Describ'd in the Persons of The Wise-Man, The Valiant Man, The truly Noble, The Patient Man, The true Friend, The Hypocrite, The Superstitious, The Profane, The Busy-Body, The Envious.

Attempted in Verse FROM A TREATISE OF THE Reverend IOSEPH HALL, Late Lord Bishop of Exeter.


LONDON, Printed for Francis Saunders, at the Blue-Anchor, in the Lower Walk of the New-Exchange, 1691.


THE Representing of Vertue and Vice in their respective Beauties and Deformities, is the genuine Task of Poetry: the true and proper Themes of Panegyrick and Satyr. The giving Precepts of Morality was originally the Employment of the Muses, and establish'd their first Reputa­tion. Few Poets have excell'd who merited not the Character ascrib'd by Horace to Homer:

Qui quid sit pulchrum, quid turpe, quid utile, quid non,
Pleniùs ac meliùs Chrysippo & Crantore dicit.

It was for useful Prescriptions of Politie and Private Life, that Orpheus and Amphion were celebrated, and the Faculty it self reputed Sacred:

Sic Honor & Nomen divinis Vatibus at (que)
Carminibus venit.

[Page]If the Virgil's and Horace's of our Age could have been prevail'd with to have Adorn'd the following Subjects, it had sav'd my imper­fect Performance. But I could not refuse the Temptation, when it was propos'd to me to pro­ceed upon the Hints and Groundwork of a Trea­tise Written by the Ingenious and Learned Dr Hall, Bishop of Exeter; by which means my Reader would be secure of good Sense in the Version. If I have added no Grains, I hope that, at least, I have lost nothing of the Oar in Melt­ing it down.

The Character of some Vices will naturally run into Humour, requiring Instances and Ex­pressions that are Familiar, and Sermoni pro­piora. In a word, I am sufficiently sensible of my Imperfections in this Essay, but Comfort my self with the Hopes that abler Performers may be incited, in meer Compassion, to Rescue such worthy Subjects from so ill Hands.


THE Man that's Wise to Know All Things aspires,
But First the Knowledge of Himself desires:
How far the Compass of his Strength can go;
But his own Weakness studdies most to know.
He Reasons more by Practice than by Rule;
His Logick's learnt in Observation's School.
Taught by Experience truly to reflect,
Can First Himself and then his Friends direct.
He ne'er suspends but in a doubtful Case;
Ne'er doubts where Resolution should take place.
Of ev'ry needful Thing just Care do's take,
But most concern'd for his immortal stake.
Without that scope counts fruitless each endeavour,
Nor would be Happy Once, if not for ever.
[Page 2]Himself best Knowing best Himself can Trust,
Others so far as He has prov'd them Just.
The World may Him deceive but ne'er Abuse,
Who Trusts no more than He can bear to lose.
While close Retirement is to Him a Skreen,
Himself looks through and sees the World, Unseen:
Yet shews, when forc'd the Day-light to abide,
Prudence, not Affectation, made him hide.
Does never, Causeless, from his purpose Range,
When Reason calls, He never fears to Change.
While th' ablest Master He's allow'd to be,
No Scholar more dispos'd to learn than He.
From ev'ry Thing Instruction He can draw,
And from Him each Instruction is a Law.
To Ages past his nimble Thoughts can Climb,
In Things to come prevent the speed of Time.
Unborn Events by past Events forestall,
And in Conjecture be Prophetical.
His Passions He ne'er suffers to Rebel,
Or hastens their first Mutiny to Quell.
By Honour's Light in all his Projects sails,
And Boards a second when a former fails.
[Page 3]Makes Disappointment but improve his skill,
And fetches Strength from what succeeded ill.
Some Wrongs He sees not but with silent Art,
Dissembles Wounds too pow'rful Foes impart.
Loves to owe less in good turns than He may,
For Bad wou'd be in Debt and never pay.
Censures, Unjust or Just, alike to Him;
Those He Deserves not, These he can Contemn.
Slights Scandal, lays no violent Hands on Blame,
Gives Slander scope till it expire with Shame.
His Joy no Fears, his Hope knows no Despairs,
Safe in the Circle of his own Affairs.
From others strife he timely do's Retire,
Nor thrusts his Hand into a needless Fire.
He best the Purchase of his Wit can tell,
And how to Value, Keep and Use it well.
Himself his own best Lawyer, and his skill,
His readiest and most faithful Oracle.
Consulted, He's in no Man's Business Blind,
But in his Own of more than Eagle-kind.


BOld without Rashness, without Fury, Warm:
He long Consults, but do's with speed perform.
He seeks not Dangers: when on Him they press,
He bears 'em down with Courage and Success.
Arm'd Death Enthron'd on Slaughter He can spy,
March on, and with a scornful smile pass by.
Forecasts the worst Events, and in his Thought,
Before one stroke Exchang'd, the Battle's fought.
If unexpected Ills his Heart surprize,
One Minute to disperse 'em will suffice:
With instant Sally he prevents the Blow,
And turns Amazement back upon the Foe.
Ne'er seen to fly, but from some foul Offence,
And fears no Strength below Omnipotence.
Peace he wou'd chuse, and when the Sword he draws,
He looks not on his Hand but on his Cause.
[Page 5]Nor weighs what Succors wait to take his Part,
How strong his Arm, but Innocent his Heart.
O'erpower'd may fall, with numbers Vanquisht be,
And leave the Foe to Blush at Victory.
Call'd out by Honour to some bold Attacque,
His Hearts Blood may be seen, but ne'er his Back.
On base Conditions he disdains to Live,
And what he asks, would to the Vanquish'd give.
Ne'er known the Blood of Innocents to shed,
On Carcases, or suppliant Foes to tread;
He'll rather stifle Wrongs he might Resent,
Than take Revenge upon the Impotent.
Nor can determine which he'd rather be,
Of Cowardice impeach'd, or Cruelty.
His sparing Words no room for Boast affords,
His readiest Language is, his Hand and Sword.
By Action heard, whose never-ceasing Force,
Keeps every Talker furnish'd with Discourse.
Not idlely Prodigal of Life or Blood,
But sparing neither for his Countrey's good.
[Page 6]While Fate does noble Means of Life supply,
He Lives; but those refus'd, can bravely Dye.
His Pow'r (to which his Reason still gives Laws,)
It's Right Confest, the Exercise withdraws.
Thinks he does then the greatest Triumph gain,
When He can Hurt, yet from Revenge abstain.
Without Servility He can Obey,
And in Command no Tyranny Display.
He Courts not Fortune's Smiles, nor fears her Hate,
Nor can she change his Mind with his Estate.
That his high Spirit still o'erlooks Mischance,
Springs not from Senselesness nor Ignorance;
But th' utmost Pow'r of Fate computing first,
He knows her strength, and bids her do her worst.
In Purpose Cool, in Resolution Fir'd,
In Enterprizes, Daring and Untir'd;
Glorious, though not successful in Design,
And when o'ercome, His Heart does last Resign.


ADvantages of Ancestry and Birth,
He counts but Fortune's Gift, and borrow'd Worth:
What he atchieves he only calls Renown,
And Honour purchas'd by Himself, his Own.
If short his Glory's Estimate be found
Of what his noble Ancestors had Crown'd,
The bright Inheritance but proves his Shame;
Not Rais'd, but Burthen'd by Descended Fame.
No Greatness makes him Scorn or Pride express,
Still Higher rais'd he still wou'd seem the less.
Life from his Soul as soon divorc'd may be,
As from his Manners Native Courtesy:
Which for no servile or ambitious end
Of popular Applause he does extend,
But from the genuine Sweetness of his Frame,
And noble Justice to Himself and Fame.
[Page 8]His Hand is open, yet his Glory still
Is govern'd by his Fortune not his Will.
And wisely bounteous can distinguish right,
Betwixt a Friend and fawning Parasite.
Most Men their Favours sell, exchange, or lend,
He only does his Kindnesses expend.
He wou'd no Licence from his Greatness gain,
And without Goodness counts his Titles vain.
From Pow'r no Priv'lege claims to be Unjust,
Nor makes Prerogative a Bawd to Lust;
Conscience and Honour both his Actions bind,
By Eminence to stricter Laws confin'd.
Each Vertue has it's Ornament and Use
In his just Notion, and no Vice Excuse.
He no Man Guilty makes to make him Great,
And ev'n his Creatures with Respect can treat.
Oblige, yet not on Liberty intrude,
Or turn Dependance into Servitude.
He seeks no forg'd Pretence, without Reward
An old and worn-out Servant to Discard:
[Page 9]Their Duty, Faith, and Diligence to bind
The Sweetness of his Service makes 'em find.
For Him, no Vassals can their Toil repent,
Their Industry's not Lost, but only Lent.
The Difference 'twixt his Wealth and Honour, is,
That, in Receiving stands, in Giving, This.
He'll be oblig'd to Few; but does not care
How large the Number that his Favours share.
Asks who wants most, not who can best Repay;
And ne'er Repines at Favours cast away.
Can Constancy in all Estates express,
Himself a-like to Peace and War address.
Then, most his Countreys Servant he is found,
When she to his Command has set no bound.
More pleas'd true Worship to his God to give,
Than civil Honours from Mankind receive.
For Fame, relies not on the World's Applause,
But what from Heav'n it's Approbation draws.
Of true Nobility conceives this Sense,
The Blood its Body only to dispense;
The Soul derives from Vertue's Eminence.
[Page 10]Descended Honours He reputes to cease,
Unless his nobler Deeds the Tale encrease,
That Glory does admit no Careless Heir,
And not t' improve the Stock is to Impair.


THE Patient Man has so much strength attain'd,
And o'er Himself so large a Conquest gain'd,
That safe from Foreign Wrongs he does remain;
They came too late to Conquer him again.
Boldly to Suffer, is his Valour's Test,
He's most Victorious when He's most opprest.
While under Mountain-Loads himself he rears,
Of more than humane Courage he appears,
And is, if rightly we his Sufferings scan,
'Bove Nature rais'd while He seems less than Man.
His Love and Charity are ever bent
To construe all things with a fair Intent.
[Page 11]To small and doubtful Injuries He's blind,
Gross Wrongs he'll think not done, or not design'd;
Not meant, or not to Him; if Both appear,
From Malice still his Injuries He'll clear;
He'll say Mis-information caus'd th' offence,
And when it cannot bear so mild a sense,
Call't Rash, and with the hasty Fault dispense.
Patient he is, but yet not tame or base:
He wants not Courage but abounds in Grace.
To take Revenge for Harms, as Man He dares;
Resents as Man, but as a Christian spares.
He's God's best Witness, and before the Bar
For Truths fair sake, undaunted can appear;
Hear unconcern'd the false Accuser's Voice,
Receive, and in his Unjust doom Rejoice.
A Prison is his Palace, and to Him
Pages of Honour all his Jaylors seem,
The Dungeon his Retiring Room he counts,
And to the Rack as to a Throne He mounts;
His Torturers worst Cruelty disdains,
Suffers his Own, and baffles all their Pains.
[Page 12]Just Pity the Beholders does inspire,
Unpitying and remorseless Foes, Admire.
His Hopes to no Discouragements can yield,
They still advance, or keep at least the Field.
Where once the Path of Kindness He has trod,
No Obstacles can make him quit the Road.
If no Impression his first Favours make,
He still redoubles till he wins the stake.
Can after Shipwrack try the Sea, and beat
At the deaf door he ne'er saw open'd yet.
Different Events alike to Him befal,
He sees the Hand of Providence in All.
When that Protects, he pays his grateful Vows,
And when it strikes, to just Correction Bows.
Can Vertue from Necessity produce,
And with strange, Art put Evil to good Use.
In Conquest does beyond the Warriour go,
The surest Friend, the latest easiest Foe:
Than others so much Happier does appear,
As He can more and worse Mis-fortunes bear.


UNited, yet divided is his Breast;
Half by Himself, All by his Friend possest.
His Choice by Sympathy of Souls is bred,
By Worth and Vertue, not by Int'rest led.
He pays Affection 'cause the Debt is just,
And Loves because he ought, because he must.
Contracts with Caution, and considers long,
But once Agreed, no Bargain is more strong.
He chuses so as He may ne'er complain,
Like one that never meant to chuse again.
And e'er his Love can vary one Degree,
His Friend Quite alter'd from Himself must be:
Let just occasion his submission move,
A Servant to his Equal He can prove.
To serve Him condescends with greater joy,
Than his Inferiour's Service to employ.
[Page 14]Advanc'd to Pow'r his Friendship still is found
In it's old Garb, familiar, plain, and sound.
For his Friend's sake with Honours he complies,
Yields to be Great to help his Friend to Rise.
His Friend expir'd, His Self's but half alive,
His Friendship only do's his Friend survive.
Death to his Love no Dissolution brings,
It but divides the Stream to sundry Springs.
For now the tender Orphans, left too young
To know their Father's Worth, to Him belong;
Adopted His, the Burden of his Cares,
His Heart's near Kin, and his Affections Heirs.
He's so much stricter, and more nicely just,
For having lost the Witness of his Trust.
Where Honesty or Nature can comply,
He grants a frank and full Community.
To Friendship's Entrance leaves an open Field
Without Reserves, but what were Sin to yield.
No longer can enjoy that thing whose use
He thinks would more to his Friend's Good conduce.
[Page 15]His Charity does still a Cloak provide
Of Secrecy, his Friend's Defects to hide.
Much by Concealment from the Publick View,
By close Reproof more proves his Friendship true.
And when the watchful Kindness of his Friend
Finds just occasion him to reprehend,
He thanks his frank Chastiser on that score,
More loves him as he makes him smart the more.
To Him as to the Closet of his Cares,
With Doubts, Complaints, his wellcome Friend repairs;
Unburdens there the secrets of his Mind,
Leaves all lock'd up, and as he leaves may find.
Let grief at once his Friend and him surround,
His sense still quickest for his Friend is found;
Bleeds in his own, but smarts in his Friend's Wound.
No Hour's unseasonable, no Pains displease,
No Cost can grievous seem to give him Ease.
No Envious Lookers on can baulk his Zeal,
But what He does He rather wou'd conceal,
Best pleas'd when a good Office he can steal.
[Page 16]Favours Receiv'd, in Memory's Book he sets,
What He bestow's as zealously forgets.
He 's Sorrow's Comfort, Difficulty's Guide,
The Joy of Life, Earth's Treasure, and its Pride;
An Angel Cloath'd in Flesh, and near to God Ally'd.
The End of the Characters on Vertue.


THE Hypocrite to sadness can convert
His looks, while Mirth is Rev'lling in his Heart,
Then Jugler-like with Pleasure does retreat,
To think how smoothly he has pass'd the Cheat.
How with false stamps of Vertue on his Face,
The Miscreant passes for a Babe of Grace.
With early Patience waits at the Church Door,
And e'er half enter'd he salutes the Floor,
But still observing with a transvers'd Eye,
What Passenger does his Devotion spy.
If Cognizance to take He none perceives,
Ftets inward, and at his lost labour grieves.
Looks round with Admiration on the Crowd;
Of frozen Charity complains aloud.
[Page 18]Takes care to have his Pew plac'd best in sight,
In hast plucks forth his Tables as to write
Some Sermon-Note, mean while does only scrawl,
Forgotten Errands there, or nought at all:
Then with a Noise whisks his Boss'd Bible o'er,
Where He for some Quotation seems to pore;
And glancing from one Chapter to a next,
Folds down the Leaf as He had found the Text.
Enquires the Preacher's Name, stays last i' th' Church,
To con him Thanks, and waits him to the Porch.
When of his Youth he speaks, his Tears flow fast;
Not for his Youth's Sins, but because 'tis Past.
His lesser Vices frankly are confest,
All but the reigning Belial of his Breast.
Gives publick Alms, and those but when he must,
Nor without Witness God Himself will trust.
With Usuries, Superfluity he gilds
Extortion, and an Hospital he builds.
And thinks th' Injustice largely is repaid,
To keep ten Beggars for ten thousand made.
[Page 19]From Flesh on Friday with a greater Dread
He does Abstain than from his Neighbour's Bed.
To swear by God's Name rather will allow,
Than at the Name of Jesus not to Bow.
To Him when Fustian Poet reads his stuff,
He begs a Copy, cryes 'tis Censure-Proof.
Finds nothing that's amiss while th' Authour stays,
And nothing, when the Fop's withdrawn, to Praise.
By his Step-Mothers Sick-Bed he can Weep,
Wish her sound Rest, that is, Eternal Sleep.
I' th' Street he greets his Friend with chearful Eyes,
And hugging Close, when will you come? He cries.
But Curses Him in 's Heart if he complies.
Small Fare affords, yet ev'n that small does grutch,
Close-frowning on his Wife, that 'tis so much.
For what He seems and says, He well might pass,
Himself's the very worst Thing that He has.
His Neighbours Nuissance, and the Strangers Saint;
Or in a Word, his Character to Paint,
Angel Abroad, at Home a Spirit evil,
And when an Angel worse than when a Devil.


WHat Monster, Superstition, is like Thee,
Thou Godless Zeal, devout Impiety.
The Superstitious Wight is Folly's Heir,
Fond in observance, servile in his Fear.
He worships God but as He lists; in what
Is not Requir'd, He'll supererogate.
Give more, give All, except what God demands,
And makes more Duties than the Ten Commands.
Till Cross'd and sprinkl'd dares not stir abroad,
Comes back if but a Hare run thwart his Road.
If he but trips at Door, or on his Way,
But recollects it was no lucky Day
Of setting out, (though All's Estate depend)
Turns back in sight of his long Journey's End.
[Page 21]If Salt fall tow'rds Him he looks pale and red,
Stares as the House were tumbling on his Head.
Nor can recover Breath till that mis-hap
Be purg'd by shedding Wine into his Lap.
If he but sneeze, his Eyes around he sends,
Thinks them who don't Uncover, not his Friends.
To judge the Weather walks betimes abroad,
And Hearks if Even the Crow cry, or Odd.
If but a Raven Croak in Dead of Night,
He makes his Will as he had heard a spright.
Or if a Dream shall in his Brains Ferment,
A Garden, or departed Friend present;
His Senses are into Confusion hurl'd,
Bespeaks his Coffin, and takes leave o' th' World.
On such Days only He'll set out by Water,
Nor for the World without his Erra Pater.
St. Paul's Day for his Oracle does take,
And Swythin's is his surest Almanack.
No Sin afflicts him on his Dying Bed,
But having once of Flesh on Friday fed.
[Page 22]He thinks the Rest can no Repentance need,
And no Repentance can for That succeed.
His Dreams, for sure Predictions must avail,
And if th' Event his Exposition fail;
His Wits are then on new solutions bent,
And He Expounds according to th' Event.
Old Wives and Stars are all his Councellors,
For Recipe's 'gainst Sickness, Charms he wears;
For Tooth-Ach Paracelsian Characters.
Impossibilities the credulous Elf
Calls Miracles, and streins to cheat Himself.
Let him but hear that in a distant soil,
Some sacred Block does speak, move, weep, or smile;
He Bare-foot hies his Off'ring there to pay,
And if a Danger miss him in the way;
If he but scape the muting of a Crow,
The Timber-Saint a Miracle did show.
Some Roads He Baulks, for Goblins there he feigns,
Each Lanthorn's Will o' th' Wisp, and ev'ry Noise of Chains.
[Page 23]His Custom (for what Cause he ne'er cou'd know)
Is, with some little Compass still to go;
Here to pass Nimbly, There to make a stand,
And ever leave the Cross on his Right Hand.
His Method has no Reason; yet no Force
Threats nor Entreaties make him change his Course.
If he have thum'd his Beads, and pray'd his Tale,
He's safe enough; it matters not for Zeal.
And lastly, with Respect to Heav'n, might He
The Carver of his Own Obedience be,
God never cou'd a better Servant have,
But, as He is, has no perverser Slave.


IN mad extreams the superstitious own
Too many Gods, but the Profane has none:
Unless himself his Deity he make,
And for his fanci'd Heaven, the World does take.
[Page 24]He breaths and moves, but to Religion Dead,
All sense of Fear, of Love, or Care is fled.
His Heart without Impression does remain,
Tir'd Conscience there repeats her strokes in Vain.
Custom of Sin this Senselessness has wrought,
Inur'd, and to the Anvils Hardness brought.
Long rooted Vice admits of no Redress,
He pleads Prescription now for Wickedness.
(By slow ascents these impious Heights we gain,
Are sinful Born, but make our selves Profane:)
Through Carelessness his Vicious Course begins,
He Sins at last, and knows not that he Sins.
Reason too late her Counsel wou'd afford;
She's now his Slave, and Appetite his Lord.
Sense is his only Creed; if so it chance,
That Piety his Int'rest may advance;
A Cloak of Sanctity he can provide,
And what he Counterfeits at once deride.
Does Sacrifice to's Nets: when Projects hit,
He either thanks his Fortune, or his Wit;
[Page 25]But Providence must nought have there to do,
He'll rather make false Gods than own the True.
When ought miscarries, destinies to blame,
On Heav'ns Unkindness He does then exclaim.
Reviles the Pow'r, to whose Indulgent sway
He wou'd not be beholden if he may.
Oft-times his Conscience fain with Him wou'd speak,
He sets the Day, but does th' Appointment break.
And when aloud she does for Audience cry,
He drowns the Noise with Rev'ling Company.
God's Name does never but in Oaths express,
And never thinks of him but in Distress:
And then his Thoughts in dark Confusion sink,
Cause He but then begins of him to Think.
His Maker He'll accuse himself to free,
And charges all his Guilt on God's Decree.
Ingratefully thinks his Condition hard,
To be from Pleasures poyson'd Sweets debarr'd.
Does Goodness, Minstrel-like, for sport bring forth,
And sacred Things are still his choicest Mirth.
[Page 26]To Mimickry turns Grace, and Vertue's Rules,
And best diverted with Religion's Fools.
A Slander for each Vertue can invent,
And in false Colours ev'ry Vice present.
He boasts of his young Sins, and past offence,
With cold Remembrance feeds his Impotence.
Enormous Crimes the Libertine has wrought,
Ambitious, yet more wicked to be Thought.
A Lewder than Himself can grieve to see,
And in Damnation grudge Precedency.
Hell does in Him less fear than Death create,
As being sure of This, and doubting That.
To th' Church as to a Theater resort,
For Custom, Company, for Sleep, or Sport.
Self-Love is All He ever Understood,
Nor that enough to seek his own true Good.
He breaks through Gratitude and Friendship's Ties,
Nor cares on whom he treads, so he may Rise.
His Life does one licentious Practice seem,
And ev'ry Vice its Centre has in Him.
God's Hatred, and his Curse; a Mass of Evil,
In Body only diff'ring from a Devil.


HIS own Estate's too narrow for his Mind,
And Room in other Men's Affairs He'll find.
In Friend and Strangers Business He will move,
And ever with the same Pretence of Love.
No News can pass his Door, and, good or ill,
He cannot know the Thing he does not tell.
He knows the Rates of Traffique to a Hair,
What Forces the Confederates can prepare,
How Swedeland, and how Denmark will declare.
Though Trav'ling on Affairs of Life and Death,
He'll stop the Post, and Talk him out of Breath.
And if his Humour, or his Hast Refuse,
Ride back with him, and piece-meal catch the News.
And if through Speed th' Intelligence does fail,
His Wit Supplies, and makes a perfect Tale.
Then Woe to the next Man that He comes near,
Blow, Rain, or Lighten, he must stay to hear;
[Page 28]And hear him out, while in a tedious round,
The Listner and Himself he does Confound.
Disjointedly each Sentence does express,
With long Successions of Parentheses.
Retrencht, to let his stream of Matter run,
But Vows to fill 'em up e'er He has done.
If two together in the street He views
Discoursing closely, He concludes strange News.
But if a Letter be produc'd, He's charm'd,
And of the Secret begs to be inform'd.
Deny'd, it serves his Turn almost as well,
If Him of Wonders they'll permit to tell.
Then with a Scotish Mine he does begin,
Of a whole Shoal of Whales come up at Linn.
Thank Him, a thousand Times your Thanks repeat,
All's One, his Tongue it's Larum must compleat.
You'll name no Undertaking which He'll baulk,
But all Concludes, where it Commenc'd, in Talk.
He'll teach Another what Himself ne'er knew,
And be a Guide in Ways he ne'er pass'd through.
Look in at's Neighbour's Window, and demand
The Reason why his Servants idle stand.
[Page 29]Call'd to Another's Table, 'tis his way
To slander some Third Person, and Convey
The Tale to him that's wrong'd, whom having sworn
To Secrecy, with speed he does return
To his first Host, and this dark Practice ply,
Till Both are set on Fire they know not why.
His Ears are Quick, and no less quick his Eyes,
To Imperfections These, and Those to Lyes.
He stops Another's Servant, takes him in,
Treats him, and does his Master's Health begin;
Thence slily falls to ask of his Affairs,
What sort of Company t' his House repairs;
What is their usual Fare, and what Discourse
Passes at Meals. Thus does th' Extorter force;
But, soon as drein'd, the Guest his leave must take,
And Room for fresh Intelligencers make.
This Man thinks Constancy a dull disgrace,
And still is shifting of his Work and Place;
But of no Place can half so weary seem,
Or half so soon, as is the Place of Him.
In each Acquaintance he has got a Foe,
For not to hate him you must Him not know.
[Page 30]He toils unthank'd, he talks without Belief,
Living has no Man's Love, Dead, no Man's Grief;
Unless by Chance the last Defect's supply'd,
And some may Grieve that he no sooner Dy'd.


THE Envious feeds upon his Neighbours Ills,
And no Disease, but others Wellfare, feels.
God's Benefits perversly does destroy;
With Company no Blessing can enjoy.
Wou'd rather have Superiours in Distress,
Than Equals in a common Happiness.
He's an ill Prizer of his Neighbour's store,
And yet, his own computing, He errs more:
On neither the just Value will bestow,
For, That he rates too High, and This too Low.
He asks in what Repute his Equals Live;
About his Betters more Inquisitive.
If just Report his Envious search defeat,
In closer Terms his Question He'll repeat.
[Page 31]And when his spight can fasten on no Flaw,
His Snakes turn back his own rank Heart to gnaw.
With God he quarrels, if his Neighbour's Field
With better Tillage, fairer Grain does yield.
For one Chance-Blight he murmurs and inveys,
For Ten Successive Crops no Thanks repays.
Whom openly He dares not to traduce,
With Short or Over-praise He will abuse.
Allows his Rival all things but his Right,
And most in Commendation shews his Spight.
If Courteous his Competitor appear,
He's then Inveigling, Crafty, Popular.
If Bountiful, a Faction is design'd,
To which with Bribes he does his Clients bind.
And if in War his Rival has success,
He's so much more a dang'rous Man in Peace.
By Industry in Wealth, or Power grown strong,
He's hoarding up of means for future wrong.
Thus does the Envious Man distort and force
True Worth, and turn each Vertue to a Curse.
In his Religion Policy still lurks,
And by Submission his Ambition works.
No Law, that had the Publick Good enclos'd,
Can pass, because by Him not first Propos'd.
Not his own Int'rest for that time he weighs,
But Suffers, to defraud Another's Praise.
If Evil of his Rival, Fame report,
He cryes she's Partial, and of Truth comes short.
[Page 32]What Prejudice relates, as being worst,
In his Recital He still mentions first:
Knowing that gentler Truth too slowly treads,
And that the first ill Rumour farthest spreads.
He'll stab i' th' Dark, and then with pitying Voice
Bemoan the Fate that makes his Heart Rejoice.
Of his ill Deeds his Nature is the Cause,
The Good He Acts is only for Applause.
And that which cannot to his share befal
To do, He still takes Care no other shall.
Of his Best Skill He just enough will show,
To let the World perceive what He does know;
His Med'cine's Sov'raign Use he will reveal,
The Art to make't, does ev'n in Death Conceal;
Pleas'd that he can a Prize from Mankind steal.
God's Blessings, if beside Himself they fall,
His Curses prove, and make Him burst with Gall.
Yet after All there's none can grudge the Elf
His Diet, for the Miscreant eats Himself.
To turn a Devil He waits but his Life's End,
Till then a Carcase quicken'd by a Fiend.

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