He Ipies me out. I whisper, gracious God
What Sin of mine cou'd meritfuch a Rod?
That all the Shot of Dulness now must be
From this thy Blunderbuss discharg❜d on me!
Permit (he cries) no Stranger to your Fame
To crave your Sentiment, if Pope's your Name. [I,
What Speech efteem you most?" The King's, faid
But the best Words?" O Sir, the Dictionary.
You mifs my Aim: I mean the most acute
And perfect Speaker?" Onflow paft Difpute.
But Sir, of Writers?" Swift, for clofer Stile,
"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 shown,
He came by fure Tranfition to his own:
'Till I cry'd out, You prove yourfelf fo able,
Pity! you was not Druggerman at Babel z
For had they found a Linguift half fo good,
I make no Question but the Tow'r had stood.

Obliging Sir! for Courts you fure were made: "Why then for ever buried in the Shade?

"Spirits like you, fhou'd fee and fhou'd be seen,
"The King would fmile on you--at leaft the Queen."
Ah gentle Sir! you Courtiers fo cajole us
But Tully has it, Nunquam minus folus :
And as for Courts, forgive me if I fay
No Leffons now are taught the Spartan Way ;
Tho' in his Pictures Luft be full difplay'd,
Few are the Converts Aretine has made;

And

Are not your Frenchman 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.

Ο

Not fo, Sir, I have more. Under this Pitch
He would not fly; I chaf'd him: But as Itch
Scratch'd into Smart, and as blunt Iron grown'd
Into an Edge, hurts worfe: So, I (Fool) found,
Croffing hurt me. To fit my Sullenness,
He to another Key his Stile doth dress;
And afks, what News? I tell him of new Playes,
He takes my Hand, and as a Still which fayes
A Sembrief, 'twixt each Drop, he niggardly,
As loath to inrich me, fo tells many a Ly.

More than ten Hollenfheads, or Halls, or Stows,
Of trivial houshold Trafb: He knows, he knows
When the Queen frown'd or fmil'd, and he knows what
A fubtle States-man may gather of that;

He knows whom loves whom; and whom by Poyfon
Haftes to an Office's Reverfion;

Who wafts in Meat, in Clothes, in Horfe, he notes,
Who loveth Whores, and who Boys, and who Goats.
He knows who hath fold his Land, and now doth beg
A Licenfe, old Iron, Boots, Shoes, and Egge-
Shels to tranfport; fhortly Boys fhall not play
At Span-counter, or Blow-point, but shall pay
Toll to fome Courtier; and wifer than all us,
He knows what Lady is not painted. Thus
He with home Meats cloyes me. I belch, fpue, fpit,'
Look pale and fickly, like a Patient, yet
He thrust on more, and as he had undertook,
To fay Gallo-Belgicus without Book,

Speaks of all States and Deeds that have been fince
The Spaniards came, to th' Lofs of Amyens.
Like a big Wife, at Sight of loathed Meat,
Ready to travail: So I figh and fweat

To

And tho' the Court show Vice exceeding clear,
None fhou'd, by my Advice, learn Virtue ther

At this entranc'd, he lifts his Hands and Eyes,
Squeaks like a high-ftretch'd Lute-string, and replie
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 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 speaking Truth of Monarchs dead,
What few can of the Living, Eafe and Bread.
"Lord! Sir, a meer Mechanick! ftrangely low,
And courfe of Phrase-your English all are fo.
"How elegant your Freuchman ?--Mine d'ye mean?
I have but one, I hope the Fellow's clean.

Oh! Sir, politely well! nay, let me die,
"Your only Wearing is your Padua-foy.”
Not Sir my only, I have better ftill,
And this you fee is but my Difhabille-
Wild to get loofe, his Patience I provoke,
Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke.
But as coarfe Iron, fharpen'd, mangles more,
And Itch most hurts when anger'd to a Sore;
So when you plague a Fool, 'tis ftill the Curfe,
You only make the Matter worfe and worse.
He paft it o'er; affects an eafy Smile
At all my Peevifhnefs, and turns his Stile.
He afks, What News? I tell him of new Plays,
New Eunuchs, Harlequins, and Operas.
He hears, and as a Still with Simples in it,
Between each Drop it gives, ftays half a Minute;
Loth to enrich me with too quick Replies,
By little, and by little, drops his Lies. [Shows,
Meer houfhold Trafh! of Birth-night Balls and
More than ten Hollingsheads, or Halls, or Stows.

When

To hear this Makaron talk: In vain, for yet,
Eiber my Humour, or his own to fit,

He like a privileg'd Spie, whom nothing can
Difcredit, libels now 'gainst each great Man.
He names a Price of every Office paid;

He faith, our Wars thrive ill, because delay'd;
That Offices are intail'd, and that there are
Perpetuities of them, lafting as far

As the laft Day; and that great Officers
Do with the Spaniards fhare, and Dunkirkers.
I more amaz'd than Circe's Prifoners, when
They felt themselves turn Beafts, felt myself then
Becoming Traytor, and methought I faw
One of our Giant Statutes ope his Jaw,
To fuck me in for hearing him: I found
That as burnt venomous Letchers do grow found
By giving others their Sores, I might grow
Guilty, and he free: Therefore I did how
All Signes of Loathing; but fince I am in,
I must pay mine, and my Forefather's Sin
To the laft Farthing. Therefore to my Power
Toughly and ftubbornly I bear this Crefs; but the Hower
Of Mercy now was come: He tries to bring
Me to pay a Fine to 'fcape his Torturing,

And fayes, Sir, can you spare me? I faid; willingly;
Nay, Sir, can you Spare me a Crown? Thankfully I
Gave it as Ranfom; but as Fiddlers, ftill,
Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
Thrust one more Figg upon you; fo did he
With his long complemental Thanks vex me:
But he is gone, Thanks to his needy Want,
And the Prerogative of my Crown: Scant
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 hafte from Prisen.

At

When the Queen frown'd, or fmil'd, he knows; and
A fubtle Minister may make of that ; [what
Who fins with whom; who got his Penfion Rug,
Or quicken'd a Reverfion 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;
Who in the Secret, deals in Stocks secure,
And cheats th' unknowing Widow, and the Poor;
Who makes a Truft, or Charity, a Job,
And gets an Act of Parliament to rob;

Why Turnpikes rofe, and now no Cit, nor Clown,
Can gratis fee the Country, or the Town:
Shortly no Lad fhall chuck, or Lady vole,
But fome excifing Courtier will have Toll.
He tells what Strumpet 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.
As one of Woodward's Patients, fick and fore,
I puke, I nauseate,-yet he thrufts in more;
Trims Europe's Ballance, tops the Statefman's Part,
And talks Gazettes and Poft-boys o'er by Heart;
Like a big Wife, at Sight of loathfome Meat
Ready to caft, I yawn, I figh, I fweat.
Then as a licens❜d Spy, whom nothing can
Silence or hurt, he libels the great Man:
Swears every Place entail'd for Years to come,
In fure Succeffion to the Day of Doom:
He names the Price for ev'ry Office paid,
And fays our Wars thrive ill, becaufe delay'd;
Nay hints, 'tis by Connivance of the Court,
That Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a Port.
Not more Amazement seiz❜d on Circe's Guests,
To fee themselves fall endlong into Beasts,
VOL. II.
P

Than