<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421664" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Satire, in Imitation of the Third of Juvenal</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1Though much concern'd to leave my dear old friend,<br>2I must however his design commend<br>3Of fixing in the country: for were I<br>4As free to choose my residence, as he;<br>5The Peak, the Fens, the Hundreds, or Land's End,<br>6I would prefer to Fleet Street, or the Strand.<br>7What place so desert, and so wild is there<br>8Whose inconveniences one would not bear,<br>9Rather than the alarms of midnight fire,<br>10The falls of houses, knavery of cits,<br>11The plots of factions, and the noise of wits,<br>12And thousand other plagues, which up and down<br>13Each day and hour infest the cursed town?<br>14 As fate would hav't, on the appointed day<br>15Of parting hence, I met him on the way,<br>16Hard by Mile End, the place so fam'd of late,<br>17In prose, and verse for the great faction's treat;<br>18Here we stood still, and after compliments<br>19Of course, and wishing his good journey hence<br>20I ask'd what sudden causes made him fly<br>21The once lov'd town, and his dear company:<br>22When, on the hated prospect looking back,<br>23Thus with just rage the good old Timon spake.<br>24 .'Since virtue here in no repute is had,<br>25Since worth is scorn'd, learning and sense unpaid,<br>26And knavery the only thriving trade;<br>27Finding my slender fortune ev'ry day<br>28Dwindle, and waste insensibly away,<br>29I, like a losing gamester, thus retreat,<br>30To manage wiselier my last stake of fate:<br>31While I have strength, and want no staff to prop<br>32My tott'ring limbs, ere age has made me stoop<br>33Beneath its weight, ere all my thread be spun,<br>34And life has yet in store some sands to run,<br>35'Tis my resolve to quit the nauseous town.<br>36 Let thriving Morecraft choose his dwelling there,<br>37Rich with the spoils of some young spendthrift heir:<br>38Let the plot-mongers stay behind, whose art<br>39Can truth to sham, and sham to truth convert:<br>40Whoever has an house to build, or set<br>41His wife, his conscience, or his oath to let:<br>42Whoever has, or hopes for offices,<br>43A Navy, Guard, or Custom-house's place:<br>44Let sharping courtiers stay, who there are great<br>45By putting the false dice on King, and state.<br>46Where they, who once were grooms, and foot-boys known,<br>47Are now to fair estates, and honours grown;<br>48Nor need we envy them, or wonder much<br>49At their fantastic greatness, since they're such,<br>50Whom Fortune oft, in her capricious freaks,<br>51Is pleas'd to raise from kennels, and the jakes,<br>52To wealth, and dignity above the rest,<br>53When she is frolic, and dispos'd to jest.<br>54 'I live in London? What should I do there?<br>55I cannot lie, nor flatter, nor forswear:<br>56I can't commend a book, or piece of wit,<br>57(Though a lord were the author) dully writ:<br>58I'm no Sir Sydrophel to read the stars,<br>59And cast nativities for longing heirs,<br>60When fathers shall dropp off: no Gadbury<br>61To tell the minute when the King shall die,<br>62And you know what-come in: nor can I steer,<br>63And tack about my conscience, whensoe'er,<br>64To a new point, I see religion veer.<br>65Let others pimp to courtiers' lechery,<br>66I'll draw no City-cuckold's curse on me:<br>67Nor would I do it, though to be made great,<br>68And rais'd to the chief ministry of state.<br>69Therefore, I think it fit to rid the town<br>70Of one, that is an useless member grown.<br>71 'Besides, who has pretence to favour now,<br>72But he, who hidden villainy does know,<br>73Whose breast does with some burning secret glow?<br>74By none thou shalt preferred, or valued be,<br>75That trusts thee with an honest secrecy:<br>76He only may to great men's friendship reach,<br>77Who great men, when he pleases, can impeach.<br>78Let others thus aspire to dignity;<br>79For me, I'd not their envied grandeur buy<br>80For all th' Exchange is worth, that Paul's will cost,<br>81Or was of late in the Scotch voyage lost.<br>82What would it boot, if I, to gain my end,<br>83Forego my quiet, and my ease of mind,<br>84Still fear'd, at last betray'd, by my dear friend?<br>85 'Another cause, which I must boldly own,<br>86And not the least, for which I quit the town,<br>87Is to behold it made the common shore,<br>88Where France does all her filth, and ordure pour:<br>89What spark of true old English rage can bear<br>90Those, who were slaves at home, to lord it here?<br>91We've all our fashion, language, compliments,<br>92Our music, dances, curing, cooking thence:<br>93And we shall have their pois'ning too ere long,<br>94If still in the improvement we go on.<br>95 'What would'st thou say, great Harry, should'st thou view<br>96Thy gaudy, flutt'ring race of English now,<br>97Their tawdry cloths, pulvilios, essences,<br>98Their Chedreux perukes, and those vanities,<br>99Which thou, and they of old, did so despise?<br>100What would'st thou say to see th' infected town<br>101With the foul spawn of foreigners o'errun?<br>102Hither from Paris, and all parts they come,<br>103The spew, and vomit of their jails at home;<br>104To Court they flock, and to St. James his Square,<br>105And wriggle into great men's service there:<br>106Footboys at first, till they from wiping shoes,<br>107Grow, by degrees, the masters of the house:<br>108Ready of wit, harden'd of impudence,<br>109Able with ease to put down either Haines,<br>110Both the King's player, and king's evidence:<br>111Flippant of talk, and voluble of tongue,<br>112With words at will, no lawyer better hung:<br>113Softer than flattering Court-parasite,<br>114Or City trader, when he means to cheat,<br>115No calling, or profession comes amiss:<br>116A needy Monsieur can be what he please,<br>117Groom, page, valet, quack, operator, fencer,<br>118Perfumer, pimp, jack-pudding, juggler, dancer:<br>119Give but the word, the cur will fetch and bring,<br>120Come over to the Emperor, or King:<br>121Or, if you please, fly o'er the pyramid,<br>122Which Aston and the rest in vain have tried.<br>123 'Can I have patience, and endure to see<br>124The paltry foreign wretch take place of me,<br>125Whom the same wind, and vessel brought ashore,<br>126That brought prohibited goods, and dildoes o'er?<br>127Then, pray, what mighty privilege is there<br>128For me, that at my birth drew English air?<br>129And where's the benefit to have my veins<br>130Run British blood, if there's no difference<br>131'Twixt me, and him, the statute freedom gave,<br>132And made a subject of a true-born slave?<br>133 'But nothing shocks, and is more loath'd by me,<br>134Than the vile rascal's fulsome flattery:<br>135By help of this false magnifying glass,<br>136A louse, or flea, shall for a camel pass:<br>137Produce an hideous wight, more ugly far<br>138Than those ill shapes, which in old hangings are,<br>139He'll make him straight a beau garçon appear:<br>140Commend his voice, and singing, though he bray<br>141Worse than Sir Martin Mar-all in the play:<br>142And if he rhyme, shall praise for standard wit,<br>143More scurvy sense than Prynne, and Vickars writ.<br>144 'And here's the mischief, though we say the same,<br>145He is believ'd, and we are thought to sham:<br>146Do you but smile, immediately the beast<br>147Laughs out aloud, though he ne'er heard the jest;<br>148Pretend you're sad, he's presently in tears,<br>149Yet grieves no more than marble, when it wears<br>150Sorrow in metaphor: but speak of heat;<br>151'O God! How sultry 'tis!' he'll cry, and sweat<br>152In depth of winter: strait, if you complain<br>153Of cold; the weather-glass is sunk again:<br>154Then he'll call for his frieze-campaign, and swear,<br>155'Tis beyond eighty, he's in Greenland here,<br>156Thus he shifts scenes, and oft'ner in a day<br>157Can change his face, than actors at a play,<br>158There's nought so mean can 'scape the flatt'ring sot,<br>159Not his Lord's snuff-box, nor his powder-spot:<br>160If he but spit, or pick his teeth; he'll cry,<br>161'How every thing becomes you! let me die,<br>162Your Lordship does it most judiciously:'<br>163And swear, 'tis fashionable, if he sneeze,<br>164Extremely taking, and it needs must please.<br>165 'Besides, there's nothing sacred, nothing free<br>166From the hot satyr's rampant lechery;<br>167Nor wife, not virgin-daughter can escape,<br>168Scarce thou thy self, or son avoid a rape:<br>169All must go padlock'd: if nought else there be,<br>170Suspect thy very stable's chastity.<br>171By this the vermin into secrets creep,<br>172Thus, families in awe they strive to keep,<br>173What living for an Englishman, is there,<br>174Where such as these get head, and domineer,<br>175Whose use, and custom 'tis, never to share<br>176A friend, but love to reign, without dispute,<br>177Without a rival, full and absolute?<br>178Soon as the insect gets his honour's ear,<br>179And fly-blows some of 's pois'nous malice there,<br>180Strait I'm turn'd off, kick'd out of doors, discarded,<br>181And all my former service disregarded.<br>182 'But leaving these Messieurs, for fear that I<br>183Be thought of the silk-weavers' mutiny,<br>184From the loath'd subject let us hasten on,<br>185To mention other grievances in town:<br>186And further, what respect at all is had<br>187Of poor men here? and how's their service paid,<br>188Though they be ne'er so diligent to wait,<br>189To sneak, and dance attendance on the great?<br>190No mark of favour is to be obtain'd<br>191By one, that sues, and brings an empty hand:<br>192And all his merit is but made a sport,<br>193Unless he glut some cormorant at Court.<br>194 ''Tis now a common thing, and usual here,<br>195To see the son of some rich usurer<br>196Take place of nobles, keep his first-rate whore,<br>197And for a vaulting-bout or two give more<br>198Than a Guard-captain's pay: meanwhile the breed<br>199Of peers, reduced to poverty, and need,<br>200Are fain to trudge to the Bankside, and there<br>201Take up with porter's leavings, suburb-ware,<br>202There spend that blood, which their great ancestor<br>203So nobly shed at Cressy heretofore,<br>204At brothel-fights in some foul common shore.<br>205 'Produce an evidence, though just he be,<br>206As righteous Job, or Abraham, or he,<br>207Whom Heaven, when whole nature shipwreck'd was,<br>208Thought worth the saving, of all human race;<br>209Or t'other, who the flaming deluge scap'd,<br>210When Sodom's lechers angels would have rap'd;<br>211'How rich he is,' must the first question be,<br>212Next, for his manners and integrity:<br>213They'll ask, 'what equipage he keeps, and what<br>214He's reckon'd worth, in money, and estate,<br>215For Shrieve how oft he has been known to fine,<br>216And with how many dishes he does dine?'<br>217You look what cash a person has in store,<br>218Just so much credit has he, and no more:<br>219Should I upon a thousand Bibles swear,<br>220And call each saint throughout the calendar<br>221To vouch my oath, it won't be taken here;<br>222The poor slight Heav'n, and thunderbolts (they think),<br>223And Heav'n itself does at such trifles wink.<br>224 'Besides, what store of gibing scoffs are thrown<br>225On one, that's poor, and meanly clad in town;<br>226If his apparel seem but overworn,<br>227His stockings out at heel, or breeches torn?<br>228One takes occasion his ripp'd shoe to flout,<br>229And swears 't has been at prison-grates hung out:<br>230Another shrewdly jeers his coarse cravat,<br>231Because himself wears point: a third, his hat,<br>232And most unmercifully shows his wit,<br>233If it be old, and does not cock aright:<br>234Nothing in poverty so ill is borne,<br>235As its exposing men to grinning scorn,<br>236To be by tawdry coxcombs piss'd upon<br>237And made the jesting-stock of each buffoon,<br>238'Turn out there, friend! (cries one at church) 'the pew<br>239Is not for such mean scoundrel curs, as you:<br>240'Tis for your betters kept:' belike some sot<br>241That knew no father, was on bulks begot:<br>242But now is rais'd to an estate, and pride,<br>243By having the kind proverb on his side:<br>244Let Gripe and Cheatwell take their places there,<br>245And Dash the scriv'ner's gaudy sparkish heir,<br>246That wears three ruin'd orphans on his back:<br>247Meanwhile you in the alley stand, and sneak:<br>248And you therewith must rest contented, since<br>249Almighty wealth does put such difference.<br>250What citizen a son-in-law will take,<br>251Bred ne'er so well, that can't a jointure make?<br>252What man of sense, that's poor, e'er summon'd is<br>253Among the Common Council to advise?<br>254At vestry-consults, when he does he appear<br>255For choosing of some parish officer,<br>256Or making leather-buckets for the choir?<br>257 ''Tis hard for any man to rise, that feels<br>258His virtue clogg'd with poverty at heels:<br>259But harder 'tis by much in London, where<br>260A sorry lodging, coarse, and slender fare,<br>261Fire, water, breathing, every thing is dear:<br>262Yet such as these an earthen dish disdain,<br>263With which their ancestors, in Edgar's reign,<br>264Were serv'd, and thought it no disgrace to dine,<br>265Though they were rich, had store of leather-coin.<br>266Low as their fortune is, yet they despise<br>267A man that walks the streets in homely frieze:<br>268To speak the truth, great part of England now<br>269In their own cloth, will scarce vouchsafe to go:<br>270Only the statute's penalty to save,<br>271Some few perhaps wear woollen in the grave.<br>272Here all go gaily dress'd, although it be<br>273Above their means, their rank, and quality:<br>274The most in borrow'd gallantry, are clad,<br>275For which the tradesman's books are still unpaid:<br>276This fault is common in the meaner sort,<br>277That they must needs affect to bear the port<br>278Of gentlemen, though they want income for't.<br>279 'Sir, to be short, in this expensive town<br>280There's nothing without money to be done:<br>281What will you give to be admitted there,<br>282And brought to speech of some Court-minister?<br>283What will you give to have the quarter-face,<br>284The squint and nodding and go-by of his Grace?<br>285His porter, groom, and steward, must have fees,<br>286And you may see the tombs, the Tow'r for less:<br>287Hard fate of suitors! who must pay, and pray<br>288To livery-slaves, yet oft go scorn'd away.<br>289 'Whoe'er at Barnet, or St. Albans fears<br>290To have his lodging dropp about his ears,<br>291Unless a sudden hurricane befall,<br>292Or such a wind as blew old Noll to Hell?<br>293Here we build slight, what scarce outlasts the lease,<br>294Without the help of props, and buttresses:<br>295And houses nowadays as much require<br>296To be insur'd from falling, as from fire.<br>297There buildings are substantial, though less neat,<br>298And kept with care both wind-, and water-tight:<br>299There you in safe security are blest,<br>300And nought, but conscience to disturb your rest.<br>301 'I am for living where no fires affright,<br>302No bells rung backward break my sleep at night:<br>303I scarce lie down, and draw my curtains here,<br>304But strait I'm rous'd by the next house on fire:<br>305Pale, and half dead with fear, myself I raise,<br>306And find my room all over in a blaze;<br>307By this 't has seiz'd on the third stairs, and I<br>308Can now discern no other remedy,<br>309But leaping out at window to get free:<br>310For if the mischief from the cellar came,<br>311Be sure the garret is the last, takes flame.<br>312 'The moveables of Pordage were a bed<br>313For him, and 's wife: a piss-pot by its side,<br>314A looking-glass upon the cupboard's head,<br>315A comb-case, candlestick, and pewter-spoon,<br>316For want of plate, with desk to write upon:<br>317A box without a lid serv'd to contain<br>318Few authors, which made up his Vatican:<br>319And there his own immortal works were laid,<br>320On which the barb'rous mice for hunger prey'd:<br>321Pordage had nothing, all the world does know;<br>322And yet should he have lost this nothing too,<br>323No one the wretched bard would have supplied<br>324With lodging, house-room, or a crust of bread.<br>325 'But if the fire burn down some great man's house<br>326All strait are interested in the loss:<br>327The Court is strait in mourning sure enough,<br>328The Act, Commencement, and the Term put off:<br>329Then we mischances of the town lament,<br>330And fasts are kept, like judgments to prevent.<br>331Out comes a brief immediately, with speed<br>332To gather charity as far as Tweed.<br>333Nay, while 'tis burning, some will send him in<br>334Timber, and stone to build his house again:<br>335Others choice furniture: here some rare piece<br>336Of Rubens, or Vandyke presented is:<br>337There a rich suit of Mortlack tapestry,<br>338A bed of damask, or embroidery:<br>339One gives a fine scritoire, or cabinet,<br>340Another a huge massy dish of plate,<br>341Or bag of gold; thus he, at length, gets more<br>342By kind misfortune than he had before:<br>343And all suspect it for a laid design,<br>344As if he did himself the fire begin.<br>345 'Could you but be advis'd to leave the town,<br>346And from dear plays, and drinking friends be drawn,<br>347An handsome dwelling might be had in Kent,<br>348Surrey, or Essex, at a cheaper rent<br>349Than what you're forc'd to give for one half-year<br>350To lie, like lumber, in a garret here:<br>351A garden there, and well, that needs no rope,<br>352Engine, or pains to crane its waters up:<br>353Water is there, through nature's pipes convey'd,<br>354For which, no custom, nor excise is paid:<br>355Had I the smallest spot of ground, which scarce<br>356Would summer half-a-dozen grasshoppers,<br>357Not larger than my grave, though hence remote,<br>358Far as St. Michael's Mount, I would go to 't,<br>359Dwell there content, and thank the fates to boot.<br>360 'Here, want of rest a-nights more people kills<br>361Than all the College, and the weekly bills:<br>362Where none have privilege to sleep, but those,<br>363Whose purses can compound for their repose:<br>364In vain I go to bed, or close my eyes,<br>365Methinks the place the middle region is,<br>366Where I lie down in storms, in thunder rise:<br>367The restless bells such din in steeples keep,<br>368That scarce the dead can in their churchyards sleep:<br>369Huzza's of drunkards, bellmen's midnight rhymes,<br>370The noise of shops, with hawkers' early screams,<br>371Besides the brawls of coachmen, when they meet,<br>372And stop in turnings of a narrow street,<br>373Such a loud medley of confusion makes,<br>374As drowsy Archer on the bench would wake.<br>375 'If you walk out in bus'ness ne'er so great,<br>376Ten thousand stops you must expect to meet:<br>377Thick crowds in ev'ry place you must charge through<br>378And storm your passage, wheresoe'er you go:<br>379While tides of followers behind you throng,<br>380And pressing on your heels, shove you along:<br>381One, with a board, or rafter hits your head,<br>382Another, with his elbow bores your side;<br>383Some tread upon your corns, perhaps in sport,<br>384Meanwhile your legs are cas'd all o'er with dirt.<br>385Here you the march of a slow funeral wait,<br>386Advancing to the church with solemn state:<br>387There a sedan, and lackeys stop your way,<br>388That bears some punk of honour to the play:<br>389Now you some mighty piece of timber meet,<br>390Which tott'ring threatens ruin to the street:<br>391Next a huge Portland stone, for building Paul's,<br>392Itself almost a rock, on carriage rolls:<br>393Which, if it fall, would cause a massacre,<br>394And serve at once to murder and inter.<br>395If what I've said can't from the town affright,<br>396Consider other dangers of the night:<br>397When brickbats are from upper stories thrown,<br>398And emptied chamber pots come pouring down<br>399From garret windows: you have cause to bless<br>400The gentle stars, if you come off with piss:<br>401So many fates attend, a man had need<br>402Ne'er walk without a surgeon by his side:<br>403And he can hardly now discreet be thought,<br>404That does not make his will, ere he go out.<br>405 'If this you 'scape, twenty to one, you meet<br>406Some of the drunken scourers of the street,<br>407Flush'd with success of warlike deeds perform'd,<br>408Or constables subdu'd, and brothels storm'd:<br>409These, if a quarrel, or a fray be miss'd,<br>410Are ill at ease a-nights, and want their rest;<br>411For mischief is a lechery to some,<br>412And serves to make them sleep like laudanum.<br>413Yet heated, as they are, with youth, and wine,<br>414If they discern a train of flambeaus shine,<br>415If a great man with his gilt coach appear,<br>416And a strong guard of footboys in the rear,<br>417The rascals sneak, and shrink their heads for fear.<br>418Poor me, who use no light to walk about,<br>419Save what the parish, or the skies hang out,<br>420They value not: 'tis worth your while to hear<br>421The scuffle, if that be a scuffle, where<br>422Another gives the blows, I only bear:<br>423He bids me stand: of force I must give way,<br>424For 'twere a senseless thing to disobey,<br>425And struggle here, where I'd as good oppose<br>426Myself to Preston and his mastiffs loose.<br>427 .''Who's there?' he cries, and takes you by the throat,<br>428'Dog! Are you dumb? Speak quickly, else my foot<br>429Shall march about your buttocks: whence d' ye come,<br>430From what bulk-ridden strumpet reeking home?<br>431Saving your rev'rend pimpship, where d' ye ply?<br>432How may one have a job of lechery?'<br>433If you say anything, or hold your peace,<br>434And silently go off, 'tis all a case:<br>435Still he lays on: nay well, if you scape so:<br>436Perhaps he'll clap an action on you too<br>437Of battery, nor need he fear to meet<br>438A jury to his turn, shall do him right,<br>439And bring him in large damage for a shoe<br>440Worn out, besides the pains, in kicking you.<br>441But patience: his best way in such a case<br>442Is to be thankful for the drubs, and beg<br>443That they would mercifully spare one leg,<br>444Or arm unbroke, and let him go away<br>445With teeth enough to eat his meat next day.<br>446 'Nor is this all, which you have cause to fear,<br>447Oft we encounter midnight padders here:<br>448When the exchanges, and the shops are close,<br>449And the rich tradesman in his counting house<br>450To view the profits of the day, withdraws.<br>451Hither in flocks from Shooter's Hill they come,<br>452To seek their prize, and booty nearer home:<br>453'Your purse!' they cry; 'tis madness to resist,<br>454Or strive with a cock'd pistol at your breast:<br>455And these each day so strong and num'rous grow,<br>456The town can scarce afford them jail-room now.<br>457Happy the times of the old Heptarchy,<br>458Ere London knew so much of villainy:<br>459Then fatal carts through Holborn seldom went,<br>460And Tyburn with few pilgrims was content:<br>461A less, and single prison then would do,<br>462And serv'd the city, and the county too.<br>463 'These are the reasons, sir, that drive me hence,<br>464To which I might add more, would time dispense,<br>465To hold you longer, but the sun draws low,<br>466The coach is hard at hand, and I must go:<br>467Therefore, dear sir, farewell; and when the town,<br>468From better company can spare you down,<br>469To make the country with your presence blest,<br>470Then visit your old friend amongst the rest:<br>471There I'll find leisure to unlade my mind<br>472Of what remarks I now must leave behind:<br>473The fruits of dear experience, which, with these<br>474Improv'd will serve for hints, and notices;<br>475And when you write again, may be of use<br>476To furnish satire for your daring muse.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Oldham">John Oldham</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=421664" data-title="A Satire, in Imitation of the Third of Juvenal de John Oldham" data-description="1Though much concern'd to leave my dear old friend, 2I must however his design commend 3Of fixing in the country: for were I 4As free to choose my residence, as he; 5The Peak, the Fens, the Hundreds, or Land's End, 6I would prefer to Fleet Street,..."></div> </div> </div>

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