While fauntringCHARLES betwixt fo mean a Brace,

Meetswith diffembling still in either place,

Affected Humour, or a painted Face.

In loyal Libels we have often told him

How one has jilted him, the other fold him,
How that affects to laugh, and this to weep;
But who fo long can rail, as he can keep?
Was ever Prince by two at once misled,
Foolish, and Falfe, Ill-natur'd and Ill-bred?

EY and A -Y, with all the Race
Of formal Blockheads fhall have here no Place
At Council fet, as Foils, on DA's Score,
To make that great falfe Jewel fhine the more ;
Who all the while is thought exceeding wife,
Only for taking Pains, and telling Lyes.

But there's no meddling with fuch nauseous Men;
Their very Names have tir'd my nicer Pen;
'Tis time to quit their Company, and chuse
Some nobler Subject for a fharper Mufe.

And firft behold the merriest Man alive
Against his careless Genius vainly strive ;
Quit his dear Ease some deep Design to lay,
Appoint the Hour, and then forget the Day.
Yet he will laugh, ev'n at his Friends, and be
Juft as good Company as NOKES, or LEE ;
But when he would the Court or Nation rule,
He turns himself the best to Ridicule.

When ferious, few for great Affairs more fit;
But fhew him Mirth, and bait that Mirth with Wit,
That Shadow of a Jeft shall be enjoy'd,

Tho' he left all Mankind to be destroy'd.

So Pufs transform'd, fate like a mumping Bride, Penfive, and prudent, till the Mouse she spy'd ; But foon the Lady had him in her Eye,

And from the Board did juft as oddly fly.

Straining above our Nature does no good;
We must fink back to our old Flesh and Blood.
As by our little MATCHIAVEL We find,
That nimbleft Creature of the busy kind :

His

His Legs are crippled, and his Body fhakes
Yet his bold Mind, that all this Buftle makes,
No Pity of its poor Companion takes ;
What Gravity can hold from laughing out,
To fee that lug his feeble Limbs about?
Like Hounds ill coupled, Fowler is so strong,
He jades poor Trip, and drags him all along.
'Tis fuch a Cruelty as ne'er was known,
To use a Body thus, tho' 'tis one's own.
Yet this vain Comfort in his Mind he keeps ;
His Soul is foaring while his Body creeps.
Alas! that foaring, to those few who know,
Is but a busy Flutt'ring here below.

So vifionary Brains afcend the Sky,

While on the Ground entranc'd the Wretches lie;
And fo late Fops have fancy'd they can fly.

}

Next, our new Earl, with Parts deferving Praife, And Wit enough to laugh at his own Ways;

Yet lofes all foft Days, and fenfual Nights,
Kind Nature checks, and kinder Fortune flights,

}

Striving against his Quiet all he can,

For the fine Notion of a busy Man:

And what is that at best but one whose Mind
Is made to vex himself, and all Mankind?
Drudging for Wealth, a Courtier let him live;
For, if fome odd fantastick Lord will drive
A Hackney Coach, and meaner Business do,
We should both pay him, and admire him too.
But is there any other Beast alive,

Can his own Harm so wittily contrive?
Will any Dog that has his Teeth and Stones,
Refin'dly leave his Bitches and his Bones,

To turn a Wheel; and bark to be employ'd ;
While VENUS is by Rival Dogs enjoy'd?
Yet this vain Man, to get a Statesman's Name,
Forfeits his Friends, his Freedom, and his Fame.
Tho' Satire nicely writ, no Folly stings

But theirs, who merit Praise for other things:
Yet we must needs this one Exception make,
And break our Rule for filly TROPO's fake;

Who

Who lately too much scorn'd to be accus'd,
Now therefore scarce deferves to be abus'd.
Rais'd only by a mercenary Tongue

For railing fmoothly, and for reasoning wrong.
As Boys on Holidays, let loofe to play,
Halloo a stumbling Jade in flipp'ry way;
Then laugh to fee in Dirt and deep Distress
Some awkard Cit in her flowr'd foolish Dress;
Such mighty Satisfaction have I found,
To fee this Tinfel Eloquence a-ground.
The florid Gravity we often faw
Baffled by common Whifflers of the Law.
For Senfe fits filent, and condemns for weaker
The finer, nay fometimes the wittier Speaker.
So odd a mixture no Man else affords;

Such scarcity of Senfe, fuch choice of Words!
At Bar abufive, on the Bench unable,

Knave on the Wool-fack, Fop at Council-Table! But these are Politicians, fuch as wou'd

Be rather high, than honeft; great than good.