No More Learning

The doctor's wormwood style, the hash of tongues
A pedant makes, the storm of Gonson's lungs,
The whole artillery of the terms of war,
And (all those plagues in one) the bawling bar:
These I could bear; but not a rogue so civil,
Whose tongue will compliment you to the devil.
A tongue that can cheat widows, cancel scores,
Make Scots speak treason, cozen subtlest w***es,
With royal favourites in flattery vie,
And Oldmixon and Burnet both outlie.
He spies me out, I whisper: "Gracious God!
What sin of mine could merit such a rod?
That all the shot of dulness now must be
From this thy blunderbuss discharged on me! "
"Permit" (he cries) "no stranger to your fame
To crave your sentiment, if ----'s your name.
What speech esteem you most? " "The King's," said I
"But the best words? "--"O, sir, the dictionary. "
"You miss my aim; I mean the most acute
And perfect speaker? "--"Onslow, past dispute. "
"But, sir, of writers? " "Swift, for closer style,
But Ho**y for a period of a mile. "
"Why, yes, 'tis granted, these indeed may pass:
Good common linguists, and so Panurge was;
Nay troth the Apostles (though perhaps too rough)
Had once a pretty gift of tongues enough:
Yet these were all poor gentlemen! I dare
Affirm, 'twas travel made them what they were.
"
Thus others' talents having nicely shown,
He came by sure transition to his own:
Till I cried out: "You prove yourself so able,
Pity! you was not Druggerman at Babel;
For had they found a linguist half so good
I make no question but the tower had stood. "
"Obliging sir! for courts you sure were made:
Why then for ever buried in the shade?
Spirits like you should see and should be seen,
The King would smile on you--at least the Queen. "
"Ah, gentle sir! you courtiers so cajole us--
But Tully has it, Nunquam minus solus:
And as for courts, forgive me, if I say
No lessons now are taught the Spartan way:
Though in his pictures lust be full displayed,
Few are the converts Aretine has made;
And though the Court show vice exceeding clear,
None should, by my advice, learn virtue there. "
At this entranced, he lifts his hands and eyes,
Squeaks like a high-stretched lutestring, and replies:
"Oh, 'tis the sweetest of all earthly things
To gaze on princes, and to talk of kings! "
"Then, happy man who shows the tombs! " said I,
"He dwells amidst the Royal Family;
He every day, from king to king can walk,
Of all our Harries, all our Edwards talk,
And get by speaking truth of monarchs dead,
What few can of the living, ease and bread. "
"Lord, sir, a mere mechanic! strangely low,
And coarse of phrase--your English all are so.
How elegant your Frenchmen? " "Mine, d'ye mean?
I have but one, I hope the fellow's clean. "
"Oh!