Hudibras Redivivus :: :: University of Virginia Library

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]

Ward, Edward (1667-1731)

[section]

Hudibras Redivivus: OR, A Burlesque POEM ON THE TIMES.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

10.

XV.

11.

XVI.

12.

XVII.

II.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

CANTO VI.

VII.

VIII.

10.

IX.

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CANTO VI.

Upon that Day, when City Mayors
Lead up the Aldermen by Pairs;
And when mechanick Dolts, to please
Their gazing Wives, and 'Prentices;
Creep dagling in the Dirt about,
Surrounded by the Rabble Rout,
Who move, in Tumults, to and fro,
To wonder at the Raree-Show;
'Twas then that I, t' improve the Jest,
Made up one Fool among the rest;

Without side warm, within side merry,
By th' Help of Wine, and Drab de Berry;
For he that trudges, to behold
The pretty Sight in Dirt and Cold,
And has no Right to be a Guest
To spoon up Custard at a Feast,
Had need have Wool and Wine together,
To save him from the piercing Weather.

Thus arm'd, the better to sustain
My self against the Wind and Rain,
In Case the Elements should frown,
And piss upon the s--- Gown;
Thro' dirty Kennels did I wade,
To view the pompous Cavalcade,
Beheld with Pleasure and Amazement,
From Sash Balcony, and from Casement;
I came at length into Cheapside,
Where beauteous Dames, in all their Pride,
Appear'd aloft, to grace the Show,
That march'd along in State below.

Heads upon Heads, were pil'd above,
To see the grand Procession move;
As if each Knot of fair Belinda's,
That peep'd in Clusters out at Windows,
Had been a Hidra, that was staring
To see the C--- go a May'ring;
Gazing so wish'ly at the Sight,
From out of e'ery unglaz'd Light,
As if each Lady, by her Eyes,
Expected to obtain a Prize,
And win some jolly strong-back'd Lover,
To please her, when the Show was over.
No sooner was I crowding come
Within the Sound of Kettle-Drum,
But to my Post I did proceed,
(Which was a very Post indeed)
Where strugling with some little Hardships,
I waited, to behold their Lordships,
Inviron'd with a Crowd of Fellows,
For nothing fit, but Sea or Gallows,

Who did so squeeze me, as they past,
Jostling along in mighty Haste,
Hugging me up against my Post,
Provoking with each Mobbish Thrust,
My Christian Patience to a Passion,
'Till e'ery Rib fear'd Dislocation;
Crying at every Push they gave me,
All fair. Thought I, as G---d shall save me,
You lye like Rogues; but was affear'd
To say so to the Scoundrel Herd;
For no Man, in his Wits, would squabble,
Or vex a giddy Hair-brain'd Rabble,
Lest he would hazard Mortal Drubs
From their unconscionable Clubs:
Therefore, the Man that has more Grace
Than that infernal cursed Race,
And mixes with those Sons of Thunder,
To gaze at any Sight, or Wonder,
Foolishly ventures Life and Limb,
To gratify an idle Whim.

I had not tarry'd very long
Amidst the rude unpollish'd Throng,
Leaning, for greater Ease, on Top
Of my defensive Wooden Prop,
But there advanc'd, before the rest,
A Set of Trumpets, richly drest;
Their Coats belac'd, from Skirt to Collar,
Like a Bride's Wedding Shoes, or fuller;
With two great Leading-strings behind,
As if to put the World in Mind,
That tho' we now to Men are grown,
Yet once we could not go alone.
These led the Van, each crown'd with Feather,
Tooting harmoniously together,
Adapting to the pretty Show,
A Tune, call'd, Cuckholds all a Row.
Behind 'em came a Porter sweating,
Loaded with Kettle-Drum, for beating,
And dagling at his brawny Rump,
A Master of the Martial Thump,

Who, to delight the list'ning Mob,
Gave now and then a sullen Dub,
That with the Trumpets bore a Bob;
Producing, at the Porter's Crupper,
Much sweeter Musick, than a Cooper,
When round an empty Tub he dances,
And plays us twenty pretty Fances;
Tho' 'tis, by jolly Trouts, confest,
The Cask that sounds the least, is best;
For by our drinking, 'tis a Sign,
The Musick which we think Divine,
Lies not i'th' Hooping, but the Wine.

Next these, a Gang of R---s, in Blue,
Came creeping on by two and two,
In piss-burnt Wigs, and flapping Hats,
Looking as rough as Counter Rats;
Some seeming drunk, and others drowsy,
Fing'ring their Collars, as if lousy.
Thus greater Vermin will pursue
The lesser Vermin of the two,

And, full of Malice and ill Nature,
Punish the little eight-legg'd Creature
For biting those decreed by Fate
To bite the poor Unfortunate.
A Louse, thought I, should Mercy find
From Serjeants, above all Mankind,
Because both live by one base Knack
Of catching others by the Back.
Therefore, ye Debtors, tell me, why
Should one be sav'd, and t'other die,
Since all the World, in joint Concurrence,
Detest 'em both with like Abhorrence?
O let the Louse forsake the Soldier,
To dwell upon the Bayliff's Shoulder!
And cursed be the horny Thumb,
That parts the Vermin and the Bum.

Behind these Compter-Caterpillars,
These Hawk-ey'd Shoulder-dabbing Dealers,
A gilded Mace, and monst'rous Sword,
Were born, in Honour to my L---d;

A Sword, which, if a Man could weild
The Massy Blade in open Field,
'Twould smite our Foes, whom we defy,
Like Sampson's Jaw-bone, Hip and Thigh:
But since it is too big by far
For Human Arm in bloody War,
We'll leave the huge pacifick Sword
To awe the Mob, and guard my Lord
To Church, or, if he thinks it fitting,
To the Jews Synagogue, or Meeting.
For since the Ruff of Moderation
Is brought of late so much in Fashion,
I shall be careful how I steer
My Betters, either here or there,
But let 'em free from Poet's Quill,
Be d---d or sav'd, which way they will.

The Man that bore this mighty Weapon,
Had got so fam'd a Custard Cap on,
That when I view'd the hairy Whim,
All Crown, without one jot of Brim.

The Man, thought I, that does advance
With this huge Cap of Maintenance,
Seems to the Rabble, in the Street here,
As if he was my Lord's Cole-Meeter,
Because he had, as some Folks said,
The standard Bushel on his Head;
For truly 'twas, in Shape, most like
That Measure which we call a Strike.
Behind this comely graceful Figure,
(No Dutchess could desire a bigger)
The scarlet Train, in mighty Pomp,
Most richly dress'd from Head to Rump,
Rid on by two and two, and made
A very stately Cavalcade.
The Lordly Brethren first advanc'd
On Nags, that to the Musick danc'd,
And carr'd their Heads with much more Pride,
Than those that did the Beasts bestride.
Next these, to make the Show more pretty,
Came all the Elders of the City,

In Gowns, to make the Crowd adore 'em,
That blush'd for some of those that wore 'em,
And hid at once, like Cloak of Trooper,
The Rider, and his Prancer's Crupper,
In order to defend together,
Both Man and Horse from Wind and Weather:
For Men of Mercy, you must know it,
Will even to their Cattel show it;
For 'tis a Sin, without Dispute,
To use ill Nature to a Brute,
Because bad Usage shows Dishonour
To him that is the Creature's Donor.

A Chain, at least four Cubits long,
Round ev'ry Elder's Collar, hung
Down from the double Chin to Navel,
Put on in Print, to please the Rabble.
From each wise Noddle, hung a Wig
S' extravagantly long and big,
That each grave Don had twice more Hair
Upon him, than a Greenland Bear:

On top of which, in Quirpo, sat
A broad Umbrella Pot-lid Hat,
Which bore the Print of Brush and Rubber,
To show 'twas newly furbish'd over.
So Greens, to please the active Bowlers,
Derive a Smoothness from their Rowlers;
By which it eas'ly may be seen,
Where, and where not, the Stone has been:
The sumptious Trappings of each Horse,
Hung down in Pomp, from Head to Arse,
That 'twould be difficult to answer,
Whether each Rider, or his Prancer,
Did most contribute to the Show,
Or which was finest of the two.
Some cry'd, Look how Sir Humphry Waddle
Sits like a Hog upon a Saddle!
Whilst others, more intent upon
The Horses, than the Men thereon,
Cry'd, There's a pretty Nag, how well
He carr's his Head, and waves his Tail!

'Tis true, the Women in the Crowd,
Would now and then cry out aloud,
There goes a handsome Man, I'll sweer,
Pointing with Finger to the M---r;
Passing that Compliment of Old,
Which ev'ry weeping Oyster Scold
Does on each whining Wretch they see
Drawn backwards to Eternity.
Thus some commended those that rid,
Others the Beasts that they bestrid.
So that I found my self unable
To gather from the gazing Rabble,
Which of the two gain'd most Renown,
The bridl'd Brute, or scarlet Gown;
Nor is it wonderful in Nature,
To find the Beast the wiser Creature,
As well as of a stronger Stature,
Since Balaam's Ass foretold much more
Than e'er his Rider knew before,

And in his strange, concise, pathetick
Oration, shew'd himself prophetick.
Therefore if in those pious Days,
An Ass (be't spoken to his Praise)
Could teach his Master to be wise
By supernat'ral Prophesies,
What modern Wonders may we then
Expect from Beasts, instead of Men,
Who sucking Poyson from their Nurses,
Are fond of new degen'rate Courses,
And lead more Brutish Lives, than Horses?

Thus the tremendious awful Troop,
Each Gennet's Nose in t'other's Poop,
With all their Mermydons before 'em,
Jogg'd on in State, and great Decorum;
Each with a Foot-man by his Side,
More for their Safety, than their Pride,
Whose Bus'ness was, to catch their Masters,
In case of unforeseen Disasters,

And keep their Coursers in their Ranks,
If subject to unlucky Pranks:
For well may Horse-men ride in Fear,
Who mount their Steeds but once a Year;
Especially since one kind Brother
Broke's Neck, as Warning to each other.
For this same Cause, about two Couple
O'th' wiser Elders, made a Scruple
Of riding o'er the rugged Stones,
To th' Hazard of their crazy Bones;
So left their Steeds lock'd up in Stable,
To th' Disappointment of the Rabble,
And came more safely in their Coaches,
Where Age, tho' lame with old Debauches,
Lolling, ne'er finds the Want of Crutches.
So wary Snails, that slowly crawl
From Cabbage Leaf, up Garden Wall,
To save their slimy Heads and Horns
From rugged Boughs and frosty Morns,

Travel with Houses on their Backs,
Like Northern Pedlars with their Packs.

Next came a Set of whiffling Fellows,
Trick'd up in Ribbons, Blues, and Yellows,
Which, like the Belt of Round-head Soldier,
Hung dangling from the dexter Shoulder
Down to the sinister Supporter,
About a Span below the Garter;
Each having in his clumsy Hand,
A Rod, like a Magician's Wand,
As if the Emblem was design'd
To shew what Conj'rers came behind;
For he that ne'er has been a Gazer
In Ptolomy or Albumazer,
May be well skill'd in Scenes, as Tragick,
And Hellish Arts, as black as Magick;
Or else some Men, with grumbling Gizzards,
Could never act so much like Wizards.

These were succeeded by a Noise
Of Trumpets, blown by Men and Boys,

With Drums, more terrible than Thunder,
Ratling, to raise the Rabble's Wonder.
Streamers, on Sticks like Kentish Hop-poles,
As thick and tall as Country May-poles,
Were born aloft by brawny Fellows
In Jackets, dress'd like Puncheonello's;
Those sweating Slaves to City-Barges,
For Silver Badge and sorry Larges,
Who live like the amphibious Otter,
Partly by Land, and partly Water:
These mov'd along with painful Stride,
Loaded with Heraldry and Pride,
Cursing the weighty Pomp they bore,
That made their Backs and Shoulders sore:
For tho' that Philosophick Slave,
Old Epictetus, was so brave,
His Master's Cruelty disdaining,
To bear all Pain without complaining,
Yet English Slaves are stubborn Fools,
That scorn such Philosophick dull Rules.

Good Usage only makes them humble,
For when they're hurt, they always grumble.

Behind these wrangling Sons of Oars,
(Mistake me not, I mean not Whores)
The Master, Ward'ns, and better Sort,
That make up the Assistance Court,
March'd on in Gowns well lin'd within
With Fur, tho' some say Coney-skin,
Because that Name, amongst the Wise,
Sometimes, in merry Mood, implies
A pretty little charming Creature,
That yields the richest Fur in Nature,
Or else no J---, to make Repairs
For the bare Loss of five poor Hairs,
Would gravely give, upon the B---,
Five Guineas to the plunder'd Wench.

Behind the old paternal Dons,
Whose Riches lay in Banks and Loans,
The Liv'ry Train, most grave and dull,
By two and two, walk'd Cheek by Jole,

Like Oxen yoak'd, who gently drag on,
By leisure Steps, a loaded Waggon.
Next, some with Hats cock'd up, to show
The Pertness of a City Beau;
Treading as nicely with their Legs,
As if the Streets were pav'd with Eggs,
And that they fear'd their weighty Heels
Should crack or incommode the Shells.
So have I seen a gaudy Fop,
Fit only for a Lady's Lap,
Dance cross a Street with so much Pride,
As if, at ev'ry Bound and Stride,
He scorn'd his dirty Grannum Earth,
From whence old Adam had his Birth,
Yet has his proud fantastick Grace
Fall'n down at last i'th' nasty'st Place.

Others, amongst this City Herd,
That in their short-back'd Gowns appear'd,
Lugg'd down their Beavers o'er their Faces,
And leering, made such odd Grimaces,

As if they copy'd some grave dull Pate
They'd heard in Independent Pulpit,
Where Block-heads learn, we daily see,
More Postures, than Divinity.

Others, more modest than the rest,
In blushing Looks their Shame exprest,
To see their Pageantry and Splendor
Only become the Rabble's Wonder,
Whilst those of Sense, the better Sort,
Made the dull Op'ra but their Sport.
These, by their Smiles, let others know
How much themselves despis'd the Show,
Tho' with their Company they muster'd,
Not for the sake of Pride, but Custard;
Therefore, like honest Men, they thought,
In common Justice, that they ought
To creeping, daggle with the rest,
And share the worst, as well as best.
So he that loves a Lass that's coy,
And would the lushious Feast enjoy,

Before he's welcome to be doing,
Must undergo the Plague of Wooing.

In this fine Order they proceeded,
The Grave, the Wise, the Bullet-headed,
The Old, the Young, the Rich, the Needy,
The pidling Puny, and the Greedy;
The Tall, the Small, the Fat, the Meagre,
The clumsy Lout, and Man of Figure;
The Crasy, Gouty, and the Corny,
The Cuckhold-maker, and the Horny;
The Spendthrift, and the plodding Looby,
The Nice, Sir Courtly, and the Booby;
All mix'd, to let the Rabble see
What wonderful Variety
The City can at once afford,
To give Attendance to my Lord;
Tho', 'tis believ'd, some hungry Sinners
Assembl'd rather for their Dinners,
Just as to Church the Beggar moves,
Not for the Lord's sake, but the Loaves.

In the same Order all the rest
Came after, in like manner drest;
Therefore, if you would understand
What farther Show there was by Land,
I pray let this Account content ye,
That two times Twelve makes Four and Twenty,
Because that Number does no less
Than all their Campanies express;
And if but one you chance to see,
In all their Pomp and Vanity,
The rest appear but just the same,
Distinguish'd by another Name,
The Colours that their Whifflers wear,
And diff'rent Ensigns that they bear;
But still each sev'ral Brotherhood
Are so alike, some bad, some good,
That none, but by their Streamers, knew
What Hall they did belong unto.
Therefore in my describing one,
You've all; and so by Land I've done.

But, by the way, some Folks may think
I'm sparing of my Pen and Ink,
Because my Muse forbears to write
Of Pageants, to improve the Sight;
But if you'd truly know the Reason,
They're Popish Jimcracks, out of Season;
Abominations, that displease
The Saints in pious Times, like these,
And by the Dolts, are held to be
Full as prophane as Poetry;
Tho', I believe, if Truth was known,
The Cits are such good Husbands grown,
That, to retrench their Charge, they made none,
And that's the Reason that they had none.

When I had stay'd to see the last,
And all the pompous Train were past,
To warm my Toes, I trotted a'ter,
To view the glorious Sight by Water:
Down to the King's-Bench Walk I hasted,
Where many a Sharper's Hours are wasted,

And by those odorif'rous Huts,
Where reeling Students ease their Guts,
I starving stood amidst a Throng,
To see the Barges skud along.
At last the noble Fleet set out,
Huzza'd by all the Rabble Rout,
Who stay'd on Shore, to wish my L---d
A prosp'rous Voyage, when on Board;
And that no Rock, or blust'ring Storm,
Might cross his Hopes, or do him Harm.
No sooner had they left the Land,
And took a Farewel of the Strand,
But Drums and Guns began to rattle,
As if engag'd in dismal Battel;
Some firing from the Southern Shoar,
Did, like a Storm of Thunder, roar,
As if they fear'd the floating Host
Design'd to land upon their Coast.
Small Tenders did in Numbers wait
Upon the bold tremendious Fleet,

Who dreading neither Wind nor Weather,
Row'd on undauntedly together,
Defying all the frightful Flame
That from those loud-mouth'd Engines came,
Which spouting lay upon the Beach,
Altho' they sail'd within their Reach.

His L---p, in a first Rate Barge,
Profusely fine, and very large,
With double Grace and Courage blest,
Rid as High Adm'ral o'er the rest.
The painful Hands he had on Board,
Were worthy of so Great a Lord;
For e'ery short, tho' strenuous, Stroak
The Gally Slaves in Triumph took,
We, the Spectators, could discern,
Left the rest farther still on Stern.
Thus with their Trumpets, and their Hoi'boys,
Sounding like Lott'ry-men and Show-boys,
Drums beating, and their Streamers flying,
All Dangers of the Deep defying,

They plough'd that boist'rous Ocean, Thames,
Without their Daughters, or their Dames;
Who, as it was believ'd by some,
Found more delightful Sport at Home.
Away the Heroes skudding went,
As proud as Godwin Earl of Kent,
When up the River, long ago,
He made a most Rebellious Show,
And did his Host in Barges bring,
To fight his Father, and his King.

Thus all the Way they row'd by Water,
My Eyes were still directed a'ter,
'Till they arriv'd at Palace Stairs,
The Place of Landing for our May'rs;
From whence they crep'd along in State,
To Swear, I vow I know not what.
Thus almost starv'd with Wind and Weather,
I left 'em marching all together,
To see his L---p kiss Calves Leather.

Therefore, if any curious Sinner
Would know how they got back to Dinner,
I think I may presume to say,
That they return'd the self same Way,
About as Wise as they went thither,
As near as I can guess or gather.