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He that departs with his own honesty
For vulgar praise, doth it too dearly buy.

III.

TO MY BOOKSELLER.

HOU that mak'st gain thy end, and wisely well,
Call'st a book good, or bad, as it doth sell,
Use mine so too; I give thee leave: but crave,
For the luck's sake, it thus much favour have,
To lie upon thy stall, till it be sought;
Not offer'd, as it made suit to be bought;
Nor have my title-leaf on posts or walls,
Or in cleft-sticks, advanced to make calls
For termers, or some clerklike serving-man,
Who scarce can spell th' hard names; whose knight
less can.

If, without these vile arts, it will not sell,
Send it to Bucklers-bury, there 'twill well.'

And

IV.

TO KING JAMES.

OW, best of kings, dost thou a sceptre bear !3
How, best of poets, dost thou laurel wear!
But two things rare the Fates had in their store,
gave
thee both, to shew they could no more.

2 Send it to Bucklers-bury, there'twill well.] "The whole street (Stow says) called Buckle's-bury, on both the sides throughout, is possessed of grocers and apothecaries." So that there must have been a terrible consumption of poetry, and, of course, a never-failing demand for it. "The pepperers," also, it appears from the same authority, mightily affected this street.

3 How, best of kings, &c.] "Dr. Hurd," Whalley says in the margin of his copy, "has severely but justly reprehended Jonson

For such a poet, while thy days were green,
Thou wert, as chief of them are said t' have been.
And such a prince thou art, we daily see,
As chief of those still promise they will be.
Whom should my muse then fly to, but the best
Of kings, for grace; of poets, for my test?

for the gross adulation in these verses.' Reprehensions of adulation come with a good grace from Hurd, it must be confessed! But why this outcry against our poet? His epigram was probably written soon after the accession of James, and when this good prince had surely given little cause for complaint to any one. With respect to his boyish poetry, of which I presume Hurd never read a line, it is really creditable to his talents. Some of the Psalms are better translated by him than they were by Milton at his years; and surrounded as he was by the hirelings of Elizabeth, who betrayed his mother, and only waited for the word to do as much by him, it is greatly to his honour that he turned his studies to so good an account. But why, let me ask again, this eternal outcry against Jonson? Hurd had not very far to look for those who flattered much more grossly than Jonson, without his plea for it. James was his munificent patron, and gratitude, which none felt more ardently than our poet, might excuse some little exaggeration of praise. But what extraordinary inducement had Shakspeare for his adulation? Hurd never asked himself this question. What plea had Drummond, or his friend Alexander (Lord Stirling) for their gross sycophancy? The latter has a panegyric on James for a sonnet greatly inferior to any thing which his majesty had written at the date of this Epigram, in which he says,

"He, prince, or poet, more than man doth prove!"

and, after a deal of fulsome rant, concludes thus:

"But all his due who can afford him then?
A God of poets, and a king of men!"

And this is addressed to the queasy Drummond, who is so grievously scandalized at the "insincerity" of his "dear friend" Jonson. I trust that the reader will not be mortified at discovering that our author has partners in his delinquency: a fact that never appears to have been suspected by those who write against him.

V.

ON THE UNION.

HEN was there contract better driven by Fate, Or celebrated with more truth of state? The world the temple was, the priest a king, The spoused pair two realms, the sea the ring.

VI.

To ALCHEMISTS.

F all you boast of your great art be true;
Sure, willing poverty lives most in you.

VII.

ON THE NEW HOT-HOUSE.*

HERE lately harbour'd many a famous whore, A purging bill, now fix'd upon the door, Tells you it is a hot-house; so it may, And still be a whore-house: they're synonyma.

VIII.

ON A ROBBERY.

IDWAY robb'd Duncote of three hundred pound,

Ridway was ta'en, arraign'd, condemn'd to die;

A bagnio. Thus Shakspeare: "Now she professes a hot-house, which I think is a very ill house too." Measure for Measure.

But, for this money, was a courtier found,
Begg'd Ridway's pardon: Duncote now doth cry,
"Robb'd both of money, and the law's relief,
The courtier is become the greater thief."

IX.

TO ALL TO WHOM I WRITE.

AY none whose scatter'd names honour my book,

For strict degrees of rank or title look : 'Tis 'gainst the manners of an epigram; And I a poet here, no herald am.

X.

TO MY LORD IGNORANT.

HOU call'st me POET, as a term of shame ;
But I have my revenge made, in thy name.

XI.

ON SOMETHING, THAT WALKS somewhere.

T court I met it, in clothes brave enough, To be a courtier; and looks grave enough, To seem a statesman: as I near it came, It made me a great face; I ask'd the name. A Lord, it cried, buried in flesh and blood, And such from whom let no man hope least good, For I will do none; and as little ill,

For I will dare none: Good Lord, walk dead still.

XII.

ON LIEUTENANT SHIFT.

HIFT, here in town, not meanest amongst
squires,

That haunt Pickt-hatch, Marsh-Lambeth, and
White-friars,

Keeps himself, with half a man, and defrays
The charge of that state, with this charm, god pays."
By that one spell he lives, eats, drinks, arrays
Himself: his whole revenue is, god pays.
The quarter-day is come; the hostess says,
She must have money he returns, god pays.
The tailor brings a suit home; he it says,
Looks o'er the bill, likes it: and says, god pays.
He steals to ordinaries; there he plays

At dice his borrow'd money: which, god pays.
Then takes up fresh commodities, for days;
Signs to new bonds; forfeits; and cries, god pays.
That lost, he keeps his chamber, reads essays,
Takes physic, tears the papers: still, god pays.
Or else by water goes, and so to plays ;

5 That haunt Pickt-hatch, Marsh-Lambeth, and White-friars.] The respective resorts of debauchees, thieves, and fraudulent debtors.

God pays.] The impudent plea for charity, or rather for running in debt, advanced by disbanded soldiers, of whom there were many at this period, and more who pretended to be such. The expression occurs in the London Prodigal, in a passage much to the purpose:

Sir Arthur. I am a soldier and a gentleman.

Lace. I neither doubt your valour nor your love,
But there be some that bear a soldier's form,
That swear by him they never think upon :
Go swaggering up and down from house to house,
Crying, god pays."

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For says (tries) see vol. v. p. 163.

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