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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| VII. | CANTO VII. |
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 | Hudibras Redivivus |  |
3
CANTO VII.
Now gently cruzing up and down,
T'observe the Follies of the Town;
Wand'ring about like starving Bully,
Or stroling Punk, in search of Cully,
Just bolted from some Bawdy-house Alley;
I glanc'd an Eye at ev'ry Body,
This jutting Minx, that strutting Noddy;
One hugging Home a Bag of Pelf,
Another handing half himself:
Some striding on in sweating Haste,
As if they fear'd their Time was past:
Some plagu'd with Corns, and some with Gout,
In Shoes with Pen-knife pink'd and cut,
Who pick'd with Care the smoothest Places,
And at sharp Flint-stones made wry Faces:
Others, tho' lusty, young, and strong,
Mov'd on so carelessly along,
That their delib'rate Walking, shew
They had but little else to do.
Young Drunkards reeling, Bayliffs dogging,
Old Strumpets plying, Mumpers progging,
Fat Dray-men squabling, Chair-men ambling
Oyster-Whores fighting, School-Boys scrambling,
Street Porters running, Rascals batt'ling,
Pick-pockets crowding, Coaches rattling,
News bawling, Ballad-wenches singing,
Guns roaring, and the Church-Bells ringing.
T'observe the Follies of the Town;
Wand'ring about like starving Bully,
Or stroling Punk, in search of Cully,
Just bolted from some Bawdy-house Alley;
I glanc'd an Eye at ev'ry Body,
This jutting Minx, that strutting Noddy;
One hugging Home a Bag of Pelf,
Another handing half himself:
Some striding on in sweating Haste,
As if they fear'd their Time was past:
4
In Shoes with Pen-knife pink'd and cut,
Who pick'd with Care the smoothest Places,
And at sharp Flint-stones made wry Faces:
Others, tho' lusty, young, and strong,
Mov'd on so carelessly along,
That their delib'rate Walking, shew
They had but little else to do.
Young Drunkards reeling, Bayliffs dogging,
Old Strumpets plying, Mumpers progging,
Fat Dray-men squabling, Chair-men ambling
Oyster-Whores fighting, School-Boys scrambling,
Street Porters running, Rascals batt'ling,
Pick-pockets crowding, Coaches rattling,
News bawling, Ballad-wenches singing,
Guns roaring, and the Church-Bells ringing.
Bless me! thought I, sure ancient Babel,
Confus'd with all her jab'ring Rabble,
Who understood not one another,
Ne'er made such a confounded Puther;
Nor half th'amazing Wonders knew,
That this strange Town does daily shew;
The Bustle round her lofty Tow'rs,
Was nothing, if compar'd to ours;
For Heav'n their stately Pile beholding,
Was only angry at their building,
And stopp'd their bold presumptious Labour,
By unintelligible Jabber;
But then by cavelling Discourse,
They could not make their Discords worse,
Nor, like us English, by Disputes,
Reason themselves from Men to Brutes.
'Tis plain, because each Neighbour's Tongue
Was with a diff'rent Language hung;
So that when one spoke Dutch, the other
Perhaps spew'd Irish at his Brother;
Both perhaps vex'd, but neither able
To rend'r 'emselves intelligible,
So their Talk pass'd for Bibble Babble.
But we that well know what we say,
Torment our selves a diff'rent way,
And by our wise Debates and Speeches,
Make our selves sad confounded Wretches.
Confus'd with all her jab'ring Rabble,
Who understood not one another,
Ne'er made such a confounded Puther;
5
That this strange Town does daily shew;
The Bustle round her lofty Tow'rs,
Was nothing, if compar'd to ours;
For Heav'n their stately Pile beholding,
Was only angry at their building,
And stopp'd their bold presumptious Labour,
By unintelligible Jabber;
But then by cavelling Discourse,
They could not make their Discords worse,
Nor, like us English, by Disputes,
Reason themselves from Men to Brutes.
'Tis plain, because each Neighbour's Tongue
Was with a diff'rent Language hung;
So that when one spoke Dutch, the other
Perhaps spew'd Irish at his Brother;
Both perhaps vex'd, but neither able
To rend'r 'emselves intelligible,
So their Talk pass'd for Bibble Babble.
But we that well know what we say,
Torment our selves a diff'rent way,
6
Make our selves sad confounded Wretches.
Some prophane Atheists make a Doubt
How th'old Confusion came about,
And to appear more learn'd and wise
Than Fools, that do such Criticks prize,
Conjecture, tho' perhaps amiss,
The Bus'ness was no more than this.
How th'old Confusion came about,
And to appear more learn'd and wise
Than Fools, that do such Criticks prize,
Conjecture, tho' perhaps amiss,
The Bus'ness was no more than this.
The Lab'rers by the Masons hir'd,
Bilk'd of their Wages, soon grew tir'd,
And swore, unless they'd better pay,
No couz'ning Knaves would they obey,
But leave their Work, and fall to Play.
From hence strange Language soon arose,
That is, ill Words, as some suppose,
Such that oft terminate in Blows.
So that the Slaves, with Anger fir'd,
Against the Artificers conspir'd,
And (tho' 'twas but a cross-grain'd Trick)
Carry'd them Lime, instead of Brick.
This made the Masons repremand 'em;
The Lab'rers would not understand 'em,
But sullen grew upon this Peak,
And then would neither Work nor speak.
So the grave Spaniard, in the Praise
Of Monkeys, very wisely says,
That they are Human, and can Talk
As well as any Christian Folk,
But that they fear to Speak, lest we
Should make them do our Drudgerie.
If these Conjectures keep them mute,
Their Silence is, without Dispute,
A wise Forbearance in the Brute.
Bilk'd of their Wages, soon grew tir'd,
And swore, unless they'd better pay,
No couz'ning Knaves would they obey,
But leave their Work, and fall to Play.
From hence strange Language soon arose,
That is, ill Words, as some suppose,
Such that oft terminate in Blows.
So that the Slaves, with Anger fir'd,
Against the Artificers conspir'd,
And (tho' 'twas but a cross-grain'd Trick)
Carry'd them Lime, instead of Brick.
7
The Lab'rers would not understand 'em,
But sullen grew upon this Peak,
And then would neither Work nor speak.
So the grave Spaniard, in the Praise
Of Monkeys, very wisely says,
That they are Human, and can Talk
As well as any Christian Folk,
But that they fear to Speak, lest we
Should make them do our Drudgerie.
If these Conjectures keep them mute,
Their Silence is, without Dispute,
A wise Forbearance in the Brute.
But we, worse Monkeys of the two,
Repugnant Sentiments persue,
And talk t'each other with such Spight,
That we confound both Wrong and Right;
Distract the Nation by our Babbling,
And seek eternal Peace by Squabling.
The Cloak sets up against the Gown,
And rails at Apostolick Lawn;
Proclaims the Surplice to be foppish,
And damns the Common-Pray'r as Popish;
Meer Porridge, from the Mass-Book stole,
Unfit to feed a Christian Soul,
That dates its Method of Salvation
From old King Harry's Reformation.
Repugnant Sentiments persue,
And talk t'each other with such Spight,
That we confound both Wrong and Right;
Distract the Nation by our Babbling,
And seek eternal Peace by Squabling.
The Cloak sets up against the Gown,
And rails at Apostolick Lawn;
8
And damns the Common-Pray'r as Popish;
Meer Porridge, from the Mass-Book stole,
Unfit to feed a Christian Soul,
That dates its Method of Salvation
From old King Harry's Reformation.
The Church-men justly growl to see
Fanaticks storm the Hierarchie,
And that the Force of Toleration,
Once under such a Condemnation,
Should set each canting, proud Fantastick
Above their Courts Ecclesiastick,
And give such buzzing Wasps the Pow'r
To suck the Sweets of ev'ry Flow'r,
And robb the more industrious Bees
Of Honey as the Vermin please:
But that which makes the Church-men wonder,
And strikes them worse than Bolt of Thunder,
Is, that an E--- H--- of Oak,
Who, like a Friend, so kindly spoke,
Should put upon them such a Joke,
'Tis true, we often have been told
In Proverbs very wise and old,
That Men of Words, and not of Deeds,
Are like a Garden full of Weeds;
And that fine Compliments and Speeches,
Stuff'd full of Thank ye's, and Beseech ye's,
Will neither purchase what we lack,
Nor fill a Bushel, or a Sack.
Fanaticks storm the Hierarchie,
And that the Force of Toleration,
Once under such a Condemnation,
Should set each canting, proud Fantastick
Above their Courts Ecclesiastick,
And give such buzzing Wasps the Pow'r
To suck the Sweets of ev'ry Flow'r,
And robb the more industrious Bees
Of Honey as the Vermin please:
But that which makes the Church-men wonder,
And strikes them worse than Bolt of Thunder,
Is, that an E--- H--- of Oak,
Who, like a Friend, so kindly spoke,
Should put upon them such a Joke,
9
In Proverbs very wise and old,
That Men of Words, and not of Deeds,
Are like a Garden full of Weeds;
And that fine Compliments and Speeches,
Stuff'd full of Thank ye's, and Beseech ye's,
Will neither purchase what we lack,
Nor fill a Bushel, or a Sack.
Fair Promises avail but little,
Like too rich Pye-crust, they're so brittle,
They seldom signify a Tittle.
Good Deeds become an E---h H---t;
Fine Words don't countervail a F---t.
Heroick Actions are alone
The Glories of a Camp or Throne:
For if bifarious Tittle Tattle
Could storm a Town, or win a Battel,
Or varnish o'er with true Renown
That Sov'raign Gugaw call'd a Crown,
Then any Tongue-pad that could flatter,
Might make a supream Legislator,
Or huffing Bully, Pimp, or Pander,
Serve for a General Commander:
But wheedling Tongues, unactive Swords,
Deceitful News, and blust'ring Words,
No more can make a Prince Victorious,
Than broken Vows can make him Glorious.
Like too rich Pye-crust, they're so brittle,
They seldom signify a Tittle.
Good Deeds become an E---h H---t;
Fine Words don't countervail a F---t.
Heroick Actions are alone
The Glories of a Camp or Throne:
For if bifarious Tittle Tattle
Could storm a Town, or win a Battel,
Or varnish o'er with true Renown
That Sov'raign Gugaw call'd a Crown,
10
Might make a supream Legislator,
Or huffing Bully, Pimp, or Pander,
Serve for a General Commander:
But wheedling Tongues, unactive Swords,
Deceitful News, and blust'ring Words,
No more can make a Prince Victorious,
Than broken Vows can make him Glorious.
Fraight with these jarring Cogitations,
Confus'd with sundry Observations,
Thinking sometimes, and sometimes gazing
On things both pleasant and amazing;
At length did on Crony stumble;
Old Friend, said I, your very humble:
Whither art trudging on so fast?
Thou walk'st as if in woundy haste.
Says he, There is an old Curmudgeon,
A hum-drum, preaching, Clapperdudgeon,
Who in my House has ta'en a Lodging;
He wears the Independant Cloak,
Yet the old Stiff-rump loves a Joke;
And of a hide-bound mungrel Teacher,
Has no small Kindness for the Pitcher:
He's an old Western Soul-Physician,
That narrowly escap'd Perdition
In wicked Times, almost like these,
When M---nm---th went to gather Pease;
But having shunn'd a Rebel's Fate,
He Coach'd it up to Town of late,
And does this Night dispense, hard by,
A Lecture to the Holy Fry;
And I, to tell you Truth, am jogging
To hear him give the Pope a Flogging;
And if you're not engag'd, said he,
I'll thank you for your Companie:
I fancy 'twill be worth your while;
His Cant, I know, will make you smile;
For tho' he's not a Man of Letters,
He'll banter Heav'n, and scoff his Betters,
Beyond old B---rg---s or Hugh Peters.
Confus'd with sundry Observations,
Thinking sometimes, and sometimes gazing
On things both pleasant and amazing;
At length did on Crony stumble;
Old Friend, said I, your very humble:
Whither art trudging on so fast?
Thou walk'st as if in woundy haste.
Says he, There is an old Curmudgeon,
A hum-drum, preaching, Clapperdudgeon,
Who in my House has ta'en a Lodging;
He wears the Independant Cloak,
Yet the old Stiff-rump loves a Joke;
11
Has no small Kindness for the Pitcher:
He's an old Western Soul-Physician,
That narrowly escap'd Perdition
In wicked Times, almost like these,
When M---nm---th went to gather Pease;
But having shunn'd a Rebel's Fate,
He Coach'd it up to Town of late,
And does this Night dispense, hard by,
A Lecture to the Holy Fry;
And I, to tell you Truth, am jogging
To hear him give the Pope a Flogging;
And if you're not engag'd, said he,
I'll thank you for your Companie:
I fancy 'twill be worth your while;
His Cant, I know, will make you smile;
For tho' he's not a Man of Letters,
He'll banter Heav'n, and scoff his Betters,
Beyond old B---rg---s or Hugh Peters.
'Tis done, said I, I'll see you thither;
And so away we jogg'd together,
Not doubting but I there should find
Some Hodg-podg of the Hum-drum kind,
Fit to awake a drowzy Mind.
And so away we jogg'd together,
12
Some Hodg-podg of the Hum-drum kind,
Fit to awake a drowzy Mind.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |