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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| 2. | Part the Second. |
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| II. |
 | Hudibras Redivivus |  |
3
2. Part the Second.
I thumb'd o'er many factious Reams
Of canting Lies, and Poets Dreams,
All stuff'd as full of Low-Church Manners,
As e'er was Salters-Hall with Sinners.
Amongst the rest, the Mob's Prophet-a;
I found oft chang'd to a Poet-a.
No Shame to versifying Brother,
Since one's deriv'd of Old from t'other.
Therefore all Scriblers ought to know it's
No Crime for Prophets to be Poets;
Especially when Want of Sense
Must be supply'd with Impudence,
And Malice, Scandal, and ill Nature,
Pass with dull Fools for Wit and Satyr.
For he whose Brains are not defective,
May find in ev'ry tag'd Invective,
Hard Words are soften'd by their Chiming,
And Railing best agrees with Riming:
For bare-fac'd Scandal writ in Prose,
Too much of th'Author's Malice shows,
When the most fulsome of Abuses
Shall be thought witty from the Muses.
The Name of Poem, or of Satyr,
Gives Umbrage to a Man's ill Nature;
And makes most Readers think he writ
Not to his Envy shew, but Wit.
Of canting Lies, and Poets Dreams,
All stuff'd as full of Low-Church Manners,
As e'er was Salters-Hall with Sinners.
Amongst the rest, the Mob's Prophet-a;
I found oft chang'd to a Poet-a.
No Shame to versifying Brother,
Since one's deriv'd of Old from t'other.
Therefore all Scriblers ought to know it's
No Crime for Prophets to be Poets;
4
Must be supply'd with Impudence,
And Malice, Scandal, and ill Nature,
Pass with dull Fools for Wit and Satyr.
For he whose Brains are not defective,
May find in ev'ry tag'd Invective,
Hard Words are soften'd by their Chiming,
And Railing best agrees with Riming:
For bare-fac'd Scandal writ in Prose,
Too much of th'Author's Malice shows,
When the most fulsome of Abuses
Shall be thought witty from the Muses.
The Name of Poem, or of Satyr,
Gives Umbrage to a Man's ill Nature;
And makes most Readers think he writ
Not to his Envy shew, but Wit.
When I had almost spent my Vitals
In chiefly turning over Titles,
In which might easily be seen
The Drift of all contain'd within;
Bs Moor-fields Conjurers can see,
By th'Art of Phisiognomy,
Whether we're Wise-men, Fools, or Asses,
Ay th'Lines and Features of our Faces.
At last I pitch'd, as Chance would have it,
Upon a High-Church Book, God save it,
And that undaunted Hand that gave it:
For sure it cannot be a Crime
To pray (altho' it be in Rime)
For those that lay before our Eyes
The Treach'ry of our Enemies.
If Praying be a Fault, alas!
We Authors of the Riming Class
(As most believe) so rarely use it,
That when we do, they may excuse it:
For Pray'rs, we know, agree much better
With thriving Prose, than starving Metre:
That makes Low Saints, who hate all Riming,
As bad as High-Church Bells, when Chiming;
Despise the Heliconian Jargon,
And think it Popish, like the Organ;
Except some Brother-Saint, in Spite
Of God Apollo, dares to write,
And, breaking thro' his sacred Laws,
Jingle in Favour of their Cause:
Yet, tho' it is their hum drum Fashion
To hate all Musical Precation,
They love an elevated Voice,
That's exquisite at Tone and Noise,
And do their Pray'rs much louder hollow,
Than we sing Ballads to Apollo,
That others may become most ample
Hypocrites from their loud Example:
Yet, tho' in Praying they surpass us,
Sometimes with Satyr, when they cross us,
We make 'em curse old Mount Parnassus.
In chiefly turning over Titles,
5
The Drift of all contain'd within;
Bs Moor-fields Conjurers can see,
By th'Art of Phisiognomy,
Whether we're Wise-men, Fools, or Asses,
Ay th'Lines and Features of our Faces.
At last I pitch'd, as Chance would have it,
Upon a High-Church Book, God save it,
And that undaunted Hand that gave it:
For sure it cannot be a Crime
To pray (altho' it be in Rime)
For those that lay before our Eyes
The Treach'ry of our Enemies.
If Praying be a Fault, alas!
We Authors of the Riming Class
(As most believe) so rarely use it,
That when we do, they may excuse it:
For Pray'rs, we know, agree much better
With thriving Prose, than starving Metre:
6
As bad as High-Church Bells, when Chiming;
Despise the Heliconian Jargon,
And think it Popish, like the Organ;
Except some Brother-Saint, in Spite
Of God Apollo, dares to write,
And, breaking thro' his sacred Laws,
Jingle in Favour of their Cause:
Yet, tho' it is their hum drum Fashion
To hate all Musical Precation,
They love an elevated Voice,
That's exquisite at Tone and Noise,
And do their Pray'rs much louder hollow,
Than we sing Ballads to Apollo,
That others may become most ample
Hypocrites from their loud Example:
Yet, tho' in Praying they surpass us,
Sometimes with Satyr, when they cross us,
We make 'em curse old Mount Parnassus.
7
I, eager to behold the Book
That made the Whigs so crabbed look,
Sate down to view the Nation's Case,
Stated, as some think, by his Grace.
I mean not him by th'River's Side,
Who learns from thence, (if not bely'd)
To turn according to the Tide;
But one deserving our Esteem,
Who dares to strive against the Stream,
And to inform a misled Nation,
Speak Truth, altho' it's out of Fashion.
That made the Whigs so crabbed look,
Sate down to view the Nation's Case,
Stated, as some think, by his Grace.
I mean not him by th'River's Side,
Who learns from thence, (if not bely'd)
To turn according to the Tide;
But one deserving our Esteem,
Who dares to strive against the Stream,
And to inform a misled Nation,
Speak Truth, altho' it's out of Fashion.
At first I mus'd upon the Title,
Then sate me down, and read a little;
Where Mighty Persons did I see
Drawn into strange bad Company;
And gallant Ladies, and fine Lords,
Japann'd with black and shining Words.
Some, who had true old Faith declin'd,
And with new factious Upstarts join'd,
Espousing Church of low Degree,
Were made full low as low could be:
I do not mean in Purse or Station,
But Honour, Justice, Reputation.
Those three maintain'd by very few,
To th'Hazard of the other two.
No Wonder, since that Men of State,
Without such Gugaws can be Great;
And Sycophants, that scorn such Baubles,
Can rise from Nothing to be N---s.
Then sate me down, and read a little;
Where Mighty Persons did I see
Drawn into strange bad Company;
And gallant Ladies, and fine Lords,
Japann'd with black and shining Words.
Some, who had true old Faith declin'd,
And with new factious Upstarts join'd,
8
Were made full low as low could be:
I do not mean in Purse or Station,
But Honour, Justice, Reputation.
Those three maintain'd by very few,
To th'Hazard of the other two.
No Wonder, since that Men of State,
Without such Gugaws can be Great;
And Sycophants, that scorn such Baubles,
Can rise from Nothing to be N---s.
Blind Fortune's Wheel, we must allow,
Runs strangely round, we know not how:
For secret Pleasures done the Donor,
Of those kind Favours, Wealth and Honour,
In Royal Eyes seem meritorious,
And often raise Men to be Glorious:
For Services there are sometimes,
That once disclos'd, are constru'd Crimes;
Such that oblige us whilst conceal'd,
But lose their Merit when reveal'd.
Therefore, when 'tis a Prince's Pleasure
That Flatt'rers shall purloin their Treasure,
'Till they have scrap'd huge Sums together,
And climb'd aloft, the Lord knows whither;
How should the Crowd expect to know
Why this Man's High, or t'other Low?
Why publick Merit's priz'd so little,
And private P---s swell big with Title?
Runs strangely round, we know not how:
For secret Pleasures done the Donor,
Of those kind Favours, Wealth and Honour,
In Royal Eyes seem meritorious,
And often raise Men to be Glorious:
For Services there are sometimes,
That once disclos'd, are constru'd Crimes;
9
But lose their Merit when reveal'd.
Therefore, when 'tis a Prince's Pleasure
That Flatt'rers shall purloin their Treasure,
'Till they have scrap'd huge Sums together,
And climb'd aloft, the Lord knows whither;
How should the Crowd expect to know
Why this Man's High, or t'other Low?
Why publick Merit's priz'd so little,
And private P---s swell big with Title?
How occult Service Favour draws,
Is difficult to learn, because
The Grace by G*d's Vicegerent's shown,
Proves very often like his own:
It passes Human Understanding;
Who 'njoys it, need not fear offending.
For Earthly Kings, like Gods protect,
With saving Grace, their own Elect;
Set them upright, whene'er they stumble,
In Spite of those that grin and grumble.
Is difficult to learn, because
The Grace by G*d's Vicegerent's shown,
Proves very often like his own:
It passes Human Understanding;
Who 'njoys it, need not fear offending.
For Earthly Kings, like Gods protect,
With saving Grace, their own Elect;
10
In Spite of those that grin and grumble.
I read, was pleas'd, found little Harm in't;
For Truth has got a secret Charm in't.
What, tho' 'twas mix'd with some ill Nature;
Without, it would have prov'd no Satyr;
Nor could the one have made such Pother,
Had it not larded been with t'other:
For he that writes in such an Age,
When Parties do for Pow'r engage,
Ought to chuse one Side for the Right,
And then, with all his Wit and Spite,
Blacken and vex the Opposite.
If his Muse breathes no Gall or Hate,
The Fools won't nibble at the Bait:
For one Side's never truly pleas'd,
But when the other's vex'd and teaz'd.
Therefore, whoever handles Quill,
Must rail, or he'd as good sit still;
No Matter whether false or true,
Take Pattern by D--- F---'s Review;
Let it be Scandal, and 'twill do;
For the Low-Church, by that alone,
Gains twenty Owles, to t'other's one.
Scurrility's a useful Trick,
Approv'd by the most Politick.
Fling Dirt enough, and some will stick.
For Truth has got a secret Charm in't.
What, tho' 'twas mix'd with some ill Nature;
Without, it would have prov'd no Satyr;
Nor could the one have made such Pother,
Had it not larded been with t'other:
For he that writes in such an Age,
When Parties do for Pow'r engage,
Ought to chuse one Side for the Right,
And then, with all his Wit and Spite,
Blacken and vex the Opposite.
If his Muse breathes no Gall or Hate,
The Fools won't nibble at the Bait:
For one Side's never truly pleas'd,
But when the other's vex'd and teaz'd.
Therefore, whoever handles Quill,
Must rail, or he'd as good sit still;
11
Take Pattern by D--- F---'s Review;
Let it be Scandal, and 'twill do;
For the Low-Church, by that alone,
Gains twenty Owles, to t'other's one.
Scurrility's a useful Trick,
Approv'd by the most Politick.
Fling Dirt enough, and some will stick.
Scandal's the only Cut-throat Talent
To arm a scribbling Assailant,
And when us'd skilfully and slighly,
Prevails against a Party highly;
And is a sure infernal Knack
To make the brightest Cause look black.
No bridge-fall'n Nose upon a Face,
Can be more plain than is the Case;
For Fools that make the greatest Number,
And are of Human Race, the Lumber,
Are taught to swallow hurtful Lies,
To keep their Faith in Exercise,
That they the better may give Credit,
When Stratagems of State shall need it:
For could the People grow so wise,
As to reject all Falsities,
And credit no Man's Pen or Mouth,
But what should speak or write the Truth,
T---sg---g-Days, within this N---n,
Would not be half so much in Fashion;
For all those Deeds that make a Bluster,
Set off with so much artful Lustre,
Would in a little Time become
Dull as the Fables of Tom Thumb.
To arm a scribbling Assailant,
And when us'd skilfully and slighly,
Prevails against a Party highly;
And is a sure infernal Knack
To make the brightest Cause look black.
No bridge-fall'n Nose upon a Face,
Can be more plain than is the Case;
For Fools that make the greatest Number,
And are of Human Race, the Lumber,
12
To keep their Faith in Exercise,
That they the better may give Credit,
When Stratagems of State shall need it:
For could the People grow so wise,
As to reject all Falsities,
And credit no Man's Pen or Mouth,
But what should speak or write the Truth,
T---sg---g-Days, within this N---n,
Would not be half so much in Fashion;
For all those Deeds that make a Bluster,
Set off with so much artful Lustre,
Would in a little Time become
Dull as the Fables of Tom Thumb.
The Low-Church, that disdains a Steple,
Must preach new Doctrine to their People:
Yet, should there be allow'd no Teaching,
But Truth, I doubt 'twould spoil their Preaching.
Should such good Times befal this Land,
That Truth should get the upper Hand;
What would those Low-Church Champions do,
The Observator and Review?
For could their Talent be forsaken,
And they write Truth to save their Bacon;
The wiser Sort would still deceive 'em,
And none but Blockheads, sure, believe 'em;
Because a common Lyar's Mouth
Is even scandalous to Truth;
And Malice, when it's once detected,
Always makes Evidence suspected.
Must preach new Doctrine to their People:
Yet, should there be allow'd no Teaching,
But Truth, I doubt 'twould spoil their Preaching.
13
That Truth should get the upper Hand;
What would those Low-Church Champions do,
The Observator and Review?
For could their Talent be forsaken,
And they write Truth to save their Bacon;
The wiser Sort would still deceive 'em,
And none but Blockheads, sure, believe 'em;
Because a common Lyar's Mouth
Is even scandalous to Truth;
And Malice, when it's once detected,
Always makes Evidence suspected.
Now to the Bugbear Book again,
That puts the Whigs in so much Pain:
I conn'd o'er all this famous Piece,
That so disturb'd old Calvin's Geese;
And all the Fault they can insist on,
Is, it's too true to make a Jest on.
As for my part, I must confess,
It is, if I may've Leave to guess,
An honest High-Church Book of Merit,
Tho' written with a Low-Church Spirit:
That here and there a sharp Reflexion
May seem to some, ill-natur'd Fiction,
Tho' true beyond all Contradiction.
So that to me this Tell-troth Book
Does like a High-Church Bishop look,
Disguis'd in a Geneva-Cloak:
For who, that knew not Trusty's Face,
Would judge him honest by his Dress,
Since the worst K---ves that Earth can bear,
The very same Apparel wear?
However, 'tis no Shame to use
A Weapon which our Foes first chuse,
Or to return, when once assaulted,
That Dirt with which we first were paulted.
Therefore our Champion's in the Right on't,
To make so bold a Hompush Fight on't;
And to our restless Foes chastise,
With their own Cudgels, all but Lies:
Such Ammunition, 'tis agreed on,
An honest Cause has seldom Need on;
But can with Truth it self defend,
Which always conquers in the End;
That makes our L---n, as they call it,
Knock down our Foes, like any Mallet:
For always, when the Truth appears,
The lying Faction hang their Ears,
And cannot for their Lives, we see,
Withstand the Force of Verity;
But like to Snails, draw in their Horns,
When naked Truth but grins and turns.
So whist'ling Curs, that hate a bigger,
At Mastiff's Heels will shew their Vigor;
But when he turns, they dread his Pow'r,
And, frighted at his Aspect, scow'r;
Or else wag Tail, submit, and fawn,
And tarry to be piss'd upon.
That puts the Whigs in so much Pain:
I conn'd o'er all this famous Piece,
That so disturb'd old Calvin's Geese;
And all the Fault they can insist on,
Is, it's too true to make a Jest on.
14
It is, if I may've Leave to guess,
An honest High-Church Book of Merit,
Tho' written with a Low-Church Spirit:
That here and there a sharp Reflexion
May seem to some, ill-natur'd Fiction,
Tho' true beyond all Contradiction.
So that to me this Tell-troth Book
Does like a High-Church Bishop look,
Disguis'd in a Geneva-Cloak:
For who, that knew not Trusty's Face,
Would judge him honest by his Dress,
Since the worst K---ves that Earth can bear,
The very same Apparel wear?
However, 'tis no Shame to use
A Weapon which our Foes first chuse,
Or to return, when once assaulted,
That Dirt with which we first were paulted.
Therefore our Champion's in the Right on't,
To make so bold a Hompush Fight on't;
15
With their own Cudgels, all but Lies:
Such Ammunition, 'tis agreed on,
An honest Cause has seldom Need on;
But can with Truth it self defend,
Which always conquers in the End;
That makes our L---n, as they call it,
Knock down our Foes, like any Mallet:
For always, when the Truth appears,
The lying Faction hang their Ears,
And cannot for their Lives, we see,
Withstand the Force of Verity;
But like to Snails, draw in their Horns,
When naked Truth but grins and turns.
So whist'ling Curs, that hate a bigger,
At Mastiff's Heels will shew their Vigor;
But when he turns, they dread his Pow'r,
And, frighted at his Aspect, scow'r;
Or else wag Tail, submit, and fawn,
And tarry to be piss'd upon.
16
Thus W---gs, in Time of Toleration,
Bark at the Justice of the Nation:
But when th'unbridl'd Laws, with Scorn,
One persecuting Look return,
Curbing their Tongues, they cease to grumble,
And all subscribe, Your very Humble.
Bark at the Justice of the Nation:
But when th'unbridl'd Laws, with Scorn,
One persecuting Look return,
Curbing their Tongues, they cease to grumble,
And all subscribe, Your very Humble.
Having spent so much precious Time
In High-Church Prose, and Low-Church Rime,
'Till my Brains almost were confounded
Betwixt the Cavalier and Roundhead;
My Fancy spurr'd me to be jogging
To th'Flask, the Flaggon, or the Noggin:
So I rais'd Bum from Turky-Leather,
To strole I did not well know whither;
Leaving whole Piles of Whiggish Nonsense,
To be directed by my own Sense.
In High-Church Prose, and Low-Church Rime,
'Till my Brains almost were confounded
Betwixt the Cavalier and Roundhead;
My Fancy spurr'd me to be jogging
To th'Flask, the Flaggon, or the Noggin:
So I rais'd Bum from Turky-Leather,
To strole I did not well know whither;
Leaving whole Piles of Whiggish Nonsense,
To be directed by my own Sense.
17
CANTO III.
I had not long, on City Stones,
Bestirr'd my Stumps and Marrow-bones,
But Robin H---g came grunting by me
As fast, as if he strove to fly me.
Thought I, here's some high Wind Abroad,
That blows, I fear, but little Good.
The grizly Boar is hunting round,
To see what Windfals may be found.
He looks as if he ran in hope
This Storm would make the Acorns drop.
At last I saw him very plain
Follow his Nose up Fetter-Lane.
Observing that, thinks I, for certain
There's some Intrigue behind the Curtain,
Manag'd aloft for some by Ends,
To persecute the Church's Friends:
For tho' our factious Foes first draw,
Yet, when we push, they take the Law.
Bestirr'd my Stumps and Marrow-bones,
But Robin H---g came grunting by me
As fast, as if he strove to fly me.
Thought I, here's some high Wind Abroad,
That blows, I fear, but little Good.
The grizly Boar is hunting round,
To see what Windfals may be found.
He looks as if he ran in hope
This Storm would make the Acorns drop.
At last I saw him very plain
Follow his Nose up Fetter-Lane.
Observing that, thinks I, for certain
There's some Intrigue behind the Curtain,
Manag'd aloft for some by Ends,
To persecute the Church's Friends:
For tho' our factious Foes first draw,
Yet, when we push, they take the Law.
18
So bully'ng Cowards oft, we see,
Provoke a generous Enemy,
Who, when he takes just Satisfaction,
The ill-tongu'd Scoundrel brings his Action.
Provoke a generous Enemy,
Who, when he takes just Satisfaction,
The ill-tongu'd Scoundrel brings his Action.
I shook my Head. Thought I, 'tis hard
The Church can't stand upon her Guard;
But those who always meant to harm her,
Shall thus be suffer'd to disarm her.
Patience, said I; now R---d is Knighted,
Sure some Folks will be clearer sighted:
Ne'er fear but we shall change our Station,
For Semper Idem's out of Fashion.
I've heard a good old Proverb say,
That e'ery Dog has got his Day:
Therefore, be cheerful, do not mourn,
The low'rmost Spoke must upwards turn;
And when it does the only Skill
Will be to make the Wheel stand still,
Or else to human Sense 'tis plain,
In Turn, it must go down again:
For Wheels, like Women, change their Ground,
T'obey the Pow'r that works them round,
Only they move by diff'rent Forces;
One's turn'd by Men, the other Horses.
The Church can't stand upon her Guard;
But those who always meant to harm her,
Shall thus be suffer'd to disarm her.
Patience, said I; now R---d is Knighted,
Sure some Folks will be clearer sighted:
Ne'er fear but we shall change our Station,
For Semper Idem's out of Fashion.
I've heard a good old Proverb say,
That e'ery Dog has got his Day:
Therefore, be cheerful, do not mourn,
The low'rmost Spoke must upwards turn;
And when it does the only Skill
Will be to make the Wheel stand still,
19
In Turn, it must go down again:
For Wheels, like Women, change their Ground,
T'obey the Pow'r that works them round,
Only they move by diff'rent Forces;
One's turn'd by Men, the other Horses.
Being much concern'd to see Things go thus,
I stept into a Ninny-Broth House,
In Hopes to better understand
What Low-Church Project was in Hand
To bring that Party to Confusion,
That rescu'd them from Persecution.
Ent'ring, I saw quite round a Table,
An ill-look'd thin-jaw'd, Calves-head, Rabble,
All stigmatiz'd with Looks like Jews,
Each arm'd with half a Sheet of News:
Some sucking Smoak from Indian Fuel,
And others sipping Turky Gruel;
Still searching after something new
In Nob, the Gazette, or Review.
Sometimes they smil'd, as if well pleas'd,
Then by and by look'd vex'd and teaz'd,
Alt'ring their sublunary Looks
According as they lik'd their Books.
I stept into a Ninny-Broth House,
In Hopes to better understand
What Low-Church Project was in Hand
To bring that Party to Confusion,
That rescu'd them from Persecution.
Ent'ring, I saw quite round a Table,
An ill-look'd thin-jaw'd, Calves-head, Rabble,
All stigmatiz'd with Looks like Jews,
Each arm'd with half a Sheet of News:
Some sucking Smoak from Indian Fuel,
And others sipping Turky Gruel;
20
In Nob, the Gazette, or Review.
Sometimes they smil'd, as if well pleas'd,
Then by and by look'd vex'd and teaz'd,
Alt'ring their sublunary Looks
According as they lik'd their Books.
At the low'r End o'th' Table, sate
Some High-Church Brethren, in a Chat,
Concern'd, as I suppose, to spy
The High-Church low, and Low-Church high.
Before them, in great Order, lay
The News authentick for the Day,
Mix'd with some High-Church Vindications
Against false Whiggish Defamations;
The Mercury, so much abhorr'd
By lofty Whigs, that rule the Board;
And the Rehearsal, whose keen Satyr
So closely shav'd the Observator;
And when he'd shewn how bald and bare
He was of Sense, instead of Hair,
He left him to his Cuckow Tone,
Laugh'd at by all, and lik'd by none.
Some High-Church Brethren, in a Chat,
Concern'd, as I suppose, to spy
The High-Church low, and Low-Church high.
Before them, in great Order, lay
The News authentick for the Day,
Mix'd with some High-Church Vindications
Against false Whiggish Defamations;
The Mercury, so much abhorr'd
By lofty Whigs, that rule the Board;
And the Rehearsal, whose keen Satyr
So closely shav'd the Observator;
21
He was of Sense, instead of Hair,
He left him to his Cuckow Tone,
Laugh'd at by all, and lik'd by none.
'Twixt both the Parties I sate down;
Did neither dare to smile or frown,
Lest one should, by my Looks, discover
I was a better Friend to th'other:
For if a Man foresees a Squabble
'Twixt adverse Parties at a Table,
Tho' he's determin'd of one Side,
True Policy will bid him hide
His Conscience, 'till the Battel's try'd;
And when it's over, he that's crafty
Will chuse the strongest Side for Safety:
Before, a Man may be mistaken,
And 'stead of saving, lose his Bacon:
For when vain Hopes and jealous Fears
Set Fools together by the Ears,
And Justice must be scann'd by Fight,
The Cause that conquers is the Right.
Then who would shew he was a Lover
Of either, 'till the Danger's over?
Since he who takes the other Way,
Comes safely in at best o'th' Lay.
Did neither dare to smile or frown,
Lest one should, by my Looks, discover
I was a better Friend to th'other:
For if a Man foresees a Squabble
'Twixt adverse Parties at a Table,
Tho' he's determin'd of one Side,
True Policy will bid him hide
His Conscience, 'till the Battel's try'd;
And when it's over, he that's crafty
Will chuse the strongest Side for Safety:
Before, a Man may be mistaken,
And 'stead of saving, lose his Bacon:
For when vain Hopes and jealous Fears
Set Fools together by the Ears,
22
The Cause that conquers is the Right.
Then who would shew he was a Lover
Of either, 'till the Danger's over?
Since he who takes the other Way,
Comes safely in at best o'th' Lay.
I scarce had fill'd a Pipe of Sot-weed,
And by the Candle made it Hot-weed,
But one of the Dissenting Crew
Began aloud with the Review,
And read it with a Grace becoming
A Low-Church Teacher, when he's drumming
Upon his Cusheon to his Humming,
To cuff his blundering Oration
Into the Ears of's Congregation:
For if their Fist a'n't reconcil'd
To their dull Tone, the Sermon's spoil'd;
For Gesture is the Life and Glory
Of Nonsense preach'd for Oratory:
Like Fidlers, they must keep their Time,
As sure as Poets do their Rime.
Tone, Words, and Actions must agree,
Or else they spoil their Harmony.
And by the Candle made it Hot-weed,
But one of the Dissenting Crew
Began aloud with the Review,
And read it with a Grace becoming
A Low-Church Teacher, when he's drumming
Upon his Cusheon to his Humming,
To cuff his blundering Oration
Into the Ears of's Congregation:
For if their Fist a'n't reconcil'd
To their dull Tone, the Sermon's spoil'd;
For Gesture is the Life and Glory
Of Nonsense preach'd for Oratory:
23
As sure as Poets do their Rime.
Tone, Words, and Actions must agree,
Or else they spoil their Harmony.
All was observ'd with wond'rous Care
By our Whig Libel Lecturer:
For when he came to th'Author's Letters,
From Tackers sent, or their Abettors,
As he pretends, wherein they threaten,
He shall (as he deserves) be beaten
For being sawcy in's Review,
To those he never saw or knew.
When this forg'd Tale the Zealot read,
He foam'd at Mouth, and shook his Head,
And did a Tone more frightful use,
Than those that cry sad bloody News.
By our Whig Libel Lecturer:
For when he came to th'Author's Letters,
From Tackers sent, or their Abettors,
As he pretends, wherein they threaten,
He shall (as he deserves) be beaten
For being sawcy in's Review,
To those he never saw or knew.
When this forg'd Tale the Zealot read,
He foam'd at Mouth, and shook his Head,
And did a Tone more frightful use,
Than those that cry sad bloody News.
Bless me, thought I, sure he that's wise,
Can see thro' these transparent Lies.
These poor thin tiffany Projections,
Contriv'd to heighten our Distractions,
And gull the Crowd at their Elections:
For who, thought he, will give their Votes
For Men that threaten to cut Throats,
And use such ruffainly Correction
To me, the Prop of all their Faction,
That dares, in Spigte of Truth or Laws,
Defend with Lies the good old Cause,
In Hopes the Magazine of Pow'r
May Church and Monarchy devour,
That Rebels may surmount the Throne,
And pull the Church establish'd down;
And sacred Rogues in Judgment sit,
To tread all Order under Feet.
Could we but thus inflame the Mob,
To bring about this happy Jobb,
Then hey for me and Brother Nob.
Can see thro' these transparent Lies.
24
Contriv'd to heighten our Distractions,
And gull the Crowd at their Elections:
For who, thought he, will give their Votes
For Men that threaten to cut Throats,
And use such ruffainly Correction
To me, the Prop of all their Faction,
That dares, in Spigte of Truth or Laws,
Defend with Lies the good old Cause,
In Hopes the Magazine of Pow'r
May Church and Monarchy devour,
That Rebels may surmount the Throne,
And pull the Church establish'd down;
And sacred Rogues in Judgment sit,
To tread all Order under Feet.
Could we but thus inflame the Mob,
To bring about this happy Jobb,
Then hey for me and Brother Nob.
25
But this will spoil the forg'd Device
Of his Epistolary Lies.
How will he prove these fright'ning Letters,
From Tackers came, or their Abettors?
And not from some dear zealous Friends,
To serve their painful Prophet's Ends?
Or that the same Hand did not give 'em
To th'Penny Post, that did receive 'em?
I doubt, should we inspect the Matter,
The Author of the true-born Satyr
Would prove the Scribe, or the Dictator.
So the Jilt, courted by a Cully,
Imploys her self, or else her Bully,
To, with Love Letters, daily woo her
In Great Mens Names directed to her;
Which to her Spark the Doxy shows,
At which he raves, and jealous grows;
And that he may alone secure
The Prize, he proves the kinder to her.
Such Stratagems are often us'd,
That easy Fools may be abus'd.
Of his Epistolary Lies.
How will he prove these fright'ning Letters,
From Tackers came, or their Abettors?
And not from some dear zealous Friends,
To serve their painful Prophet's Ends?
Or that the same Hand did not give 'em
To th'Penny Post, that did receive 'em?
I doubt, should we inspect the Matter,
The Author of the true-born Satyr
Would prove the Scribe, or the Dictator.
So the Jilt, courted by a Cully,
Imploys her self, or else her Bully,
To, with Love Letters, daily woo her
In Great Mens Names directed to her;
Which to her Spark the Doxy shows,
At which he raves, and jealous grows;
And that he may alone secure
The Prize, he proves the kinder to her.
26
That easy Fools may be abus'd.
So, if the Truth was to be known,
And these strange tacking Letters shown,
They'd surely prove the Prophet's own;
Or else a Pack of Low-Church Lies,
Sent from his Friends by his Advice,
To falsely blacken those with Crimes,
That dare be just i'th' worst of Times,
When subtle Knaves, in Consultation,
And Fools, thro' false Insinuation,
Unite, to sacrifice the Nation.
And these strange tacking Letters shown,
They'd surely prove the Prophet's own;
Or else a Pack of Low-Church Lies,
Sent from his Friends by his Advice,
To falsely blacken those with Crimes,
That dare be just i'th' worst of Times,
When subtle Knaves, in Consultation,
And Fools, thro' false Insinuation,
Unite, to sacrifice the Nation.
No sooner was this Libel read,
And gently down before 'em laid,
To shew how courteous and respective
They were to a Low-Church Invective;
But a High-Church-man, in Derision,
Faces them, and in Opposition
To F---'s Aspersions, that were spurious,
Reads out Politicus Mercurius.
Excuse me, that the Muses force
The Cart to stand before the Horse,
Because it will be so sometimes
With us that fumble for our Rimes;
Nay, Reason must in Verse give Ground,
Upon a Pinch, to empty Sound,
Or else those Points we shew our Art in,
Must often go untag'd for certain.
And gently down before 'em laid,
To shew how courteous and respective
They were to a Low-Church Invective;
But a High-Church-man, in Derision,
Faces them, and in Opposition
27
Reads out Politicus Mercurius.
Excuse me, that the Muses force
The Cart to stand before the Horse,
Because it will be so sometimes
With us that fumble for our Rimes;
Nay, Reason must in Verse give Ground,
Upon a Pinch, to empty Sound,
Or else those Points we shew our Art in,
Must often go untag'd for certain.
This Member of the High-Church Body
At Loyal News being very ready,
Run o'er the Merc'ry so compleatly,
Read it s' emphatically neatly,
That all the Saints within the Hearing,
Some listening, and others leering,
Seem'd as much vex'd and discontented,
As if the Church had circumvented
Those pious Frauds we daily see
Manag'd thro' that Hypocrisy,
Occasional Conformity.
At last, with Malice in their Faces,
They frowning started from their Places,
All moving Brother next to Brother,
Like Wild Geese, after one another.
Thus do they fly where e'er they find
Bright Truth with solid Reason join'd.
At Loyal News being very ready,
Run o'er the Merc'ry so compleatly,
Read it s' emphatically neatly,
That all the Saints within the Hearing,
Some listening, and others leering,
Seem'd as much vex'd and discontented,
As if the Church had circumvented
28
Manag'd thro' that Hypocrisy,
Occasional Conformity.
At last, with Malice in their Faces,
They frowning started from their Places,
All moving Brother next to Brother,
Like Wild Geese, after one another.
Thus do they fly where e'er they find
Bright Truth with solid Reason join'd.
So Owls and Bats abhor the Light
Superior to their feeble Sight;
And for some dim Reflexion, shun
The perfect Glories of the Sun.
Superior to their feeble Sight;
And for some dim Reflexion, shun
The perfect Glories of the Sun.
FINIS.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |