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 |  |
With that, the Doctor rubb'd his Eyes,
Then looking at me twice or thrice,
At last Majestically cry'd,
In what would you be satify'd?
Pray state your Question, and be free, Sir,
If Art can solve it, I am he, Sir,
That knows as much, and am as Wise,
As all the Plannets in the Skies:
Long have I travell'd, Night and Day,
That Heav'nly Path, the Milky Way;
Counted the Stars on ev'ry side,
Shook Hands with Time, survey'd the Tide,
And have as often, by my Soul,
Drove Charles's Wain about the Pole:
Nay, stood a Tip-toe on the Horn
Of Aries, and of Capricorn;
View'd all the Heavens, where I found
The Stars like Whirligigs go round;
Visited all the bless'd Abodes,
And drank rich Nectar with the Gods;
But by my Life, a merry Bowl
Of Elms's Punch, is worth it all.
These things are all to me as common,
As Scolding to a Basket-Woman.
I'd have you think I'm not the Ass
That deals in Fern-Seed, and a Glass,
And to deceive the World, does brag on
His green, his yellow, and black Dragon;
That dwells in Allies, God knows where,
Down seven Steps, and up one Stair:
I'm no poor, ignorant, dull Liar;
No Mene Tekel Prophesier;
No Doctor Case, no riming Noddy,
But one who knows, thro' painful Study,
What's what, as well as any Body.
Therefore, pray state your Question right,
With all the necessary Light
That you can give, or I require,
And you shall find, as you desire,
I'll tell you Truth, or I'm a Liar.
Then looking at me twice or thrice,
At last Majestically cry'd,
In what would you be satify'd?
Pray state your Question, and be free, Sir,
If Art can solve it, I am he, Sir,
That knows as much, and am as Wise,
As all the Plannets in the Skies:
Long have I travell'd, Night and Day,
That Heav'nly Path, the Milky Way;
Counted the Stars on ev'ry side,
Shook Hands with Time, survey'd the Tide,
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Drove Charles's Wain about the Pole:
Nay, stood a Tip-toe on the Horn
Of Aries, and of Capricorn;
View'd all the Heavens, where I found
The Stars like Whirligigs go round;
Visited all the bless'd Abodes,
And drank rich Nectar with the Gods;
But by my Life, a merry Bowl
Of Elms's Punch, is worth it all.
These things are all to me as common,
As Scolding to a Basket-Woman.
I'd have you think I'm not the Ass
That deals in Fern-Seed, and a Glass,
And to deceive the World, does brag on
His green, his yellow, and black Dragon;
That dwells in Allies, God knows where,
Down seven Steps, and up one Stair:
I'm no poor, ignorant, dull Liar;
No Mene Tekel Prophesier;
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But one who knows, thro' painful Study,
What's what, as well as any Body.
Therefore, pray state your Question right,
With all the necessary Light
That you can give, or I require,
And you shall find, as you desire,
I'll tell you Truth, or I'm a Liar.
Doctor, said I, I must agree
You've made the Heav'ns your A, B, C,
And understand th'Egyptian Knowledge
Beyond all Gresham's learned Colledge:
Therefore I'm sure you cannot miss
Answ'ring my Question, which is this:
Full two Months since I did invite
Three Friends to Sup with me one Night,
And when we'd plentifully eat,
A Bowl of Punch was next my Treat,
Made of right French, upon my Word,
Good, says the Doctor, by the Lord;
And so, said I, we sipp'd our Fuddle,
As Women in the Straw do Caudle,
'Till ev'ry Man had drown'd his Noddle;
And when they found their Heads grew light,
They thank'd their Host, and bid good Night:
But the next Morn, soon after Rising,
I found my Punch-Bowl Ladle missing.
Now, if the Plannets can inform ye
Who 'twas that stole the Ladle from me,
I'll own Astrology's amazing,
And that the Stars are worth your gazing.
You've made the Heav'ns your A, B, C,
And understand th'Egyptian Knowledge
Beyond all Gresham's learned Colledge:
Therefore I'm sure you cannot miss
Answ'ring my Question, which is this:
Full two Months since I did invite
Three Friends to Sup with me one Night,
And when we'd plentifully eat,
A Bowl of Punch was next my Treat,
Made of right French, upon my Word,
Good, says the Doctor, by the Lord;
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As Women in the Straw do Caudle,
'Till ev'ry Man had drown'd his Noddle;
And when they found their Heads grew light,
They thank'd their Host, and bid good Night:
But the next Morn, soon after Rising,
I found my Punch-Bowl Ladle missing.
Now, if the Plannets can inform ye
Who 'twas that stole the Ladle from me,
I'll own Astrology's amazing,
And that the Stars are worth your gazing.
But, Sir, replies the Doctor, then
Of what Religion were these Men?
For Plannets, like to sov'reign Princes,
Have very diff'rent Influences,
And make a strong or weak Impression,
As Mortals differ in Perswasion.
Of what Religion were these Men?
For Plannets, like to sov'reign Princes,
Have very diff'rent Influences,
And make a strong or weak Impression,
As Mortals differ in Perswasion.
One, said I, was a Church-Man, true
As ever sat in Church-War'n's Pew,
And went twice ev'ry Sabbath-Day
To hear the Parson Preach and Pray:
One that has long paid Scot and Lot,
And deals each Year for G*d knows what.
As ever sat in Church-War'n's Pew,
And went twice ev'ry Sabbath-Day
To hear the Parson Preach and Pray:
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And deals each Year for G*d knows what.
Poh, crys the Doctor, never think
A Church-Man Knavish in his Drink;
He's a true Trout that scorns, Ads-fish,
To Porridge beg, and steal the Dish.
Go on, I'm sure he's just and true,
The Ladle lies 'twixt t'other two.
A Church-Man Knavish in his Drink;
He's a true Trout that scorns, Ads-fish,
To Porridge beg, and steal the Dish.
Go on, I'm sure he's just and true,
The Ladle lies 'twixt t'other two.
The next, said I, was a Dissenter,
No Saint, but one that dares to venture
At Night to take off his Decanter,
Yet shuns both Common-Pray'r, and Lawn,
To hear a Hide-bound Block-head yawn,
And ev'ry Sunday thinks 'tis fitting
To crowd in at a hum-drum Meeting,
And there in Holy Exercise,
Strain hard to shew distorted Eyes,
Which every now and then, by fits,
Are strangely troubl'd with the Whites;
Yet all his Neighbours do declare
His Dealings are profoundly fair,
And that he scorns, tho' ne'er so little,
To wrong the Rich, or rob the Spittle,
But's nicely Honest to a Tittle.
No Saint, but one that dares to venture
At Night to take off his Decanter,
Yet shuns both Common-Pray'r, and Lawn,
To hear a Hide-bound Block-head yawn,
And ev'ry Sunday thinks 'tis fitting
To crowd in at a hum-drum Meeting,
And there in Holy Exercise,
Strain hard to shew distorted Eyes,
Which every now and then, by fits,
Are strangely troubl'd with the Whites;
Yet all his Neighbours do declare
His Dealings are profoundly fair,
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To wrong the Rich, or rob the Spittle,
But's nicely Honest to a Tittle.
The Doctor turning up his Eyes,
And grimly looking, thus replies:
I know not what to think of him,
'Tis rare to find a Mill-stone swim:
However, I'll suspend my Censure,
To hear what t'other was, and then, Sir,
I'll freely give my final Answer.
And grimly looking, thus replies:
I know not what to think of him,
'Tis rare to find a Mill-stone swim:
However, I'll suspend my Censure,
To hear what t'other was, and then, Sir,
I'll freely give my final Answer.
Said I, the third Man was, in Troth,
A trimming Christian 'twixt 'em both;
A modern, strange, bifarious Creature,
By Knaves and Fools call'd Moderator.
A trimming Christian 'twixt 'em both;
A modern, strange, bifarious Creature,
By Knaves and Fools call'd Moderator.
Nouns, crys the Doctor, in a Fury,
That was the Rogue, I can assure ye:
You need not speak another Word, Sir,
He stole the Ladle, by the Lord, Sir;
The Plannets punctually declare it,
The Stars are ready all to swear it:
I'm sure, as right as Man can guess it;
Tax him but home, and he'll confess it;
He's a rare Mes-mate for the Devil,
And makes a long Spoon of your Ladle.
But now you know how Matters lie,
Pray take this Counsel by the by.
That was the Rogue, I can assure ye:
You need not speak another Word, Sir,
He stole the Ladle, by the Lord, Sir;
The Plannets punctually declare it,
The Stars are ready all to swear it:
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Tax him but home, and he'll confess it;
He's a rare Mes-mate for the Devil,
And makes a long Spoon of your Ladle.
But now you know how Matters lie,
Pray take this Counsel by the by.
Be sure you never trust herea'ter,
In any Case by Land or Water,
The Value of a Rope of Onions
With him that halts 'twixt two Opinions,
For if you do, you'll find (my Friend)
Your self the Looser in the End.
In any Case by Land or Water,
The Value of a Rope of Onions
With him that halts 'twixt two Opinions,
For if you do, you'll find (my Friend)
Your self the Looser in the End.
Pleas'd with the Doctor's lucky Notion,
I thank'd him kindly for his Caution;
And well contented with his Answer,
Took formal Leave o'th' Nigromancer.
I thank'd him kindly for his Caution;
And well contented with his Answer,
Took formal Leave o'th' Nigromancer.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |