Therefore I suffer'd this; towards me did run A thing more strange, than on Nile's slime the sun Than Africk monsters, Guianaes rarities, His cloathes were strange, tho' coarse, and black, tho' bare. Sleeveless his jerkin was, and had it been Velvet, but 'twas now (so much ground was seen) See it plain rash a while, then nought at all. The thing hath travail'd, and, faith, speaks all And only knoweth what to all states belongs, Made of th' accents, and best phrase of all these, Art Scarce was I enter'd, when, behold! there came Where all the race of reptiles might embark : The sun e'er got, or slimy Nilus bore, Or Sloan or Woodward's wondrous shelves contain, Nay, all that lying travellers can feign. The watch would hardly let him pass at noon, 25 31 At night would swear him dropt out of the moon. 35 Such was the wight: Th' apparel on his back, 40 Was velvet in the youth of good Queen Bess, First turn plain rash, then vanish quite away. 45 This thing has travell'd, speaks each language too, And knows what's fit for ev'ry state to do; Of whose best phrase and courtly accent join'd, He forms one tongue, exotic and refin’d. 50 The Art can deceive, or hunger force my tast; Me to hear this, yet I must be content With his tongue, in his tongue call'd complement : Jovius, or Surius, or both together. He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, God, How have I sinn'd, that thy wrath's furious rod, This fellow, chuseth me! He saith, Sir, I love your judgment, whom do you prefer Said that I thought Calepine's dictionary. Of our two academies I nam'd. Here He stopt me, and said, Nay your apostles were That The doctor's wormwood style, the hash of tongues And (all those plagues in one) the bawling bar: 60 65 70 He spies me out; I whisper, Gracious God! What sin of mine could merit such a rod ? That all the shot of dulness now must be From this thy blunderbuss discharg'd on me! Permit (he cries) no stranger to your fame To crave your sentiment, if's your name. What speech esteem you most? "The King's,” said I. But the best words?" O, Sir, the dictionary." You miss my aim; I mean the most acute, And perfect speaker ?" Onslow, past dispute." But, Sir, of writers? "Swift for closer style, "But Ho**y for a period of a mile." Why yes, 'tis granted, these indeed may pass : Good common linguists, and so Panurge was; Nay troth th' apostles (tho' perhaps too rough) Had once a pretty gift of tongues enough: Yet these were all poor gentlemen! I dare 75 Affirm, 'twas travel made them what they were. That I was fain to say, If you had liv'd, Sir, To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood. To teach by painting drunkards doth not last He like to a high-stretcht lutestring squeaks, O Sir, From king to king, and all their kin, can walk : Kings only: The way to it is King's-street. He |