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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]

Ward, Edward (1667-1731)

[section]

Hudibras Redivivus: OR, A Burlesque POEM ON THE TIMES.

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CANTO XVI.

After the gentle Lambs of Grace
I stalk'd along a Spaniard's Pace,
Like Hampshire Roger, Ralph, or Will,
Driving his Hogs to Tower-Hill.

From Cornhill up tow'rds Lumbard-Street,
Where Friends in mighty Numbers meet,
The Quaking Zealots, with their 'Spouses,
In solemn Wise all turn'd their Noses,
'Till to an ancient Inn they came,
The Bull and Mouth by Sign and Name:

So call'd, as I suppose, because
Horn'd Zealots there, with gaping Jaws,
Roar, when the Spirit moves, aloud
Strange Nonsense to a brainless Crowd.
At last they came to Holy Ground,
On which there stood a Wooden Pound,
Where the stray'd Lambs in great Compunction
All met together in Conjunction,
With one Accord, to seek that Light
Which Father Ramsy first, in spite
To old King Harry's Reformation,
Struck up, to plague the English Nation.

By Dint of Elbow, mov'd by Grace,
They crowded in a wond'rous Pace,
Like zealous Whigs upon St. Michael,
Who sweating squeeze in dripping Pickle
Into Guild-Hall, that by their bustling,
Their clawing, clam'ring, and their jostling,
They might at last elect a Lord
That would with their Designs accord,

Without the least Consideration,
Whether the Work in Agitation,
Be right or wrong, be ill or well,
Deriv'd from Heaven, or from Hell?
When this same Slit-deal Tabernacle,
Where Coxcombs Crow, and old Hens Cackle,
Without a Pulpit, Pew, or Steeple,
Had drain'd the Yard of Pen's good People.
Amongst the rest, I shuffl'd in,
T'observe their Exercise within,
And what strange furious Zeal could lead
This superfine reforming Breed
From the Church-Worship to dissent,
That's so Divinely excellent,
To serve the L---d-like canting Scrubs,
With Hypocritick Sighs and Sobs,
As if good Heav'n, who loves to hear,
From contrite Heart, a chearful Pray'r,
Was pleas'd with the prepost'rous Fancies
Of frantick Saints bereaft of Senses.

No sooner had I squeez'd my Carcase
Near to the Foot of Gall'ry-Staircase,
But such a Humming, as I live,
Went thro' the penitential Hive,
Mix'd with such hollow Sighs and Groans,
Express'd with such pathetick Tones,
That would have mov'd a Wall of Flint,
Except the D---l had been in't,
To've eccho'd back by Repetition,
Their woeful, sinful, sad Condition.
As for my part, I stood amaz'd,
And thought the whole Assembly craz'd,
And that their melancholy Fits
Had quite depriv'd 'em of their Wits;
For who'd imagine Human Nature,
So wise, so rational a Creature,
Should think to work out their Salvation
By such strange forc'd Dissimulation.

Their stiff-neck'd Pride disdain'd to shew
That Rev'rence which to Heav'n is due,

But on their Haunches did they sit,
In crowded Gall'ry, and in Pit,
Squeez'd up like Holy-day Spectators
At one of R---ch's lewd Theatres.
Had Hodmedod's and Prestor John's
Been mix'd with Sarazens and Huns,
Or Irish wild, and Scotch Highlanders,
Been join'd with sullen Boars from Flanders,
They'd not have made, with all their odd Looks,
A Composition of such bad Looks.
A Shew of such uncommon Faces,
Such Pouts, such Grins, and such Grimaces,
As grac'd this whining Congregation,
Were sure beyond all Imitation:
No Roman Artist e'er could draw
The strange Variety I saw:
Such Leers and Snears, such frowning Glances,
Such strain'd ill-favour'd Countenances,
Were ne'er touch'd up to like Perfection
In Michael Ang'lo's Resurrection;

Nor was the Scene I'm representing,
Unlike that Sacred Piece of Painting;
For those that did to Gall'ry rise,
Cast up tow'rds Heav'n their wishing Eyes,
Whilst those that sighing sate below,
Look'd down, as if they meant to show
Which way they were decreed to go.

In this Surprize I stood a while,
And sometimes cough'd to hide a Smile;
For Flesh and Blood, that did but see
Their Looks, and their Hypocrisy;
The Postures of the Zeal-mad Noddies,
The Motions of their Heads and Bodies,
Could not forbear a Laugh, to smother,
At some odd Passage or another.
Some held their Hands upon their Jaws,
As if the Tooth-Ach was the Cause,
Whilst other Zealots thump'd their Breast,
As if with Grief or Flegm opprest,

And such strange antick Gestures had,
That shew'd 'em not devout, but mad,
As if old Satan had, in spite
Of all their boasted inward Light,
Blown out the Heav'nly shining Spark,
And left the inward Man i'th' Dark:
For Satan is a cunning Fiend,
That lies perdue to gain his End,
And most industriously invents
Strange Ways to disappoint the Saints.
At last a Churl, with grizly Beard,
Whose Eyes like any Fury's star'd,
I'th' Gall'ry from his Seat arose,
With Hat pull'd o'er his Beetle Brows,
Who when he'ad posturiz'd his Face,
And humm'd for some few Minutes Space,
As if his hollow Skull had been
A Hive fill'd full of Bees within,
Who had, by their industrious Pains,
To Wax and Honey turn'd his Brains;

For the long Speech he did transmit,
Was sometimes hard, and sometimes sweet.

I say, when he with great Devotion
Had waited thus the Spirit's Motion,
At last he thump'd his working Breast,
And thus he prattl'd to the rest:

My Friends, the Spirit bids me tell ye,
You're sick, and I am come to heal ye.
I say, the Plague, the Plague of Sin
Infects you ev'ry Soul within.
Hypocrisy, Vain-glory, Pride,
Do o'er the inward Man preside,
And lead ye to such evil Courses,
That you're turn'd Satan's Hobby-horses;
With wicked Lust he Shoes your Feet,
And Saddles you with vain Conceit,
Then mounts ye, whips ye, spurs ye, rides ye,
And with a Twine-Thread Bridle guides ye;

Teaches you all your wicked Paces,
Hurries you on to sinful Places,
As Country Tinkers do their Asses,
Where Darkness does the Light controul,
And evil Sports delude the Soul;
Where Men grow Drunk, and Women Whorish,
And all Abominations flourish.
Ah! Friends, since you're so oft forbidden,
Why will you thus be slav'd and ridden
By Satan, that insnaring Fiend,
That vile Seducer of Mankind,
That Popish Babylonian Lyar,
Who dwells in Brimstone and in Fire,
That Father of the Scarlet Whore,
Who for that Pride we should abhor,
Was damn'd, damn'd, damn'd for evermore?
Therefore, mistaken Friends, what mean ye
To thus forsake the Light within ye?
I say, beware, forbear, take heed,
Turn Tail about, and stop your speed.

Rend Satan's Bridles from your Necks;
Shake off his Saddles from your Backs;
Throw off your Rider in a Rage;
From his curs'd Service disingage,
And when he's down, oppose him, fight him,
Trample upon him, kick him, bite him,
Subdue him, worry 'm, make him fly,
And watch him with as sharp an Eye
As now the Low Church do the High:
Shew him less Mercy, and more Spite,
Than Whig would do a Jacobite;
That is, deride him, mock him, scoff him,
And make worse than a Devil of him.
This is the way to snuff the Light,
And make the Spirit shine more bright;
That Spirit which is mov'd by Grace
To guide us to yon Heav'nly Place;
That Grace which does the Light new vamp,
As Oil revives the fading Lamp;

That Light, by which the Saints in Glory
Have truly walk'd by long before ye;
That shining Gospel-Light moreover,
By which the L---d's Elect discover
That Coast, which, free from Rocks and Shelves,
Is known to none except our selves.

Therefore, my Friends, I say again,
Give Ear unto the inward Man;
Observe the Motions of the Spirit,
And mind the Light, or (I aver it)
You've neither Faith, G*d's Grace, or Hope,
But have a darker Way to grope,
Than a blind Beggar near a Well,
Fumbling without his Dog and Bell,
Who nigh him has no Friend or Stranger,
Or Staff, to warm him of the Danger.
So you that are without the Light,
Have nothing to direct you right,
But like a Ship in Tempest tost,
Whose Compass, and whose Rudder's lost.

You'll loose your Course, and split your selves
On Satan's wicked Rocks and Shelves,
Where Canibals Infernal wait,
Enrag'd with Envy, and with Hate,
To seize you, tear you all asunder,
And make your sinful Souls free Plunder.

Therefore I say, my Friends, beware
Ye fall not into Satan's Snare;
For if you do, when once you're taken,
The Saints in Heav'n can't save your Bacon.
Besides, when you're in Satan's Clutches,
Lock'd safe beneath his dismal Hatches,
He'll use you worse than Doctors Commons,
Or those vile Catholicks call'd Romans;
Nay, scorch ye, broil ye, boil ye, roast ye,
Baist, drudge ye, scald ye, burn ye, toast ye,
And put ye in a worse Confusion,
Than ancient High-Church Persecution.

Therefore, I say, if you'd inherit
The promis'd Land, observe the Spirit;

Mind ye the Light, and hear the Word,
And walk uprightly in the Lord.
Abandon all your fleshly Lust,
And be to all the Godly just;
That is, trade one among another,
And deal as Brother should by Brother:
But if by chance you deal with those
O'th' High-Church, use 'em as your Foes;
That is, out-wit 'em ev'ry way;
'Twill be your own another Day.
Deal sharply, warily, and wisely,
Cunningly too, and yet precisely,
But take this Caution by the by,
Be sure you neither Swear nor Lie,
For they are deadly Sins, that we
The Saints abhor like Popery;
But what the Steeple-House calls Cheating,
And we the Holy Saints, Out-witting:
Alas! it is a Sin so small,
In short, no Sin in us at all,

But a poor Priviledge that's given
To th'Saints on Earth by those in Heav'n;
For we th'Elect are always blest
With greater Portions, than the rest,
Of Worldly Wit, as well as Grace,
To arm our selves in ev'ry Case
Against all Human Snares and Tiles,
As well as wicked Satan's Wiles.
Therefore to 've Wit, and not to use it,
Is to despise it, and abuse it:
And how d' ye think, since we enjoy it,
The L---d expects we should employ it,
I say, against the Sons of Baal?
And who those are, we know full well,
Such as in Triumph long have wore
The Trappings of the Scarlet Whore:
The Priests of Dagon, those vain Praters,
And all their wicked vile Abettors;

Those who in Whores-Hair hide their Heads,
And wear, altho' the L---d forbids,
Revengeful Weapons by their Sides,
To wound and persecute the Saints,
And awe them from their just Complaints;
Those who annoy the Common-weal
With Arms of Flesh, and Swords of Steel,
And in their drunken wild Disorders,
Commit vile, wicked Rapes and Murders:
Also against those Hawks and Kites,
Those Carrion-Crows call'd Jacobites;
Those Reprobates that think so odly,
And talk so vainly of the Godly.
But hold a little, I mistake,
My Friends, the Spirit gives a Check,
And bids me not be too severe,
But tow'rds 'em some Compassion bear,
Because, like us, they will not Swear.

But as to those vain wicked People,
That worship Organs, Bells, and Steeple;

I say, my Friends, it is no more
To over-reach 'em o'er and o'er;
No more a Sin, I do aver it,
If Light be Light and Spirit,
Than 'tis to cherish feeble Nature
With a refreshing Cup o'th' Creature;
For we the Lambs of Grace, should hate
The Wicked and the Reprobate;
Make them, like Satan's evil Brood
Of Serpents, lick the Dust for Food;
Not suffer them to tyrannize
O'er us the Saints in Holy Wise,
But let the Righteous undermine 'em,
And by the Light of Grace, out-shine 'em,
That we may crush the Sons of Dagon,
As George for England did the Dragon.
But how shall we th'Elect o'er-power 'em,
And in this promis'd Land reign o'er 'em,
Except we grow too cunning for 'em?

Therefore, my Friends, be rul'd by me,
Use all your Holy Subtilty,
Let no smooth verbal Craft be wanting,
Altho' the Wicked call it Canting:
Out-wit 'em by the Dint of Grace,
And coz'n 'em with a Righteous Face,
That when they deal w'ye, or imploy ye,
They ne'er may gain one Penny by ye,
But get by them whate'er you can,
The Word says Godliness is Gain:
And ye, my Friends, that have a Mind,
May there the Holy Saying find:
But still in all you do or say,
Take these Instructions by the way;
Follow the Light, that faithful Guide,
And you can never step aside.
Attend and mind the Spirit's Motions:
These, these, my Friends, are Heav'nly Cautions.

But ah! my Friends, I plainly see't,
The Tares are sown amongst the Wheat:

The Weeds of Satan sprout apace
Amidst ye Saints, in spite of Grace.
Ah! Friends, the Spirit bids me tell ye,
Luxurious Cramming of the Belly,
And Tippling like insatiate Sots,
O'er Quarts, instead of half Pint Pots,
Makes your swoln Paunches look much fatter,
Than Stall-fed Oxen for the Slaughter:
Nay, some amongst ye do so tipple,
Ye suck the Pot as Babes the Nipple,
'Till grown beyond all Christian Size,
Bloated like Hogs fed up in Styes.
Ah! Friends, forbear this vile Excess,
Mind the Light more, the Bottle less;
For by this sad Abomination,
You scandalize your good Profession;
O Moderation! Moderation!
For that, you know, will never hurt you;
O! Moderation is a Vertue,

A Vertue which the Saints should prize,
And always place before their Eyes.
Ah! Friends, would those that are in Pow'r,
Talk of it less, and use it more,
Satan's Designs would surely perish
With those that do our Discords nourish,
And Peace thro'out the Land would flourish.

My Friends, I must be close upon ye,
Another Evil reigns among ye;
To ye I speak, who look as thin
Ald old King Pharaoh's famish'd Kine.
Ah! Friends, the Spirit tells me plainly,
The Cause that makes you look s' ungainly.
The Deeds of Darkness and Uncleanness,
Have brought your Bodies to that Leanness.
Ah! Friends, methinks I hear you wish,
That no vile Workings of the Flesh,
No sinful Pleasures of the Night,
In black Rebellion to the Light,

Had thus deluded ye astray,
And made ye subtle Satan's Prey.
I say, beware of wicked Woman,
She's like an open Field or Common,
Where ev'ry Goose, and ev'ry Ass,
Has leave to trample down the Grass:
Deliver up the filthy Jade
To Satan to be buffetted;
Avoid her for a loathsome Sinner,
Hell Fire, I tell ye, burns within her;
For Satan's Children all are free
To 'er Oven of Iniquity:
There does she bake 'em to a Crust,
To satisfy her flaming Lust;
Then leaves the poor repenting Fools
To carnal Smiths and Hospitals.
Therefore, my Friends, beware, I say,
Of such a wanton Dalilah;
Were you as brisk, as strong, and bold,
As sturdy Sampson was of old,

Should Satan tempt you to have at her,
She'd make you soon as weak as Water.
Could you to those Perfections rise
Possess'd by Solomon the Wise,
How like a Fool you'd look at last,
When all your filthy Deeds were past?
Could you command the Bank of London,
Be rul'd by her, you'd soon be undone.
Therefore, my Friends, once more I bid ye
Avoid the Snare, or Woe betide ye:
Shun, by the Spirit's good Direction,
Those Iv'ry Pillars of Destruction;
For lo between, there hidden lies
A Pit, a Pool, a strange Device,
That cost old Adam Paradice.
Therefore let no such wanton Witches,
Bedaub'd with Paint, and stuck with Patches,
Trick'd up in vain alluring Cloths,
Profane Commodes, and Furbuloes,

Seduce ye with their cunning Wiles,
Or tempt ye with their treach'rous Smiles,
To stroke their Breasts, or pat their Hips,
Or touch their soft alluring Lips;
For Kissing is a great Temptation,
And F---ll---g an Abomination.
But ah! my Friends, that Putting in
Is a most beastly deadly Sin.
Therefore the Spirit bids me tell ye,
You're damn'd if you pursue this Folly,
For Sins committed under Belly.

But thou, I say, amongst the Saints,
That want'st the Gift of Continence,
Look round the loving Lambs of Grace,
Seek out for some inticing Face,
Some Rachel, Abigail, or Ruth,
That minds the Light, and loves the Truth;
And if thou lik'st her, take her to thee,
The Damsel may be glad to know thee:

Tell her thou lov'st her for the Light
That in her Count'nance shines so bright;
Nay, tell her, that thou need'st must do't,
Because the Spirit moves thee to't:
But whatsoe'er thou do'st, I say,
Still do it in a Righteous Way;
That is, thy Wife or Hand-maid make her,
And not for once, but always take her.
Use not the Maid as wicked Varlets
Do their lewd Concubines and Harlots,
Delude 'em, flatt'r 'em, treat 'em, woe 'em,
Debauch 'em, and at last undo 'em,
Raise Seed which they refuse to nourish,
And leave their Off-spring to the Parish,
To be nurs'd up in Lice and Rags
By filthy Sluts, and frowsy Hags,
'Till ripe for Newgate, and the Gallows,
Or Pimping in some Bawdy Ale-house.
O wretched, wicked, vile Transgression!
O mad, bad, sad Abomination!

The Laud forbid such Sins as these
Should reign among the Sons of Peace:
No, sure it cannot, cannot be,
And yet alas! methinks I see
Some Saints among you leer and look
As if you'ad nibbl'd at the Hook;
But have a Care, if once you taste
The Bait, ye will be catch'd at last,
Like ------, that wicked Sinner,
That fornicating old Cord-wainer,
Who, to the Shame of our Profession,
Was catch'd in the unclean Transgression;
She underneath, and he on top,
His Breeches down, her Fig-leaf up.
Therefore when both sides thus agree,
What wicked Doings must there be?
O! Shame upon the sinful Couple,
To scandalize the L---d's Pe---ople,
When we with all our Hands and Eyes
Disdain such vile Discoveries.

Therefore, my Friends, abhor such Evils,
For publick Shame's the Spite of Devils.
But should the Flesh, by Dint of Claret,
At any time o'ercome the Spirit,
So that you can't forbear, be sure,
E'er you begin, you bolt the Door,
That no informing zealous Brother,
Who lies perdue to trap another,
Should, to our Friends Disreputation,
Detect ye in Abomination.
The Sin will give the Spirit Trouble,
But to be catch'd in't, makes it double.
Therefore, my Friends, I say be wary,
Learn to be wise, as well as merry;
For if ye bring, thro' Indiscretion,
Shame on this Righteous Generation,
We'll spew ye out with one Accord
From us the People of the L---d;
Detest ye, mock ye, scoff ye, flounce ye,
Forsake ye, cast ye off, renounce ye,

That Satan, with a wicked Will,
May buffet ye from Head to Heel.
Therefore, my Friends, dread Holy Vi'lence.
The Spirit moves me now to Silence.