Page:Poetical Works of John Oldham.djvu/201

Rh What would it boot, if I, to gain my end, Forego my quiet, and my ease of mind, Still feared, at last betrayed by my great friend? ’Another cause, which I must boldly own, And not the least, for which I quit the town, Is to behold it made the common-sewer, Where France does all her filth and ordure pour; What spark of true old English rage can bear Those, who were slaves at home, to lord it here? We've all our fashions, language, compliments, Our music, dances, curing, cooking thence; And we shall have their poisoning too ere long, If still in the improvement we go on. What would'st thou say, great Harry, should'st thou view Thy gaudy fluttering race of English now, Their tawdry clothes, pulvilios, essences; Their Chedreux' perruques, and those vanities, Which thou, and they of old did so despise? What would'st thou say to see the infected town With the foul spawn of foreigners o'er run? Hither from Paris, and all parts they come, The spew and vomit of their gaols at home; To court they flock, and to St. James’s-square, And wriggle into great men's service there; Footboys at first, till they, from wiping shoes, Grow by degrees the masters of the house;