For you he fweats and labours at the laws, Takes God to witness he affects your caufe, And lies to every Lord in every thing, Like a King's Favourite-or like a King. These are the talents that adorn them all, From wicked Waters even to godly **
Not more of Simony beneath black gowns, Not more of bastardy in heirs to Crowns. In fhillings and in pence at first they deal; And steal fo little, few perceive they steal;
Till, like the Sea, they compass all the land,
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover ftrand: And when rank Widows purchase luscious nights, Or when a Duke to Janffen punts at White's, Or City Heir in mortgage melts away; Satan himself feels far lefs joy than they.
And to every fuitor lye in every thing, Like a King's Favourite-or like a King. Like a wedge in a block, wring to the barre, Bearing like affes, and more fhameless farre Than carted whores, lye to the grave Judge; for Bastardy abounds not in King's titles, nor Simony and Sodomy in Churchmen's lives, As these things do in him; by these he thrives. Shortly (as th' fea) he'll compass all the land, From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover strand. And spying heirs melting with Luxury,
Satan will not joy at their fins as he;
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, Covenants, Articles they draw, Large as the fields themselves, and larger far Than Civil Codes, with all their Gloffes, are; So vaft, our new Divines, we must confefs, Are Fathers of the Church for writing less. But let them write for you, each rogue impairs The deeds, and dextroufly omits, fes beires: No Commentator can more flily pass Over a learn'd, unintelligible place:
Or, in quotation, fhrewd Divines leave out
Those words, that would against them clear the doubt.
For (as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen-stuffe, And barrelling the dropings and the fnuffe Of wafting candles, which in thirty year, Reliquely kept, perchance buys wedding chear) Piecemeal he gets lands, and spends as much time Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime. In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws Affurances, big as gloss'd civil laws,
So huge that men (in our times forwardness) Are Fathers of the Church for writing less These he writes not; nor for these written payes, Therefore fpares no length (as in those first dayes When Luther was profeft, he did defire Short Pater-nofters, faying as a Fryer
So Luther thought the Pater-nofter long, When doom'd to say his beads and Even-fong; But having caft his cowl, and left those laws, Adds to Chrift's prayer, the Power and Glory clause. The lands are bought; but where are to be found Those ancient woods, that shaded all the ground? We fee 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, though not whole hecatombs That both extremes were banish'd from their walls, Carthufian fafts, and fulfome Bacchanals; And all mankind might that just Mean obferve, In which none e'er could furfeit, none could ftarve.
Each day his Beads: but having left those laws, Adds to Chrift's prayer, the power and glory clause) But when he fells or changes land, h' impaires The writings, and (unwatch'd) leaves out, ses beires, As flily as any Commentator goes by
Hard words, or fenfe; or, in Divinity
As controverters in vouch'd Texts, leave out
Shrewd words, which might against them clear the doub Where are these spread woods which cloath'd here
Those bought lands? not built, nor burnt within door. Where the old landlords troops and almes? In halls Carthufian Fafts, and fulfome Bachanals
Thefe as good works, 'tis true, we all allow, But oh thefe 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 fly Informer watch these words to draw Within the reach of Treason, or the Law.
Means bleft. In rich men's homes
I bid kill fome beafts, but no hecatombs ;
None starve, none furfeit fo. But (oh) we allow Good works as good, but out of fashion now, Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none draws Within the vaft reach of th' huge statutes jawes.
WELL, if it be my time to quit the ftage,
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 fatires, 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 commiffion from his Grace; I bought no benefice, I begg'd no place; Had no new verses, nor new fuit to show; Yet went to Court!-the Devil would have it fo.
WELL; I may now receive, and die. My fin
Indeed is great, but yet I have been in
A Purgatory, fuch as fear'd Hell is
A recreation, and scant map of this.
My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor hath been Poyfon'd with love to fee or to be seen,
I had no fuit there, nor new fuit to show,
Yet went to Court; but as Glare which did go
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