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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.
'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,
Painted for fight, and effenc'd for the smell, Like frigates fraught with spice and cochinell, Sail in the Ladies: how each pirate eyes So weak a veffel, and fo rich a prize! Top-gallant he, and fhe in all her trim, He boarding her, she striking fail to him : "Dear Countefs! you have charms all hearts to hit !" And "Sweet Sir Fopling! you have fo much wit!" Such wits and beauties are not prais'd for nought, For both the beauty and the wit are bought. 'Twould burft even Heraclitus with the spleen, To fee those anticks, Fopling and Courtin : The Prefence feems, with things fo richly odd,
The mofque of Mahound, or fome queer Pa-god.
See them furvey their limbs by Durer's rules,
Of all beau-kind the best proportion'd fools!
As pirates (which do know
Shall find their wardrobes inventory. Now
The Ladies come.
That there came weak fhips fraught with Cutchanel)
The men board them: and praise (as they think) well,
Their beauties; they the mens wits; both are bought,
Why good wits ne'er wear scarlet gowns, I thought
This cause, These men, mens wits for speeches buy,
And women buy all red which scarlets dye.
He call'd her beauty lime-twigs, her hair net:
She fears her drugs ill lay'd, her hair loose fet.
Wouldn't Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine
From hat to fhoe, himself at door refine,
Adjuft their cloaths, and to confeffion draw
Thofe venial fins, an atom, or a straw;
But oh! what terrors muft diftract the foul
Convicted of that mortal crime, a hole;
Or fhould one pound of powder lefs 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-glov'd Chaplain goes,
With band of Lily, and with cheek of Rose,
Sweeter than Sharon, in immaculate trim,
Neatness itself impertinent in him.
As if the Prefence were a Mofque: and lift
His fkirts and hofe, and call his clothes to fhrift,
Making them confefs not only mortal
Great ftains and holes in them, but venial
Feathers and duft, wherewith they fornicate:
And then by Durer's rules furvey the state
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 fuch 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 arrefts,
And unto her protefts, protefts, protests,
So much as at Rome would ferve to have thrown
Ten Cardinals into the Inquifition;
Let but the Ladies fmile, and they are bleft:
Prodigious! how the things protest, protest:
Peace, fools, or Gonfon will for Papists seize you,
If once he catch you at your Jefu ! Jefu!
Nature made every Fop to plague his brother,
Juft as one Beauty mortifies another.
But here's the Captain that will plague them both, 260
Whofe air cries Arm! whofe very look's an oath :
The Captain's honest, Sirs, and that 's enough,
Though his foul's bullet, and his body buff.
He fpits fare-right; his haughty cheft 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 curfe,
Has yet a ftrange ambition to look worse :
And whifpers by Jefu so oft, that a
Pursuevant would have ravish'd him away
For faying our Lady's Pfalter. 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 carelefnefs good fashion:
Whose cloak his fpurs tear, or whom he spits on,
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
Confounds the civil, keeps the rude in awe,
Jefts like a licens'd fool, commands like law.
Frighted, I quit the room, but leave it fo
As men from Jails to execution go;
For hung with deadly fins I see the wall,
And lin'd with Giants deadlier than them all;
Each Man an Afkapart, of ftrength to tofs
For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-crofs.
Scar'd at the grizly forms, I fweat, I fly,
And shake all o'er, like a discover'd spy.
Courts are too much for wits fo weak as mine:
Charge them with Heaven's Artillery, bold Divine!
From fuch alone the Great rebukes endure,
Whofe Satire's facred, and whose rage fecure:
He strives to look worfe; he keeps all in awe ;
Jefts like a licens'd fool, commands like law.
Tir'd, now, I leave this place, and but pleas'd fo
As men from gaols to execution go,
Go, through the great chamber (why is it hung,
With these feven deadly fins?) being among
Those Askaparts, men big enough to throw
Charing-crofs, for a bar, men that do know,
No token of worth, but Queens man, and fine
Living; barrels of beef, flaggons of wine.
I shook like a spied Spie-Preachers which are
Seas of Wit and Arts, you can, then dare,
Drown the fins of this place, but as for me
Which am but a scant brook, enough shall be