Time, that at last matures a clap to pox, Whose gentle progress makes a calf an ox, And brings all natural events to pass, Hath made him an Attorney of an Ass. No young divine, benefic'd, can be
More pert, more proud, more positive, than he. What further could I wish the fop to do But turn a wit, and scribble verses too? Pierce the soft lab'rinth of a lady's ear
With rhymes of this per cent. and that per year! Or court a wife, spread out his wily parts, Like nets, or lime-twigs, for rich widows' hearts; Call himself Barrister to ev'ry wench,
And wooe in language of the Pleas and Bench?
Whom time (which rots all, and make botches pox, And plodding on must make a calf an ox) Hath made a lawyer which (alas!) of late, But scarce a poet, jollier of this state Than are new-benefic'd ministers: he throws, Like nets or lime-twigs, whereso'er he goes, 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,
Language which Boreas might to Auster hold, More rough than forty Germans when they scold.
Curs'd 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 pris'ners shake the head, and swear 'Twas only suretyship that brought 'em there. His office keeps your parchment fates entire, He starves with cold to save them from the fire; For you he walks the streets thro 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,
More, more than ten Scalvonians scolding, more Than when winds in our ruin'd abbys roar. When sick with poetry, and possess'd with Muse Thou wast, and mad, I hop'd; but men which chuse Law-practice for meer gain, bold souls repute Worse than imbrothell'd strumpets prostitute. Now like an owl-like watchman must he walk, His hand still at a bill; now he must talk Idly, like pris'ners, which whole months will swear That only suretyship hath brought them there,
And lies to ev'ry lord in ev'ry thing,
Like a king's favourite-or like a king. These are the talents that adorn them all, From wicked Waters ev'n to godly * * Not more of Simony beneath black gowns, Not more of bastardy in heirs to crowns. In shillings and in pence 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 Janssen punts at White's,
Or city-heir in mortgage melts away,
Satan himself feels far less joy than they.
And to every suitor he in ev'ry thing. Like a king's favourite, or like a king: Like a wedge in a block wring to the bar, Bearing like asses, and more shameless far Than carted whores, lye to the grave judge; for Bastardy abounds not in kings' 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:
Piece-meal they win this acre first, then that, Glean on, and gather up the whole estate; Then strongly fencing ill-got wealth by law, Indentures, cov'nants, articles, they draw, 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 dex'trously omits ses heires: No commentator can more slily pass
O'er a learn'd unintelligible place;
Or in quotation shrewd divines leave out
Those words that would against them clear the doubt.
For as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen stuff, And barrelling the droppings and the snuff Of wasting candles, which in thirty year, (Reliquely kept) perchance buys wedding chear) Piece-meal 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 time's forwardness) Are father's of the church for writing less. These he writes not, nor for these written pays, Therefore spares no length; (as in those first days
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 pray'r the Pow'r and Glory clause. The lands are bought; but where are to be found Those ancient woods that shaded all the ground? 110 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, tho' not whole hecatombs ; That both extremes were banish'd from their walls, Carthusian fasts and fulsome Bacchanals;
When Luther was profest, he did desire Short Pater-nosters, saying as a fryer
Each day his beads; but having left those laws, Adds to Christ's pray'r the Power and Glory clause; But when he sells or changes land, h' impairs
His writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out ses heires, And 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.
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