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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| 5. | Part the Fifth. |
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 | Hudibras Redivivus |  |
1
5. Part the Fifth.
3
No sooner had I pass'd the Curtain,
Which from the Rabble skreen'd their Sporting,
But all things nobly did appear,
As in the Royal Theatre.
The Booth with Tapstry hung all round,
Down from the Cornish, to the Ground;
Which did, to please the Sight, contain
Stories, both Sacred and Profane.
Each Figure with such Art was wove,
They look'd as if they'd Pow'r to move;
And that they'd stole away together,
From some illustrious Pallace, thither,
To grace the Revels of the Fair
With something marvellously rare.
Candles in order shone on high,
Like Constellations in the Sky,
Whilst gazing Mortals, with Delight,
Sate wond'ring at the glorious Sight.
Which from the Rabble skreen'd their Sporting,
But all things nobly did appear,
As in the Royal Theatre.
The Booth with Tapstry hung all round,
Down from the Cornish, to the Ground;
Which did, to please the Sight, contain
Stories, both Sacred and Profane.
Each Figure with such Art was wove,
They look'd as if they'd Pow'r to move;
And that they'd stole away together,
From some illustrious Pallace, thither,
4
With something marvellously rare.
Candles in order shone on high,
Like Constellations in the Sky,
Whilst gazing Mortals, with Delight,
Sate wond'ring at the glorious Sight.
The Musick was so well perform'd,
That every Tune the Fancy warm'd,
And so engag'd the list'ning Crowd,
That not a Word was heard aloud;
But by their Silence, I could see
The whole were charm'd with Harmony.
That every Tune the Fancy warm'd,
And so engag'd the list'ning Crowd,
That not a Word was heard aloud;
But by their Silence, I could see
The whole were charm'd with Harmony.
Thus pleas'd, the Hustings did I mount,
Where Persons of the best Account,
In Crowds were seated, with Design
To feast with Musick and with Wine.
As soon as I my self had plac'd
Commodiously amongst the rest,
For noble Red I gave the Word,
Which soon was brought me to the Board;
Good Measure, and delightful Wine,
That needed neither Bush nor Sign;
So brisk and fine, that better Claret
Is no where sold, I do aver it.
By th' time I'ad liquor'd down my Gullet,
And with two Glasses pleas'd my Palate,
A Brood of Swans came hopping in,
With Indians, to improve the Scene,
In order, and due Time performing
A Dance s' amuzing, and so charming,
That all th' wond'ring Crowd seem'd frighted,
And at the self-same time delighted.
Where Persons of the best Account,
In Crowds were seated, with Design
To feast with Musick and with Wine.
As soon as I my self had plac'd
Commodiously amongst the rest,
For noble Red I gave the Word,
Which soon was brought me to the Board;
5
That needed neither Bush nor Sign;
So brisk and fine, that better Claret
Is no where sold, I do aver it.
By th' time I'ad liquor'd down my Gullet,
And with two Glasses pleas'd my Palate,
A Brood of Swans came hopping in,
With Indians, to improve the Scene,
In order, and due Time performing
A Dance s' amuzing, and so charming,
That all th' wond'ring Crowd seem'd frighted,
And at the self-same time delighted.
Next came a Set of Clowns or Slouches,
Dress'd up in Black, like Scaramouches,
Attended with three moving Chairs,
That danc'd like Ladies, not like Bears;
Why not? for Ladies have but two Legs,
Yet they can caper with so few Legs:
No Wonder, therefore, Chairs with more Legs,
Should dance as finely upon four Legs.
Besides these many wond'rous Feats
Of Men transform'd to Birds and Seats,
We'ad Scaramouch and Harliquin,
As well perform'd as e'er was seen;
A Dance that does the Diff'rence show
Betwixt the High Fly'rs, and the Low;
Concluding with a zealous Speaker,
That out-cants Francis B---g, the Quaker.
Dress'd up in Black, like Scaramouches,
Attended with three moving Chairs,
That danc'd like Ladies, not like Bears;
Why not? for Ladies have but two Legs,
Yet they can caper with so few Legs:
No Wonder, therefore, Chairs with more Legs,
Should dance as finely upon four Legs.
6
Of Men transform'd to Birds and Seats,
We'ad Scaramouch and Harliquin,
As well perform'd as e'er was seen;
A Dance that does the Diff'rence show
Betwixt the High Fly'rs, and the Low;
Concluding with a zealous Speaker,
That out-cants Francis B---g, the Quaker.
A nimble pretty Maid, that capers
With a whole Magazine of Rapiers,
Enough to arm a Troop of Soldiers;
With which, to th' Wonder of Beholders,
She does a thousand pretty Fancies,
And picks her Teeth the while she dances,
From any Rags of Meat or Crumbs,
And never pricks or hurts her Gums;
Turning her Body on the Ground
With all her Swords, as swiftly round,
Nay, and much faster, I may swear,
Than Spinning-Wheel in full Career;
But who can view her, and not smile,
To think what's finely fann'd the while.
With a whole Magazine of Rapiers,
Enough to arm a Troop of Soldiers;
With which, to th' Wonder of Beholders,
She does a thousand pretty Fancies,
And picks her Teeth the while she dances,
From any Rags of Meat or Crumbs,
And never pricks or hurts her Gums;
Turning her Body on the Ground
With all her Swords, as swiftly round,
Nay, and much faster, I may swear,
Than Spinning-Wheel in full Career;
7
To think what's finely fann'd the while.
A Dance perform'd by Granadiers,
Where their whole Exercise appears;
Done with such Spirit, one would think
The Knaves had rather fight, than drink.
Where their whole Exercise appears;
Done with such Spirit, one would think
The Knaves had rather fight, than drink.
Amongst the rest, a spritely Youth
Danc'd with such Comliness and Truth,
That sure no Pupil of his Age,
Like him could e'er adorn the Stage;
For Shadow-like, himself he threw
From Place to Place, as if he flew:
In every various Pass and Bound,
Such strange Variety we found,
That each new Step fore-run Desire,
And gave us something to admire.
But if such Praises we allot him,
Pray what must he deserve, that taught him.
Danc'd with such Comliness and Truth,
That sure no Pupil of his Age,
Like him could e'er adorn the Stage;
For Shadow-like, himself he threw
From Place to Place, as if he flew:
In every various Pass and Bound,
Such strange Variety we found,
That each new Step fore-run Desire,
And gave us something to admire.
But if such Praises we allot him,
Pray what must he deserve, that taught him.
Rope-Dancing to a great Perfection,
Tumbling so fine, beyond Correction;
With more delightful Shews of Art,
Than I have Leisure to insert:
From Noise, and all Disorder free,
Perform'd with so much Modesty,
That even Quakers ventur'd in,
And thought the harmless Sport no Sin;
But ev'ry Person, when they went
Away, express'd so much Content,
That no Man grutch'd the Coin he spent.
Tumbling so fine, beyond Correction;
8
Than I have Leisure to insert:
From Noise, and all Disorder free,
Perform'd with so much Modesty,
That even Quakers ventur'd in,
And thought the harmless Sport no Sin;
But ev'ry Person, when they went
Away, express'd so much Content,
That no Man grutch'd the Coin he spent.
CANTO V.
Reviv'd with Musick, and with Wine,
I mov'd, about the Hour of Nine,
From thence, into the neighb'ring Cloisters,
Where Bullies, full of Oaths and Blusters,
And well kept Punks, of high Degree,
Were mix'd with Rakes of Quality.
I mov'd, about the Hour of Nine,
From thence, into the neighb'ring Cloisters,
Where Bullies, full of Oaths and Blusters,
And well kept Punks, of high Degree,
Were mix'd with Rakes of Quality.
9
Cullies flock'd into Shops in Crowds,
With Jilting Beauties, mobb'd in Hoods,
Who join'd to purchase some new odd Thing,
A Snuff-Box, Thimble, or a Bodkin:
Then on the Compter, or a Table,
They raffl'd for the Silver Bauble.
The Beaus the greatest Hazard run;
The cunning Punks had two to one;
For when they could not win the Prize
By the kind Fortune of the Dice,
They'd Arts to crave it with their Eyes:
For soothing Ladies, when they long
For what's improper for the Tongue,
Their very Looks will make Complaint,
And tell us what it is they want.
With Jilting Beauties, mobb'd in Hoods,
Who join'd to purchase some new odd Thing,
A Snuff-Box, Thimble, or a Bodkin:
Then on the Compter, or a Table,
They raffl'd for the Silver Bauble.
The Beaus the greatest Hazard run;
The cunning Punks had two to one;
For when they could not win the Prize
By the kind Fortune of the Dice,
They'd Arts to crave it with their Eyes:
For soothing Ladies, when they long
For what's improper for the Tongue,
Their very Looks will make Complaint,
And tell us what it is they want.
Thus, as I elbow'd too and fro,
Like Country Hob at Lord May'r's Show,
Viewing the Shops on ev'ry side,
Where Lasses, in their utmost Pride,
Sate dizen'd up, to please the Sight
With borrow'd Charms, by Candle-light,
Painted and patch'd like Play-house Queens,
And smooth'd by other artful Means,
That those who were to Shops confin'd,
Might look as tempting and as kind,
As Ladies strol'd from Nooks and Allies,
Reaking from Highway-men and Bayli's,
Whose Vices blushing in their Faces,
Gave Colour to their wanton Graces.
Like Country Hob at Lord May'r's Show,
Viewing the Shops on ev'ry side,
Where Lasses, in their utmost Pride,
10
With borrow'd Charms, by Candle-light,
Painted and patch'd like Play-house Queens,
And smooth'd by other artful Means,
That those who were to Shops confin'd,
Might look as tempting and as kind,
As Ladies strol'd from Nooks and Allies,
Reaking from Highway-men and Bayli's,
Whose Vices blushing in their Faces,
Gave Colour to their wanton Graces.
Amongst the strange promiscuous Crowd,
That dress'd in Quirpo, hither flow'd,
Non-fighting Bullies, Cloth'd in Red,
Fit only for a Lady's Bed,
Swagger'd about from Punk to Harlot,
To pay their Compliments in Scarlet.
Women and Mackrel, some Folks say,
Are to be caught the self same way;
Bait but your Hook with Soldier's Cloth,
And you may eas'ly take 'em both.
These Marshal, strutting, Bully Huffs,
Sniffing their fashionable Snuff,
Stunk worse of nasty Portuguese,
Than Beggars do of Bread and Cheese;
Whilst beauteous Punks, in gaudy Plumes,
Refresh'd the Air with their Perfumes,
Borrow'd to help offensive Nature,
And make their tainted Breaths the sweeter,
From Orange, Flowers, Gums, and Spices,
To cheat the Noses of their Nisies;
Or from the odorif'rous Sweat,
(Occasion'd by a lustful Heat)
That drips, as common Fame relates,
From th' Arses of Moscovy Cats.
Hard Fate! that Woman should not prove
Sufficient to excite our Love,
Without such study'd Charms as these,
Deriv'd from foreign Brutes and Trees.
That dress'd in Quirpo, hither flow'd,
Non-fighting Bullies, Cloth'd in Red,
Fit only for a Lady's Bed,
Swagger'd about from Punk to Harlot,
To pay their Compliments in Scarlet.
Women and Mackrel, some Folks say,
Are to be caught the self same way;
Bait but your Hook with Soldier's Cloth,
And you may eas'ly take 'em both.
11
Sniffing their fashionable Snuff,
Stunk worse of nasty Portuguese,
Than Beggars do of Bread and Cheese;
Whilst beauteous Punks, in gaudy Plumes,
Refresh'd the Air with their Perfumes,
Borrow'd to help offensive Nature,
And make their tainted Breaths the sweeter,
From Orange, Flowers, Gums, and Spices,
To cheat the Noses of their Nisies;
Or from the odorif'rous Sweat,
(Occasion'd by a lustful Heat)
That drips, as common Fame relates,
From th' Arses of Moscovy Cats.
Hard Fate! that Woman should not prove
Sufficient to excite our Love,
Without such study'd Charms as these,
Deriv'd from foreign Brutes and Trees.
Madam, crys one Sir Foplin Fumble,
Your Ladyship's most very Humble.
Faith, my dear Child, altho' it's Night,
Your charming Beauty shines more bright
Than all this dazling Candle-light.
Your Ladyship's most very Humble.
12
Your charming Beauty shines more bright
Than all this dazling Candle-light.
Laud, Sir, replies the Jilt, 'tis pitty
A Man, so handsome and so witty,
Should spend his Eloquence to flatter
Such an unworthy silly Creature,
Who has no Merits to induce
Your Fancy to be thus profuse.
A Man, so handsome and so witty,
Should spend his Eloquence to flatter
Such an unworthy silly Creature,
Who has no Merits to induce
Your Fancy to be thus profuse.
Madam, says he, I vow and swear
I'm taken with your very Air.
Prethee, my Dear, let's go and tattle,
For a few Minutes, o'er a Bottle;
For Beauty, when inspir'd with Wine,
Does always most refulgent shine;
It adds a Liveliness that's wanting,
Like Varnish to a piece of Painting;
Besides, a merry Cup o'th' Creature,
Yields great Advantages to Nature;
Heightens our am'rous Inclinations,
And gives a Fillip to our Passions.
Come, lend's your Hand, let's march, my Dear;
There's nothing but Confusion here.
I'm taken with your very Air.
Prethee, my Dear, let's go and tattle,
For a few Minutes, o'er a Bottle;
For Beauty, when inspir'd with Wine,
Does always most refulgent shine;
It adds a Liveliness that's wanting,
Like Varnish to a piece of Painting;
Besides, a merry Cup o'th' Creature,
Yields great Advantages to Nature;
13
And gives a Fillip to our Passions.
Come, lend's your Hand, let's march, my Dear;
There's nothing but Confusion here.
Dear Sir, says Madam, let me court ye
To take a Coach, because it's dirty.
To take a Coach, because it's dirty.
For certain, Lady, crys the Cully;
And so away he led his Dolly,
To run the Hazard, I suppose,
Of both his Pocket, and his Nose.
And so away he led his Dolly,
To run the Hazard, I suppose,
Of both his Pocket, and his Nose.
Dear Angel, crys another Fop,
Let's step into yon Raffling Shop;
Methinks you look with such good Nature,
And shew such Luck in ev'ry Feature,
That if you'll throw the Dice, instead
Of me, I'll venture on your Head.
Sir, replies Phillis, since you guess
That I'm attended with Success,
My best Endeavours will I use,
But don't you blame me, if I loose;
For whatsoe'er depends on Fortune,
Is very doubtful, and uncertain:
You know she's of the fickle Gender,
And sometimes little Things offend her.
Howe'er, I'll try with all my Heart.
Madam, says he, I thank you for't.
But, Sir, returns the merry Jade,
Tho' Woman lends her utmost Aid,
Yet, thro' ill Luck, we often find
Things will not happen to our Mind:
However, if you please to try me,
I'll shake the Box, if you'll stand by me.
Thank you, my Dear, the Spark replies;
Do you but hustle well the Dice,
And tho' I loose, as I'm a Sinner,
Your pretty Self shall be a Winner.
So stepping in, where Punks and Beaus,
With Satan's Bones were vying Throws,
Amongst the Gamesters, that were sporting,
They crowded in to try their Fortune,
By way of Preface to a Game,
Which Modesty won't let me name.
Let's step into yon Raffling Shop;
Methinks you look with such good Nature,
And shew such Luck in ev'ry Feature,
That if you'll throw the Dice, instead
Of me, I'll venture on your Head.
Sir, replies Phillis, since you guess
That I'm attended with Success,
My best Endeavours will I use,
But don't you blame me, if I loose;
14
Is very doubtful, and uncertain:
You know she's of the fickle Gender,
And sometimes little Things offend her.
Howe'er, I'll try with all my Heart.
Madam, says he, I thank you for't.
But, Sir, returns the merry Jade,
Tho' Woman lends her utmost Aid,
Yet, thro' ill Luck, we often find
Things will not happen to our Mind:
However, if you please to try me,
I'll shake the Box, if you'll stand by me.
Thank you, my Dear, the Spark replies;
Do you but hustle well the Dice,
And tho' I loose, as I'm a Sinner,
Your pretty Self shall be a Winner.
So stepping in, where Punks and Beaus,
With Satan's Bones were vying Throws,
Amongst the Gamesters, that were sporting,
They crowded in to try their Fortune,
15
Which Modesty won't let me name.
Thus some with merry Cracks were tatling,
Others the Devil's Ribs were ratling:
Young Harlots saunt'ring, Bullies huffing,
Beaus ogling ev'ry Jilt, and snuffing.
Some very humbly bowing down
To common Strumpets of the Town,
Whose highest Price was half a Crown;
But would not show themselves unwilling,
In these hard Times, to earn a Shilling.
These curts'ing, in Return to those,
Who tip'd their Fingers to their Nose,
Seeming by these their sly Behaviours,
To thank the Ladies for their Favours,
Which they'd so lately been possessing;
They could not yet forget the Blessing;
So gave that Item, by the by,
Assisted with a winking Eye,
As the most private thankful Token
For what's to fulsome to be spoken.
Others the Devil's Ribs were ratling:
Young Harlots saunt'ring, Bullies huffing,
Beaus ogling ev'ry Jilt, and snuffing.
Some very humbly bowing down
To common Strumpets of the Town,
Whose highest Price was half a Crown;
But would not show themselves unwilling,
In these hard Times, to earn a Shilling.
These curts'ing, in Return to those,
Who tip'd their Fingers to their Nose,
Seeming by these their sly Behaviours,
To thank the Ladies for their Favours,
Which they'd so lately been possessing;
They could not yet forget the Blessing;
So gave that Item, by the by,
Assisted with a winking Eye,
16
For what's to fulsome to be spoken.
Thus Bullies, Cullies, Knaves, and Fools,
Campaigners, Gamesters, cringing Owles;
Town-Sharpers, Divers, Beaus, and Boobies,
Pimps, Panders, Stallions, brawny Loobies,
Were mix'd with sundry Sorts and Sizes
Of trading Punks of diff'rent Prizes:
Old Harradans, young tempting Jades,
Wives, Widows, but alas! few Maids;
Jilts, Shoplifts, Files, and brimstone B---es,
Old Bawds, worse wrinkled than old Witches,
Cloking their Coives with modest Dress,
And outward Signs of Holiness;
With each a young Jilt following after,
Who passes for the darling Daughter;
But he that trys, is sure to find
The Bawd before, the Whore behind.
Amongst the rest o'th' revel Rout,
Two crazy Watch-men crawl'd about;
The Beadle, with his Staff, before 'em,
To keep the Crowd in due Decorum;
For in so dangerous a Place,
Where Men want Honour, Women Grace,
'Tis fit, if they'd prevent a Pother,
To set some Knaves to watch the other.
Campaigners, Gamesters, cringing Owles;
Town-Sharpers, Divers, Beaus, and Boobies,
Pimps, Panders, Stallions, brawny Loobies,
Were mix'd with sundry Sorts and Sizes
Of trading Punks of diff'rent Prizes:
Old Harradans, young tempting Jades,
Wives, Widows, but alas! few Maids;
Jilts, Shoplifts, Files, and brimstone B---es,
Old Bawds, worse wrinkled than old Witches,
Cloking their Coives with modest Dress,
And outward Signs of Holiness;
With each a young Jilt following after,
Who passes for the darling Daughter;
But he that trys, is sure to find
The Bawd before, the Whore behind.
Amongst the rest o'th' revel Rout,
Two crazy Watch-men crawl'd about;
17
To keep the Crowd in due Decorum;
For in so dangerous a Place,
Where Men want Honour, Women Grace,
'Tis fit, if they'd prevent a Pother,
To set some Knaves to watch the other.
At last, when I, with much ado,
Had squeez'd and shuffl'd almost thro',
Within a Shop at that same End,
That does tow'rds Little Brittain tend,
I saw a Crowd of Beaus and Ladies,
Young spend-thrift Heirs, and grave old Daddies;
All helter skelter, closely mix'd,
With Butchers here and there betwixt:
Without side, Pennyless Beholders,
Leaning o'er one another's Shoulders,
To see who Fortune blest or crost;
What Sharper won, what Blockhead lost.
I crowded in amongst the Rakes,
And stood behind the Gamesters Backs,
Looking with Pain on tip-toe over,
That I their Pastime might discover;
At last, with very much ado,
Stretching my Neck, I gain'd a View,
And found the Whim was something new;
A Bite more knavish than the Oak,
That has so many Hundreds broke:
But I'll say that for English Men,
Tho' bubbl'd ne'er so oft, 'tis plain
New Cheats will gull 'em o'er again.
This Fraud, to humour Human Folly,
Had the Dutch Name of, Rowly Powly;
And if the bless'd Invention came
From Amster, or from Rotterdam,
Sure 'twould make all, but Men of Gotham,
Mistrust some Rog'ry in the Bottom;
For what new Projects can we borrow
From Holland, but to England's Sorrow?
'Tis true, the Table, some will swear,
Is Mathematically fair,
And does conceal as little Guile,
As we can find in Cross and Pile.
What then? Let half a Score go play,
With ten Pounds each, for half a Day,
And they shall ev'ry one, for certain,
Come Loosers off, in spite of Fortune;
For he that keeps the gainful Bauble,
Whose Judgment's to decide each Squabble,
Who runs no Hazard, but of kicking,
For false, or for untimely speaking.
His Odds of Twelve-pence in the Seven,
Will make the Gamesters Moneys even;
And in Success of Play, his Fee
Will break 'em all insensibly.
Therefore, altho' the Table's fair,
The Figures plac'd upon the Square,
The Ball unbyass'd in its running,
Yet still the Keeper's bloody cunning.
Then since out-witted I must be,
If once I play; what is't to me,
Whether the Board be foul, or him
A tricking Knave, that keeps the Whim:
If in the main I'm chous'd and cheated,
What matt'r is't where the Rog'ry's seated:
Since betwixt both there is a Juggle,
In vain with Fortune do we struggle.
The Lucky have but one sure way
To save themselves, that's not to play.
Had squeez'd and shuffl'd almost thro',
Within a Shop at that same End,
That does tow'rds Little Brittain tend,
I saw a Crowd of Beaus and Ladies,
Young spend-thrift Heirs, and grave old Daddies;
All helter skelter, closely mix'd,
With Butchers here and there betwixt:
Without side, Pennyless Beholders,
Leaning o'er one another's Shoulders,
To see who Fortune blest or crost;
What Sharper won, what Blockhead lost.
I crowded in amongst the Rakes,
And stood behind the Gamesters Backs,
18
That I their Pastime might discover;
At last, with very much ado,
Stretching my Neck, I gain'd a View,
And found the Whim was something new;
A Bite more knavish than the Oak,
That has so many Hundreds broke:
But I'll say that for English Men,
Tho' bubbl'd ne'er so oft, 'tis plain
New Cheats will gull 'em o'er again.
This Fraud, to humour Human Folly,
Had the Dutch Name of, Rowly Powly;
And if the bless'd Invention came
From Amster, or from Rotterdam,
Sure 'twould make all, but Men of Gotham,
Mistrust some Rog'ry in the Bottom;
For what new Projects can we borrow
From Holland, but to England's Sorrow?
'Tis true, the Table, some will swear,
Is Mathematically fair,
19
As we can find in Cross and Pile.
What then? Let half a Score go play,
With ten Pounds each, for half a Day,
And they shall ev'ry one, for certain,
Come Loosers off, in spite of Fortune;
For he that keeps the gainful Bauble,
Whose Judgment's to decide each Squabble,
Who runs no Hazard, but of kicking,
For false, or for untimely speaking.
His Odds of Twelve-pence in the Seven,
Will make the Gamesters Moneys even;
And in Success of Play, his Fee
Will break 'em all insensibly.
Therefore, altho' the Table's fair,
The Figures plac'd upon the Square,
The Ball unbyass'd in its running,
Yet still the Keeper's bloody cunning.
Then since out-witted I must be,
If once I play; what is't to me,
20
A tricking Knave, that keeps the Whim:
If in the main I'm chous'd and cheated,
What matt'r is't where the Rog'ry's seated:
Since betwixt both there is a Juggle,
In vain with Fortune do we struggle.
The Lucky have but one sure way
To save themselves, that's not to play.
The Time I thus stood gazing by,
Pass, or no Pass, was all the Cry.
Some Loosers screw'd, like angry Apes,
Their Faces into ugly Shapes,
Whilst others bit their Nails for Madness,
To see some Rivals win with Gladness.
A Butcher, plac'd amongst the rest,
In greasy Frock of Canvas drest,
As fat and frousy, I may swear,
As Hampshire Hog, or Indian Bear,
Sweating and reaking like a nasty
Horse Dung-hill in a Morn that's frosty:
His blubber Cheeks with Claret dy'd,
And ruby Jems so beautify'd;
His Face with such a Nose adorn'd,
Whose Colour vary'd as he turn'd;
And borr'wing diff'rent Rays of Light,
Look'd like a Rainbow to the Sight,
Changing its Beauty to the Eye,
As the Camelion does her Dye:
Sometimes 'twould, at a lucky Throw,
Like new-blown lighted Charcoal, glow:
But when ill Fortune turn'd the Scale,
The Snout, as Luck declin'd, grew pale;
Then by degrees would change as blue
As Damsons varnish'd o'er with Dew.
A Wig he'ad on, so very fair,
Made of Cow-Tails and Horses Hair,
Such as your Sweet'ners us'd to wear,
Whose yellowish Cast, gave such a Grace
To his ignif'rous Platter Face,
That as a Bonfire, I may say,
Well lighted on a joyful Day.
His Head appear'd the very same;
His Face the Coal, his Wig the Flame;
Or rather like a Beacon fir'd
Upon a lofty Pole aspir'd,
Because it truly may be said,
That bright and glowing Pile, his Head,
Was plac'd, or it deceiv'd my Eye,
On brawny Shoulders, six Foot high.
Pass, or no Pass, was all the Cry.
Some Loosers screw'd, like angry Apes,
Their Faces into ugly Shapes,
Whilst others bit their Nails for Madness,
To see some Rivals win with Gladness.
A Butcher, plac'd amongst the rest,
In greasy Frock of Canvas drest,
As fat and frousy, I may swear,
As Hampshire Hog, or Indian Bear,
Sweating and reaking like a nasty
Horse Dung-hill in a Morn that's frosty:
21
And ruby Jems so beautify'd;
His Face with such a Nose adorn'd,
Whose Colour vary'd as he turn'd;
And borr'wing diff'rent Rays of Light,
Look'd like a Rainbow to the Sight,
Changing its Beauty to the Eye,
As the Camelion does her Dye:
Sometimes 'twould, at a lucky Throw,
Like new-blown lighted Charcoal, glow:
But when ill Fortune turn'd the Scale,
The Snout, as Luck declin'd, grew pale;
Then by degrees would change as blue
As Damsons varnish'd o'er with Dew.
A Wig he'ad on, so very fair,
Made of Cow-Tails and Horses Hair,
Such as your Sweet'ners us'd to wear,
Whose yellowish Cast, gave such a Grace
To his ignif'rous Platter Face,
22
Well lighted on a joyful Day.
His Head appear'd the very same;
His Face the Coal, his Wig the Flame;
Or rather like a Beacon fir'd
Upon a lofty Pole aspir'd,
Because it truly may be said,
That bright and glowing Pile, his Head,
Was plac'd, or it deceiv'd my Eye,
On brawny Shoulders, six Foot high.
Next to this hockly greasy Beast,
Stood a young Beau, most nicely drest.
The Fop so scented, and so neat,
The Kill-Calf so besmear'd with Sweat,
That 'twixt the Slouch and his Reverse,
The two Extreams begot a Farce.
The melting Sloven cough'd and slabber'd,
And wip'd the Sweat from off his gray Beard;
Then haulk'd and spit, and blow'd his Nose,
Cleaning his Fingers on his Cloths.
Under his Arms, or on his Britches,
Rememb'ring that the Proverb teaches,
Who hoards up Muck, shall come to Riches.
The squeamish Spark, in Pain and Labour,
Stood nestling by his beastly Neighbour,
Looking upon him, now and then,
With so much Anger, and Disdain,
As if, like Canibal, or Hog,
He could have eat the nasty Dog;
Sometimes he'd damn the Board and Ball,
Confound his Stars, his Luck and all;
But all the while he curs'd ill Fortune,
He meant the Butcher, for a certain;
For whensoe'er he was enrag'd,
His Eyes tow'rds him were still engag'd,
As if he fear'd the Sloven's Frock
Worse than the Devil, or ill Luck:
Sometimes, to be the more at Ease,
He'd nestle from him by degrees.
The Butcher still would follow after,
And rub him, to provoke our Laughter.
At last his Choler being fir'd,
His Passion up, and Patience tir'd;
You ill-bred Sloven, crys the Beau;
What makes you shove your Betters so?
You're not equipp'd to thus appear
Amongst us Men of Fashion here:
You're only fit for that rough Sport,
Where Fellows, like your Self, resort.
Stood a young Beau, most nicely drest.
The Fop so scented, and so neat,
The Kill-Calf so besmear'd with Sweat,
That 'twixt the Slouch and his Reverse,
The two Extreams begot a Farce.
The melting Sloven cough'd and slabber'd,
And wip'd the Sweat from off his gray Beard;
Then haulk'd and spit, and blow'd his Nose,
Cleaning his Fingers on his Cloths.
23
Rememb'ring that the Proverb teaches,
Who hoards up Muck, shall come to Riches.
The squeamish Spark, in Pain and Labour,
Stood nestling by his beastly Neighbour,
Looking upon him, now and then,
With so much Anger, and Disdain,
As if, like Canibal, or Hog,
He could have eat the nasty Dog;
Sometimes he'd damn the Board and Ball,
Confound his Stars, his Luck and all;
But all the while he curs'd ill Fortune,
He meant the Butcher, for a certain;
For whensoe'er he was enrag'd,
His Eyes tow'rds him were still engag'd,
As if he fear'd the Sloven's Frock
Worse than the Devil, or ill Luck:
Sometimes, to be the more at Ease,
He'd nestle from him by degrees.
24
And rub him, to provoke our Laughter.
At last his Choler being fir'd,
His Passion up, and Patience tir'd;
You ill-bred Sloven, crys the Beau;
What makes you shove your Betters so?
You're not equipp'd to thus appear
Amongst us Men of Fashion here:
You're only fit for that rough Sport,
Where Fellows, like your Self, resort.
The Butcher staring at the Beau,
Provok'd to be affronted so,
With Voice as hoarse as double Curtal,
Crys, Who are you, you smock-fac'd Mortal?
You taudry Fop, with Diamond Ring;
You little Thingum of a Thing;
You cow'rdly Cony-groaping Imp;
You little Lap-dog of a Pimp;
You Coxcomb buckl'd to a Sword;
Give me another sawcy Word?
And I'll, in Sight of the Beholders,
Knock off your Noddle from your Shoulders.
With that, Sir Courtly Nice withdrew,
And bid the Company adieu,
Shuffling away in Fear and Haste,
Mutt'ring these Threat'nings as he past:
I'll find you out in Leaden-Hall;
Your Nose will light me to your Stall.
I'll mark you for a Rascal, Sirrah,
Some other Time, if not to Morrow.
Which Words, the Butcher over-hearing,
Fell into a damn'd Fit of Swearing,
Concluding with, Good Night, you T---d;
I fear no Blockhead, nor his Sword.
So ill does gentle Breeding sute
With the morose unpolish'd Brute,
That should not Laws beget a Fear
To curb the Hatred that they bear,
Like the Pelonga, and the Noy,
They'd strive each other to destroy.
No sooner had the spruce young Blade,
Biting his Thumbs, his Exit made,
And giv'n a very timely go-by
To the Gygantick angry Looby,
But to the Cloisters I withdrew,
And walk'd to take a second View,
Hoping, amongst the Crowd, to find
Some new Adventures to my Mind;
But just as I the Board had quitted,
And left the Fools to be out-witted,
Amongst the Rout I heard a Cry
Of, D---n you, Sir, I say you Lye;
Draw, Sir; I say she is my Wife;
You never knew her in your Life.
Nouns, draw, tho' you are some Town-Bully,
I'll make you know, Sir, I'm no Cully.
Says t'other, You're a Scoundrel, Sirrah;
You dare not meet a Man to Morrow,
But only rattle here to Night,
Where no Man ought to draw or fight.
I tell you, Sir, I know your Creature;
I say, Sir, she's a Whore, no better,
And you're a Pimp to vindicate her.
At these provoking Bugbear Words,
Amidst the Crowd both drew their Swords:
Sirrah, says one, engage me fair;
Make Room, stand by, pray have a Care.
The Ladies squeak'd, the Beaus all drew:
In short, there was the Dev'l to do.
Thought I, by the ill Language given,
They're Rogues, as sure as Light's in Heaven;
And only make this noisy Racket,
That their vile Gang may pick a Pocket:
Therefore I wisely fac'd about,
And homewards mov'd, to shun the Rout,
Leaving those Fools to see fair Play,
Who had so little Wit to stay,
And run the Hazards of a Fray.
Provok'd to be affronted so,
With Voice as hoarse as double Curtal,
Crys, Who are you, you smock-fac'd Mortal?
You taudry Fop, with Diamond Ring;
You little Thingum of a Thing;
You cow'rdly Cony-groaping Imp;
You little Lap-dog of a Pimp;
You Coxcomb buckl'd to a Sword;
Give me another sawcy Word?
25
Knock off your Noddle from your Shoulders.
With that, Sir Courtly Nice withdrew,
And bid the Company adieu,
Shuffling away in Fear and Haste,
Mutt'ring these Threat'nings as he past:
I'll find you out in Leaden-Hall;
Your Nose will light me to your Stall.
I'll mark you for a Rascal, Sirrah,
Some other Time, if not to Morrow.
Which Words, the Butcher over-hearing,
Fell into a damn'd Fit of Swearing,
Concluding with, Good Night, you T---d;
I fear no Blockhead, nor his Sword.
So ill does gentle Breeding sute
With the morose unpolish'd Brute,
That should not Laws beget a Fear
To curb the Hatred that they bear,
Like the Pelonga, and the Noy,
They'd strive each other to destroy.
26
Biting his Thumbs, his Exit made,
And giv'n a very timely go-by
To the Gygantick angry Looby,
But to the Cloisters I withdrew,
And walk'd to take a second View,
Hoping, amongst the Crowd, to find
Some new Adventures to my Mind;
But just as I the Board had quitted,
And left the Fools to be out-witted,
Amongst the Rout I heard a Cry
Of, D---n you, Sir, I say you Lye;
Draw, Sir; I say she is my Wife;
You never knew her in your Life.
Nouns, draw, tho' you are some Town-Bully,
I'll make you know, Sir, I'm no Cully.
Says t'other, You're a Scoundrel, Sirrah;
You dare not meet a Man to Morrow,
But only rattle here to Night,
Where no Man ought to draw or fight.
27
I say, Sir, she's a Whore, no better,
And you're a Pimp to vindicate her.
At these provoking Bugbear Words,
Amidst the Crowd both drew their Swords:
Sirrah, says one, engage me fair;
Make Room, stand by, pray have a Care.
The Ladies squeak'd, the Beaus all drew:
In short, there was the Dev'l to do.
Thought I, by the ill Language given,
They're Rogues, as sure as Light's in Heaven;
And only make this noisy Racket,
That their vile Gang may pick a Pocket:
Therefore I wisely fac'd about,
And homewards mov'd, to shun the Rout,
Leaving those Fools to see fair Play,
Who had so little Wit to stay,
And run the Hazards of a Fray.
FINIS.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |