt th' infection flide from him to me, 170
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.
In that nice moment, as another Lye
Stood just a-tilt, the Minister came by.
To him he flies, and bows, and bows again,
Then, close 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 180
All the Court fill'd with ftranger things than he,
Ran out as fast, as one that pays his bail
And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.
Bear me, fome God! oh quickly bear me hence To wholsome Solitude, the nurse of sense: 185
VER. 167. fall endlong] The fudden effect of the transformation is ftrongly and finely painted to the imagination, not in the found, but in the fenfe of these two words
VER. 184. Bear me,] Thefe four lines are wonderfully fublime. His impatience in this region of vice, is like that of Virgil in the region of heat. They both call out, as if they were half ftifled by the fulphury air of the place,
"O qui me gelidis—"
"Oh quickly bear me hence
Of fuitors at court to mourn, and a trance
Like his, who dreamt he faw hell, did advance
It felf o'er me: fuch men as he faw there
I faw at court, and worse and more. Low fear
Becomes the guilty, not th' accufer: Then,
Shall I, none's flave, of high-born or rais'd men
Fear frowns; and my mistress Truth, betray thee
For th' huffing, bragart, puft nobility?
No, no, thou which fince yesterday hast been,
Almost about the whole world, haft thou feen,
O fun, in all thy journey, vanity,
Such as fwells the bladder of our court? I
Think he which made your 'Waxen gården, and
Transported it from Italy, to ftand
With us at London, flouts our Courtiers; for
Juft fuch
gay painted things, which no fap, nor
Taft have in them, ours are; and natural
Some of the stocks are; their fruits baftard all.
"Tis ten a Clock and past; all whom the mues,
Baloun, or tennis, diet, or the stews
A fhow of the Italian Garden in Waxwork, in the time of King James the First.
VER. 188. There fober thought] These two lines are remarkable for the delicacy and propriety of the expreffion. VER. 194. Bafe Fear] Thefe four admirable lines become the high office he had affumed, and fo nobly fuftained.
VER. 206. Court in wax!] A famous fhow of the Court of France, in Wax-work.
Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings,
And the free foul looks down to pity Kings!
There fober thought purfu'd th' amusing theme,
Till Fancy colour'd it, and form'd a Dream.
A Vision hermits can to Hell transport,
And forc'd ev'n me to fee the damn'd at Court.
Not Dante dreaming all th' infernal state,
Beheld fuch scenes of envy, fin, and hate.
Base 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 liv'ry'd Lord or smile or frown?
Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can,
Tremble before a noble Serving-man?
O my
fair mistress, Truth! fhall I quit thee
For huffing, braggart, puft Nobility?
Thou, who fince yesterday haft roll'd o'er all
The bufy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Haft thou, oh Sun! beheld an emptier fort,
Than fuch as fwell this bladder of a court? 205
Now pox on those who fhew a Court in wax!
It ought to bring all Courtiers on their backs:
Such painted puppets! fuch a varnish'd race
Of hollow gew-gaws, only drefs and face!
Such waxen nofes, ftately staring things- 210
No wonder fome folks bow, and think them Kings.
See! where the British youth, engag'd no more
At Fig's, at White's, with felons, or a whore,
VER. 213. At Fig's, at White's,] White's was a noted gaming-house: Fig's, a Prize-fighter's Academy, where the
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