To me with readiness he did repair; Exprefs'd much tender chearfulness, to find And loyally did to me show, How much himself he did abufe, Who credited a flattering, false, destructive, treacherous I afk'd the caufes why. He faid, When Fortune fled; for Fortune is a bawd And where wit's lufty, fhining god So whilft our fortune fmiles, our thoughts afpire, A promptnefs in the mind, The Muse is always ready, always kind. Her favour, all our pleasure and rich fancy dies, And then th' young, flippery jilt, the Mufe, too from us flies. VIII. To the whole tale I gave attention due; Was very honest, very true. D O how O how I hugg'd my welcome friend! And much my Mufe I could not discommend! She always turn'd her back, and fled from me apace, He drew the veil of dotage from my eyes : Than ever yet to fatire lent a tale, Or haunted Chloris in the mall. The firft was he who ftunk of that rank verfe In which he wrote his Sodom Farce; A wretch whom old diseases did fo bite, That he writ bawdry fure in spite, Philofophers of old did fo exprefs Their art, and fhew'd it in their naftiness. } Next him appear'd that blundering fot, Who a late Seffion of the Poets wrote. By's flat broad face you'll know the owl. Still wretch enough to live, with worse fools spends his days, And for old fhoes and scraps repeats dull plays.. Then Then next there follow'd, to make up the throng, Who fought her love, and promis'd for't In a black fatin cap and his own hair, And begg'd that he might have the honour For the city's next lord-mayor. They took her all by turns afide. Till at the laft up in the rear there came The Poets' fcandal, and the Mufes' fhame, A beast of monftrous guife, and Libel was his name. But let me pause, for 'twill ask time to tell. How he was born, how bred and where, and where he now does dwell. IX. He paus'd, and thus renew'd his tale. 'Midft fogs and fens, whence mifts and vapours rise, Where never fun was feen by eyes, Under a defert wood, Which no man own'd, but all wild beasts were bred, And kept their horrid dens, by prey far forag'd fed, An ill-pil'd cottage stood, Built of men's bones flaughter'd in civil war, There liv'd a widow'd witch, That us'd to mumble curfes eve and morn, Like one whom wants and care had worn; Meagre her looks, and funk her eyes, Yet mifchiefs ftudy'd, difcords did devife. Sh' appeared humble, but it was her pride: Slow in her fpeech, in femblance fanctify'd. Still when the spoke she meant another way; And when the curs'd, fhe feem'd to pray. Her hellish charms had all a holy dress, And bore the name of godliness, All her familiars feem'd the fons of Peace. In outward fhow moft lamb-like and divine: Greedy as wolves, and fenfual too as fwine. Because, befides herfelf, no idol fhe 'd endure. Though not to paint, she'd arts to change the face, And alter it in heavenly fashion. Lewd whining the defin❜d a mark of grace, Her late dead pander was of well-known fame, She a fworn foe to king, his peace, and laws, So will be ever, and was call'd (bless us!) the good old caufe. X. A time there was (a fad one too) When all things wore the face of woe, When many horrors rag'd in this our land, and o'er all Britain ftretch'd his conquering hand: Till in th' untrodden streets unwholfome grafs Grew of great ftalk, its colour grofs, And melancholic poisonous green; Like those coarse fickly weeds on an old dunghill seen, Where fome murrain-murther'd hog, Poifon'd cat, or strangled dog, In rottenness had long unbury'd laid, And the cold foil productive måde. Birds of ill omen hover'd in the air, Defolation foon he made, And our new Sodom low in afhes laid.. This witch with all her mifchief-making train The fons of Old Rebellion straight she summon'd all; Straight they were ready at her call : D 3 Once |