SATIRE IV.

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 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;

10

Yet went to Court!-the Dev'l would have it fo.

15

But, as the Fool that in reforming days

Would go to Mafs in jeft (as story says)

Could not but think, to pay his fine was odd,
Since 'twas no form'd defign of ferving God;

NOTES.

So

VER. 13. Had no new verses, nor new fuit to show ;] Warburton fays, this is an "infinuation, that Court-Poetry, like Courtclothes, only comes thither in honour of the Sovereign; and ferves but to fupply a day's converfation !!"

VER. 14. the Dev'l would] This addition is mean. And line below, 26. is perhaps the greatest violation of harmony Pope has ever been guilty of, by beginning the Verfe with the word Noah. And line 17, bis fine was odd, seems to be very exceptionable.

As prone to all ill, and of good as forget-
full, as proud, luftfull, 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 fuffer'd this; towards me did run
A thing more strange, than on Nile's flime the Sun
E'er bred, or all which into Noah's Ark came:
A thing which would have pos'd Adam to name :
Stranger than seven Antiquaries ftudies,

Than Africk Monsters, Guianaes rarities,

Stranger than strangers: one who, for a Dane,
In the Danes Maffacre had fure been flain,
If he had liv'd then; and without help dies,
When next the 'Prentices 'gainst strangers rise;
One whom the wach at noon lets fcarce go by;
One, to whom the examining Justice fure would cry,
Sir, by your Priesthood, tell me what you are?
His cloathes were ftrange, tho' coarfe, and black,

tho' bare.

NOTES.

Sleeve

VER. 19. So was I punish'd,] Thus in former editions :

Such was my Fate, whom Heav'n adjudg'd,

Pope made many alterations in this Satire, and feems to have taken pains in correcting it. Line 65, and fucceeding ones, flood

thus:

Well met, he cries, and happy fure for each,

For I am pleas'd to learn, and you to teach.

Line 86 food as follows:

Obliging Sir, I love you I profefs,

But wish

you lik'd Retreat a little lefs,

Spirits

So was I punish'd, as if full 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

4

20

}

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; 25
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 fun e'er got, or flimy Nilus bore,

Or Sloan or Woodward's wondrous fhelves contain,
Nay, all that lying Travellers can feign.

The watch would hardly let him pass at noon,

At night would fwear him dropt out of the Moon. One, whom the mob, when next we find or make A popish plot, shall for a Jefuit take,

And the wife Juftice, starting from his chair,

31

35

Cry, By your Priesthood tell me what you are?
Such was the wight: Th' apparel on his back,
Tho' coarse, was rev'rend, and tho' bare, was black:

The

NOTES.

Spirits like you, belive me, fhould be feen,
And like Ulyffes vifit Courts and men;

So much alone, to fpeak plain truth between us,
You'll die of spleen-excufe me, nunquam minus.

Line 154, ran thus:

Shows Poland's Intereft, takes the Primate's Part.

Dr. Johnfon fpeaks, methinks, too flightingly of thefe Imitations of Donne, when he fays, "That Pope feems to have known their imbecillity."

WARTON.

Sleeveless his jerkin was, and had it been

Velvet, but 'twas now (fo much ground was feen) Become Tufftaffaty; and our children shall

See it plain rafh a while, then nought at all.
The thing hath travail'd, and, faith, speaks all
tongues,

And only knoweth what to all States belongs,
Made of th' accents, and best phrase of all these,
He speaks one language. If strange meats displease,
Art can deceive, or hunger force my tast;
But pedants motly tongue, fouldiers bumbast,
Mountebanks drug-tongue, nor the terms of law,
Are strong enough preparatives to draw

Me to hear this, yet I must be content

With his tongue, in his tongue call'd Complement: In which he can win widows, and

pay scores, Make men speak treason, couzen subtlest whores, Outflatter favourites, or outlie either

Jovius, or Surius, or both together.

He names me, and comes to me; I whisper, God, How have I finn'd, that thy wrath's furious Rod, This fellow, chuseth me! He faith, Sir,

I love your judgment, whom do you prefer
For the best Linguift? and I feelily

Said that I thought Calepine's Dictionary.

NOTES.

Nay,

VER. 68. "The King's," faid I.] "This fneer," faid the ingenious Mr. Wilkes, "is really indecent. The good Bishop who published an edition of his works, ought, in the mild limbo of his Commentary, to have foftened the feverity of this paffage."

WARTON.

The fuit, if by the fashion one might guess,
Was velvet in the youth of good Queen Bess,
But mere tuff-taffety what now remain'd;
So Time, that changes all things, had ordain'd!
Our fons fhall fee it leifurely decay,

First turn plain rash, then vanish quite away.

40

45

This thing has travell'd, speaks each language too, And knows what's fit for ev'ry ftate to do;

Of whose best phrafe and courtly accent join'd,
He forms one tongue, exotic and refin'd.

50

Talkers I've learn'd to bear; Motteux I knew,
Henley himself I've heard, and Budgel too.
The Doctor's Wormwood ftyle, the Hafh of tongues
A Pedant makes, the form of Gonfon's lungs,
The whole Artill'ry of the terms of War,

And (all thofe plagues in one) the bawling Bar: 55
Thefe I could bear; but not a rogue fo civil,
Whose tongue will compliment you to the devil.
A tongue,
that can cheat widows, cancel fcores,
Make Scots speak treafon, cozen fubtleft whores,
With royal Favourites in flatt'ry vie,

And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.

бо

65

He fpies me out; I whisper, Gracious God! What fin of mine could merit fuch a rod? That all the fhot of dulnefs now muft be From this thy blunderbuss discharg'd on me! Permit (he cries) no ftranger to your fame To crave your fentiment, if 's your name. What Speech esteem you moft? "The King's," faid I. But the best words?" O, Sir, the Dictionary."