Epistle XII. To C. S. Esquire

Dear Charles, I'm thus far come to see thy face,
Thy pretty face, but this unhappy place
Does not afford it, and I'm told by some,
That want of Tythes, make thee thou can'st not come;

Why (Charles) art thou turn'd Priest? and at this time,
When Priests themselves have made their coat a crime?
And tythes, which make men Priests, do so decay,
One other Schism will preach them quite away:

Thou'lt ne'r become it well, for I do find,
Wit in a Pulpit is quite out of kind;
Thou canst not stand long, nor talk much, and lowd,
Nor thrash, nor couzen the admiring crowd;
And (which is worse) though th'hast a face, and hand,
A diamond ring, white glove, and clean lawn band,
Able to tempt an Abbess, yet, I find,
Thou canst not satisfie the Ladies mind,
What ere the matter is: But thou art wise,
And do'st best know thine own infirmities.

Let me advise thee (Charles) be as thou art,
A Poet, so thou need'st not care a —-
For all the turns of time: who ere did know
The Muses sequestred? or who can shew,
That ever wit paid taxes, or was rated?
Homer and Virgil ne'r were decimated:
Ovid indeed was banished, but for that,
Which women say, you ne'r were ex'lent at.
But (Charles) thou art unjusticed, I'm told
By one, who though not valiant, yet is bold:
And that thou hast unfortunately met,
The blinded scourge o'th Western-Bajazet:
Thrown from the bench like Lucifer, and are
In a fair way to be brought to the bar.
I'th interim hang 'twixt both, as law doth name us,
A billa-vera-man, or Ignoramus.

But I can't learn wherefore it is, nor how,
Though I've inquir'd of both, perhaps nor thou;
Some say 'tis for thy valour, which our time,
In a wise Magistrate, accounts a crime:
If it be true, thou hast ill luck in this,
To have two virtues; and both plac'd amiss,
To thwart each other; when thou should'st have been
A valiant Captain, wisdome was thy sin,
And so uncaptain'd thee; and now the time
Calls for thy wisdome, valour is thy crime:
And so unjustic'd thee; unlucky wretch!
Two virtues want'st, yet hast too much of each!
Who ere compos'd thy mind, plaid Babel-tricks,
Brought lime and timber, when he should bring bricks.

But we live in an age so full of lies,
I dare not trust my ears, nor scarce my eyes.
I hope this is a lye too: but if true,
'Tis an affliction (Charles) that's justly due
To thy desert; Our State holds it unfit,
One man should be a Justice, and a wit.
Go ask thy Lady, if it were ever known,
A Man should be a Justice, and do none.

Come, be advis'd by me, set out a book
In English too, where Justices may look,
And learn their trade; let Presidents, of all
Warrants and Mittimuses, great and small;
All Ale-heuse Licenses, and other things,
Which to the Justices instruction brings,
Be there inserted; that the age to come,
(The children of such men as can get some)
May glorifie thy memory, and be
Thy praises trumpets to posterity:

As from one Looking-glass thrown on the ground;
In every piece, a perfect face is found,
So from thy ruines, all may plainly see,
Legions of Justices as wise as thee.

Now having taken all this pains to see
Thy worship, and can find nor it, nor thee,
Pray come to T—- bring thy beloved Sue,
My Mat. and I will meet with her and you;
And though my Mat's no Poet, you shall see,
She'l sit and laugh with, or at us, that be:
I'll make thy Lady merry, and laugh until,
She break that belly, which thou canst not fill.

Mean time pray give her one prolifick kiss;
Tell her it comes from me, and if that miss,
Give her another; and if both won't do,
Do that with three which can't be done by two.
If thou com'st not, I shall have cause to curse
Tythes, like the laity, and it may be worse:
My sufferings are more, then theirs can be,
They'l keep their tythes, but tythes keep thee from me.

But if thou can'st not come, be sure to write;
Don't rob at once, my hearing and my sight.
If thou bring'st not thy body, send thy wit,
For we must laugh with thee, or else at it.