'Tis chang'd, no doubt, from what it was before;
His rank digestion makes it wit no more:
Sense, past thro' 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-n1, or who die like Chartres,
Out-cant old Esdras, or out-drink his heir,
Out-usure Jews, or Irishmen out-swear2;
Wicked as Pages, who in early years
Act sins which Prisca's Confessor3 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 Impudence:
Time, that at last matures a clap to pox,
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 lab'rinth 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 ev'ry wench,
And woo in language of the Pleas and Bench?
Language, which Boreas might to Auster hold
More rough than forty Germans when they scold1.
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 pris'ners shake the head and swear
'Twas only Suretyship that brought 'em there.
His Office keeps your Parchment fates entire,
He starves with cold to save them from the fire;
For you he walks the streets thro' 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,
1 Sir Robert Sutton, who was expelled the House of Commons on account of his share in the frauds of the company called the Charitable Corporation. Carruthers.
2 Out-swear the Letanie. Donne. 3 [Accentuated as in Donne.]
4 [Donne's fine touch of satire against a historic wrong
'Than when winds in our ruin'd abbeys roar,' is exchanged by Pope for a cheap sneer against a then unpopular nationality.]
And lies to ev'ry Lord in ev'ry 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,
Nor more of bastardy in heirs to Crowns 2.
In shillings and in pênce 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, Cov'nants, Articles they draw,
Large as the fields themselves, and larger far
Than Civil Codes, with all their Glosses, are;
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 dext'rously omits, ses heires:
No Commentator can more slily pass
O'er 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 long3,
When doom'd to say his beads and Even-song;
But having cast his cowl, and left those laws,
Adds to Christ's pray'r, the Pow'r 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 kill'd, tho' not whole hecatombs;
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:
[Carruthers suggests the name of Paul Benfield, a financing M.P., for this hiatus.]
2 [Pointless here; but not so in Donne.] 3 About this time of his life Dr Donne had a strong propensity to Popery, which appears from several strokes in these satires. We find amongst his works, a short satirical thing called a Cata
logue of rare books, one article of which is intitled, M. Lutherus de abbreviatione Orationis Dominicæ, alluding to Luther's omission of the [spurious] concluding Doxology in his two Catechisms; which shews the poet was fond of a joke. Warburton.
4 [i. e. as an Augustine monk.]
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.
ELL, if it be my time to quit the stage,
Adieu to all the follies of the age!
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 Dev'l 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, that 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 dropt 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
Tho' coarse, was rev'rend, and tho' bare, was black:
1[Cf. Moral Essays, Ep. IV. c. 10.]
[John Woodward (1665-1728) the founder
of the professorship of Geology in the Univer
sity of Cambridge, to which he bequeathed his collections.]
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, speaks each 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; Motteux1 I knew,
Henley himself I've heard, and Budgel3 too.
The Doctor's Wormwood style, the Hash of tongues
A Pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs,
The whole Artill'ry 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 flatt'ry vie,
And Oldmixon and Burnet both out-lie 5.
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
'Affirm, 'twas Travel made them what they were 10"
Thus others' talents having nicely shown,
He came by sure transition to his own:
1 [Motteux. V. Dunciad, II. v. 412.]
2 [Henley, V. Dunciad, III. v. 189 ff.] 3 [Budgel. V. Dunciad, II. v. 397.]
4 [Sir John Gonson, whose portrait, according to Bowles, is introduced into Hogarth's Harlot's Progress. v. infra, v. 256.]
5 [Cf. Ep. to Arbuthnot, v. 146.]
6 This sneer, said the ingenious Mr Wilkes, is really indecent. Warton. [The phrase 'the King's English' is not founded on the speech of either of the first two Georges.]
7 [Arthur Onslow, sprung from a family,
Till I cry'd out: 'You prove yourself so able,
Pity! you was not Druggerman1 at Babel;
'For had they found a linguist half so good,
'I make no question but the Tow'r 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."
Ah gentle Sir! you Courtiers so cajole us-
But Tully has it, Nunquam minus solus 2:
'And as for Courts, forgive me, if I say
No lessons now are taught the Spartan way:
Tho' in his pictures Lust be full display'd,
Few are the Converts Aretine has made;
And tho' 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 ev'ry day, from King to King can walk,
'Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk4,
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 Frenchmen?" "Mine, d ye mean?
'I have but one, I hope the fellow's clean.'
"Oh! Sir, politely so! nay, let me die,
"Your only wearing is your Padua-soy.
'Not, Sir, my only, I have better still,
'And this you see is but my dishabille-'
Wild to get loose, his Patience I provoke,
Mistake, confound, object at all he spoke.
But as coarse iron, sharpen'd, mangles more,
And itch most hurts when anger'd to a sore;
So when you plague a fool, 'tis still the curse,
You only make the matter worse and worse.
He past it o'er; affects an easy smile
At all my peevishness, and turns his style.
He asks, "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, stays half a minute,
Loth to enrich me with too quick replies,
By little and by little, drops his lies.
[Dragoman, i.e. interpreter.]
2 [Cicero (de Officiis, 1. III. c. 1) quotes from Cato major the saying of Scipio Africanus m.: that he was never less at leisure, than when at leisure; and never less alone, than when alone.']
3 Alluding to the infamous sonnets which this [Florentine author of the age of Leo X.] composed to accompany some designs of Giulio Romano. Warton.
4 ['The way to it is King Street.' Donne.]
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