Hudibras Redivivus :: :: University of Virginia Library

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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XVII.

II.

Part the Second.

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2. Part the Second.

CANTO II.

The bouncing Quack's alluring Babble
Prevailing with the list'ning Rabble,
Old coughing Fools, and crazy Nurses,
Began apace to draw their Purses,
Hoping that now they should be freed
From Corns, and Coughs, and aching Head,
And all the Plagues that wait each Day
On Age, hard Labour, and Decay,
Believing, as the Doctor said,
They now should be immortal made;

And that his universal Medly,
Were the Distemper ne'er so deadly,
Would cure 'em, and prolong their Breath,
In spite of Sickness, and of Death.
So easy is it to delude
A poor unthinking Multitude,
That if the Bait be but inviting,
The Angler need not fear their biting.

The wond'rous Hopes the Rabble had,
Made 'em whip Six-pences like mad.
Many amongst the foolish Crowd,
Fond to promote the Doctor's Good,
Gave in at once the total Sum
They'd got about 'em, or at Home.
So have I seen at Country Wedding,
When Blockheads for the Gloves were bidding,
An ostentatious Clown pull forth
His Pouch, and lay down all his Worth;
And when the tempting Prize he 'ad got,
Thrash'd hard next Day to earn a Groat.

No sooner had the busy Quack
Dispers'd his never-failing Pack
Of Remedies 'gainst every Evil,
Brought to the Doctor by his Devil,
And fortify'd the Rabble Rout
With Plaister, Pill, and Antidote;
But those, who to preserve their Health,
Had swop'd their little Stock of Wealth,
Were moving each their diff'rent way,
Some to their Work, and some to Play;
Others more lazy, lewd, and common,
To starve, beg, steal, or play the Woman:
But Andrew, wanting to entice
Their Stay, had fram'd a new Device
To fish for Farthings, when his Master
Had, by his Balsam, Pill, and Plaister,
Their Silver from the Brass refin'd,
And only left the Dross behind.
So the proud Sharper, very oft,
The better to effect his Craft,

His Lackey keeps thro' Ostentation,
And passes for a Man of Fashion,
Altho' he's often forc'd to make
A Meal upon a Mutton Stake,
Leaving his hungry Man to shift
With the poor Scraps himself has left:
So the Quack first secures the best,
Then Andrew fishes for the rest.

The Fool, to stop their moving off,
Invites 'em back with commic Laugh:
Ya hoy, crys he, you're plaguy cunning;
Why, where the Devil are ye running?
I find you, like ungrateful Friends,
Turn Tail when you have gain'd your Ends.
So to a Feast should I invite ye,
You'd stuff your Guts, and cry, Good bwi't'ye.
But hold a little, why so fast?
Methinks you're all in woundy haste.
Pray turn again, and hear the Tattle
Of two Town-Gossips o'er a Bottle.

“Says Madam Frisk, Come, here's a Glass
“To him that loves a pretty Lass,
“And dares to run thro' Fire and Water,
“To Kiss his Neighbour's Wife or Daughter.
“Come, fill a Bumper; where's the Hurt?
“Is not this Tipling, pleasing Sport?
“Says Madam Pert, I vow and swear it,
“These Men live rarely o'er their Claret.
“Come, t'other Glass: Upon my Life
“The Devil would not be a Wife,
“To steal a merry Hour in Fear,
“Or sit at Home, and drink Small Beer,
“Whilst ev'ry Night our rambling 'Spouses
“Shall tipple 'till they warm their Noses.
“'Tis very hard, says Frisk to Pert;
“But we as oft reward 'em for't;
“For when they're o'er the Bottle blest,
“Don't we provide a standing Feast,
“Which makes our Female Hearts as merry
“As theirs o'er Claret or Canary?

“But still, says Pert, a Cup o'th' Creature
“Makes ev'ry thing go down the better.
“Wine is the only hug me t'ye,
“That makes the Lover brisk and free.
“Kisses, Love-Toys, and am'rous Prattle,
“Are all dry Meat without the Bottle.
“Says Frisk, Two good Things, I must own
“Are better by a deal than one;
“But if I can't have both, I'll rather
“Content my self with one, than neither.
“But prethee put the Glass about;
“'Gad sa' me, who'd have thought 'twas out.
“Here, Drawer, bring us t'other Bottle:
“How this Wine makes us Women tattle!
“Could we but hear our Husbands chat it!
“How their Tongues run, when they are at it!
“Their Bawdy Tales, when o'er their Liquor,
“I'll warr'nt would make a Woman snicker.
“But hold; the Drawer's coming up,
“Let's put to our Discourse a Stop:

“Be silent when the Urchin enters,
“And look as grave as two Dissenters.
“Come, now he's gone, let's take a Glass,
“The Minutes flee away apace.
“Name some obliging pretty Health,
“That we can only drink by Stealth.
“Says Pert, agreed; let's both be free,
“And drink like any Quality.
“Here's to the Two that Kiss'd us last,
“Rememb'ring all our Pleasures past;
“And wishing those we have to come,
“May prove the best in Christendom.
“Well done, says Frisk, such a dear Girl
“Is worth th' Embraces of an Earl.
“I'll pledge thee, Pert, with all my Heart.
“'Tis pity we should ever part.
“I vow and swear 'tis charming Wine.
“Well, now I've drank, the Toast is mine.
“Come, fill your Glass, be brisk and airy,
“We've but a little Time to tarry.

“A Health to all those merry Wives,
“That keep up their Prerogatives,
“And fearless dare, like us, pursue
“Those Pleasures which their Husbands do,
“Without the Dread of Kicking, Cuffing,
“Or any jealous Cuckold's Huffing,
“And will at all times, Tooth and Nail,
“With Tongs or Ladle, Tongue and Tail,
“Maintain that Right which Nature gave 'em,
“In spite of those that would enslave 'em.
“Well toasted, Faith, crys Madam Pert,
“Here's the good Health with all my Heart.
“Cuts Bobs, says Frisk, my Brains grow addl'd;
“Hick-up, crys Pert, I think I'm fuddl'd.
And when thus drunk, the giddy Hussies
Reel'd Home to their cornuted 'Spouses:
“Then, How now, Wife; why, what's the matter?
“My Dear, 'tis nothing but a Vapour.
“You're drunk, you Sow; you reel and slabber.
“You lie, you Hog, I'm sick, but sober.

“Get you to Bed, you stagg'ring Beast.
“I won't, you Buck, at your Request.
“Go sleep, I say, you drunken Quean.
“You cross-grain'd Cuckold, what d'ye mean?
“Hussy, how dare you thus abuse me?
“Sirrah, how dare you thus misuse me?
“You Whore, be silent, or I'll kick ye.
“You Rogue, be civil, or I'll stick ye.
Rare merry Jades! upon my Life;
Who would not covet such a Wife?

Now, stay a little, and I'll tell ye
What Rarities I've here to sell ye.
Such Wonders will I make appear
From this poor little Packet here,
That have not hitherto been known
To any Conj'rer in the Town:
Yet I'm no upstart Albumazer;
Altho' a Fool, no Planet-Gazer;
That in this Coat has made a Sally
From the six Steps in Raven-Alley,

In this Disguise, to boast or brag on
My Female Fern-Seed, or Black Dragon;
For tho' I am a Fool, 'tis true,
That's nothing; be it known to you,
I am an exc'lent Doctor too;
Tho' I can't such Merit plead
As worthy fam'd Sir W--- R---d,
Or help, like him, the Blind to Sight;
Yet, be it known to that Great Knight,
My Honour can both Read and Write.
What, tho' I cannot Sole a Shoe,
As some Astrologers can do,
Or skip and tumble thro' a Hoop,
As well as Doctor Nincumpoop:
But thus much I'll be bold to say,
Tho' they the Knave can better play,
Yet I'll be bound to play the Fool
In Coach, on Horse-back, Stage, or Stool,
With the most topping, grave, and stately
Physician, tho' 'tis Doctor G---tly;

Yet did I ever scorn to boast
Of finding Silver Spoons when lost,
Or making Sigils, to secure
The buxom Jade from turning Whore.
That Word, I know, sounds something rough;
But from a Fool 'tis well enough;
For we, altho' we pass for no Wits,
Claim equal License with the Poets;
For Kings have Fools, that sometimes spare not
To speak what wiser Subjects dare not.

In short, I'm not about to cheat ye
With Juglers Tricks, or yet to treat ye
With Monsters, blazing Stars, or Commets,
But with strange Powders, Pills, and Vomits;
Such that have yet been never heard on
By him that has the oldest Beard on.
In the first place, this very Powder
Deserves Fame's Trumpet, or a louder,
Because, by its provoking Pow'r,
'Twill cause more Mirth in half an Hour,

Than all the Fidlers, Pipers, Songsters,
Young airy Harlots, Wits, and Punsters,
Were every one, to play their Parts,
And to their utmost shew their Arts.
Infuse in Wine, in Ale, or Beer,
The twentieth part of what is here;
Give it to Widow, Wife, or Maid,
Old Thornback, or the squeamish Jade;
And tho' before she seem'd to be
A Saint, all over Modesty,
Pious, reserv'd, morose, unkind,
Skittish, and coy, you'll quickly find
'Twill quite subdue her stubborn Nature,
And make her such an am'rous Creature,
That be she High-Church, be she Whig,
She'll nuzzl' ye like a sucking Pig,
And be so fond of him that gave it,
That tho' a Maid, 'twill make her crave it,
And plainly tell you, she must have it.

'Twill cause a Saint to quit her Pray'rs,
And dry up her repenting Tears;
To Love's Enjoyments so incline her,
That do but press her, and you'll win her
To turn a kind obliging Sinner.
In short, 'twill make the Trades-man's 'Spouse
Graft Horns upon her Husband's Brows;
Betray him, cheat him by the by,
And pick his Pocket, to supply
Some starving Stallion of the Town,
With Cloaths, and now and then a Crown.
'Twill make a D---s slight her Honour,
And let some Scoundrel live upon her;
Provoke Great Ladies to be Cullies
To brainless Beaus, and blust'ring Bullies.
This is the Charm that tempts rich Fools
To marry worthless Jilts and Trulls,
And draws the Man of G--- to wed
The Leavings of his Lordship's Bed.

This makes rich Fortunes from their Coaches
Fall head-long into Sharpers Clutches,
And prize the Dregs of their Debauches
Before the Man of Worth and Sense,
That wants the other's Impudence.
'Twill op'rate, us'd as I have shew'd ye,
From the Court-Lady, to the Dowdy,
As well upon the Dame of Worth,
That boasts of her illustrious Birth.
The Hypocrite, that's always pleading
For Honour, Modesty, and Breeding,
As well as she that's born to carry
The Milk-Pail from the Cow to th' Dairy.
'Twill make them all break Vertue's Chains,
And prize Mens Backs much more than Brains.
Besides, fair Dames, I'd have you know't,
'Twill op'rate on our Sex to boot:
On Scholars, Trades-men, Soldiers, Sea-men,
All sorts of Men, as well as Women.

One Dose will make a Fool despise
A vertuous Wife, that by him lies,
And give him a lascivious Itching
To ramble o'er the Town a Bitching.
'Tis exc'lent good for Ladies Maids,
Their Women, or their Chamber-Jades,
To give their Lords, when they would bob
Their Ladies of a merry Job.
Did they but know what pleasant Sport
'Twould make, it would be priz'd at Court
From the Great Leacher puff'd with Pow'r,
To th' humble P--- that guards the Door.

Let but the City Dame infuse it,
So that her 'Prentice may but use it,
And I dare warrant for a Truth,
'Twill so inspire the am'rous Youth,
That boldly, fearless of Disaster,
He'll make a Cuckold of his Master.
In short, 'twill so improve the Sense
With head-strong Lust and Impudence,

That by its Help, a Country Clown
May bear a Dame of Honour down;
And for his masculine Approaches,
Be made thrice welcome to a Dutchess.
One Virtue more, which is not common,
It cures all Barrenness in Woman;
Removes what does Conception hinder,
And makes her touch and take like Tinder,
Provided she'll be rul'd by Reason,
And be well plough'd and sow'd in Season.
Therefore, if any of you want
A brisk young Husband, or Gallant;
Or any Spark, to bless his Life,
Needs a kind Mistress, or a Wife:
Or if no Children you can bear,
But live in Pain to have an Heir,
Give but this Powder as directed,
Your Bus'ness will be soon effected.
Both Sexes may supply their Wants
With Wives, Whores, Husbands, and Gallants:

The poor Man's House abound with Brats,
As Country Barn with Mice and Rats;
And Parishes be fill'd with By-blows
As thick as Butchers Stalls with Fly-blows,
When every blue-ars'd Insect rambles
Abroad, to persecute the Shambles.

The next rare Instance of my Skill,
Is th' only Wonder of a Pill;
It purges both the Guts and Brains,
And carr's off all those pricking Pains
That shall at any time torment
The hide-bound Conscience of a Saint.
It widens all those narrow Rules
That check Enthusiastick Fools,
And qualifies their Minds, to take
All sorts of Oaths for Int'rest sake.
Warm costive Zeal it cools and supples,
And stretches all restraining Scruples;
Loossens all Sacramental Ties,
And all their Holy Force destroys;

So that they may Commune with those,
When Int'rest leads them by the Nose,
Whom in their treach'rous Hearts they hate,
And worse than K---s abominate.
It also purges from within 'em
All Notions of the Jus Divinum,
And scowrs off all such H--- C--- Matter,
As clean as D--- F---'s new Satyr:
But if without side you would be
From Fundament-Pollution free,
As my Pill works, and proves effective,
Be sure you wipe with his Invective.

It also stops all Veneration
For ancient H--- C--- Ordination,
And raises an immortal Loathing
To B---s, and their S--- Cloathing.
It also strengthens Head and Heart,
Tongue, Tooth, and Nail, and ev'ry Part,
And arms them with a woful Caution
Against C--- W--- and Devotion;

Strongly inclines them to prefer
Dull Hodge Podge to the C--- P---;
Provokes them to reproach, despise
Guides, who are learned, grave, and wife,
And makes them follow prating F---s,
That cant like K---s, and hoot like O---s.

Besides, as true as here we live,
'Tis a most rare Restorative
For any wav'ring He or She,
That's fall'n from their Hypocrisy.
'Twill make 'em sigh, dissemble, pray,
And Chapters read nine times a Day;
Yet shall they make it their Endeavour
To cheat and lie as bad as ever;
Look as demure as Saints, yet drive at
The worst of Vices, when in private.
If Holy Sister, wanting Grace,
By Chance supplies a Harlot's Place,
And takes a kind refreshing Sh---
Upon the Bed of lawless Love;

This Pill, if swallow'd in due time,
Shall quite extenuate the Crime;
Expel the Dregs of her Transgression,
And purge off the Abomination;
Restore her puritannick Face
To all its old dissembling Grace,
And cause the Brethren to believe her
As good a true-blue Saint as ever.
If any Pharisee among ye
Should meet a Sinner, that should wrong ye,
And fire the Tools of Generation
With some Venereal Inflammation;
Nay, tho' the vile Disease be rooted,
And you are ne'er so bad polluted,
Take this, 'twill qualify the Flame,
And smother all the burning Shame
So secretly, that none shall guess
Ye are defil'd with Wickedness.
This pow'rful Pill at first did I
Prepare for Saints, that trod awry.

Thousands 't 'as cur'd, I do aver it,
Who've sinn'd against the Holy Spirit,
And have been clapp'd in woful Case,
In spite of all restraining Grace.
Therefore I call it to this Day,
My Pilula Fanatica.

Thirdly, This small Venetian Bottle,
So prim, so pretty, and so little,
Contains a Beauty-Wash, not common,
The best that e'er was us'd by Woman;
Tho' she be ninety Years, or more,
'Twill bring her back to twenty four,
And so repair old wither'd Maids,
And set off founder'd wrinkl'd Jades,
That Bawds at sixty shall go down
With Country 'Squires at half a Crown.
Ladies or Dowdies, Wives or Lasses,
With Scarlet or Pimgennet Faces,
Tho' caus'd by drinking much cold Tea,
Punch, Nectar, Wine, or Ratifea.

This cures their Redness without fail,
And brings them to a charming Pale,
And so prevents all future Flushing,
That they may drink on without blushing.

Representing Whores and common Drabs,
Pepper'd with Pocky Itch, or Scabs,
Who have for Years been never free
From the Venereal Leprosy;
Let them but wash their Limbs or Features,
Disgrac'd with these malignant Tetters,
And this will renovate their Faces,
Rectify all those fretting Places,
That scar'd their Culls from their Embraces.

All Dandruff, Morphew, Scurff, or Tan,
Caus'd by Heat, Nastiness, or Man,
It fetches off from any Place,
And leaves the Skin as smooth as Glass.
All Country Jugs, with Sun-burnt Faces,
Brown Joans, and Wainscot-colour'd Lasses,

Droll Act'resses, Balcony Mounters,
Punks, Strolers, Market Dames, and Bunters,
Course Wapping Weather-beaten Trulls,
That ply amongst the Oars and Skulls,
May all, by th' Help of this same Wash,
Be made so beautiful and fresh,
That Sweet-hearts aft'r 'em will be crowding,
Like hungry Dogs to dirty Pudding:
Each Sea-Commander will be glad
To turn their Aprons up like mad,
Without consid'ring, or regarding
Whether the Friggot he is boarding,
May prove a Fire-ship, to decoy him
On Board, to burn him, and destroy him.

Besides the Virtues I have nam'd,
And for your Good aloud proclaim'd;
One more I am about to mention,
That most deserves your grave Attention:
If any kind young pretty Maid,
Upon a Couch, Chair, Stool, or Bed,
Should chance to stretch her Maidenhead,

So that, if known, 'twould be by most
Good Folks suspected to be lost;
Let them in this but dip a F---t---r,
And rub it round their st---g L---r,
And they shall find that 'twill restore
What they believ'd they'd lost before;
And do their Bus'ness ten times better,
Than Doctor N---n---ck's Allum Water.

Let any Mother of the Maids,
That deals at Court in Maidenheads,
But teach her Pupils this rare Art,
Which I so frankly here impart,
And the crack'd Vessel may repair,
If brisk and young, her broken Ware;
And pass her Maid'nhead, if she's sound,
To some lewd Fop for fifty Pound:
Nay, let her but repeat the same,
Change but her Eye-brows, and her Name,
And tho' a common hackney Jade,
This will restore the Punk a Maid.

Thus may she daily live a Whore,
And still cheat those that do not know'r.
Therefore I justly title this
My Stiptick Aqua Veneris.

If any Man, Wife, Son, or Daughter,
Wants my Pill, Powder, or my Water,
Now, now's the time for Saints and Sinners
To wash off all past Misdemeaners.
Old Leachers, Harridans, and Cracks,
To mend their Bellies, and their Backs,
Here's something that I'm sure will please
Wives, Widows, Maids, of all Degrees,
From lofty Whores, that ride in Coaches,
To those that live by their Debauches.
Yet will they cost you but a few Pence;
Take my three Prodigies for two Pence:
Buy 'em, they're yours for little Coin;
If not, they're still the Fool's, that's mine.

FINIS.