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'Tis want of sense to sup abroad too late;
Unless thou first haft settled thy estate.
As
many

fates attend thy steps to meet,
As there are waking windows in the street,
Bless the good Gods, and think thy chance is rare
To have a piss-pot only for thy share.
The scouring drunkard, if he does not fight
Before his bed-time, takes no rest that night.
Palling the tedious hours in greater pain
Thạn stern Achilles, when his friend was slain :
'Tis fo ridic'lous, but so true withal,
A bully cannot deep without a braul:
Yet tho his youthful blood be fir'd with wine,
He wants not wit the danger to decline:
Is cautious to avoid the coach and fix,
And on the laquies will no quarrel fix.
His train of flambeaux, and embroider'd coat,
May privilege my lord to walk secure on foot.
But me, who must by moon-light homeward bend,
Or lighted only with a candle's end,
Poor me he fights, if that be fighting, where
He only cudgels, and I only bear.
He stands, and bids me stand: I must abide
For he's the stronger, and is drunk beside.

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you fed,

Where did

you
whet

your knife to-night, hc
cries,
And shred the leeks that in your stomach rise?
Whose windy beans have stuftyourguts, and where
Have
your

black thumbs been dipt in vinegar? With what companion-cobler have On old ox-cheeks, or he-goats tougher head? What, are you dumb? Quick, with

your answer, quick, Before

my
foot salutes

you

with a kick. Say, in what nasty cellar under ground, Or what church-porch, your' rogueship may be

found?
Answer, or answer not, 'tis all the same:
He lays me on, and makes me bear the blame.
Before the bar, for beating him you come;
This is a poor man's liberty in Rome.
You beg his pardon; happy to retreat
With some remaining teeth, to chew your meat,

Nor is this all; for when retir’d, you think
To sleep securely; when the candles wink,
When ev'ry door with iron chains is barr’d,
And roaring taverns are no longer heard;
The ruffian robbers by no justice aw'd,
And unpaid cut-throat foldiers, are abroad,

Those venal fouls, who harden'd in each ill,
To save complaints and prosecution, kill.
Chas'd from their woods and bogs, the padders

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To this vast city, as their native home;
To live at ease, and safely skulk in Rome.

The forge in fetters only is employ'd;
Our iron mines exhausted and destroy'd
In shackles; for these villains scarce allow
Goads for the teams, and plough-Ihares for the

plough.
Oh happy ages of our ancestors,
Beneath the kings and tribunitial powers!
One jail did all their criminals restrain ;
Which now the walls of Rome can scarce

contain.
More I could say, more causes I could show
For my departure; but the sun is low:
The waggoner grows weary

of
And whips his horses forwards on their way.
Farewel; and when like me o'erwhelm'd with

my stay;

44

care,

You to your own Aquinum shall repair,
To take a mouthful of sweet country air,

Be mindful of your friend; and send me word,
What joys your fountains and cool shades afford:
Then, to assist your satires, I will come;
And add new venom when you write of Rome.

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This satire, of almost double length, to any of the

rest, is a bitter invective against the fair sex. Tis indeed, a common-place, from whence all the moderns bave notoriously stolen their parpest railleries. In his other satires, the poet has only glanced on some particular women, and generally fcourged the men. But this. he reserved wholly for the ladies. How they had offended him I know not : but upon the whole matter be is not to be excused for imputing to all, the vices of some few amongst them. Neither was it generously done of bim, to attack the weakest as well as the fairejt part of the creation: neither do I know what moral he could reasonably draw from it. It could not be to avoid the whole sex, if all had been true which he alledges against them : for that had been to put an end to human kind. And to bid us be

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