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Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass
By travail.' Then, as if he would have sold
His tongue, he praised it, and such wonders told,
That I was fain to say, “If you had lived, sir,
Time enough to have been interpreter
To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood.'

He adds, “If of court life you knew the good,
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 than princes' courts (though there be few
Better pictures of vice) teach me virtue.'
He, like to a high-stretcht lutestring, squeaks,

O sir, 'Tis sweet to talk of kings.'—At Westminster,' Said I, the man that keeps the abbey-tombs, And for his price, doth with whoever comes Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk, From king to king, and all their kin can walk : Your ears shall hear naught but kings; your eyes

meet Kings only: the way to it is King's-street.'

Nay, troth, the apostles, though 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, 80 He came by sure transition to his own; Till I cried 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 tower had stood. 85 • Obliging sir! for courts you sure were made : Why then for ever buried 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 - 90 But Tully has it, Nunquam minus solus : And as for courts, forgive me, if I say No lessons now are taught the Spartan way: Though in his pictures lust be full display'd, Few are the converts Aretine has made; 95 And though the court show vice exceeding clear, None should, by my advice, learn virtue there.' At this entranced, he lifts his hands and

eyes ; Squeaks like a high-stretch'd lutestring, and re

plies ;0, 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things 100 To gaze on princes, and to talk of kings ! • Then, happy man who shows the tombs!' said I; • He dwells amidst the royal family; He every day from king to king can walk ; Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk; 105

He smack’d, and cried, “He's base, mechanique,

coarse, So are all your Englishmen in their discourse. Are not your Frenchmen neat ?'— Mine, as you

see;

I have but one, sir, look, he follows me.' • Certes, they are neatly cloathed. I of this mind

am;Your only wearing is your grogaram.' * Not so, sir, I have more. Under this pitch He would not fly; I chaff’d him: but as itch Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground Into an edge, hurts worse; so I (fool) found, Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness, He to another key his style doth dress; And asks what news: I tell him of new playes ; He takes my hand, and as a still, which stayes A sembrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly, As loth to inrich me, so tells many a ly; More than ten Hollensheads, or Halls, or Stows, Of trivial household trash : he knows, he knows When the queen frown'd or smiled; and he knows

what A subtle statesman may gather of that; He knows who loves whom; and who by poison Hasts to an office's reversion;

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And get, by speaking truth of monarchs dead,
What few can of the living, ease and bread.'
• Lord, sir, a mere mechanic! strangely low,
And coarse of phrase; your English all are so :
How elegant your Frenchmen !— Mine, d' ye

mean?
I have but one ; I hope the fellow's clean.'
“O, sir, politely so ! nay, let me die,
Your only wearing is your Padua-soy.'
• Not, sir, my only; I have better still,
And this you see is but my deshabille-
Wild to get loose, his patience I provoke,
Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke :
But as coarse iron, sharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch most hurts when anger'd to a sore ;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis still the curse, 120
You only make the matter worse and worse.

He pass'd it o'er ; affects an easy smile At all my peevishness, and turns his style. He asks, “What news ?' I tell him of new plays, New eunuchs, harlequins, and operas. He hears; and as a still with simples in it, Between each drop it gives, stays half a minute, Loath to enrich me with too quick replies, By little and by little drops his lies : Mere household trash, of birthnights, balls, and

shows, More than ten Holinsheds, or Halls, or Stowes. When the queen frown'd or smiled he knows;

and what A subtle minister may make of that: Who sins with whom : who got his pension rug, Or quicken'd a reversion by a drug:

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Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes,
Who loveth whores . . . . . .
He knows who hath sold his land, and who doth

beg
A licence, old iron, boots, shoes, and egge-
Shells to transport;

shortly boys shall not play At span-counter, or blow-point, but shall pay Toll to some courtier; and wiser than all us, He knows what lady is not painted.. Thus He with home meats cloyes me: I belch, spue,

spit, Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet He thrusts on more, and as he had undertook To say Gallo-Belgicus without book, Speaks of all states and deeds that have been

since The Spaniards came to the loss of Amyens. Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat, Ready to travail ; so I sigh, and sweat To hear this makaron talk : in vain, for yet, Either my humour, or his own to fit, He, like a priviledged spie, whom nothing can Discredit, libels now 'gainst each great man. He names the price of every office paid ; He saith our wars thrive ill because delaid; That offices are intaild, and that there are Perpetuities of them, lasting as far As the last day; and that great officers Do with the Spaniards share, and Dunkirkers.

I, more amazed than Circe's prisoners, when They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then

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