When the Queen frown'd or smil'd he knows, and
A subtle minister may make of that:
Who sins, with whom; who got his pension rug,
Or quicken'd a reversion by a drug;
Whose place is quarter'd out three parts in four,
And whether to a bishop or a whore:
Who having lost his credit, pawn'd his rent,
Is therefore fit to have a government:
Who in the secret deals in stocks secure,
And cheats th' unknowing widow and the poor :
Who makes a trust of charity a job,
And gets an act of parliament to rob:
Why turnpikes rise and now no cit nor clown
Can gratis see the country or the town:
Shortly no lad shall chuck or lady vole,
But some excising courtier must have toll:
He tells what strumpet places sells for life,
What 'squire his lands, what citizen his wife :
He knows who loves whom, and who by poison
Hastes to an office's reversion:
He knows who 'ath sold his land, and now doth beg
A licence, old iron, boots, shoes, and egg-
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
At last (which proves him wiser still than all) 150 What lady's face is not a whited wall.
As one of Woodward's patients, sick and sore, I puke, I nauseate-yet he thrusts in more; Trims Europe's balance, tops the statesman's part, And talks Gazettes and Postboys o'er by heart. Like a big wife at sight of loathsome meat, Ready to cast, I yawn, I sigh and sweat: Then as a licens'd spy, whom nothing can Silence or hurt, he libels the great man;
Swears ev'ry place entail'd for years to come
In sure succession to the day of doom:
He with home meats cloyes me. I belch, spue, spit, Look pale and sickly like a patient, yet
He thrust on more; and as he had undertook
To say Gallo Belgicus without a 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 privileg'd spy, whom nothing can
Discredit, libels now 'gainst each great man.
VOL. II.
He names the price for ev'ry office paid,
And says our wars thrive ill because delay'd:
Nay hints 'tis by connivance of the Court
That Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a porț. 165
Not more amazement seiz'd on Circe's guests,
To see themselves fall endlong into beasts,
Than mine, to find a subject, stay'd and wise,
Already half-turn'd traitor by surprize.
I felt th' infection slide from him to me,
As in the pox some give it to get free;
And quick to swallow me methought I saw
One of our giant statues ope its jaw.
He names a price for ev'ry office paid:
He saith, our wars thrive ill, because delay'd;
That offices are in tail, 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. Who wastes in meat, in cloaths, in horse he notes; Who loves whores
I, more amaz'd than Circe's prisoners, when
They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then
Becoming traitor, and methought I saw
One of our giant statues ope his jaw
To suck me in for hearing him: I found,
That as burnt venomous leachers do grow sound
In that nice moment, as another lie
Stood just a-tilt, the minister came by.
To him he flies, and bows, and bows again,
Then, close as Umbra, joins the dirty train.
Not Fannius' self more impudently near,
When half his nose is in his prince's ear.
I quak'd at heart; and, still afraid to see
All the Court fill'd with stranger things than he,
By giving others their sores, I might grow
Guilty, and he free: therefore I did show
All signs of loathing; but since I am in,
I must pay mine and
To the last farthing: therefore to my power
Toughly and stubbornly I bear this cross: but th' hour
Of mercy now was come: he tries to bring
Me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing,
And says, Sir, can you spare me—
Nay, Sir, can you spare me a crown? Thankfully I
Gave it as ransom. But as fiddlers still,
Tho' they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
Thrust one more jigg upon you; so did he
With his long complimental 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 see
All the court fill'd with such strange things as he)
Ran out as fast as one that pays his bail,
And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.
Bear me, some God! oh! quickly bear me hence
To wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense,
Where Contemplation prunes her ruffl'd wings,
And the free soul looks down to pity kings!
There sober thought pursu'd th' amusing theme,
Till fancy colour'd it, and form'd a dream.
A vision hermits can to hell transport,
And forc'd e'en me to see the damn'd at Court.
Not Dante, dreaming all th' infernal state,
Beheld such scenes of envy, sin, and hate.
Base fear becomes the guilty not the free,
Suits tyrants, plunderers, but suits not me.
Shall I, the terror of this sinful Town,
Care if a liv'ry lord or smile or frown?
Ran from thence with such or more haste than one
Who fears more actions doth haste from prison.
At home in wholesome solitariness
My piteous soul began the wretchedness
Of suitors at Court to mourn, and a trance
Like his who dreamt he saw hell did advance
Itself o'er me: such men as he saw there
I saw at Court, and worse, and more. Low fear
Becomes the guilty, not th' accuser; then
Shall I, none's slave, of high born or rais'd men
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