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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

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,



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

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,

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 rife :


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And the wife juftice starting from his chair
Cry, By your priesthood 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,



Firft turn plain rash, then vanish quite away.
This thing has travel'd, fpeaks each language too,
And knows what's fit for ev'ry ftate 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,



One, whom the watch at noon lets fcarce 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' coarse, 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 fhall

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

The thing hath travail'd, and, faith, fpeaks all tongues, And only knoweth what to all states belongs, Made of th' accents, and beft phrafe of all these, He speaks one language. If ftrange meats displease, You would leave loneness. I said, not alone Art can deceive, or hunger force my tafte; But pedant's motly tongue, foldiers bumbaft,


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The whole artill'ry of the terms of war,

And (all thofe plagues in one) the bawling bar:
Thefe 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 treafon, cozen fubtleft whores,
With royal favourites in flatt'ry 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 must 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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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 treafon, 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 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





But, Sir, of writers?"Swift, for closer style,
"But Ho**y for a period of a mile."

Why yes, 'tis granted, these indeed may pass :
Good common linguifts, and fo Panurge was;
Nay troth th' apoftles, (tho' perhaps too rough)
Had once a pretty gift of tongues enough :
Yet these were all poor gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas travel made them what they were.
Thus others talents having nicely fhown,
He came by fure transition to his own :
Till 1 cry'd out, You prove yourself so able,
Pity! you was not druggerman at Babel;
For had they found a linguist half fo good,
I make no question but the tow'r had stood.


Of our two academies I nam'd. Here'


"Obliging Sir! for courts you fure were made :: "Why then for ever bury'd in the shade? "Spirits like you, should fee and should he seen, "The king would fmile on you-at leaft the queen.' Ah gentle Sir! you courtiers fo cajole usnunquam minus folus : forgive me, if I fay

But Tully has it,
And as for courts,

No leffons now are taught the Spartan way:

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He ftopt me, and faid, Nay your apoftles were
Good pretty linguifts; fo Panurgus was,
Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pafs
By travail. Then, as if he would have fold
tongue, he prais'd it, and fuch wonders told,
That I was fain to fay, if you had liv'd, Sir,
enough to have been interpreter



To Babel's bricklayers, fure the tower had stood.
He adds, If of court life you knew the good,
You would leave lonenefs. I faid, Not alone
My loneness is; but Spartanes fashion
↑ Vol. II.




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Tho' in his pictures luft be full display'd,
Few are the converts Aretine has made ;
And though the court fhow vice exceeding clear,
None fhould, by my advice, learn virtue there.

At this entranc'd, he lifts his hands and eyes,
Squeaks like a high-stretch'd luteftring, and replies;
"Oh 'tis the fweeteft of all earthly things
"To gaze on princes, and to talk of kings!"
Then, happy man who fhows the tombs! faid I,
He dwells amidst the royal family;
He ev'ry day from king to king can walk,
Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk.
And get by fpeaking truth of monarchs dead,
What few can of the living, eafe and bread.
"Lord, Sir, a mere mechanic! ftrangely low,
"And coarse of phrase,-your English all are fo.
"How elegant your Frenchmen ?" Mine, d'ye mean?
I have but one, I hope the fellow's clean.


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To teach by painting drunkards doth not laft
Now, Aretines pictures have made few chafte;
No more can princes courts (though there be few
Better pictures of vice) teach me virtue.

He like to a high-fretcht 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-ftreet.

He fmack'd, and cry'd,. He's bafe, mechanique, coarse,
So are all your Englishmen in their difcourfe..
Are not your Frenchmen neat? Mine, as you fee,

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



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