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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.



I felt

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.


I quak'd


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.

Low fear

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.


Such waxen nofes, ftately ftaring things

No wonder fome folks bow, and think them Kings.

See! where the British youth, engag'd no more,
At Fig's, at White's, with felons, or a whore,
Pay their last duty to the Court, and come
All fresh and fragrant, to the drawing-room;
In hues as gay, and odours as divine,
As the fair fields they fold to look fo fine.
"That's Velvet for a King!" the flatterer swears;
'Tis true, for ten days hence 'twill be King Lear's.
Our Court may justly to our stage give rules,
That helps it both to fools-coats and to fools.
And why not players ftrut in courtiers clothes?
For thefe are actors too, as well as thofe :
Wants reach all states: they beg but better dreft,
And all is fplendid poverty at best.




225 Painted

'Tis ten a Clock and past; all whom the mues, Baloun, or tennis, diet, or the stews

Had all the morning held, now the fecond
Time made ready, that day, in flocks are found
In the Prefence, and I (God pardon me)
As fresh and sweet their Apparels be, as be
Their fields they fold to buy them. For a king
Those hofe are, cry the flatterers: and bring
Them next week to the theatre to fell.

Wants reach all states: me feems they do as well
At stage, as courts; all are players. Whoe'er looks
(For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapfide books,

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