Hudibras Redivivus or, a Burlesque poem on the times. The Second Edition. To which is added, An Apology, and some other Improvements throughout the Whole [by Edward Ward] |
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| XVII. |
| II. |
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| 4. | Part the Fourth. |
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 | Hudibras Redivivus |  |
1
4. Part the Fourth.
3
Near to this Hempen Dancing-School,
Where a fam'd Doctor play'd the Fool,
A Booth diminitive their stood,
Where Pigmy Actors, made of Wood,
Were leaning o'er a Canvas Clout,
And squeaking to the Rabble Rout.
As the two Puppets thus were sporting,
Guided by Hands behind the Curtain,
Young Coridon, from Country Farm,
With Phillis hanging on his Arm,
Dress'd up in all their Rural Pride,
As fine as Bridegroom and his Bride,
Were gazing round, to feast their Eyes
With the Fair's tempting Rarities:
No sooner had they fix'd their Peepers
Upon the Life-less Whipper-Snappers,
But Roger jogging of his Dolly,
And pointing up, to shew his Folly,
Cry'd out, Wolaw! there's little Folk:
Ads Heart! how prettily they talk?
Did'st ever see two prattling Fairies
Before, so full of arch Figaries?
Look, look, Joan, how the Vezons fight!
Who'd think they were so full of Spite?
What woundy Polts one gives the other?
Nouns, how he mauls his little Brother.
Where a fam'd Doctor play'd the Fool,
A Booth diminitive their stood,
Where Pigmy Actors, made of Wood,
Were leaning o'er a Canvas Clout,
And squeaking to the Rabble Rout.
As the two Puppets thus were sporting,
Guided by Hands behind the Curtain,
Young Coridon, from Country Farm,
With Phillis hanging on his Arm,
Dress'd up in all their Rural Pride,
As fine as Bridegroom and his Bride,
4
With the Fair's tempting Rarities:
No sooner had they fix'd their Peepers
Upon the Life-less Whipper-Snappers,
But Roger jogging of his Dolly,
And pointing up, to shew his Folly,
Cry'd out, Wolaw! there's little Folk:
Ads Heart! how prettily they talk?
Did'st ever see two prattling Fairies
Before, so full of arch Figaries?
Look, look, Joan, how the Vezons fight!
Who'd think they were so full of Spite?
What woundy Polts one gives the other?
Nouns, how he mauls his little Brother.
Says Joan, a Murrain take 'em both,
E'en let 'em fight it out, in Troth,
'Till one knocks t'other on the Head.
No matter if they both were dead.
These are the ugly Elves, that creep
At Night, and nip us in our Sleep.
I'm sure their Fingers I may rue,
They've often pinch'd me black and blue.
Prethee, good Roger, let's pass by 'em,
Methinks I tremble to be nigh 'em:
Faw, ill-look'd Urchins, out upon 'em;
Had I my Will, I'm sure I'd Stone 'em.
Thus Joan, be'ng not content to stay,
Lugg'd Roger thro' the Crowd away.
There's no resisting Female Force,
Grey Mare will prove the better Horse.
E'en let 'em fight it out, in Troth,
'Till one knocks t'other on the Head.
No matter if they both were dead.
These are the ugly Elves, that creep
At Night, and nip us in our Sleep.
5
They've often pinch'd me black and blue.
Prethee, good Roger, let's pass by 'em,
Methinks I tremble to be nigh 'em:
Faw, ill-look'd Urchins, out upon 'em;
Had I my Will, I'm sure I'd Stone 'em.
Thus Joan, be'ng not content to stay,
Lugg'd Roger thro' the Crowd away.
There's no resisting Female Force,
Grey Mare will prove the better Horse.
When thus the wrangling Clouts and Sticks
Had pleas'd the Rabble with their Tricks,
Out from a Door, or dusky Hole,
There popp'd a Head upon a Pole,
That had a much more frightful Phiz,
Than Magog over little Ease.
The Mob beheld with great Surprize,
The Paste-board Nose and painted Eyes,
Whilst frighted Children trembling star'd
On his huge Whiskers, and his Beard.
The Hoop-stick Body, that was made
To answer this prepost'rous Head,
Was of so strange a Mushroon Nature,
That it improv'd its growing Stature
At least six Foot in half a Minute,
By th' Help of some Device within it.
To this Gigantick monst'rous Figure,
Great as Goliah, if not bigger,
A Centaur, to improve the Face,
Came in, half Man, and half a Horse,
Like a Rehearsal War-like Trooper,
In Cloak that hid his Prancer's Crupper.
This little Mortal of a Fellow,
Scarce twice the Bulk of Puncheonello,
Mounted upon a Steed with two Legs,
That look'd most strangely with so few Legs,
Such as Droncanso oft has slain
By whole Brigades in Drury-Lane;
Arm'd like a Warrier, did appear
Fierce as Dragoon or Granadier.
This doubty Knight, in furious manner
Riding abroad in search of Honour,
Meeting the Giant in his way,
Began a cruel Bloody Fray,
And in his bold robust Attack,
Flung him so hard upon his Back,
That made his Hoop-stick Bones to crack.
St. George, so fam'd in ancient Story,
Could never merit greater Glory,
Or strut with more victorious Pride,
When he had thwack'd the Dragon's Hide,
Than did the little Don Furioso,
Tho' he perform'd his Part but so so.
'Tis true, the Fight was fierce, but short,
Th' unweildy Giant made no Sport;
Tho' arm'd with a stupendious Club,
Yet t'other gave him such a Drub,
That did his Paste-board Noddle wound,
And brought him head-long to the Ground;
At which, the Mob huzza'd for Joy,
And cry'd aloud, Well done, my Boy!
Had pleas'd the Rabble with their Tricks,
Out from a Door, or dusky Hole,
There popp'd a Head upon a Pole,
That had a much more frightful Phiz,
Than Magog over little Ease.
The Mob beheld with great Surprize,
The Paste-board Nose and painted Eyes,
Whilst frighted Children trembling star'd
On his huge Whiskers, and his Beard.
6
To answer this prepost'rous Head,
Was of so strange a Mushroon Nature,
That it improv'd its growing Stature
At least six Foot in half a Minute,
By th' Help of some Device within it.
To this Gigantick monst'rous Figure,
Great as Goliah, if not bigger,
A Centaur, to improve the Face,
Came in, half Man, and half a Horse,
Like a Rehearsal War-like Trooper,
In Cloak that hid his Prancer's Crupper.
This little Mortal of a Fellow,
Scarce twice the Bulk of Puncheonello,
Mounted upon a Steed with two Legs,
That look'd most strangely with so few Legs,
Such as Droncanso oft has slain
By whole Brigades in Drury-Lane;
Arm'd like a Warrier, did appear
Fierce as Dragoon or Granadier.
7
Riding abroad in search of Honour,
Meeting the Giant in his way,
Began a cruel Bloody Fray,
And in his bold robust Attack,
Flung him so hard upon his Back,
That made his Hoop-stick Bones to crack.
St. George, so fam'd in ancient Story,
Could never merit greater Glory,
Or strut with more victorious Pride,
When he had thwack'd the Dragon's Hide,
Than did the little Don Furioso,
Tho' he perform'd his Part but so so.
'Tis true, the Fight was fierce, but short,
Th' unweildy Giant made no Sport;
Tho' arm'd with a stupendious Club,
Yet t'other gave him such a Drub,
That did his Paste-board Noddle wound,
And brought him head-long to the Ground;
8
And cry'd aloud, Well done, my Boy!
Thought I, what Monarch would be proud
O'th' nauseous Flatt'ries of the Crowd,
Who thus bestow their noisy Shouts
On such prepost'rous Sticks and Clouts?
O'th' nauseous Flatt'ries of the Crowd,
Who thus bestow their noisy Shouts
On such prepost'rous Sticks and Clouts?
When with much Pain the Front I'd view'd,
And elbow'd thro' the Multitude,
I rambl'd round into the Rear,
To see the hair-brain'd Doings there,
Where a young Fry of Mob I found
In Boats and Coaches, flying round
Between the Heavens and the Ground.
Thought I, this represents most truly
The Rabble's Giddiness and Folly,
Who tho' they earn their Bread like Horses,
Yet never fail to draw their Purses
To feed the Knave, that finds a Way
To please 'em on a Holy-day.
Thus he, who by his Wit advances
New Whims, to rock their tott'ring Fancies,
May be assur'd to gain his Ends,
And make the giddy Fools his Friends.
And elbow'd thro' the Multitude,
I rambl'd round into the Rear,
To see the hair-brain'd Doings there,
Where a young Fry of Mob I found
In Boats and Coaches, flying round
Between the Heavens and the Ground.
Thought I, this represents most truly
The Rabble's Giddiness and Folly,
Who tho' they earn their Bread like Horses,
Yet never fail to draw their Purses
To feed the Knave, that finds a Way
To please 'em on a Holy-day.
9
New Whims, to rock their tott'ring Fancies,
May be assur'd to gain his Ends,
And make the giddy Fools his Friends.
The subtile preaching-gifted Saint,
That can but humour 'm in his Cant,
And lift 'em up into the Air,
But nearer Heaven than they were;
Tho' like these Jim-cracks, in the main,
He sets 'em gently down again,
And leaves the Block-heads reinstated,
Just as they were before he prated;
Yet, thro' their Ears, he finds a Way
To pick their Pockets e'ery Day.
That can but humour 'm in his Cant,
And lift 'em up into the Air,
But nearer Heaven than they were;
Tho' like these Jim-cracks, in the main,
He sets 'em gently down again,
And leaves the Block-heads reinstated,
Just as they were before he prated;
Yet, thro' their Ears, he finds a Way
To pick their Pockets e'ery Day.
So Politicians form Devices,
And raise new Whims, to please the Niseys;
Then take th' Advantage of their Blindness,
And pass an Jnj'ry for a Kindness
So slily, that the foolish Throng
Shall hug the Man that does 'em wrong;
And with their loud Huzza's, proclaim,
In open Streets, his wond'rous Fame,
Tho' all his fair Pretences, tend
To gull and cheat 'em in the End.
And raise new Whims, to please the Niseys;
Then take th' Advantage of their Blindness,
And pass an Jnj'ry for a Kindness
So slily, that the foolish Throng
Shall hug the Man that does 'em wrong;
10
In open Streets, his wond'rous Fame,
Tho' all his fair Pretences, tend
To gull and cheat 'em in the End.
CANTO IV.
Having thus gratify'd my Eyes
With these external Vanities,
And, Squirril-like, with Hazle Nuts,
Both tir'd my Jaws, and stuff'd my Cuts,
I squeez'd again into the Crowd,
Where Musick-Booths in Clusters stood;
Invited by the Organs Hum,
And Marshal Sound of Kettle Drum,
With Trumpets, Fiddles, Hautboys, Flutes,
That please the Ear with Scrapes and Toots:
Thought I, if here I pitch my Tent
'Till half an Hour or more be spent,
Something may offer worth my View,
Very ridiculous and new:
Besides, beholding in the Entry,
A dancing Female standing Centry,
Loose rigg'd in Petty-coat and Smock,
With leach'rous Brow, as black as Crock;
Her Skin unwrinkled, plump, and fair,
Pretty her Face, and brisk her Air;
I could not shew so much ill Nature,
As to pass by the tempting Creature;
But in I stepp'd, in hopes to please
My Eyes with her Performances;
Not doubting, but the active Lass
Had more Inducements, than her Face,
That would our Admiration raise,
And merit the Spectator's Praise.
With these external Vanities,
And, Squirril-like, with Hazle Nuts,
Both tir'd my Jaws, and stuff'd my Cuts,
I squeez'd again into the Crowd,
Where Musick-Booths in Clusters stood;
Invited by the Organs Hum,
And Marshal Sound of Kettle Drum,
With Trumpets, Fiddles, Hautboys, Flutes,
That please the Ear with Scrapes and Toots:
Thought I, if here I pitch my Tent
'Till half an Hour or more be spent,
11
Very ridiculous and new:
Besides, beholding in the Entry,
A dancing Female standing Centry,
Loose rigg'd in Petty-coat and Smock,
With leach'rous Brow, as black as Crock;
Her Skin unwrinkled, plump, and fair,
Pretty her Face, and brisk her Air;
I could not shew so much ill Nature,
As to pass by the tempting Creature;
But in I stepp'd, in hopes to please
My Eyes with her Performances;
Not doubting, but the active Lass
Had more Inducements, than her Face,
That would our Admiration raise,
And merit the Spectator's Praise.
Thus ent'ring, am'rously I prest
With gentle Hand, her tender Breast,
Which, thro' her Holland Smock, I found
Was so inviting, plump, and round,
That had she in another Place
Appear'd in some more modest Dress,
I should have thought the pretty jade
To've been, as Times go now, a Maid.
Then, putting by the Tapstry Skreen,
By Madam I was usher'd in,
Where more wild Projects were in use,
Than Hockley-Hole could e'er produce,
In order to delight the Rabble,
Who crowding swarm'd at e'ery Table.
Sots for more Brandy-Wine were bawling,
Whores for more Cakes and Cyder calling;
Some Sparks with Madams very fine,
Were knocking, I suppose, for Wine;
Others for Pipes and Candles roaring;
The Tapsters in a Hurry scowring,
With Jugs and Bottles, here and there,
Confus'd like Helpers at a Fire,
Who are so eager at their Labour,
That one Man jostles down his Neighbour:
The Trumpets farting, Bautboys tooting,
Some scraping, other Minstrels fluting,
Strings breaking, and the Fidlers fretting;
All lab'ring, stinking, fizzling, sweating,
Whilst noisy Crowds at Tables sat,
And with the Musick mix'd their Chat.
With gentle Hand, her tender Breast,
Which, thro' her Holland Smock, I found
Was so inviting, plump, and round,
12
Appear'd in some more modest Dress,
I should have thought the pretty jade
To've been, as Times go now, a Maid.
Then, putting by the Tapstry Skreen,
By Madam I was usher'd in,
Where more wild Projects were in use,
Than Hockley-Hole could e'er produce,
In order to delight the Rabble,
Who crowding swarm'd at e'ery Table.
Sots for more Brandy-Wine were bawling,
Whores for more Cakes and Cyder calling;
Some Sparks with Madams very fine,
Were knocking, I suppose, for Wine;
Others for Pipes and Candles roaring;
The Tapsters in a Hurry scowring,
With Jugs and Bottles, here and there,
Confus'd like Helpers at a Fire,
Who are so eager at their Labour,
That one Man jostles down his Neighbour:
13
Some scraping, other Minstrels fluting,
Strings breaking, and the Fidlers fretting;
All lab'ring, stinking, fizzling, sweating,
Whilst noisy Crowds at Tables sat,
And with the Musick mix'd their Chat.
I'th' middle, Tumblers, Clowns, and Slouches,
Fools, Harliquins, and Scaramouches,
Were join'd with Dancers bred to hop,
Both on the Ladder, and the Rope:
So that should Fate decree, that they
Should live and die the self same way,
Their Exit must be in their Calling,
Either by Hanging, or by Falling;
For any Conjuror, that sees
Their Looks, and their Performances,
Would guess, without much Calculation,
They're under the Predestination
Of dying some way in their Station.
No sooner had I edg'd my Haunch
Upon a hard uneasy Bench,
Amongst a Crowd of Sots, half boozy,
With e'ery one his tattling Huzzy;
But from the Bar a nimble Imp,
Whose Countenance proclaim'd him Pimp,
Came scowring to me, and enquir'd
What sort of Liquor I desir'd?
I told him, Half a Flask of White,
Provided he could warr'nt it right.
Good, says the Rascal, I'll maintain it.
Sir, you shall have it in a Minute.
But when he'ad brought it to the Table,
Hoop'd round with Straw as thick as Cable,
I guess, at most, there might be in't,
Of Wine and Water, half a Pint,
Such Stuff that ne'er had cross'd the Ocean,
Each Glass more nauscous, than a Potion;
A cursed Scandal to the Vine,
That drank like Physick, more than Wine.
Thus he that is so full of Folly,
As to mispend his Time so dully,
Truly deserves (if they deceive him)
No better Usage than they give him.
Fools, Harliquins, and Scaramouches,
Were join'd with Dancers bred to hop,
Both on the Ladder, and the Rope:
So that should Fate decree, that they
Should live and die the self same way,
Their Exit must be in their Calling,
Either by Hanging, or by Falling;
For any Conjuror, that sees
Their Looks, and their Performances,
Would guess, without much Calculation,
They're under the Predestination
Of dying some way in their Station.
14
Upon a hard uneasy Bench,
Amongst a Crowd of Sots, half boozy,
With e'ery one his tattling Huzzy;
But from the Bar a nimble Imp,
Whose Countenance proclaim'd him Pimp,
Came scowring to me, and enquir'd
What sort of Liquor I desir'd?
I told him, Half a Flask of White,
Provided he could warr'nt it right.
Good, says the Rascal, I'll maintain it.
Sir, you shall have it in a Minute.
But when he'ad brought it to the Table,
Hoop'd round with Straw as thick as Cable,
I guess, at most, there might be in't,
Of Wine and Water, half a Pint,
Such Stuff that ne'er had cross'd the Ocean,
Each Glass more nauscous, than a Potion;
A cursed Scandal to the Vine,
That drank like Physick, more than Wine.
15
As to mispend his Time so dully,
Truly deserves (if they deceive him)
No better Usage than they give him.
I had not been two Minutes seated,
And by the Drawer thus out-witted,
But sliding to my Table came
A strapping Whore of Amsterdam,
With Buttocks like a Flanders Mare,
Dress'd in her Pendants, and her Hair,
Looking as masculine and cloudy,
As any Amazorian Dowdy.
Madam, said I, my Service t'ye.
Me thank you kindly, Sir, said she.
With that, I ask'd her to sit down,
Which she consented to as soon,
Displaying all her Belgick Charms,
In hopes to tempt me to her Arms:
But, Nouns, thought I, an English Harlot,
That stands the Tilt of ev'ry Varlot,
And turns up her insatiate Tail
For Brandy, or for Bottled-Ale,
Is a dear Angel of a Phillis,
To this Dutch bulky Amarilis.
The Face of this Batavian Trull,
Look'd broader than the Moon at Full,
Invelop'd so with Rolls of Fat,
'Twas quite as round, if not as flat.
Her Udders look'd more large and flabby,
Than the soft Bum of sucking Baby,
Swelling from Shoulder unto Shoulder,
Above her Stays, that scarce could hold her,
As huge East Dumplins, when they're hot,
Do o'er the Brim o'th' Porridge Pot.
Her nauseons Breath stunk worse than Carr'in,
Of oily Butter, and Red Herring,
So strong, as if her Mouth above
Had lately kiss'd the Lips of Love,
And brought from thence a fishy Stink,
Entail'd on that unsav'ry Sink.
When I had view'd the Flemmish Punk,
And prais'd my Lady Vanderdunk;
For Whores, tho' homely and ill-natur'd,
Are ne'er too ugly to be flatter'd.
Madam, said I, we often hear
There's a strange Diff'rence, you know where,
Between a true-born English Lass,
And she that is of Flemmish Race:
Pray therefore let me truly know,
Whether Love's Cabinet below,
For which we have such Veneration,
Varies an Inch in Situation?
Myn Heer, replys the smiling Fro,
If you the Difference would know,
Let us in private but repair
To some snug Tavern in the Fair,
And you shall freely, out of hand,
Be satisfy'd how Matters stand.
And by the Drawer thus out-witted,
But sliding to my Table came
A strapping Whore of Amsterdam,
With Buttocks like a Flanders Mare,
Dress'd in her Pendants, and her Hair,
Looking as masculine and cloudy,
As any Amazorian Dowdy.
Madam, said I, my Service t'ye.
Me thank you kindly, Sir, said she.
With that, I ask'd her to sit down,
Which she consented to as soon,
Displaying all her Belgick Charms,
In hopes to tempt me to her Arms:
But, Nouns, thought I, an English Harlot,
That stands the Tilt of ev'ry Varlot,
16
For Brandy, or for Bottled-Ale,
Is a dear Angel of a Phillis,
To this Dutch bulky Amarilis.
The Face of this Batavian Trull,
Look'd broader than the Moon at Full,
Invelop'd so with Rolls of Fat,
'Twas quite as round, if not as flat.
Her Udders look'd more large and flabby,
Than the soft Bum of sucking Baby,
Swelling from Shoulder unto Shoulder,
Above her Stays, that scarce could hold her,
As huge East Dumplins, when they're hot,
Do o'er the Brim o'th' Porridge Pot.
Her nauseons Breath stunk worse than Carr'in,
Of oily Butter, and Red Herring,
So strong, as if her Mouth above
Had lately kiss'd the Lips of Love,
And brought from thence a fishy Stink,
Entail'd on that unsav'ry Sink.
17
And prais'd my Lady Vanderdunk;
For Whores, tho' homely and ill-natur'd,
Are ne'er too ugly to be flatter'd.
Madam, said I, we often hear
There's a strange Diff'rence, you know where,
Between a true-born English Lass,
And she that is of Flemmish Race:
Pray therefore let me truly know,
Whether Love's Cabinet below,
For which we have such Veneration,
Varies an Inch in Situation?
Myn Heer, replys the smiling Fro,
If you the Difference would know,
Let us in private but repair
To some snug Tavern in the Fair,
And you shall freely, out of hand,
Be satisfy'd how Matters stand.
Madam, said I, you're kind and pleasant,
But truly I'm engag'd at presant,
Or else I should be glad to find,
To which o'th' Parties you're inclin'd;
Since you are free to let me know,
Whether your Whim be high or low,
Or that, like Trimmers now-a-days,
(Whom Knaves delude, and Blockheads praise)
You equally extend both ways.
But truly I'm engag'd at presant,
18
To which o'th' Parties you're inclin'd;
Since you are free to let me know,
Whether your Whim be high or low,
Or that, like Trimmers now-a-days,
(Whom Knaves delude, and Blockheads praise)
You equally extend both ways.
The Fro believing from my Joaks,
I fancy'd not her Butter-Box,
Cock'd up her Head, took leave in Scorn,
To seek one fitter for her Turn;
And as the swanking Trull march'd off,
I view'd the moving Kitchen-Stuff;
But in my Life ne'er saw the Fellow
Of such a broad-ars'd Blowzabella.
I fancy'd not her Butter-Box,
Cock'd up her Head, took leave in Scorn,
To seek one fitter for her Turn;
And as the swanking Trull march'd off,
I view'd the moving Kitchen-Stuff;
But in my Life ne'er saw the Fellow
Of such a broad-ars'd Blowzabella.
The Fidlers, with their Chaplets crown'd,
Now gave the Mob a Cheshire-Round,
To which, a Sloven paw'd the Floor,
And us'd the same Steps o'er and o'er,
Scraping with's Feet the dirty Boards,
Like Dung-hill Cock o'er Stable Turds,
'Till the whole Company were tir'd,
And he alone by 'mself admir'd.
Next came the Miller, with his Wife,
And wanton Trull, that bred much Strife,
All hopping to some Tune about,
'Till with her Rival, Joan fell out,
And left her Dancing, to attack
The Rigging of her Spouse's Crack.
Betwixt 'em now, there was such Howling,
Such Clawing, Tumbling, and such Rowling,
So pleasing to the gazing Crowd,
That all the Rout laugh'd out aloud.
By which a wise Man may descern
The Temper of the Mob, and learn,
That nothing more delights the Brutes,
Than Battels, Quarrels, and Disputes.
Now gave the Mob a Cheshire-Round,
To which, a Sloven paw'd the Floor,
And us'd the same Steps o'er and o'er,
19
Like Dung-hill Cock o'er Stable Turds,
'Till the whole Company were tir'd,
And he alone by 'mself admir'd.
Next came the Miller, with his Wife,
And wanton Trull, that bred much Strife,
All hopping to some Tune about,
'Till with her Rival, Joan fell out,
And left her Dancing, to attack
The Rigging of her Spouse's Crack.
Betwixt 'em now, there was such Howling,
Such Clawing, Tumbling, and such Rowling,
So pleasing to the gazing Crowd,
That all the Rout laugh'd out aloud.
By which a wise Man may descern
The Temper of the Mob, and learn,
That nothing more delights the Brutes,
Than Battels, Quarrels, and Disputes.
The Dame of Honour next advanc'd,
Jutting along, as if she danc'd,
Dress'd up in good old English Stuff,
Set off with Fardingale and Ruff,
Such as good Hussifs, to their Praise,
Put on in old Queen Bess's Days,
When Peace and Plenty bless'd the Nation,
And Honesty was more in Fashion.
At length she stretch'd her Lanthorn Jaws,
And sung a Ballad, with Applause,
In which the list'ning Crowd were told
What noble Ale she brew'd of old,
And what brave ruby Noses won her,
When Madam was a Dame of Honour.
The Step, the Swinging of her Train,
The Jut, the Motion of the Fan,
The Bows, the Coupies, and the Faces,
The Wiles, the Smiles, and other Graces,
Which the arch Gypsy put upon it,
Were so adapted to her Sonnet,
That none knew which had most Delight,
The Sense of Hearing, or of Sight:
Besides, she look'd as if she cou'd,
Like other Female Flesh and Blood,
Oblige the Feeling at a Game
Which Modesty won't let me name.
Jutting along, as if she danc'd,
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Set off with Fardingale and Ruff,
Such as good Hussifs, to their Praise,
Put on in old Queen Bess's Days,
When Peace and Plenty bless'd the Nation,
And Honesty was more in Fashion.
At length she stretch'd her Lanthorn Jaws,
And sung a Ballad, with Applause,
In which the list'ning Crowd were told
What noble Ale she brew'd of old,
And what brave ruby Noses won her,
When Madam was a Dame of Honour.
The Step, the Swinging of her Train,
The Jut, the Motion of the Fan,
The Bows, the Coupies, and the Faces,
The Wiles, the Smiles, and other Graces,
Which the arch Gypsy put upon it,
Were so adapted to her Sonnet,
That none knew which had most Delight,
The Sense of Hearing, or of Sight:
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Like other Female Flesh and Blood,
Oblige the Feeling at a Game
Which Modesty won't let me name.
Next these Diversions, in there came
A Man of Metal, and of Fame,
Dress'd up in Trunks, that gave us Hope
He'd work some Wonders on the Rope,
Tho' soon we found his Talent lay
A diff'rent, tho' a dang'rous way.
On's Shoulder he a Ladder bore,
So near his Neck, that many swore,
One Time or other it would cost
The Knave a Fall, if not his Last.
No sooner, with an active Slight,
He 'ad fix'd his Ladder bolt upright,
But up he ran, and made no more on't,
Than la Bee does to dance a Courant:
He skipp'd, and leap'd, and frisk'd about,
And so amaz'd the gaping Rout,
That all the Women were in Pain,
For fear a Slip should prove his Bane.
Well might they be so, since the Ladder
Has turn'd off many a handsom Padder,
And left the Wretches past all hope
Of Mercy, to the fatal Rope.
A Man of Metal, and of Fame,
Dress'd up in Trunks, that gave us Hope
He'd work some Wonders on the Rope,
Tho' soon we found his Talent lay
A diff'rent, tho' a dang'rous way.
On's Shoulder he a Ladder bore,
So near his Neck, that many swore,
One Time or other it would cost
The Knave a Fall, if not his Last.
No sooner, with an active Slight,
He 'ad fix'd his Ladder bolt upright,
But up he ran, and made no more on't,
Than la Bee does to dance a Courant:
He skipp'd, and leap'd, and frisk'd about,
And so amaz'd the gaping Rout,
22
For fear a Slip should prove his Bane.
Well might they be so, since the Ladder
Has turn'd off many a handsom Padder,
And left the Wretches past all hope
Of Mercy, to the fatal Rope.
Next, a tall Slattern of a Blowz,
Pot-belly'd, like Westphalia Sows,
Came dancing on the yielding Boards,
Arm'd in each Mutton-Fist with Swords,
Which, by the Help of Candle-Light,
Glitter'd so terribly and bright,
That Jove, with his refulgent Beams
Of Light'ning, bundl'd up in Streams,
Or Furies, with their Scorpious Rods,
Stol'n out from their accurs'd Abodes,
Could not be better stor'd with Arms,
Or furnish'd worse with Female Charms.
To 'er Eyes, her Nose, her Mouth, her Chest,
She press'd the Points, that on her Breast
Such Pricks appear'd, which had they been
Elsewhere, the Marks had ne'er been seen;
For many stand a Push, that find
The Weapon leaves no Scar behind.
Upon her Toes, the nimble Crack
Turn'd, like the Flyer of a Jack,
That the Wind caus'd her Coats to swell
In Compass like a Tennor Bell,
Which wanted nothing, but a Clapper,
To make her twang at e'ery Caper.
Pot-belly'd, like Westphalia Sows,
Came dancing on the yielding Boards,
Arm'd in each Mutton-Fist with Swords,
Which, by the Help of Candle-Light,
Glitter'd so terribly and bright,
That Jove, with his refulgent Beams
Of Light'ning, bundl'd up in Streams,
Or Furies, with their Scorpious Rods,
Stol'n out from their accurs'd Abodes,
Could not be better stor'd with Arms,
Or furnish'd worse with Female Charms.
To 'er Eyes, her Nose, her Mouth, her Chest,
She press'd the Points, that on her Breast
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Elsewhere, the Marks had ne'er been seen;
For many stand a Push, that find
The Weapon leaves no Scar behind.
Upon her Toes, the nimble Crack
Turn'd, like the Flyer of a Jack,
That the Wind caus'd her Coats to swell
In Compass like a Tennor Bell,
Which wanted nothing, but a Clapper,
To make her twang at e'ery Caper.
Thus round as any Top she spun,
For half an Hour, before she 'ad done;
Then, with a Curtsy, stopp'd her Dance,
And peep'd about for scatter'd Pence.
For half an Hour, before she 'ad done;
Then, with a Curtsy, stopp'd her Dance,
And peep'd about for scatter'd Pence.
Besides these various Whims and Humours,
Devis'd to entertain all Comers,
There were abundance more, not worth
Describing here, or setting forth;
As a Song, sung by an old Woman,
So ill perform'd, 'twould pleasure no Man,
An Indian Dance, with tomb'ry Basses,
Was spoil'd by four black ugly Faces,
With Time so false, and Steps so bad,
As if the Fools were drunk, or mad.
Devis'd to entertain all Comers,
There were abundance more, not worth
Describing here, or setting forth;
As a Song, sung by an old Woman,
So ill perform'd, 'twould pleasure no Man,
24
Was spoil'd by four black ugly Faces,
With Time so false, and Steps so bad,
As if the Fools were drunk, or mad.
Four Dutch-men, of a bulky Stature,
As clumsy as they are by Nature,
With Bottles full of Brandy stor'd,
(The only God they e'er ador'd;)
By their sides, Knives for Snick-a-snee,
Whose bloody Weapons well agree
With old Amboyna's Cruelty.
These frisk'd about, and danc'd together,
Like pamper'd Hogs in windy Weather.
As clumsy as they are by Nature,
With Bottles full of Brandy stor'd,
(The only God they e'er ador'd;)
By their sides, Knives for Snick-a-snee,
Whose bloody Weapons well agree
With old Amboyna's Cruelty.
These frisk'd about, and danc'd together,
Like pamper'd Hogs in windy Weather.
We also had, to gratify us,
A Quaking Song from Ananias,
Who sung it as a Man may say,
His Chorus being, Yea and Nay.
A Quaking Song from Ananias,
Who sung it as a Man may say,
His Chorus being, Yea and Nay.
Two Punches next, with wond'rous Vigour,
Perform'd a Dance in double Figure;
Tho' I have seen, some Years ago,
The Fools out-done in Puppit-show,
Shame on such clumsy Flesh and Blood,
That are so far excell'd by Wood.
Perform'd a Dance in double Figure;
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The Fools out-done in Puppit-show,
Shame on such clumsy Flesh and Blood,
That are so far excell'd by Wood.
Next, the fair Lady climb'd the Rope,
Of whom I had such wond'rous Hope,
And shew'd her pretty Legs and Thighs,
To pleasure the Spectators Eyes:
But as she shook her nimble Feet,
The Rope, being full of damn'd Deciet,
Gave way, and let the Gypsy drop,
Most treach'rously, from off the top:
But Merry Andrew, standing ready,
Made shift to save the falling Lady;
Tho' some were apt to think, that she
Fell down by Choice, to let us see
How lofty Madams, full of Charms,
Oft tumble into Blockheads Arms.
Of whom I had such wond'rous Hope,
And shew'd her pretty Legs and Thighs,
To pleasure the Spectators Eyes:
But as she shook her nimble Feet,
The Rope, being full of damn'd Deciet,
Gave way, and let the Gypsy drop,
Most treach'rously, from off the top:
But Merry Andrew, standing ready,
Made shift to save the falling Lady;
Tho' some were apt to think, that she
Fell down by Choice, to let us see
How lofty Madams, full of Charms,
Oft tumble into Blockheads Arms.
Old Roger next, his Maggots shew'd,
To farther entertain the Crowd;
Perform'd, as Fame is pleas'd to say,
By that rare Artist de la Hay:
Tho' I confess, for ought I see,
A Clown may dance as well as he:
But 'tis too common to admire,
That Fame shou'd prove an arrant Lyar.
To crown the Show, we'ad Tumbling, Vaulting,
Mimick'd by Merry Andrew haulting;
And many other quaint Devices,
To win Applause from gaping Niseys,
Who, fond of Nonsence, and of Noise,
Punish their Guts, to please their Eyes.
To farther entertain the Crowd;
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By that rare Artist de la Hay:
Tho' I confess, for ought I see,
A Clown may dance as well as he:
But 'tis too common to admire,
That Fame shou'd prove an arrant Lyar.
To crown the Show, we'ad Tumbling, Vaulting,
Mimick'd by Merry Andrew haulting;
And many other quaint Devices,
To win Applause from gaping Niseys,
Who, fond of Nonsence, and of Noise,
Punish their Guts, to please their Eyes.
Thus tir'd with all their vain Delights,
Their nauseons Dances, Songs, and Sights.
I pay'd three Shillings, in a Huff,
For my half Pint of liquid Stuff;
And to refresh with something better
Than this confounded Wine and Water;
To honest M---les's I repair'd,
Where, from true Judges I had heard,
His Entertainments, like his Wine,
Were very good, and very fine.
Their nauseons Dances, Songs, and Sights.
I pay'd three Shillings, in a Huff,
For my half Pint of liquid Stuff;
And to refresh with something better
Than this confounded Wine and Water;
To honest M---les's I repair'd,
Where, from true Judges I had heard,
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Were very good, and very fine.
FINIS.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |