Who makes a Trust of Charity a Job,
And gets an Act of Parliament to rob:
Why Turnpikes rise, 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:
At 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 naufeate, yet he thrufts in more:
Trims Europe's balance, tops the statesman's part,
And talks Gazettes and Postboys o'er by heart,
He knows who hath sold his land, and now doth beg
A licence, old iron, boots, fhoes, and egge-
fhortly boys fhall not play
At fpan-counter, or blow-point, but shall pay
Toll to fome Courtier; and wiser than all us,
He knows what Lady is not painted. Thus
He with home meats cloys me, I belch, fpue, fpit,
Look pale and fickly, like a Patient, yet
He thrusts 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 fight of loathfome meat
Ready to caft, I yawn, I figh, and sweat.
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 fucceffion to the day of doom:
He names the price for every office paid,
And fays our wars thrive ill, because 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 beafts,
Than mine to find a subject stay'd and wife
Already half turn'd traitor by furprize.
Like a big wife, at fight of loathed meat,
Ready to travail : so I figh, and sweat
To hear this Makaron talk: in vain, for yet,
Either my humour, or his own to fit,
He like a priviledg'd fpie, whom nothing can
Difcredit, libels now 'gainst each great man.
He names the price of every office paid;
He faith our wars thrive ill because delaid;
That Offices are intail'd, and that there are
Perpetuities of them, lafting as far
As the last day; and that great officers
Do with the Spaniards share, and Dunkirkers.
I more amaz'd than Circe's prifoners, when
They felt themselves turn beafts, felt myself then
I felt th' infection flide from him to me,
As in the pox, fome give it to get free;
And quick to fwallow me, methought I saw
One of our Giant Statutes ope its jaw.
In that nice Moment, as another Lye
Stood just a-tilt, the Minister came by.
To him he flies, and bows, and bows again,
Then, close as Umbra, joins the dirty train,
Not Fannius' felf more impudently near,
When half his nofe is in his Prince's car.
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 venemous Leachers do grow
By giving others their fores, I might grow
Guilty, and he free: Therefore I did show
All figns of loathing; but fince I am in,
I must pay mine, and my forefathers fin
To the last farthing. Therefore to my power
Toughly and stubbornly I bear; but th' hower
Of mercy now was come; he tries to bring
Me to pay a fine to 'fcape a torturing,
And fays, Sir, can you spare me? I said, Willingly;
Nay, Sir, can you spare me a crown? Thankfully I
Gave it, as ranfom; but as fidlers, still,
Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
Thruft one more jigg upon you; so did he
With his long complimental thanks vex me.
I quak'd at heart; and, ftill afraid to fee
All the Court fill'd with ftranger things than he,
Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail,
And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.
Bear me, fome God! oh quickly bear me hence
To wholesome Solitude, the nurfe of Senfe:
Where Contemplation pranes her ruffled wings,
And the free foul looks down to pity Kings!
There fober thought purfued th' amusing theme,
Till Fancy colour'd it, and form'd a Dream.
A Vifion hermits can to Hell transport,
And forc'd ev'n me to fee the damn'd at Court.
Not Dante, dreaming all th' infernal ftate,
Beheld fuch scenes of envy, fin, and hate.
Bafe Fear becomes the guilty, not the free;
Suits Tyrants, Plunderers, but fuits not me :
But he is gone, thanks to his needy want,
And the Prerogative of my Crown; feant
His thanks were ended, when I (which did fee
All the Court fill'd with more strange things than he).
Ran from thence with fuch, or more hafte than one
Who fears more actions, doth haft from prison.
At home in wholesome folitarinefs
My piteous foul began the wretchedness
Of fuitors at court to mourn, and a trance
Like his, who dreamt he faw hell, did advance
Itself o'er me; fuch men as he saw there
I faw at court, and worfe and more.
Shall I, the Terror of this finful town,
Care, if a livery'd Lord or smile or frown?
Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can,
Tremble before a noble Serving-man?
O my fair mistress, Truth! fhall I quit thee
For huffing, braggart, puft Nobility?
Thou, who fince yesterday hast roll'd o'er all
The busy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Haft thou, oh Sun! beheld an emptier fort,
Than fuch as fwell this bladder of a court?
Now pox on those who show a Court in wax!
It ought to bring all Courtiers on their backs:
Such painted puppets! such a varmish'd race
Of hollow gewgaws, only drefs and face!
Becomes the guilty, not the accufer: Then,
Shall I, none's flave, of highborn or rais'd men
Fear frowns and my miftrefs Truth, betray thee
For th' huffing, bragart, puft nobility ?
No, no, thou which since yesterday hast been,
Almost about the whole world, haft thou seen,
O fun, in all thy journey, vanity,
Such as fwells the bladder of our court? I
Think he which made your Waxen garden, and
Transported it from Italy, to stand
With us, at London, flouts our Courtiers; for
Juft fuck gay painted things, which no fap, nor
Tafte have in them, ours are; and natural
Some of the ftocks are; their fruits bastard all.
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