B’ing rich in both, he never scanted
  His bounty unto such as wanted;
  But much of either would afford
  To many that had not one word. 
  For Hebrew roots, although they’re found
  To flourish most in barren ground,
  He had such plenty as suffic’d
  To make some think him circumcis’d: 
  And truly so he was, perhaps,
  Not as a proselyte, but for claps,
    He was in logic a great critic,
  Profoundly skill’d in analytic;
  He could distinguish, and divide
  A hair ’twixt south and south west side;
  On either which he could dispute,
  Confute, change hands, and still confute;
  He’d undertake to prove by force
  Of argument, a man’s no horse;
  He’d prove a buzzard is no fowl,
  And that a lord may be an owl;
  A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,
  And rooks committee-men and trustees,
  He’d run in debt by disputation,
  And pay with ratiocination: 
  All this by syllogism, true
  In mood and figure, he would do. 
    For rhetoric, he could not ope
  His mouth, but out there flew a trope;
  And when he happened to break off
  I’ th’ middle of his speech, or cough,
  H’ had hard words, ready to show why,
  And tell what rules he did it by: 
  Else when with greatest art he spoke,
  You’d think he talk’d like other folk,
  For all a rhetorician’s rules
  Teach nothing but to name his tools. 
  But, when he pleas’d to show’t his speech
  In loftiness of sound was rich;
  A Babylonish dialect,
  Which learned pedants much affect: 
  It was a party-coloured dress
  Of patch’d and pye-ball’d languages;
  ’Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,
  Like fustian heretofore on satin. 
  It had an odd promiscuous tone,
  As if h’ had talk’d three parts in one;
  Which made some think when he did gabble,
  Th’ had heard three labourers of Babel;
  Or Cerberus himself pronounce
  A leash of languages at once. 
  This he as volubly would vent
  As if his stock would ne’er be spent;
  And truly, to support that charge,
  He had supplies as vast as large: 
  For he could coin or counterfeit
  New words with little or no wit: 
  Words so debas’d and hard, no stone
  Was hard enough to touch them on: 
  And when with hasty noise he spoke ’em,
  The ignorant for current took ’em,
  That had the orator who once
  Did fill his mouth with pebble-stones
  When he harangu’d but known his phrase,
  He would have us’d no other ways. 
  In mathematics he was greater
  Then Tycho Brahe, or Erra Pater: 
  For he, by geometric scale,
  Could take the size of pots of ale;
  Resolve by sines and tangents, straight,
  If bread and butter wanted weight;
  And wisely tell what hour o’ th’ day
  The clock does strike by algebra. 
  Beside, he was a shrewd philosopher,
  And had read ev’ry text and gloss