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Of whofe ftrange crimes no Canonift can tell

In what Commandment's large contents they dwell.
One, one man only breeds my just offence;


Whom crimes gave wealth, and wealth gave Impudence:
Time, that at laft matures a clap to pox,
Whofe gentle progrefs makes a calf an ox,
And brings all natural events to pafs,
Hath made him an Attorney of an Afs.
No young divine, new-benefic'd, can be

More pert, more proud, more pofitive, than he.
What further could I with the fop to do,
But turn a wit, and fcribble verses too?
Pierce the foft labyrinth 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 every wench,
And wooe in language of the Pleas and Bench?


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Whofe ftrange fins Canonifts could hardly tell
In which Commandment's large receit they dwell.
But these punish themfelves. The infolence
Of Cofcus, only, breeds my juft offence,

Whom time (which rots all, and makes 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 Minifters, he throws
Like nets or lime-twigs wherefoe'er he goes

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 fuch 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 folemn face, if he denies!
Grave, as when prisoners shake the head and swear
'Twas only Suretiship that brought them there.
His Office keeps your Parchment fates entire,
He starves with cold to fave them from the fire;
For you he walks the streets through rain or dust,
For not in Chariots Peter puts his trust;

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 foft ear:

More, more than ten Sclavonians fcolding, more
Than when winds in our ruin'd Abbeys roar.
Then fick with Poetry, and poffeft with Muse
Thou waft, and mad I hop'd; but men which chuse
Law practice for meer gain: bold foul repute
Worfe than imbrothel'd ftrumpets 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 furetiship hath brought them there,

For you he fweats 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 even to godly **

Not more of Simony beneath black gowns,
Not more of bastardy in heirs to Crowns.
In fhillings and in pence at first they deal;
And steal fo little, few perceive they steal



Till, like the Sea, they compass all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover ftrand :
And when rank Widows purchase luscious nights,
Or when a Duke to Janffen punts at White's,
Or City Heir in mortgage melts away;
Satan himself feels far lefs joy than they.





And to every fuitor 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 affes, and more fhameless 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' fea) he'll compafs all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover strand.
And spying heirs melting with Luxury,

Satan will not joy at their fins as he ;

Piecemeal they win this acre first, then that,
Glean on, and gather up the whole estate.
Then ftrongly fencing ill-got wealth by law,
Indentures, Covenants, Articles they draw,
Large as the fields themselves, and larger far
Than Civil Codes, with all their Gloffes, are;
So vaft, our new Divines, we must confefs,
Are Fathers of the Church for writing lefs.
But let them write for you, each rogue impairs
The deeds, and dextrously omits, fes beires:
No Commentator can more flily pass
Over a learn'd, unintelligible place:

Or, in quotation, fhrewd Divines leave out



Those words, that would against them clear the doubt.


For (as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen-stuffe,
And barrelling the dropings and the fnuffe
Of wafting candles, which in thirty year,
Reliquely kept, perchance buys wedding chear)
Piecemeal he gets lands, and fpends as much time
Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime.
In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws
Affurances, big as glofs'd civil laws,

So huge that men (in our times forwardness)
Are Fathers of the Church for writing lefs
These he writes not; nor for thefe written payes,
Therefore fpares no length (as in thofe first dayes
When Luther was profeft, he did defire
Short Pater-nofters, faying as a Fryer


So Luther thought the Pater-nofter long, When doom'd to fay his beads and Even-fong; But having caft his cowl, and left thofe laws, Adds to Chrift's prayer, the Power and Glory claufe. The lands are bought; but where are to be found Those ancient woods, that fhaded all the ground? 110 We fee no new-built palaces afpire,

No kitchens emulate the vestal fire.

Where are those troops of Poor, that throng'd of yore
The good old landlord's hofpitable door?
Well, I could with, that still in lordly domes


Some beafts were kill'd, though not whole hecatombs;
That both extremes were banifh'd from their walls,
Carthufian fafts, and fulfome Bacchanals;
And all mankind might that just Mean observe,
In which none e'er could furfeit, none could starve.


Each day his Beads: but having left those laws,
Adds to Chrift's
's prayer, the power and glory claufe)
But when he fells or changes land, h' impaires
The writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out, fes beires,
As flily as any Commentator goes by

Hard words, or fenfe; or, in Divinity

As controverters in vouch'd Texts, leave out

Shrewd words, which might against them clear the doub Where are these spread woods which cloath'd here


Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within door. Where the old landlords troops and almes? In halls Carthufian Fafts, and fulfome Bachanals

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