That from a patriot of distinguish'd note,
Have bled and purg'd me to a simple vote."

Well, on the whole, plain prose must be my fate:
Wisdom (curse on it) will come soon or late.
There is a time when poets will grow dull:
I'll e'en leave verses to the boys at school:
To rules of poetry no more confin'd,
I'll learn to smooth and harmonize my mind,
Teach every thought within its bounds to roll,
And keep the equal measure of the soul.

2 Soon as I enter at my country door, My mind resumes the thread it dropp'd before; Thoughts which at Hyde park corner I forgot, Meet and rejoin me, in the pensive grot. There all alone, and compliments apart, I ask these sober questions of my heart. 3 If, when the more you drink, the more you You tell the doctor; when the more you have, The more you want, why not with equal ease Confess as well your folly, as disease? The heart resolves this matter in a trice, "Men only feel the smart, but not the vice."

[crave,

+ When golden angels cease to cure the evil, You give all royal witchcraft to the Devil: When servile chaplains cry, that birth and place Indue a peer with honour, truth, and grace; Look in that breast, most dirty dean! be fair, Say, can you find out one such lodger there? Yet still, not heeding what your heart can teach, You go to church to hear these flatterers preach.

Indeed, could wealth bestow or wit or merit,
A grain of courage, or a spark of spirit,
The wisest man might blush, I must agree,
If D*** lov'd sixpence, more than he.

If there be truth in law, and use can give
A property, that's yours on which you live.
Delightful Abs-court, if its fields afford
Their fruits to you, confesses you its lord:
All Worldly's hens, nay, partridge, sold to town,
His venison too, a guinea makes your own:
He bought at thousands, what with better wit
You purchase as you want, and bit by bit;
Now, or long since, what difference will be found?
You pay a penny, and he paid a pound.

'Nimirum şapere est abjectis utile nugis, Et tempestivum pueris concedere ludum;

Ac non verba sequi fidibus modulanda Latinis, Sed veræ numerosque modosque ediscere vitæ. Quocirca mecum loquor hæc, tacitusque recordor: 3 Si tibi nulla sitim finiret copia lymphæ, Narrares medicis: quod quanto plura parasti, Tanto plura cupis, nulline faterier audes?

Si vulnus tibi monstrata radice vel herba Non fieret levius, fugeres radice vel herba Proficiente nihil curarier: audieras, cui Rem Di donarint, ille decedere pravam Stultitiam; et, cum sis nihilo sapientior, ex quo Plenior es, tamen uteris monitoribus isdem ? At si divitiæ prudentem reddere possent, Si cupidum timidumque minus te: nempe ruberes, Viveret in terris, te si quis avarior uno. [est,

Si proprium est, quod quis libra mercatus et ære Quædam (si credis consultis) mancipat usus : Qui te pascit ager, tuus est; et villicus Orbî, Cum segetes occat tibi mox frumenta daturus, Te dominum sentit.

das nummos; accipis uvam, Pullos, ova, cadum, temeti: nempe modo isto Paulatim mercaris agrum, fortasse trecentis,

1 Heathcote himself, and such large-acred men, Lords of fat E'sham, or of Lincoln-fen, | Buy every stick of wood that lends them heat; Buy every pullet they afford to eat.

Yet these are wights, who fondly call their own Half that the Devil o'erlooks from Lincoln-town. The laws of God, as well as of the land,

Abhor a perpetuity should stand:
Estates have wings, and hang in Fortune's power
2 Loose on the point of every wavering hour,
Ready, by force, or of your own accord,

By sale, at least by death, to change their lord.
Man? and for ever? wretch! what wouldst thou
Heir urges heir, like wave impelling wave. [have?
All vast possessions, (just the same the case
Whether you call them villa, park or chase)
Alas, my Bathurst! what will they avail?
Join Cotswood's hills to Saperton's fair dale,
Let rising granaries and temples here,
There mingled farms and pyramids appear,
Link towns to towns with avenues of oak,
Enclose whole downs in walls, 'tis all a joke!
Inexorable Death shall level all,

And trees, and stones, and farms, and farmer fall. 3 Gold, silver, ivory, vases sculptur'd high, Paint, marble, gems, and robes of Persian dye, There are who have not-and thank Heaven there

are,

Who if they have not, think not worth their care.

4 Talk what you will of taste, my friend, you'll find Two of a face, as soon as of a mind. Why, of two brothers, rich and restless one Ploughs, burns, manures, and toils from sun to sun; The other slights, for women, sports, and wines, All Townshend's turnips, and all Grosvenor's mines: Why one like Bu- with pay and scorn content, Bows and votes on, in court and parliament; Che, driven by strong benevolence of soul, Shall fly like Oglethorpe, from pole to pole: Is known alone to that Directing Power, Who forms the genius in the natal hour; That God of Nature, who, within us still, Inclines our action, not constrains our will; Various of temper, as of face or frame, Each individual; his great end the same.

Aut etiam supra, nummorum millibus emtum.
Quid refert, vivas numerato nuper, an olim?

'Emptor Aricini quondam, Veientis et arvi,
Emtum cœnat olus, quamvis aliter putat; emtis
Sub noctem gelidam lignis calefactat ahenum.
Sed vocat usque suum, qua populus adsita certis
Limitibus vicina refigit jurgia: tanquam [ræ,
Sit proprium cuiquam, puncto quod mobilis ho
Nunc prece, nunc pretio, nunc vi, nunc sorte su-
prema,
Permutet dominos, et cedat in altera jura.

Sic, quia perpetuus nulli datur usus, et hæres Hæredem alterius, velut unda supervenit undam: Quid vici prosunt, aut horrea? quidve Calabris Saltibus adjecti Lucani; si metit Orcus Grandia cum parvis. non exorabilis auro?

3 Gemmas, marmor, ebur, Tyrrhena sigilla, taArgentum, vestes Gætulo murice tinctas, [bellas, Sunt qui non habeant; est qui non curat habere, 4 Cur alter fratrum cessare, et ludere, et ungi Præferat Herodis palmetis pinguibus; alter Dives et importunus, ad umbram lucis ab ortu Silvestrem flammis et ferro mitiget agrum : Seit Genius, natale comes qui temperat astrum :

1 Yes, sir, how small soever be my heap, A part 1 will enjoy, as well as keep. My heir may sigh, and think it want of grace A man so poor would live without a place : But sure no statute in his favour says, How free, or frugal, I shall pass my days: I who at some times spend, at others spare, Divided between carelessness and care. 'Tis one thing madly to disperse my store; Another, not to heed to treasure more: Glad, like a boy, to snatch the first good day, And pleas'd, if sordid want be far away.

2 What is't to mne (a passenger God wot) Whether my vessel be first-rate or not? The ship itself may make a better figure; But I that sail, am neither less nor bigger: I neither strut with every favouring breath, Nor strive with all the tempest in my teeth. In power, wit, figure, virtue, fortune, plac'd Behind the foremost, and before the last.

66 B But why all this of avarice? I have none." I wish you joy, sir, of a tyrant gone! But does no other lord it at this hour, As wild and mad? the avarice of power? Does neither rage inflame, nor fear appall? Not the black fear of death that saddens all? With terrours round, can Reason hold her throne, Despise the known nor tremble at th' unknown? Survey both worlds, intrepid and entire, In spite of witches, devils, dreams, and fire? Pleas'd to look forward, pleas'd to look behind, And count each birth-day with a grateful mind? Has life no sourness, drawn so near its end; Canst thou endure a foe, forgive a friend? Has age but melted the rough parts away, As winter-fruits grow mild ere they decay? Or will you think, my friend, your business done, When, of a hundred thorns, you pull out one

4 Learn to live well, or fairly make your will; You've play'd, and lov'd, and eat, and drank your fill:

Naturæ Deus humanæ, mortalis in unum.-
Quodque caput, vultu mutabilis, albus, et ater.

Utar, et ex modico, quantum res poscet, acervo
Tollam: nec metuam, quid de me judicet hæres,
Quod non plura datis invenerit. et tamen idem
Scire volam, quantum simplex hilarisque nepoti
Discrepet, et quantum discordet parcus avaro.
Distat enim, spargas tua prodigus, an neque sum-
Invitus facias, nec plura parare labores; [tum.
Ac potius, puer ut festis Quinquatribus olim,
Exiguo gratoque fruaris tempore raptim.
'Pauperies immunda domûs procul absit: ego, utrum
Nave ferar magna an parva, ferar unus et idem.
Non agimur tumidis velis Aquilone secundo:
Non tamen adversis ætatem ducimus Austris.
Viribus, ingenio, specie, virtute, loco, re,
Extremi primorum, extremis usque priores.

Non es avarus: abi. quid? cætera jam simul Cum vitio fugere? caret tibi pectus inani [isto Ambitione? caret mortis formidine et ira? Somnia, terrores magicos, miracula, sagas, Nocturnos lemures, portentaque Thessala rides? Natales grate numeras? ignoscis amicis? Lenior et melior fis accedente senecta? Quid te extrema levat spinis de pluribus una? 4 Vivere si recte nescis, decede peritis. Lusisti satis, edisti satis, atque bibisti:

Walk sober off; before a sprightlier age
Comes tittering on, and shoves you from the stage :
Leave such to trifle with more grace and ease,
Whom folly pleases, and whose follies please.

THE

SATIRES OF DR. JOHN DONNE, DEAN OF ST. PAULS,

VERSIFIED.

Quid vetat et nosmet Lucili scripta legentes Quærere, num illius, num rerum dura negârit Versiculos natura magis factos, et euntes Mollius?

Hor.

SATIRE II.

YES; thank my stars! as early as I knew
This town, I had the sense to hate it too :
Yet here, as ev'n in Hell, there must be still
One giant-vice, so excellently ill,
That all beside, one pities, not abhors:
As who knows Sappho, smiles at other whores.
I grant that poetry's a crying sin;

It brought (no doubt) th' excise and army in:
Catch'd like the plague, or love, the Lord knows
But that the cure is starving, all allow. [how,
Yet like the papist's, is the poet's state,
Poor and disarm'd, and hardly worth your hate!

Here a lean bard, whose wit could never give
Himself a dinner, makes an actor live:
The thief condemn'd, in law already dead,
So prompts, and saves a rogue who cannot read.
Thus as the pipes of some carv'd organ move,
The gilded puppets dance and mount above.
Heav'd by the breath th' inspiring bellows blow:
Th' inspiring bellows lie and pant below.

One sings the fair: but songs no longer move; No rat is rhym'd to death, nor maid to love:

Tempus abire tibi est: ne potum largins æquo Rideat, et pulset lasciva decentius ætas.

SATIRE II.

SIR; though (I thank God for it) I do hate
Perfectly all this town: yet there's one state
In all ill things, so excellently best,
[rest.
That hate towards them, breeds pity towards the
Though poetry, indeed, be such a sin,

As I think, that brings dearth and Spaniards in:
Though like the pestilence and old-fashion'd love,
Ridlingly it catch men, and doth remove
Never, till it be starv'd out; yet their state
Is poor, disarm'd, like papists, not worth hate.

One (like a wretch, which at barre judg'd as dead,
Yet prompts him which stands next, and cannot read
And saves his life) gives ideot acters means
(Starving himself) to live by 's labour'd scenes.
As in some organs puppits dance above,
And bellows pant below, which them do move.
One would move love by rhymes; but witchcraft's
charms

Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms;
Rams and slings now are silly battery,
Pistelets are the best artillery.

In love's, in nature's spite, the siege they hold, And scorn the flesh, the devil, and all but gold.

These write to lords, some mean reward to get, As needy beggars sing at doors for meat. Those write because all write, and so have still Excuse for writing, and for writing ill. Wretched indeed! but far more wretched yet Is he who makes his meal on others wit: 'Tis chang'd, no doubt, from what it was before; His rank digestion makes it wit no more: Sense, past through him, no longer is the same; For food digested takes another name.

I pass o'er all those confessors and martyrs, Who live like S-tt-n, or who die like Chartres, Out-cant old Esdras, or out-drink his heir, Out-usure Jews, or Irishmen out-swear ; Wicked as pages, who in early years Act sins which Prisca's confessor scarce hears. Ev'n those I pardon, for whose sinful sake Schoolmen new tenements in Hell must make; Of whose strange crimes no canonist 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 impuTime, that at last matures a clap to pox, [dence: Whose gentle progress makes a calf an ox, And brings all natural events to pass, Hath made him an attorney of an ass. No young divine, new-benefic'd, can be More pert, more proud, more positive, than he. What further could I wish the fop to do, But turn a wit, and scribble verses too? Pierce the soft 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 woo in language of the Pleas and Bench?

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 such 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 solemn face, if he denies !
Grave, as when prisoners shake the head and swear
'Twas only suretyship that brought them there.
His office keeps your parchment fates entire,
He starves with cold to save them from the fire;
For you he walks the streets through rain or dust,
For not in chariots Peter puts his trust;

For you he sweats 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 ev'n to godly * *
Not more of simony beneath black gowns,
Not more of bastardy in heirs to crowns.
In shillings and in pence at first they deal;
And steal so little, few perceive they steal;
Till, like the sea, they compass all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover strand:
And when rank widows purchase luscious nights,
Or when a duke to Jansen punts at White's,
Or city heir in mortgage melts away;
Satan himself feels far less joy than they.
Piecemeal they win this acre first, then that,
Glean on, and gather up the whole estate.
Then strongly 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 glosses, are;

More, more than ten Sclavonians scolding, more
Than when winds in our ruin'd abbeys roar.
Then sick with poetry, and possest with Muse
Thou wast, and mad I hop'd; but men which

chuse

Law practice for mere gain: bold soul repute Worse than imbrothel'd strumpets 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 suretíship had brought them there, And to every suitor 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 asses, and more shameless 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' sea) he'll compass all the land, From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover strand And spying heirs melting with luxury, Satan will not joy at their sins as he; For (as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen-stuffe, And barrelling the dropings and the suffe Of wasting candles, which in thirty year, Reliquely kept, perchance buys wedding chear) Piecemeal he gets lands, and spends as much

time

Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime.
In parchment then, large as the fields he draws
Assurances, big as gloss'd civil laws,

So vast, our new divines, we must confess,
Are fathers of the church for writing less.
But let them write for you, each rogue impairs
The deeds, and dexterously omits, ses heires:
No commentator can more slily pass
Over a learn'd, unintelligible place :
Or, in quotation, shrewd divines leave out
Those words that would against them clear the doubt.
So Luther thought the pater-noster long,
When doom'd to say his beads and even-song;
But having cast his cowl, and left those laws,
Adds to Christ's prayer, the power and glory clause.
The lands are bought; but where are to be found
Those ancient woods, that shaded all the ground?
We see no new-built palaces aspire,
No kitchens emulate the vestal fire.
Where are those troops of poor, that throng'd of yore
The good old landlord's hospitable door?
Well, I could wish, that still in lordly domes
Some beasts were killed, though not whole heta-
tombs ;

That both extremes were banish'd from their walls,
Carthusian fasts, and fulsome bacchanals;
And all mankind might that just mean observe,
In which none e'er could surfeit, none could starve.
These as good works, 'tis true, we all allow,
But oh! these works are not in fashion now:
Like rich old wardrobes, things extremely rare,
Extremely fine, but what no man will wear.

Thus much I've said, I trust, without offence;
Let no court sycophant pervert my sense,
Nor sly informer watch these words to draw
Within the reach of treason, or the law.

SATIRE IV,

WELL, if it be my time to quit the stage, Adieu to all the follies of the age!

So huge that men (in our times forwardness)
Are fathers of the church for writing less
These he writes not; nor for these written payes,
Therefore spares no length (as in those first dayes
When Luther was profest, he did desire
Short pater-nosters, saying as a fryer
Each day his beads: but having left those laws,
Adds to Christ's prayer, the power and glory clause)
But when he sells or changes land, h' impaires
The writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out ses heires,
As slily as any commentator goes by
Hard words, or sense; or, in divinity
As controverters in vouch'd texts, leave out [doubt
Shrewd words, which might against them clear the
Where are these spread woods which cloth'd
heretofore

Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within door
Where the old landlords troops and almes? In halls
Carthusian fasts, and fulsome bachanals
Equally I hate. Means blest. In rich men's homes
I bid kill some beasts, but no hecatombs ;
None starve, none surfeit so. But (oh) we allow
Good works as good, but out of fashion now,
Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws
Within the vast reach of th' huge statutes jawes.

SATIRE IV.

WE
ELL; I may now receive, and die. My sin
Indeed is great; but yet I have been in

I die in charity with fool and knave,
Secure of peace at least beyond the grave.
I've had my purgatory here betimes,
And paid for all my satires, all my rhymes.
The poet's Hell, its tortures, fiends, and flames,
To this were trifles, toys, and empty names.

With foolish pride my heart was never fir'd,
Nor the vain itch t' admire, or be admir'd;
I hop'd for no commission from his grace;
I bought no benefice, I begg'd no place:
Had no new verses, nor new suit to show;
Yet went to court!-the Devil would have it so,
But, as the fool that in reforming days
Would go to mass in jest (as story says)
Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd,
Since 'twas no form'd design of serving God;
So was I punish'd, as if full as proud,
As prone to ill, as negligent of good,
As deep in debt, without a thought to pay,
As vain, as idle, and as false, as they
Who live at court, for going once that way!
Scarce was I enter'd, when, behold! there came
A thing which Adam had been pos'd to name;
Noah had refus'd it lodging in his ark,
Where all the race of reptiles might embark :
A verier monster, than on Afric's shore
The Sun e'er got, or slimy Nilus bore,
Or Sloane or Woodward's wondrous shelves contain,
Nay, all that lying travellers can feign.
The watch would hardly let him pass at noon,
At night would swear him dropp'd out of the Moon,
One, whom the mob, when next we find or make
A popish plot, shall for a Jesuit take,
And the wise justice starting from his chair
Cry," By your priesthood tell me what you are?”
Such was the wight: th' apparel on his back,
Though coarse, was reverend, and though bare, was
black:

A purgatory, such as fear'd Hell is
A recreation, and scant map of this.

My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor hath been
Poyson'd with love to see or to be seen,
I had no suit there, nor new suit to show,
Yet went to court; but as Glare which did go
To mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse
Two hundred markes which is the statutes curse,
Before he scap'd; so it pleas'd my destiny
(Guilty of my sin of going) to think me
As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
ful, as proud, lustfull, and as much in debt,
As vain, as witless, and as false, as they
Which dwell in court, for once going that way.

|

Therefore I suffer'd this; towards me did run A thing more strange, than on Nile's slime the Sun E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came: A thing which would have pos'd Adam to name : Stranger than seven antiquaries studies, Than Africk monsters, Guianaes rarities, Stranger than strangers: one who, for a Dane, In the Danes massacre had sure been slain, If he had liv'd then; and without help dies, When next the prentices 'gainst strangers rise; One, whom the watch at noon lets scarce go by; One, to whom th' examining justice sure would cry,

"Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are?" His clothes were strange, though coarse, and black, though bare,

The suit, if by the fashion one might guess,
Was velvet in the youth of good queen Bess,
But mere tuff-taffety what now remain'd ;
So Time, that changes all things, had ordain'd;
Our sons shall see it leisurely decay,
First turn plain rash, then vanish quite away.

This thing has travell'd, and speaks language too,
And knows what's fit for every state to do;
Of whose best phrase and courtly accent join'd,
He forms one tongue, exotic and refin'd.
Talkers I've learn'd to bear; Morteux I knew,
Henley himself I've heard, and Budgel too.
The doctor's wormwood style, the hash of tongues
A pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs,
The whole artillery of the terms of war,
And (all those plagues in one) the bawling bar;
These I could bear; but not a rogue so civil,
Whose tongue will compliment you to the Devil.
A tongue, that can cheat widows, cancel scores,
Make Scots speak treason, cozen subtlest whores,
With royal favourites in flattery vie,
And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.

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) 66 no stranger to your fame To crave your sentiment, if's your name. What speech esteem you mostì" 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 Hoadly for a period of a mile." "Why yes, 'tis granted, these indeed may pass; Good common linguists, and so Panurge was;

Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been
Velvet, but 'twas now, (so much ground was seen)
Become tuff-taffaty; and our children shall
See it plain rash a while, then nought at all.

The thing hath travail'd, and faith, speaks all tongues,

Nay troth th' 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,
He came by sure transition to his own:
Till I cry'd out, "You prove yourself so able,
Pity! you was not Druggerman at Babel;
For had they found a linguist half so good,

64

I make no question but the tower had stood,"
Obliging sir! for courts you sure were made
Why then for ever bury'd in the shade?
Spirits like you, should see and should be seen,
The king would smile on you at least the queen."

66

Ah, gentle sir! you courtiers so cajole usBut 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; And though the court show vice exceeding clear None should, by my advice, learn virtue there.”

199

•

At this entranc'd, he lifts his hands and eyes, Squeaks like a high-stretch'd lutestring, and replies; "Oh, 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things 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; 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 Frenchinen !” "Mine, d'ye I have but one; I hope the fellow's clean." [mean? "Oh! sir, politely so! ray, let me die, Your only wearing is your paduasoy." "Not, sir, my only, I have better still, And this you see is but my dishabille❞—

By travail. Then, as if he would have sold
His tongue, he prais'd it, and such wonders told,
That I was fain to say, 66 If you had liv'd, sir,
Time enough to have been interpreter

And only knoweth what to all states belongs,
Made of th' accents, and best phrase of all these,
He speaks one language, If strange meats displease,
Art can deceive, or hunger force my tast;
But pedants motly tongue, soldiers bombast,
Mountebanks drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
Are strong enough preparatives to draw
Me to hear this; yet I must be content
With his tongue, in his tongue call'd complement :
In which he can win widows, and pay scores,
Make men speak treason, couzen subtlest whores,
Outflatter favourites, or outlie either
Jovius, or Surius, or both together.

«Sir,

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, I love your judgment, whom do you prefer For the best linguist?" and I seelily Said that I thought Calepines dictionary. "Nay, but of men, most sweet sir?" Beza then, Some Jesuits, and two reverend men Of our two academies I uam'd. Here He stopt me, and said, "Nay your apostles were Good pretty linguists; so Panurgus was. Yet a poor gentleman; all these may pass

To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood."

He adds, "If of court life you knew the good, You would leave loneless." I said, "Not alone My loneless is; but Spartanes fashion

To teach by painting drunkards doth not last
Now, Aretine's pictures have made few chaste;
No more can princes courts (though there be few
Better pictures of vice) teach me virtue.” [sir,

He like to a high-strecht lutestring squeaks, "O
'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
From king to king, and all their kin can walk ;
Of all our Harrys and our Edwards talk,
Your ears shall hear nought but kings; your eyes
Kings only the way to it is King-street." [meet
He smack'd, and cry'd. "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 cloath'd. I of this mind am, Your only wearing is your grogram." "Not so, sir, I have more." Under this pitch He would not fly; I chaff'd him: but as itch