SATIRE II.

ES; thank my ftars! as early as I knew

YE

This Town, I had the fenfe to hate it too:

Yet here, as ev'n in Hell, there must be still
One Giant-Vice, fo excellently ill,

That all befide, one pities, not abhors;

As who knows Sapho, fmiles at other whores.
I grant that Poetry's a crying fin;

5

It brought (no doubt) th' Excife and Army in: Catch'd like the Plague, or Love, the Lord knows

how,

But that the cure is ftarving, all allow.
Yet like the Papift's, is the Poet's state,

Poor and difarm'd, and hardly worth your

hate!

who cannot read.

Here a lean Bard, whofe wit could never give Himself a dinner, makes an Actor live: The Thief condemn'd, in law already dead, So prompts, and faves a rogue Thus as the pipes of fome carv'd Organ move, The gilded puppets dance and mount above. Heav'd by the breath th' inspiring bellows blow: Th' infpiring bellows lie and pant below.

15

20

One would move love by rythmes; but witchcraft's charms

Bring not now their old fears, nor their old harms;
Rams, and flings now are filly battery,
Pistolets are the best artillery.

And they who write to Lords, rewards to get,
Are they not like fingers at doors for meat?
And they who write, because all write, have still
That 'scuse for writing, and for writing ill.

But he is worst, who beggarly doth chaw
Others wits fruits, and in his ravenous maw
Rankly digested, doth those things out-fpue,
As his own things; and they're his own, 'tis true,
For if one eat my meat, though it be known,
The meat was mine, the excrement's his own.
But thefe do me no harm, nor they which use,
to out-ufure Jews,

T'out-drink the fea, t'out-fwear the Letanie,
Who with fins all kinds as familiar be
As Confeffors, and for whofe finful fake
Schoolmen new tenements in hell must make;

NOTES.

VER. 38. Irishmen outfwear] The Original says,
outfwear the Letanie.

improved by the Imitator to a juft ftroke of Satire. Dr. Donne's is a low allufion to a licentious quibble used, at that time, by the

One fings the Fair; but fongs no longer move; No rat is rhym'd to death, nor maid to love: In love's, in nature's fpite, the fiege they hold, And scorn the flesh, the dev'l, and all but gold.

These write to Lords, fome mean reward to get, As needy beggars fing at doors for meat. 26 Those write because all write, and so have still Excufe for writing, and for writing ill.

Wretched indeed! but far more wretched yet Is he who makes his meal on others wit:

30

'Tis chang'd, no doubt, from what it was before,

His rank digestion makes it wit no more :
Senfe, paft thro' him, no longer is the fame;
For food digefted takes another name.

I pass o'er all thofe Confeffors and Martyrs, 35
Who live like S-tt-n, or who die like Chartres,
Out-cant old Efdras, or out-drink his heir,
Out-ufure Jews, or Irishmen out-swear;

Wicked as Pages, who in early years

A&t fins which Prifca's Confeffor fcarce hears. 40 Ev'n those I pardon, for whofe finful fake Schoolmen new tenements in hell muft make

NOTES.

Enemies of the English Liturgy, who difliking the frequent invocations in the Letanie, called them the taking God's Name in vain, which is the Scripture periphrafis for fwearing.

S

Whose strange fins Canonifts could hardly tell
In which Commandments large receit they dwell.

But these punish themselves. The infolence
Of Cofcus, only, breeds my juft offence,
Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches pox,
And plodding on, must make a calf an ox)
Hath made a Lawyer; which (alas) of late;
But scarce a Poet: jollier of this state,

Than are new-benefic'd Ministers, he throws

Like nets or lime-twigs wherefoe'er he

His title of Barrister on ev'ry wench,

goes

And wooes in language of the Pleas and Bench,**

Words, words which would tear

The tender labyrinth of a Maid's soft ear:

More, more than ten Sclavonians fcolding, more

Than when winds in our ruin'd Abbyes roar.

NOTES.

VER. 44. In what Commandment's large contents they dwell.] The Original is more humourous,

In what Commandments large receit they dwell.

As if the Ten Commandments were fo wide, as to ftand ready to

Of whose strange crimes no Canonift can tell
In what Commandment's large contents they dwell.

One, one man only breeds my juft offence; 45 Whom crimes gave wealth, and wealth gave Impudence:

Time, that at last matures a clap to pox,
Whofe gentle progrefs makes a calf an ox,
And brings all natural events to pafs,

Hath made him an Attorney of an Ass.
No young divine, new-benefic'd, can be
More pert, more proud, more pofitive than he.
What further could I wish the fop to do,

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55

But turn a wit, and fcribble verses too;
Pierce the foft lab'rinth of a Lady's ear
With rhymes of this per cent. and that per year?
Or court a Wife, fpread out his wily parts,
Like nets or lime-twigs, for rich Widows hearts;
Call himself Barrister to ev'ry wench,

And wooe in language of the Pleas and Bench? 60
Language, which Boreas might to Auster hold
More rough than forty Germans when they fcold.

NOTES.

receive every thing within them, that either the Law of Nature or the Gospel commands. A juft ridicule on thofe practical Commentators, as they are called, who include all moral and religious Duties within them. Whereas their true original fenfe