THE IMPERTINENT, OR A Viſit to the COURT.
A SATYR.
[5]WELL, 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 Happineſs 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.
[6]
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, or new Suit to ſhow;
Yet went to COURT!—the Dev'l wou'd have it ſo.
But, as the Fool, that in reforming Days
Wou'd 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:
Such was my Fate; whom Heav'n adjudg'd 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 than on Africk's Shore
The Sun e're got, or ſlimy Nilus bore,
Or Sloane, or Woodward's wondrous. Shelves contain;
Nay, all that lying Travellers can feign.
[7]
This Thing has travell'd, ſpeaks each Language too,
And knows what's fit for ev'ry State to do;
Of whofe beſt Phraſe and courtly Accent join'd,
He forms one Tongue exotic and refin'd.
Talkers, I've learn'd to bear; M [...]tt [...]x I knew,
Henley himſelf I've heard, nay B [...]dg [...]l too:
The Doctor's Wormwood Style, the Haſh of Tongues,
A Pedant makes; the Storm of G [...]ſ [...]n's Lungs,
The whole Artill'ry of the Terms of War,
And (all thoſe Plagues in one) the bawling Bar;
Theſe I cou'd bear; but not a Rogue ſo civil,
Whoſe Tongue can complement 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.
He ſpies me out. I whiſper, gracious God!
What Sin of mine cou'd merit ſuch a Rod?
That all the Shot of Dulneſs now muſt be
From this thy Blunderbuſs diſcharg'd on me!
Well met (he cries) and happy ſure for each,
For I am pleas'd to learn, and you to teach;
What Speech eſteem you moſt?—"The King's, ſaid I,
But the beſt Words?—"O Sir, the Dictionary.
[8] You miſs my aim; I mean the moſt acute
And perfect Speaker?—"Onſlow, paſt diſpute.
But Sir, of Writers?—"Swift, for cloſer Style,
"And 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.
Thus others Talents having nicely ſhown,
He came by ſoft Tranſition to his own:
Till I cry'd out, You prove yourſelf ſo able,
Pity! you was not Druggerman at Babel:
For had they found a Linguiſt half ſo good,
I make no queſtion but the Tow'r had ſtood.
"Obliging Sir! I love you, I profeſs,
"But wiſh you lik'd Retreat a little leſs;
"Spirits like you, believe me, ſhou'd be ſeen,
"And (like Ulyſſes) viſit Courts, and Men.
"So much alone, (to ſpeak plain Truth between us)
"You'll die of Spleen—Excuſe me, Nunquam minus—
But as for Courts, forgive me if I ſay,
No Leſſons now are taught the Spartan way:
[9] 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 ſhou'd, 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 talk,
And get by ſpeaking Truth of Monarchs dead,
What few can of the living, Eaſe and Bread.
"Lord! Sir, a meer Mechanick! ſtrangely low,
"And coarſe of Phraſe—your Engliſh all are ſo.
"How elegant your Frenchman?—Mine, d'ye mean?
I have but one, I hope the Fellow's clean.
"Oh! Sir, politely well! nay, let me dye,
"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;
[10] So when you plague a Fool, 'tis ſtill the Curſe,
You only make the Matter worſe and worſe.
He paſt it o'er; put on an eaſy Smile
At all my Peeviſhneſs, and chang'd 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.
Meer Houſhold Traſh! of Birth-Nights, Balls and Shows,
More than ten Holingſheds, or Halls, or Stows.
When the Qeen frown'd, or ſmil'd, he knows; and what
A ſubtle Miniſter may make of that?
Who ſins with whom? who got his Penſion Rug,
Or quicken'd a Reverſion by a Drug?
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, or Charity, a Job,
And gets an Ac of Parliament to rob?
Why Turnpikes roſe, and why no Cit, nor Clown
Can gratis ſee the Country, or the Town?
[11] Shortly no Lad ſhall chuck, or Lady vole,
But ſome exciſing Courtier will have Toll.
He tells what Strumpet Places ſells for Life,
What 'Squire his Lands, what Citizen his Wife?
And laſt (which proves him wiſer ſtill than all)
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;
Shows Poland's Int'reſts, takes the Primate's part,
And talks Gazettes and Poſt-Boys o'er by heart.
Like a big Wife at ſight of loathſome Meat,
Ready to caſt, I yawn, I ſigh, I ſweat:
Then as a licens'd Spy, whom nothing can
Silence, or hurt, he libels the Great Man;
Swears every Place entail'd for Years to come,
In ſure Succeſſion to the Day of Doom:
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 ſtaid and wiſe,
Already half turn'd Traytor by ſurprize.
I felt th'Infection ſlide from him to me,
As in the Pox, ſome give it, to get free;
[12] And quick to ſwallow me, methought I ſaw
One of our Giant Statutes ope its Jaw!
In that nice Moment, as another Lye
Stood juſt a-tilt, the Miniſter came by.
Away he flies. He bows, and bows again;
And cloſe as Umbra joins the dirty Train.
Not Naoſ's ſelf more impudently near,
When half his Noſe is in his Patron's Ear.
I bleſt my Stars! but ſtill afraid to ſee
All the Court fill'd with ſtranger things than he,
Run 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:
Here Contemplation prunes her ruffled Wings,
And the free Soul looks down to pity Kings.
Here ſtill Reflection led on ſober Thought,
Which Fancy colour'd, and a Viſion wrought.
A Viſion Hermits can to Hell tranſport,
And bring ev'n me to ſee the Damn'd at Court.
Not Danté dreaming all th'Infernal State,
Saw ſuch a Scene of Envy, Sin, and Hate.
Baſe Fear becomes the Guilty, not the Free;
Suits Tyrants, Plunderers, but ſuits not me.
[13] Shall I, the Terror of this ſinful Town,
Care, if a livery'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, puft Nobility?
Thou, who ſince Yeſterday, haſt roll'd o'er all
The buſy, idle Blockheads of the Ball,
Haſt thou, O 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 Gewgaws, only Dreſs and Face,
Such waxen Noſes, ſtately, ſtaring things,
No wonder ſome Folks bow, and think them Kings.
And now the Britiſh Youth, engaged no more
At Fig's or White's, with Felons, or a Whore,
Pay their laſt Duty to the Court, and come
All freſh and fragrant, to the Drawing-Room:
Colours as gay, and Odours as divine,
As the fair Fields they ſold to look ſo fine.
"That's Velvet for a King!" the Flatt'rer ſwears;
'Tis true, for ten days hence 'twill be King Lear's.
[14] Our Court may juſtly to our Stage give Rules,
That helps it both to Fool's-Coats and to Fools.
And why not Players ſtrut in Courtiers Cloaths?
For theſe are Actors too, as well as thoſe:
Wants reach ll States; they beg but better dreſ
And all is ſplendid Poverty at beſt.
Painted for ſight, and eſſenc'd for the ſmell,
Like Frigates fraught with Spice and Cochine'l,
Sail in the Ladies: How each Pyrate eyes
So weak a Veſſel, and ſo rich a Prize!
Top-gallant he, and ſhe in all her Trim,
He boarding her, ſhe ſtriking ſail to him.
"Chere Comteſſe! you have Charms all Hearts to hit!"
And "ſweet Sir Fopling! you have ſo much wit!"
Such Wits and Beauties are not prais'd for nought,
For both the Beauty and the Wit are bought.
'Twou'd burſt ev'n Heraclitus with the Spleen.
To ſee thoſe Anticks, Fopling and Courtin:
The Preſence ſeems, with things ſo richly odd,
The Moſque of Mahound, or ſome queer Pa-god.
See them ſurvey their Limbs by Durer's Rules,
Of all Beau-kind the beſt proportion'd Fools!
Adjuſt their Cloaths, and to Confeſſion draw
Each idle Atom, or erroneous Straw;
[15] What Terrors wou'd diſtract each conſcious Soul,
Convicted of that mortal Sin, a Hole!
Or ſhould one Pound of Powder leſs beſpread
The Monkey-Tail that wags behind his Head!
Thus finiſh'd and corrected to a hair,
They march, to prate their Hour before the Fair,
So firſt to preach a white-glov'd Chaplain goes,
With Band of Lily, and with Cheek of Roſe,
Sweeter than Sharon, in immaculate trim,
Neatneſs itſelf impertinent in him.
Let but the Ladies ſmile, and they are bleſt;
Prodigious! how the Things Proteſt, Proteſt:
Peace, Fools! or Gonſon will for Papiſts ſeize you,
If once he catch you at your Jeſu! Jeſu!
Nature made ev'ry Fop to plague his Brother,
Juſt as one Beauty mortifies another.
But here's the Captain, that will plague you both,
Whoſe Air cries Arm! whofe very Look's an Oath:
What tho' his Soul be Bullet, Body Buff?
Damn him, he's honeſt, Sir,—and that's enuff.
He ſpits fore-right; his haughty Cheſt before,
Like batt'ring Rams, beats open ev'ry Door;
And with a Face as red, and as awry,
As Herod's Hang-dogs in old Tapeſtry,
[16] Scarecrow to Boys, the breeding Woman's curſe;
Has yet a ſtrange Ambition to look worſe:
Confounds the Civil, keeps the Rude in awe,
Jeſts like alicens'd Fool, commands like Law.
Frighted, I quit the Room, but leave it ſo,
As Men from Jayls to Execution go;
For hung with* Deadly Sins I ſee the Wall,
And lin'd with Giants, deadlier than 'em all:
Each Man an† Aſcapart, of ſtrength to toſs
For Quoits, both Temple-Bar and Charing-Croſs.
Scar'd at the grizly Forms, I ſweat, I fly,
And ſhake all o'er, like a diſcover'd Spy.
Courts are no match for Wits ſo weak as mine;
Charge them with Heav'n's Artill'ry, bold Divine!
From ſuch alone the Great Rebukes endure,
Whoſe Satyr's ſacred, and whoſe Rage ſecure.
'Tis mine to waſh a few ſlight Stains; but theirs
To deluge Sin, and drown a Court in Tears.
Howe'er, what's now Apocrypha, my Wit,
In time to come, may paſs for Holy Writ.
FINISH.