THE
IMPERTINENT
,
OR
A
Visit
to
the
COURT
.
A
SATYR
.
WELL
,
if
it
be
my
time
to
quit
the
Stage
,
Adieu
to
all
the
Follies
of
the
Age
!
I
die
in
Charity
with
Fool
and
Knave
,
Secure
of
Happiness
beyond
the
Grave
.
I've
had
my
Purgatory
here
betimes
,
And
paid
for
all
my
Satires
,
all
my
Rhymes
:
The
Poet's
Hell
,
its
Tortures
,
Fiends
and
Flames
,
To
this
were
Trifles
,
Toys
,
and
empty
Names
.
With
foolish
Pride
my
Heart
was
never
fir'd
,
Nor
the
vain
Itch
t'admire
,
or
be
admir'd
;
I
hop'd
for
no
Commission
from
his
Grace
;
I
bought
no
Benefice
,
I
begg'd
no
Place
;
Had
no
new-Verses
,
or
new
Suit
to
show
;
Yet
went
to
COURT
!
—
the
Dev'l
wou'd
have
it
so
.
But
,
as
the
Fool
,
that
in
reforming
Days
Wou'd
go
to
Mass
in
jest
,
(
as
Story
says
)
Could
not
but
think
,
to
pay
his
Fine
was
odd
,
Since
'twas
no
form'd
Design
of
serving
God
:
Such
was
my
Fate
;
whom
Heav'n
adjudg'd
as
proud
,
As
prone
to
Ill
,
as
negligent
of
Good
,
As
deep
in
Debt
,
without
a
thought
to
pay
,
As
vain
,
as
idle
,
and
as
false
,
as
they
Who
live
at
Court
,
for
going
once
that
Way
!
Scarce
was
I
enter'd
,
when
behold
!
there
came
A
Thing
which
Adam
had
been
pos'd
to
name
;
Noah
had
refus'd
it
lodging
in
his
Ark
,
Where
all
the
Race
of
Reptiles
might
embark
:
A
verier
Monster
than
on
Africk's
Shore
The
Sun
e're
got
,
or
slimy
Nilus
bore
,
Or
Sloane
,
or
Woodward's
wondrous
.
Shelves
contain
;
Nay
,
all
that
lying
Travellers
can
feign
.
This
Thing
has
travell'd
,
speaks
each
Language
too
,
And
knows
what's
fit
for
ev'ry
State
to
do
;
Of
whose
best
Phrase
and
courtly
Accent
join'd
,
He
forms
one
Tongue
exotic
and
refin'd
.
Talkers
,
I've
learn'd
to
bear
;
M—tt—x
I
knew
,
Henley
himself
I've
heard
,
nay
B—dg—l
too
:
The
Doctor's
Wormwood
Style
,
the
Hash
of
Tongues
,
A
Pedant
makes
;
the
Storm
of
G—s—n's
Lungs
,
The
whole
Artill'ry
of
the
Terms
of
War
,
And
(
all
those
Plagues
in
one
)
the
bawling
Bar
;
These
I
cou'd
bear
;
but
not
a
Rogue
so
civil
,
Whose
Tongue
can
complement
you
to
the
Devil
.
A
Tongue
that
can
cheat
Widows
,
cancel
Scores
,
Make
Scots
speak
Treason
,
cozen
subtlest
Whores
,
With
Royal
Favourites
in
Flatt'ry
vie
,
And
Oldmixon
and
Burnet
both
out-lie
.
He
spies
me
out
.
I
whisper
,
gracious
God
!
What
Sin
of
mine
cou'd
merit
such
a
Rod
?
That
all
the
Shot
of
Dulness
now
must
be
From
this
thy
Blunderbuss
discharg'd
on
me
!
Well
met
(
he
cries
)
and
happy
sure
for
each
,
For
I
am
pleas'd
to
learn
,
and
you
to
teach
;
What
Speech
esteem
you
most
?
—
"
The
King's
,
said
I
,
But
the
best
Words
?
—
"
O
Sir
,
the
Dictionary
.
You
miss
my
aim
;
I
mean
the
most
acute
And
perfect
Speaker
?
—
"
Onslow
,
past
dispute
.
But
Sir
,
of
Writers
?
—
"
Swift
,
for
closer
Style
,
"
And
Ho
—
y
for
a
Period
of
a
Mile
.
Why
yes
,
'tis
granted
,
these
indeed
may
pass
;
Good
common
Linguists
,
and
so
Panurge
was
:
Nay
troth
,
th'
Apostles
,
(
tho'
perhaps
too
rough
)
Had
once
a
pretty
Gift
of
Tongues
enough
.
Yet
these
were
all
poor
Gentlemen
!
I
dare
Affirm
,
'twas
Travel
made
them
what
they
were
.
Thus
others
Talents
having
nicely
shown
,
He
came
by
soft
Transition
to
his
own
:
Till
I
cry'd
out
,
You
prove
yourself
so
able
,
Pity
!
you
was
not
Druggerman
at
Babel
:
For
had
they
found
a
Linguist
half
so
good
,
I
make
no
question
but
the
Tow'r
had
stood
.
"
Obliging
Sir
!
I
love
you
,
I
profess
,
"
But
wish
you
lik'd
Retreat
a
little
less
;
"
Spirits
like
you
,
believe
me
,
shou'd
be
seen
,
"
And
(
like
Ulysses
)
visit
Courts
,
and
Men
.
"
So
much
alone
,
(
to
speak
plain
Truth
between
us
)
"
You'll
die
of
Spleen
—
Excuse
me
,
Nunquam
minus
—
But
as
for
Courts
,
forgive
me
if
I
say
,
No
Lessons
now
are
taught
the
Spartan
way
:
Tho'
in
his
Pictures
Lust
be
full
display'd
,
Few
are
the
Converts
Aretine
has
made
;
And
tho'
the
Court
show
Vice
exceeding
clear
,
None
shou'd
,
by
my
Advice
,
learn
Virtue
there
.
At
this
,
entranc'd
,
he
lifts
his
Hands
and
Eyes
,
Squeaks
like
a
high-stretch'd
Lutestring
,
and
replies
:
"
Oh
'tis
the
sweetest
of
all
earthly
things
"
To
gaze
on
Princes
,
and
to
talk
of
Kings
!
"
Then
happy
Man
who
shows
the
Tombs
!
said
I
,
He
dwells
amidst
the
Royal
Family
;
He
,
ev'ry
Day
,
from
King
to
King
can
walk
,
Of
all
our
Harries
,
all
our
Edwards
talk
,
And
get
by
speaking
Truth
of
Monarchs
dead
,
What
few
can
of
the
living
,
Ease
and
Bread
.
"
Lord
!
Sir
,
a
meer
Mechanick
!
strangely
low
,
"
And
coarse
of
Phrase
—
your
English
all
are
so
.
"
How
elegant
your
Frenchman
?
—
Mine
,
d'ye
mean
?
I
have
but
one
,
I
hope
the
Fellow's
clean
.
"
Oh
!
Sir
,
politely
well
!
nay
,
let
me
dye
,
"
Your
only
wearing
is
your
Padua-soy
.
"
Not
Sir
,
my
only
—
I
have
better
still
,
And
this
,
you
see
,
is
but
my
Dishabille
—
Wild
to
get
loose
,
his
Patience
I
provoke
,
Mistake
,
confound
,
object
,
at
all
he
spoke
.
But
as
coarse
Iron
,
sharpen'd
,
mangles
more
,
And
Itch
most
hurts
,
when
anger'd
to
a
Sore
;
So
when
you
plague
a
Fool
,
'tis
still
the
Curse
,
You
only
make
the
Matter
worse
and
worse
.
He
past
it
o'er
;
put
on
an
easy
Smile
At
all
my
Peevishness
,
and
chang'd
his
Style
.
He
asks
,
What
News
?
I
tell
him
of
new
Plays
.
New
Eunuchs
,
Harlequins
,
and
Operas
.
He
hears
;
and
as
a
Still
,
with
Simples
in
it
,
Between
each
Drop
it
gives
,
stays
half
a
Minute
;
Loth
to
enrich
me
with
too
quick
Replies
By
little
,
and
by
little
,
drops
his
Lies
.
Meer
Houshold
Trash
!
of
Birth-Nights
,
Balls
and
Shows
,
More
than
ten
Holingsheds
,
or
Halls
,
or
Stows
.
When
the
Qeen
frown'd
,
or
smil'd
,
he
knows
;
and
what
A
subtle
Minister
may
make
of
that
?
Who
sins
with
whom
?
who
got
his
Pension
Rug
,
Or
quicken'd
a
Reversion
by
a
Drug
?
Whose
Place
is
quarter'd
out
,
three
Parts
in
four
,
And
whether
to
a
Bishop
,
or
a
Whore
?
Who
,
having
lost
his
Credit
,
pawn'd
his
Rent
,
Is
therefore
fit
to
have
a
Government
?
Who
in
the
Secret
,
deals
in
Stocks
secure
,
And
cheats
th'unknowing
Widow
,
and
the
Poor
?
Who
makes
a
Trust
,
or
Charity
,
a
Job
,
And
gets
an
Ac
of
Parliament
to
rob
?
Why
Turnpikes
rose
,
and
why
no
Cit
,
nor
Clown
Can
gratis
see
the
Country
,
or
the
Town
?
Shortly
no
Lad
shall
chuck
,
or
Lady
vole
,
But
some
excising
Courtier
will
have
Toll
.
He
tells
what
Strumpet
Places
sells
for
Life
,
What
'Squire
his
Lands
,
what
Citizen
his
Wife
?
And
last
(
which
proves
him
wiser
still
than
all
)
What
Lady's
Face
is
not
a
whited
Wall
?
As
one
of
Woodward's
Patients
,
sick
and
sore
,
I
puke
,
I
nauseate
,
—
yet
he
thrusts
in
more
;
Shows
Poland's
Int'rests
,
takes
the
Primate's
part
,
And
talks
Gazettes
and
Post-Boys
o'er
by
heart
.
Like
a
big
Wife
at
sight
of
loathsome
Meat
,
Ready
to
cast
,
I
yawn
,
I
sigh
,
I
sweat
:
Then
as
a
licens'd
Spy
,
whom
nothing
can
Silence
,
or
hurt
,
he
libels
the
Great
Man
;
Swears
every
Place
entail'd
for
Years
to
come
,
In
sure
Succession
to
the
Day
of
Doom
:
He
names
the
Price
for
ev'ry
Office
paid
,
And
says
our
Wars
thrive
ill
,
because
delay'd
;
Nay
hints
,
'tis
by
Connivance
of
the
Court
,
That
Spain
robs
on
,
and
Dunkirk's
still
a
Port
.
Not
more
Amazement
seiz'd
on
Circe's
Guests
,
To
see
themselves
fall
endlong
into
Beasts
,
Than
mine
,
to
find
a
Subject
staid
and
wise
,
Already
half
turn'd
Traytor
by
surprize
.
I
felt
th'Infection
slide
from
him
to
me
,
As
in
the
Pox
,
some
give
it
,
to
get
free
;
And
quick
to
swallow
me
,
methought
I
saw
One
of
our
Giant
Statutes
ope
its
Jaw
!
In
that
nice
Moment
,
as
another
Lye
Stood
just
a-tilt
,
the
Minister
came
by
.
Away
he
flies
.
He
bows
,
and
bows
again
;
And
close
as
Umbra
joins
the
dirty
Train
.
Not
Naos's
self
more
impudently
near
,
When
half
his
Nose
is
in
his
Patron's
Ear
.
I
blest
my
Stars
!
but
still
afraid
to
see
All
the
Court
fill'd
with
stranger
things
than
he
,
Run
out
as
fast
,
as
one
that
pays
his
Bail
And
dreads
more
Actions
,
hurries
from
a
Jail
.
Bear
me
,
some
God
!
oh
quickly
bear
me
hence
To
wholesome
Solitude
,
the
Nurse
of
Sense
:
Here
Contemplation
prunes
her
ruffled
Wings
,
And
the
free
Soul
looks
down
to
pity
Kings
.
Here
still
Reflection
led
on
sober
Thought
,
Which
Fancy
colour'd
,
and
a
Vision
wrought
.
A
Vision
Hermits
can
to
Hell
transport
,
And
bring
ev'n
me
to
see
the
Damn'd
at
Court
.
Not
Danté
dreaming
all
th'Infernal
State
,
Saw
such
a
Scene
of
Envy
,
Sin
,
and
Hate
.
Base
Fear
becomes
the
Guilty
,
not
the
Free
;
Suits
Tyrants
,
Plunderers
,
but
suits
not
me
.
Shall
I
,
the
Terror
of
this
sinful
Town
,
Care
,
if
a
livery'd
Lord
or
smile
or
frown
?
Who
cannot
flatter
,
and
detest
who
can
,
Tremble
before
a
noble
Serving-Man
?
O
my
fair
Mistress
,
Truth
!
Shall
I
quit
thee
,
For
huffing
,
braggart
,
puft
Nobility
?
Thou
,
who
since
Yesterday
,
hast
roll'd
o'er
all
The
busy
,
idle
Blockheads
of
the
Ball
,
Hast
thou
,
O
Sun
!
beheld
an
emptier
sort
,
Than
such
as
swell
this
Bladder
of
a
Court
?
Now
pox
on
those
who
shew
a
A
famous
Show
of
the
COURT
of
FRANCE
in
Waxwork
.
Court
in
Wax
!
It
ought
to
bring
all
Courtiers
on
their
backs
.
Such
painted
Puppets
,
such
a
varnish'd
Race
Of
hollow
Gewgaws
,
only
Dress
and
Face
,
Such
waxen
Noses
,
stately
,
staring
things
,
No
wonder
some
Folks
bow
,
and
think
them
Kings
.
And
now
the
British
Youth
,
engaged
no
more
At
Fig's
or
White's
,
with
Felons
,
or
a
Whore
,
Pay
their
last
Duty
to
the
Court
,
and
come
All
fresh
and
fragrant
,
to
the
Drawing-Room
:
Colours
as
gay
,
and
Odours
as
divine
,
As
the
fair
Fields
they
sold
to
look
so
fine
.
"
That's
Velvet
for
a
King
!
"
the
Flatt'rer
swears
;
'Tis
true
,
for
ten
days
hence
'twill
be
King
Lear's
.
Our
Court
may
justly
to
our
Stage
give
Rules
,
That
helps
it
both
to
Fool's-Coats
and
to
Fools
.
And
why
not
Players
strut
in
Courtiers
Cloaths
?
For
these
are
Actors
too
,
as
well
as
those
:
Wants
reach
all
States
;
they
beg
but
better
drest
,
And
all
is
splendid
Poverty
at
best
.
Painted
for
sight
,
and
essenc'd
for
the
smell
,
Like
Frigates
fraught
with
Spice
and
Cochine'l
,
Sail
in
the
Ladies
:
How
each
Pyrate
eyes
So
weak
a
Vessel
,
and
so
rich
a
Prize
!
Top-gallant
he
,
and
she
in
all
her
Trim
,
He
boarding
her
,
she
striking
sail
to
him
.
"
Chere
Comtesse
!
you
have
Charms
all
Hearts
to
hit
!
"
And
"
sweet
Sir
Fopling
!
you
have
so
much
wit
!
"
Such
Wits
and
Beauties
are
not
prais'd
for
nought
,
For
both
the
Beauty
and
the
Wit
are
bought
.
'Twou'd
burst
ev'n
Heraclitus
with
the
Spleen
.
To
see
those
Anticks
,
Fopling
and
Courtin
:
The
Presence
seems
,
with
things
so
richly
odd
,
The
Mosque
of
Mahound
,
or
some
queer
Pa-god
.
See
them
survey
their
Limbs
by
Durer's
Rules
,
Of
all
Beau-kind
the
best
proportion'd
Fools
!
Adjust
their
Cloaths
,
and
to
Confession
draw
Each
idle
Atom
,
or
erroneous
Straw
;
What
Terrors
wou'd
distract
each
conscious
Soul
,
Convicted
of
that
mortal
Sin
,
a
Hole
!
Or
should
one
Pound
of
Powder
less
bespread
The
Monkey-Tail
that
wags
behind
his
Head
!
Thus
finish'd
and
corrected
to
a
hair
,
They
march
,
to
prate
their
Hour
before
the
Fair
,
So
first
to
preach
a
white-glov'd
Chaplain
goes
,
With
Band
of
Lily
,
and
with
Cheek
of
Rose
,
Sweeter
than
Sharon
,
in
immaculate
trim
,
Neatness
itself
impertinent
in
him
.
Let
but
the
Ladies
smile
,
and
they
are
blest
;
Prodigious
!
how
the
Things
Protest
,
Protest
:
Peace
,
Fools
!
or
Gonson
will
for
Papists
seize
you
,
If
once
he
catch
you
at
your
Jesu
!
Jesu
!
Nature
made
ev'ry
Fop
to
plague
his
Brother
,
Just
as
one
Beauty
mortifies
another
.
But
here's
the
Captain
,
that
will
plague
you
both
,
Whose
Air
cries
Arm
!
whose
very
Look's
an
Oath
:
What
tho'
his
Soul
be
Bullet
,
Body
Buff
?
Damn
him
,
he's
honest
,
Sir
,
—
and
that's
enuff
.
He
spits
fore-right
;
his
haughty
Chest
before
,
Like
batt'ring
Rams
,
beats
open
ev'ry
Door
;
And
with
a
Face
as
red
,
and
as
awry
,
As
Herod's
Hang-dogs
in
old
Tapestry
,
Scarecrow
to
Boys
,
the
breeding
Woman's
curse
;
Has
yet
a
strange
Ambition
to
look
worse
:
Confounds
the
Civil
,
keeps
the
Rude
in
awe
,
Jests
like
alicens'd
Fool
,
commands
like
Law
.
Frighted
,
I
quit
the
Room
,
but
leave
it
so
,
As
Men
from
Jayls
to
Execution
go
;
For
hung
with
The
Room
hung
with
Tapestry
now
very
antient
,
representing
the
Seven
Deadly
Sins
.
Deadly
Sins
I
see
the
Wall
,
And
lin'd
with
Giants
,
deadlier
than
'em
all
:
Each
Man
an
A
Giant
famous
in
divers
Romances
.
Ascapart
,
of
strength
to
toss
For
Quoits
,
both
Temple-Bar
and
Charing-Cross
.
Scar'd
at
the
grizly
Forms
,
I
sweat
,
I
fly
,
And
shake
all
o'er
,
like
a
discover'd
Spy
.
Courts
are
no
match
for
Wits
so
weak
as
mine
;
Charge
them
with
Heav'n's
Artill'ry
,
bold
Divine
!
From
such
alone
the
Great
Rebukes
endure
,
Whose
Satyr's
sacred
,
and
whose
Rage
secure
.
'Tis
mine
to
wash
a
few
slight
Stains
;
but
theirs
To
deluge
Sin
,
and
drown
a
Court
in
Tears
.
Howe'er
,
what's
now
Apocrypha
,
my
Wit
,
In
time
to
come
,
may
pass
for
Holy
Writ
.
FINISH
.