In _Fig_ the Prize-fighter by day delight,
And sup with _Colly Cibber_ ev'ry night.
Should I perchance be fashionably ill,
I'd send for _Misaubin_, and take his pill.
I should abhor, though in the utmost need,
_Arbuthnot_, _Hollins_, _Wigan_, _Lee_, or _Mead_:
But if I found that I grew worse and worse,
I'd turn off _Misaubin_ and take a Nurse.
How oft, when eminent physicians fail,
Do good old womens remedies prevail?
When beauty's gone, and _Chloe_'s struck with years,
Eyes she can couch, or she can syringe ears.
Of Graduates I dislike the learned rout,
And chuse a _female Doctor_ for the gout.
Thus would I live, with no dull _pedants_ curs'd,
Sure, of all blockheads, _Scholars_ are the worst.
Back to your _Universitys_, ye fools,
And dangle Arguments on strings in schools:
Those schools which _Universitys_ they call,
'Twere well for _England_ were there none at all.
With ease that loss the nation might sustain,
Supply'd by _Goodman's Fields_ and _Drury-lane_.
_Oxford_ and _Cambridge_ are not worth one farthing,
Compar'd to _Haymarket_, and _Convent-garden_:
Quit those, ye British Youth, and follow these,
Turn players all, and take your 'Squires degrees.
Boast not your incomes now, as heretofore,
Ye book-learn'd Seats! the Theatres have more:
Ye stiff-rump'd heads of Colleges be dumb,
A singing Eunuch gets a larger Sum.
Have some of you three hundred by the Year,
_Booth_, _Rich_, and _Cibber_, twice three thousand clear.
Should _Oxford_ to her sister _Cambridge_ join
A Year's _Rack-rent_, and _Arbitrary fine_:
Thence not one winter's charge would be defray'd,
For Playhouse, Opera, Ball, and Masquerade.
Glad I congratulate the judging Age,
The players are the world, the world the stage.
I am a Politician too, and hate
Of any party, ministers of state:
I'm for an _Act_, that he, who sev'n whole Years
Has serv'd his _King_ and _Country_, lose his ears.
Thus from my birth I'm qualified you find,
To give the laws of _Taste_ to humane kind.
Mine are the gallant Schemes of Politesse,
For books, and buildings, politicks, and dress.
This is _True Taste_, and whoso likes it not,
Is blockhead, coxcomb, puppy, fool, and sot.

[1] Bently's Milton, Book 9. Ver. 439.

_BOOKS printed for_ LAWTON GILLIVER _at_ Homer'_s_ _Head over-against
St._ Dunitan's _Church in_ Fleetstreet.

Of _False Taste_. An