Call himself barrister to every wench,
And woo in language of the Pleas and Bench?
Language, which Boreas might to Auster hold,
More rough than forty Germans when they scold.
Cursed be the wretch, so venal and so vain:
Paltry and proud, as drabs in Drury-lane.
"Tis such a bounty as was never known,
If Peter deigns to help you to your own:
What thanks, what praise, if Peter but supplies!
And what a solemn face, if he denies !

Grave, as when prisoners shake the head and swear
'Twas only suretyship that brought them there.
His office keeps your parchment fates entire,
He starves with cold to save them from the fire:
For you he walks the streets through rain or dust,
For not in chariots Peter puts his trust;
For you he sweats and labours at the laws,
Takes God to witness he affects your cause,
And lies to every lord in every thing,
Like a king's favourite-or like a king.
These are the talents that adorn them all,
From wicked Waters e'en to godly **
Not more of simony beneath black gowns,
Not more of bastardy in heirs to crowns.
In shillings and in penee at first they deal;
And steal so little, few perceive they steal:
Till, like the sea, they compass all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover strand.
And when rank widows purchase luscious nights,
Or when a duke to Jansen punts at White's,
Or city heir in mortgage melts away,
Satan himself feels far less joy than they.
Piecemeal they win this acre first, then that,
Glean on, and gather up the whole estate;
Then strongly fencing ill-got wealth by law,
Indentures, covenants, articles they draw,

His title of barrister on every wench,

*

*

And wooes in language of the Pleas and Bench.**
Words, words which would tear
The tender labyrinth of a maid's soft ear:
More, more than ten Sclavonians scolding, more
Than when winds in our ruin'd abbeys roar.
Then sick with poetry, and possess'd with muse
Thou wast, and mad I hoped; but men which chuse.
Law practice for mere gain: bold soul repute
Worse than imbrothel'd strumpets prostitute.
Now like an owl-like watchman he must walk,
His hand still at a bill; now he must talk

Idly, like prisoners, which whole months will swear,
That only suretiship had brought them there,
And to every suitor lye in every thing,
Like a king's favourite-or like a king.
Like a wedge in a block, wring to the barre,
Bearing like asses, and more shameless farre
Than carted whores, lye to the grave judge: for
Bastardy abounds not in king's titles, nor
Simony and Sodomy in churchmen's lives,
As these things do in him; by these he thrives.
Shortly (as th' sea) he'll compass all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover strand.
And spying heirs melting with luxury,
Satan will not joy at their sins as he;
For (as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen-stuffe,
And barrelling the droppings and the snuffe
Of wasting candles, which in thirty year,
Reliquely kept, perchance buys wedding cheer)

Large as the fields themselves, and larger far
Than civil codes, with all their glosses, are;
So vast, our new divines, we must confess,
Are fathers of the church for writing less.
But let them write for you, each rogue impairs
The deeds, and dexterously omits ses heires:
No commentator can more slily pass
Over a learn'd unintelligible place:
Or, in quotation, shrewd divines leave out
Those words that would against them clear the
doubt.

So Luther thought the Pater-noster long,
When doom'd to say his beads and even-song;
But having cast his cowl, and left those laws,
Adds to Christ's prayer, the power and glory clause.
The lands are bought; but where are to be found
Those ancient woods, that shaded all the ground?
We see no new-built palaces aspire,

No kitchens emulate the vestal fire.

Where are those troops of poor, that throng'd of yore

The good old landlord's hospitable door?
Well I could wish, that still in lordly domes
Some beasts were kill'd, though not whole hecatombs,
That both extremes were banish'd from their walls,
Carthusian fasts, and fulsome bacchanals;
And all mankind might that just mean observe,
In which none e'er could surfeit, none could starve
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 said, I trust, without offence;
Let no court sycophant pervert my sense,
Nor sly informer watch these words to draw
Within the reach of treason, or the law.

Piecemeal he gets lands, and spends as much time
Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime.
In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws
Assurances, big as gloss'd civil laws,
So huge that men (in our times forwardness)
Are fathers of the church for writing less.
These he writes not; nor for these written payes,
Therefore spares no length (as in those first dayes
When Luther was profess'd, he did desire
Short Pater-nosters, saying as a fryer

Each day his beads: but having left those laws,
Adds to Christ's prayer, the power and glory clause)
But when he sells or changes land, he impaires
The writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out ses heires,
As slily as any commentator goes by
Hard words, or sense; or, in divinity,
As controverters in vouch'd texts, leave out
Shrewd words, which might against them clear the
doubt.

Where are these spread woods which cloathed

heretofore

Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within door
Where the old landlords troops and almes? In halls
Carthusian fasts, and fulsome bacchanals
Equally I hate. Means bless'd. In rich men's homes
I bid kill some beasts, but no hecatombs;
None starve, none surfeit so. But (oh) we allow
Good works as good, but out of fashion now,
Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws
Within the vast reach of the huge statute's jawes.

SATIRE IV.
WELL, if it be my time to quit the stage,
Adieu to all the follies of the age!
I die in charity with fool and knave,
Secure of peace at least beyond the grave.
I've had my purgatory here betimes,
And paid for all my satires, 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 fired,
Nor the vain itch to admire, or be admired:
I hoped for no commission from his grace;
I bought no benefice, I begg'd no place :
Had no new verses, nor new suit to show,
Yet went to court!-the devil would have it so.
But, as the fool that in reforming days
Would go to mass in jest (as story says)
Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd,
Since 'twas no form'd design of serving God;
So was I punish'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 false, as they

Who live at court, for going once that way!
Scarce was I enter'd, when, behold! there came
A thing which Adam has been posed to name;
Noah had refused it lodging in his ark,
Where all the race of reptiles might embark:
A verier monster, than on Afric's shore,
The sun e'er got, or slimy Nilus bore,

Or Sloan or Woodward's wondrous shelves contain,
Nay, all that lying travellers can feign.
The watch would hardly let him pass at noon,
At night would swear him dropp'd out of the moon;
One, whom the mob, when next we find or make
A popish plot, shall for a Jesuit take,

SATIRE IV.

WELL; I may now receive, and die. My sin
Indeed is great; but yet I have been in
A purgatory, such as fear'd Hell is

A recreation, and scant map of this.

My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor hath been
Poyson'd with love to see or to be seen;

I had no suit there, nor new suit to show,
Yet went to court; but as Glare which did go
To mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse
Two hundred markes which is the statutes curse,
Before he scaped; so it pleased my destiny
(Guilty of my sin of going) to think me
As prone to all ill, and good as forget-
ful, as proud, lustful, 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 suffer'd this: towards me did run
A thing more strange, than on Nile's slime the sun
E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came;
A thing which would have posed Adam to name,
Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies,
Than Africk monsters, Guianaes rarities,
Stranger than strangers: one who, for a Dane,
In the Danes' massacre had sure been slain,
If he had lived then; and without help dies,
When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise;
One, whom the watch at noon scarce lets go by:
One, to whom the examining justice sure would cry,

And the wise justice starting from his chair
Cry, 'By your priesthood tell me what you are?'
Such was the wight: the apparel on his back,
Though coarse, was reverend, and though bare, was
black:

The suit, if by the fashion one might guess,
Was velvet in the youth of good queen Bess,
But mere tuff-taffety what now remain'd;
So time, that changes all things, had ordain'd!
Our sons shall see it leisurely decay,

First turn plain rash, then vanish quite away.

This thing has travell'd, speaks each language too, And knows what's fit for every state to do; Of whose best phrase and courtly accent join'd, He forms one tongue, exotic and refined. Talkers I've learn'd to bear; Morteux I knew, Henley himself I've heard, and Budgel too. The doctor's wormwood style, the hash of tongues A pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs, The whole artillery of the terms of war, And (all those plagues in one) the bawling bar; These I could bear; but not a rogue so civil, Whose tongue will compliment you to the devil A tongue that can cheat widows, cancel scores, Make Scots speak treason, cozen subtlest whores, With royal favourites in flattery vie,

And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.

He spies me out; I whisper, 'Gracious God! What sin of mine could merit such a rod? That all the shot of dulness now must be From this thy blunderbuss discharged on me!' 'Permit,' he cries, no stranger to your fame To crave your sentiment, if's your name. What speech esteem you most?' 'The king's,' said I. 'But the best words ?'-' O, sir, the dictionary.' 'You miss my aim! I mean the most acute And perfect speaker?'—' Onslow, past dispute.'

Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are?'
His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black
though bare,

Sleeveless his jerkin was, and had it been
Velvet, but 'twas now, (so much ground was seen)
Become tuff-taffaty; and our children shall
See it plain rash a while, then nought at all.

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

And only knoweth what to all states belongs,
Made of the accents, and best phrase of all these
He speaks one language. If strange meats displease
Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste;
But pedants motly tongue, soldiers bumbast,
Mountebanks drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
Are strong 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 subtlest 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 sinn'd that thy wrath's furious rod, This fellow, chooseth me! he saith, 'Sir,

I love your judgment, whom do you prefer.
For the best linguist?' and I seelily
Said that I thought Calepine's dictionary.

'But, sir, of writers ?'-'Swift, for closer style, But Hoadly for a period of a mile.'

Why yes, 'tis granted, these indeed may pass;
Good common linguists, and so Panurge was;'
Nay, troth, the apostles (though 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 sure transition to his own:
Till I cried out, 'You prove yourself so able,
Pity! you was not Druggerman at Babel;
For had they found a linguist half so good,
I make no question but the tower had stood.'
Obliging sir! for courts you sure were made:
Why then for ever buried in the shade?
Spirits like you, should see and should be seen,
The king would smile on you-at least the queen.'
'Ah, gentle sir! your courtiers so cajole us-
But Tully has it, Nunquam minus solus:
And as for courts, forgive me, if I say

No lessons now are taught the Spartan way:
Though in his pictures lust be full display'd,
Few are the converts Aretine has made;

And though the court show vice exceeding clear,
None should, by my advice, learn virtue there.'

At this entranced, he lifts his hands and eyes, Squeaks like a high-stretch'd lutestring, and replies: 'Oh, 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things To gaze on princes, and to talk of kings!' 'Then happy man who shows the tombs !' said I, 'He dwells amidst the royal family; He every day from king to king can walk, Of all our Harrys, all our Edwards talk; And get, by speaking truth of monarchs dead, What few can of the living-ease and bread.' 'Lord, sir, a mere mechanic! strangely low, And coarse of phrase,-your English all are so.

'Nay, but of men, most sweet sir?' Beza then,
Some Jesuits, and two reverend men
Of our two academies I named. Here

He stopp'd me, and said, 'Nay your apostles were
Good pretty linguists; so Panurgus was,
Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass
By travail.' Then, as if he would sold
His tongue, he praised it, and such wonders told,
That I was fain to say, 'If you had lived, sir,
Time enough to have been interpreter
To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood.'
He adds, "If of court life you knew the good,
You would leave loneless.' I said, 'Not alone
My loneless is; but Spartanes fashion

To teach by painting drunkards doth not last
Now, Aretine's pictures have made few chaste;
No more can princes courts (though there be few
Better pictures of vice) teach me virtue.'

He like to a high-stretch'd lutestring squeaks, '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 shall hear nought but kings; your eyes meet
Kings only: the way to it is King-street.'

He smack'd, and cried, ' He's base, mechanique coarse, So are all your Englishmen in their discourse.

How elegant your Frenchmen!' 'Mine d'ye mean?
I have but one; I hope the fellow's clean.'
O! sir, politely so! nay, let me die,
Your only wearing is your paduasoy.'
Not, sir, my only, I have better still,
And this you see is but my des habille-'
Wild to get loose, his patience I provoke,
Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke.
But as coarse iron, sharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch most hurts when anger'd to a sore;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis still the curse,
You only make the matter worse and worse.
He pass'd it o'er; affects an easy sinile

At all my peevishness, and turns his style.
He asks, 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, stays half a minute,
Loath to enrich me with too quick replies,
By little, and by little, drops his lies.

Mere household trash! of birthnights, balls, and shows,

More than ten Hollinsheds, or Halls, or Stowes. When the queen frown'd, or smiled, he knows; and

what

A subtle minister may make of that:
Who sins with whom: who got his pension rug,
Or quicken'd a reversion by a drug :
Whose place is quarter'd out, three parts in four,
And whether to a bishop, or a whore:
Who, having lost his credit, pawn'd his rent,
Is therefore fit to have a government:
Who, in the secret, deals in stocks secure,
And cheats the unknowing widow and the poor:
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 see the country, or the town:

Are not your Frenchmen neat?' 'Mine, as you see,

I have but one, sir, look, he follows me.' 'Certes they are neatly cloathed. I of this mind am, Your only wearing is your grogaram.'

Not so, sir, I have more.' Under this pitch He would not fly: I chaff'd him: but as itch Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground Into an edge, hurts worse: So, I (fool) found, Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness, He to another key his style doth dress: And asks what news; I tell him of new playes. He takes my hand, and as a still, which stayes A sembrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly, As loth to enrich me, so tells many a ly. More than ten Hollensheds, or Halls, or Stows, Of trivial household trash, he knows. He knows When the queen frown'd or smiled! and he knows what

A subtle statesman may gather of that

He knows who loves whom : and who by poison
Hastes to an officer's reversion;

See! where the British youth, engaged 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 sold to look so 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 strut in courtiers' clothes?
For these are actors too, as well as those :
Wants reach all states: they beg but better dress'd,
And all is splendid poverty at best.

Painted for sight, and essenced for the smell,
Like frigates fraught with spice and cochineal,
Sail in the ladies: how each pirate eyes
So weak a vessel, and so rich a prize!
Top-gallant he, and she in all her trim,
He boarding her, she striking sail to him:
'Dear countess! you have charms all hearts to hit!
And 'Sweet sir Fopling! you have so much wit!'
Such wits and beauties are not praised for nought,
For both the beauty and the wit are bought.
"Twould burst e'en Heraclitus with the spleen,
To see those anticks, Fopling and Courtin:
The presence seems, with things so richly odd,
The mosque of Mahound, or some queer pagod.
See them survey their limbs by Durer's rules,
Of all beau-kind the best proportion'd fools!
Adjust their clothes, and to confession draw
Those venial sins, an atom, or a straw:
But, oh! what terrors must distract the soul
Convicted of that mortal crime, a hole :

"Tis ten o'clock and past; all whom the mues, Baloun, or tennis, diet, or the stews Had all the morning held, now the second Time made ready, that day, in flocks are found In the presence; and I (God pardon me) As fresh and sweet their apparels be, as be Their fields they sold to buy them. For a king Those hose are, cried the flatterers: and bring Them next week to the theatre to sell. Wants reach all states: me seems they do as well At stage, as courts: all are players. Whoe'er looks (For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapside books, Shall find their wardrobes, inventory. Now The ladies come. As pirates (which do know That there came weak ships fraught with cutchanel) The men board them: and praise (as they think)| well,

Or should one pound of powder less bespread
Those monkey-tails that wag behind their head
Thus finish'd, and corrected to a hair,

They march, to prate their hour before the fair
So first to preach a white-gloved chaplain goes,
With band of lily, and with cheek of rose,
Sweeter than Sharon, in immaculate trim,
Neatness itself impertinent in him.

Let but the ladies smile, and they are bless'd:
Prodigious! how the things protest! protest!
Peace, fools, or Gonson will for papist seize you,
If once he catch you at your Jesu! Jesu!

Nature made every fop to plague his brother,
Just as one beauty mortifies another.

But here's the captain that will plague them both,
Whose air cries, Arm! whose very look's an oath:
The captain's honest, sirs, and that's enough,
Though his soul's bullet, and his body buff.
He spits fore-right; his haughty chest before,
Like battering rams, beats open every door:
And with a face as red, and as awry,
As Herod's hangdogs in old tapestry,
Scarecrow to boys, the breeding woman's curse,
Has yet a strange ambition to look worse:
Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe,
Jests like a licensed fool, commands like law
Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it so
As men from jails to execution go;
For hung with deadly sins I see the wall,
And lined with giants deadlier than them all:
Each man an Askapart, of strength to toss
For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross.
Scared at the grizly forms, I sweat, I fly,
And shake all o'er, like a discover'd spy.

Of his each limb, and with strings the odds tries
Of his neck to his leg, and waste to thighs.
So in immaculate clothes and symmetry
Perfect as circles, with such nicety
As a young preacher at his first time goes
To preach, he enters, and a lady which owes
Him not so much as good-will, he arrests,
And unto her protests, protests, protests,
So much as at Rome would serve to have throwr
Ten cardinals into the Inquisition:
And whispers by Jesu so oft, that a
Pursuevant would have ravish'd him away
For saying our lady's Psalter. But 'tis fit
That they each other plague, they merit it.
But here comes Glorious that will plague 'em both
Who in the other extreme only doth
Call a rough carelessness good fashion :

He cares not, he. His ill words do no harm
To him; he rushes in, as if Arm, arm,
He meant to cry: and though his face be as ill
As theirs which in old hangings whip Christ, still
He strives to look worse; he keeps all in awe ;
Jests like a licensed fool, commands like law.

Tired, now, I leave this place, and but pleased so
As men from gaols to execution go,
Go, through the great chamber (why is it hung
With these seven deadly sins?) being among
Those Askaparts, men big enough to throw
Charing-cross, for a bar, men that do know
No token of worth, but queens man, and fine
Living: barrels of beef, flaggons of wine