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 traytor, 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
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 my forefathers' sin
To the last farthing. Therefore to my power
Toughly and stubbornly I bear; but th' hower
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 fidlers, still,

Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will
Thrust one more jig upon you: so did he
With his long complimented 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.

Nay hints, 'tis by connivance of the court,

That Spain robs on, and Dunkirk's still a port. 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 traytor by surprize.

free;

I felt th' infection slide from him to me,
As in the pox, some give it to get
And quick to swallow me, methought I saw
One of our giant statues ope its jaw.

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

170

175

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.

Bear me, some God! oh quickly bear me hence
To wholesome solitude, the nurse of sense:
Where contemplation prunes her ruffled 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,

185

190

And forc'd ev'n me to see the damn'd at court.

No

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
Fear frowns; and my mistress Truth, betray thee
For th' huffing, bragart, puft nobility?

No, no, thou which since yesterday hast been
Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen,
O Sun, in all thy journey, vanity,

Such as swells the bladder of our court? I
Think he which made your waxen * garden, and
Transported it from Italy, to stand

With us at London, flouts our courtiers; for
Just such gay painted things, which no sap, nor
Tast have in them, ours are; and natural
Some of the stocks are; their fruits bastard all.
'Tis ten a clock and past; all whom the mues,
Baloun, or tennis, diet, or the stews

Had all the morning held, now the second
Time made ready, that day, in flocks are found
In the Presence, and I (God pardon me)

As fresh and sweet their apparels be, as be

Their

*A show of the Italian garden in wax-work, in the time of King James the First.

;

195

200

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'd lord or smile or frown?
Who cannot flatter, and detest who can,
Tremble before a noble serving-man?
O my fair mistress, Truth! shall I quit thee
For huffing, braggart, puff'd nobility?
Thou, who since yesterday hast roll'd o'er all
The busy, idle blockheads of the ball,
Hast thou, oh Sun! beheld an emptier sort,
Than such as swell this bladder of a court?
Now pox on those who shew a court in wax!
It ought to bring all courtiers on their backs:
Such painted puppets! such a varnish'd race
Of hollow gew-gaws, only dress and face!
Such waxen noses, stately staring things-
No wonder some folks bow, and think them kings.
See! where the British youth, engag'd no more
At Fig's, at White's, with felons, or a whore,

205

210

Pay

VER. 206. Court in wax!] A famous shew of the court of France in wax work.

VER.213. At Figs', at White's,] White's was a noted gaminghouse: Fig's, a prize-fighter's academy, where the young nobility received instruction in those days: It was also customary for the nobility and gently to visit the condemn'd criminals in Newgate.

Their fields they sold to buy them. For a king
Those hose are, cry the flatterers; and bring
Them next week to the theatre to sell.

Wants reach all states: me seems they do as well
At stage, as courts; all are players. Whoe'er looks
(For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapside books,
Shall find their wardrobes inventory. Now
The ladies come. As pirates (which do know
That there came weak ships fraught with cutchanel)
The men board them; and praise (as they think) well,
Their beauties; they the mens wits; both are bought.
Why good wits ne'er wear scarlet gowns, I thought
This cause, These men, mens wits for speeches buy,
And women buy all red which scarlets dye.
He call'd her beauty lime-twigs, her hair net:
She fears her drugs ill-lay'd, her hair loose set.
Would not Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine
From hat to shoe, himself at door refine,
As if the Presence were a mosque: and lift

His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to shrift,
Making them confess not only mortal

Great stains and holes in them, but venial

Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate;

And then by Durer's rules survey the state

Of

VER. 220. our stage give rules,] Alluding to the authority of the Lord Chamberlain.