He made a planetary gin,

Which rats would run their own heads in,
And came on purpose to be taken,

Without th' expense of cheese or bacon. 280
With lute-strings he would counterfeit
Maggots that crawl on dish of meat:
Quote moles and spots on any place
O' th' body, by the index face:
Detect lost maidenheads by sneezing,
Or breaking wind of dames, or pissing;
Cure warts and corns with application
Of medicines to th' imagination,
Fright agues into dogs, and scare

285

With rhymes the tooth-ache and catarrh: 290 Chase evil spirits away by dint

Of sickle, horse-shoe, hollow-flint;

Spit fire out of a walnut-shell,

Which made the Roman slaves rebel;
And fire a mine in China here,

295

With sympathetic gunpowder.

He knew whats ever's to be known,

But much inore than he knew would own:

What med'cine 'twas that Paracelsus

300

Could make a man with, as he tells us;
What figur'd slates are best to make
On wat'ry surface duck or drake;
What bowling-stones, in running race
Upon a board, have swiftest pace;
Whether a pulse beat in the black
List of a dappled louse's back;
If systole or diastole move

Quickest when he's in wrath or love;

When two of them do run a race,

Whether they gallop, trot, or pace;

305

310

How many scores a flea will jump,
Of his own length, from head to rump;
Which Socrates and Chærephon,
In vain, assay'd so long agone;

Whether his snout a perfect nose is,

315

And not an elephant's proboscis;

313. Aristophanes, in his comedy of The Cloude, brings in Socrates and Chærephon, measuring the leap of a flea, from the one's beard to the other's.

How many diff'rent species
Of maggots breed in rotten cheese;
And which are next of kin to those
Engender'd in a chandler's nose;
Or those not seen, but understood,
That live in vinegar and wood.

A paltry wretch he had, half-starv'd,
That him in place of Zany serv'd,

320

Hight Whachum, bred to dash and draw, 325
Not wine, but more unwholesome law;

To make 'twixt words and lines huge gaps,
Wide as meridians in maps;

To squander paper, and spare ink,

Or cheat men of their words, some think. 330
From this, by merited degrees,

He'd to more high advancement rise;
To be an under conjurer,

Or.journeyman astrologer.

His business was to pump and wheedle,
And men with their own keys unriddle;
To make them to themselves give answers,

335

For which they pay the necromancers;
To fetch and carry intelligence,

Of whom, and what, and where, and whence,

And all discoveries disperse

341

Among th' whole pack of conjurers;
What cut-purses have left with them,
For the right owners to redeem;

And what they dare not vent find out,
To gain themselves and th' art repute;
Draw figures, schemes, and horoscopes,
Of Newgate, Bridewell, brokers' shops,
Of thieves ascendant in the cart,
And find out all by rules of art;
Which way a serving man,
With clothes or money away, is gone;
Who pick'd a fob at holding forth,

that's run

And where a watch, for half the worth,
May be redeem'd; or stolen plate
Restor❜d at conscionable rate.
Beside all this, he serv'd his master
In quality of poetaster;

345

350

355

And rhymes appropriate could make
To ev'ry month i' th' almanack;
When terms begin and end could tell,
With their returns, in doggerel:
When the Exchequer opes and shuts,
And sow-gelder with safety cuts;
When men may eat and drink their fill,
And when be temp'rate if they will;
When use, and when abstain from vice,
Figs, grapes, phlebotomy, and spice.
And as in prison mean rogues beat
Hemp for the service of the great,

360

365

370

So Whachum beat his dirty brains,

T' advance his master's fame and gains,

And like the devil's oracles,

Put into dogg'rel rhymes his spells,

375

4

Which, over ev'ry month's blank page
I' th' almanack, strange bilks presage.
He would an elegy compose

On maggots squeez'd out of his nose:
In lyric numbers write an ode on
His mistress eating a black-pudding;
And when imprison'd air escap'd her,
It puft him with poetic rapture.
His sonnets charm'd th' attentive crowd,
By wide-mouth'd mortal troll'd aloud,
That, circl'd with his long-ear'd guests,
Like Orpheus look'd among the beasts.
A carman's horse could not pass by,
But stood ty'd up to poetry:

380

385

No porter's burden pass'd along,

But serv'd for burden to his song:

Each window like a pill'ry appears,

390

With heads thrust through, nail'd by the ears:

All trades run in as to the sight

Of monsters, or their dear delight,

The gallows-tree, when cutting purse

Breeds bus'ness for heroic verse,

395

Which none does hear but would have hung
T'have been the theme of such a song.

Those two together long had liv'd,

In mansion prudently contriv'd,

400

Where neither tree nor house could bar

The free detection of a star;

And nigh an ancient obelisk

Was rais'd by him, found out by Fisk,

405

On which was written, not in words,
But hieroglyphic mute of birds,
Many rare pithy saws concerning
The worth of astrologic learning.
From top of this there hung a rope,
To which he fasten'd telescope:
The spectacles with which the stars
He reads in smallest characters.
It happen'd as a boy, one night,
Did fly his tarsel of a kite,

410

The strangest long-wing'd hawk that flies, 415 That, like a bird of Paradise,

Or herald's martlet, has no legs,

Nor hatches young ones, nor lays eggs;
His train was six yards long, milk-white
At th' end of which there hung a light,
Inclos'd in lantern, made of paper,
That far off like a star did appear:
This Sidrophel by chance espy'd,
And with amazement staring wide,

420

Bless us! quoth he, what dreadful wonder 425
Is that appears in Heayen yonder?
A comet, and without a beard!
Or star that ne'er before appear'd?

I'm certain 'tis not in the scrowl

Of all those beasts, and fish, and fowl,
With which, like Indian plantations,

430

The learned stock the constellations;

Nor those that drawn for signs have been
To th' houses where the planets inn.
It must be supernatural,

Unless it be that cannon-ball

435

404. This Fisk was a late famous astrologer, who flourished about the time of Subtile and Face, and was equally celebrated by Ben Jonson.

436. This experiment was tried by some foreign virtnosos, who planted a piece of orduance point blank against the zenith, and having fired it, the bullet never rebounded back again; which made them all conclude

That, shot i' th' air point-blank upright,
Was borne to that prodigious height,
That, learn'd philosophers maintain.
It ne'er came backwards down again,
But in the airy region yet

440

Hangs, like the body of Mahomet:
For if it be above the shade

That by the earth's round bulk is made,

'Tis probable it may from far

445

Appear no bullet, but a star.

This said, he to his engine flew,

Plac'd near at hand, in open view,
And rais'd it till it levell'd right

Against the glow-worm tail of kite;

450

Then peeping through, Bless us! (quoth he)

It is a planet, now, I see;

And, if I err not, by his proper

Figure, that's like tobacco-stopper,

It should be Saturn. Yes, 'tis clear

455

"Tis Saturn; but what makes him there?

He's got between the dragon's tail

And farther leg behind oth' whale.
Pray heav'n avert the fatal omen,
For 'tis a prodigy not common;

460

And can no less than the world's end,

Or Nature's funeral, portend.

With that he fell again to pry

Thro' perspective more wistfully,

When by mischance the fatal string,

465

That kept the tow'ring fowl on wing,

Breaking, down fell the star. Well shot,

Quoth Whachum, who right wisely thought
H' had levell'd at a star, and hit it:
But Sidrophel, more subtle-witted,
Cry'd out, What horrible and fearful
Portent is this, to see a star fall?
It threatens nature, and the doom
Will not be long before it come!
When stars do fall, 'tis plain enough,

470

475

The day of judgment's not far off;

that it sticks in the mark; but Descartes was of opinion that it does but hang in the air