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Well, I could wish, that ftill in lordly domes
Some beafts were kill'd, tho' not whole hecatombs;
That both extremes were banish'd from their walls,
Carthufian fafts, and fulfome bacchanals ;

And all mankind might that just mean observe,

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In which none e'er could furfeit, none could farve. 120
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.

Thus much I've faid, I truft, without offence;
Let no court fycophant pervert my sense,
Nor fly informer watch these words to draw
Within the reach of treason, or the law.

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Where the old landlords troops, and almes? In halls
Carthufian fafts, and fulfome Bacchanals

Equally I hate. Means bleft. In rich men's homes
I bid kill fome beafts, but no hecatombs ;

None ftarve, none furfeit fo. But (oh) we allow
Good works as good, but out of fashion now,

Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws
Within the vaft reach of th' huge ftatutes jawes.

CA

SA

SATIRE

IV.

WELL, if it be my time to quit the fstage,
Adieu to all the follies of the age!

I die in charity with fool and knave,
Secure of peace at leaft 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;
I bought no benefice, I begg'd no place ;
Had no new verses, nor new fuit to fhow;
Yet went to court !-the dev'l would have it fo.
But, as the fool that in reforming days
Would go to mass in jeft (as story says)

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Could

SATIRE

IV.

WELL; I may now receive, and die. My fin
Indeed is great, but yet I have been in

A purgatory, fuch as fear'd Hell is

A recreation, and scant map of this.

My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor hath been Poyfon'd with love to fee or to be seen,

I had no fuit there, nor new fuit 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 ftatutes curse,

Before

Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd,
Since 'twas no form'd defign of ferving God;
So was I punifh'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 falfe 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 monfter, than on Africk's fhore

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

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Or Sloane or Woodward's wond'rous fhelves contain, 30 Nay, all that lying travellers can feign,

The watch would hardly let him pass at noon,

At night would fwear him dropt out of the moon.
One, whom the mob, when next we find or make
A popish plot, fhall for a Jefuit take,

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And

Before he fcap'd; fo it pleas'd my destiny
(Guilty of my fin of going) to think me
As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
ful, as proud, luftful, 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 ftrange, than on Nile's flime the fun
E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came:
A thing which would have pos'd Adam to name ;
Stranger than feven antiquaries ftudies,
Than Africk monsters, guianacs rarities,
Stranger than ftrangers: one who, for a Dane,
In the Dane's maffacre had fure been flain,
If he had liv'd then; and without help dies,
When next the prentices 'gainst strangers rise :

One,

And the wife justice starting from his chair
Cry, By your priefthood tell me what you are?
Such was the wight: th' apparel on his back,
Tho' coarfe, was rev'rend, and tho' bare, was black :
The fuit, if by the fashion one might guess,
Was velvet in the youth of good queen Befs,
But mere tuff-taffety what now remain'd;
So time, that changes all things, had ordain'd!
Our fons shall see it leisurely decay,

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Firft turn plain rash, then vanish quite away.

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This thing has travel'd, fpeaks each language too,

And knows what's fit for ev'ry state to do;

Of whose best phrafe and courtly accent join❜d,
He forms one tongue, exotic and refin'd.

Talkers I've learnt to bear; Motteux I knew,
Henley himself I've heard, and Budgel too.
The doctor's wormwood ftile, the hafh of tongues
A pedant makes, the ftorm of Gonfon's lungs,

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The

One, whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by;
One, to whom the examining juftice fure would cry,
Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are?

His cloaths were ftrange, tho' coarfe, and black, tho
bare,

Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been

Velvet, but 'twas now (fo much ground was feen)
Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall

See it plain rafh a while, then nought at all.

The thing hath travail'd, and, faith, speaks all tongues,

And only knoweth what to all ftates belongs,

Made of th' accents, and beft phrafe of all thefe,
He speaks one language. If ftrange meats difplease,
You would leave loneness. I faid, not alone
Art can deceive, or hunger force my tafte;
But pedant's motly tongue, foldiers bumbaft,

Moun

The whole artill'ry of the terms of war,
And (all those plagues in one) the bawling bar:
These I could bear; but not a rogue fo civil,
Whose tongue will compliment you to the devil.
A tongue, that can cheat widows, cancel fcores.
Make Scots fpeak treason, cozen fubtleft whores,
With royal favourites in flattʼry vie,
And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie,

He spies me out; I whisper, gracious God!
What fin of mine could merit fuch a rod?
That all the fhot of dulnefs now muft be
From this thy blunderbufs discharg'd on me!
Permit (he cries) no ftranger to your fame
To crave your fentiment, if's your name.
What Speech efteem you moft? "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."

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But,

Mountebanks drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
Are ftrong 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,
Make men speak treason, couzen fubtleft whores,
Outflatter favourites, or outlie either
Jovius, or Surius, or both together.

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

I love your judgment, whom do you prefer
For the beft 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

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