University of Virginia Library

'Tis true, no Lover has that Pow'r
T'enforce a desperate Amour,
As he that has two Strings to's Bow,
And burns for Love and Money too:
For then he's Brave and Resolute,
Disdains to render in his Suit,
H'as all his Flames and Raptures double,
And hangs or drowns with half the trouble.
While those who sillily pursue
The simple downright way and true,
Make as unlucky Applications,
And steer against the Stream their passions.
Some forge their Mistresses of Stars:
And when the Ladies prove averse,
And more untoward to be won,
Then by Caligula the Moon,
Cry out upon the Stars for doing
Ill Offices, to cross their wooing;
When onely by themselves they're hindred,
For trusting those they made her kindred:
And still the harsher and hide-bounder
The Damsels prove, become the fonder.
For what mad Lover ever dy'd,
To gain a soft and gentle Bride?
Or for a Lady tender-hearted,
In purling Streams or Hemp departed?
Leap'd headlong int' Elizium,
Through th' Windows of a dazling Room?
But for some cross ill-natur'd Dame,
The am'rous Fly burnt in his flame.
This to the Knight could be no News,
With all Mankind so much in use;
Who therefore took the wiser course,
To make the most of his Amours,
Resolv'd to try all sorts of ways,
As follows in due Time and Place.

No sooner was the bloody Fight
Between the Wizard and the Knight
With all th' Appurtenances over,
But he relaps'd again t'a Lover:
As he was always wont to doe
When h'had discomfited a Foe,
And us'd the onely Antick Philters
Deriv'd from old Heroick Tilters.
But now Triumphant and Victorious,
He held th' Atchievement was too glorious
For such a Conquerour, to meddle
With Petty Constable, or Beadle;
Or fly for Refuge to the Hostess
Of th' Inns of Court and Chanc'ry, Justice:
Who might, perhaps, reduce his Cause
To th' Ordeal Tryal of the Laws;
Where none escape, but such as branded
With red-hot Irons have past Bare-handed;
And if they cannot reade one Verse
I'th' Psalms, must sing it, and that's worse.
He therefore, judging it below him,
To tempt a shame the Devil might owe him,
Resolv'd to leave the Squire for Bail
And Mainprize for him, to the Gaol,
To answer, with his Vessel, all
That might disastrously befall.
He thought it now the fittest juncture,
To give the Lady a Rencounter;
T'acquaint her with his Expedition,
And Conquest o're the fierce Magician;
Describe the manner of the Fray,
And shew the spoils he brought away;
His bloody Scourging aggravate,
The Number of the Blows and Weight:
All which might probably succeed,
And gain belief h'had done the deed.
Which he resolv'd t'enforce, and spare
No pawning of his Soul, to swear;
But, rather then produce his Back,
To set his Conscience on the Rack:
And, in pursuance of his urging
Of Articles perform'd, and scourging,
And all things else upon his part,
Demand delivery of her Heart,
Her Goods, and Chattels, and good Graces,
And Person, up to his embraces.
Thought he, the ancient Errant Knights
Wone all their Ladies Hearts in Fights,
And cut whole Giants into fitters,
To put them into amorous twitters;
Whose stubborn Bowels scorn'd to yield
Until their Gallants were half kill'd:
But when their Bones were drubb'd so sore
They durst not wooe one Combat more,
The Ladies Hearts began to melt,
Subdu'd with Blows their Lovers felt.
So Spanish Heroes with their Lances
At once wound Bulls and Ladies fancies:
And he acquires the noblest Spouse
That Widow's greatest Herds of Cows.
Then what may I expect to doe,
Wh' have quell'd so vast a Buffalo?

Mean while the Squire was on his way,
The Knight's late Orders to obey;
Who sent him for a strong Detachment
Of Beadles, Constables and Watchmen,
T'attack the Cunning-man for Plunder
Committed falsely on his Lumber,
When he, who had so lately sack'd
The Enemy, had done the Fact,
Had rifled all his Pokes and Fobs
Of Gimcracks, Whims and Jiggumbobs,
Which he by hook or crook had gather'd,
And for his own Inventions father'd:
And when they should, at Gaol-delivery,
Unriddle one another's Thievery,
Both might have evidence enough
To render neither halter-proof.
He thought it desperate to tarry,
And venture to be Accessary:
But rather wisely slip his Fetters,
And leave them for the Knight, his Betters.
He call'd to mind th' unjust foul play
He would have offer'd him that day,
To make him curry his own Hide,
Which no Beast ever did beside,
Without all possible evasion,
But of the Riding Dispensation.
And therefore much about the hour,
The Knight (for reasons told before)
Resolv'd to leave him to the Fury
Of Justice and an unpack'd Jury.
The Squire concurr'd t'abandon him,
And serve him in the self-same Trim;
T'acquaint the Lady what h'had done,
And what he meant to carry on;
What Project 'twas he went about,
When Sidrophel and he fell out;
His firm and stedfast Resolution,
To swear her to an Execution;
To pawn his inward Ears, to marry her,
And Bribe the Devil himself to carry her.
In which both dealt, as if they meant
Their Party Saints to represent,
Who never fail'd, upon their sharing
In any Prosperous Arms-Bearing,
To lay themselves out, to supplant
Each other Cosin-German Saint.
But e'r the Knight could doe his Part,
The Squire had got so much the Start,
H'had to the Lady done his Errand,
And told her all his Tricks afore-hand.
Just as he finish'd his Report,
The Knight alighted in the Court;
And having ty'd his Beast t'a Pale,
And taken time for both to stale,
He put his Band and Beard in order,
The Sprucer to accost and board her;
And now began t'approach the Door:
When she, wh' had spy'd him out before,
Convey'd th' Informer out of sight,
And went to entertain the Knight.
With whom encountring after Longees
Of humble and submissive Congees,
And all due Ceremonies paid,
He stroak'd his Beard, and thus he said:
Madam, I do, as is my Duty,
Honour the Shadow of your Shoe-tye:
And now am come, to bring your Ear
A Present you'l be glad to hear;
At least I hope so. The thing's done,
Or may I never see the Sun;
For which I humbly now demand
Performance at your gentle Hand:
And that you'ld please to doe your part,
As I have done mine to my smart.
With that he shrugg'd his sturdy Back,
As if he felt his Shoulders ake.
But she, who well enough knew what
(Before he spoke) he would be at,
Pretended not to apprehend
The Mystery of what he mean'd:
And therefore wish'd him to expound
His dark expressions less profound.
Madam, quoth he, I come to prove
How much I've suffer'd for your Love,
Which (like your Votary) to win,
I have not spar'd my tatter'd skin:
And, for those meritorious Lashes,
To claim your favour and good Graces.
Quoth she, I do remember once
I freed you from th' inchanted Sconce;
And that you promis'd, for that favour,
To bind your Back to th' good Behaviour,
And for my Sake and Service vow'd
To lay upon't a heavy Load,
And what 'twould bear t'a scruple prove,
As other Knights do oft make love.
Which whether you have done or no,
Concerns your self, not me, to know.
But if you have, I shall confess,
Y'are honester then I could guess.
Quoth he, If you suspect my troth,
I cannot prove it but by Oath;
And, if you make a question on't,
I'll pawn my Soul, that I have don't.
And he that makes his Soul his Surety,
I think, does give the best security.
Quoth she, Some say, the Soul's secure
Against Distress and Forfeiture;
Is free from Action, and exempt
From Execution and Contempt;
And to be summon'd to appear
In th' other world, 's illegal here:
And therefore few make any account,
Int' what incumbrances they run't.
For most Men carry things so even
Between this World, and Hell and Heaven,
Without the least offence to either,
They freely deal in all together;
And equally abhor to quit
This World for both, or both for it.
And when they pawn and damn their Souls,
They are but Pris'ners on Parols.
For that, quoth he, 'tis rational,
They may be accomptable in all.
For when there is that intercourse
Between Divine and Humane Pow'rs,
That all that we determine here
Commands Obedience every where;
When Penalties may be commuted
For Fines, or Ears, and Executed;
It follows, nothing binds so fast
As Souls in Pawn and Mortgage past.
For Oaths are th' onely Tests and Scales
Of Right and Wrong, and True and False:
And there's no other way to try
The Doubts of Law and Justice by.
Quoth she, What is it you would Swear?
There's no believing till I hear:
For till th' are understood, all Tales
(Like Nonsense) are not True, nor False.
Quoth he, When I resolv'd t'obey
What you commanded th' other day,
And to perform my Exercise,
(As Schools are wont) for your fair eyes;
T'avoid all Scruples in the Case,
I went to doe't upon the Place.
But as the Castle is inchanted
By Sidrophel the Witch, and haunted
With evil Spirits, as you know,
Who took my Squire and me for two;
Before I'd hardly time to lay
My weapons by, and disarray,
I heard a Formidable Noise
Loud as the Stentrophonick Voice,
That Roar'd far off, Dispatch and Strip,
I'm ready with th' Infernal Whip,
That shall devest thy Ribs of Skin,
To expiate thy lingring Sin.
Th' hast broke perfidiously thy Oath,
And not perform'd thy plighted Troth;
But spar'd thy Renegado Back,
Where th' hadst so great a Prize at Stake:
Which now the Fates have order'd me
For Penance and Revenge to Flay,
Unless thou presently make haste.
Time is, Time was: and there it ceas'd.
With which though startled, I confess,
Yet th' Horrour of the thing was less
Then th' other Dismal apprehension
Of Interruption or Prevention.
And therefore snatching up the Rod,
I laid upon my Back a load;
Resolv'd to spare no Flesh and Bloud,
To make my Word and Honour good.
Till tir'd, and taking Truce at length,
For new Recruits of Breath and Strength,
I felt the Blows still ply'd as fast,
As if th' had been by Lovers plac'd
In Raptures of Platonick Lashing,
And chast Contemplative Bardashing.
When facing hastily about,
To stand upon my Guard and Scout,
I found th' Infernal Cunning-man,
And th' Under-witch, his Caliban,
With Scourges (like the Furies) arm'd,
That on my outward Quarters storm'd.
In hast I snatch'd my weapon up,
And gave their Hellish Rage a stop;
Call'd thrice upon your Name, and fell
Courageously on Sidrophel:
Who now transform'd himself t'a Bear,
Began to roar aloud and tear;
When I as furiously prest on,
My weapon down his Throat to run,
Laid hold on him: but he broke loose,
And turn'd himself into a Goose,
Div'd under Water, in a Pond,
To hide himself from being found.
In vain I sought him, but as soon
As I perceiv'd him fled and gone,
Prepar'd with equal Haste and Rage,
His Under-Sorcerer t'ingage.
But bravely Scorning to defile
My Sword with feeble bloud and vile;
I judg'd it better from a Quick-
Set-Hedge to cut a knotted Stick,
With which I furiously laid on;
Till in a harsh and dolefull tone
It roar'd, Oh hold for pity, Sir,
I am too great a Sufferer,
Abus'd, as you have been, b'a Witch,
But conjur'd int' a worse Caprich:
Who sends me out on many a Jaunt,
Old Houses in the Night to haunt,
For opportunities t'improve
Designs of Thievery or Love;
With Drugs convey'd in Drink or Meat,
All Feats of Witches counterfeit;
Kill Pigs and Geese with poudred Glass,
And make it for Inchantments pass;
With Cow-itch meazle like a Leper,
And choak with Fumes of Guiny-Pepper;
Make Leachers and their Punks with Dewtry
Commit phantastical Advowtry;
Bewitch Hermetick-men to run
Stark staring mad with Manicon;
Believe Mechanick Virtuosi
Can raise 'em Mountains in Potosi;
And sillier then the Antick Fools,
Take Treasure for a Heap of Coals:
Seek out for Plants with Signatures,
To Quack of Universal Cures;
With Figures ground on Panes of Glass,
Make People on their Heads to pass;
And mighty heaps of Coyn increase,
Reflected from a single piece:
To draw in Fools, whose Nat'ral Itches
Incline perpetually to Witches;
And keep me in continual Fears,
And Danger of my Neck and Ears:
When less Delinquent have been scourg'd,
And Hemp on wooden Anvils forg'd,
Which others for Cravats have worn
About their Necks, and took a Turn.
I pity'd the sad Punishment
The wretched Caitiffe underwent,
And held my Drubbing of his Bones
Too great an honour for Pultrones;
For Knights are bound to feel no Blows
From paltry and unequal Foes,
Who when they slash and cut to pieces,
Doe all with civillest addresses:
Their Horses never give a blow,
But when they make a Leg and Bow.
I therefore spar'd his Flesh, and prest him
About the Witch with many a Question.
Quoth he, For many years he drove
A kind of Broking-Trade in Love,
Employ'd in all th' Intrigues and Trust
Of feeble Speculative Lust;
Procurer to th' Extravagancy
And crazy Ribaldry of Fancy.
By those the Devil had forsook,
As things below him, to provoke.
But b'ing a Virtuoso, able
To Smatter, Quack, and Cant, and Dabble,
He held his Talent most Adroit
For any Mystical Exploit;
As others of his Tribe had done,
And rais'd their Prizes Three to One.
For one Predicting Pimp has th' Odds
Of Chauldrons of plain downright Bauds.
But as an Elf (the Devil's Valet)
Is not so slight a thing to get,
For those that doe his business best,
In Hell are us'd the ruggedest;
Before so meriting a Person
Could get a Grant, but in Reversion,
He serv'd two Prentiships and longer
I'th' Myst'ry of a Lady-Monger.
For (as some write) A Witche's Ghost,
As soon as from the Body loos'd,
Becomes a Puiny-Imp it self,
And is another Witche's Elf.
He after sea[r]ching far and near,
At length found one in Lancashire,
With whom he bargain'd beforehand,
And, after Hanging, entertain'd.
Since which h'has plaid a thousand Feats,
And practis'd all Mechanick Cheats:
Transform'd himself to th' ugly Shapes
Of Wolves, and Bears, Baboons, and Apes;
Which he has vary'd more then Witches,
Or Pharaoh's Wizards could their Switches;
And all with whom h'has had to doe,
Turn'd to as Monstrous Figures too.
Witness my self, whom h'has abus'd,
And to this Beastly shape reduc'd,
By feeding me on Beans and Pease,
He crams in nasty Crevises,
And turns to Comfits by his Arts,
To make me relish for Disserts,
And one by one with Shame and Fear
Lick up the candid Provender.
Beside—But as h'was running on,
To tell what other Feats h'had done,
The Lady stopt his full Career,
And told him, now 'twas time to hear:
If half those things (said she) be true,
(Th' are all (quoth he) I swear by you:)
Why then (said she) that Sidrophel
Has damn'd himself to th' Pit of Hell;
Who, mounted on a Broom, the Nag
And Hackney of a Lapland Hag,
In Quest of you came hither Post,
Within an Hour (I'm sure) at most;
Who told me all you swear and say,
Quite contrary another way;
Vow'd, that you came to him to know
If you should carry me or no;
And would have hir'd him and his Imps,
To be your Match-makers and Pimps,
T'ingage the Devil on your side,
And steal (like Proserpine) your Bride.
But he disdaining to embrace
So filthy a Design and base,
You fell to vapouring and huffing,
And drew upon him, like a Ruffin;
Surpriz'd him meanly, unprepar'd,
Before h'had time to mount his Guard;
And left him dead upon the Ground,
With many a Bruise and desperate wound:
Swore you had broke and robb'd his House,
And stole his Talismanique Louse,
And all his New-found Old Inventions,
With flat Felonious Intentions;
Which he could bring out, where he had,
And what he bought 'em for and paid;
His Flea, his Morpion, and Punese,
H'had gotten for his proper ease,
And all in perfect Minutes made,
By th' ablest Artists of the Trade;
Which (he could prove it) since he lost,
He has been eaten up almost;
And all together might amount
To many hundreds on account:
For which h'had got sufficient warrant
To seize the Malefactors Errant,
Without capacity of Bail,
But of a Cart's or Horse's Tail;
And did not doubt to bring the Wretches,
To serve for Pendulums to Watches;
Which modern Virtuoso's say,
Incline to Hanging every way.
Beside he swore, and swore 'twas true,
That e're he went in Quest of you,
He set a Figure to discover
If you were fled to Rye or Dover;
And found it clear, that, to betray
Your selves and me, you fled this way;
And that he was upon pursuit,
To take you somewhere hereabout.
He vow'd h'had had Intelligence
Of all that past before and since:
And found, that e're you came to him,
Y'had been ingaging Life and Lim
About a case of tender Conscience,
Where both abounded in your own Sense;
Till Ralpho, by his Light and Grace,
Had clear'd all Scruples in the Case;
And prov'd that you might swear, and own
Whatever's by the Wicked done.
For which, most basely to requite
The Service of his Gifts and Light,
You strove t'oblige him by main force,
To scourge his Ribs in stead of yours,
But that he stood upon his Guard,
And all your vapouring outdar'd:
For which, between you both, the Feat
Has never been perform'd as yet.
While thus the Lady talk'd, the Knight
Turn'd th' Outside of his eyes to white.
(As men of Inward Light are wont
To turn their Opticks in upon't.)
He wonder'd how she came to know
What he had done, and meant to doe:
Held up his Affidavit hand,
As if h'had been to be arraign'd:
Cast tow'rds the Door a ghastly look,
In dread of Sidrophel, and spoke.
Madam, if but one word be true
Of all the Wizard has told you,
Or but one single Circumstance
In all th' Apocryphal Romance,
May dreadfull Earthquakes swallow down
This Vessel, that is all your own;
Or may the Heavens fall, and cover
These Reliques of your constant Lover.
You have provided well, quoth She,
(I thank you) for your self and me;
And shewn your Presbyterian wits
Jump punctual with the Jesuits.
A most compendious way and civil,
At once to cheat the World, the Devil,
And Heav'n and Hell, your Selves and Those
On whom you vainly think t'impose.
Why then (quoth he) may Hell surprize.
That trick (said she) will not pass twice:
I've learn'd how far I'm to believe
Your pinning Oaths upon your Sleeve.
But there's a better way of Clearing
What you would prove then downright Swearing;
For if you have perform'd the Feat,
The Blows are visible as yet
Enough to serve for satisfaction
Of nicest scruples in the Action.
And if you can produce those Knobs,
Although th' are but the Witche's Drubs,
I'll pass them all upon account,
As if your natural Self had don't.
Provided that they pass th' Opinion
Of able Juries of old Women,
Who, us'd to judge all matt'r of Facts
For Bellies, may doe so for Backs.

Madam, (quoth he) your Love's a Million,
To doe is less then to be willing,
As I am, were it in my pow'r,
T'obey what you command, and more.
But for performing what you bid,
I thank you as much as if I did.
You know I ought to have a care
To keep my Wounds from taking Air:
For Wounds in those that are all Heart
Are dangerous in any Part.

I find (quoth she) my Goods and Chattels
Are like to prove but meer drawn Battels;
For still the longer we contend,
We are but farther off the end.
But granting now we should agree,
What is it you expect from me?
Your plighted Faith (quoth he) and Word
You past in Heaven on Record,
Where all Contracts, to have and t'hold,
Are everlastingly inrol'd.
And if 'tis counted Treason, here
To race Records, 'tis much more there.
Quoth she, There are no Bargains driv'n
Nor Marriages clapp'd up in Heaven:
And that's the reason, as some guess,
There is no Heav'n in Marriages;
Two things that naturally press
Too narrowly, to be at ease.
Their bus'ness there is onely Love,
Which Marriage is not like t'improve.
Love, that's too generous, t'abide
To be against its Nature ty'd:
For where 'tis of it self inclin'd,
It breaks loose when it is confin'd;
And like the Soul, its harbourer,
Debarr'd the freedom of the Air,
Disdains against its will to stay,
But struggles out, and flies away:
And therefore never can comply,
T'endure the Matrimonial tye,
That binds the Female and the Male,
Where th' one is but the other's Bail;
Like Roman Gaolers, when they slept,
Chain'd to the Prisoners they kept.
Of which the True and Faithfull'st Lover
Gives best security, to suffer.

Marriage is but a Beast, some say,
That carries double in foul way;
And therefore 'tis not to b'admir'd,
It should so suddenly be tir'd:
A bargain at a venture made
Between two Part'ners in a Trade,
([F]or what's inferr'd by T'have, and t'hold,
But something past away, and sold?)
That as it makes but one of two,
Reduces all things else as low:
And at the best is but a Mart
Between the one and th' other part,
That on the Marriage-day is paid,
Or hour of Death, the Bet it laid.
And all the rest of Bett'r or worse
Both are but losers out of Purse.
For when upon their ungot Heirs
Th' intail themselves, and all that's theirs,
What blinder Bargain e're was driven,
Or Wager laid at six and seven?
To pass themselves away, and turn
Their Children's Tenants e're th' are born?
Beg one another Idiot
To Guardians, e're they are begot;
Or ever shall, perhaps, by th' one,
Who's bound to vouch 'em for his own,
Though got b'Implicit Generation,
And General Club of all the Nation:
For which she's fortify'd no less
Then all the Island, with four Seas;
Exacts the Tribute of her Dow'r
In ready Insolence and Pow'r;
And makes him pass away, to Have
And Hold, to her, himself, her slave,
More wretched then an Ancient Villain,
Condemn'd to Drudgery and Tilling;
While all he does upon the By,
She is not bound to justifie,
Nor at her proper cost and charge
Maintain the Feats he does at large.
Such hideous Sots were those obedient
Old Vassals to their Ladies Regent;
To give the Cheats the Eldest hand
In Foul Play, by the Laws o'th' Land;
For which so many a legal Cuckold
Has been run down in Courts, and truckled.
A Law that most unjustly yokes
All Johns of Stiles to Joans of Nokes,
Without distinction of Degree,
Condition, Age, or Quality;
Admits no Pow'r of Revocation,
Nor valuable Consideration,
Nor Writ of Error, nor Reverse
Of Judgement past For better or worse;
Will not allow the Priviledges
That Beggars challenge under Hedges,
Who, when th' are griev'd, can make dead Horses
Their Spiritual Judges of Divorces;
While nothing else but Rem in Re,
Can set the proudest Wretches free:
A Slavery beyond enduring,
But that 'tis of their own procuring.
As Spiders never seek the Fly,
But leave him, of himself, t'apply:
So men are by themselves betray'd,
To quit the freedom they injoy'd,
And run their Necks into a Nooze,
They'ld break 'em after, to break loose.
As some, whom Death would not depart,
Have done the Feat themselves by Art.
Like Indian-Widows, gone to Bed
In Flaming Curtains to the Dead:
And Men as often dangled for't,
And yet will never leave the Sport.
Nor do the Ladies want excuse
For all the Strategems they use,
To gain th' advantage of the Set,
And lurch the Amorous Rook and Cheat.
For as a Pythagorean Soul
Runs through all Beasts, and Fish, and Fowl,
And has a smack of ev'ry one:
So Love does, and has ever done.
And therefore, though 'tis ne'r so fond,
Takes strangely to the Vagabond.
'Tis but an Ague that's reverst,
Whose hot fit takes the Patient first,
That after burns with cold as much
As Ir'n in Greenland does the touch;
Melts in the Furnace of desire,
Like Glass, that's but the Ice of Fire;
And when his heat of Fancy's over,
Becomes as hard and frail a Lover.
For when he's with Love-powder laden,
And Prim'd, and Cock'd by Miss, or Madam,
The smallest sparkle of an Eye
Gives Fire to his Artillery;
And off the loud Oaths go, but while
Th' are in the very Act, recoil.
Hence 'tis, so few dare take their chance
Without a sep'rate maintenance:
And Widows, who have try'd one Lover,
Trust none again, till th' have made over.
Or if they doe, before they marry,
The Foxes weigh the Geese they carry:
And e're they venture o're a stream,
Know how to size themselves and them.
Whence witty'st Ladies always choose
To undertake the heaviest Goose.
For now the World is grown so wary,
That few of either Sex dare marry,
But rather trust on tick t'Amours,
The Crose and Pile for Bett'r or Worse:
A Mode that is held honourable,
As well as French and fashionable.
For when it falls out for the best,
Where both are incommoded least,
In Soul and Body two unite,
To make up one Hermaphrodite;
Still Amorous, and fond, and Billing,
Like Philip and Mary on a Shilling,
Th' have more Punctilio's and Capriches
Between the Petticoat and Breeches,
More petulant Extravagancies,
Then Poets make 'em in Romances.
Though, when their Heroes 'spouse the Dames,
We hear no more of Charms and Flames:
For then their late attracts decline,
And turn as eager as Prick'd Wine;
And all their Catterwauling tricks,
In earnest to as jealous Piques:
Which th' Ancients wisely signify'd,
By th' yellow Manto's of the Bride.
For Jealousie is but a kind
Of Clap and Grincam of the Mind,
The natural effect of Love,
As other Flames and Aches prove:
But all the mischief is, the doubt
On whose account they first broke out.
For though Chineses go to Bed,
And lie in in their Ladies stead,
And for the pains they took before,
Are nurs'd and pamper'd to doe more:
Our Green-men doe it worse, when th' hap
To fall in labour of a Clap;
Both lay the Child to one another:
But who's the Father, who the Mother,
'Tis hard to say in multitudes,
Or who imported the French Goods.
But Health and Sickness b'ing all one,
Which both ingag'd before to own,
And are not with their Bodies bound
To Worship onely when th' are sound;
Both give and take their equal shares
Of all they suffer by false Wares:
A Fate no Lover can divert
With all his caution, Wit, and Art.
For 'tis in vain to think to guess
At Women by Appearances,
That Paint and Patch their Imperfections
Of Intellectual Complexions,
And daub their Tempers o're with Washes
As artificial as their Faces;
Wear under Vizard-Masks their Talents
And Mother Wits before their Gallants;
Until th' are hamper'd in the Nooze,
Too fast to dream of breaking loose:
When all the Flaws they strove to hide
Are made unready, with the Bride,
That with her Wedding-cloaths undresses
Her Complaisance and Gentilesses;
Tries all her Arts, to take upon her
The Government from th' easie owner,
Until the Wretch is glad to wave
His lawfull Right, and turn her Slave;
Finds all his Having, and his Holding,
Reduc'd t'eternal Noise and Scolding,
The Conjugal Petard, that tears
Down all Portcullices of Ears,
And makes the Volly of one Tongue
For all their Leathern Shields too strong,
When onely arm'd with Noise and Nails,
The Female Silk-worms ride the Males,
Transform 'em into Rams and Goats,
Like Sirens with their charming Notes,
Sweet as a Screech-Owl's Serenade,
Or those inchanting murmurs made
By th' Husband Mandrake and the Wife,
Both bury'd (like themselves) alive.

Quoth he, these Reasons are but strains
Of wanton, over-heated Brains,
Which Ralliers in their Wit or Drink
Do rather wheedle with, then think.
Man was not Man in Paradise,
Untill he was Created twice,
And had his better half, his Bride,
Carv'd from th' Original, his side,
T'amend his Natural defects,
And perfect his recruited Sex,
Inlarge his Breed, at once, and lessen
The Pains and labour of increasing,
By changing them for other cares,
As by his dry'd-up Paps appears.
His Body, that stupendious Frame,
Of all the World the Anagram,
Is of two equal parts compact
In Shape and Symmetry exact.
Of which the Left and Female side
Is to the Manly Right a Bride,
Both joyn'd together with such Art,
That nothing else but Death can part.
Those Heav'nly Attracts of yours, your Eyes,
And Face, that all the World surprize,
That dazle all that look upon ye,
And scorch all other Ladies Tawny;
Those ravishing and charming Graces,
Are all made up of two Half Faces,
That in a Mathematick Line,
Like those in other Heavens, join.
Of which if either grew alone,
'Twould fright as much to look upon:
And so would that sweet Bud, your Lip,
Without the other's fellowship.
Our Noblest Senses act by Pairs,
Two Eyes to see, to hear two Ears;
Th' Intelligencers of the Mind,
To wait upon the Soul design'd.
But those that serve the Body alone,
Are single and confin'd to one.
The World is but two Parts, that meet,
And close at th' Æquinoctial, fit;
And so are all the Works of Nature,
Stamp'd with her signature on Matter:
Which all her Creatures, to a Leaf,
Or smallest Blade of Grass, receive.
All which sufficiently declare
How intirely Marriage is her care,
The onely method that she uses,
In all the wonders she produces.
And those that take their rules from her,
Can never be deceiv'd, nor err.
For what secures the Civil Life
But pawns of Children and a Wife;
That lie, like Hostages, at stake,
To pay for all Men undertake?
To whom it is as necessary,
As to be born and breath, to marry;
So Universal, all Mankind
In nothing else is of one mind.
For in what stupid Age, or Nation,
Was Marriage ever out of Fashion?
Unless among the Amazons,
Or Vestal Friers, and Cloister'd Nuns,
Or Stoicks, who, to bar the Freaks
And loose Excesses of the Sex,
Preposterously would have all Women
Turn'd up to all the World in common.
Though Men would find such mortal Fewds
In sharing of their publick Goods,
'Twould put them to more charge of Lives,
Then th' are supply'd with now by Wives;
Until they Graze, and wear their Cloaths,
As Beasts doe, of their Native Growths:
For simple wearing of their Horns,
Will not suffice to serve their turns.
For what can we pretend t'inherit,
Unless the Marriage-deed will bear it?
Could claim no Right to Lands or Rents,
But for our Parents settlements.
Had been but younger Sons o'th' Earth,
Debarr'd it all, but for our Birth.
What Honours, or Estates of Peers
Could be preserv'd but by their Heirs?
And what security maintains
Their Right and Title, but the Banes?
What Crowns could be Hereditary,
If greatest Monarchs did not marry,
And with their Consorts consummate
Their weightiest Interests of State?
For all th' Amours of Princes are
But Guarranties of Peace or War.
Or what but Marriage has a Charm,
The Rage of Empires to disarm,
Make Bloud and Desolation cease,
And Fire and Sword unite in Peace,
When all their fierce contests for Forrage
Conclude in Articles of Marriage?
Nor does the Genial Bed provide
Less for the Interests of the Bride;
Who else had not the least Pretence
T'as much as Due Benevolence;
Could no more Title take upon her
To Vertue, Quality, and Honour,
Then Ladies Errant, unconfin'd,
And Feme-Coverts to all Mankind.
All Women would be of one piece,
The vertuous Matron, and the Miss;
The Nymphs of chast Diana's Train,
The same with those in Lewkner's-lane;
But for the difference Marriage makes
'Twixt Wives, and Ladies of the Lakes.
Besides, the joys of Place and Birth,
The Sexes Paradise on Earth;
A privilege so sacred held,
That none will to their Mothers yield;
But rather then not go before,
Abandon Heaven at the Door.
And if th' indulgent Law allows
A greater freedom to the Spouse;
The reason is, because the Wife
Runs greater hazards of her Life;
Is trusted with the Form and Matter
Of all Mankind by carefull Nature.
Where Man brings nothing but the Stuff,
She frames the wondrous Fabrick off:
Who therefore, in a streight, may freely
Demand the Clergy of her Belly,
And make it save her, the same way,
It seldom misses to betray.
Unless both parties wisely enter
Into the Liturgy-Indenture.
And though some fits of small contest
Sometimes fall out among the Best,
That is no more then every Lover
Does from his Hackney-Lady suffer.
That makes no Breach of Faith and Love,
But rather (sometime) serves t'improve.
For, as in Running, ev'ry Pace
Is but between two Legs a Race,
In which both doe their uttermost
To get before, and win the Post;
Yet when th' are at their race's ends,
Th' are still as kind and constant friends,
And to relieve their weariness,
By turns give one another ease:
So all those false Alarms of strife
Between the Husband and the Wife,
And little Quarrels, often prove
To be but new recruits of Love.
When those wh' are always kind or coy,
In time must either Tire, or Cloy.
Nor are their loudest Clamours more,
Then as th' are relish'd, Sweet, or Sour:
Like Musick, that proves bad, or good,
According as 'tis understood.
In all Amours a Lover burns,
With Frowns, as well as Smiles, by turns:
And Hearts have been as oft with sullen,
As charming looks, surpriz'd and stollen.
Then why should more bewitching Clamour
Some Lovers not as much enamour?
For Discords make the sweetest Airs,
And Curses are a kind of Prayers:
Too slight Alloys for all those grand
Felicities by Marriage gain'd.
For nothing else has pow'r to settle
Th' interests of Love perpetual.
An Act and Deed that makes one Heart
Become another's Counter-part,
And passes Fines on Faith and Love,
Inrol'd and Registred above,
To seal the slippery knot of Vows,
Which nothing else but Death can loose.
And what Security's too strong,
To guard that gentle Heart from wrong,
That to its Friend is glad to pass
It self away, and all it has;
And, like an Anchorite, gives over
This World, for th' Heaven of a Lover?

I grant (quoth she) there are some few
Who take that course, and find it true:
But Millions, whom the same does sentence
To Heaven b'another way, Repentance.
Love's Arrows are but shot at Rovers,
Though all they hit they turn to Lovers.
And all the weighty consequents
Depend upon more blind events
Then Gamesters, when they play a Set
With greatest cunning at Piquet,
Put out with caution, but take in
They know not what, unsight-unseen.
For what doe Lovers, when th' are fast
In one another's Arms embrac't,
But strive to plunder and convey
Each other, like a Prize, away?
To change the property of selves,
As sucking Children are by Elves?
And if they use their Persons so,
What will they to their Fortunes doe?
Their Fortunes! the perpetual aims
Of all their Ecstasies and Flames.
For when the Money's on the Book,
And, All my Worldly Goods—but spoke;
(The Formal Livery and Seisin
That puts a Lover in possession)
To that alone the Bridegroom's wedded,
The Bride a Flam that's superseded.
To that their Faith is still made good,
And all the Oaths to us they vow'd.
For when we once resign our Pow'rs,
W'have nothing left we can call ours.
Our Money's now become the Miss,
Of all your Lives and Services;
And we forsaken, and Post-pon'd,
But Bawds to what before we own'd.
Which as it made y'at first Gallant us,
So now hires others to supplant us,
Until 'tis all turn'd out of doors,
(As we had been) for new Amours.
For what did ever Heiress yet
By being born to Lordships get?
When the more Ladie sh' is of Mannors,
She's but expos'd to more Trepanners,
Pays for their Projects and Designs,
And for her own destruction Fines,
And does but tempt them with her Riches,
To use her as the Dev'l does Witches;
Who takes it for a special Grace,
To be their Cully for a space,
That, when the time's expir'd, the Drazels
For ever may become his Vassals.
So she, bewitch'd by Rooks and Spirits,
Betrays her self, and all sh' inherits
Is bought and sold, like stollen goods,
By Pimps, and Match-makers, and Bawds:
Until they force her to convey,
And steal the Thief himself away.
These are the everlasting Fruits
Of all your passionate Love-suits,
Th' effects of all your amorous Fancies
To Portions and Inheritances,
Your Love-sick Raptures for Fruition
Of Dowry, Jointure, and Tuition;
To which you make Address and Courtship,
And with your Bodies strive to Worship,
That th' Infant's Fortunes may partake
Of Love too, for the Mother's sake.
For these, you play at Purposes,
And love your Loves with A's and B's:
For these, at Beast and L'hombre wooe,
And play for Love and Money too;
Strive who shall be the ablest Man
At right Gallanting of a Fan,
And who the most Gentilely bred
At sucking of a Vizard Bead,
How best t'accost us in all Quarters
T'our question-and-command New Garters,
And solidly discourse upon
All sorts of Dresses Pro and Con.
For there's no Mystery nor Trade,
But in the Art of Love is made.
And when you have more Debts to pay
Then Michaelmas and Lady-day,
And no way possible to do 't,
But Love and Oaths and restless Suit,
To us y'apply, to pay the Scores
Of all your cully'd past Amours;
Act o're your Flames and Darts again,
And charge us with your wounds and pain,
Which others influences long since
Have charm'd your Noses with, and Shins;
For which the Surgeon is unpaid,
And like to be, without our aid.
Lord! what an Amorous thing is Want!
How Debts and Mortgages inchant!
What Graces must that Lady have,
That can from Executions save!
What Charms, that can reverse Extent,
And null Decree and Exigent!
What Magical Attracts and Graces,
That can redeem from Scire facias;
From Bonds and Statutes can discharge,
And from Contempts of Courts inlarge!
These are the highest Excellencies
Of all our true or false Pretences.
And you would damn your selves, and swear
As much t'an Hostess Dowager,
Grown fat and pursy by Retail
Of Pots of Beer, and Bottled Ale;
And find her fitter for your turn,
For Fat is wondrous apt to burn;
Who at your Flames would soon take Fire,
Relent, and melt to your desire,
And, like a Candle in the Socket,
Dissolve her Graces int' your Pocket.

By this time 'twas grown dark and late,
When th' heard a knocking at the Gate,
Laid on in haste with such a powder,
The blows grew louder still and louder.
Which Hudibras, as if th' had been
Bestow'd as freely on his Skin,
Expounding by his Inward Light,
Or rather more Prophetick fright,
To be the Wizard, come to search,
And take him napping in the lurch,
Turn'd pale as Ashes, or a Clout;
But why, or wherefore, is a doubt:
For Men will tremble, and turn paler,
With too much, or too little Valour.
His Heart laid on, as if it try'd
To force a passage through his Side,
Impatient (as he vow'd) to wait 'em,
But in a Fury to fly at 'em;
And therefore beat, and laid about,
To find a cranny to creep out.
But she, who saw in what a taking
The Knight was by his furious Quaking,
Undaunted, cry'd, Courage, Sir Knight,
Kno I'm resolv'd to break no Rite
Of Hospitality t'a Stranger,
But to secure you out of danger,
Will here my self stand Sentinel,
To guard this Pass 'gainst Sidrophel.
Women, you know, do seldom fail,
To make the stoutest Men turn tail:
And bravely scorn to turn their Backs
Upon the desperat'st Attacks.

At this the Knight grew resolute
As Iron-side or Hardy-knute;
His fortitude began to rally,
And out he cri'd aloud, to sally.
But she besought him, to convey
His Courage rather out o'th' way,
And lodge in Ambush on the Floor,
Or fortifi'd behind a Door,
That if the Enemy should enter,
He might relieve her in th' Adventure.

Mean while, they knock'd against the Door,
As fierce as at the Gate before;
Which made the Renegado Knight
Relapse again t'his former fright.
He thought it desperate to stay
Till th' Enemy had forc'd his way,
But rather post himself, to serve
The Lady, for a fresh Reserve.
His Duty was not to dispute,
But what sh' had order'd execute:
Which he resolv'd in haste t'obey,
And therefore stoutly march'd away;
And all h'encountred fell upon,
Though in the dark, and all alone.
Till Fear, that braver Feats performs
Then ever Courage dar'd in Arms,
Had drawn him up before a Pass,
To stand upon his Guard, and face.
This he courageously invaded,
And having enter'd, Barricado'd:
Insconc'd himself as formidable
As could be underneath a Table;
Where he lay down in Ambush close,
T'expect the arrival of his Foes.
Few minutes had he lain perdue,
To guard his desp'rate Avenue,
Before he heard a dreadfull shout,
As loud as putting to the Rout;
With which impatiently alarm'd,
He fansi'd th' Enemy had storm'd,
And after entring Sidrophel
Was fall'n upon the Guards pell-mell.
He therefore sent out all his Senses,
To bring him in Intelligences.
Which Vulgars out of ignorance
Mistake, for falling in a Trance:
But those that trade in Geomancy,
Affirm to be the strength of Fancy:
In which the Lapland-Magi deal,
And things incredible reveal.
Mean while the Foe beat up his Quarters,
And storm'd the Out-works of his Fortress.
And as another of the same
Degree, and Party, in Arms and Fame,
That in the same Cause had ingag'd,
And War with equal conduct wag'd,
By vent'ring onely but to thrust
His Head a Span beyond his Post,
B'a Gen'ral of the Cavaliers
Was dragg'd through a Window by th' Ears:
So he was serv'd in his Redoubt,
And by the other end pull'd out.

Soon as they had him at their mercy,
They put him to the Cudgel fiercely,
As if they scorn'd to trade and barter,
By giving or by taking Quarter:
They stoutly on his Quarters laid,
Until his Scouts came in t'his aid.
For when a Man is past his Sense,
There's no way to reduce him thence,
But twindging him by th' Ears or Nose,
Or laying on of heavy Blows.
And if that will not doe the Deed,
To burning with Hot Irons proceed.

No sooner was he come t'himself,
But on his Neck a sturdy Elf
Clapp'd in a trice his cloven Hoof,
And thus attack'd him with Reproof.
Mortal, thou art betray'd to us
B'our Friend, thy evil Genius,
Who for thy horrid Perjuries,
Thy Breach of Faith, and turning Lies,
The Brethrens Privilege, (against
The Wicked) on themselves, the Saints,
Has here thy wretched Carcass sent
For just Revenge and punishment;
Which thou hast now no way to lessen,
But by an open, free Confession.
For if we catch thee failing once,
'Twill fall the heavier on thy Bones.
What made thee venture to betray,
And filch the Ladie's Heart away?
To Spirit her to Matrimony—?
That which contracts all Matches, Money.
It was th' inchantment of her Riches,
That made m'apply t'your Croney Witches:
That in return would pay th' expence,
The Wear-and-tear of Conscience;
Which I could have patch'd up, and turn'd,
For th' hundredth part of what I earn'd.
Didst thou not love her then? speak true.
No more (quoth he) then I love you.
How wouldst th' have us'd her, and her Money?
First, turn'd her up to Alimony;
And laid her Dowry out in Law,
To null her Jointure with a Flaw,
Which I before-hand had agreed
T'have put, of purpose, in the Deed;
And bar her Widow's-making-over
T'a Friend in Trust, or private Lover.
What made thee pick and chuse her out,
T'imploy their Sorceries about?
That which makes Gamesters play with those
Who have least Wit, and most to lose.
But didst thou scourge thy Vessel thus,
As thou hast damn'd thy self to us?
I see you take me for an Ass:
'Tis true, I thought the Trick would pass
Upon a Woman well enough,
As 't has been often found by Proof;
Whose Humours are not to be won
But when they are impos'd upon.
For Love approves of all they doe
That stand for Candidates, and wooe.
Why didst thou forge those shamefull Lies,
Of Bears and Witches in Disguise?
That is no more then Authours give
The Rabble credit to Believe;
A Trick of Following their Leaders,
To entertain their Gentle Readers.
And we have now no other way
Of passing all we doe or say;
Which when 'tis natural and true,
Will be believ'd b'a very few.
Beside the danger of offence,
The fatal enemy of Sense.
Why didst thou chuse that cursed Sin,
Hypocrisie, to set up in?
Because it is the thriving'st Calling,
The onely Saints-Bell that rings all in,
In which all Churches are concern'd,
And is the easiest to be learn'd.
For no degrees, unless th' imploy 't,
Can ever gain much, or enjoy 't.
A Gift that is not onely able
To domineer among the Rabble,
But by the Law's impowr'd to rout
And aw the greatest that stand out.
Which few hold forth against, for fear
Their hands should slip, and come too near.
For no Sin else among the Saints
Is taught so tenderly against.
What made thee break thy Plighted Vows?
That which makes others break a House,
And hang, and scorn ye all, before
Endure the Plague of being poor.
Quoth he, I see you have more Tricks
Then all our doting Politicks,
That are grown old, and out of Fashion,
Compar'd with your new Reformation:
That we must come to School to you,
To learn your more refin'd, and New.
Quoth he, If you will give me leave
To tell you what I now perceive,
You'ld find your self an arrant Chouse,
If y'were but at a Meeting-House.
'Tis true, quoth he, we ne'r come there,
Because w'have let them out by th' year.
Truly, quoth he, you can't imagine
What wondrous things they will engage in:
That as your Fellow-Fiends in Hell
Were Angels all before they fell;
So you are like to be agen
Compar'd with th' Angels of us Men.
Quoth he, I am resolv'd to be
Thy Scholar in this Mystery;
And therefore first desire to know
Some Principles on which you go.
What makes a Knave a Child of God,
And one of us?—A livelihood.
What renders Beating out of Brains
And Murther Godliness?—Great Gains.
What's tender Conscience?—'Tis a Botch
That will not bear the gentlest touch,
But breaking out, dispatches more
Then th' Epidemical'st Plague-sore.
What makes y'encroach upon our Trade,
And damn all others?—To be paid.
What's Orthodox and true Believing
Against a Conscience?—A good Living.
What makes Rebelling against Kings
A Good Old Cause? Administrings.
What makes all Doctrines plain and clear?
About Two hundred pounds a year.
And that which was prov'd true before,
Prove false again? Two hundred more.
What makes the Breaking of all Oaths
A holy Duty? Food and Cloaths.
What Laws and Freedom, Persecution?
B'ing out of Pow'r, and Contribution.
What makes a Church a Den of Thieves?
A Dean and Chapter, and White Sleeves.
And what would serve, if those were gone,
To make it Orthodox? Our own.
What makes Morality a Crime,
The most notorious of the Time?
Morality, which both the Saints
And Wicked too cry out against?
'Cause Grace and Vertue are within
Prohibited Degrees of Kin:
And therefore no true Saint allows
They should be suffer'd to espouse.
For Saints can need no Conscience
That with Morality dispense;
As Vertue's impious, when 'tis rooted
In Nature onel', and not imputed.
But why the Wicked should doe so,
We neither know, nor care to do.
What's Liberty of Conscience,
I'th' Natural and Genuine Sense?
'Tis to restore with more security
Rebellion to its ancient Purity;
And Christian Liberty reduce
To th' elder Practice of the Jews.
For a Large Conscience is all one,
And signifies the same with None.

It is enough (quoth he) for once,
And has repriev'd thy forfeit Bones:
Nick Machiavel had ne'r a Trick,
(Though he gave 's Name to our Old Nick)
But was below the least of these,
That pass i'th' World for Holiness.

This said, the Furies and the Light
In th' instant vanish'd out of sight;
And left him in the dark alone,
With stinks of Brimstone, and his own.

The Queen of Night, whose large Command
Rules all the Sea and half the Land,
And over moist and crazy Brains
In high Spring-tides at Midnight reigns,
Was now declining to the West,
To go to Bed and take her rest.
When Hudibras, whose stubborn Blows
Deni'd his Bones that soft repose,
Lay still expecting worse and more,
Stretch'd out at length upon the Floor:
And though he shut his Eyes as fast
As if h'had been to sleep his last,
Saw all the Shapes that Fear or Wizards
Do make the Devil wear for Vizards.
And pricking up his Ears, to hark
If he could hear too in the dark,
Was first invaded with a Groan,
And after, in a feeble Tone,
These trembling words. Unhappy Wretch!
What hast thou gotten by this Fetch?
Or all thy Tricks in this New Trade,
The Holy Brotherhood o'th' Blade?
By Santring still on some Adventure,
And growing to thy Horse a Centaur,
To stuff thy Skin with swelling Knobs
Of cruel and hard-wooded Drubs?
For still th' hast had the worst on't yet,
As well in Conquest as defeat.
Night is the Sabbath of Mankind,
To rest the Body and the Mind:
Which now thou art deni'd to keep,
And cure thy labour'd Corps with Sleep.
The Knight, who heard the words, explain'd
As meant to him this Reprimand,
Because the Character did hit
Point-blank upon his Case so fit;
Believ'd it was some drolling Sprite
That staid upon the Guards that Night,
And one of those h'had seen, and felt
The Drubs he had so freely dealt.
When, after a short Pause and Grone,
The dolefull Spirit thus went on.
This 'tis t'ingage with Dogs and Bears
Pelmell together by the Ears;
And after painfull Bangs and Knocks,
To lie in Limbo in the Stocks;
And from the Pinacle of Glory,
Fall headlong into Purgatory:
(Thought he, This Devil's full of Malice,
That on my late Disasters Rallies.)
Condemn'd to Whipping, but declin'd it,
By being more Heroick-minded;
And at a Riding handled worse,
With Treats more slovenly and course;
Ingag'd with Fiends in stubborn Wars,
And hot Disputes with Conjurers;
And when th' hadst bravely won the day,
Wast fain to steal thyself away.
(I see, thought he, this shameless Elf
Would fain steal me too from my self,
That impudently dares to own
What I have suffer'd for and done:)
And now but ventring to betray,
Hast met with Vengeance the same way.
Thought he, How does the Devil know
What 'twas that I design'd to doe?
His Office of Intelligence,
His Oracles are ceas'd long since:
And he knows nothing of the Saints,
But what some treacherous Spy acquaints.
This is some Pettifogging Fiend,
Some Under-Door-keeper's Friend's Friend,
That undertakes to understand,
And juggles at the Second hand;
And now would pass for Spirit Po,
And all mens dark Concerns fore-know.
I think I need not fear him for't:
These Rallying Devils doe no hurt.
With that he rouz'd his drooping Heart,
And hastily cri'd out, What art?
A Wretch (quoth he) whom want of Grace
Has brought to this unhappy Place.
I do believe thee, quoth the Knight,
Thus far I'm sure th' art in the Right;
And know what 'tis that troubles thee,
Better then thou hast guest of me.
Thou art some paltry Black-guard Sprite,
Condemn'd to Drudg'ry in the Night,
That hast no work to doe in th' House,
Nor Half-penny to drop in Shoes:
Without the raising of which Sum,
You dare not be so troublesome,
To pinch the Slatterns black and blue,
For leaving you their Work to doe.
This is your business, good Pug Robin,
And your Diversion dull Dry Bobbing;
T'intice Fanaticks in the Dirt,
And wash 'em clean in Ditches for 't.
Of which conceit you are so proud,
At ev'ry Jest you laugh aloud.
As now you would have done by me,
But that I barr'd your Rallery.

Sir, (quoth the Voice) y'are no such Sophy
As you would have the World judge of ye,
If you design to weigh our Talents
I'th' Standard of your own false Balance,
Or think it possible to know
Us Ghosts as well as we do you:
We, who have been the everlasting
Companions of your Drubs and Basting,
And never left you in Contest
With Male or Female, Man or Beast,
But prov'd as true t'ye and intire
In all adventures as your Squire.

Quoth he, That may be said as true
By th' idlest Pug of all your Crew:
For none could have betray'd us worse
Then those Allies of ours and yours.
But I have sent him for a Token
To your Low-Countrey Hogen Mogen,
To whose Infernal Shores I hope
He'l swing like Skippers in a Rope.
And if y'have been more just to me
(As I am apt to think) then he,
I am afraid it is as true,
What th' Ill-affected say of you,
Y'have 'spous'd the Covenant and Cause,
By holding up your Cloven Paws.
Sir, quoth the Voice, 'tis true, I grant,
We made and took the Covenant.
But that no more concerns the Cause,
Then other Perj'ries doe the Laws,
Which when they're prov'd in open Court,
Wear wooden Peccadillo's for't.
And that's the Reason Cov'nanters
Held up their Hands, like Rogues at Bars.
I see, quoth Hudibras, from whence
These Scandals of the Saints commence,
That are but natural Effects
Of Satan's Malice, and his Sects,
Those Spider-Saints, that hang by Threds
Spun out of th' Entrals of their Heads.
Sir, quoth the Voice, that may as true
And properly be said of you;
Whose Talents may compare with either,
Or both the other put together.
For all the Independents doe
Is onely what you forc'd them to.
You, who are not content alone
With Tricks to put the Devil down,
But must have Armies rais'd, to back
The Gospel-work you undertake:
As if Artillery, and Edge-tools
Were th' onely Engines to save Souls.
While He, poor Devil, has no pow'r
By force to run down and devour;
Has ne'r a Classis, cannot sentence
To Stools or Poundage of Repentance;
Is ti'd up onely to Design,
T'Intice, and Tempt, and Undermine:
In which you all his Arts out-doe,
And prove your selves his Betters too.
Hence 'tis Possessions doe less evil
Then mere Temptations of the Devil,
Which all the horrid'st Actions done,
Are charg'd in Courts of Law upon;
Because unless you help the Elf,
He can doe little of himself:
And therefore where he's best Possest,
Acts most against his Interest;
Surprises none but those wh' have Priests
To turn him out, and Exorcists,
Supply'd with Spiritual Provision,
And Magazines of Ammunition,
With Crosses, Relicks, Crucifixes,
Beads, Pictures, Rosaries, and Pixes,
The Tools of working out Salvation
By meer Mechanick Operation,
With Holy Water, like a Sluce,
To overflow all Avenues.
But those wh' are utterly unarm'd
T'oppose his Entrance if he storm'd,
He never offers to surprize,
Although his falsest Enemies;
But is content to be their Drudge,
And on their Errands glad to trudge.
For where are all your Forfeitures
Intrusted in safe hands, but ours?
Who are but Jailours of the Holes
And Dungeons where you clap up Souls;
Like Under-keepers, turn the Keys
T'your Mittimus Anathemaes;
And never boggle to restore
The Members you deliver o're
Upon Demand, with fairer Justice
Then all your Covenanting Trustees:
Unless to punish them the worse,
You put them in the Secular Pow'rs,
And pass their Souls as some demise
The same Estate in Mortgage twice,
When to a Legal Utlegation
You turn your Excommunication,
And for a Groat unpaid that's due,
Distrain on Soul and Body too.

Thought he, 'Tis no mean part of civil
State-Prudence, to cajoul the Devil,
And not to handle him too rough,
When h'has us in his cloven Hoof.
'Tis true, quoth he, that intercourse
Has past between your Friends and ours;
That as you trust us in our way,
To raise your Members, and to lay,
We send you others of our own,
Denounc'd to Hang themselves or Drown,
Or, frighted with our Oratory,
To leap down headlong many a story;
Have us'd all means to propagate
Your mighty interests of State,
Laid out our Spiritual Gifts to further
Your great designs of Rage and Murther.
For if the Saints are nam'd from Blood,
We onel' have made that Title good:
And if it were but in our power,
We should not scruple to doe more,
And not be half a Soul behind
Of all Dissenters of Mankind.
Right, quoth the Voice, and as I scorn
To be ungratefull in return
Of all those kind good Offices,
I'll free you out of this Distress,
And set you down in safety, where,
It is no time to tell you here.
The Cock crows and the Morn draws on,
When 'tis decreed I must be gone:
And if I leave you here till Day,
You'l find it hard to get away.
With that the Spirit grop'd about
To find th' Inchanted Hero out,
And try'd with haste to lift him up;
But found his Forlorn Hope, his Croop,
Unserviceable with Kicks and Blows
Receiv'd from hardned-hearted Foes.
He thought to drag him by the Heels,
Like Gresham Carts, with Legs for Wheels.
But Fear, that soonest cures those Sores,
In danger of Relapse to worse,
Came in t'assist him with its Aid,
And up his sinking Vessel weigh'd.
No sooner was he fit to trudge,
But both made ready to dislodge.
The Spirit hors'd him like a Sack,
Upon the Vehicle, his Back,
And bore him headlong into th' Hall,
With some few Rubs against the Wall.
Where finding out the Postern lock'd,
And th' Avenues as strongly block'd,
H' attack'd the Window, storm'd the Glass,
And in a moment gain'd the Pass,
Through which he dragg'd the worsted Souldiers
Fore-quarters out by th' Head and Shoulders;
And cautiously began to scout,
To find their Fellow-Cattel out.
Nor was it half a Minute's Quest,
E're he retriev'd the Champion's Beast,
Ty'd to a Pale in stead of Rack,
But ne'r a Saddle on his Back,
Nor Pistols at the Saddle-bow,
Convey'd away the Lord knows how.
He thought it was no time to stay,
And let the Night too steal away,
But in a trice advanc'd the Knight
Upon the Bare Ridge bolt upright.
And groping out for Ralpho's Jade,
He found the Saddle too was straid,
And in the place a Lump of Sope,
On which he speedily leap'd up;
And turning to the Gate the Rein,
He Kick'd and Cudgell'd on amain.
While Hudibras, with equal haste,
On both sides laid about as fast,
And spurr'd as Jockies use, to break,
Or Padders, to secure a Neck.
Where let us leave them for a time,
And to their Churches turn our Rhyme;
To hold forth their declining State,
Which now come near an Even Rate.

The Learned write, An Insect Breeze
Is but a Mungrel Prince of Bees,
That falls, before a Storm, on Cows,
And stings the Founders of his House;
From whose corrupted Flesh that Breed
Of Vermine did at first proceed.
So, e'r the Storm of War broke out,
Religion spawn'd a various Rout,
Of Petulant Capricious Sects,
The Maggots of Corrupted Texts,
That first run all Religion down,
And after every Swarm its own.
For as the Persian Magi once
Upon their Mothers got their Sons,
Who were incapable t'injoy
That Empire any other way:
So Presbyter begot the other
Upon the Good Old Cause, his Mother,
That bore them like the Devil's Dam,
Whose Son and Husband are the same.
And yet no nat'ral Tie of Blood,
Nor Intr'est for their common good,
Could, when their Profits interfear'd,
Get Quarter for each other's Beard.
For when they thriv'd, they never fadg'd,
But onely by the ears engag'd:
Like Dogs that snarl about a Bone,
And play together when th' have none.
As by their truest Characters,
Their constant Actions, plainly appears.

Rebellion now began for lack
Of Zeal and Plunder to grow slack;
The Cause and Covenant to lessen,
And Providence to b'out of Season:
For now there was no more to purchase
O'th' King's Revenue and the Churche's,
But all divided, shar'd, and gone,
That us'd to urge the Brethren on.
Which forc'd the Stubborn'st for the Cause
To cross the Cudgels to the Laws;
That what by breaking them t'had gain'd,
By their Support might be maintain'd:
Like Thieves, that in a Hemp-plot lie,
Secur'd against the Hue-and-cry.
For Presbyter and Independent
Were now turn'd Plaintiff and Defendant,
Laid out their Apostolick Functions
On Carnal Orders and Injunctions,
And all their Precious Gifts and Graces
On Out-lawries and Scire facias;
At Michael's Term had many a Trial,
Worse then the Dragon and St. Michael,
Where thousands fell, in shape of Fees,
Into the Bottomless Abyss.
For when, like Brethren and Friends,
They came to share their Dividends,
And ev'ry Partner to possess
His Church and State Joint-Purchaces,
In which the Ablest Saint and Best
Was nam'd in Trust by all the rest,
To pay their Money, and, in stead
Of ev'ry Brother, pass the Deed;
He straight converted all his Gifts
To pious Frauds and holy Shifts,
And settled all the others Shares
Upon his outward Man and 's Heirs;
Held all they claim'd as Forfeit Lands,
Deliver'd up into his hands,
And past upon his Conscience,
By Pre-intail of Providence;
Impeach'd the Rest for Reprobates,
That had no Titles to Estates,
But by their Spiritual Attaints
Degraded from the Right of Saints.
This being reveal'd, they now begun
With Law and Conscience to fall on;
And laid about as hot and Brainsick
As th' Utter Barrister of Swanswick;
Ingag'd with Money-bags, as bold
As men with Sand-bags did of old;
That brought the Lawyers in more Fees,
Then all unsanctifi'd Trustees:
Till he who had no more to show
I'th' Case, receiv'd the overthrow;
Or both sides having had the worst,
They parted as they met at first.

Poor Presbyter was now Reduc'd,
Secluded, and Cashier'd, and Chews'd,
Turn'd out and Excommunicate
From all Affairs of Church and State,
Reform'd t'a Reformado Saint,
And glad to turn Itinerant,
To strowl and teach from Town to Town,
And those he had taught up Teach down,
And make those Uses serve agen
Against the New-inlightned men,
As fit as when at first they were
Reveal'd against the Cavalier;
Damn Anabaptist and Fanatick,
As pat as Popish and Prelatick;
And with as little variation,
To serve for any Sect i'th' Nation.
The Good Old Cause, which some believe
To be the Dev'l that tempted Eve
With Knowledge, and does still invite
The World to Mischief with New Light,
Had store of Money in her Purse,
When he took her for bett'r or worse;
But now was grown Deform'd and Poor,
And fit to be turn'd out of Door.

The Independents (whose first station
Was in the Rere of Reformation,
A Mungrel kind of Church-Dragoons,
That serv'd for Horse and Foot at once,
And in the Saddle of one Steed
The Saracen and Christian rid,
Were Free of ev'ry Spiritual Order,
To Preach, and Fight, and Pray, and Murther)
No sooner got the Start to lurch
Both Disciplines, of War and Church,
And Providence enough to run
The chief Commanders of 'em down,
But carried on the War against
The Common Enemy o'th' Saints;
And in a while prevail'd so far,
To win of them the Game of War,
And be at Liberty once more,
T'Attack themselves as th' had before.

For now there was no Foe in Arms,
T'unite their Factions with Alarms,
But all reduc'd and overcome,
Except their worst, themselves at home,
Wh' had compast all they Praid, and Swore,
And Fought, and Preach'd, and Plunder'd for,
Subdu'd the Nation, Church and State,
And all things but their Laws and Hate.
But when they came to treat and transact,
And share the spoils of all th' had ransackt,
To Botch up what th' had torn and rent,
Religion and the Government,
They met no sooner, but prepar'd
To pull down all the War had spar'd;
Agreed in nothing, but t'Abolish,
Subvert, Extirpate, and Demolish.
For Knaves and Fools b'ing near of Kin,
As Dutch-Boors are t'a Sooterkin,
Both Parties join'd to doe their best,
To Damn the Publick Interest;
And Hearded onely in Consults
To put by one anothers Bolts,
T'out-cant the Babylonian Labourers,
At all their Dialects of Jabberers,
And tug at both ends of the Saw,
To tear down Government and Law.
For as two Cheats, that play one Game,
Are both defeated of their Aim:
So those who play a Game of State,
And onely Cavil in Debate,
Although there's nothing lost nor won,
The Publick Business is undone,
Which still the longer 'tis in doing,
Becomes the surer way to Ruine.
This when the Royalists perceiv'd,
(Who to their Faith as firmly cleav'd,
And own'd the Right they had paid down
So dearly for, The Church and Crown,)
Th' united constanter, and Sided
The more, the more their Foes divided.
For though out-number'd, overthrown,
And by the Fate of War run down;
Their Duty never was defeated,
Nor from their Oaths and Faith retreated.
For Loyalty is still the same,
Whether it win or lose the Game;
True as a Dial to the Sun,
Although it be not shin'd upon.
But when these Brethren in evil,
Their Adversaries and the Devil,
Began once more to shew them Play,
And hopes, at least, to have a day,
They Rallied in Parades of Woods,
And unfrequented Solitudes,
Conven'd at Midnight in Out-houses,
T'appoint New-rising Rendezvouses,
And with a Pertinacy unmatch'd
For new Recruits of Danger watch'd:
No sooner was one Blow diverted,
But up another Party started.
And, as if Nature too in haste,
To furnish out Supplies as fast,
Before her time had turn'd Destruction
T'a new and numerous Production;
No sooner those were overcome,
But up rose others in their Room,
That, like the Christian Faith, increast
The more, the more they were Supprest:
Whom neither Chains, nor Transportation,
Proscription, Sale, nor Confiscation,
Nor all the desperate events
Of former try'd Experiments,
Nor Wounds could terrifie, nor Mangling,
To leave off Loyalty and Dangling,
Nor Death (with all his Bones) affright
From vent'ring to maintain the Right,
From staking Life and Fortune down
'Gainst all together, for the Crown;
But kept the Title of their Cause
From Forfeiture, like Claims in Laws;
And prov'd no Prosp'rous Usurpation
Can ever settle on the Nation,
Until, in spight of Force and Treason,
They put their Loy'lty in Possession;
And by their Constancy and Faith,
Destroy'd the Mighty men of Gath.

Toss'd in a furious Hurricane,
Did Oliver give up his Reign;
And was believ'd, as well by Saints,
As Moral men and Miscreants,
To Founder in the Stygian Ferry,
Until he was retriev'd by Sterry:
Who, in a false erroneous Dream,
Mistook the New Jerusalem,
Prophanely, for th' Apocryphal,
False Heaven at the End o'th' Hall;
Whither it was decreed by Fate,
His Precious Reliques to Translate.
So Romulus was seen before
B'as Orthodox a Senator;
From whose Divine Illumination
He stole the Pagan Revelation.

Next him his Son and Heir Apparent
Succeeded, though a Lame Vicegerent:
Who first laid by the Parliament,
The onely Crutch on which he leant;
And then Sunk underneath the State,
That rode him above Horseman's Weight.

And now the Saints began their Reign,
For which th' had yearn'd so long in vain,
And felt such Bowel-Hankerings,
To see an Empire all of Kings,
Deliver'd from th' Ægyptian Awe
Of Justice, Government, and Law,
And free t'erect what Spiritual Cantons
Should be reveal'd, or Gospel Hans-Towns,
To Edifie upon the Ruines
Of John of Leyden's old Out-goings,
Who for a Weather-cock hung up
Upon their Mother-Churche's Top,
Was made a Type by Providence
Of all their Revelations since;
And now fulfill'd by his Successors,
Who equally mistook their Measures:
For when they came to shape the Model,
Not one could fit another's Noddle;
But found their Light and Gifts more wide
From Fadging then th' Unsanctifi'd;
While ev'ry individual Brother
Strove hand to fist against another,
And still the Maddest and most Crackt
Were found the busiest to Transact.
For though most Hands dispatch apace,
And make light work, (the Proverb says)
Yet many different Intellects
Are found t'have contrary Effects;
And many Heads t'obstruct Intrigues,
As slowest Insects have most Legs.

Some were for setting up a King,
But all the rest for no such thing,
Unless King Jesus: Others tamper'd
For Fleetwood, Desborough, and Lambert;
Some for the Rump, and some, more crafty,
For Agitatours and the Safety;
Some for the Gospel, and Massacres
Of Spiritual Affidavit-makers,
That swore to any Humane Regence
Oaths of Supremacy and Allegeance,
Yea though the Ablest swearing Saint,
That vouch'd the Bulls o'th' Covenant:
Others for pulling down th' High places
Of Synods and Provincial Classes,
That us'd to make such hostile Inroads
Upon the Saints, like Bloudy Nimrods:
Some for Fulfilling Prophecies,
And th' Extirpation of Excise;
And some against th' Ægyptian Bondage
Of Holy-days, and paying Poundage:
Some for the cutting down of Groves,
And rectifying Bakers Loaves;
And some for finding out Expedients
Against the Slav'ry of Obedience.
Some were for Gospel-Ministers,
And some for Red-Coat Seculars,
As men most fit t'hold forth the Word,
And wield the one and th' other Sword.
Some were for carrying on the Work
Against the Pope, and some the Turk:
Some for engaging to suppress
The Camisado of Surplices,
That Gifts and Dispensations hinder'd,
And turn'd to th' Outward Man the Inward;
More proper for the cloudy Night
Of Popery, then Gospel-Light.
Others were for Abolishing
That Tool of Matrimony, a Ring,
With which th' unsanctifi'd Bridegroom
Is marri'd onely to a Thumb;
(As wise as Ringing of a Pig,
That uses to break up ground and Dig;)
The Bride to nothing but her Will,
That nulls the After-marriage still.
Some were for th' utter Extirpation
Of Linsey-Woolsey in the Nation;
And some against all Idolizing
The Cross in Shop-Books, or Baptizing.
Others, to make all things recant
The Christian or Surname of Saint;
And force all Churches, Streets, and Towns,
The Holy Title to renounce.
Some 'gainst a Third Estate of Souls,
And bringing down the Price of Coals.
Some for Abolishing Black-Pudding,
And eating nothing with the Bloud in;
To abrogate them Roots and Branches:
While others were for eating Haunches
Of Warriors, and now and then
The Flesh of Kings and Mighty men;
And some for Breaking of their Bones
With Rods of Ir'n by Secret ones;
For Thrashing Mountains, and with Spells
For Hallowing Carriers Packs and Bells.
Things that the Legend never heard of,
But made the Wicked sore afeard of.
The Quacks of Government (who sate
At th' unregarded Helm of State,
And understood, this wild Confusion
Of fatal Madness and Delusion
Must, sooner then a Prodigie,
Portend Destruction to be nigh)
Consider'd timely, how t'withdraw
And save their Wind-pipes from the Law:
For one Rencounter at the Bar
Was worse then all th' had scap'd in War:
And therefore met in Consultation,
To Cant and Quack upon the Nation;
Not for the sickly Patient's sake,
Nor what to give, but what to take;
To feel the Pulses of their Fees,
More wise then fumbling Arteries;
Prolong the Snuff of Life in pain,
And from the Grave recover—Gain.
'Mong these there was a Politician,
With more Heads then a Beast in Vision,
And more Intrigues in ev'ry one
Then all the Whores of Babylon;
So politick, as if one eye
Upon the other were a Spy;
That to trapan the one to think
The other Blind, both strove to blink:
And in his dark Pragmatick way
As busie as a Child at Play.
H' had seen three Governments Run down,
And had a hand in ev'ry one,
Was for 'em and against 'em all,
But Barb'rous when they came to fall:
For by Trapanning th' old to Ruine,
He made his Int'rest with the New one;
Plaid true and faithfull, though against
His Conscience, and was still advanc'd.
For by the Witch-craft of Rebellion
Transform'd t'a feeble State-Camelion,
By giving aim from side to side,
He never fail'd to save his Tide,
But got the Start of ev'ry State,
And at a Change ne'r came too late:
Could turn his Word, and Oath, and Faith,
As many ways as in a Lath;
By turning, wriggle, like a Screw
Int' highest Trust, and out for New.
For when h'had happily incurr'd,
In stead of Hemp, to be preferr'd,
And past upon a Government,
He play'd his trick and out he went:
But being out, and out of hopes
To mount his Ladder (more) of Ropes,
Would strive to raise himself upon
The Publick Ruine and his own.
So little did he understand
The desp'rate Feats he took in hand.
For when h'had got himself a Name
For Fraud and Tricks; he spoil'd his Game,
Had forc'd his Neck into a Nooze,
To shew his play at Fast and Loose;
And when he chanc'd t'escape, mistook
For Art and Subtlety, his Luck.
So right his Judgment was cut fit,
And made a Tally to his Wit,
And both together most Profound
At Deeds of Darkness under ground:
As th' Earth is easiest undermin'd
By Vermine Impotent and Blind.

By all these Arts, and many more
H' had practis'd long and much before,
Our State-Artificer foresaw
Which way the World began to draw.
For as Old Sinners have all Points
O'th' Compass in their Bones and Joints,
Can by their Pangs and Aches find
All Turns and Changes of the Wind,
And better then by Napier's Bones,
Feel in their own the Age of Moons:
So guilty Sinners in a State
Can by their Crimes prognosticate,
And in their Consciences feel Pain
Some days before a Showr of Rain.
He therefore wisely cast about
All ways he could, t'insure his Throat;
And hither came t'observe and smoke
What Courses other Riskers took;
And to the utmost doe his best
To save himself, and Hang the rest.

To match this Saint, there was another,
As busie and perverse a Brother,
An Haberdasher of Small wares
In Politicks and State-Affairs;
More Jew then Rabbi Achitophel,
And better gifted to Rebel:
For when h'had taught his Tribe to Spouse
The Cause, aloft, upon one House,
He scorn'd to set his own in Order,
But try'd another, and went further;
So sullenly addicted still
To's onely Principle, his Will,
That whatsoe'r it chanc'd to prove,
No force of Argument could move,
Nor Law, nor Cavalcade of Ho'born,
Could render half a grain less stubborn.
For he at any time would hang,
For th' opportunity t'harangue,
And rather on a Gibbet dangle,
Then miss his dear delight, to wrangle:
In which his Parts were so accomplisht,
That, right or wrong, he ne'r was non-plust;
But still his Tongue ran on, the less
Of weight it bore, with greater ease,
And with its Everlasting Clack
Set all mens Ears upon the Rack.
No sooner could a hint appear,
But up he started to Pickere,
And made the stoutest yield to mercy,
When he ingag'd in Controversie:
Not by the force of Carnal Reason,
But indefatigable Teazing;
With Volleys of eternal Babble,
And Clamour more unanswerable.
For though his Topicks, frail and weak,
Could [ne'er] amount above a Freak:
He still maintain'd 'em, like his Faults,
Against the desperat'st Assaults;
And back'd their feeble want of Sense
With greater Heat and Confidence:
As Bones of Hectors when they differ,
The more th' are Cudgel'd, grow the Stiffer.
Yet when his Profit moderated,
The fury of his Heat abated:
For nothing but his Interest
Could lay his Devil of Contest.
It was his Choice, or Chance, or Curse,
T'espouse the Cause for Bett'r or worse;
And with his worldly Goods and Wit,
And Soul, and Body, worshipp'd it:
But when he found the sullen Trapes
Possest with th' Devil, Worms, and Claps,
The Trojan Mare in Fole with Greeks
Not half so full of Jadish Tricks,
Though Squeamish in her outward Woman,
As loose and rampant as Dol common;
He still resolv'd to mend the matter,
T'adhere and cleave the obstinater;
And still the skittisher and looser
Her Freaks appear'd, to sit the closer.
For Fools are stubborn in their way;
As Coins are hardned by th' Allay:
And Obstinacy 's ne'r so stiff,
As when 'tis in a wrong Belief.
These two, with others, being met,
And close in Consultation set;
After a discontented pause,
And not without sufficient cause,
The Oratour we mention'd late,
Less troubled with the pangs of State,
Then with his own impatience,
To give himself first Audience,
After he had a while look'd wise,
At last broke silence, and the Ice.

Quoth he, There's nothing makes me doubt
Our last Out-goings brought about,
More then to see the Characters
Of real Jealousies and Fears,
Not feign'd, as once, but sadly horrid,
Scor'd upon ev'ry Member's Forehead:
Who, 'cause the Clouds are drawn together,
And threaten sudden change of Weather,
Feel Pangs and Aches of State-turns,
And Revolutions in their Corns;
And, since our Workings-out are crost,
Throw up the Cause before 'tis lost.
Was it to run away, we meant,
When, taking of the Covenant,
The lamest Cripples of the Brothers
Took Oaths, to run before all others;
But, in their own sense, onely swore
To strive to run away before?
And now would prove, the Words and Oath
Ingage us to renounce them both?
'Tis true, the Cause is in the lurch,
Between a right and Mungrel Church,
The Presbyter and Independent,
That stickle which shall make an end on't:
And 'twas made out to us the last
Expedient,—(I mean, Margret's Fast)
When Providence had been suborn'd,
What answer was to be return'd.
Else why should Tumults fright us now,
We have so many times gone through,
And understand as well to tame,
As, when they serve our turns, t'inflame?
Have prov'd how inconsiderable
Are all Engagements of the Rabble,
Whose Frenzies must be reconcil'd
With Drums and Rattles like a Child;
But never prov'd so prosperous,
As when they were led on by us.
For all our Scouring of Religion
Began with Tumults and Sedition;
When Hurricanes of fierce Commotion
Became strong Motives to Devotion;
(As Carnal Seamen in a Storm
Turn pious Converts, and reform;)
When rusty Weapons with chalk'd Edges
Maintain'd our feeble Priviledges,
And brown Bills levied in the City
Made Bills to pass the Grand Committee;
When Zeal with aged Clubs and Gleaves
Gave chase to Rochets and White Sleeves,
And made the Church and State and Laws
Submit t'old Iron and the Cause.
And as we thriv'd by Tumults then,
So might we better now agen,
If we know how, as then we did,
To use them rightly in our need.
Tumults by which the Mutinous
Betray themselves in stead of us;
The Hollow-hearted Disaffected,
And Close Malignant are detected;
Who lay their Lives and Fortunes down,
For Pledges to secure our own,
And freely sacrifice their Ears,
T'appease our Jealousies and Fears.
And yet for all these Providences
W'are offer'd, if we had our senses,
We idly sit, like stupid Block-heads,
Our hands committed to our Pockets,
And nothing but our Tongues at large,
To get the Wretches a discharge.
Like men condemn'd to Thunderbolts,
Who, e'r the blow, become meer Dolts;
Or Fools besotted with their Crimes,
That know not how to shift betimes,
And neither have the hearts to stay,
Nor wit enough to run away.
Who, if we could resolve on either,
Might stand, or fall (at least) together:
No mean nor trivial solaces
To Partners in extream distress,
Who use to lessen their Despairs,
By parting them int' equal shares;
As if the more there were to bear,
They felt the weight the easier;
And ev'ry one the gentler hung,
The more he took his turn among.

But 'tis not come to that as yet,
If we had Courage left or Wit;
Who, when our Fate can be no worse,
Are fitted for the bravest course;
Have time to Rally, and prepare
Our last and best defence, Despair;
Despair, by which the gallant'st Feats
Have been atchiev'd in greatest streights,
And horrid'st dangers safely wav'd,
By b'ing courageously out-brav'd.
As Wounds by wider wounds are heal'd,
And Poisons by themselves expell'd.
And so they might be now agen,
If we were, what we should be, Men;
And not so dully desperate,
To side against our selves with Fate:
As Criminals condemn'd to suffer,
Are blinded first, and then turn'd over.

This comes of Breaking Covenants,
And setting up Exauns of Saints,
That Fine, like Aldermen, for Grace,
To be excus'd the Efficace.
For Spiritual men are too Transcendent,
That mount their Banks for Independent,
To hang like Mahomet in th' Air,
Or St. Ignatius at his Prayer,
By pure Geometry, and hate
Dependency on Church or State;
Disdain the Pedantry o'th' Letter,
And since Obedience is better
(The Scripture says) then Sacrifice,
Presume the less on't will suffice;
And scorn to have the moderat'st stints
Prescrib'd their peremptory Hints,
Or any Opinion, true or false,
Declar'd as such, in Doctrinals,
But left at large to make their best on,
Without b'ing call'd t'account or question.

Interpret all the Spleen reveals,
As Whittington explain'd the Bells;
And bid themselves turn back agen
Lord May'rs of New Jerusalem.
But look so big and over-grown,
They scorn their Edifiers t'own,
Who taught them all their sprinkling Lessons,
Their Tones and sanctifi'd expressions;
Bestow'd their Gifts upon a Saint,
Like Charity on those that want,
And learn'd th' Apocryphal Bigots,
T'inspire themselves with Short-hand Notes:
For which they scorn and hate them worse,
Then Dogs and Cats do Sowgelders.
For who first bred them up to Pray,
And Teach, the House of Commons way?
Where had they all their Gifted Phrases,
But from our Calamies and Cases?
Without whose Sprinkling and Sowing,
Who e'r had heard of Nye or Owen?
Their dispensations had been stifled,
But for our Adoniram Bifield.
And had They not begun the War,
Th' had ne'r been Sainted as they are.
For Saints in Peace degenerate,
And dwindle down to Reprobate:
Their Zeal corrupts like standing Water,
In th' Intervals of War and slaughter;
Abates the sharpness of its Edge,
Without the Pow'r of Sacriledge.
And though th' have Tricks to cast their Sins,
As easie as Serpents do their Skins,
That in a while grow out agen,
In Peace they turn meer Carnal men,
And from the most Refin'd of Saints,
As naturally grow Miscreants,
As Barnacles turn Soland-Geese
In th' Islands of the Orcades.
Their Dispensation 's but a Ticket,
For their conforming to the Wicked;
With whom their greatest difference
Lies more in words and shew, then sense.
For as the Pope, that keeps the Gate
Of Heaven, wears three Crowns in state;
So he that keeps the Gate of Hell,
Proud Cerberus, wears three Heads as well:
And, if the World has any troth,
Some have been Canoniz'd in both.
But that which does them greatest harm,
Their Spiritual Gizzards are too warm,
Which puts the over-heated Sots
In Fevers still, like other Goats.
For though the Whore bends Hereticks
With Flames of Fire, like crooked Sticks;
Our Schismaticks so vastly differ,
Th' hotter they are, they grow the stiffer;
Still setting off their spiritual goods,
With fierce and pertinacious fewds.
For Zeal's a dreadfull Termagant,
That teaches Saints to Tear and Rant,
And Independents, to profess
The Doctrine of Dependences;
Turns meek and sneaking Secret ones,
To Raw-heads fierce and Bloody Bones:
And not content with endless quarrels
Against the Wicked and their Morals,
The Gibellins, for want of Guelfs,
Divert their rage upon themselves.
For now the War is not between
The Brethren and the Men of sin;
But Saint and Saint, to spill the Blood
Of one another's Brotherhood;
Where neither side can lay pretence
To Liberty of Conscience,
Or zealous suff'ring for the Cause,
To gain one Groats-worth of Applause:
For though endur'd with Resolution,
'Twill ne'r amount to Persecution.
Shall Precious Saints and Secret ones
Break one another's outward Bones?
And eat the Flesh of Brethren,
In stead of Kings and Mighty men?
When Fiends agree among themselves,
Shall they be found the greater Elves?
When Bel's at Union with the Dragon,
And Baal-Peor Friends with Dagon,
When Savage Bears agree with Bears,
Shall Secret ones lug Saints by th' Ears,
And not atone their fatal wrath,
When common Danger threatens both?
Shall Mastiffs by the Collars pull'd,
Engag'd with Bulls, let go their hold?
And Saints, whose Necks are pawn'd at stake,
No notice of the Danger take?
But though no Pow'r of Heaven or Hell
Can pacifie Fanatick Zeal;
Who would not guess there might be hopes,
The fear of Gallowses and Ropes
Before their Eyes might reconcile
Their Animosities a while?
At least until th'had a clear Stage,
And equal Freedom to engage,
Without the danger of Surprise
By both our common Enemies?

This none but we alone could doubt,
Who understand their Workings-out,
And know 'em both in Soul and Conscience,
Giv'n up t'as Reprobate a Non-sense,
As Spiritual Out-laws whom the Pow'r
Of Miracle can ne'r restore.
We whom at first they set up under,
In Revelation onely of Plunder,
Who since have had so many Trials
Of their encroaching Self-denials,
That rook'd upon us with design
To Out-reform and Undermine;
Took all our Interests and Commands
Perfidiously out of our hands;
Involv'd us in the Guilt of Bloud,
Without the Motive-gains allow'd,
And made us serve as Ministerial,
Like younger Sons of Father Belial.

And yet for all th' inhumane wrong
Th' had done us and the Cause so long,
We never fail'd to carry on
The Work still, as we had begun:
But true and faithfully obey'd,
And neither Preach'd them hurt, nor Pray'd;
Nor troubled them to crop our Ears,
Nor hang us like the Cavaliers;
Nor put them to the Charge of Gaols,
To find us Pillories and Carts-tails,
Or Hangman's Wages, which the State
Was forc'd (before them) to be at,
That cut like Tallies to the Stumps
Our Ears for keeping true Accompts,
And burnt our Vessels, like a New-
Seal'd Peck or Bushel, for b'ing true.
But hand in hand, like faithfull Brothers,
Held forth the Cause against all others,
Disdaining equally to yield
One Syllable of what we held.
And though we differ'd now and then
'Bout outward things, and outward Men:
Our inward Men and constant Frame
Of Spirit still were near the same.
And till they first began to Cant,
And Sprinkle down the Covenant,
We ne'r had Call in any place,
Nor dream'd of Teaching down Free-Grace;
But join'd our Gifts perpetually
Against the Common Enemy:
Although 'twas our and their Opinion,
Each other's Church was but a Rimmon.
And yet for all this Gospel-Union,
And outward shew of Church-Communion,
They'l ne'r admit us to our shares,
Of Ruling Church or State Affairs;
Nor give us leave t'absolve, or sentence
T'our own Conditions of Repentance:
But shar'd our Dividend o'th' Crown
We had so painfully Preach'd down;
And forc'd us, though against the Grain,
T'have Calls to teach it up again.
For 'twas but Justice to Restore
The Wrongs we had receiv'd before;
And when 'twas held forth in our way,
W'had been ungratefull not to pay:
Who for the Right w'have done the Nation,
Have earn'd our Temporal Salvation,
And put our Vessels in a way,
Once more to come again in Play.
For if the turning of us out,
Has brought this Providence about,
And that our onely Suffering
Is able to bring in the King:
What would our Actions not have done,
Had we been suffer'd to go on?
And therefore may pretend t'a share
At least in carrying on th' Affair.
But whether that be so or not,
W'have done enough to have it thought;
And that's as good as if w'had don't,
And easier past upon account.
For if it be but half deny'd,
'Tis half as good as justify'd.
The World is nat'rally averse
To all the truth it sees or hears,
But swallows Non-sense and a Lie
With greediness and gluttony;
And though it have the Pique, and long,
'Tis still for something in the wrong:
As Women long, when th' are with Child,
For things extravagant and wild,
For Meats ridiculous, and fulsom,
But seldom any thing that's wholsom;
And, like the World, Men's Jobbernoles
Turn round upon their Ears, the Poles;
And what th' are confidently told,
By no sense else can be controll'd.

And this, perhaps, may prove the means,
Once more, to hedge in Providence.
For, as Relapses make Diseases
More desp'rate than their first Accesses;
If we but get again in Pow'r,
Our Work is easier than before;
And we more ready and expert
I'th'Mystery, to do our Part.
We, who did rather undertake
The first War to create, than make:
And when of Nothing 'twas begun,
Rais'd Funds as strange, to carry't on;
Trepann'd the State, and fac'd it down,
With Plots and Projects of our own:
And if we did such Feats at first,
What can we now w'are better vers'd?
Who have a freer Latitude
Than Sinners give themselves allow'd?
And therefore likeliest to bring in
On fairest Terms, our Discipline.
To which it was reveal'd long since,
We were ordain'd by Providence:
When Three Saints Ears, our Predecessors,
The Cause's Primitive Confessors,
B'ing Crucified, the Nation stood
In just so many Years of Blood:
That multipli'd by Six, express'd
The perfect Number of the Beast.
And prov'd that we must be the Men,
To bring this Work about agen:
And those who laid the first Foundation,
Compleat the thorow Reformation:
For who have Gifts to carry on
So great a Work, but we alone?
What Churches have such able Pastors?
And Precious, Powerful, Preaching-Masters?
Possess'd with Absolute Dominions,
O'r Brethren's Purses and Opinions?
And trusted with the Double Keys
Of Heaven, and their Ware-houses:
Who, when the Cause is in Distress,
Can furnish out what Sums they please,
That Brooding lie in Bankers Hands,
To be dispos'd at their Commands:
And daily increase and multiply,
With Doctrine, Use and Usury.
Can fetch in Parties (as in War,
All other Heads of Cattel are;)
From th'Enemy of all Religions,
As well as High and Low Conditions;
And share them from Blew Ribbands down.
To all Blew Aprons in the Town.
From Ladies hurried in Calleches,
With Cornets at their Footmen's Breeches,
To Bawds as fat as Mother Nab,
All Guts and Belly like a Crab.
Our Party's great, and better ti'd
With Oaths, and Trade, than any side:
Has one considerabl' Improvement,
To double fortifie the Cov'nant:
I mean our Covenants to purchase
Delinquents Titles and the Churches:
That pass in Sale, from Hand, to Hand,
Among our selves, for Current Land.
And Rise or Fall, like Indian Actions,
According to the Rate of Factions:
Our best Reserve for Reformation,
When New-Outgoings give occasion:
That keeps the Loins of Brethren girt,
The Covenant (their Creed) t'assert:
And when th' have pack'd a Parliament,
Will once more try th' Expedient,
Who can already muster Friends,
To serve for Members, to our Ends:
That represent no part o'th' Nation,
But Fisher's-Folly Congregation:
Are only Tools to our Intrigues,
And sit like Geese to hatch our Eggs:
Who, by their Precedents of Wit,
T'out-fast, out-leiter, and out-sit:
Can order matters under hand,
To put all Bus'ness to a stand:
Lay Publick Bills aside, for Private,
And make 'em one another drive out;
Divert the Great and Necessary,
With Trifles to contest and vary;
And make the Nation represent,
And serve for us in Parliament;
Cut out more Work than can be done
On Plato's Year; but finish none,
Unless it be the Bulls of Lenthal,
That always past for Fundamental.
Can set up Grandee against Grandee,
To squander time away, and Bandy.
Make Lords and Commoners lay Sieges
To one another's Privileges;
And, rather than compound the Quarrel,
Engage, to th'inevitable peril
Of both their Ruins; th'only Scope
And Consolation of our Hope:
Who, though we do not play the Game,
Assist as much by giving Aim.
Can introduce our ancient Arts,
For Heads of Factions, t'act their Parts.
Know what a Leading-Voice is worth;
A Seconding, a Third, or Fourth:
How much a Casting Vote comes to,
That turns up Trump, of I, or No;
And by adjusting all at th' End,
Share ev'ry one his Dividend.
An Art that so much Study cost,
And now's in danger to be lost;
Unless our Ancient Virtuoso's,
That found it out, get into th' Houses.
These are the Courses that we took
To carry things, by Hook, or Crook:
And practic'd down from Forty four,
Until they turn'd us out of Door;
Besides the Herds of Boutefeus,
We set on work, without the House.
When ev'ry Knight and Citizen
Kept Legislative Journey-men,
To bring them in Intelligence
From all Points of the Rabbles Sense;
And fill the Lobbies of both Houses
With Politick Important Buzzes:
Set up Committees of Cabals,
To pack Designs without the Walls.
Examine, and draw up all News,
And fit it to our present Use.
Agree upon the Plot o'th' Farce,
And every one his Part rehearse.
Make Q's of Answers, to way-lay
What th' other Parties like to say:
What Repartees, and smart Reflections
Shall be return'd to all Objections:
And who shall break the Master-Jest,
And what, and how, upon the rest:
Help Pamphlets out, with safe Editions,
Of Proper Slanders and Seditions:
And Treason for a Token send,
By Letter, to a Country Friend.
Disperse Lampoons, the only Wit,
That Men, like Burglary, commit:
Wit, falser than a Padder's Face,
That all its Owner does, betrays:
Who therefore dare not trust it, when
He's in his Calling, to be seen.
Disperse the Dung on Barren Earth,
To bring new Weeds of Discord forth.
Be sure to keep up Congregations,
In spight of Laws and Proclamations;
For Chiarlatans can do no good,
Until th' are mounted in a Crowd:
And when th' are punish'd, all the Hurt
Is but to fare the better for't;
As long as Confessors are sure
Of double Pay for all th' endure:
And what they earn in Persecution,
Are paid t'a Groat in Contribution.
Whence some Tub-holders-forth have made
In Powdring-Tubs, their richest Trade:
And while they kept their Shops in Prison,
Have found their Prices strangely risen.
Disdain to own the least Regret
For all the Christian Blood w'have let;
'Twill save our Credit, and maintain
Our Title, to do so again:
That needs not cost one Dram of Sense,
But Pertinacious Impudence:
Our Constancy t'our Principles,
In time, will wear out all things else;
Like Marble Statues, rub'd to pieces,
With Gallantry of Pilgrim's Kisses:
While those who turn and wind their Oaths
Have swell'd, and sunk like other Froths.
Prevail'd a while, but 'twas not long,
Before from World to World they swung:
As they had turn'd from side, to side;
And as the Changelings liv'd they died.