Satires 1.9 (Creech): Ibam Forte Via Sacra

AS I was walking through the streets of Rome,
And musing on I know not what nor whom,
A Fop came up, by name scarce known to me,
He seiz'd my hand, and cry'd, Dear Sir how d'ye:
I thank you, pretty well as times go now;
All happiness: I wish the same to you:
But when He follow'd me, I turn'd and cry'd,
What farther business, Sir? And He reply'd,
What don't you know me Sir? No faith: What no?
Come Horace now you jest, I'me sure you do;
Why I'me a Scholar: Sir, I'me glad of that,
'Twill make me prize you at a higher rate:
Uneasie thus, and eager to be gone,
Sometimes I walkt but slow, now faster on,
My Foot-boy whisper'd now, and now I stopt,
Now turn'd about, still Sweating till I dropt:
Ten thousand times I softly curst my Fate,
And envy'd deaf Bolanus happy State:
Whilst He, Eternal Clack, of all we meet
Said something, praising Houses, Town, and Street:
But when He saw me so uneasie grown,
And answer nothing; Sir, you would be gone,
But faith, Dear Sir, We must not part so soon;
I love your Company, I'le follow still,
I must make one, Dear Sir, go where you will:
'Tis too much trouble for you, I design
Beyond the Bridge, to see a friend of mine
Unknown to you, your kind attendance spare,
It will be rude to trouble you so far:
Sir I'me at leasure, I have time to spend,
And I can walk I'me sure to serve a friend:
I'le go: And thus when no release appears,
Like an o'reladen Ass I hung my Ears.
Then He, Sir, If I don't mistake my Parts,
Not Varius Wit, nor Viscus great Deserts
Can claim your friendship half so much as mine;
Which of the Wits can write so smooth a line,
Which more than I, or which with greater ease?
'Tis almost natural in me to please:
Who can his limbs to softer motions bring?
Hermogenes might envy when I sing:
And then he stopt a while, and I put in:
Have you a Mother Sir, or any Kin
That would be glad to see you? I have none,
For thanks kind Stars they all are dead and gone:
Oh Happy They, and I the last remain,
Come, pray Sir, quickly rid me of my pain;
For now the fatal hour, the time is come,
The Midwife told me when she read my doom.
She turn'd the Sieve, and said, Nor Sword, nor Cough,
Nor Poison, Plague, nor Charms shall take him off:
Nor the Catarrh, nor Flux, nor Pox destroy,
But an Eternal Tongue shall kill the Boy,
And therefore would He have his life be long,
When grown a Man avoid a talking Tongue:
By this 'twas nine a Clock or somewhat past,
And we to Vesta's Temple came at last.
And there that day He had a Cause to hear,
And was to lose his Suit or else appear.
Come pray, Sir, as you love me stop a while,
Faith Sir I cannot stand, nor have I skill
In any Point, and I'me oblig'd to go:
Well then, What must I leave my Cause, or You?
Me by all means: No, hang me if I do:
And so march't on; and I (with one too strong
What Man can strive?) look't blank, and sneak't along.
How doth Mecaenas (thence his Chat began)
Affect you now? You are the subt'lest Man:
You make Hay whilst it shines, but take my word,
To have another always near my Lord,
And next to You in favour, would secure
My Lord's good Will, and make your Fortune sure:
Fix me the Man, and let them do their best,
I'le lay my life on't you shall rout the rest:
Sir, you mistake, that's not our Course of Life,
We know no Jealousies, no Brawls, no Strife;
From all those ills our Patrons House is free,
None 'cause more Learn'd or Wealthy troubles Me,
We have our Stations, all their own pursue:
'Tis strange, scarce credible: and yet 'tis true:
This whets my wish, I'me eager for a place:
I shall not rest till I am near his Grace:
Pray stand my Friend, I'me sure of good success,
He may be wrought on if you please to press:
But Sir, at first he is of hard access:
Well, when Occasion serves, I'le play my part,
I'le spare no cost and charge, try every Art,
Hang on his Coach, wait on him, all I can,
Bribe, Flatter, Cringe, but I'me resolv'd to gain,
'Tis only Labour, Sir, can raise a Man.
As thus He talk't, a Friend of mine came by,
Who knew the fellow's humour more than I.
We stop't, and talk't a while, as How do'st do?
Whence came you, Sir, I pray? and whither now?
Mean while I shrug'd, a thousand signs I show'd,
I squeez'd his hand, and did what e're I cou'd,
I nodded, cough't, and wink't to let him see
I stood in need of's help to set me free;
He cruel Wag, tho knowing my intent,
Pretended ignorance of all I mean't:
I rag'd; at last, A little while ago
You had some business, pray let's have it now:
I mind it well, but, Sir, another day,
My business calls me now a different way;
'Tis Holiday, I visit yonder shrine,
And must not mix Prophane with things Divine:
I don't mind Holidays; but Sir I do,
A little tender Conscienc'd, Sir, I vow,
One of the Crowd, I go to Church and pray,
Your pardon, Sir, we'll talk another day:
Did ever such unlucky Beams arise!
Ever so black a day! unkind He flies,
And leaves me gasping for a little life,
Just at the mercy of the Butcher's knife:
When lo his Adversary cry'd, Oh, Oh!
Sir Raschal, have I caught you, whither now?
Pray Sir bear witness, gladly I consent,
He's forc't to Court, and I as freely went:
The People Crowd and Shout; but mid'st the strife
I scap't, and so Apollo sav'd my Life.