Quick, to the Bus'nefs; how he lives and eats;
How largely gives; how fplendidly he treats :
How many thousand Acres feed his Sheep,
What are his Rents, what Servants does he keep?
Th' Account is foon caft up; the Judges rate
Our Credit in the Court by our Estate.
Swear by our Gods, or thofe the Greeks adore,
Thou art as fure forfworn, as thou art poor:
The Poor muft gain their Bread by Perjury;
And e'en the Gods, that other Means deny,
In Confcience must absolve 'em, when they lye.
Add, that the Rich have ftill a Gibe in ftore;
And will be monftrous witty on the Poor:
For the torn Surtout and the tatter'd Veft,
The Wretch and all his Wardrobe are a Jest:
The greafie Gown, fully'd with often Turning,
Gives a good hint, to fay, The Man's in Mourning:
Or if the Shoe be ript, or Patches put,
He's wounded! fee the Plaister on his Foot.
Want is the Scorn of ev'ry wealthy Fool;
And Wit in Rags is turn'd to Ridicule.
Pack hence, and from the Cover'd Benches rise,
(The Master of the Ceremonies cries)
This is no Place for you, whose small Estate
Is not the Value of the fettled Rate:
The Sons of happy Punks, the Pandar's Heir,
Are privileg'd to fit in Triumph there,
To clap the firft, and rule the Theatre.
Up to the Galleries, for shame retreat ;
For, by the Rofcian Law, the Poor can claim no Seat. Who ever brought to his rich Daughter's Bed,
The Man that poll'd but Twelve-pence for his Head?
21 For by the Rofcian Law, | ces in Publick Shows, betwixt &c. Rofcius a Tribune, who the Noble-men of Rome and order'd the distinction of Pla- the Plebeians.
Who ever nam'd a poor Man for his Heir,
Or call'd him to affist the Judging Chair ?
The Poor were wife, who by the Rich oppress'd,
Withdrew, and fought a facred Place of Rest.
Once they did well, to free themselves from Scorn;
But had done better never to return.
Rarely they Rife by Virtue's Aid, who lie
Plung'd in the depth of helpless Poverty.
At Rome 'tis worfe; where House-Rent by the Year,
And Servants Bellies coft fo devilish dear;
And Tavern-Bills run high for hungry Chear.
To drink or eat in Earthen-ware we scorn,
Which cheaply Country-Cupboards does adorn:
And coarfe blue Hoods on Holy-days are worn.
Some diftant Parts of Italy are known,
Where none but only dead Men wear a Gown:
On Theaters of Turf, in homely State,
Old Plays they act; old Feafts they celebrate:
The fame rude Song returns upon the Crowd,
And, by Tradition, is for Wit allow'd.
The Mimick yearly gives the fame Delights;
And in the Mother's Arms the Clownish Infant frights.
Their Habits (undiftinguish'd by Degree)
Are plain, alike; the fame Simplicity,
Both on the Stage, and in the Pit, you see.
In his white Cloak the Magiftrate appears,
The Country Bumkin the fame Liv'ry wears.
But here, Attir'd beyond our Purse we go,
For useless Ornament and flaunting Show:
We take on truft, in Purple Robes to shine;
And poor, are yet ambitious to be fine.
22 Where none but only dead Men, &c. The meaning is, that Men in fome parts of
Italy never wore a Gown (the ufual (Habit of the Romans) till they were bury'd in one.
This is a common Vice; tho' all things here
Are fold, and fold unconscionably dear.
What will you give that 23 Caffus may but view
Your Face, and in the Crowd diftinguish you;
May take your Incense like a Gracious God,
And answer only with a civil Nod?
To please our Patrons, in this vicious Age,
We make our Entrance by the Fav'rite Page :
Shave his firft Down, and when he polls his Hair,
The confecrated Locks to Temples bear:
Pay tributary Cracknels, which he fells,
And, with our Off'rings, help to raise his Vails.
Who fears in Country-Towns a House's fall,
Or to be caught betwixt a riven Wall?
But we inhabit a weak City, here;
Which Buttreffes and Props but scarcely bear:
And 'tis the Village-Mafon's daily Calling,
To keep the World's Metropolis from falling,
To cleanse the Gutters, and the Chinks to close;
And, for one Night, fecure his Lord's Repose.
At Cuma we can fleep quite round the Year,
Nor Falls, nor Fires, nor Nightly Dangers fear;
While rolling Flames from Roman Turrets fly,
And the pale Citizens for Buckets cry.
Thy Neighbour has remov'd his wretched Store
(Few Hands will rid the Lumber of the Poor)
Thy own third Story smokes, while thou, fupine,
Art drench'd in Fumes of undigested Wine.
For if the loweft Floors already burn,
Cock-lofts and Garrets foon will take the Turn,
Where 24 thy tame Pidgeons next the Tiles were bred,
Which, in their Nefts unfafe, are timely fled.
23 Cofus is here taken for | &c. The Romans us'd to breed any great Man.
24 Where thy tame Pidgeons,
their tame Pidgeons in theis Garrets,
25 Codrus had but one Bed, so short to boot,
That his fhort Wife's short Legs hung dangling out;
His Cupboard's Head fix Earthen Pitchers grac'd,
Beneath 'em was his trufty Tankard plac'd:
And, to fupport this Noble Plate, there lay
A bending Chiron caft from honeft Clay;
His few Greek Books a rotten Chest contain'd ;
Whofe Covers much of Mouldiness complain'd:
Where Mice and Rats devour'd Poetick Bread;
And with Heroick Verfe luxuriously were fed.
'Tis true, poor Cedrus nothing had to boast,
And yet poor Codrus all that nothing loft.
Begg'd naked through the Streets of wealthy Rome;
And found not one to feed, or take him home.
But if the Palace of Arturius burn,
The Nobles change their Cloaths, the Matrons mourn;
The City. Prætor will no Pleadings hear;
The very Name of Fire we hate and fear:
And look aghaft, as if the Gauls were here.
While yet it burns, th'officious Nation flies,
Some to condole, and fome to bring Supplies:
One fends him Marble to rebuild, and one
With naked Statues of the Parian Stone,
The Work of Polyclete, that feem to live;
While others Images for Altars give;
One Books and Skreens, and Pallas to the Breaft;
Another Bags of Gold, and he gives best.
Childless Arturius, vastly rich before,
Thus by his Loffes multiplies his Store:
Sufpected for Accomplice to the Fire,
That burnt his Palace but to build it higher.
Rats and Mice devour'd, were
Homer's Works.
25 Codrus, a Learned Man, | Verfes here mention'd which very poor: by his Books fuppos'd to be a Poet. For, in all probability, the Heroick
you be content to bid adieu
To the dear Play-Houfe, and the Players too:
Sweet Country Seats are purchas'd ev'ry where,
With Lands and Gardens, at lefs Price than here
You hire a darksome Dog-hole by the Year.
A fmall Convenience decently prepar'd.
A shallow Well that rifes in your Yard,
That spreads his eafie Crystal Streams around,
And waters all the pretty Spot of Ground.
There, love the Fork, thy Garden cultivate,
And give thy frugal Friends 26 a Pythagorean Treat..
"Tis fomewhat to be Lord of some small Ground
In which a Lizard may, at least, turn round.
'Tis frequent, here, for want of Sleep to die;. Which Fumes of undigefted Feafts deny;
And, with imperfect Heat, in languid Stomachs fry.
What House secure from Noife the Poor can keep,
When ev'n the Rich can scarce afford to fleep;
So dear it cofts to purchase Rest in Rome;
And hence the Sources of Diseases come.
The Drover who his Fellow-Drover meets-
In narrow Paffages of winding Streets;
The Waggoners that curse their standing Teams,
Wou'd wake ev'n droufie Drufus from his Dreams.
And yet the Wealthy will not brook delay,.
But fweep above our Heads, and make their way,
In lofty Litters born, and, read, and write,
Or fleep at eafe: The Shutters make it Night.
Yet ftill he reaches, first, the publick Place:
The Preafe before him ftops the Client's pace.
The Crowd that follows crush his panting Sides,
And trip his Heels; he walks not, but he rides.
One elbows him, one juftles in the Shole:
A Rafter breaks his Head, or Chairman's Pole:
26 A Pythagorean Treat: He means Herbs, Roots, Fruits. and Sallads.
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