Pagina-afbeeldingen
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The ablest orator, to save a word,
Would throw all sense and reason overboard.
Hence 'tis that nothing else but eloquence
Is tyd to such a prodigal expense;
That lays out half the wit and sense it uses
Upon the other half's, as vain excuses:
For all defences and apologies

Are but specifics t' other frauds and lies;
And th' artificial wash of eloquence

Is daub'd in vain upon the clearest sense,
Only to stain the native ingenuity
Of equal brevity and perspicuity;

Whilst all the best and soberest things he does,
Are when he coughs, or spits, or blows, his nose;
Handles no point so evident and clear
(Besides his white gloves) as his handkercher;
Unfolds the nicest scruple so distinct,
As if his talent had been wrapt up in 't
Unthriftily, and now he went about
Henceforward to improve and put it out.

THE pedants are a mongrel breed, that sojourn Among the ancient writers and the modern; And, while their studies are between the one And th' other spent, have nothing of their own; Like spunges, are both plants and animals, And equally to both their natures false: For, whether 'tis their want of conversation, Inclines them to all sorts of affectation; Their sedentary life and melancholy, The everlasting nursery of folly; Their poring upon black and white too subtly Has turn'd the insides of their brains to motley; Or squandering of their wits and time upon Too many things, has made them fit for none; Their constant overstraining of the mind Distorts the brain, as horses break their wind; Or rude confusions of the things they read Get up, like noxious vapours, in the head, Until they have their constant wanes, and fulls, And changes, in the insides of their sculls; Or venturing beyond the reach of wit Has render'd them for all things else unfit; But never bring the world and books together, And therefore never rightly judge of either; Whence multitudes of reverend men and critics Have got a kind of intellectual rickets, And, by th' immoderate excess of study, Have found the sickly head t' outgrow the body. For pedantry is but a corn or wart, Bred in the skin of Judgment, Sense, and Art, A stupify'd excrescence, like a wen, Fed by the peccant humours of learn'd men, That never grows from natural defects Of downright and untutor'd intellects, But from the over-curious and vain Distempers of an artificial brain

So he, that once stood for the learned'st man,
Had read out Little Britain and Duck-lane;
Worn out his reason, and reduc'd his body
And brain to nothing with perpetual study;
Kept tutors of all sorts, and virtuosis,

To read all authors to him with their glosses,
And made his lacquies, when he walk'd, bear folios
Of dictionaries, lexicons, and scholias,
To be read to him every way the wind
Should chance to sit, before him or behind;
Had read out all th' imaginary duels

That had been fought by consonants and vowels;

Had crackt his scull, to find out proper places
To lay up all memoirs of things in cases;
And practis'd all the tricks upon the charts,
To play with packs of sciences and arts,
That serve t' improve a feeble gamester's study,
That ventures at grammatic beast, or noddy;
Had read out all the catalogues of wares,
That come in dry vats o'er from Frankfort fairs,
Whose authors use t'articulate their surnames
With scraps of Greek more learned than theGermans;
Was wont to scatter books in every room,
Where they might best be seen by all that come,
And lay a train that naturally should force
What he design'd, as if it fell of course;

And all this with a worse success than Cardan,
Who bought both books and learning at a bargain,
When, lighting on a philosophic spell,
Of which he never knew one syllable,
Presto, be gone, h' unriddled all he read,
As if he had to nothing else been bred.

UPON

AN HYPOCRITICAL NONCONFORMIST.

A PINDARIC ODE.

THERE's nothing so absurd, or vain,
Or barbarous, or inhumane,
But, if it lay the least pretence
To piety and godliness,
Or tender-hearted conscience,
And zeal for gospel-truths profess,
Does sacred instantly commence ;
And all that dare but question it, are straight
Pronounc'd the uncircumcis'd and reprobate :
As malefactors, that escape and fly
Into a sanctuary for defence,

Must not be brought to justice thence,

Although their crimes be ne'er so great and high; And he that dares presume to do 't,

Is sentenc'd and deliver'd up

To Satan, that engag'd him to 't,

For venturing wickedly to put a stop
To his immunities and free affairs,

Or meddle saucily with theirs

That are employ'd by him, while he and they
Proceed in a religious and a holy way.

And, as the Pagans heretofore
Did their own handyworks adore,
And made their stone and timber deities,
Their temples and their altars, of one piece;
The same outgoings seem t' inspire
Our modern self-will'd Edifier,

That, out of things as far from sense, and more,
Contrives new light and revelation,
The creatures of th' imagination,
To worship and fall down before;
Of which his crack'd delusions draw
As monstrous images and rude,
As ever Pagan, to believe in, hew'd,
Or madman in a vision saw;
Mistakes the feeble impotence,
And vain delusions of his mind,
For spiritual gifts and offerings,
Which Heaven to present him brings;
And still, the further 'tis from sense,
Believes it is the more refin'd,

And ought to be receiv'd with greater reverenc

But, as all tricks, whose principles
Are false, prove false in all things else,
The dull and heavy hypocrite

Is but in pension with his conscience,
That pays him for maintaining it
With zealous rage and impudence;
And, as the one grows obstinate,
So does the other rich and fat;
Disposes of his gifts and dispensations,
Like spiritual foundations

Endow'd to pious uses, and design'd

To entertain the weak, the lame, and blind;
But still diverts them to as bad, or worse,
Than others are by unjust governors:
For, like our modern publicans,

He still puts out all dues

He owes to Heaven to the Devil to use,

And makes his godly interest great gains;
Takes all the brethren (to recruit

The spirit in him) contribute,

And, to repair and edify his spent

And broken-winded outward man, present

For painful holding-forth against the government.

The subtle spider never spins,

But on dark days, his slimy gins;

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Nor does our engineer much care to plant

His spiritual machines,

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Unless among the weak and ignorant,

The inconstant, credulous, and light,

The vain, the factious, and the slight,
That in their zeal are most extravagant;
For trouts are tickled best in muddy water:
And still the muddier he finds their brains,
The more he 's sought and follow'd after,
And greater ministrations gains:
For talking idly is admir'd,

And speaking nonsense hel4 inspir'd;
And still, the flatter and more dull

His gifts appear, is held more powerful :
For blocks are better cleft with wedges,
Than tools of sharp and subtle edges;
And dullest nonsense has been found,

Nor left at large, nor be restrain'd,

But where there's something to be gain'd;
And, that being once reveal'd, defies
The law, with all its penalties,

And is convinc'd no pale

O' th' church can be so sacred as a jail :
For, as the Indians' prisons are their mines,
So he has found are all restraints

To thriving and free-conscienc'd saints;
For the same thing enriches that confines;
And like to Lully, when he was in hold,
He turns his baser metals into gold;
Receives returning and retiring fees
For holding forth, and holding of his peace;
And takes a pension to be advocate

And standing counsel 'gainst the church and state.
For gall'd and tender consciences;
Commits himself to prison to trepan,
Draw in, and spirit all he can;

For birds in cages have a call,

To draw the wildest into nets,
More prevalent and natural

Than all our artificial pipes and counterfeits.

His slippery conscience has more tricks
Than all the juggling empirics,

And every one another contradicts;

All laws of Heaven and Earth can break,

And swallow oaths, and blood, and rapine easy,

And yet is so infirm and weak,

"Twill not endure the gentlest check,

But at the slightest nicety grows queasy;
Disdains control, and yet can be

No where, but in a prison, free;
Can force itself, in spite of God,

Who makes it free as thought at home,

A slave and villain to become,

To serve its interests abroad:

And, though no Pharisee was e'er so cunning
At tithing mint and cummin,

No dull idolater was e'er so flat
In things of deep and solid weight,
Pretends to charity and holiness,

By some, to be the solid'st and the most profound. But is implacable to peace,

A great apostle once was said

With too much learning to be mad;

But our great saint becomes distract,

And only with too little crackt;

Cries moral truths and human learning down,

And will endure no reason but his own:

Fortis a drudgery and task,

Not for a saint, but pagan oracle,

To answer all men can object or ask;

But to be found impregnable,

And with a sturdy forehead to hold out,
In spite of shame or reason resolute,
Is braver than to argue and confute;
As he that can draw blood, they say,
From witches, takes their magic power away,
So he that draws blood int' a brother's face,
Taxes all his gifts away, and light, and grace:
For, while he holds that nothing is so damn'd
And shameful as to be asham'd,

He never can b'attack'd,

But will come off; for Confidence, well back'd,
Among the weak and prepossess'd,

Has often Truth, with all her kingly power, oppress'd.

It is the nature of late zeal,
Twill not be subject, nor rebel,

And out of tenderness grows obstinate.

And, though the zeal of God's house ate a prince And prophet up (he says) long since,

His cross-grain'd peremptory zeal

Would eat up God's house, and devour it at a meal.

He does not pray, but prosecute,
As if he went to law, his suit;
Summons his Maker to appear
And answer what he shall prefer;
Returns him back his gift of prayer,
Not to petition, but declare;
Exhibits cross complaints

Against him for the breach of covenants,
And all the charters of the saints;
Pleads guilty to the action, and yet stands
Upon high terms and bold demands;
Excepts against him and his laws,
And will be judge himself in his own cause;
And grows more saucy and severe
Than th' heathen emperor was to Jupiter,
And sometimes would speak softly in his ear
That us'd to wrangle with him and dispute,
And sometimes loud, and rant, and tear,
And threaten, if he did not grant his suit.

But when his painful gifts h' employs
In holding-forth, the virtue lies
Not in the letter of the sense,
But in the spiritual vehemence,

The power and dispensation of the voice,
The zealous pangs and agonies,
And heavenly turnings of the eyes;
The groans, with which he piously destroys
And drowns the nonsense in the noise;
And grows so loud, as if he meant to force
And take-in Heaven by violence;
To fright the saints into salvation,
Or scare the Devil from temptation;
Until he falls so low and hoarse,
No kind of carnal sense

Can be made out of what he means:

But as the ancient Pagans were precise
To use no short-tail'd beast in sacrifice,

He still conforms to them, and has a care

T' allow the largest measure to his paltry ware.

The ancient churches, and the best,
By their own martyrs' blood increas'd;
But he has found out a new way,
To do it with the blood of those
That dare his church's growth oppose,
Or her imperious canons disobey;
And strives to carry on the work,
Like a true primitive reforming Turk,
With holy rage and edifying war,
More safe and powerful ways by far:
For the Turk's patriarch, Mahomet,
Was the first great reformer, and the chief
Of th' ancient Christian belief,

That mix'd it with new light, and cheat,
With revelations, dreams, and visions,
And apostolic superstitions,

To be held forth, and carry'd on by war;
And his successor was a presbyter,
With greater right than Haly or Abubeker.

For, as a Turk, that is to act some crime
Against his prophet's holy law,
Is wont to bid his soul withdraw,
And leave his body for a time;

So, when some horrid action 's to be done,
Our Turkish proselyte puts on
Another spirit, and lays by his own;
And, when his over-heated brain
Turns giddy, like his brother Mussulman,
He's judg'd inspir'd, and all his frenzies held
To be prophetic and reveal'd.

The one believes all madmen to be saints,
Which th' other cries him down for and abhors,
And yet in madness all devotion plants,
And where he differs most concurs;

Both equally exact and just

In perjury and breach of trust;

So like in all things, that one brother

Is but a counterpart of th' other;

And both unanimously damn

And hate (like two that play one game)

Each other for it, while they strive to do the same.

Both equally design to raise

Their churches by the self-same ways;

With war and ruin to assert

Their doctrine, and with fire and sword convert; To preach the gospel with a drum,

And for convincing overcome:

And though, in worshipping of God, all blood
Was by his own laws disallow'd,
Both hold no holy rites to be so good,
And both, to propagate the breed
Of their own saints, one way proceed;
For lust and rapes in war repair as fast,
As fury and destruction waste:
Both equally allow all crimes,

As lawful means to propagate a sect;
For laws in war can be of no effect,

And licence does more good in gospel times.
Hence 'tis that holy wars have ever been
The horrid'st scenes of blood and sin;

For, when Religion does recede

From her own nature, nothing but a breed

Of prodigies and hideous monsters can succeed.

UPON MODERN CRITICS.

A PINDARIC ODE.

'Tis well that equal Heaven has plac'd
Those joys above, that to reward
The just and virtuous are prepar'd,

Beyond their reach, until their pains are past;
Else men would rather venture to possess
By force, than earn their happiness;
And only take the Devil's advice,
As Adam did, how soonest to be wise,
Though at th' expense of Paradise:
For, as some say, to fight is but a base
Mechanic handy-work, and far below
A generous spirit to undergo;
So 'tis to take the pains to know:
Which some, with only confidence and face,
More easily and ably do;

For daring nonsense seldom fails to hit,
Like scatter'd shot, and pass with some for wit.
Who would not rather make himself a judge,
And boldly usurp the chair,

Than with dull industry and care

Endure to study, think, and drudge,
For that which he much sooner may advance
With obstinate and pertinacious ignorance?

For all men challenge, though in spite
Of Nature and their stars, a right
To censure, judge, and know,
Though she can only order who
Shall be, and who shall ne'er be, wise:
Then why should those, whom she denies
Her favour and good graces to,
Not strive to take opinion by surprise,
And ravish what it were in vain to woo?
For he that desperately assumes
The censure of all wits and arts,
Though without judgment, skill, and parts,
Only to startle and amuse,

And mask his ignorance, (as Indians use
With gaudy-colour'd plumes
Their homely nether-parts t' adorn)
Can never fail to captive some,
That will submit to his oraculous doom,
And reverence what they ought to scorn;
Admire his sturdy confidence,

For solid judgment and deep sense:
And credit purchas'd without pains or wit,
Like stolen pleasures, ought to be more sweet.

Two self-admirers, that combine

Against the world, may pass a fine

Upon all judgment, sense, and wit,
And settle it as they think fit
On one another, like the choice

Of Persian princes, by one horse's voice:
For those fine pageants which some raise,
Of false and disproportion'd praise,
T enable whom they please t' appear
And pass for what they never were,
In private only being but nam'd,
Their modesty must be asham'd,
And not endure to hear,

And yet may be divulg❜d and fam'd,
And own'd in public every where:
So vain some authors are to boast
Their want of ingenuity, and club
Their affidavit wits, to dub

Each other but a knight o' the Post,

As false as suborn'd perjurers,

That vouch away all right they have to their own

ears.

But, when all other courses fail,
There is one easy artifice,

That seldom has been known to miss-
To cry all mankind down, and rail:
For he whom all men do contemn,
May be allow'd to rail again at them,
And in his own defence

To outface reason, wit, and sense,

And all that makes against himself condemn;
To snarl at all things, right or wrong,

Like a mad dog that has a worm in 's tongue;
Reduce all knowledge back of good and evil,
To its first original, the Devil;
And, like a fierce inquisitor of wit,

Το spare no flesh that ever spoke or writ;
Though to perform his task as dull,
As if he had a toadstone in his scull,
And could produce a greater stock
Of maggots than a pastoral poet's flock.

The feeblest vermin can destroy

As sure as stoutest beasts of prey,

And, only with their eyes and breath,

Infect and poison men to death;

But that more impudent buffoon,

That makes it both his business and his sport
To rail at all, is but a drone,

That spends his sting on what he cannot hurt ;
Enjoys a kind of lechery in spite,

Like o'ergrown sinners, that in whipping take delight;
Invades the reputation of all those
That have, or have it not, to lose;

And, if he chance to make a difference,

'Tis always in the wrongest sense:

As rooking gamesters never lay

Upon those hands that use fair play,

But venture all their bets

And whips and spurs himself because he is outgone; Makes idle characters and tales,\

As counterfeit, unlike, and false,

As witches' pictures are, of wax and clay,

To those whom they would in effigie slay.
And, as the Devil, that has no shape of 's own,
Affects to put the ugliest on,

And leaves a stink behind him when he 's gone,
So he that 's worse than nothing strives t' appear
I' th' likeness of a wolf or bear,

To fright the weak; but when men dare
Encounter with him, stinks and vanishes to air.

TO THE HAPPY MEMORY OF

THE MOST RENOWNED DU-VAL

A PINDARIC ODE.

'Tis true, to compliment the dead
Is as impertinent and vain,

As 'twas of old to call them back again,
Or, like the Tartars, give them wives, .
With settlements for after-lives:
For all that can be done or said,
Though e'er so noble, great, and good,
By them is neither heard nor understood.
All our fine sleights and tricks of art,
First to create, and then adore desert,
And those romances which we frame,{
To raise ourselves, not them, a name,
In vain are stuft with ranting flatteries,
And such as, if they knew, they would despise.
For, as those times the Golden Age we call,
In which there was no gold in use at all;
So we plant glory and renown

Where it was ne'er deserv'd nor known,
But to worse purpose, many times,

To flourish o'er nefarious crimes,

And cheat the world, that never seems to mind How good or bad men die, but what they leave behind.

And yet the brave Du-Val, whose name

Can never be worn out by Fame;

That liv'd and dy'd to leave behind
A great example to mankind;
That fell a public sacrifice,
From ruin to preserve those few,

Who, though born false, may be made true,
And teach the world to be more just and wise;
Ought not, like vulgar ashes, rest
Unmentioned in his silent chest,
Not for his own, but public interest.
He, like a pious man, some years before
The arrival of his tatal hour,

Made every day he had to live
To his last minute a preparative;

Upon the slurs and cunning tricks of ablest cheats. Taught the wild Arabs on the road

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That serves the ruder northern nations
With methods of address and treat;
Prescribes new garnitures and fashions,
And how to drink and how to eat
No out-of-fashion wine or meat;
To understand cravats and plumes,

And the most modish from the old perfumes;
To know the age and pedigrees

Of points of Flanders or Venice;
Cast their nativities, and, to a day,

Foretel how long they 'll hold, and when decay;
T'affect the purest negligences

In gestures, gaits, and miens,
And speak by repartee-rotines

Out of the most authentic of romances,
And to demonstrate, with substantial reason,
What ribbands, all the year, are in or out of season:

In this great academy of mankind
He had his birth and education,

Where all men are so ingeniously inclin'd,
They understand by imitation,

Improve untaught, before they are aware,

As if they suck'd their breeding from the air,
That naturally does dispense

To all a deep and solid confidence;

A virtue of that precious use,

That he, whom bounteous Heaven endues

But with a moderate share of it,

Can want no worth, abilities, or wit,

In all the deep Hermetic arts

(For so of late the learned call
All tricks, if strange and mystical).
He had improv'd his natural parts,
And with his magic rod could sound
Where hidden treasure might be found:
He, like a lord o' th' manor, seiz'd upon
Whatever happen'd in his way,

As lawful weft and stray,

And after, by the custom, kept it as his own.

From these first rudiments he grew
To nobler feats, and try'd his force
Upon whole troops of foot and horse,
Whom he as bravely did subdue;
Declar'd all caravans, that go
Upon the king's highway, the foe;
Made many desperate attacks
Upon itinerant brigades

Of all professions, ranks, and trades,

On carrier's loads, and pedlars' packs;

Made them lay down their arms, and yield,
And, to the smallest piece, restore

All that by cheating they had gain'd before,
And after plunder'd all the baggage of the field.
In every bold affair of war

He had the chief command, and led them on;
For no man is judg'd fit to have the care
› Of others' lives, until he 'as made it known
How much he does despise and scorn his own.

Whole provinces, 'twixt Sun and Sun,
Have by his conquering sword been won;
And mighty sums of money laid,
For ransom, upon every man,
And hostages deliver'd till 'twas paid.
Th' excise and chimney-publican,
The Jew-forestaller and enhancer,
To him for all their crimes did answer.
He vanquish'd the most fierce and fell
Of all his foes, the constable;

And oft had beat his quarters up,
And routed him and all his troop.
He took the dreadful lawyer's fees,
That in his own allow'd highway
Does feats of arms as great as his,
And, when th' encounter in it, wins the day
Safe in his garrison, the court,

Where meaner criminals are sentenc'd for 't,
To this stern foe he oft gave quarter,

But as the Scotchman did to' a Tartar,
That he, in time to come,

Might in return from him receive his fatal doom.

He would have starv'd this mighty town,
And brought its haughty spirit down;
Have cut it off from all relief,
And, like a wise and valiant chief,
Made many a fierce assault
Upon all ammunition carts,

And those that bring up cheese, or malt,
Or bacon, from remoter parts;
No convoy e'er so strong with food
Durst venture on the desperate road;
He made th' undaunted waggoner obey,
And the fierce higgler contribution pay;
The savage butcher and stout drover

Durst not to him their feeble troops discover;
And, if he had but kept the field,

In time had made the city yield;

For great towns, like to crocodiles, are found

I' th' belly aptest to receive a mortal wound.

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Thither came ladies from all parts,

To offer up close prisoners their hearts;
Which he receiv'd as tribute due,

And made them yield up Love and Honour too,
But in more brave heroic ways

Tha: e'er were practis'd yet in plays:
For those two spiteful foes, who never meet
But full of hot contests and piques
About punctilios and mere tricks,
Did all their quarrels to his doom submit,
And, far more generous and free,

In contemplation only of him did agree,
Both fully satisfy'd; the one

With those fresh laurels he had won,
And all the brave renowned feats
He had perform'd in arms;

The other with his person and his charms
For, just as larks are catch'd in nets,

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