世间万物都会腐朽，一旦命运召唤，君主也必须服从。弗莱克诺发现，这位像奥古斯都一样，年轻时被召唤到帝国，统治了很长时间的人，在散文和诗歌中，毫无争议地在所有荒谬的领域中都是绝对的。这位年事已高的王子，现在正安享晚年，又有一大笔财产，又因事务缠身而疲惫不堪，他终于就国家的继承问题进行了一番辩论:在他所有的儿子中，谁最适合统治，谁最能机智地发动不朽的战争;哭了，这就解决了;因为大自然要求他只统治最像我的人:我完美的形象独自在树荫下，从他稚嫩的岁月中成熟起来。在我所有的儿子中，只有他傻傻地站着。其余的人对某种模糊的意义作假装，但沙德维尔从不偏离理智。智慧的光束可能会落在别人的灵魂上，穿透它，形成一个清晰的间隔;但夏德威的真正的黑夜不允许光线，他的升起的雾气笼罩着白天;除了他那美丽的外表，充满了眼睛，似乎是为了轻率的威严而设计的:轻率的帝王橡树，遮蔽了平原，庄严地展开，高高在上。海伍德和雪莉不过是你的化身，你这最后的同义反复的大预言家;甚至我，一个比他们更有名的笨蛋，也被派来为你预备道路;衣衫褴褛的诺威治人来以你更崇高的名义教导列国。 My warbling lute, the lute I whilom strung When to King John of Portugal I sung, Was but the prelude to that glorious day, When thou on silver Thames did'st cut thy way, With well tim'd oars before the royal barge, Swell'd with the pride of thy celestial charge; And big with hymn, commander of an host, The like was ne'er in Epsom blankets toss'd. Methinks I see the new Arion sail, The lute still trembling underneath thy nail. At thy well sharpen'd thumb from shore to shore The treble squeaks for fear, the basses roar: Echoes from Pissing-Alley, Shadwell call, And Shadwell they resound from Aston Hall. About thy boat the little fishes throng, As at the morning toast, that floats along. Sometimes as prince of thy harmonious band Thou wield'st thy papers in thy threshing hand. St. Andre's feet ne'er kept more equal time, Not ev'n the feet of thy own Psyche's rhyme: Though they in number as in sense excel; So just, so like tautology they fell, That, pale with envy, Singleton forswore The lute and sword which he in triumph bore And vow'd he ne'er would act Villerius more. Here stopt the good old sire; and wept for joy In silent raptures of the hopeful boy. All arguments, but most his plays, persuade, That for anointed dullness he was made. Close to the walls which fair Augusta bind, (The fair Augusta much to fears inclin'd) An ancient fabric, rais'd t'inform the sight, There stood of yore, and Barbican it hight: A watch tower once; but now, so fate ordains, Of all the pile an empty name remains. From its old ruins brothel-houses rise, Scenes of lewd loves, and of polluted joys. Where their vast courts, the mother-strumpets keep, And, undisturb'd by watch, in silence sleep. Near these a nursery erects its head, Where queens are form'd, and future heroes bred; Where unfledg'd actors learn to laugh and cry, Where infant punks their tender voices try, And little Maximins the gods defy. Great Fletcher never treads in buskins here, Nor greater Jonson dares in socks appear; But gentle Simkin just reception finds Amidst this monument of vanish'd minds: Pure clinches, the suburbian muse affords; And Panton waging harmless war with words. Here Flecknoe, as a place to fame well known, Ambitiously design'd his Shadwell's throne. For ancient Decker prophesi'd long since, That in this pile should reign a mighty prince, Born for a scourge of wit, and flail of sense: To whom true dullness should some Psyches owe, But worlds of Misers from his pen should flow; Humorists and hypocrites it should produce, Whole Raymond families, and tribes of Bruce. Now Empress Fame had publisht the renown, Of Shadwell's coronation through the town. Rous'd by report of fame, the nations meet, From near Bun-Hill, and distant Watling-street. No Persian carpets spread th'imperial way, But scatter'd limbs of mangled poets lay: From dusty shops neglected authors come, Martyrs of pies, and reliques of the bum. Much Heywood, Shirley, Ogleby there lay, But loads of Shadwell almost chok'd the way. Bilk'd stationers for yeoman stood prepar'd, And Herringman was Captain of the Guard. The hoary prince in majesty