Hudibras Redivivus or, a Burlesque poem on the times. The Second Edition. To which is added, An Apology, and some other Improvements throughout the Whole [by Edward Ward] |
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 | Hudibras Redivivus |  |
I thumb'd o'er many factious Reams
Of canting Lies, and Poets Dreams,
All stuff'd as full of Low-Church Manners,
As e'er was Salters-Hall with Sinners.
Amongst the rest, the Mob's Prophet-a;
I found oft chang'd to a Poet-a.
No Shame to versifying Brother,
Since one's deriv'd of Old from t'other.
Therefore all Scriblers ought to know it's
No Crime for Prophets to be Poets;
Especially when Want of Sense
Must be supply'd with Impudence,
And Malice, Scandal, and ill Nature,
Pass with dull Fools for Wit and Satyr.
For he whose Brains are not defective,
May find in ev'ry tag'd Invective,
Hard Words are soften'd by their Chiming,
And Railing best agrees with Riming:
For bare-fac'd Scandal writ in Prose,
Too much of th'Author's Malice shows,
When the most fulsome of Abuses
Shall be thought witty from the Muses.
The Name of Poem, or of Satyr,
Gives Umbrage to a Man's ill Nature;
And makes most Readers think he writ
Not to his Envy shew, but Wit.
Of canting Lies, and Poets Dreams,
All stuff'd as full of Low-Church Manners,
As e'er was Salters-Hall with Sinners.
Amongst the rest, the Mob's Prophet-a;
I found oft chang'd to a Poet-a.
No Shame to versifying Brother,
Since one's deriv'd of Old from t'other.
Therefore all Scriblers ought to know it's
No Crime for Prophets to be Poets;
4
Must be supply'd with Impudence,
And Malice, Scandal, and ill Nature,
Pass with dull Fools for Wit and Satyr.
For he whose Brains are not defective,
May find in ev'ry tag'd Invective,
Hard Words are soften'd by their Chiming,
And Railing best agrees with Riming:
For bare-fac'd Scandal writ in Prose,
Too much of th'Author's Malice shows,
When the most fulsome of Abuses
Shall be thought witty from the Muses.
The Name of Poem, or of Satyr,
Gives Umbrage to a Man's ill Nature;
And makes most Readers think he writ
Not to his Envy shew, but Wit.
When I had almost spent my Vitals
In chiefly turning over Titles,
In which might easily be seen
The Drift of all contain'd within;
Bs Moor-fields Conjurers can see,
By th'Art of Phisiognomy,
Whether we're Wise-men, Fools, or Asses,
Ay th'Lines and Features of our Faces.
At last I pitch'd, as Chance would have it,
Upon a High-Church Book, God save it,
And that undaunted Hand that gave it:
For sure it cannot be a Crime
To pray (altho' it be in Rime)
For those that lay before our Eyes
The Treach'ry of our Enemies.
If Praying be a Fault, alas!
We Authors of the Riming Class
(As most believe) so rarely use it,
That when we do, they may excuse it:
For Pray'rs, we know, agree much better
With thriving Prose, than starving Metre:
That makes Low Saints, who hate all Riming,
As bad as High-Church Bells, when Chiming;
Despise the Heliconian Jargon,
And think it Popish, like the Organ;
Except some Brother-Saint, in Spite
Of God Apollo, dares to write,
And, breaking thro' his sacred Laws,
Jingle in Favour of their Cause:
Yet, tho' it is their hum drum Fashion
To hate all Musical Precation,
They love an elevated Voice,
That's exquisite at Tone and Noise,
And do their Pray'rs much louder hollow,
Than we sing Ballads to Apollo,
That others may become most ample
Hypocrites from their loud Example:
Yet, tho' in Praying they surpass us,
Sometimes with Satyr, when they cross us,
We make 'em curse old Mount Parnassus.
In chiefly turning over Titles,
5
The Drift of all contain'd within;
Bs Moor-fields Conjurers can see,
By th'Art of Phisiognomy,
Whether we're Wise-men, Fools, or Asses,
Ay th'Lines and Features of our Faces.
At last I pitch'd, as Chance would have it,
Upon a High-Church Book, God save it,
And that undaunted Hand that gave it:
For sure it cannot be a Crime
To pray (altho' it be in Rime)
For those that lay before our Eyes
The Treach'ry of our Enemies.
If Praying be a Fault, alas!
We Authors of the Riming Class
(As most believe) so rarely use it,
That when we do, they may excuse it:
For Pray'rs, we know, agree much better
With thriving Prose, than starving Metre:
6
As bad as High-Church Bells, when Chiming;
Despise the Heliconian Jargon,
And think it Popish, like the Organ;
Except some Brother-Saint, in Spite
Of God Apollo, dares to write,
And, breaking thro' his sacred Laws,
Jingle in Favour of their Cause:
Yet, tho' it is their hum drum Fashion
To hate all Musical Precation,
They love an elevated Voice,
That's exquisite at Tone and Noise,
And do their Pray'rs much louder hollow,
Than we sing Ballads to Apollo,
That others may become most ample
Hypocrites from their loud Example:
Yet, tho' in Praying they surpass us,
Sometimes with Satyr, when they cross us,
We make 'em curse old Mount Parnassus.
7
I, eager to behold the Book
That made the Whigs so crabbed look,
Sate down to view the Nation's Case,
Stated, as some think, by his Grace.
I mean not him by th'River's Side,
Who learns from thence, (if not bely'd)
To turn according to the Tide;
But one deserving our Esteem,
Who dares to strive against the Stream,
And to inform a misled Nation,
Speak Truth, altho' it's out of Fashion.
That made the Whigs so crabbed look,
Sate down to view the Nation's Case,
Stated, as some think, by his Grace.
I mean not him by th'River's Side,
Who learns from thence, (if not bely'd)
To turn according to the Tide;
But one deserving our Esteem,
Who dares to strive against the Stream,
And to inform a misled Nation,
Speak Truth, altho' it's out of Fashion.
At first I mus'd upon the Title,
Then sate me down, and read a little;
Where Mighty Persons did I see
Drawn into strange bad Company;
And gallant Ladies, and fine Lords,
Japann'd with black and shining Words.
Some, who had true old Faith declin'd,
And with new factious Upstarts join'd,
Espousing Church of low Degree,
Were made full low as low could be:
I do not mean in Purse or Station,
But Honour, Justice, Reputation.
Those three maintain'd by very few,
To th'Hazard of the other two.
No Wonder, since that Men of State,
Without such Gugaws can be Great;
And Sycophants, that scorn such Baubles,
Can rise from Nothing to be N---s.
Then sate me down, and read a little;
Where Mighty Persons did I see
Drawn into strange bad Company;
And gallant Ladies, and fine Lords,
Japann'd with black and shining Words.
Some, who had true old Faith declin'd,
And with new factious Upstarts join'd,
8
Were made full low as low could be:
I do not mean in Purse or Station,
But Honour, Justice, Reputation.
Those three maintain'd by very few,
To th'Hazard of the other two.
No Wonder, since that Men of State,
Without such Gugaws can be Great;
And Sycophants, that scorn such Baubles,
Can rise from Nothing to be N---s.
Blind Fortune's Wheel, we must allow,
Runs strangely round, we know not how:
For secret Pleasures done the Donor,
Of those kind Favours, Wealth and Honour,
In Royal Eyes seem meritorious,
And often raise Men to be Glorious:
For Services there are sometimes,
That once disclos'd, are constru'd Crimes;
Such that oblige us whilst conceal'd,
But lose their Merit when reveal'd.
Therefore, when 'tis a Prince's Pleasure
That Flatt'rers shall purloin their Treasure,
'Till they have scrap'd huge Sums together,
And climb'd aloft, the Lord knows whither;
How should the Crowd expect to know
Why this Man's High, or t'other Low?
Why publick Merit's priz'd so little,
And private P---s swell big with Title?
Runs strangely round, we know not how:
For secret Pleasures done the Donor,
Of those kind Favours, Wealth and Honour,
In Royal Eyes seem meritorious,
And often raise Men to be Glorious:
For Services there are sometimes,
That once disclos'd, are constru'd Crimes;
9
But lose their Merit when reveal'd.
Therefore, when 'tis a Prince's Pleasure
That Flatt'rers shall purloin their Treasure,
'Till they have scrap'd huge Sums together,
And climb'd aloft, the Lord knows whither;
How should the Crowd expect to know
Why this Man's High, or t'other Low?
Why publick Merit's priz'd so little,
And private P---s swell big with Title?
How occult Service Favour draws,
Is difficult to learn, because
The Grace by G*d's Vicegerent's shown,
Proves very often like his own:
It passes Human Understanding;
Who 'njoys it, need not fear offending.
For Earthly Kings, like Gods protect,
With saving Grace, their own Elect;
Set them upright, whene'er they stumble,
In Spite of those that grin and grumble.
Is difficult to learn, because
The Grace by G*d's Vicegerent's shown,
Proves very often like his own:
It passes Human Understanding;
Who 'njoys it, need not fear offending.
For Earthly Kings, like Gods protect,
With saving Grace, their own Elect;
10
In Spite of those that grin and grumble.
I read, was pleas'd, found little Harm in't;
For Truth has got a secret Charm in't.
What, tho' 'twas mix'd with some ill Nature;
Without, it would have prov'd no Satyr;
Nor could the one have made such Pother,
Had it not larded been with t'other:
For he that writes in such an Age,
When Parties do for Pow'r engage,
Ought to chuse one Side for the Right,
And then, with all his Wit and Spite,
Blacken and vex the Opposite.
If his Muse breathes no Gall or Hate,
The Fools won't nibble at the Bait:
For one Side's never truly pleas'd,
But when the other's vex'd and teaz'd.
Therefore, whoever handles Quill,
Must rail, or he'd as good sit still;
No Matter whether false or true,
Take Pattern by D--- F---'s Review;
Let it be Scandal, and 'twill do;
For the Low-Church, by that alone,
Gains twenty Owles, to t'other's one.
Scurrility's a useful Trick,
Approv'd by the most Politick.
Fling Dirt enough, and some will stick.
For Truth has got a secret Charm in't.
What, tho' 'twas mix'd with some ill Nature;
Without, it would have prov'd no Satyr;
Nor could the one have made such Pother,
Had it not larded been with t'other:
For he that writes in such an Age,
When Parties do for Pow'r engage,
Ought to chuse one Side for the Right,
And then, with all his Wit and Spite,
Blacken and vex the Opposite.
If his Muse breathes no Gall or Hate,
The Fools won't nibble at the Bait:
For one Side's never truly pleas'd,
But when the other's vex'd and teaz'd.
Therefore, whoever handles Quill,
Must rail, or he'd as good sit still;
11
Take Pattern by D--- F---'s Review;
Let it be Scandal, and 'twill do;
For the Low-Church, by that alone,
Gains twenty Owles, to t'other's one.
Scurrility's a useful Trick,
Approv'd by the most Politick.
Fling Dirt enough, and some will stick.
Scandal's the only Cut-throat Talent
To arm a scribbling Assailant,
And when us'd skilfully and slighly,
Prevails against a Party highly;
And is a sure infernal Knack
To make the brightest Cause look black.
No bridge-fall'n Nose upon a Face,
Can be more plain than is the Case;
For Fools that make the greatest Number,
And are of Human Race, the Lumber,
Are taught to swallow hurtful Lies,
To keep their Faith in Exercise,
That they the better may give Credit,
When Stratagems of State shall need it:
For could the People grow so wise,
As to reject all Falsities,
And credit no Man's Pen or Mouth,
But what should speak or write the Truth,
T---sg---g-Days, within this N---n,
Would not be half so much in Fashion;
For all those Deeds that make a Bluster,
Set off with so much artful Lustre,
Would in a little Time become
Dull as the Fables of Tom Thumb.
To arm a scribbling Assailant,
And when us'd skilfully and slighly,
Prevails against a Party highly;
And is a sure infernal Knack
To make the brightest Cause look black.
No bridge-fall'n Nose upon a Face,
Can be more plain than is the Case;
For Fools that make the greatest Number,
And are of Human Race, the Lumber,
12
To keep their Faith in Exercise,
That they the better may give Credit,
When Stratagems of State shall need it:
For could the People grow so wise,
As to reject all Falsities,
And credit no Man's Pen or Mouth,
But what should speak or write the Truth,
T---sg---g-Days, within this N---n,
Would not be half so much in Fashion;
For all those Deeds that make a Bluster,
Set off with so much artful Lustre,
Would in a little Time become
Dull as the Fables of Tom Thumb.
The Low-Church, that disdains a Steple,
Must preach new Doctrine to their People:
Yet, should there be allow'd no Teaching,
But Truth, I doubt 'twould spoil their Preaching.
Should such good Times befal this Land,
That Truth should get the upper Hand;
What would those Low-Church Champions do,
The Observator and Review?
For could their Talent be forsaken,
And they write Truth to save their Bacon;
The wiser Sort would still deceive 'em,
And none but Blockheads, sure, believe 'em;
Because a common Lyar's Mouth
Is even scandalous to Truth;
And Malice, when it's once detected,
Always makes Evidence suspected.
Must preach new Doctrine to their People:
Yet, should there be allow'd no Teaching,
But Truth, I doubt 'twould spoil their Preaching.
13
That Truth should get the upper Hand;
What would those Low-Church Champions do,
The Observator and Review?
For could their Talent be forsaken,
And they write Truth to save their Bacon;
The wiser Sort would still deceive 'em,
And none but Blockheads, sure, believe 'em;
Because a common Lyar's Mouth
Is even scandalous to Truth;
And Malice, when it's once detected,
Always makes Evidence suspected.
Now to the Bugbear Book again,
That puts the Whigs in so much Pain:
I conn'd o'er all this famous Piece,
That so disturb'd old Calvin's Geese;
And all the Fault they can insist on,
Is, it's too true to make a Jest on.
As for my part, I must confess,
It is, if I may've Leave to guess,
An honest High-Church Book of Merit,
Tho' written with a Low-Church Spirit:
That here and there a sharp Reflexion
May seem to some, ill-natur'd Fiction,
Tho' true beyond all Contradiction.
So that to me this Tell-troth Book
Does like a High-Church Bishop look,
Disguis'd in a Geneva-Cloak:
For who, that knew not Trusty's Face,
Would judge him honest by his Dress,
Since the worst K---ves that Earth can bear,
The very same Apparel wear?
However, 'tis no Shame to use
A Weapon which our Foes first chuse,
Or to return, when once assaulted,
That Dirt with which we first were paulted.
Therefore our Champion's in the Right on't,
To make so bold a Hompush Fight on't;
And to our restless Foes chastise,
With their own Cudgels, all but Lies:
Such Ammunition, 'tis agreed on,
An honest Cause has seldom Need on;
But can with Truth it self defend,
Which always conquers in the End;
That makes our L---n, as they call it,
Knock down our Foes, like any Mallet:
For always, when the Truth appears,
The lying Faction hang their Ears,
And cannot for their Lives, we see,
Withstand the Force of Verity;
But like to Snails, draw in their Horns,
When naked Truth but grins and turns.
So whist'ling Curs, that hate a bigger,
At Mastiff's Heels will shew their Vigor;
But when he turns, they dread his Pow'r,
And, frighted at his Aspect, scow'r;
Or else wag Tail, submit, and fawn,
And tarry to be piss'd upon.
That puts the Whigs in so much Pain:
I conn'd o'er all this famous Piece,
That so disturb'd old Calvin's Geese;
And all the Fault they can insist on,
Is, it's too true to make a Jest on.
14
It is, if I may've Leave to guess,
An honest High-Church Book of Merit,
Tho' written with a Low-Church Spirit:
That here and there a sharp Reflexion
May seem to some, ill-natur'd Fiction,
Tho' true beyond all Contradiction.
So that to me this Tell-troth Book
Does like a High-Church Bishop look,
Disguis'd in a Geneva-Cloak:
For who, that knew not Trusty's Face,
Would judge him honest by his Dress,
Since the worst K---ves that Earth can bear,
The very same Apparel wear?
However, 'tis no Shame to use
A Weapon which our Foes first chuse,
Or to return, when once assaulted,
That Dirt with which we first were paulted.
Therefore our Champion's in the Right on't,
To make so bold a Hompush Fight on't;
15
With their own Cudgels, all but Lies:
Such Ammunition, 'tis agreed on,
An honest Cause has seldom Need on;
But can with Truth it self defend,
Which always conquers in the End;
That makes our L---n, as they call it,
Knock down our Foes, like any Mallet:
For always, when the Truth appears,
The lying Faction hang their Ears,
And cannot for their Lives, we see,
Withstand the Force of Verity;
But like to Snails, draw in their Horns,
When naked Truth but grins and turns.
So whist'ling Curs, that hate a bigger,
At Mastiff's Heels will shew their Vigor;
But when he turns, they dread his Pow'r,
And, frighted at his Aspect, scow'r;
Or else wag Tail, submit, and fawn,
And tarry to be piss'd upon.
16
Thus W---gs, in Time of Toleration,
Bark at the Justice of the Nation:
But when th'unbridl'd Laws, with Scorn,
One persecuting Look return,
Curbing their Tongues, they cease to grumble,
And all subscribe, Your very Humble.
Bark at the Justice of the Nation:
But when th'unbridl'd Laws, with Scorn,
One persecuting Look return,
Curbing their Tongues, they cease to grumble,
And all subscribe, Your very Humble.
Having spent so much precious Time
In High-Church Prose, and Low-Church Rime,
'Till my Brains almost were confounded
Betwixt the Cavalier and Roundhead;
My Fancy spurr'd me to be jogging
To th'Flask, the Flaggon, or the Noggin:
So I rais'd Bum from Turky-Leather,
To strole I did not well know whither;
Leaving whole Piles of Whiggish Nonsense,
To be directed by my own Sense.
In High-Church Prose, and Low-Church Rime,
'Till my Brains almost were confounded
Betwixt the Cavalier and Roundhead;
My Fancy spurr'd me to be jogging
To th'Flask, the Flaggon, or the Noggin:
So I rais'd Bum from Turky-Leather,
To strole I did not well know whither;
Leaving whole Piles of Whiggish Nonsense,
To be directed by my own Sense.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |