With royal Favourites in flattery vie,

And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.

He spies me out; I whisper, Gracious God! What fin of mine could merit fuch a rod?

60

That all the fhot of dulnefs now must be
From this thy blunderbufs difcharg'd on me!

65

Permit (he cries) no ftranger to your fame

To crave your fentiment, if -'s your name.

What Speech esteem you most?" The King's," faid I.
But the best words?" O Sir, the Dictionary."
You miss my aim! I mean the most acute

And perfect Speaker?" Onflow, paft difpute."
But, Sir, of writers? "Swift, for closer style,
"But Hoadly for a period of a mile."

70

Why yes, 'tis granted, these indeed may pass:
Good common linguifts, and fo Panurge was;

Outflatter favourites, or outlie either
Jovius, or Surius, or both together.

He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, God,
How have I finn'd, that thy wrath's furious Rod,
This fellow, chufeth me! He faith, Sir,

I love your Judgment, whom do you prefer
For the best Linguift? and I feelily
Said that I thought Calepines Dictionary.
Nay, but of men, moft fweet Sir? Beza then,
Some Jefuits, and two reverend men

Of our two academies I nam'd.

Here

He stopt me, and faid, Nay your Apoftles were

75

Nay

Nay troth th' Apoftles (though perhaps too rough)
Had once a pretty gift of Tongues enough:
Yet these were all poor Gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas 'Trayel made them what they were.
Thus, others talents having nicely shown,
He came by fure tranfition to his own:
Till I cry'd 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 fure were made:

"Why then for ever bury'd in the shade?

Spirits like you, fhould fee and should be feen,

80

85

"The King would smile on you-at least the Queen." Ah gentle Sir! you Courtiers fo cajole usBut Tully has it, "Nunquam minus folus:"

Good pretty Linguifts; fo Panurgus was.
Yet a poor Gentleman; all thefe may pafs
By travail. Then, as if he would have fold
His tongue, he prais'd it, and fuch wonders told,
That I was fain to fay, If you had liv'd, Sir,
Time enough to have been Interpreter

To Babel's Bricklayers, fure the Tower had ftood.

He adds, If of Court life you knew the good,
You would leave lonelefs. I faid, Not alone
My loneness is; but Spartanes fashion
To teach by painting drunkards doth not last
Now, Aretine's pictures have made few chaste;

90

And

And as for Courts, forgive me, if I fay

No feffons 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 fhow Vice exceeding clear,
None should, by my advice, learn Virtue there.

At this entranc'd, he lifts his hands and eyes, Squeaks like a high-ftretch'd luteftring, and replies; "Oh, 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things

"To gaze on Princes, and to talk of Kings !"
Then, happy Man who fhows the Tombs! faid I,
He dwells amidft 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, Eafe and Bread.

95

100

105

"Lord,

No more can Princes Courts (though there be few
Better pictures of vice) teach me virtue.

He like to a high-ftretcht Luteftring fqueaks, O Sir,
'Tis sweet to talk of Kings. At Westminster,
Said I, the man that keeps the Abbey-tombs,
And for his price, doth with whoever comes
Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk,

From King to King, and all their kin can walk :
Your ears fhall hear nought but Kings; your eyes meet

Kings only: the way to it is Kings-street.

He smack'd, and cry'd, He's bafe, mechanïque, coarse, So are all your Englishmen in their difcourfe.

"Lord, Sir, a mere Mechanic! strangely low,

"And coarse of phrase,-your English all are so. "How elegant your Frenchmen!" Mine, d'ye mean? I have but one, I hope the fellow's clean. "Oh! Sir, politely fo! nay, let me die, "Your only wearing is your Paduafoy." Not, Sir, my only, I have better still, And this you fee is but my difhabilleWild to get loofe, 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 fore; So when you plague a fool, 'tis still the curse, You only make the matter worse and worse.

He paft it o'er; affects an eafy fmile

At all my peevishness, and turns his style.

He asks," What News?" I tell him of new Plays,
New Eunuchs, Harlequins, and Operas.

115.

320

125He

Are not your Frenchmen neat? Mine, as you fee,

I have but one, Sir, look, he follows me.

Certes they are neatly cloath'd. I of this mind am,
Your only wearing is your Grogaram.
Not fo, Sir, I have more. Under this pitch
He would not fly; I chaff'd him: but as Itch
Scratch'd into fmart, and as blunt Iron ground
Into an edge, hurts worse: So, I (fool) found,
Croffing hurt me. To fit my fullennefs,
He to another key his style doth dress;

He hears, and as a Still with simples in it

Between each drop it gives, ftays half a minute,
Loth to inrich me with too quick replies

By little, and by little, drops his lies.

Mere houfhold trash! of birthnights, balls, and shows, More than ten Hollinfheds, or Halls, or Stows.

When the Queen frown'd, or fmil'd, he knows; and what
A fubtle Minister may make of that:

Who fins with whom: who got his Penfion rug,
Or quicken'd a Reversion by a drug:

Whofe place is quarter'd out, three parts in four,
And whether to a Bishop, or a Whore:
Who, having loft his credit, pawn'd his rent,
Is therefore fit to have a Government::

135

Who, in the fecret, deals in Stocks fecure,

And cheats th' unknowing Widow and the Poor :

140

Who

And asks what news; I tell him of new playes,
He takes my hand, and as a Still, which stayes
A Sembrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly,
As loth to enrich me, fo tells many a ly.
More than ten Hollenfheds, or Halls, or Stows,
Of trivial houfhold trash: He knows, he knows
When the Queen frown'd or fmil'd, and he knows what

A fubtle Statefman may gather of that;

He knows who loves whom; and who by poison
Hafts to an officer's reverfion;

Who waftes in meat, in clothes, in horfe, he notes,