TRISTRAM

Yes sir, I spent two days in sorting Poets from Historians, As many nights in placing the divines On their own chairs, I mean their shelves, and then In separating Philosophers from those people That kill men with a license: your Physicians Cost me a whole days labour, and I find sir, Although you tell me learning is immortal, The paper and the parchment, 'tis contained in, Savours of much mortality. I admire How he retains these Au Horse names, of which He understands no sillable, 'twere better I bought the Authentic Legend of Sir Bevis, Some six new Ballads and the famous Poems Writ by the learned waterman. You mean all his works sir. And the devil to boot, Your father's books in which he keeps that accounts Of all his coin will scarce yield crowns to afford Your fancy volumes: why you have already Enough to furnish a new Vatican, A hundred country pedants can read dictates To their young pupils out of Setons logic, Or Golius Ethics, and make them arrive, Proficients learned enough in one bore twelmonth To instruct the parish they were born in: you Out of and itch to this same foolish learning Bestow more money yearly upon books: Then would for convert sisters built and almes-ho see. I speak truth: if you should want, your learning scarce would make you Capable of being town Clark, or at best, To be a famous Tyrant unto boys, And wear out birch upon them: or perchance you may arrive to be the City Poet, And f and the little moisture of your brain To grace a Lord Majors festival with shows, Alluding to his trade, or to the company Of which he's free, these are the best preferments That can attend your learning. Would you study? as does young Thorowgood your noble Cousin, Not books, but men which are true living volumes: You would Like him, be held rich ith' esteem Of all the illustrious wits that deck the city When the extent of your admirers is Confined to fresh men: and such youths as only Know how to frame a syllogism in Darii, And make the ignorant believe by Logic The Moons made of a Holland Cheese: and the man in't. A swagbellied Dutch Burger Intras Thorowgood. He has already spoiled His eyes with prying on Geneva prints, And small dutch Characters: his watching makes him Look Like a grandchild of old Errapaters, Some lean Astronomer, who to get ten shillings, For that's a large price for and Almanac, Has wasted himself to the bigness of his Iaccobs staff, Which is so limber, it cannot stand to take height of Venus rising. This Cassock were a pretty garment for a fortuneteller. My studious master. 'Tis confessed sir, but for the numerous Rheims of paper, which Are piled up in your study, give them me, I have a brother in law ith' town's a cook, I'll give them him to put under his bake meats. On my Conscience You may believe him: he scarce ere saw book, Unless the Chronicle in and iron Chain, In's father's Hall: for learning sir, except What's in a Horse, a Hawk, or hownd, he knows not How to expound your meaning. didst give him His Oats this morning? Shall I see your daughter. Did he drink's water hastily? Your Niece I'de be acquainted with. In the same case the Moths have left them, who have eaten more Authentic learning then would richly furnish A hundred country pedants; yet the worms Are not one letter wiser. Come forward sir, you stand as if you'd cozened One of them with bade linen; pray advance, My Master is your Leader.