Samuel Butler: Hudibras Written in the time of the late wars: The text edited by A. R. Waller |
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CANTO I.
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 | Samuel Butler: Hudibras |  |
CANTO I.
But now t'observe Romantique method
Let rusty Steel a while be sheathed;
And all those harsh and rugged sounds
Of Bastinado's, Cuts, and Wounds
Exchang'd to Love's more gentle stile,
To let our Reader breathe a while:
In which, that we may be as brief as
Is possible, by way of Preface.
Is't not enough to make one strange,
That some mens fancies should ne'er change?
But make all people do, and say,
The same things still the self-same way:
Some Writers make all Ladies purloin'd,
And Knights pursuing like a Whirlwind:
Others make all their Knights, in fits
Of Jealousie, to lose their wits;
Till drawing blood o'th' Dames, like Witches,
Th' are forthwith cur'd of their Capriches.
Some always thrive in their Amours,
By pulling Plaisters off their Sores;
As Cripples do to get an Alms,
Just so do they, and win their Dames.
Some force whole Regions, in despight
O'Geography, to change their site:
Make former times shake hands with latter,
And that which was before, come after,
But those that write in Rhime, still make
The one Verse for the others sake:
For, one for Sense, and one for Rhime,
I think's sufficient at one time.
The beginning of this Second Part may perhaps seem strange and abrupt to those who do not know, that it was written of purpose, in imitation of Virgil, who begins the IV Book of his Æneides in the very same manner, At Regina gravi, &c. And this is enough to satisfie the curiosity of those who believe that Invention and Fancy ought to be measur'd (like Cases in Law) by Precedents, or else they are in the power of the Critick.
Let rusty Steel a while be sheathed;
And all those harsh and rugged sounds
Of Bastinado's, Cuts, and Wounds
Exchang'd to Love's more gentle stile,
To let our Reader breathe a while:
In which, that we may be as brief as
Is possible, by way of Preface.
Is't not enough to make one strange,
That some mens fancies should ne'er change?
But make all people do, and say,
The same things still the self-same way:
Some Writers make all Ladies purloin'd,
106
Others make all their Knights, in fits
Of Jealousie, to lose their wits;
Till drawing blood o'th' Dames, like Witches,
Th' are forthwith cur'd of their Capriches.
Some always thrive in their Amours,
By pulling Plaisters off their Sores;
As Cripples do to get an Alms,
Just so do they, and win their Dames.
Some force whole Regions, in despight
O'Geography, to change their site:
Make former times shake hands with latter,
And that which was before, come after,
But those that write in Rhime, still make
The one Verse for the others sake:
For, one for Sense, and one for Rhime,
I think's sufficient at one time.
But we forget in what sad plight
We lately left the Captiv'd Knight,
And pensive Squire both bruis'd in body,
And conjur'd into safe Custody:
Tir'd with Dispute, and speaking Latine,
As well as basting, and Bear-baiting;
And desperate of any course,
To free himself by wit or force.
His onely Solace was, That now
His dog-bolt Fortune was so low:
That either it must quickly end,
Or turn about again, and mend:
In which he found th' event, no less,
Than other times beside his guess;
There is a tall long-sided Dame,
(But wondrous light) ycleped Fame,
That like a thin Camelion Bourds
He[r] self on Air, and eats her words:
Upon her shoulders wings she wears,
Like Hanging-sleeves, lin'd through with Ears,
And Eies, and Tongues, as Poets list,
Made good by deep Mythologist.
With these, she through the Welkin flies,
And sometimes carries Truth, oft Lies;
With Letters hung like Eastern Pidgeons;
And Mercuries of farthest Regions;
Diurnals writ for Regulation
Of Lying, to inform the Nation:
And by their publick use to bring down
The rate of Whetstones in the Kingdom.
About her neck a Pacquet-Male,
Fraught with Advice, some fresh, some stale,
Of Men that walk'd when they were dead,
And Cows of Monsters brought to bed:
Of Hailstones big as Pullets Eggs,
And Puppies whelp'd with twice two legs:
A Blazing-Star seen in the West,
By six or seven Men at least.
Two Trumpets she does sound at once,
But both of clean contrary tones.
But whether both with the same Wind,
Or one before, and one behind,
We know not; only this can tell,
Th' one sounds vilely, th' other well.
And therefore vulgar Authors name
Th' one good, th' other Evil Fame.
We lately left the Captiv'd Knight,
And pensive Squire both bruis'd in body,
And conjur'd into safe Custody:
Tir'd with Dispute, and speaking Latine,
As well as basting, and Bear-baiting;
And desperate of any course,
To free himself by wit or force.
His onely Solace was, That now
His dog-bolt Fortune was so low:
That either it must quickly end,
Or turn about again, and mend:
In which he found th' event, no less,
Than other times beside his guess;
There is a tall long-sided Dame,
(But wondrous light) ycleped Fame,
That like a thin Camelion Bourds
He[r] self on Air, and eats her words:
Upon her shoulders wings she wears,
Like Hanging-sleeves, lin'd through with Ears,
And Eies, and Tongues, as Poets list,
Made good by deep Mythologist.
With these, she through the Welkin flies,
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With Letters hung like Eastern Pidgeons;
And Mercuries of farthest Regions;
Diurnals writ for Regulation
Of Lying, to inform the Nation:
And by their publick use to bring down
The rate of Whetstones in the Kingdom.
About her neck a Pacquet-Male,
Fraught with Advice, some fresh, some stale,
Of Men that walk'd when they were dead,
And Cows of Monsters brought to bed:
Of Hailstones big as Pullets Eggs,
And Puppies whelp'd with twice two legs:
A Blazing-Star seen in the West,
By six or seven Men at least.
Two Trumpets she does sound at once,
But both of clean contrary tones.
But whether both with the same Wind,
Or one before, and one behind,
We know not; only this can tell,
Th' one sounds vilely, th' other well.
And therefore vulgar Authors name
Th' one good, th' other Evil Fame.
This tatling Gossip knew too well,
What mischief Hudibras befel;
And straight the spightful tidings bears,
Of all, to th' unkind Widows Ears.
Democritus ne'er laugh'd so loud
To see Bauds carted through the crowd,
Or Funerals with stately Pomp,
March slowly on in solemn dump;
As she laugh'd out, until her back
As well as sides, was like to crack.
She vow'd she would go see the Sight,
And visit the distressed Knight,
To do the Office of a Neighbor,
And be a Gossip at his Labor:
And from his wooden Jail the Stocks,
To set at large his Fetter-locks,
And by Exchange, Parole, or Ransome,
To free him from th' Inchanted Mansion.
This b'ing resolv'd, she call'd for hood
And Usher, Implements abroad,
Which Ladies wear, beside a slender
Young waiting Damsel to attend her.
All which appearing, on she went,
To find the Knight in Limbo pent:
And 'twas not long before she found
Him, and his stout Squire in the Pound;
Both coupled in Inchanted Tether,
By further Leg behind together:
For as he sate upon his Rump,
His Head like one in doleful dump,
Between his knees, his hands apply'd
Unto his Ears on either side.
And by him, in another hole,
Afflicted Ralpho, Cheek by Joul;
She came upon him in his wooden
Magicians Circle, on the sudden,
As Spirits do t'a Conjurer,
When in their dreadful shapes th' appear.
No sooner did the Knight perceive her,
But straight he fell into a Fever,
Inflam'd all over with disgrace,
To be seen by her in such a place;
Which made him hang the head, and scowl,
And wink and goggle like an Owl,
He felt his Brains begin to swim,
When thus the Dame accosted him;
This place (quoth she) they say's Inchanted,
And with Deli[n]quent Spirits haunted;
That here are ty'd in Chains, and scourg'd,
Until their guilty Crimes be purg'd;
Look, there are two of them appear
Like Persons I have seen somewhere:
Some have mistaken Blocks and Posts,
For Spectres, Apparations, Ghosts
With Sawcer-eyes, and Horns; and some
Have heard the Devil beat a Drum:
But if our Eyes are not false Glasses,
That give a wrong account of Faces;
That Beard and I should be acquainted,
Before 'twas conjur'd and inchanted.
For though it be disfigur'd somewhat,
As if't had lately been in Combat;
It did belong t'a worthy Knight,
Howe'er this Goblin is come by't.
What mischief Hudibras befel;
And straight the spightful tidings bears,
Of all, to th' unkind Widows Ears.
Democritus ne'er laugh'd so loud
To see Bauds carted through the crowd,
Or Funerals with stately Pomp,
March slowly on in solemn dump;
As she laugh'd out, until her back
As well as sides, was like to crack.
She vow'd she would go see the Sight,
And visit the distressed Knight,
To do the Office of a Neighbor,
And be a Gossip at his Labor:
And from his wooden Jail the Stocks,
To set at large his Fetter-locks,
And by Exchange, Parole, or Ransome,
108
This b'ing resolv'd, she call'd for hood
And Usher, Implements abroad,
Which Ladies wear, beside a slender
Young waiting Damsel to attend her.
All which appearing, on she went,
To find the Knight in Limbo pent:
And 'twas not long before she found
Him, and his stout Squire in the Pound;
Both coupled in Inchanted Tether,
By further Leg behind together:
For as he sate upon his Rump,
His Head like one in doleful dump,
Between his knees, his hands apply'd
Unto his Ears on either side.
And by him, in another hole,
Afflicted Ralpho, Cheek by Joul;
She came upon him in his wooden
Magicians Circle, on the sudden,
As Spirits do t'a Conjurer,
When in their dreadful shapes th' appear.
No sooner did the Knight perceive her,
But straight he fell into a Fever,
Inflam'd all over with disgrace,
To be seen by her in such a place;
Which made him hang the head, and scowl,
And wink and goggle like an Owl,
He felt his Brains begin to swim,
When thus the Dame accosted him;
This place (quoth she) they say's Inchanted,
And with Deli[n]quent Spirits haunted;
That here are ty'd in Chains, and scourg'd,
Until their guilty Crimes be purg'd;
Look, there are two of them appear
Like Persons I have seen somewhere:
Some have mistaken Blocks and Posts,
For Spectres, Apparations, Ghosts
With Sawcer-eyes, and Horns; and some
Have heard the Devil beat a Drum:
But if our Eyes are not false Glasses,
109
That Beard and I should be acquainted,
Before 'twas conjur'd and inchanted.
For though it be disfigur'd somewhat,
As if't had lately been in Combat;
It did belong t'a worthy Knight,
Howe'er this Goblin is come by't.
When Hudibras the Lady heard
To take kind notice of his Beard,
And speak with such respect and honor,
Both of the Beard, and the Beard's Owner,
He thought it best to set as good
A face upon it as he cou'd,
And thus he spoke; Lady, your bright
And radiant Eyes are in the right:
The Beard's th' Identique Beard you knew,
The same numerically true:
Nor is it worn by Fiend or Elf,
But its Proprietor himself.
To take kind notice of his Beard,
And speak with such respect and honor,
Both of the Beard, and the Beard's Owner,
He thought it best to set as good
A face upon it as he cou'd,
And thus he spoke; Lady, your bright
And radiant Eyes are in the right:
The Beard's th' Identique Beard you knew,
The same numerically true:
Nor is it worn by Fiend or Elf,
But its Proprietor himself.
Oh Heavens! quoth she, can that be true?
I do begin to fear 'tis you:
Not by your Individual Whiskers,
But by your Dialect and Discourse;
That never spoke to Man or Beast,
In notions vulgarly exprest.
But what malignant Star, alass,
Has brought you both to this sad pass?
I do begin to fear 'tis you:
Not by your Individual Whiskers,
But by your Dialect and Discourse;
That never spoke to Man or Beast,
In notions vulgarly exprest.
But what malignant Star, alass,
Has brought you both to this sad pass?
Quoth he, the fortune of the War,
Which I am less afflicted for,
Than to be seen with Beard and Face,
By you, in such a homely case.
Which I am less afflicted for,
Than to be seen with Beard and Face,
By you, in such a homely case.
Quoth she, Those need not be asham'd,
For being honorably maim'd;
If he that is in battel conquer'd,
Have any Title to his own Beard.
Though yours be sorely lugg'd and torn,
It does your visage more adorn,
Than if 'twere prun'd, and starch'd, and lander'd
And cut square by the Russian Standerd.
A torn Beard's like a tatter'd Ensign,
That's bravest which there are most rents in.
That Petticoat about your Shoulders,
Does not so well become a Soldiers,
And I'm afraid they are worse handled,
Although i'th' reer, your Beard the Van led.
And those uneasie bruises make
My heart for company to ake,
To see so worshipful a friend
I'th' Pillory set, at the wrong end.
For being honorably maim'd;
If he that is in battel conquer'd,
Have any Title to his own Beard.
Though yours be sorely lugg'd and torn,
It does your visage more adorn,
Than if 'twere prun'd, and starch'd, and lander'd
And cut square by the Russian Standerd.
A torn Beard's like a tatter'd Ensign,
110
That Petticoat about your Shoulders,
Does not so well become a Soldiers,
And I'm afraid they are worse handled,
Although i'th' reer, your Beard the Van led.
And those uneasie bruises make
My heart for company to ake,
To see so worshipful a friend
I'th' Pillory set, at the wrong end.
Quoth Hudibras, This thing call'd Pain,
Is (as the Learn'd Stoicks maintain)
Not bad simpliciter, nor good,
But merely as 'tis understood.
Sense is deceitful, and may faign,
As well in counterfeiting pain,
As other gross Phænomena's,
In which it oft mistakes the Case.
But since th' immortal Intellect
(That's free from Error and Defect,
Whose objects still persist the same)
Is free from outward bruise or maim,
Which nought external can expose
To gross material bangs or blows:
It follows, we can ne'er be sure,
Whether we pain or not endure:
And just so far are sore and griev'd,
As by the Fancy is believ'd.
Some have been wounded with conceit,
And dy'd of mere opinion streight.
Others, though wounded sore in reason,
Felt nor contusion nor discretion.
A Saxon Duke did grow so fat,
That Mice, (as Histories relate)
Eat Grots and Labyrinths to dwell in
His Postique parts, without his feeling;
Then how is't possible a kick,
Should e'er reach that way to the quick?
Is (as the Learn'd Stoicks maintain)
Not bad simpliciter, nor good,
But merely as 'tis understood.
Sense is deceitful, and may faign,
As well in counterfeiting pain,
As other gross Phænomena's,
In which it oft mistakes the Case.
But since th' immortal Intellect
(That's free from Error and Defect,
Whose objects still persist the same)
Is free from outward bruise or maim,
Which nought external can expose
To gross material bangs or blows:
It follows, we can ne'er be sure,
Whether we pain or not endure:
And just so far are sore and griev'd,
As by the Fancy is believ'd.
Some have been wounded with conceit,
And dy'd of mere opinion streight.
Others, though wounded sore in reason,
Felt nor contusion nor discretion.
A Saxon Duke did grow so fat,
That Mice, (as Histories relate)
Eat Grots and Labyrinths to dwell in
His Postique parts, without his feeling;
Then how is't possible a kick,
Should e'er reach that way to the quick?
Quoth she, I grant it is in vain,
For one that's basted, to feel pain;
Because the Pangs his bones endure,
Contribute nothing to the Cure:
Yet Honor hurt, is wont to rage
With Pain no Med'cine can assuage.
For one that's basted, to feel pain;
Because the Pangs his bones endure,
111
Yet Honor hurt, is wont to rage
With Pain no Med'cine can assuage.
Quoth he, That Honor's very squeemish
That takes a basting for a blemish:
For what's more honorable than scars,
Or skin to tatters rent in Wars?
Some have been beaten till they know
What Wood a Cudgel's of by th' blow;
Some kick'd, until they can feel whether
A Shooe be Spanish or Neats-Leather:
And yet have met, after long running,
With some whom they have taught that cunning,
The furthest way about, t'o'ercome,
I'th' end does prove th' nearest home;
By Laws of Learned Duellists,
They that are bruis'd with Wood, or Fists,
And think one beating may for once
Suffice, are Cowards, and Pultroons:
But if they dare engage t'a second,
They're stout and gallant fellows reckon'd.
Th' old Romans, freedom did bestow;
Our Princes worship, with a blow:
King Pyrrhus cur'd his splenetick
And testy Courtiers with a kick.
The Negus, when some mighty Lord,
Or Potentate's to be restor'd
And Pardon'd for some great offence
With which he's willing to dispence:
First has him laid upon his Belly,
Then beaten back, and side, t'a Jelly,
That done, he rises, humbly bows,
And gives thanks for the gracious blows;
Departs not meanly proud, and boasting,
Of his magnificent Rib-roasting.
The beaten Soldier, proves most manful,
That like his Sword, endures the Anvile:
And justly's held more formidable,
The more his Valor's malleable.
But he that fears a Bastinado,
Will run away from his own shadow.
And though I'm now in durance fast,
By our own Party basely cast,
Ransome, Exchange, Parole, refus'd,
And worse than by th' Enemy us'd;
In close Catasta shut, past hope
Of Wit, or Valor, to elope.
As Beards, the nearer that they tend
To th' Earth, still grow more reverend:
And Cannons shoot the higher pitches,
The lower we let down their Breeches:
I'll make this low dejected fate
Advance me to a greater height.
That takes a basting for a blemish:
For what's more honorable than scars,
Or skin to tatters rent in Wars?
Some have been beaten till they know
What Wood a Cudgel's of by th' blow;
Some kick'd, until they can feel whether
A Shooe be Spanish or Neats-Leather:
And yet have met, after long running,
With some whom they have taught that cunning,
The furthest way about, t'o'ercome,
I'th' end does prove th' nearest home;
By Laws of Learned Duellists,
They that are bruis'd with Wood, or Fists,
And think one beating may for once
Suffice, are Cowards, and Pultroons:
But if they dare engage t'a second,
They're stout and gallant fellows reckon'd.
Th' old Romans, freedom did bestow;
Our Princes worship, with a blow:
King Pyrrhus cur'd his splenetick
And testy Courtiers with a kick.
The Negus, when some mighty Lord,
Or Potentate's to be restor'd
And Pardon'd for some great offence
With which he's willing to dispence:
First has him laid upon his Belly,
Then beaten back, and side, t'a Jelly,
That done, he rises, humbly bows,
And gives thanks for the gracious blows;
Departs not meanly proud, and boasting,
Of his magnificent Rib-roasting.
The beaten Soldier, proves most manful,
That like his Sword, endures the Anvile:
And justly's held more formidable,
The more his Valor's malleable.
But he that fears a Bastinado,
112
And though I'm now in durance fast,
By our own Party basely cast,
Ransome, Exchange, Parole, refus'd,
And worse than by th' Enemy us'd;
In close Catasta shut, past hope
Of Wit, or Valor, to elope.
As Beards, the nearer that they tend
To th' Earth, still grow more reverend:
And Cannons shoot the higher pitches,
The lower we let down their Breeches:
I'll make this low dejected fate
Advance me to a greater height.
Quoth she, Y've almost made m'in Love
With that which did my pity move:
Great Wits, and Valors, like great States,
Do sometimes sink with their own weights:
The extreams of Glory, and of Shame,
Like East and West, become the same:
No Indian Prince has to his Palace
More follow'rs than a Thief to th' Gallows.
But if a beating seem so brave,
What Glories must a whipping have?
Such great Atchievements cannot fail,
To cast Salt on a Womans Tail,
For if I thought your nat'ral Talent
Of Passive Courage, were so Gallant;
As you strain hard to have it thought,
I could grow amorous, and dote.
With that which did my pity move:
Great Wits, and Valors, like great States,
Do sometimes sink with their own weights:
The extreams of Glory, and of Shame,
Like East and West, become the same:
No Indian Prince has to his Palace
More follow'rs than a Thief to th' Gallows.
But if a beating seem so brave,
What Glories must a whipping have?
Such great Atchievements cannot fail,
To cast Salt on a Womans Tail,
For if I thought your nat'ral Talent
Of Passive Courage, were so Gallant;
As you strain hard to have it thought,
I could grow amorous, and dote.
When Hudibras this language heard,
He prick'd up's ears, and strok'd his Beard:
Thought he, this is the Lucky hour,
Wines work, when Vines are in the flower;
This Crisis then I'll set my rest on,
And put her boldly to the Question.
He prick'd up's ears, and strok'd his Beard:
Thought he, this is the Lucky hour,
Wines work, when Vines are in the flower;
This Crisis then I'll set my rest on,
And put her boldly to the Question.
Madam, what you would seem to doubt,
Shall be to all the world made out,
How I've been Drubb'd, and with what Spirit,
And Magnanimity, I bear it;
And if you doubt it to be true,
I'll stake my self down against you:
And if I fail in Love or Troth,
Be you the Winner, and take both.
Shall be to all the world made out,
How I've been Drubb'd, and with what Spirit,
And Magnanimity, I bear it;
And if you doubt it to be true,
113
And if I fail in Love or Troth,
Be you the Winner, and take both.
Quoth she, I've heard old cunning Stagers
Say, Fools for Arguments use wagers.
And though I prais'd your Valor, yet
I did not mean to baulk your Wit,
Which if you have, you must needs know
What, I have told you before now,
And you b'experiment have prov'd,
I cannot Love where I'm belov'd.
Say, Fools for Arguments use wagers.
And though I prais'd your Valor, yet
I did not mean to baulk your Wit,
Which if you have, you must needs know
What, I have told you before now,
And you b'experiment have prov'd,
I cannot Love where I'm belov'd.
Quoth Hudibras, 'tis a Caprich
Beyond th' infliction of a Witch;
So Cheats to play with those still aim,
That do not understand the Game.
Love in your heart as idly burns,
As Fire in antique Roman-Urns,
To warm the Dead, and vainly light
Those only, that see nothing by't.
Have you not power to entertain,
And render Love for Love again?
As no man can draw in his breath,
At once, and force out Air beneath?
Or do you love your self so much,
To bear all Rivals else a Grutch?
What Fate can lay a greater Curse,
Than you upon your self would force;
For Wedlock without love, some say,
Is but a Lock without a Key.
It is a kind of Rape to Marry
One, that neglects, or cares not for ye:
For, what does make it Ravishment,
But b'ing against the Mind's Consent?
A Rape, that is the more inhumane,
For being acted by a Woman,
Why are you fair, but to entice us
To love you, that you may despise us?
But though you cannot love, you say,
Out of your own Fanatique way,
Why should you not, at least, allow,
Those that love you, to do so too:
For, as you fly me, and pursue
Love more averse, so I do you:
And am by your own Doctrine taught,
To practise what you call a fault.
Beyond th' infliction of a Witch;
So Cheats to play with those still aim,
That do not understand the Game.
Love in your heart as idly burns,
As Fire in antique Roman-Urns,
To warm the Dead, and vainly light
Those only, that see nothing by't.
Have you not power to entertain,
And render Love for Love again?
As no man can draw in his breath,
At once, and force out Air beneath?
Or do you love your self so much,
To bear all Rivals else a Grutch?
What Fate can lay a greater Curse,
Than you upon your self would force;
For Wedlock without love, some say,
Is but a Lock without a Key.
It is a kind of Rape to Marry
One, that neglects, or cares not for ye:
For, what does make it Ravishment,
But b'ing against the Mind's Consent?
A Rape, that is the more inhumane,
For being acted by a Woman,
Why are you fair, but to entice us
To love you, that you may despise us?
But though you cannot love, you say,
Out of your own Fanatique way,
Why should you not, at least, allow,
114
For, as you fly me, and pursue
Love more averse, so I do you:
And am by your own Doctrine taught,
To practise what you call a fault.
Quoth she, If what you say be true,
You must fly me, as I do you,
But 'tis not what we do, but say,
In Love and Preaching, that must sway.
You must fly me, as I do you,
But 'tis not what we do, but say,
In Love and Preaching, that must sway.
Quoth he, to bid me not to love,
Is to forbid my Pulse to move,
My Beard to grow, my Ears to prick up,
Or (when I'm in a fit) to hickup:
Command me to piss out the Moon,
And 'twill as easily be done.
Loves power's too great to be withstood
By feeble humane [fl]esh and blood.
'Twas he, that brought upon his knees
The Hect'ring Kill-Cow Hercules;
Reduc'd his Leager-lions skins
T'a Petticoat, and made him spin:
Seiz'd on his Club, and made it dwindle
T'a feeble Distaff, and a Spindle.
'Twas he made Emperors Gallants
To their own Sisters, and their Aunts;
Set Popes, and Cardinals agog
To play with Pages at Leap-frog;
'Twas he that gave our Senate purges,
And fluxt the House of many a Burgess;
Made those that represent the Nation
Submit, and suffer amputation:
And all the Grandees o'th' Cabal,
Adjourn to Tubs, at spring and fall.
He mounted Synod-men and rode 'em
To Durty-lane, and little Sodom;
Made 'em Corvett, like Spanish Jenets,
And take the Ring at Madam—
'Twas he that made Saint Francis do
More than the Devil could tempt him [to];
In cold and frosty weather grow
Enamor'd of a Wife of Snow;
And though she were of rigid temper,
With melting flames accost and tempt her:
Which after in enjoyment quenching,
He hung a Garland on his Engine.
Is to forbid my Pulse to move,
My Beard to grow, my Ears to prick up,
Or (when I'm in a fit) to hickup:
Command me to piss out the Moon,
And 'twill as easily be done.
Loves power's too great to be withstood
By feeble humane [fl]esh and blood.
'Twas he, that brought upon his knees
The Hect'ring Kill-Cow Hercules;
Reduc'd his Leager-lions skins
T'a Petticoat, and made him spin:
Seiz'd on his Club, and made it dwindle
T'a feeble Distaff, and a Spindle.
'Twas he made Emperors Gallants
To their own Sisters, and their Aunts;
Set Popes, and Cardinals agog
To play with Pages at Leap-frog;
'Twas he that gave our Senate purges,
And fluxt the House of many a Burgess;
Made those that represent the Nation
Submit, and suffer amputation:
And all the Grandees o'th' Cabal,
Adjourn to Tubs, at spring and fall.
He mounted Synod-men and rode 'em
To Durty-lane, and little Sodom;
Made 'em Corvett, like Spanish Jenets,
And take the Ring at Madam—
'Twas he that made Saint Francis do
The antient Writers of the Lives of Saints, were of the same sort of People, who first writ of Knight-Errantry, and as in the one, they rendred the brave Actions of some very great Persons ridiculous, by their prodigious Lies, and sottish way of describing them: So they have abus'd the Piety of some very devout Persons, by imposing such stories upon them, as this upon St. Francis.
More than the Devil could tempt him [to];
In cold and frosty weather grow
115
And though she were of rigid temper,
With melting flames accost and tempt her:
Which after in enjoyment quenching,
He hung a Garland on his Engine.
Quoth she, if Love have these effects,
Why is it not forbid our Sex?
Why is't not damn'd, and interdicted,
For Diabolical and wicked?
And song, as out of tune, against,
As Turk and Pope are by the Saints?
I find, I've greater reason for it,
Than I believ'd before t'abhor it.
Why is it not forbid our Sex?
Why is't not damn'd, and interdicted,
For Diabolical and wicked?
And song, as out of tune, against,
As Turk and Pope are by the Saints?
I find, I've greater reason for it,
Than I believ'd before t'abhor it.
Quoth Hudibras, These sad effects
Spring from your Heathenish neglects
Of Love's great pow'r, which he returns
Upon your selves with equal scorns;
And those who worthy Love[rs] slight,
Plague's with prepost'rous appetite;
This made the beautious Queen of Crete
To take a Town-Bull for her Sweet;
And from her greatness stoop so low,
To be the Rival of a Cow.
Others to prostitute their great Hearts,
To be Baboons, and Monkeys Sweet-hearts.
Some with the Dev'l himself in League grow
By's Representative a Negro,
'Twas this made Vestal-Maids love-sick,
And venture to be bury'd Quick.
Some by their Fathers and their Brothers,
To be made Mistrisses, and Mothers:
'Tis this that Proudest Dames enamors
On Lacquies, and Varlets des-Chambres
Their haughty Stomachs overcomes,
And makes 'em stoop to Durty Grooms,
To slight the World, and to disparage
Claps, Issue, Infamy, and Marriage.
Spring from your Heathenish neglects
Of Love's great pow'r, which he returns
Upon your selves with equal scorns;
And those who worthy Love[rs] slight,
Plague's with prepost'rous appetite;
This made the beautious Queen of Crete
To take a Town-Bull for her Sweet;
And from her greatness stoop so low,
To be the Rival of a Cow.
Others to prostitute their great Hearts,
To be Baboons, and Monkeys Sweet-hearts.
Some with the Dev'l himself in League grow
By's Representative a Negro,
'Twas this made Vestal-Maids love-sick,
And venture to be bury'd Quick.
Some by their Fathers and their Brothers,
To be made Mistrisses, and Mothers:
'Tis this that Proudest Dames enamors
On Lacquies, and Varlets des-Chambres
Their haughty Stomachs overcomes,
And makes 'em stoop to Durty Grooms,
To slight the World, and to disparage
Claps, Issue, Infamy, and Marriage.
Quoth she, these Judgements are severe,
Yet such, as I should rather bear,
Than trust men with their Oaths, or prove
Their faith, and secresie in love.
Says he, There is as weighty reason,
For Secresie in Love as Treason.
Love is a Burglarer, a Felon,
That at the Windore-eie does steal in
To rob the Heart, and with his prey
Steals out again a closer way,
Which whosoever can discover,
He's sure (as he deserves) to suffer.
Love is a fire, that burns and sparkles,
In Men, as nat'rally as in Char-coals,
Which sooty Chymists stop in holes,
When out of Wood, they extract Coles;
So Lovers, should their Passions choak,
That though they burn, they may not smoak.
'Tis like that sturdy Thief that stole,
And drag'd Beasts backwards, into's hole:
So Love does Lovers; and us Men
Draws by the Tails into his Den;
That no impression may discover,
And trace t'his Cave, the wary Lover.
But if you doubt I should reveal
What you entrust me under Seal,
I'll prove my self as close and virtuous,
As, your own Secretary, Albertus.
Yet such, as I should rather bear,
Than trust men with their Oaths, or prove
116
Says he, There is as weighty reason,
For Secresie in Love as Treason.
Love is a Burglarer, a Felon,
That at the Windore-eie does steal in
To rob the Heart, and with his prey
Steals out again a closer way,
Which whosoever can discover,
He's sure (as he deserves) to suffer.
Love is a fire, that burns and sparkles,
In Men, as nat'rally as in Char-coals,
Which sooty Chymists stop in holes,
When out of Wood, they extract Coles;
So Lovers, should their Passions choak,
That though they burn, they may not smoak.
'Tis like that sturdy Thief that stole,
And drag'd Beasts backwards, into's hole:
So Love does Lovers; and us Men
Draws by the Tails into his Den;
That no impression may discover,
And trace t'his Cave, the wary Lover.
But if you doubt I should reveal
What you entrust me under Seal,
I'll prove my self as close and virtuous,
As, your own Secretary, Albertus.
Quoth she, I grant you may be close
In hiding what your aims propose:
Love-Passions are like Parables,
By which men still mean something else:
Though Love be all the worlds pretence,
Mony's the Mythologic fence,
The real substance of the shadow,
Which all Address and Courtship's made to.
In hiding what your aims propose:
Love-Passions are like Parables,
By which men still mean something else:
Though Love be all the worlds pretence,
Mony's the Mythologic fence,
The real substance of the shadow,
Which all Address and Courtship's made to.
Thought he, I understand your Play,
And how to quit you your own way;
He that will win his Dame, must do,
As Love do's, when he bends his Bow:
With the one hand thrust the Lady from,
And with the other pull her home.
I grant, quoth he, Wealth is a great
Provocative, to am'rous heat;
It is all Philters, and high Diet
That makes Love Rampant, and to fly out:
'Tis Beauty always in the Flower,
That buds and blossoms at fourscore:
'Tis that by which the Sun and Moon,
At their own weapons are out-done;
That makes Knights Errant fall in trances,
And lay about 'em in Romances.
'Tis Virtue, Wit, and Worth, and all
That Men Divine and Sacred call.
For what is Worth in any thing,
But so much Money as 'twill bring?
Or what but Riches is there known,
Which man can solely call his own;
In which, no Creature goes his half,
Unless it be to squint and laugh?
I do confess, with Goods and Land,
I'd have a Wife, at second hand;
And such you are: Nor is't your person,
My stomach's set so sharp, and fierce on,
But 'tis (your better part) your Riches,
That my enamor'd heart bewitches;
Let me your fortune but possess,
And settle your person how you please:
Or make it o'er in trust to th' Devil,
You'l find me reasonable and civil.
And how to quit you your own way;
He that will win his Dame, must do,
As Love do's, when he bends his Bow:
With the one hand thrust the Lady from,
And with the other pull her home.
I grant, quoth he, Wealth is a great
117
It is all Philters, and high Diet
That makes Love Rampant, and to fly out:
'Tis Beauty always in the Flower,
That buds and blossoms at fourscore:
'Tis that by which the Sun and Moon,
At their own weapons are out-done;
That makes Knights Errant fall in trances,
And lay about 'em in Romances.
'Tis Virtue, Wit, and Worth, and all
That Men Divine and Sacred call.
For what is Worth in any thing,
But so much Money as 'twill bring?
Or what but Riches is there known,
Which man can solely call his own;
In which, no Creature goes his half,
Unless it be to squint and laugh?
I do confess, with Goods and Land,
I'd have a Wife, at second hand;
And such you are: Nor is't your person,
My stomach's set so sharp, and fierce on,
But 'tis (your better part) your Riches,
That my enamor'd heart bewitches;
Let me your fortune but possess,
And settle your person how you please:
Or make it o'er in trust to th' Devil,
You'l find me reasonable and civil.
Quoth she, I like this plainness better
Than false Mock-Passion, Speech, or Letter,
Or any feat of qualm or sowning,
But hanging of your self, or drowning;
Your onely way with me, to break
Your mind, is breaking of your Neck:
For as when Merchants break, o'erthrown
Like Nine-Pins, they strike others down;
So, that would break my heart, which done,
My tempting fortune is your own.
These are but trifles, ev'ry Lover
Will damn himself, over and over,
And greater matters undertake,
For a less worthy Mistriss sake:
Yet th' are the onely ways to prove
The unfeign'd realities of Love;
For he that hangs, or beats out's brains,
The Devils in him if he feigns.
Than false Mock-Passion, Speech, or Letter,
Or any feat of qualm or sowning,
But hanging of your self, or drowning;
Your onely way with me, to break
Your mind, is breaking of your Neck:
For as when Merchants break, o'erthrown
Like Nine-Pins, they strike others down;
So, that would break my heart, which done,
My tempting fortune is your own.
These are but trifles, ev'ry Lover
Will damn himself, over and over,
And greater matters undertake,
118
Yet th' are the onely ways to prove
The unfeign'd realities of Love;
For he that hangs, or beats out's brains,
The Devils in him if he feigns.
Quoth Hudibras, this way's too rough,
For mere experiment, and proof;
It is no jesting, trivial matter,
To swing in th' Air, or plunge in Water,
And like a Water-witch, try love.
That's to destroy, and not to prove:
As if a man should be dissected,
To find what part is disaffected:
Your better way is to make over,
In Trust, your fortune to your Lover;
Trust is a Tryal, if it break,
'Tis not so desp'rate as a Neck:
Beside, th' experiment's more certain,
Men venture Necks to gain a Fortune;
The Soldier do's it ev'ry day
(Eight to the week) for sixpence pay:
Your Pettifoggers damn their Souls,
To share with Knaves in Cheating Fools:
And Merchants vent'ring through the Main,
Slight Pirats, Rocks, and Horns for gain.
This is the way I advise you to,
Trust me, and see what I will do.
For mere experiment, and proof;
It is no jesting, trivial matter,
To swing in th' Air, or plunge in Water,
And like a Water-witch, try love.
That's to destroy, and not to prove:
As if a man should be dissected,
To find what part is disaffected:
Your better way is to make over,
In Trust, your fortune to your Lover;
Trust is a Tryal, if it break,
'Tis not so desp'rate as a Neck:
Beside, th' experiment's more certain,
Men venture Necks to gain a Fortune;
The Soldier do's it ev'ry day
(Eight to the week) for sixpence pay:
Your Pettifoggers damn their Souls,
To share with Knaves in Cheating Fools:
And Merchants vent'ring through the Main,
Slight Pirats, Rocks, and Horns for gain.
This is the way I advise you to,
Trust me, and see what I will do.
Quoth she, I should be loath to run
My self all th' hazard, and you none.
Which must be done, unless some deed
Of yours, aforesaid do precede;
Give but your self one gentle swing,
For tryal, and I'll cut the string:
Or give that Reverend Head, a maul,
Or two, or three, against a Wall;
To shew you are a man of mettle,
And I'll engage my self, to settle.
My self all th' hazard, and you none.
Which must be done, unless some deed
Of yours, aforesaid do precede;
Give but your self one gentle swing,
For tryal, and I'll cut the string:
Or give that Reverend Head, a maul,
Or two, or three, against a Wall;
To shew you are a man of mettle,
And I'll engage my self, to settle.
Quoth he, my Head's not made of brass,
As Frier Bacon's noddle was:
Nor (like the Indian's scull) so tough,
That Authors say, 'twas Musket-proof:
As it had need to be to enter,
As yet, on any new Adventure;
You see what bangs it has endur'd,
That would, before new feats, be cur'd:
But if that's all you stand upon;
Here, strike me luck, it shall be done.
As Frier Bacon's noddle was:
The Tradition of Frier Bacon and the Brazen-Head, is very commonly known, and considering the times he liv'd in, is not much more strange then what another great Philosopher of his Name, has since deliver'd up of a Ring, that being ty'd in a string, and held like a Pendulum in the middle of a Silver Bowl, will vibrate of it self, and tell exactly against the sides of the Divining Cup, the same thing with, Time is, Time was, &c.
Nor (like the Indian's scull) so tough,
119
As it had need to be to enter,
As yet, on any new Adventure;
You see what bangs it has endur'd,
That would, before new feats, be cur'd:
But if that's all you stand upon;
Here, strike me luck, it shall be done.
Quoth she, The matter's not so far gone
As you suppose, Two words t'a Bargain,
That may be done, and time enough,
When you have given down-right proof:
And yet 'tis no Fantastick pike,
I have to love, nor coy dislike;
'Tis no implicite, nice Aversion
T'your Conversation, Meen, or Person:
But a just fear, lest you should prove,
False, and perfidious in Love;
For if I thought you could be true,
I could love twice as much as you.
As you suppose, Two words t'a Bargain,
That may be done, and time enough,
When you have given down-right proof:
And yet 'tis no Fantastick pike,
I have to love, nor coy dislike;
'Tis no implicite, nice Aversion
T'your Conversation, Meen, or Person:
But a just fear, lest you should prove,
False, and perfidious in Love;
For if I thought you could be true,
I could love twice as much as you.
Quoth he, My faith as Adamantine
As Chains of Destiny, I'll maintain;
True as Apollo ever spoke,
Or Oracle from heart of Oak.
And if you'll give my flame but vent,
Now in close hugger-mugger pent,
And shine upon me but benignly,
With that one, and that other Pigsny,
The Sun and Day shall sooner part,
Than Love, or you, shake off my heart.
The Sun that shall no more dispence
His own, but your bright influence;
I'll carve your name on Barks of Trees,
With True-loves knots, and Flourishes;
That shall infuse eternal spring,
And everlasting flourishing:
Drink every Letter on't, in Stum;
And make it brisk Champaign become;
Where e'er you tread, your foot shall set
The Primrose and the Violet;
All Spices, Perfumes, and sweet Powders,
Shall borrow from your breath their Odors;
Nature her Charter shall renew,
And take all lives of things from you;
The World depend upon your Eye,
And when you frown upon it, die.
Only our loves shall still survive,
New Worlds and Natures to out-live;
And, like to Heralds Moons, remain
All Crescents, without change or wane.
As Chains of Destiny, I'll maintain;
True as Apollo ever spoke,
Or Oracle from heart of Oak.
And if you'll give my flame but vent,
Now in close hugger-mugger pent,
And shine upon me but benignly,
With that one, and that other Pigsny,
The Sun and Day shall sooner part,
Than Love, or you, shake off my heart.
The Sun that shall no more dispence
His own, but your bright influence;
I'll carve your name on Barks of Trees,
With True-loves knots, and Flourishes;
That shall infuse eternal spring,
And everlasting flourishing:
Drink every Letter on't, in Stum;
And make it brisk Champaign become;
Where e'er you tread, your foot shall set
The Primrose and the Violet;
All Spices, Perfumes, and sweet Powders,
120
Nature her Charter shall renew,
And take all lives of things from you;
The World depend upon your Eye,
And when you frown upon it, die.
Only our loves shall still survive,
New Worlds and Natures to out-live;
And, like to Heralds Moons, remain
All Crescents, without change or wane.
Hold, hold, quoth she, no more of this,
Sir Knight, you take your aim amiss;
For you will find it a hard Chapter,
To catch me with Poetique Rapture,
In which your Mastery of Art
Doth shew it self and not your Heart;
Nor will you raise in mine combustion,
By dint of high Heroick fustion:
She that with Poetry is won,
Is but a Desk to write upon;
And what men say of her, they mean,
No more than that on which they lean.
Some with Arabian Spices strive
To embalm her cruelly alive;
Or season her, as French Cooks use
Their Haut-gusts, Buollies, or Ragusts;
Use her so barbarously ill,
To grind her Lips upon a Mill,
Until the Facet Doublet doth
Fit their Rhimes rather than her mouth;
Her mouth compar'd t'an Oyster's, with
A row of Pearl in't, stead of Teeth;
Others, make Posies of her Cheeks,
Where red, and whitest colors mix;
In which the Lily, and the Rose
For Indian Lake, and Ceruse goes.
The Sun, and Moon, by her bright eyes,
Eclips'd, and darkn'd in the Skies;
Are but Black-patches that she wears,
Cut into Suns, and Moons, and Stars,
By which Astrologers, as well
As those in Heav'n above, can tell
What strange Events they do foreshow
Unto her Under-world below.
Her Voice the Musick of the Spheres,
So loud it deafens mortal ears;
As wise Philosophers have thought,
And that's the cause we hear it not.
This has been done by some, who those
Th' ador'd in Rhime, would kick in Prose;
And in those Ribbins would have hung,
Of which melodiously they sung.
That have the hard fate, to write best
Of those still that deserve it least;
It matters not, how false, or forc'd,
So the best things be said o'th' worst;
It goes for nothing when 'tis sed,
Onely the Arrow's drawn to th' head,
Whether it be Swan or Goose
They level at: So Shepherds use
To set the same mark on the hip
Both of their sound and rotten Sheep.
For Wits that carry low or wide,
Must be aim'd higher, or beside,
The mark, which else they ne'er come nigh,
But when they take their aim awry.
But I do wonder you should chuse
This way t'attaque me with your Muse,
As one cut out to pass your tricks on,
With Fulhams of Poetic fiction:
I rather hop'd, I should no more
Hear from you, o'th' Gallanting score:
For hard dry-bastings use to prove
The readiest Remedies of Love,
Next a dry-diet; But if those fail,
Yet this uneasie Loop-hold Jail
In which y'are hamper'd by the fet-lock,
Cannot but put y'in mind of Wedlock:
Wedlock, that's worse than any hole here,
If that may serve you for a Cooler;
T'allay your Mettle, all agog
Upon a Wife, the heavi'r clog.
Nor rather thank your gentle Fate,
That, for a bruis'd or broken Pate,
Has freed you from those knobs, that grow
Much harder, on the Marry'd Brow:
But if no dread can cool your Courage,
From vent'ring on that Dragon, Marriage;
Yet give me Quarter, and advance
To nobler aims, your Puissance:
Level at Beauty, and at Wit,
The fairest mark is easiest hit.
Sir Knight, you take your aim amiss;
For you will find it a hard Chapter,
To catch me with Poetique Rapture,
In which your Mastery of Art
Doth shew it self and not your Heart;
Nor will you raise in mine combustion,
By dint of high Heroick fustion:
She that with Poetry is won,
Is but a Desk to write upon;
And what men say of her, they mean,
No more than that on which they lean.
Some with Arabian Spices strive
To embalm her cruelly alive;
Or season her, as French Cooks use
Their Haut-gusts, Buollies, or Ragusts;
Use her so barbarously ill,
To grind her Lips upon a Mill,
Until the Facet Doublet doth
Fit their Rhimes rather than her mouth;
Her mouth compar'd t'an Oyster's, with
A row of Pearl in't, stead of Teeth;
Others, make Posies of her Cheeks,
Where red, and whitest colors mix;
In which the Lily, and the Rose
For Indian Lake, and Ceruse goes.
The Sun, and Moon, by her bright eyes,
Eclips'd, and darkn'd in the Skies;
Are but Black-patches that she wears,
Cut into Suns, and Moons, and Stars,
By which Astrologers, as well
121
What strange Events they do foreshow
Unto her Under-world below.
Her Voice the Musick of the Spheres,
So loud it deafens mortal ears;
As wise Philosophers have thought,
And that's the cause we hear it not.
This has been done by some, who those
Th' ador'd in Rhime, would kick in Prose;
And in those Ribbins would have hung,
Of which melodiously they sung.
That have the hard fate, to write best
Of those still that deserve it least;
It matters not, how false, or forc'd,
So the best things be said o'th' worst;
It goes for nothing when 'tis sed,
Onely the Arrow's drawn to th' head,
Whether it be Swan or Goose
They level at: So Shepherds use
To set the same mark on the hip
Both of their sound and rotten Sheep.
For Wits that carry low or wide,
Must be aim'd higher, or beside,
The mark, which else they ne'er come nigh,
But when they take their aim awry.
But I do wonder you should chuse
This way t'attaque me with your Muse,
As one cut out to pass your tricks on,
With Fulhams of Poetic fiction:
I rather hop'd, I should no more
Hear from you, o'th' Gallanting score:
For hard dry-bastings use to prove
The readiest Remedies of Love,
Next a dry-diet; But if those fail,
Yet this uneasie Loop-hold Jail
In which y'are hamper'd by the fet-lock,
Cannot but put y'in mind of Wedlock:
Wedlock, that's worse than any hole here,
If that may serve you for a Cooler;
T'allay your Mettle, all agog
122
Nor rather thank your gentle Fate,
That, for a bruis'd or broken Pate,
Has freed you from those knobs, that grow
Much harder, on the Marry'd Brow:
But if no dread can cool your Courage,
From vent'ring on that Dragon, Marriage;
Yet give me Quarter, and advance
To nobler aims, your Puissance:
Level at Beauty, and at Wit,
The fairest mark is easiest hit.
Quoth Hudibras, I'm before-hand
In that already, with your command:
For where does Beauty, and high Wit,
But in your Constellation, meet?
In that already, with your command:
For where does Beauty, and high Wit,
But in your Constellation, meet?
Quoth she, What does a Match imply,
But likeness and equality?
I know you cannot think me fit,
To be th' Yoke-fellow of your Wit:
Nor take one of so mean Deserts,
To be the Partner of your Parts;
A Grace, which if I could believe,
I've not the conscience to receive.
But likeness and equality?
I know you cannot think me fit,
To be th' Yoke-fellow of your Wit:
Nor take one of so mean Deserts,
To be the Partner of your Parts;
A Grace, which if I could believe,
I've not the conscience to receive.
That Conscience, Quoth Hudibras,
Is mis-inform'd; I'll state the Case.
A man may be a Legal Donor
Of any thing whereof he's Owner;
And may confer it where he lists,
I'th' Judgment of all Casuists:
Then Wit, and Parts, and Valor may
Be ali'nated, and made away,
By those that are Prop[r]ietors;
As I may give or sell my Horse.
Is mis-inform'd; I'll state the Case.
A man may be a Legal Donor
Of any thing whereof he's Owner;
And may confer it where he lists,
I'th' Judgment of all Casuists:
Then Wit, and Parts, and Valor may
Be ali'nated, and made away,
By those that are Prop[r]ietors;
As I may give or sell my Horse.
Quoth she, I grant the Case is true,
And proper 'twixt your Horse and you;
But whether I may take, as well
As you may give away, or sell?
Buyers you know are bid beware;
And worse than Thieves Receivers are.
How shall I answer Hue and Cry,
For a Roan-Gelding, twelve hands high:
All spurr'd and switch'd, a Lock on's hoof,
A sorrel-mane? can I bring proof,
Where, when, by whom, and what y'are sold for,
And in the open Market toll'd for?
Or should I take you for a stray,
You must be kept a year and day
(Ere I can own you) here i'th' pound,
Where, if y'are sought, you may be found:
And in the mean time I must pay
For all your Provender and Hay.
And proper 'twixt your Horse and you;
But whether I may take, as well
As you may give away, or sell?
Buyers you know are bid beware;
And worse than Thieves Receivers are.
How shall I answer Hue and Cry,
123
All spurr'd and switch'd, a Lock on's hoof,
A sorrel-mane? can I bring proof,
Where, when, by whom, and what y'are sold for,
And in the open Market toll'd for?
Or should I take you for a stray,
You must be kept a year and day
(Ere I can own you) here i'th' pound,
Where, if y'are sought, you may be found:
And in the mean time I must pay
For all your Provender and Hay.
Quoth he, It stands me much upon
T'enervate this Objection,
And prove my self, by Topic clear,
No Gelding, as you would infer.
Loss of Virilit[y's] averr'd
To be the cause of loss of Beard,
That does (like Embryo in the womb)
Abortive on the Chin become.
This first a Woman did invent,
In envy of Mans ornament.
Semiramis of Babylon,
Who first of all cut men o'th' Stone:
To mar their Beards, and laid foundation
Of Sow-geldering operation.
Look on this Beard, and tell me whether,
Eunuchs [wear] such, or Geldings either.
Next it appears, I am no Horse,
That I can argue, and discourse,
Have but two legs, and ne'er a tail.
T'enervate this Objection,
And prove my self, by Topic clear,
No Gelding, as you would infer.
Loss of Virilit[y's] averr'd
To be the cause of loss of Beard,
That does (like Embryo in the womb)
Abortive on the Chin become.
This first a Woman did invent,
In envy of Mans ornament.
Semiramis of Babylon,
Semiramis, Queen of Assyria, is said to be the first that invented Eunuchs. Semiramis teneros mares castravit omnium Prima. Am. Marcel. L. 14. p. 22. Which is something strange in a Lady of her Constitution, who is said to have receiv'd Horses into her embraces (as another Queen did a Bull) But that perhaps may be the reason, why she after thought Men not worth the while.
Who first of all cut men o'th' Stone:
To mar their Beards, and laid foundation
Of Sow-geldering operation.
Look on this Beard, and tell me whether,
Eunuchs [wear] such, or Geldings either.
Next it appears, I am no Horse,
That I can argue, and discourse,
Have but two legs, and ne'er a tail.
Quoth she, That nothing will avail;
For some Philosophers of late here,
Write, Men have four legs by Nature,
And that 'tis Custom makes them go
Erroneously upon but two;
As 'twas in Germany made good,
B'a Boy, that lost himself in a Wood;
And growing down t'a man, was wont
With Wolves upon all four to hunt.
As for your reasons drawn from tayls,
We cannot say, they 'are true or false,
Till you explain your self, and show,
B'experiment, 'tis so or no.
For some Philosophers of late here,
Write, Men have four legs by Nature,
And that 'tis Custom makes them go
Erroneously upon but two;
As 'twas in Germany made good,
B'a Boy, that lost himself in a Wood;
And growing down t'a man, was wont
With Wolves upon all four to hunt.
As for your reasons drawn from tayls,
124
Till you explain your self, and show,
B'experiment, 'tis so or no.
Quoth he, If you'll join issue ont't,
I'll give you satisfactory account;
So you will promise, if you lose,
To settle all, and be my Spouse.
I'll give you satisfactory account;
So you will promise, if you lose,
To settle all, and be my Spouse.
That never will be done (quoth she)
To one that wants a Tayl, by me:
For Tayls by Natures sure were meant,
As well as Beards, for ornament:
And though the Vulgar count them homely,
In man or beast, they are so comely,
So Gentee, Allamode, and handsom,
I'll never marry man that wants one:
And till you can demonstrate plain
You have one equal to your Mane,
I'll be torn piece-meal by a Horse,
Ere I'll take you for better or worse.
The Prince of Cambay's daily food,
Is Aspe, Basilisque, and Toad,
Which makes him have so strong a breath,
Each night he stinks a Queen to death;
Yet I shall rather lie in's Arms,
Than yours, on any other tearms.
To one that wants a Tayl, by me:
For Tayls by Natures sure were meant,
As well as Beards, for ornament:
And though the Vulgar count them homely,
In man or beast, they are so comely,
So Gentee, Allamode, and handsom,
I'll never marry man that wants one:
And till you can demonstrate plain
You have one equal to your Mane,
I'll be torn piece-meal by a Horse,
Ere I'll take you for better or worse.
The Prince of Cambay's daily food,
Is Aspe, Basilisque, and Toad,
Which makes him have so strong a breath,
Each night he stinks a Queen to death;
Yet I shall rather lie in's Arms,
Than yours, on any other tearms.
Quoth he, What Nature can afford,
I shall produce upon my word;
And if she ever gave that boon
To man, I'll prove that I have one;
I mean, by postulate Illation,
When you shall offer just occasion;
But since y'have yet deny'd to give
My Heart, your Pris'ner, a Reprieve,
But made it sink down to my heel,
Let that at least your pity feel,
And for the sufferings of your Martyr,
Give its poor Entertainer quarter;
And by Discharge, or Main-prise grant
Delivery from this base Restraint.
I shall produce upon my word;
And if she ever gave that boon
To man, I'll prove that I have one;
I mean, by postulate Illation,
When you shall offer just occasion;
But since y'have yet deny'd to give
My Heart, your Pris'ner, a Reprieve,
But made it sink down to my heel,
Let that at least your pity feel,
And for the sufferings of your Martyr,
Give its poor Entertainer quarter;
And by Discharge, or Main-prise grant
Delivery from this base Restraint.
Quoth she, I grieve to see your Leg
Stuck in a hole here like a Peg,
And if I knew which way to do't,
(Your Honor safe) I'd let you out.
That Dames by Jail-delivery
Of Errant Knights have been set free,
When by Enchantment they have been,
And sometimes for it too, laid in;
Is that which Knights are bound to do
By Order, Oath, and Honor too:
For what are they renown'd and famous else
But aiding of distress'd Damosels?
But for a Lady no ways Errant,
To free a Knight, we have no w[a]rrant
In any Authentical Romance,
Or Classic Author yet of France:
And I'd be loath to have you break
An ancient Custom for a freak,
Or Innovation introduce
In place of things of antique use;
To free your heels by any course,
That might b'unwholesome to your Spurs:
Which if I should consent unto,
It is not in my power to do;
For 'tis a service must be done ye,
With solemn previous Ceremony.
Which always has been us'd t'untie
The Charms of those who here do lie;
For as the Ancients heretofore
To Honor's Temple had no dore,
But that which thorough Virtue's lay;
So, from this Dungeon, there's no way
To honour'd freedom, but by passing
That other Virtuous School of Lashing,
Where Knights are kept in narrow lists,
With wooden Lockets 'bout their wrists,
In which they for a while are Tenants,
And for their Ladies suffer Penance:
Whipping, that's Virtues Governess,
Tutress of Arts and Sciences;
That mends the gross mistakes of Nature,
And puts new life into dull matter;
That lays foundation for Renown,
And all the honors of the Gown:
Thus suffer'd, they are set at large,
And freed with honor'ble discharge:
Then in their Robes the Penitentials,
Are straight presented with Credentials,
And in their way attended on
By Magistrates of every Town;
And all respect and charges paid,
They're to their ancient Seats convey'd.
Now if you'll venture for my sake,
To try the toughness of your back,
And suffer (as the rest have done)
The laying of a Whipping on,
(And may you prosper in your suit,
As you with equal vigor do't)
I here engage to be your Bail,
And free you from th' Unknightly Jail.
But since our Sex's modesty
Will not allow I should be by,
Bring me on Oath, a fair account,
And honor too, when you have don't;
And I'll admit you to the place,
You claim as due in my good grace.
If Matrimony and Hanging go
By Dest'ny, why not Whipping too?
What med'cine else can cure the fits
Of Lovers when they lose their Wits?
Love is a Boy, by Poets styl'd,
Then Spare the Rod, and spill the Child.
A Persian Emp'ror whipp'd his Grannum
The Sea, his Mother Venus came on;
And hence some Rev'rend men approve
Of Rosemary in making Love.
As skilful Coopers hoop their Tubs
With Lydian and with Phrygian Dubs;
Why may not Whipping have as good
A Grace, perform'd in Time and Mood;
With comely movement, and by Art,
Raise Passion in a Lady's heart?
It is an easier way, to make
Love by, than that which many take.
Who would not rather suffer Whipping,
Than swallow Toasts of bits of Ribbin?
Make wicked Verses, Treats, and Faces,
And spell Names over, with Beer-glasses?
Be under Vows to hang and die
Loves Sacrifice, and all a lie?
With China-Oranges and Tarts,
And whining Plays, lay baits for Hearts?
Bribe Chamber-maids with love and money,
To break no Roguish jeasts upon ye;
For Lilies limn'd on Cheeks, and Roses,
With painted perfumes, hazard Noses?
Or vent'ring to be brisk and wanton,
Do Penance in a Paper Lanthorn?
All this you may compound for, now
By suff'ring what I offer you:
Which is no more than has been done,
By Knights for Ladies long agone:
Did not the Great La Mancha do so,
For the Infanta Del Taboso?
Did not th' Illustrious Bassa make
Himself a Slave for Misse's sake?
And with Bulls Pizle, for her love,
Was taw'd as gentle as a Glove?
Was not young Florio sent (to cool
His flame from Biancafiore) to School,
Where Pedant made his Pathick Bum
For her sake suffer Martyrdom?
Did not a certain Lady whip,
Of late, her Husband's own Lordship?
And though a Grandee of the House,
Clawd him with Fundamental blows,
Ty'd him stark-naked to a Bed-post,
And firk'd his hide as if sh' had rid post;
And after in the Sessions-Court,
Where Whipping's judg'd, had honor for't?
This swear you will perform, and then
I'll set you from th' Inchanted Den,
And the Magician Circle clear.
125
And if I knew which way to do't,
(Your Honor safe) I'd let you out.
That Dames by Jail-delivery
Of Errant Knights have been set free,
When by Enchantment they have been,
And sometimes for it too, laid in;
Is that which Knights are bound to do
By Order, Oath, and Honor too:
For what are they renown'd and famous else
But aiding of distress'd Damosels?
But for a Lady no ways Errant,
To free a Knight, we have no w[a]rrant
In any Authentical Romance,
Or Classic Author yet of France:
And I'd be loath to have you break
An ancient Custom for a freak,
Or Innovation introduce
In place of things of antique use;
To free your heels by any course,
That might b'unwholesome to your Spurs:
Which if I should consent unto,
It is not in my power to do;
For 'tis a service must be done ye,
With solemn previous Ceremony.
Which always has been us'd t'untie
The Charms of those who here do lie;
For as the Ancients heretofore
To Honor's Temple had no dore,
But that which thorough Virtue's lay;
So, from this Dungeon, there's no way
To honour'd freedom, but by passing
That other Virtuous School of Lashing,
Where Knights are kept in narrow lists,
With wooden Lockets 'bout their wrists,
In which they for a while are Tenants,
And for their Ladies suffer Penance:
Whipping, that's Virtues Governess,
Tutress of Arts and Sciences;
That mends the gross mistakes of Nature,
126
That lays foundation for Renown,
And all the honors of the Gown:
Thus suffer'd, they are set at large,
And freed with honor'ble discharge:
Then in their Robes the Penitentials,
Are straight presented with Credentials,
And in their way attended on
By Magistrates of every Town;
And all respect and charges paid,
They're to their ancient Seats convey'd.
Now if you'll venture for my sake,
To try the toughness of your back,
And suffer (as the rest have done)
The laying of a Whipping on,
(And may you prosper in your suit,
As you with equal vigor do't)
I here engage to be your Bail,
And free you from th' Unknightly Jail.
But since our Sex's modesty
Will not allow I should be by,
Bring me on Oath, a fair account,
And honor too, when you have don't;
And I'll admit you to the place,
You claim as due in my good grace.
If Matrimony and Hanging go
By Dest'ny, why not Whipping too?
What med'cine else can cure the fits
Of Lovers when they lose their Wits?
Love is a Boy, by Poets styl'd,
Then Spare the Rod, and spill the Child.
A Persian Emp'ror whipp'd his Grannum
The Sea, his Mother Venus came on;
And hence some Rev'rend men approve
Of Rosemary in making Love.
As skilful Coopers hoop their Tubs
With Lydian and with Phrygian Dubs;
Why may not Whipping have as good
A Grace, perform'd in Time and Mood;
With comely movement, and by Art,
127
It is an easier way, to make
Love by, than that which many take.
Who would not rather suffer Whipping,
Than swallow Toasts of bits of Ribbin?
Make wicked Verses, Treats, and Faces,
And spell Names over, with Beer-glasses?
Be under Vows to hang and die
Loves Sacrifice, and all a lie?
With China-Oranges and Tarts,
And whining Plays, lay baits for Hearts?
Bribe Chamber-maids with love and money,
To break no Roguish jeasts upon ye;
For Lilies limn'd on Cheeks, and Roses,
With painted perfumes, hazard Noses?
Or vent'ring to be brisk and wanton,
Do Penance in a Paper Lanthorn?
All this you may compound for, now
By suff'ring what I offer you:
Which is no more than has been done,
By Knights for Ladies long agone:
Did not the Great La Mancha do so,
For the Infanta Del Taboso?
Did not th' Illustrious Bassa make
Himself a Slave for Misse's sake?
And with Bulls Pizle, for her love,
Was taw'd as gentle as a Glove?
Was not young Florio sent (to cool
His flame from Biancafiore) to School,
Where Pedant made his Pathick Bum
For her sake suffer Martyrdom?
Did not a certain Lady whip,
Of late, her Husband's own Lordship?
And though a Grandee of the House,
Clawd him with Fundamental blows,
Ty'd him stark-naked to a Bed-post,
And firk'd his hide as if sh' had rid post;
And after in the Sessions-Court,
Where Whipping's judg'd, had honor for't?
This swear you will perform, and then
128
And the Magician Circle clear.
Quoth he, I do profess and swear,
And will perform what you enjoyn,
Or may I never see you mine.
And will perform what you enjoyn,
Or may I never see you mine.
Amen (quoth she) Then turn'd about,
And bid her Squire let him out.
But ere an Artist could be found
T'undo the Charms another bound,
The Sun grew low, and left the Skies,
Put down (some write) by Ladies eyes.
The Moon pull'd off her veil of Light,
That hides her face by day from sight,
(Mysterious Veil, of brightness made,
That's both her lustre, and her shade)
And in the Night as freely shon,
As if her Rays had been her own:
For Darkness is the proper Sphere,
Where all false Glories use t'appear.
The twinkling Stars began to muster,
And glitter with their borrow'd luster,
While Sleep the weary'd World reliev'd,
By counterfeiting Death reviv'd.
Our Vot'ry thought it best t'adjorn
His Whipping-penance till the morn,
And not to carry on a Work
Of such importance, in the Dark,
With erring haste, but rather stay,
And do't i'th' open face of Day;
And in the mean time, go in quest
Of next Retreat to take his Rest.
And bid her Squire let him out.
But ere an Artist could be found
T'undo the Charms another bound,
The Sun grew low, and left the Skies,
Put down (some write) by Ladies eyes.
The Moon pull'd off her veil of Light,
That hides her face by day from sight,
(Mysterious Veil, of brightness made,
That's both her lustre, and her shade)
And in the Night as freely shon,
As if her Rays had been her own:
For Darkness is the proper Sphere,
Where all false Glories use t'appear.
The twinkling Stars began to muster,
And glitter with their borrow'd luster,
While Sleep the weary'd World reliev'd,
By counterfeiting Death reviv'd.
Our Vot'ry thought it best t'adjorn
His Whipping-penance till the morn,
And not to carry on a Work
Of such importance, in the Dark,
With erring haste, but rather stay,
And do't i'th' open face of Day;
And in the mean time, go in quest
Of next Retreat to take his Rest.
| Samuel Butler: Hudibras | |