I felt th’ infection side from him to me,
As in the pox, fome give it to get free;
And quick to swallow me, methought I saw
One of our Giant Statutes ope its jaw.
In that nice Moment, as another Lye
Stood just a-tilt, the Minister came by.
To him he flies, and bows, and bows again,
Then, close as Umbra, joins the dirty train.
Not Fannius' self more impudently near,
When half his nose is in his Prince's ear,
Becoming Traytor, and methought I saw,
One of our Giant Statutes ope
To suck me in for hearing him : I found
That as burnt venemous Leachers do
grow
found By giving others their fores, I might grow Guilty, and he free : Therefore I did show All signs of loathing; but since I am in, I must pay mine, and my forefathers fin To the last farthing. Therefore to my power Toughly and fubbornly I bear; but th' hower Of mercy now was come; he tries to bring Me to pay a fine to 'scape a torturing, And says, Sir, can you spare me--? I said, Willingly; Nay, Sir, can you spare me a crown? Thankfully I Gave it, as ransom ; but as fidlers, still, Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will Thrust one more jigg upon you : so did he With his long complimental thanks vex me.
I quak'd at heart; and, still afraid to see
180
All the Court fillid with stranger things than he,
Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail,
And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.
Bear me, some God! oh quickly bear me hence
To wholesome Solitude, the nurse of Sense:
Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings,
And the free foul looks down to pity Kings!
There fober thought pursued th' amusing theme,
Till Fancy colour'd it, and form’d a Dream.
A Vision hermits can to Hell transport,
190
And forc'd ev’n me to see the damn'd at Court.
Not Dante, dreaming all th' infernal state,
Beheld such scenes of envy, sin, and hate.
Base Fear becomes the guilty, not the free;
Suits Tyrants, Plunderers, but suits not me : 195
Shall
But he is gone, thanks to his needy want,
And the Prerogative of my Crown; scant
His thanks were ended, when I (which did see
All the Court fill'd with more strange things than he)
Ran from thence with such, or more halte than one
Who fears more actions, doth hast from prison.
At home in wholesome folitariness
My piteous soul began the wretchedness
Of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance
Like his, who dreamt he saw hell, did advance
Itself o'er me; such men as he saw there
I saw at court, and worse and more. Low fear
Shall I, the Terror of this finful town,
Care, if a livery'd Lord or smile or frown:
Who cannot flatter, and deteft who can,
Tremble before a noble Serving-man?
O my fair mistress, Truth! shall I quit thee
For huffing, braggart, puft Nobility?
Thou, who since yesterday hast ro o'er all
The busy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Hast thou, oh Sun! beheld an emptier sort,
Than such as fwell this bladder of a court ?
Now
pox
on thofe who show a Court in wax!
It ought to bring all Courtiers on their backs:
Such painted puppets ! such a varnish'd race
Of hollow gewgaws, only dress and face !
Becomes the guilty, not the accuser: Then,
Shall I, none's Nave, of highborn or rais'd men
Fear frowns: and my mistress Truth, betray thee
For th' huffing, bragart, prift nobility?
No, no, thou which since yesterday hast been,
Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen,
O fun, in all thy journey, vanity,
Such as swells the bladder of our court? I
Think he which made your Waxen garden, and
Transported it from Italy, to stand
With us, at London, flouts our Courtiers; for
Just such gay painted things, which no fap, nor
Taste have in them, ours are ; and natural
Some of the stocks are ; their fruits bastard all.
Such waxen noses, stately staring things-
No wonder some folks bow, and think them Kings.
See! where the British youth, engagod 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 ; 215
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 drest,
And all is fplendid poverty at best.
225 Painted
'Tis ten a 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, cry 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 Cheapfide books,
Painted for sight, and eflenc'd for the smell,
Like frigates fraught with spice and cochinell,
Sail in the Ladies : how each pirate eyes
So weak a vessel, and so rich a prize!
Top-gallant he, and the in all her trim,
230
He boarding her, the striking fail 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 prais’d for nought,
For both the beauty and the wit are bought. 235
'Twould burst even Heraclitus with the spleen,
To see these anticks, Fopling and Courtin :
The Presence seems, with things so richly odd,
The mosque of Mahound, or some queer Pa-god.
See them survey their limbs by Durer's rules, 240
Of all beau-kind the best proportion'd fools !
Adjust
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,
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 shoe, himself at door refine,
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