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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.

XIV.

10.

11.

12.

II.

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10. Part the Tenth.

The King thus wanting Men and Coin,
Proceeded to his Magazine,
The ancient Northern Town of Hull,
Where Hotham mounted on the Wall,
With bold rebellious Impudence
Deny'd the Ent'rance of his Prince;
Who, much offended at the Matter,
Caus'd him to be proclaim'd a Traytor.
Small Punishment for such a Crime
Committed at so ill a Time!
Unless his Sov'reign Justice cou'd
Have hang'd the Traytor where he stood;

Because, when Rebels rule the Roast,
The Brand of Infamy is lost;
For, by the Saints, a Man is priz'd
The more for being stigmatiz'd,
'Cause each Dishonour whet's his Spleen,
And makes his Malice still more keen
Against that Pow'r that does disown him,
And puts the evil Mark upon him.
Besides, the greatest Proof of Zeal,
That Saint can give for Common-weal,
Is, (when he finds a proper Season)
To do some bold successful Treason;
For he who' as forfeited his Life,
To carry on rebellious Strife,
And knows, if Justice once prevails,
There is no Mercy in her Scales,
Will, for his Safety, forward run,
To finish what he has begun;
For he that backward looks, must find
His Fate persuing close behind.

Thus Rebels toil beneath the Curse
Of propping, with their utmost Force,
Their wicked Actions still with worse.
So tim'rous Villains, when they're robbing,
Proceed thro' Fear, from Theft to Stabbing,
In Hopes, by Murder, to prevent
Their being brought to Punishment.

After the King, to gather Aid,
His Progress round the North had made,
That injur'd Majesty might move
His Subjects to obedient Love,
By giving them a feeling Sense
Of all his suff'ring Innocence,
From thence, with slender Force, he came,
For more Supplies, to Nottingham,
Hoping the Justice of his Cause,
Deriv'd from Heav'n, and Human Laws,
Might influence e'ery loyal Heart
To take their injur'd Sov'reign's Part;

But found Rebellion still had got,
In sordid Minds, so deep a Root,
That few, as yet, appear'd to be
So truly fix'd to Loyalty,
As to be ready to perform
Their Duty in so sad a Storm;
But rather fearful of their Lives,
Their Lands, their Children, and their Wives,
Stood nuter for a While to see,
Who first should gain a Victory;
That when Success had once been try'd,
Tho' given to the Rebels Side,
They might with Safety join the strong-
-Est Party, whether right or wrong,
Resolv'd to judge that Cause the best,
Which with the most Success was blest,
Believing that the longest Sword
Still fights the Battel of the Lord,
And that they're most belov'd of Heaven,
To whom the Victory is given.

So when a Prince usurps a Throne,
And makes another's Crown his own,
Fools, Knaves, and Cowards, always boast
His Right to rule that's uppermost,
Forgetting, that if Justice bore
No other Scales, than those of Pow'r,
That then each Villain, who by Force
Could rob a House, or take a Purse,
Might plead an equal Right to plunder
All those he could by Strength bring under;
For Justice no more License gives
For Kings to rob, than common Thieves,
The Highway-man, or brave Commander,
The Pyrate, or great Alexander:
If alike wicked, All are even
That break the standing Laws of Heaven,
Which make no Diff'rence in th' Offences.
Of petty Knaves, or pompous Princes,
But punishes the evil Doer,
Without Respect to Rich, or Poor

The King with Crosses half confounded,
And with important Cares surrounded,
Display'd his Standard, to invite
His loyal Friends to do him Right;
That is, such speedy Aid to lend,
As might be able to defend
His Royal Person, and the Throne
From those, who did his Pow'r disown,
And labour'd daily to o'erthrow,
And bring their lawful Sov'reign low.
But the vile canting, wicked Babble,
Preach'd up in Hovel, Barn, and Stable,
Had so misled the common Crowd,
From all Things that were just and good,
That Loyalty was deem'd to be
A leading Vice to Slavery,
And sweet Rebellion only thought
A Saint-like Vertue, as 'twas taught.
So that the King, as yet, could find
Small Comfort for his troubl'd Mind

Amidst those Sorrows that opprest
His pensive, but undaunted Breast,
Prepar'd with Vertue, to sustain
The worst Afflictions of his Reign.
For sacred Innocence ne'er feels
The Tongue that wounds, or Sword that kills,
But with a Martyr-like Content,
Bears nobly what it can't prevent.
Whilst wicked Men, o'ercome with Fear,
Can bravely no Misfortune bear,
But sink with Horror and Dispair.

The fizling Rump, who now, by Virtue
O' th' preaching Blockheads of their Party,
Had rais'd malicious Men and Coin
Sufficient for their base Design,
Began to cock their Tails, to see
They'd got the Start of Loyalty,
And that their Scripture-Quacks, by Canting,
Dissembling, Whining, Sycophanting,

Had so invegl'd Knaves and Fools,
That both were fond to be their Tools,
And to extend a helping Hand,
To plunder and enslave the Land.
Thus were the giddy Crowd prepar'd
To cause those Mis'ries that they fear'd,
And thro' blind Zeal, to hurry on
Those Ills they arm'd themselves to shun.
So Lucifer, when swell'd with Pride,
Drew winged Legions on his Side;
But all the Time his Angels fought
For Pow'r and Glory, as they thought,
They only labour'd to encrease
Their own eternal Miseries,
And for their dire Rebellion, fell
From Heav'n to everlasting Hell.
Therefore, if such seraphick Rebels
Were chang'd from Angels, into Devils,
What Curses must reward the Merits
Of Saints, that mock such wicked Spirits?

When Nottingham, that tainted Town,
Remiss in Duty to the Crown,
Had, to their Scandal, disappointed
The Measures of the Lord's anointed,
The King to Shrewsbury proceeded,
Where he soon rais'd what Force he needed,
Believ'd sufficient to oppose
At present, his Rebellious Foes,
Commanded by a noble P---r,
Who did such forked Antlets wear,
As if he meant to brow-beat those
That should the Rebels Cause oppose,
With Buts, instead of man-like Blows:
Altho' a P---r, so basely fitted,
And by a Female Tail outwitted,
A Man would think Revenge should take
Against one Rump, for t'other's Sake.
As he that thinks he has a Friend,
But finds him treach'rous in the End,

Taking Aversion to the Name,
Will credit none that bears the same.
But tho' one Rump a Cuckold made him,
And to the horned Plague betray'd him;
Yet t'other Rump, to tip the Crest
That mark'd him for a Woman's Beast,
Made the Buck Gen'ral o'er the rest.
Thus from a C---d, was he made,
Of Round-head Rams, the horned Head,
As if he hop'd, as some do guess,
With greater Shame, to hide the less.

Now give me Leave to light my Fuel,
And sip a little Derby Gruel;
And when refresh'd, I'll make appear
Those farther Truths you hate to bear.

CANTO IX.

Both Parties being now impower'd
To try their Valour by the Sword,
One spur'd by Duty, t'other Spite,
Seem'd equally prepar'd to fight;
So that 'twas difficult to guess,
Which Army should obtain Success,
The Side with Loyalty inspir'd,
Or those which were with Malice fir'd;
Both Motives greatly do engage,
But the last bears the keener Edge;
For Love and Duty, tho' they make
The Gen'rous bold, for Justice Sake;
Yet, by the Mercy which they use,
The End propos'd they often loose,
When Malice always wants a Will
To spare, when it has Pow'r to kill,

And does by Cruelty, obtain
The very End it hop'd to gain.

The King now join'd with able Force,
Consisting both of Men and Horse,
Commanded by a Loyal Peer,
Of noble Birth and Character;
His March from Shrewsbury began,
Attended with his warlike Train,
Moving tow'rds London, where the Godly,
Half dead with Fear, look'd very odly,
Least pious Rump should now be thrown
From Sadle, which they thought their own;
And from that Pitch, to which they'd soard,
Tumble like PRIDE into a T---d.
No sooner had the King made Way,
And march'd by where the Rebels lay,
But their brave General Cornutus,
With Head like Buck, and Heart like Brutus,
Brandish'd his Horns before the Herd,
And closely follow'd whom he fear'd.

The King conceiving that the TUP
Design'd to block his Army up
Betwixt the Round-heads and the Town,
Those equal Rebels to the Crown;
With Princely Courage fac'd about,
And put Cornutus to the Rout,
Prepar'd before by loving Wife
For Heaven, in case he'ad lost his Life;
Perhaps on purpose that he might
With greater Zeal and Courage fight.
For if a Man, before he dies,
Is certain to surmount the Skies,
How can he fear the Loss of Breath,
That's sure of Heaven after Death?

When loyal Friends, by Fortune's Wheel,
Had won the Battel at Edghil,
The King, with all his Force, inclin'd
Tow'rds Town, as he before design'd,
Which set the Saints in such a Trembling,
It almost put 'em by Dissembling,

And made them in good Earnest pray,
Instead of Jest, their common Way:
Their busy Leaders hung their Ears,
And all their Hopes were chang'd to Fears:
Their Coin, belov'd above their Souls,
They hid in Corners, and in Holes;
Shut up their Shops, for Preservation,
As in the Time of Visitation.
The Saints all looking so forlorn,
As if they now had Cause to mourn
Some other Plague, besides the Horn:
However, tho' in sorry Pickle,
When once chear'd up at Conventicle,
They reassum'd their former Spite,
And still were Rebels to the Height.

When Guides had thus, by holy Arts,
New-ground the Malice of their Hearts,
And made the Saints Revenge as keen,
As ever it before had been;

Another Army soon sprang up
From Workhouse, Warehouse, Stall, and Shop,
That made the Rebels Force more great,
Than what the King before had beat:
Enthusiasticks flock'd in Shoales,
To fight, not for their Lives, but Souls;
For some believ'd their Cause so good,
That he who sacrific'd his Blood,
To propagate the Int'rest of it,
Should merit Heaven for his Profit,
To make amends for Loss of Life
In such a glorious holy Strife.
A youthful Fry were join'd to these,
Of giddy crop-ear'd 'Prentices,
Who thought no more of Death or Wounds,
Than Hares new kindl'd, do of Hounds;
But spurr'd by Masters, and by Parents,
Were blind, but resolute Adherents,
Who turn'd not wicked out of Conscience,
But follow'd others, not their own Sense,

Thinking no more of Heaven or Hell,
Than that 'twas sinful to rebel:
These, tho' they wanted Skill or Brains,
Had youthful Vigour in their Veins;
So that their Folly made 'em bolder,
Than some much more expert and older.
For he that does himself betake
To Arms, for only Fighting's Sake,
And does no other End propose,
But the Destruction of his Foes;
Much Malice, and but little Wit,
Will make him for the Purpose fit;
For too much Foresight, we have found,
Have made sometimes the Wise give Ground,
When Clod-skulls, at the worst o'th' Lay,
By brutal Rage, shall make their Way,
And blind to Danger, win the Day.

When thus the train-band Ninconpoops,
Join'd with auxiliary Troops,

Were arm'd, and in a ready Plight
To march, to plunder, or to fight,
Cornutus, willing still to head 'em,
By Night crept into Town, to lead 'em,
In Hopes, by this fanatick Host,
To gain that Honour he had lost:
But the good King, who now had ventur'd,
To march so near the Town, as Brentford,
Foreseeing, with Concern and Pitty,
The headstrong Baseness of the City,
And that they were so well prepar'd
To stand on their rebellious Guard;
Return'd to Oxford, when inform'd
How Malice had the City warm'd,
B'ing not adviseable to try
Against such Odds, for Victory;
Tho' by an unexpected Blow,
He gave a fatal Overthrow
To three bold Regiments of Rebels,
That fought for wicked Rump, like Devils;

That Rump, which now upon the Brink
Of Danger, ready was to stink.

Thus was that bloody War begun
I th' fatal Year of Forty One;
Not by the King, but by the crafty
Saints, who had forc'd him, for his Safety,
To do most justly what he did,
To stop their Cruelty and Pride;
Which lastly, notwithstanding, wrought
The King's Destruction, which they sought.
For say, Fanaticks, what you can
To palliate that Rebellion,
The bloody Scenes, in which it ended,
Shew'd plainly what the Saints intended.

The Kingdom thus with War oppress'd,
From North to South, and East to West,
That all Things tended in the Nation,
To Ruin, Spoil, and Desolation,
Look'd as if Heav'n was now beginning
To scourge the wicked Land for Sinning,

And humble the Rebellious-hearted,
By Judgments which themselves had courted;
For Justice very oft has granted
The Sons of Wrath those Things they wanted,
On purpose, that the sad Event
Might prove their earthly Punishment,
That they at last, with Shame might see
The Fruits of all their Villany,
And with repenting Horror fill'd,
Bemoan the Blood of those they'd kill'd,
And all their cruel Wrongs they've done
By Murder, and Rebellion.

For tho' they prosper in their Evil,
'Tis not from God, but from the Devil;
For Heav'n, we see, does oft permit
The sordid Ruffain in the Street,
To stab, and quench his bloody Thirst,
But still he's but the more accurst;
For tho', by pow'rful Friends, perhaps,
The shameful Gallows he escapes,

Yet must he live beneath the Guilt
And Horror of the Blood h'as spilt,
Which makes each Moment of his Breath,
Much worse than a repenting Death;
Whilst he that perish'd by his Sword,
God's Mercy can at once reward,
And give to his departed Ghost,
Eternal Life, for that he lost.
Hence we may learn, that when Success
Attends on Human Wickedness,
'Tis but the Flatt'ry of the Devil,
That draws Man on to farther Evil,
'Till Terror and Remorse, at last,
Does all his Sun-shine Days o'ercast,
And then he views, with sad Dispair,
The Fruits his evil Actions bear.

The Nation under strange Delusion,
Being now reduc'd to such Confusion,
That Brother against Brother fought,
And Sons their Fathers Ruin sought;

The King still stud'ing all he cou'd,
To save his misled People's Blood,
The kindest, softest Measures try'd,
T' abate their Malice, and their Pride,
Off'ring such Terms and Propositions,
And making daily such Concessions,
Almost beneath a King to grant
To Imps too wicked to recant;
Who but the more their Prince abus'd,
For all the gentle Means he us'd,
And with the greater Zeal persu'd
Their Ends, by Rapine, Spoil, and Blood:
So that of Reason quite bereft,
The King, no other Way they'd left
To save his Life, and be restor'd,
But by the down-right Dint of Sword;
That now the Rebels of the Rump,
And Friends that bore the loyal Stamp,
With equal Eagerness, were bent
To push the War to its Event,

Which no one could, as yet, foresee,
Except the wise Eternity.

The Great, the Gen'rous, and the Good,
For Sov'regn Right, undaunted stood,
Resolv'd the King and Throne to save,
Or, in Attempts so just and brave,
To make the bloody Field their Grave.
The misled, brutish, scoundrel Herd,
That never thought, and nothing fear'd,
Lead by base Upstarts, rais'd aloft
From Dunghils, by their Cant and Craft,
With Zealots, full of Spite and Pride,
Whom crafty Teachers first misguide,
And then like Mules and Asses ride:
These made up the rebellious Party,
That to the Rump appear'd so hearty,
And serv'd 'em with as great a Gust,
As if their Quarrel had been just:
For Saints will more for Malice do,
Than Justice can induce 'em to.

Thus pious Knaves will sooner fight,
To gratify their own ill Spite,
Than to defend another's Right.
Yet all the While, thro' Fraud or Folly,
They sanctify the War as holy,
And in a base dissembling Tone,
Call it G---d's Cause, when 'tis their own,
And springs from nothing else beside
Their Malice, Avarice, and Pride.
The Saints in Love with Pike and Gun,
Now push'd the War with Vigour on,
And both the Parties, full of Heat,
Disputed sharply when they met;
Divers keen Battels, to the Cost
Of many Lives, were won and lost;
Tho' Fortune, for the first three Years,
Smil'd chiefly on the Cavaliers,
So far, that doubtful Rump confest
The loyal Side had got the best,

And that the King's successful Force
Were strongest, both in Men and Horse:
This fill'd them full of Doubts and Fears,
And made the Godly hang their Ears,
Dispairing of the promis'd Land,
The Zealots wanted to command,
In case those wicked Sons of Thunder,
The Loyalists, were brought but under,
Whose Wealth the Saints mark'd out for Plunder:
T' accomplish these, their wicked Ends,
The Scots they courted for their Friends,
Not doubting but their Mother Kirk
Would help 'em in the righteous Work;
Especially, in Hopes to share
The Blessings of so just a War.
For Saints, tho' in Opinion Brothers,
Like Thieves, will never join with others,
Unless they are allow'd to snack,
The Booty which they jointly take;

For tho' i'th' Faithful 'tis no Stealth
To rob the Wicked of their Wealth,
And plead they have a Scripture-Patent
To seize it wheresoe'er they light on't.
Yet Saints to Saints must upright be,
Or else, where lies their Honesty?
For should the holy Tribe oppress,
And wrong the Sons of Righteousness;
As the good Brethren do for Gain,
Those stil'd the Wicked, and Prophane,
The Devil would not trust 'em then.
Therefore, the Scots, both wise and wary,
Thought it but justly necessary,
That they should join, and take a Share,
In such a gainful holy War,
In which they were assur'd to be
Well-paid for all their Villany;
Knowing Rebellion never wants
Supplies of Money from the Saints,

When 'tis to pull the Wicked down,
In Hopes of making all their own.

Thus did the Rump, by seeking Aid,
Most plainly show they were afraid,
That the King's Side as yet were able
To cope with their fanatick Rabble;
Nor could the Rebels e'er have found
A Race of Men above the Ground,
So fitting for the Work design'd 'em,
As that contagious Brood that join'd 'em;
Whose corrupt Minds and Bodies, bare,
Of Northern Plagues, an equal Share;
The one from Scabs, is never free,
The other's curs'd with Treachery.

FINIS.