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And when rank windows purchase luscious nights,
Or when a duke to Janssen 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 dex'trously omits ses beires:

And spying heirs melting with luxury,
Satan will not joy at their sins as he: /
For (as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen-stuff,
And barrelling the droppings and the snuff
Of wasting candles, which in thirty year,
(Reliquely kept) perchance buys wedding chear)
Piece-meal 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 huge, that men (in our time's forwardness)
Are fathers of the church for writing less.
These he writes not, nor for these written pays,
Therefore spares no length (as in those first days




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 long, 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;

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 pray'r the Power and Glory clause)
But when he sells, or changes land, h' impairs
His writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out ses heres,
And slily, as any commentor, goes by
Hard words, or sense; or in divinity

As controverters in vouch'd texts leave out

Shrewd words, which might against them clear the



Where are those spread woods which cloth'd hereThose bought lands? not built, nor burnt within door.

That both exremes 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.

Where the old landlord's troops and alms? In halls Carthusian fasts, and fulsome Bacchanals



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!) w'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 statute-law.


WE 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 devil would have it so.

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WELL; I may now receive and die. My sin

Indeed is great; but yet I have been in

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
Poison'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

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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, and 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 posed 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,-

To mass in jest, catch'd, was fain to disburse
Two hundred marks, which is the statute's curse,
Before he 'scap'd; so 't pleas'd my destiny
(Guilty of my sin of going) to think me
As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
Full, as proud, lustful, 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 pes'd Adam to name:
Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies,

Than Afric's monsters, Guiana's rarities;




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