Macer : A Character
When
simple
Macer,
now
of
high
renown,
First
fought
a
Poet's
Fortune
in
the
Town,
'Twas
all
th'
Ambition
his
high
soul
could
feel,
To
wear
red
stockings,
and
to
dine
with
Steele.
Some
Ends
of
verse
his
Betters
might
afford,
And
gave
the
harmless
fellow
a
good
word.
Set
up
with
these
he
ventur'd
on
the
Town,
And
with
a
borrow'd
Play,
out-did
poor
Crown.
There
he
stopp'd
short,
nor
since
has
write
a
tittle,
But
has
the
wit
to
make
the
most
of
little;
Like
stunted
hide-bound
Trees,
that
just
have
got
Sufficient
sap
at
once
to
bear
and
rot.
Now
he
begs
Verse,
and
what
he
gets
commends,
Not
of
the
Wits
his
foes,
but
Fools
his
friends.
So
some
coarse
Country
Wench,
almost
decay'd,
Trudges
to
town,
and
first
turns
Chambermaid;
Awkward
and
supple,
each
devoir
to
pay;
She
flatters
her
good
Lady
twice
a
day;
Thought
wond'rous
honest,
tho'
of
mean
degree,
And
strangely
lik'd
for
her
Simplicity:
In
a
translated
Suit,
then
tries
the
Town,
With
borrow'd
Pins,
and
Patches
not
her
own:
But
just
endur'd
the
winter
she
began,
And
in
four
months
a
batter'd
Harridan.
Now
nothing
left,
but
wither'd,
pale,
and
shrunk,
To
bawd
for
others,
and
go
shares
with
Punk.
