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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| IX. | CANTO IX. |
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 | Hudibras Redivivus |  |
13
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.
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,
14
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?
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.
15
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.
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,
16
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.
New-ground the Malice of their Hearts,
And made the Saints Revenge as keen,
As ever it before had been;
17
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,
18
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.
Join'd with auxiliary Troops,
19
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;
20
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.
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.
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,
21
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.
'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,
22
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.
Being now reduc'd to such Confusion,
That Brother against Brother fought,
And Sons their Fathers Ruin sought;
23
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,
24
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.
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.
25
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,
26
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;
27
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,
28
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.
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.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |