Oh! Sir, politely so! nay, 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---
Wild to get loose, his patience I provokė,
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.

115

120

125

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.

Certes, they are neatly cloth'd. I of this mind am,
Your only wearing is your grogaram.

Under this pitch

Not so, Sir; I have more.
He would not fly. I chaf'd him; but as itch
Scratch'd into smart, and as blunt iron ground
Into an edge hurts worse; so I (fool!) found
Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness
He to another key his style doth dress,

And asks, what news? I tell him of new plays:
He takes my hands, and as a still, which stays
A sembrief 'twixt each drop, he niggardly,
As loath to inrich me, so tells many a lye.

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Mere household trash!-of birthnights, balls, and shows
More than ten Holinsheds, or Halls, or Stows.
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;

[what

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 will have toll:

More than ten Holinsheds, or Halls, or Stows,
Of trivial houshold trash he knows: he knows

135

140

145

When the Queen frown'd, or smil'd; and he knows A subtle statesman may gather of that;

He knows who loves whom, and who by poison

Hastes to an office's reversion;

[what

Who wastes in meat, in cloaths, in horse, he notes; Who loves whores...

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

He tells what strumpet places sells for life,

What 'squire his lands, what citizen his wife:

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;

155

Swears ev'ry place entail'd for years to come
In sure succession to the day of doom;

160

Toll to some courtier; and, wiser than all us,
He knows what lady is not painted. Thus
He with home meats cloys me. I belch, spue, spit,
Look pale, and sickly, like a patient; yet

He thrusts on more; and as he 'ad undertook
To say Gallo-Belgicus without book,

Speaks of all states, and deeds, that have been since
The Spaniards came to th' 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.'

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 port.
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 surprise.
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 statutes ope its jaw.

He names the 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.
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 statutes ope his jaw

To suck me in for hearing him: I found,
That as burnt venemous leachers do grow sound
By giving others their sores, I might grow
Guilty, and he free: therefore I did show

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.

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I quak'd at heart; and still afraid to see

180

All the Court fill'd with stranger things than he,

Ran out as fast, as one that pays his bail,
And dreads more actions, hurries from a jail.

All signs of loathing; but since I am in,
I must pay mine, and my forefather's sin
To the last farthing. Therefore to my power
Toughly and stubbornly I bear; but th' hour
Of mercy now was come: he tries to bring
Me to pay a fine to 'scape a torturing,

And says, Sir, can you spare me---? I said, willingly.
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 complemental 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 more strange things than he)
Ran from thence with such, or more haste than one
Who fears more actions, doth haste from prison.