Which Socrates and Chærephon
In vain affay'd fo long agone;
Whether his fnout a perfect nose is,
And not an elephant's probofcis ;
How many diff'rent specieses
Of maggots breed in rotten cheeses;
And which are next of kin to those
Engender'd in a chandler's nofe;
Or those not seen, but understood,
That live in vinegar and wood.
A paltry wretch he had, half-starv'd,
That him in place of Zany ferv'd,
Hight Whachum, bred to dash and draw,
Not wine, but more unwholesome law;
To make 'twixt words and lines huge gaps,
Wide as meridians in maps;
To fquander paper, and spare ink,
Or cheat men of their words, fome think.
From this, by merited degrees,
He'd to more high advancement rise,
To be an under-conjurer,
Or journeyman astrologer :
His bus'ness was to pump and wheedle,
And men with their own keys unriddle;
To make them to themselves give answers,
For which they pay the necromancers ;
To fetch and carry intelligence
Of whom, and what, and where, and whence,
And all discoveries difperfe
Among th' whole pack of conjurers ;
What cut-purses have left with them,
For the right owners to redeem,
And what they dare not vent, find out,
To gain themselves and th' art repute ;
Draw figures, schemes, and horofcopes,
Of Newgate, Bridewell, brokers' fhops,
Of thieves afcendant in the cart,
And find out all by rules of art:
Which way a serving-man, that's run
With clothes or money away, is gone;
Who pick'd a fob at holding-forth,
And where a watch, for half the worth,
May be redeem'd; or stolen plate
Reftor'd at confcionable rate.
Befide all this, he serv'd his master
And rhymes appropriate could make
To ev'ry month i̇' th' almanack ;
When terms begin, and end, could tell,
With their returns, in doggerel;
When the Exchequer opes and shuts,
And fow-gelder with safety cuts;
When men may eat and drink their fill,
And when be temp'rate, if they will;
When use, and when abstain from vice,
Figs, grapes, phlebotomy, and spice.
And as in prisons mean rogues beat
Hemp for the service of the great,
So Whachum beat his dirty brains.
T' advance his master's fame and gains,
And like the devil's oracles,
Put into dogg'rel rhymes his fpells,
Which, over ev'ry month's blank page
I' th' almanack, strange bilks prefage.
He would an elegy compofe
On maggots fqueez'd out of his nose;
In lyric numbers write an ode on
His mistress, eating a black pudding;
And, when imprison'd air escap'd her,
It puft him with poetic rapture :
His fonnets charm'd th' attentive crowd,
By wide-mouth'd mortal troll'd aloud,
That, circled with his long-ear'd guests,
Like Orpheus, look'd among the beasts:
A carman's horse could not pass by,
But stood ty'd up to poetry;
No porter's burden pass'd along,
But ferv'd for burden to his fong:
Each window like a pill'ry appears,
With heads thrust thro' nail'd by the ears;
All trades run in as to the fight
Of monsters, or their dear delight,
The gallow-tree, when cutting purse
Breeds bus'nefs for heroic verfe,
Which none does hear, but would have hung
T' have been the theme of fuch a fong.
Those two together long had liv'd
In mansion prudently contriv'd,
Where neither tree nor house could bar
The free detection of a star;
|