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That from a patriot of distinguish'd note,
Well, on the whole, plain prose must be my fate:
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."
+ 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,
If there be truth in law, and use can give
'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:
By sale, at least by death, to change their lord.
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
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.
'Emptor Aricini quondam, Veientis et arvi,
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.-
Utar, et ex modico, quantum res poscet, acervo
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
SATIRES OF DR. JOHN DONNE, DEAN OF ST. PAULS,
Quid vetat et nosmet Lucili scripta legentes Quærere, num illius, num rerum dura negârit Versiculos natura magis factos, et euntes Mollius?
YES; thank my stars! as early as I knew
It brought (no doubt) th' excise and army in:
Here a lean bard, whose wit could never give
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.
SIR; though (I thank God for it) I do hate
As I think, that brings dearth and Spaniards in:
One (like a wretch, which at barre judg'd as dead,
Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms;
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
For you he sweats and labours at the laws,
More, more than ten Sclavonians scolding, more
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
Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime.
So vast, our new divines, we must confess,
That both extremes were banish'd from their walls,
Thus much I've said, I trust, without offence;
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)
Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within door
I die in charity with fool and knave,
With foolish pride my heart was never fir'd,
A purgatory, such as fear'd Hell is
My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor hath been
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,
This thing has travell'd, and speaks language too,
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
The thing hath travail'd, and faith, speaks all tongues,
Nay troth th' apostles (though perhaps too rough)
I make no question but the tower had stood,"
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.”
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
And only knoweth what to all states belongs,
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
He like to a high-strecht lutestring squeaks, "O
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