The Client, the Patron, the Age

Such fine Employments our whole days divide:
The Salutations of the Morning-tide
Call up the Sun; those ended, to the Hall
We wait the Patron, hear the Lawyers baul,
Then to the Statues; where amidst the Race
Of Conqu'ring Rome , some Arab shews his Face
Inscrib'd with Titles, and profanes the place.
Fit to be piss'd against, and somewhat more.
The Great Man, home conducted, shuts his door;
Old Clients, weary'd out with fruitless care,
Dismiss their hopes of eating, and despair.
Though much against the grain, forc'd to retire,
Buy Roots for Supper, and provide a Fire.
Mean time his Lordship lolls within at ease,
Pamp'ring his Paunch with Foreign Rarities:
Both Sea and Land are ransack'd for the Feast,
And his own Gut the sole invited Guest.
Such Plate, such Tables, Dishes dress'd so well,
That whole Estates are swallow'd at a Meal.
Ev'n Parasites are banish'd from his Board:
(At once a sordid and luxurious Lord:)
Prodigious Throat, for which whole Boars are drest;
(A Creature form'd to furnish out a Feast.)
But present Punishment pursues his Maw,
When surfeited and swell'd, the Peacock raw
He bears into the Bath; whence want of Breath,
Repletions, Apoplex, intestate Death.
His Fate makes Table-talk, divulg'd with scorn,
And he, a Jeast, into his Grave is born.

No Age can go beyond us: Future Times
Can add no farther to the present Crimes.
Our Sons but the same things can wish and do;
Vice is at stand, and at the highest flow.
Then Satyr spread thy Sails; take all the winds can blow.