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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| I. |
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| 3. |
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| 5. |
| 6. |
| IX. |
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| 11. |
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| II. |
 | Hudibras Redivivus |  |
3
Is this, thought I, the winning Way
That Saints Enthusiastick pray?
Can Malice, mix'd with Scoffs and Blunders,
Produce such rare ex temp're Wonders?
And Monkey Faces, Yawns, and Stammers,
Delude the pious Dames and Gammers,
To think their mumbling Guides Precation
So full of Heav'nly Inspiration,
That the Majestick Excellences
Of Common-Pray'er, in their dull Senses,
Must of that Holy Force be wanting,
The Zealots find in off-hand Canting?
So they believe, because they're taught,
That the Church Liturgy is naught,
Old Popish Stuff, not worth a Groat;
And being by their Holy Guide,
The reading Common-Pray'r, deny'd,
His Doctrine, and their Ignorance,
Do still their Prejudice advance,
'Till Heav'nly Grace, nor Human Reason,
Can kill at last the deadly Poyson;
Which working on the Mind so long,
Becomes s'unconquerably strong,
That unknown Exc'lence they abuse,
But praise the Errors that they use.
So have I seen a French-man eat,
In Spittle-Fields, most stinking Meat,
Toss'd up with Leeks into Raggoo,
To overcome th'unsav'ry Hogo;
Then swear, Begar, 'tis very good,
Because he knew no better Food.
Thus they applaud their way of Feasting,
Despising ours for want of tasting.
That Saints Enthusiastick pray?
Can Malice, mix'd with Scoffs and Blunders,
Produce such rare ex temp're Wonders?
And Monkey Faces, Yawns, and Stammers,
Delude the pious Dames and Gammers,
To think their mumbling Guides Precation
So full of Heav'nly Inspiration,
That the Majestick Excellences
Of Common-Pray'er, in their dull Senses,
4
The Zealots find in off-hand Canting?
So they believe, because they're taught,
That the Church Liturgy is naught,
Old Popish Stuff, not worth a Groat;
And being by their Holy Guide,
The reading Common-Pray'r, deny'd,
His Doctrine, and their Ignorance,
Do still their Prejudice advance,
'Till Heav'nly Grace, nor Human Reason,
Can kill at last the deadly Poyson;
Which working on the Mind so long,
Becomes s'unconquerably strong,
That unknown Exc'lence they abuse,
But praise the Errors that they use.
So have I seen a French-man eat,
In Spittle-Fields, most stinking Meat,
Toss'd up with Leeks into Raggoo,
To overcome th'unsav'ry Hogo;
5
Because he knew no better Food.
Thus they applaud their way of Feasting,
Despising ours for want of tasting.
By this Time, all the Auditory
Began to sing to th'Praise and Glory,
Like Pigs and Hogs in Pease-field hunted,
Some squeak'd aloud, and others grunted,
All vary'ng in their Tune and Tone,
Which each might justly call their own;
For no kind Sister, or good Brother,
Kept Time or Key with one another;
But as they'd all discording Faces,
So all sung diff'rent Tunes and Graces,
Such as they us'd to lull and diddle
To froward Infants in the Cradle.
So have I heard, in Christmas Time,
When noisy Rev'ling is no Crime,
A Crowd of Country Wags and Wenches,
Seated on Buffet Stoolls and Benches,
When o'er their knappy sugar'd Beer,
Sing, Ponder well, you Parents dear,
Each straining forth her Screech-owl Voice,
Making some Godly Tune her Choice,
Which Gammer Crump, and Goody Burch,
Had squeak'd for many Years at Church.
Began to sing to th'Praise and Glory,
Like Pigs and Hogs in Pease-field hunted,
Some squeak'd aloud, and others grunted,
All vary'ng in their Tune and Tone,
Which each might justly call their own;
For no kind Sister, or good Brother,
Kept Time or Key with one another;
But as they'd all discording Faces,
So all sung diff'rent Tunes and Graces,
Such as they us'd to lull and diddle
To froward Infants in the Cradle.
So have I heard, in Christmas Time,
When noisy Rev'ling is no Crime,
A Crowd of Country Wags and Wenches,
Seated on Buffet Stoolls and Benches,
6
Sing, Ponder well, you Parents dear,
Each straining forth her Screech-owl Voice,
Making some Godly Tune her Choice,
Which Gammer Crump, and Goody Burch,
Had squeak'd for many Years at Church.
When Psalms, for half an Hour, they'd sung
And howl'd, from Stave to Stave, along,
'Till Sternhold's old and rugged Strains
Had made them Hoarse, they took such Pains,
That in a Sweat, the Congretation
Ended their jingling Supplication;
On which they all were so intent,
And seem'd so musically bent,
Each Member of the Holy Club,
From lofty Saint, to lowly Scrub,
All strain'd their Throats to bear a Bob;
That sure no Mid-night Catter-wawling,
Could e'er produce a stranger Squaling,
Than did, according to my Notion,
This bawling Consort in Devotion,
Where ev'ry gaping, thin-jaw'd Brother,
Strove zealously t'out howl the other,
As if the Psalm they had been singing,
Was penitential to their Swinging;
And that th'were destin'd by the Psalter,
To all die Martyrs of the Halter.
And howl'd, from Stave to Stave, along,
'Till Sternhold's old and rugged Strains
Had made them Hoarse, they took such Pains,
That in a Sweat, the Congretation
Ended their jingling Supplication;
On which they all were so intent,
And seem'd so musically bent,
Each Member of the Holy Club,
From lofty Saint, to lowly Scrub,
All strain'd their Throats to bear a Bob;
That sure no Mid-night Catter-wawling,
Could e'er produce a stranger Squaling,
7
This bawling Consort in Devotion,
Where ev'ry gaping, thin-jaw'd Brother,
Strove zealously t'out howl the other,
As if the Psalm they had been singing,
Was penitential to their Swinging;
And that th'were destin'd by the Psalter,
To all die Martyrs of the Halter.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |