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Are not your Frenchman neat? Mine, as you fee,
I have but one, Sir, look, he follows mé.
Certes they are neatly cloath'd. I, of this Mind am,
Your only Wearing is your Grogaram.
Not fo, Sir, I have more. Under this Pitch
He would not fly; I chaf'd him: But as Itch
Scratch'd into Smart, and as blunt Iron grown'd
Into an Edge, hurts worfe: So, I (Fool) found,
Croffing hurt me. To fit my Sullenness,

He to another Key his Stile doth dress;

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Playes,

And afks, what News? I tell him of new
He takes my Hand, and as a Still which stayes
A Sembrief, 'twixt each Drop, he niggardly,
As loath to inrich me, fo tells many a Ly.

More than ten Höllenfheads, or Halls, or Stows,
Of trivial boufbold Trash: He knows, he knows
When the Queen frown'd or fmil'd, and he knows what
A fubtle States-man may gather of that;

He knows whom loves whom; and whom by Poyfon
Haftes to an Office's Reverfion;

Who wafts in Meat, in Clothes, in Horfe, he notes,
Who loveth Whores, and who Boys, and who Goats.
He knows who bath fold his Land, and now doth beg
A Licenfe, old Iron, Boots, Shoes, and Egge-
Shels to transport; fhortly Boy's fhall not play
At Span-counter, or Blow point, but shall pay
Toll to fome Courtiers and wifer than all us,
He knows what Lady is not painted. Thus
He with home Meats cloyes me. I belch, spue, spit,
Look pale and fickly, like a Patient, yet

He thrust on more, and as he had undertook,
To fay Gallo-Belgicus without Book,
Speaks of all States and Deeds that have been fince
The Spaniards came, to th' Lofs of Amyens.
Like a big Wife, at Sight of loathed Meat,
Ready to travail: So I figh and fweat

To

And tho' the Court fhow Vice exceeding clear,
None fhou'd, by my Advice, learn Virtue there.
At this entranc'd, he lifts his Hands and Eyes,
Squeaks like a high-stretch'd Lute-string, and replie
"Oh 'tis the fweeteft of all earthly Things,
"To gaze on Princes, and to talk of Kings!
Then happy Man who shows the Tombs! faid I,
He dwells amidst the Royal Family;

He, ev'ry Day, from King to King can walk,
Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk,
And get by speaking Truth of Monarchs dead,
What few can of the Living, Eafe and Bread.
"Lord! Sir, a meer Mechanick 1 ftrangely low,
"And courfe of Phrafe-your English all are fo.
"How elegant your Freuchman ?--Mine d'ye mean?
I have but one, I hope the Fellow's clean.
"Oh! Sir, politely well! nay, let me die,
"Your only Wearing is your Padua-foy."
Not Sir my only, I have better fill,
And this you fee is but my Difhabille-
Wild to get loofe, his Patience I provoke,
Miftake, confound, object at all he spoke.
But as coarfe Iron, fharpen'd, mangles, more,
And Itch moft hurts when anger'd to a Sore;
So when you plague a Fool, 'tis ftill the Curfe,
You only make the Matter worfe and worfe
He paft it o'er; affects an eafy Smile
At all my Peevifhnefs, and turns his Stile.
He afks, 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, ftays half a Minute;
Loth to enrich me with too quick Replies,.
By little, and by little, drops his Lies.
Meer houfhold Trafh of Birth-night Balls and
More than ten Hallingfheads, or Halls, or Stows...

[Shows,

When

To hear this Makaron talk: In vain, for yet,
Either my Humour, or his own to fit,
He like a privileg'd Spie, whom nothing can
Difcredit, libels now 'gainst each great Man.
He names a Price of every Office paid;
He faith, our Wars thrive ill, because delay'd ;
That Offices are intail'd, and that there are
Perpetuities of them, lafting as far
As the laft Day; and that great Officers
Do with the Spaniards share, and Dunkirkers.

I more amaz'd than Circe's Prifoners, when They felt themfelves turn Beafts, felt myself then Becoming Traytor, and methought I saw One of our Giant Statutes ope his Faw, To fuck me in for hearing him: I found That as burnt venomous Letchers do grow found By giving others their Sores, I might grow Guilty, and he free: Therefore I did how All Signes of Loathing; but fince I am in, I must pay mine, and my Forefather's Sin To the laft Farthing. Therefore to my Power Toughly and ftubbornly I bear this Crefs; but the Hower Of Mercy now was come: He tries to bring Me to pay a Fine to 'fcape his Torturing, And fayes, Sir, can you spare me? I faid; willingly; Nay, Sir, can you Spare me a Crown? Thankfully I Gave it as Ranfom; but as Fiddlers, ftill, Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will Thrust one more Jigg upon you; fo did he With his long complemental Thanks vex me: But he is gone, Thanks to his needy Want, And the Prerogative of my Crown: Scant His Thanks were ended, when I (which did fee All the Court fill'd with more ftrange Things than he) Ran from thence with fuch, or more Hafte than One Who fears more Actions doth hafte from Prifon.

At

When the Queen frown'd, or fmil'd, he knows; and
A fubtle Minifter may make of that; [what
Who fins with whom; who got his Penfion Rug,
Or quicken'd a Reverfion by a Drug;
Whofe Place is quarter'd out three Parts in four,
And whether to a Bifhop or a Whore;
Who, having loft his Credit, pawn'd his Rent,
Is therefore fit to have a Government;
Who in the Secret, deals in Stocks fecure,
And cheats th' unknowing Widow, and the Poor;
Who makes a Truft, or Charity, a Job,
And gets an Act of Parliament to rob;
Why Turnpikes rofe, and now no Cit, nor Clown,
Can gratis fee the Country, or the Town:
Shortly no Lad fhall chuck, or Lady vole,
But fome excifing Courtier will have Toll.
He tells what Strumpet Places fells for Life,
What 'Squire his Lands, what Citizen his Wife!
And laft, (which proves him wifer still than all)
What Lady's Face is not a whited Wall.
As one of Woodward's Patients, fick and fore,
I puke, I nauseate, yet he thrusts in more;
Trims Europe's Ballance, tops the Statefman's Part,'
And talks Gazettes and Poft-boys o'er by Heart;
Like a big Wife, at Sight of loathfome Meat
Ready to caft, I yawn, I figh, I fweat.
Then as a licens'd Spy, whom nothing can
Silence or hurt, he libels the great Man:
Swears every Place entail'd for Years to come,
In fure Succeffion to the Day of Doom:
He names the Price for ev'ry Office paid,
And fays our Wars thrive ill, because delay'd;
Nay hints, 'tis by Connivance of the Court,
That Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a Port.
Not more Amazement feiz'd on Circe's Guests,
To fee themselves fall endlong into Beafts,
VOL. II.

P

Than

At home in lonefome Solitarinefs
My piteous Soul began the Wretchedness.
Of Suiters at Court to mourn, and a Trance
Like his, who dreamt he faw Hell, did advance
It felf o'er me: Such Men as he faw there
Ijaw at Court, and worfe and more. Low Fear
Becomes the Guilty, not th' Accufer: Then,
Shall I, none's Slave, of high-born or rais'd Men
Fear Frowns; and my Mistress Truth, betray thee
For the buffing, braggart, puft Nobility?
No, no, thou which fince Yesterday haft been,
Almoft about the whole World, haft thou feen,
O Sun, in all thy Journey, Vanity,
Such as fwells the Bladder of our Court? I
Think he which made your (*) Waxen-garden, and
Transported it from Italy, to ftand

With us at London, flouts our Courtiers; for
Just fuch gay painted Things, which no Sap, nor
Tafte have in them, ours are; and natural
Some of the Stocks are, their Fruits Bastard all.

(*) A Show of the Italian Gardens in Wax-work, in the Time of King James the First.

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