Hath through dark paths pursued the sooty way,
At night to wash his hands and face he flies,
And in his t'other shirt with his Brickdusta lies.

[Footnote 1: There is not one beauty in this charming speech but what
hath been borrow'd by almost every tragick writer.
]




SCENE IV.


_Grizzle_ (_solus_.) [1] Where art thou, Grizzle? where
are now thy glories?
Where are the drums that waken thee to honour?
Greatness is a laced coat from Monmouth-street,
Which fortune lends us for a day to wear,
To-morrow puts it on another's back.
The spiteful sun but yesterday survey'd
His rival high as Saint Paul's cupola;
Now may he see me as Fleet-ditch laid low.

[Footnote 1: Mr Banks has (I wish I could not say too servilely)
imitated this of Grizzle in his Earl of Essex:
Where art thou, Essex, &c.]