A verier monster than on Afric's shore
The sun e'er got, or slimy Nilus bore,
Or Sloane 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,
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,
Tho' coarse was rev'rend, and tho' bare was black :
The suit, if by the fashion one might guess,
Was velvet in the youth of good Queen Bess,
Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies,
Than Afric's monsters, Guiana's rarities;
Stranger than strangers; one who for a Dane
In the Danes' massacre had sure been slain,
If he had liv'd then, and without help dies
When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise:
One whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by;
One t' whom th' examining justice sure would cry,
Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are?
His cloaths were strange tho' coarse, and black tho'
bare;
Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
Velvet, but 't was now (so much ground was seen)
But mere tufftaffety 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 ev'ry state to do;
Of whose best phrase and courtly accent join'd
He forms one tongue, exotic and refin'd.
Talkers I've learn'd to bear; Motteux I knew,
Henly himself I've heard, and Budgell too,
The Doctor's wormwood style, the hash of tongues
A pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs,
The whole artill'ry of the terms of war,
And (all those plagues in one) the bawling bar: 55
These I could bear; but not a rogue so civil
Whose tongue will compliment you to the devil :
Become tufftaffety; and our children shall
See it plain rash awhile, then fought at all.
The thing hath travell'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' motley tongue, soldiers' bombast,
Mountebanks' drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
Are strong enough preparatives to draw
A tongue that can cheat widows, cancel scores, Make Scots speak treason, cozen subtlest whores, With royal favourites in flatt'ry 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 discharg'd 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.
Me to hear this; yet I must be content
With his tongue, in his tongue called complement; In which he can win widows, and pay scores, Make men speak treason, cozen 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 chuseth me? He saith, Sir,
I love your judgment; whom do you prefer
For the best linguist ? and I sillily
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 (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 sure transition to his own;
Till I cry'd 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 Tow'r had stood.
Nay, but of men? most sweet Sir! Beza, then,
Some Jesuists, and two rev'rend men
Of our two academies, I nam'd.
He stopt 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 have sold
His tongue he prais'd it, and such wonders told,
That I was fain to say, if you had liv'd, Sir,
Time enough to have been interpreter
To Babel's bricklayers, sure the Tow'r had stood.
He adds, If of court-life you knew the good
Obliging Sir! for courts you sure were made,
Why then for ever bury'd 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! you 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.
Tho' in his pictures Lust be full display'd,
Few are the converts Aretine has made;
And tho' the court show vice exceeding clear,
None should, by my advice, learn virtue there.
At this entranc'd, 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;
You would leave loneness. I said, not alone
My loneness 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, tho' there be few
Better pictures of vice, teach me virtue.
He, like to a high-stretch'd lutestring squeakt, O, Sir! 'Tis sweet to talk of kings! At Westminster,
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