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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| X. | CANTO X. |
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 | Hudibras Redivivus |  |
3
CANTO X.
The Vip'rous Congregation, pleas'd
With what they'd heard, were now dismiss'd;
So squeezing forth, brim-full of Grace,
Each turn'd his Rump on Holy Place,
And with his Elbows and his Feet,
Made way into the open Street.
I shov'd my bulky Corps along,
But look'd, amidst the skinny Throng,
Like Stall-fed Bullock, fat and fine,
Amongst King Pharaoh's famish'd Kine.
I puff'd, and blow'd, and thrust, and bussl'd,
'Till thro' the narrow Gulph I'd jossl'd,
Which stunk as if their Teacher's Pray'rs,
That crept into their list'ning Ears,
Too windy were to be confin'd;
So working down, made way behind.
With what they'd heard, were now dismiss'd;
So squeezing forth, brim-full of Grace,
Each turn'd his Rump on Holy Place,
And with his Elbows and his Feet,
Made way into the open Street.
I shov'd my bulky Corps along,
But look'd, amidst the skinny Throng,
4
Amongst King Pharaoh's famish'd Kine.
I puff'd, and blow'd, and thrust, and bussl'd,
'Till thro' the narrow Gulph I'd jossl'd,
Which stunk as if their Teacher's Pray'rs,
That crept into their list'ning Ears,
Too windy were to be confin'd;
So working down, made way behind.
When I, with much ado, had clear'd
My self of the infected Herd,
And turn'd (good Manners quite forgetting)
My low'r End on their Low C---h Meeting,
The poys'nous Fumes I'd suck'd in there,
I gladly chang'd for sweeter Air,
Not knowing, but the Breath that comes
Out from between a Rebel's Gums,
If long imbib'd, might plague and spoil
The Body, and the Mind defile;
Turn our sound Principles to sad ones,
And change good Consciences to bad ones.
Why not, as well as Mists and Fogs,
That rise from filthy Fens and Bogs,
With Aguish Fits, make Mortals tremble,
Like quaking Zealots, that dissemble,
When to their Brethren they aver it,
The Workings of the Holy Spirit;
If thus the Vapours that do swarm
From slimy Fens, can do us harm,
The dang'rous Breath, that flows each Day
From Men more filthy far than they,
Must give to greater Mischiefs Birth,
Than all the Quagmires of the Earth.
My self of the infected Herd,
And turn'd (good Manners quite forgetting)
My low'r End on their Low C---h Meeting,
The poys'nous Fumes I'd suck'd in there,
I gladly chang'd for sweeter Air,
Not knowing, but the Breath that comes
Out from between a Rebel's Gums,
If long imbib'd, might plague and spoil
The Body, and the Mind defile;
Turn our sound Principles to sad ones,
And change good Consciences to bad ones.
5
That rise from filthy Fens and Bogs,
With Aguish Fits, make Mortals tremble,
Like quaking Zealots, that dissemble,
When to their Brethren they aver it,
The Workings of the Holy Spirit;
If thus the Vapours that do swarm
From slimy Fens, can do us harm,
The dang'rous Breath, that flows each Day
From Men more filthy far than they,
Must give to greater Mischiefs Birth,
Than all the Quagmires of the Earth.
When thus deliver'd from the Crowd,
Precisely dress'd, devoutly proud,
I left them at the Alley Gate,
Each waiting for his Friend or Mate,
That they might all creep home in Couples,
The better to debate their Scruples,
And canvas o'er the Cant they'd heard
From Lanthorn Jaws, and picked Beard.
Precisely dress'd, devoutly proud,
I left them at the Alley Gate,
Each waiting for his Friend or Mate,
That they might all creep home in Couples,
The better to debate their Scruples,
And canvas o'er the Cant they'd heard
From Lanthorn Jaws, and picked Beard.
6
My Friend, that to the Lecture led me,
Now walking leisurely by side me,
Began to ask my Approbation
Of our dull Quirpo's dark Oration.
Now walking leisurely by side me,
Began to ask my Approbation
Of our dull Quirpo's dark Oration.
Old Friend, said I, to tell you Truth,
I have not heard from Block-head's Mouth
Such worthless Cant, such senseless Blunders,
Such frothy Quibbles and Cunnunders,
Such wicked Stuff, such poys'nous Babble,
Such uncouth, wretched Ribble Rabble,
Never since Cromwell's frantick Porter,
Who whilst he did in Bedlam quarter,
Thro' Iron Bars roar'd out aloud,
Mad Doctrine to the madder Crowd.
I have not heard from Block-head's Mouth
Such worthless Cant, such senseless Blunders,
Such frothy Quibbles and Cunnunders,
Such wicked Stuff, such poys'nous Babble,
Such uncouth, wretched Ribble Rabble,
Never since Cromwell's frantick Porter,
Who whilst he did in Bedlam quarter,
Thro' Iron Bars roar'd out aloud,
Mad Doctrine to the madder Crowd.
With what bold Ignorance can a Dunce,
The Worship of the Church renounce,
Where Sacred Order moves the Sense,
And raises awful Reverence
Tow'rds that great Pow'r, to whom we pray,
And those our Guides, that teach the way?
What Hypocrite, that once but hears
The Holy Exc'lence of her Pray'rs,
Can cavel at those Heav'nly Words,
Whose Christian Force so well accords?
With all Conditions and Degrees
Of Human Souls, who pray for Ease,
Oppress'd with sinful Miseries,
What formless, poor, ex temp're Matter,
Compos'd of Non-sense and Ill-nature,
Squeez'd out from the illit'rate Noddle
Of some dull, canting Tom a Doodle,
Can without spiteful Blasphemie,
To th'Church's Form compared be,
Which was at first from Scripture drawn
By Bishops worthy of their Lawn;
Good Men, well learn'd in Sacred Story,
Who labour'd hard to set before ye,
Instead of Int'rest, God's true Glory?
The Worship of the Church renounce,
Where Sacred Order moves the Sense,
And raises awful Reverence
Tow'rds that great Pow'r, to whom we pray,
And those our Guides, that teach the way?
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The Holy Exc'lence of her Pray'rs,
Can cavel at those Heav'nly Words,
Whose Christian Force so well accords?
With all Conditions and Degrees
Of Human Souls, who pray for Ease,
Oppress'd with sinful Miseries,
What formless, poor, ex temp're Matter,
Compos'd of Non-sense and Ill-nature,
Squeez'd out from the illit'rate Noddle
Of some dull, canting Tom a Doodle,
Can without spiteful Blasphemie,
To th'Church's Form compared be,
Which was at first from Scripture drawn
By Bishops worthy of their Lawn;
Good Men, well learn'd in Sacred Story,
Who labour'd hard to set before ye,
Instead of Int'rest, God's true Glory?
With what strange Ins'lence can a Wretch,
That hears a grave, wise Doctor preach
With awful Mein, and Parts so great,
They Honour both the Church and State,
Whose searching Truths Words a Passage make
To e'ery Heart that hears him speak,
And force ill Thoughts to fly away,
Like Mists before the God of Day?
I say, with what strange Impudence?
What Prejudice and want of Sense,
Can Calvin's whining Saints compare
The hum-drum Non-sense that they hear;
The canting Lies, instead of Truth,
Yawn'd from a stubborn Block-head's Mouth,
With the learn'd Doctrine of a Guide,
By Heav'n and Nature qualify'd,
Whose Words have that commanding Sense,
They make us feel their Eloquence,
And by their Influence, incline
Our sinful Souls to what's Divine?
Whilst those illit'rate, gaping Fools,
Who prate in Barns and Dancing-Schools,
Would make a Christian, by their Teaching,
Abhor their Praying, and their Preaching,
And think they study'd to advance
Rebellion, Pride, and Ignorance;
And that, instead of propagating
True Christian Practice by their Prating,
Their bawling Dunces only meant
To teach their Hearers to dissent
From all that's good and excellent?
Right, says my Friend, the Truths you say,
Are clear as any Sun-shine Day;
For oft i'th' Country have I seen,
When at a Meeting I have been,
An Ape, o'er Back of Leathern Chair,
Squeeze out a Sermon, or a Pray'r,
Screwing his Phiz the time he's prating,
As if h'ad been Exonerating;
For every Utt'rance of the Fool,
Came from him, like a hard-bound Stool,
Wiping his Lips at each Expression,
As if his senseless, dull Oration
Was such a foul Reverse of Truth,
His very Words defil'd his Mouth,
And made the sinful Trumpet need
More Wipes, than Nature's Sink just freed
From the loose Dregs of Meals and Messes,
Our Drunken Vices, and Excesses;
Yet such a bold illit'rate Dunce,
That can but rattle, rave, and bounce,
Altho' he little more can say,
Than Laud and G---d, and Eke and Aye,
Shall follow'd be by larger Flocks,
Than a Learn'd Guide, that's Orthodox.
That hears a grave, wise Doctor preach
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They Honour both the Church and State,
Whose searching Truths Words a Passage make
To e'ery Heart that hears him speak,
And force ill Thoughts to fly away,
Like Mists before the God of Day?
I say, with what strange Impudence?
What Prejudice and want of Sense,
Can Calvin's whining Saints compare
The hum-drum Non-sense that they hear;
The canting Lies, instead of Truth,
Yawn'd from a stubborn Block-head's Mouth,
With the learn'd Doctrine of a Guide,
By Heav'n and Nature qualify'd,
Whose Words have that commanding Sense,
They make us feel their Eloquence,
And by their Influence, incline
Our sinful Souls to what's Divine?
Whilst those illit'rate, gaping Fools,
Who prate in Barns and Dancing-Schools,
9
Abhor their Praying, and their Preaching,
And think they study'd to advance
Rebellion, Pride, and Ignorance;
And that, instead of propagating
True Christian Practice by their Prating,
Their bawling Dunces only meant
To teach their Hearers to dissent
From all that's good and excellent?
Right, says my Friend, the Truths you say,
Are clear as any Sun-shine Day;
For oft i'th' Country have I seen,
When at a Meeting I have been,
An Ape, o'er Back of Leathern Chair,
Squeeze out a Sermon, or a Pray'r,
Screwing his Phiz the time he's prating,
As if h'ad been Exonerating;
For every Utt'rance of the Fool,
Came from him, like a hard-bound Stool,
10
As if his senseless, dull Oration
Was such a foul Reverse of Truth,
His very Words defil'd his Mouth,
And made the sinful Trumpet need
More Wipes, than Nature's Sink just freed
From the loose Dregs of Meals and Messes,
Our Drunken Vices, and Excesses;
Yet such a bold illit'rate Dunce,
That can but rattle, rave, and bounce,
Altho' he little more can say,
Than Laud and G---d, and Eke and Aye,
Shall follow'd be by larger Flocks,
Than a Learn'd Guide, that's Orthodox.
Said I, we by Experience know,
Obstinate Fools will still be so:
The wisest Occulist can't find
A way to cure the self-will'd Blind,
But still, like Bats that love the Night,
They'll turn their Tails upon the Light.
By ancient Grannums we are told,
In Proverb true, as well as old,
That Birds, who are of the same Feather,
Delight to meet, and flock together:
So that the neigbouring Owls will follow
The Howlet, that they hear, but hollow;
Nay, if a Wolf but makes a Noise,
And elivates his howling Voice,
The rest will from their Dens come out,
And gather round the bawling Brute;
As Zealots, join with one another,
To hear the Howls of Holy Brother.
Obstinate Fools will still be so:
The wisest Occulist can't find
A way to cure the self-will'd Blind,
But still, like Bats that love the Night,
They'll turn their Tails upon the Light.
11
In Proverb true, as well as old,
That Birds, who are of the same Feather,
Delight to meet, and flock together:
So that the neigbouring Owls will follow
The Howlet, that they hear, but hollow;
Nay, if a Wolf but makes a Noise,
And elivates his howling Voice,
The rest will from their Dens come out,
And gather round the bawling Brute;
As Zealots, join with one another,
To hear the Howls of Holy Brother.
Hush, says my Friend, mind what you say;
You know this is not Time of Day
For Truth to be so obvious made,
We must not call a Spade, a Spade.
You know this is not Time of Day
For Truth to be so obvious made,
We must not call a Spade, a Spade.
In Troth, said I, I cannot flatter,
My Muse abhors to mince the matter;
A Knave she like a Knave will draw,
In spight of that grim D---n, L---:
She seeks no Int'rest, knows no Fear,
But as they be, makes things appear;
And if the Truth be deem'd a Libel,
Good Heav'n preserve the Holy Bible
From all those Hypocrites, that use it
Only to wrest it, and abuse it;
And make it, by their canting Whines,
Subservient to their base Designs.
My Muse abhors to mince the matter;
A Knave she like a Knave will draw,
In spight of that grim D---n, L---:
12
But as they be, makes things appear;
And if the Truth be deem'd a Libel,
Good Heav'n preserve the Holy Bible
From all those Hypocrites, that use it
Only to wrest it, and abuse it;
And make it, by their canting Whines,
Subservient to their base Designs.
Be silent, says my Friend, a while,
I'll tell a Tale, shall make you smile.
I'll tell a Tale, shall make you smile.
A Clergy-man, of great Renown,
Well known in Country, and in Town;
Fam'd for an exquisite Conjunction,
Of Parts becoming Holy Function,
Had writ a learned Tract, to show
The Dangers that from Schism flow;
And willing, as became his Station,
To have his P---'s Approbation,
He humbly shews the painful Piece
To th'B--- of the D---e:
With much Content, the Book he read,
And gave the Applause it merited;
But, Sir, says he, tho' Schism's a Crime,
This is alass! no proper Time
To trouble tender Consciences
With such Polemick Points as these:
Besides, 'tis dang'rous to disturb 'em,
We must not either spur or curb 'em.
Well known in Country, and in Town;
Fam'd for an exquisite Conjunction,
Of Parts becoming Holy Function,
Had writ a learned Tract, to show
The Dangers that from Schism flow;
And willing, as became his Station,
To have his P---'s Approbation,
He humbly shews the painful Piece
To th'B--- of the D---e:
13
And gave the Applause it merited;
But, Sir, says he, tho' Schism's a Crime,
This is alass! no proper Time
To trouble tender Consciences
With such Polemick Points as these:
Besides, 'tis dang'rous to disturb 'em,
We must not either spur or curb 'em.
My L---, reply'd the Country Priest,
Since there's no bridling of the Beast,
And that your L---p's pleas'd to say,
At present 'tis the better Way
To stop good Works, and wink at Evil,
For once, like you, I'll be so civil,
To hold a Candle to the Devil.
Since there's no bridling of the Beast,
And that your L---p's pleas'd to say,
At present 'tis the better Way
To stop good Works, and wink at Evil,
For once, like you, I'll be so civil,
To hold a Candle to the Devil.
I find, said I, you make this Motion,
Like a true Friend, by way of Caution,
To shew this is no proper Time
To publish Truth, dress'd up in Rime;
Nor is it Treason, if I say,
In Prose or any other Way,
Without the Danger of offending
A potent Tribe, who are intending,
Under Pretence of mending Matters,
To bring us into S---sh F---rs;
Therefore, since you have been so kind,
In merry Tale to hint your Mind,
And give me good Advice, I'll take it,
Not tell the Truth, or yet forsake it;
But hug her closely in my Breast,
And both submit to be supprest,
Till Time, that brings all Things to Light,
Shall rescue her from Error's Night,
And make her shine Divinely bright.
Like a true Friend, by way of Caution,
To shew this is no proper Time
To publish Truth, dress'd up in Rime;
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In Prose or any other Way,
Without the Danger of offending
A potent Tribe, who are intending,
Under Pretence of mending Matters,
To bring us into S---sh F---rs;
Therefore, since you have been so kind,
In merry Tale to hint your Mind,
And give me good Advice, I'll take it,
Not tell the Truth, or yet forsake it;
But hug her closely in my Breast,
And both submit to be supprest,
Till Time, that brings all Things to Light,
Shall rescue her from Error's Night,
And make her shine Divinely bright.
No more will I presume to meddle
With up-start Rump, leap'd into Saddle,
Or in his odious Colours paint
That Hypocrite, a Modern Saint;
Nor shall my Muse in doleful Verse,
The Tragick Villanies rehearse,
Done by that Sanguinary Brood,
That wash'd their Hands in Royal Blood.
With up-start Rump, leap'd into Saddle,
Or in his odious Colours paint
That Hypocrite, a Modern Saint;
15
The Tragick Villanies rehearse,
Done by that Sanguinary Brood,
That wash'd their Hands in Royal Blood.
No more the merry Jade shall jest
Upon their solemn Calves-Head Feast;
Or eke prophane that mod'rate Zeal,
Which we and they know both too well;
Is only meant when things accrue,
As Holy Tribe would have 'em do,
To make us mod'rate Christian S---s,
To Heath'nish F---s, and fiery K---s:
For he that's cunning in undoing,
And seeks to work another's Ruin,
Will coax him first to be his Friend,
And that blind Side the most commend,
By which he hopes to gain his End.
Upon their solemn Calves-Head Feast;
Or eke prophane that mod'rate Zeal,
Which we and they know both too well;
Is only meant when things accrue,
As Holy Tribe would have 'em do,
To make us mod'rate Christian S---s,
To Heath'nish F---s, and fiery K---s:
For he that's cunning in undoing,
And seeks to work another's Ruin,
Will coax him first to be his Friend,
And that blind Side the most commend,
By which he hopes to gain his End.
With that my Friend look'd up, and snorted,
And thus upon me he retorted:
Tho' Rods you know are soaking for you,
I find, says he, it won't deter you:
Did you not say, you would forbear,
And yet you're rambling G*d knows where.
And thus upon me he retorted:
16
I find, says he, it won't deter you:
Did you not say, you would forbear,
And yet you're rambling G*d knows where.
Pox take, said I, this Itch of Scribling,
Like Fish, we Poets must be nibling.
Like Fish, we Poets must be nibling.
But have a Care, says he, at last,
The bearded Hook don't hold you fast;
And let me, like a Friend, advise,
As you are merry, pray be wise:
For if you will be boldly casting
Your Flirts at those that love no Jesting,
They may return, when you provoke,
In earnest, such a spiteful Stroke,
You'll like as bad, as they your Joke.
The bearded Hook don't hold you fast;
And let me, like a Friend, advise,
As you are merry, pray be wise:
For if you will be boldly casting
Your Flirts at those that love no Jesting,
They may return, when you provoke,
In earnest, such a spiteful Stroke,
You'll like as bad, as they your Joke.
Said I, these wise Considerations
Have cool'd my hot-brain'd Cogitations;
Thou'st damp'd at once my Muse's Fury,
She's a meer Coward, I assure ye,
And dreads a d---d Fanatick J---y.
Well! since she whispers out her Fears
On both sides of my list'ning Ears,
And tells me, If I don't comply
To scribble modishly, that I
May thirst for Wine, and starve for Hunger,
Ere she'll stand by me any longer;
I find, to save my self from Harm,
Like modern W---g, I must reform,
That is, not speak the Truths I shou'd do,
Nor scourge the Factions as I wou'd do;
For as their Pow'r of doing Ill
Can ne'er be equal to their Will,
So is my honest Will to shew
The Ills and Mischiefs that they do,
Above the Pow'r of my weak Sense
Now cramp'd by a R---.
Have cool'd my hot-brain'd Cogitations;
Thou'st damp'd at once my Muse's Fury,
She's a meer Coward, I assure ye,
And dreads a d---d Fanatick J---y.
17
On both sides of my list'ning Ears,
And tells me, If I don't comply
To scribble modishly, that I
May thirst for Wine, and starve for Hunger,
Ere she'll stand by me any longer;
I find, to save my self from Harm,
Like modern W---g, I must reform,
That is, not speak the Truths I shou'd do,
Nor scourge the Factions as I wou'd do;
For as their Pow'r of doing Ill
Can ne'er be equal to their Will,
So is my honest Will to shew
The Ills and Mischiefs that they do,
Above the Pow'r of my weak Sense
Now cramp'd by a R---.
Farewell, ye proud aspiring Herd;
May you be neither lov'd or fear'd,
But only rais'd aloft, like Rain
In Season, to come down again;
For sure the h---r P---s must see
You ever was, and e'er will be,
A Snake to those that cherish ye.
May you be neither lov'd or fear'd,
But only rais'd aloft, like Rain
In Season, to come down again;
18
You ever was, and e'er will be,
A Snake to those that cherish ye.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |