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So much as at Rome would ferve to have thrown

Ten Cardinals into the Inquifition;

And whispers by Jefu so oft, that a

Pursuevant would have ravish'd him away
For faying our Ladies Pfalter. But 'tis fit

That they each other plague, they merit it.

But here comes Glorious that will plague them both,

Who in the other extreme only doth

Call a rough carelefnefs, good fashion:

Whose cloak his fpurs tear, or whom he fpits on,


cares not, he. His ill words do no harm

To him; he rushes in, as if Arm, arm,
He meant to cry; and though his face be as ill
As theirs which in old hangings whip Christ, still
He ftrives to look worfe; he keeps all in awe ;
Jefts like a licens'd fool, commands like law.
Tyr'd, now I leave this place, and but pleas'd fo
As men from goals to execution go,

Go, through the great chamber (why is it hung

With the seven deadly fins?) being among

Sweeter than Sharon, in immac'late trim,
Neatnefs itself impertinent in him,


Let but the Ladies fmile, and they are bleft:
Prodigious! how the things proteft, proteft:
Peace, fools, or Gonfon will for Papifts feize you,
If once he catch you at your fefu! Fefu!

Nature made ev'ry Fop to plague his brother,

Juft as one Beauty mortifies another.


But here's the Captain that will plague them both, 260
Whofe air cries Arm! whofe very look's an oath:
The Captain's honeft, Sirs, and that's enough,
Tho' his foul's bullet, and his body buff.
He fpits fore-right; his haughty cheft before,
Like batt'ring rams, beats open ev'ry door:
And with a face as red, and as awry,
As Herod's hang-dogs in old Tapestry,
Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curse,
Has yet a ftrange ambition to look worse;
Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe,
Jefts like a licens'd fool, commands like law.
Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it so

As men from Jayls to execution go;
For hung with deadly fins I fee the wall,


And lin❜d with Giants deadlier than 'em all:



VER. 274. For hung with deadly fins] The Room hung with od Tapeftry, reprefenting the leven deadly fins. P.

Those Askaparts, men big enough to throw
Charing Cross for a bar, men that do know
No token of worth, but Queens man, and fine
Living; barrels of beef, flaggons of wine.
I shook like a spied Spie-Preachers which are
Seas of Wit and Arts, you can, then dare,
Drown the fins of this place, but as for me
Which am but a scant book, enough shall be
To wash the stains away: Although I yet
(With Maccabees modefty) the known merit
Of my work leffen, yet fome wife men fhall,
I hope, efteem my Writs Canonical.


A Giant famous in Romances. P.

Each man an Askapart, of ftrength to tofs

For Quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross.
Scar'd at the grizly forms, I fweat, I fly,

And shake all o'er, like a discovered spy.


Courts are too much for wits fo weak as mine:

Charge them with Heaven's Artillery, bold Divine !
From fuch alone the Great rebukes endure,
Whofe Satire's facred, and whose rage fecure:
'Tis mine to wash a few light ftains, but theirs
To deluge fin, and drown a Court in tears.
Howe'er what's now Apocrypha, my Wit,
In time to come, may pafs for holy writ.


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