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.