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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 | Hudibras Redivivus |  |
1. PART I.
7
CANTO I.
In Pious Times, when Soul-Physicians
Were zealous to promote Divisions,
And warm Disputes Ecclesiastick
Bred foreign Wars and Jars Domestick;
That Conscience, under no Restriction,
Became a perfect Contradiction,
And only serv'd to make Men squabble,
When maudlin round a Tavern-Table.
'Twas then our restless, hot-brain'd Nation,
Inflam'd by too much Toleration,
Was grown, (as knowing Heads conceive her)
So mad with a malignant Fever,
That few Men had a safe Protection
Against the prevalent Infection,
Which spar'd no State, but from the Noble,
Descended to the Lords the Rabble;
Who, of the two, are much the greater,
As 'tis affirm'd by Observator.
For surely those that can at Pleasure
Make Kings, and give them Pow'r and Treasure,
By Nature's Law much higher stand,
Than those made Great at second Hand.
However, all, both big and little,
Down from the Palace to the Spittle,
As well the Merry as the Serious,
Touch'd with this Plague, grew so delirious,
That e'en the maddest of Mankind
Believ'd he had the soundest Mind.
'Tis often found, that Men distracted,
With their own Whims are so affected,
That though they rave, and hoop, and hollow,
In Thought they're wiser than Apollo,
Conceiting all Non compos-Mentis,
That will not think them in their Senses.
Just so it proves, when Common-Weal
Is scorch'd and craz'd with fiery Zeal;
Which seldom shines, but does appear
Like Comet, Whale, or Blazing Star,
Only to let us understand,
That some great Evil is at hand.
Were zealous to promote Divisions,
And warm Disputes Ecclesiastick
Bred foreign Wars and Jars Domestick;
That Conscience, under no Restriction,
Became a perfect Contradiction,
And only serv'd to make Men squabble,
When maudlin round a Tavern-Table.
'Twas then our restless, hot-brain'd Nation,
Inflam'd by too much Toleration,
8
So mad with a malignant Fever,
That few Men had a safe Protection
Against the prevalent Infection,
Which spar'd no State, but from the Noble,
Descended to the Lords the Rabble;
Who, of the two, are much the greater,
As 'tis affirm'd by Observator.
For surely those that can at Pleasure
Make Kings, and give them Pow'r and Treasure,
By Nature's Law much higher stand,
Than those made Great at second Hand.
However, all, both big and little,
Down from the Palace to the Spittle,
As well the Merry as the Serious,
Touch'd with this Plague, grew so delirious,
That e'en the maddest of Mankind
Believ'd he had the soundest Mind.
'Tis often found, that Men distracted,
With their own Whims are so affected,
9
In Thought they're wiser than Apollo,
Conceiting all Non compos-Mentis,
That will not think them in their Senses.
Just so it proves, when Common-Weal
Is scorch'd and craz'd with fiery Zeal;
Which seldom shines, but does appear
Like Comet, Whale, or Blazing Star,
Only to let us understand,
That some great Evil is at hand.
When this ill Omen shew'd its Face
Thro' all the Land in e'ery Place,
And, by its powerful Influences,
Had captivated most Mens Senses,
So that they stagger'd in their Faith,
And reel'd beside the common Path;
Steering their Course to Heav'n at Random,
For Want of Fences to withstand 'em:
The shallow Quicksets of the Law,
No Zealot valu'd of a Straw,
But mounted o'er them at no Rate,
Like Hunters o'er a five-barr'd Gate.
For if we rightly understand,
No Man can be by Law restrain'd
From perpetrating any Ill,
That he is mov'd to by his Will.
For Laws, alas, can do no more,
Than punish, when the Mischief's o'er;
And that's but almost like my Host,
Who Stable shuts when Steed is lost.
And if the Saints their Force can stay,
Or turn their Edge another Way,
Much better they had ne'er been made,
Than so perverted or delay'd.
Tho' Laws are good, we needs must own;
Yet misapply'd, they're worse than none.
The Parish-Clock that guides the People,
Tho' just as e'er was put in Steeple;
Yet if the Sexton condescends
To set it wrong for his own Ends,
The Knave, by his deceitful Crime,
Cheats the whole Parish in their Time.
So Laws may be well instituted,
Yet if not truly executed,
Justice must be prevaricated,
And Innocence be wrack'd and baited.
For if we see by Reason's Eye
The Hand of Justice point awry,
We're in a Wood when Knaves grow crafty,
And know not how to steer with Safety.
Thus Laws, for want of Execution,
Spoil every Nation's Constitution,
Let loose the Frape to shew their Folly,
And spurn at all that's good and holy.
Thro' all the Land in e'ery Place,
And, by its powerful Influences,
Had captivated most Mens Senses,
So that they stagger'd in their Faith,
And reel'd beside the common Path;
Steering their Course to Heav'n at Random,
For Want of Fences to withstand 'em:
The shallow Quicksets of the Law,
No Zealot valu'd of a Straw,
10
Like Hunters o'er a five-barr'd Gate.
For if we rightly understand,
No Man can be by Law restrain'd
From perpetrating any Ill,
That he is mov'd to by his Will.
For Laws, alas, can do no more,
Than punish, when the Mischief's o'er;
And that's but almost like my Host,
Who Stable shuts when Steed is lost.
And if the Saints their Force can stay,
Or turn their Edge another Way,
Much better they had ne'er been made,
Than so perverted or delay'd.
Tho' Laws are good, we needs must own;
Yet misapply'd, they're worse than none.
The Parish-Clock that guides the People,
Tho' just as e'er was put in Steeple;
Yet if the Sexton condescends
To set it wrong for his own Ends,
11
Cheats the whole Parish in their Time.
So Laws may be well instituted,
Yet if not truly executed,
Justice must be prevaricated,
And Innocence be wrack'd and baited.
For if we see by Reason's Eye
The Hand of Justice point awry,
We're in a Wood when Knaves grow crafty,
And know not how to steer with Safety.
Thus Laws, for want of Execution,
Spoil every Nation's Constitution,
Let loose the Frape to shew their Folly,
And spurn at all that's good and holy.
When Men thus strangely lost their Wits,
And roar'd and rav'd like Bedlamites,
Each Zealot's Purity consisting
In bitter Words, and sometimes fisting,
As if they thought ill Language glorious,
And hot-brain'd Quarrels meritorious:
Or that they shew'd their saving Grace,
By giving the first Slap o'th' Face;
And witness'd their Divine Perfections,
By handy-Cuffs and Maledictions.
And roar'd and rav'd like Bedlamites,
Each Zealot's Purity consisting
In bitter Words, and sometimes fisting,
As if they thought ill Language glorious,
And hot-brain'd Quarrels meritorious:
12
By giving the first Slap o'th' Face;
And witness'd their Divine Perfections,
By handy-Cuffs and Maledictions.
When these, the Sons of Knipperdoling,
Let all their Senses run a woolling,
I found my Genius much inclin'd
T'observe the Humours of Mankind.
With that I stopp'd, look'd round about,
And gaz'd upon the hair-brain'd Rout,
Who govern'd by no Laws or Tenets,
Mov'd Retrograde like Crabs or Planets.
Some to the Coffee-house would be running,
In order to improve their Cunning,
And from contending Zealot's Passions,
To learn Religious Disputations.
Others devoutly bent, would chuse
To go to Church to hear the News:
For you must know strange Things in Pulpits
Are told, to please the list'ning dull Pates,
I do not mean about their Faith,
Or Guidance into Heaven's Path:
For now 'tis every Blockhead's Pride
To grope the Way without his Guide,
Because 'tis wisely understood
There may be many Ways to th'Wood;
Or else the Folks behind the Curtain
Would ne'er allow but one, that's certain.
Let all their Senses run a woolling,
I found my Genius much inclin'd
T'observe the Humours of Mankind.
With that I stopp'd, look'd round about,
And gaz'd upon the hair-brain'd Rout,
Who govern'd by no Laws or Tenets,
Mov'd Retrograde like Crabs or Planets.
Some to the Coffee-house would be running,
In order to improve their Cunning,
And from contending Zealot's Passions,
To learn Religious Disputations.
Others devoutly bent, would chuse
To go to Church to hear the News:
For you must know strange Things in Pulpits
Are told, to please the list'ning dull Pates,
13
Or Guidance into Heaven's Path:
For now 'tis every Blockhead's Pride
To grope the Way without his Guide,
Because 'tis wisely understood
There may be many Ways to th'Wood;
Or else the Folks behind the Curtain
Would ne'er allow but one, that's certain.
The Good Old Cause went rarely on,
When Men brim-full of Zeal thus run
To hear a sanctify'd Curmudgeon
In Pulpit talk of Great Prince Eugene,
And give to him the Honour due
To one much braver of the two.
When Men brim-full of Zeal thus run
To hear a sanctify'd Curmudgeon
In Pulpit talk of Great Prince Eugene,
And give to him the Honour due
To one much braver of the two.
Thus when our pious English Nation
Are in Post-haste for Reformation,
They always by some new-found Way
Put their wild Projects into Play;
That is, from good old Rules to vary,
And act by Methods quite contrary.
Their Guides, those sanctify'd Projectors,
Turn Sermons into Gazette-Lectures;
Which makes some Saints Low-Teachers chuse
Not for their Doctrine, but their News.
But when they're in a Fit of Zeal,
Their wounded Consciences they heal
With Ninny-Broth, o'er which they seek
Some new Religion ev'ry Week:
For he that will oblige the Throng,
Must ne'er hold one Opinion long,
But turn his Doctrine and his Creed
As often as the Cause has need:
Or he that leaves them in the Lurch,
And will not change to save his Church,
Must never on that Church rely,
Or hope to save himself thereby:
Their Priests damn all that are not hearty
To th'Int'rest of themselves and Party.
Are in Post-haste for Reformation,
They always by some new-found Way
Put their wild Projects into Play;
That is, from good old Rules to vary,
And act by Methods quite contrary.
14
Turn Sermons into Gazette-Lectures;
Which makes some Saints Low-Teachers chuse
Not for their Doctrine, but their News.
But when they're in a Fit of Zeal,
Their wounded Consciences they heal
With Ninny-Broth, o'er which they seek
Some new Religion ev'ry Week:
For he that will oblige the Throng,
Must ne'er hold one Opinion long,
But turn his Doctrine and his Creed
As often as the Cause has need:
Or he that leaves them in the Lurch,
And will not change to save his Church,
Must never on that Church rely,
Or hope to save himself thereby:
Their Priests damn all that are not hearty
To th'Int'rest of themselves and Party.
The Paths which some good Saints pursue,
Seem strange, altho' they may be true,
And are so crooked and so dirty,
A Man would think not one in thirty
That thro' so dark a Road do travel,
Should find St. Peter, but the Devil.
Seem strange, altho' they may be true,
15
A Man would think not one in thirty
That thro' so dark a Road do travel,
Should find St. Peter, but the Devil.
Some steer their Course with much Content
Tow'rds Heav'n, by Act of Parliament;
And chuse some Way unknown, because
Encourag'd to't by wholsome Laws:
For sure, say they, no Christian Patr'ots
Would ever make such wicked Statutes,
That Conscience should have Toleration
To run full Tilt upon Damnation.
And since there is a Law in Play
That gives us leave to chuse our Way,
They've granted what Heav'ns Laws deny,
Or else we cannot tread awry;
Therefore all Worship right must be,
Or else a purblind Fool may see
They're wrong to yield such Liberty.
Tow'rds Heav'n, by Act of Parliament;
And chuse some Way unknown, because
Encourag'd to't by wholsome Laws:
For sure, say they, no Christian Patr'ots
Would ever make such wicked Statutes,
That Conscience should have Toleration
To run full Tilt upon Damnation.
And since there is a Law in Play
That gives us leave to chuse our Way,
They've granted what Heav'ns Laws deny,
Or else we cannot tread awry;
Therefore all Worship right must be,
Or else a purblind Fool may see
They're wrong to yield such Liberty.
Some, of a Self-will'd, thwarting Nature,
Seek Heav'n by Way of Observator,
And will no other Way be blest,
Than that which he approves on best:
His Doctrine they devoutly read,
Thence from their Conscience and their Creed;
And if these Saints can run astray,
The Dev'l himself must lead the Way.
If these poor Souls are left i'th' Lurch,
What must those do that go to Church?
Seek Heav'n by Way of Observator,
16
Than that which he approves on best:
His Doctrine they devoutly read,
Thence from their Conscience and their Creed;
And if these Saints can run astray,
The Dev'l himself must lead the Way.
If these poor Souls are left i'th' Lurch,
What must those do that go to Church?
Others with zealous Labour scan
The pious Works of Prophet Dan,
In Hopes, that thro' his Merits, they
May steal to Heav'n the shortest Way.
If Persecution be a Sign,
The Cause is e'er the more Divine,
And open Punishment can be
A Mark of Christian Purity;
Then Dan may easily set forth
His pious Excellence and Worth,
And prove his Sufferings and Expence
By Hierogliphick Evidence.
What though his Witness, by Relation,
Is but of odious Reputation?
However, should the Court think fit,
Like him, we're bound to stand by it.
The pious Works of Prophet Dan,
In Hopes, that thro' his Merits, they
May steal to Heav'n the shortest Way.
If Persecution be a Sign,
The Cause is e'er the more Divine,
And open Punishment can be
A Mark of Christian Purity;
Then Dan may easily set forth
His pious Excellence and Worth,
And prove his Sufferings and Expence
By Hierogliphick Evidence.
17
Is but of odious Reputation?
However, should the Court think fit,
Like him, we're bound to stand by it.
But no Man can a Truth gain-say,
That is as obvious as the Day.
'Tis plain, the mildest of our Laws
Made him a Suff'rer for the Cause;
Yet all, we see, can't stop his Mouth,
He'll stand and fall, and lie by Truth;
And shews, by daily Perseverance,
He scorns to flinch from his Adherents.
What thin-jaw'd Fury can be blam'd,
Or Trumpeter of News asham'd,
To pin their Int'rest and Belief
On such a hardy Prophet's Sleeve,
Who boldly, Martyr-like, disdains
Fines, rotten Eggs, or Brewers Grains;
And, by his Suff'rings and his Bustles,
Gains Credit, like such sham Apostles?
That is as obvious as the Day.
'Tis plain, the mildest of our Laws
Made him a Suff'rer for the Cause;
Yet all, we see, can't stop his Mouth,
He'll stand and fall, and lie by Truth;
And shews, by daily Perseverance,
He scorns to flinch from his Adherents.
What thin-jaw'd Fury can be blam'd,
Or Trumpeter of News asham'd,
To pin their Int'rest and Belief
On such a hardy Prophet's Sleeve,
Who boldly, Martyr-like, disdains
Fines, rotten Eggs, or Brewers Grains;
And, by his Suff'rings and his Bustles,
Gains Credit, like such sham Apostles?
18
I jogg'd along the crowding Sodom;
When jostl'd, wish'd the Devil had 'em.
At last I popp'd upon a Place,
Where Saints had been receiving Grace;
And tho' their Pastor long had stood
To feed his Lambs with Heav'nly Food,
I vow (whate'er could be the Matter)
The scabby Flock look ne'er the fatter,
But stood in Swarms before the Hive,
Like Winter-Bees, that could not thrive;
Yet buzz'd and humm'd, as if the Crew
Were all consulting what to do.
At last, as tho' the Fools were frighted,
With Voices hideously united,
They made a fearful Acclamation,
And loudly cry'd up Moderation.
The Sound soon eccho'd through the City,
Who added to their mournful Ditty,
No wicked Popish Restitution
Of Dagon's dreadful Persecution.
Beware; we say, beware, good People,
The threat'ning Dragon of Bow-Steeple;
Behold his proud aspiring Wings,
His griping Talons, and his Stings,
That issue from his Arse and Mouth,
To persecute the Lambs of Truth.
Come one and all, let's stand the Test,
And pull down the Ephesian Beast,
Who cocks his Tail, and bids Defiance,
And never yet would shew Compliance,
Or bow his Head from his high Turret,
To listen to the Holy Spirit.
Down with the Babylonian Figure,
That Emblem of the Church's Rigour.
Now, now's the Time; stand to't, my Boys,
Ne'er fear the drowsy Cob-web Laws,
But lend a Shoulder to the Cause:
For if we now should lose our Aim,
'Twould prove our everlasting Shame;
We never more must hope to see
So fair an Opportunity.
When jostl'd, wish'd the Devil had 'em.
At last I popp'd upon a Place,
Where Saints had been receiving Grace;
And tho' their Pastor long had stood
To feed his Lambs with Heav'nly Food,
I vow (whate'er could be the Matter)
The scabby Flock look ne'er the fatter,
But stood in Swarms before the Hive,
Like Winter-Bees, that could not thrive;
Yet buzz'd and humm'd, as if the Crew
Were all consulting what to do.
At last, as tho' the Fools were frighted,
With Voices hideously united,
They made a fearful Acclamation,
And loudly cry'd up Moderation.
The Sound soon eccho'd through the City,
Who added to their mournful Ditty,
No wicked Popish Restitution
Of Dagon's dreadful Persecution.
19
The threat'ning Dragon of Bow-Steeple;
Behold his proud aspiring Wings,
His griping Talons, and his Stings,
That issue from his Arse and Mouth,
To persecute the Lambs of Truth.
Come one and all, let's stand the Test,
And pull down the Ephesian Beast,
Who cocks his Tail, and bids Defiance,
And never yet would shew Compliance,
Or bow his Head from his high Turret,
To listen to the Holy Spirit.
Down with the Babylonian Figure,
That Emblem of the Church's Rigour.
Now, now's the Time; stand to't, my Boys,
Ne'er fear the drowsy Cob-web Laws,
But lend a Shoulder to the Cause:
For if we now should lose our Aim,
'Twould prove our everlasting Shame;
We never more must hope to see
So fair an Opportunity.
20
With that, they cry'd out all and one,
And so away the Rebels run,
With twenty ragged Hawkers a'ter,
Bawling th'Review and Observator.
And so away the Rebels run,
With twenty ragged Hawkers a'ter,
Bawling th'Review and Observator.
Bless me, thought I, has Hell and Fury
A Back-door into our Old Jury?
Now Satan's wild Geese fly at Random,
What Laws are able to withstand 'em?
Or who, except by Force, are able
To tame a frantick head-strong Rabble?
So Blood-hounds, when the Scent lies warm,
With threat'ning Yelps the Stag alarm,
Whose Horns cannot his Life defend,
Lest the kind Hunts-man stands his Friend:
Therefore when once you Church-men see,
The Game they hunt in Jeopardy,
Make speedy Haste to shew good Nature,
Call off the Dogs, and save the Creature.
A Back-door into our Old Jury?
Now Satan's wild Geese fly at Random,
What Laws are able to withstand 'em?
Or who, except by Force, are able
To tame a frantick head-strong Rabble?
So Blood-hounds, when the Scent lies warm,
With threat'ning Yelps the Stag alarm,
Whose Horns cannot his Life defend,
Lest the kind Hunts-man stands his Friend:
Therefore when once you Church-men see,
The Game they hunt in Jeopardy,
Make speedy Haste to shew good Nature,
Call off the Dogs, and save the Creature.
'Tis strange, this fiery Frape, thought I,
Should thus for Moderation cry,
When ev'ry thin-jaw'd Fury seems
A Composition of Extreams,
And looks as if his Skin was full
Of Malice, from the Toe to th'Skull;
And had no more an Inclination
To use that Vertue, Moderation,
Than a true Scotch-man has to chew
Fat Bacon, or a Toad to Rue.
Should thus for Moderation cry,
21
A Composition of Extreams,
And looks as if his Skin was full
Of Malice, from the Toe to th'Skull;
And had no more an Inclination
To use that Vertue, Moderation,
Than a true Scotch-man has to chew
Fat Bacon, or a Toad to Rue.
As I was list'ning almost scar'd,
At this unusual Noise I heard,
A grave old Don stepp'd cross a Puddle,
And passing by me, shook his Noddle.
Thought I, thou ha'st a cunning Pate
Beneath that broad Umbrella-Hat,
And do'st discern with Eagles Eyes,
The Plot this Clamour's to disguise:
With that, I tugg'd him by the Sleeve;
Then crying, Father, by your leave.
I bluntly ask'd him the Occasion
Of all this Cry of Moderation.
At first old Surly look'd as urgent,
As if he took me for a Serjeant;
But soon perceiving his Mistake,
He cough'd, and then began to speak:
Young Man, says he, you'll quickly find,
That all this Noise is but a Blind:
Mind me, and I'll relate a Fable
Alluding to the hair-brain'd Rabble.
At this unusual Noise I heard,
A grave old Don stepp'd cross a Puddle,
And passing by me, shook his Noddle.
Thought I, thou ha'st a cunning Pate
Beneath that broad Umbrella-Hat,
And do'st discern with Eagles Eyes,
The Plot this Clamour's to disguise:
With that, I tugg'd him by the Sleeve;
Then crying, Father, by your leave.
I bluntly ask'd him the Occasion
Of all this Cry of Moderation.
22
As if he took me for a Serjeant;
But soon perceiving his Mistake,
He cough'd, and then began to speak:
Young Man, says he, you'll quickly find,
That all this Noise is but a Blind:
Mind me, and I'll relate a Fable
Alluding to the hair-brain'd Rabble.
A subtle Fox pursu'd a Hare,
And all the while, he cry'd, Forbear;
Pray fear not him that means no Harm,
I only run to keep me warm.
The silly Hare not much afraid,
Believing what the Fox had said,
Having good Law, sat down to rest her;
But soon she saw the Fox run faster:
With that, she starting from her Place,
Betook her self to her old Pace.
Hold, hold, crys, Reynard, why so fast?
You'll surfeit, if you make such Haste:
A mod'rate Pace is best indeed;
The greater Hurry, the worst Speed.
No, no, crys Puss, for all your Cunning,
I see 'tis time to mend my Running;
I find you only want to reach me,
You'd serve me finely, shou'd you catch me;
But satisfy your greedy Paunch,
Your Mouth shall never kiss my Haunch.
So he that is an Enemy,
And does for Moderation cry,
Hopes that you'll exercise the Virtue,
And give him better room to hurt you.
And all the while, he cry'd, Forbear;
Pray fear not him that means no Harm,
I only run to keep me warm.
The silly Hare not much afraid,
Believing what the Fox had said,
Having good Law, sat down to rest her;
But soon she saw the Fox run faster:
With that, she starting from her Place,
Betook her self to her old Pace.
Hold, hold, crys, Reynard, why so fast?
You'll surfeit, if you make such Haste:
23
The greater Hurry, the worst Speed.
No, no, crys Puss, for all your Cunning,
I see 'tis time to mend my Running;
I find you only want to reach me,
You'd serve me finely, shou'd you catch me;
But satisfy your greedy Paunch,
Your Mouth shall never kiss my Haunch.
So he that is an Enemy,
And does for Moderation cry,
Hopes that you'll exercise the Virtue,
And give him better room to hurt you.
Is that, said I, the cunning End on't?
Aye, aye, says he, you may depend on't;
For pious Cheats ne'er want Invention
To palliate any vile Intention.
Your humble Servant, worthy Grandsire,
Thank you, said I, for this kind Answer,
Wherein you've been thus open-hearted.
Farewel, said he; and so we parted.
Aye, aye, says he, you may depend on't;
For pious Cheats ne'er want Invention
To palliate any vile Intention.
Your humble Servant, worthy Grandsire,
Thank you, said I, for this kind Answer,
Wherein you've been thus open-hearted.
Farewel, said he; and so we parted.
24
I trudg'd along as fast, Cotzooks,
As Porter with a Billet Deux,
Or Penny-Post-Man with his Letters,
To overtake these Moderators:
But all the Grumbletonian Throng
Did with such Violence rush along,
That by their Hurry, one might see
Their Deeds and Words did not agree.
For me they posted on too fast,
I was not in such wond'rous Haste;
But left them in their Heat and Passion,
Furiously crying up Moderation.
So expert Divers call aloud,
Pray mind your Pockets, to the Crowd;
And by such subtile glav'ring Means,
Prevent Distrust of their Designs:
But if your Eyes a'n't quick of Motion,
They'll play the Rogue, that gave the Caution.
As Porter with a Billet Deux,
Or Penny-Post-Man with his Letters,
To overtake these Moderators:
But all the Grumbletonian Throng
Did with such Violence rush along,
That by their Hurry, one might see
Their Deeds and Words did not agree.
For me they posted on too fast,
I was not in such wond'rous Haste;
But left them in their Heat and Passion,
Furiously crying up Moderation.
So expert Divers call aloud,
Pray mind your Pockets, to the Crowd;
And by such subtile glav'ring Means,
Prevent Distrust of their Designs:
But if your Eyes a'n't quick of Motion,
They'll play the Rogue, that gave the Caution.
25
CANTO II.
B'ing greatly troubl'd and amuz'd
To see old London thus confus'd,
In Hopes to ease my Melancholy,
I strol'd among the Bibliopolæ,
Where Pamphlets lay in Shops and Stalls,
Pil'd up as thick as Stones in Paul's;
Columns of Scandal reach'd the Ceiling,
Contriv'd by Knaves for Fools to deal in.
Well may the World, thought I, be mad,
Since Scribling's such a thriving Trade,
That twenty thousand Cut-throat Libels
Shall sell, before a Score of Bibles;
And Low-Church Satyrs move much faster,
Than Sermons by a High-Church-Pastor.
The Policy, I must confess,
Is far beyond my Reason's Guess,
That such Press-Freedom is allow'd
To cozen and corrupt the Crowd,
Lest they design the restless Elves
Full Rope enough to hang themselves;
Or else, like Toads, (as some have seen 'em)
Swell 'till they burst with their own Venom.
I musing stood a while, at last,
Turn'd o'er the Wild-fire, as I past,
Found some with sanctify'd Intent
T'unhinge and ruffle Government;
Others, to draw unwary People
To the Low-Church that wears no Steeple,
Insinuating, that the High
Beyond all Moderation fly,
And, that her Members were no more
Than Sons o'th' Babylonian Whore:
But 'twas to me no great Surprize,
That Whiggish Saints should prove so wise
To print, as well as preach their Lies.
The Reason's plain, to all Appearance,
Why Dwarfs and Giants live at Variance.
Low Things, by Nature, can't compleatly
Agree with what is high and stately:
The little Mouse does Malice vent,
When it beholds the Elephant:
Each crooked Dumplin shews her Hate
To the fair Lass more tall and straight:
Dowdy to Beauty, thus compar'd,
Will think her own Misfortune's hard,
And, with a deep Resentment, see
More plain her own Deformity.
Why then should any Mortal wonder,
Why those are angry, that are under,
Since all Things in a grov'ling State,
Will envy what is high and great?
To see old London thus confus'd,
In Hopes to ease my Melancholy,
I strol'd among the Bibliopolæ,
Where Pamphlets lay in Shops and Stalls,
Pil'd up as thick as Stones in Paul's;
Columns of Scandal reach'd the Ceiling,
Contriv'd by Knaves for Fools to deal in.
Well may the World, thought I, be mad,
Since Scribling's such a thriving Trade,
That twenty thousand Cut-throat Libels
Shall sell, before a Score of Bibles;
And Low-Church Satyrs move much faster,
Than Sermons by a High-Church-Pastor.
The Policy, I must confess,
Is far beyond my Reason's Guess,
That such Press-Freedom is allow'd
To cozen and corrupt the Crowd,
26
Full Rope enough to hang themselves;
Or else, like Toads, (as some have seen 'em)
Swell 'till they burst with their own Venom.
I musing stood a while, at last,
Turn'd o'er the Wild-fire, as I past,
Found some with sanctify'd Intent
T'unhinge and ruffle Government;
Others, to draw unwary People
To the Low-Church that wears no Steeple,
Insinuating, that the High
Beyond all Moderation fly,
And, that her Members were no more
Than Sons o'th' Babylonian Whore:
But 'twas to me no great Surprize,
That Whiggish Saints should prove so wise
To print, as well as preach their Lies.
The Reason's plain, to all Appearance,
Why Dwarfs and Giants live at Variance.
Low Things, by Nature, can't compleatly
Agree with what is high and stately:
27
When it beholds the Elephant:
Each crooked Dumplin shews her Hate
To the fair Lass more tall and straight:
Dowdy to Beauty, thus compar'd,
Will think her own Misfortune's hard,
And, with a deep Resentment, see
More plain her own Deformity.
Why then should any Mortal wonder,
Why those are angry, that are under,
Since all Things in a grov'ling State,
Will envy what is high and great?
Next, I beheld Lampoons and Satyrs,
To vilify our Legislators,
And make those slighted and neglected,
By whom we chiefly are protected.
This Practice sure, thought I, is naught,
That thin-skull'd Peasants should be taught
To hold that Power in Disdain,
That only can our Rights maintain.
'Tis strange we should withdraw Respect
From those our very selves elect;
We must be Blockheads first to chuse 'em,
Or very Rascals to abuse 'em:
For he that thinks with Scandal's Dart,
To wound a Magistrate a-part
From his Authority, declares
By th'gross Affront, he little cares
For th'Pow'r or Dignity he bears.
No Sance-box, sure, by way of Farce,
Will bid his Pastor kiss his A---se,
That thinks he's under an Injunction
To shew much Rev'rence to his Function:
Therefore, whoever vents his Froth
Against the one, despises both.
'Tis true, in cruel Times, long since,
When Rebels quarrell'd with their Prince,
And Truth was quite discountenanc'd,
A nice Distinction was advanc'd
Betwixt those two united Things,
The Person, and the Pow'r of Kings:
But when they were at Distance set,
Behold the sad succeeding Fate;
A nicer Diff'rence then they made
Betwixt the Body and the Head.
Thus could not prop their first Position,
Until they'd made their last Division,
And prov'd too plainly what they meant,
By Dint of Ax, not Argument.
To vilify our Legislators,
And make those slighted and neglected,
By whom we chiefly are protected.
This Practice sure, thought I, is naught,
That thin-skull'd Peasants should be taught
To hold that Power in Disdain,
That only can our Rights maintain.
'Tis strange we should withdraw Respect
From those our very selves elect;
We must be Blockheads first to chuse 'em,
Or very Rascals to abuse 'em:
For he that thinks with Scandal's Dart,
To wound a Magistrate a-part
From his Authority, declares
By th'gross Affront, he little cares
For th'Pow'r or Dignity he bears.
28
Will bid his Pastor kiss his A---se,
That thinks he's under an Injunction
To shew much Rev'rence to his Function:
Therefore, whoever vents his Froth
Against the one, despises both.
'Tis true, in cruel Times, long since,
When Rebels quarrell'd with their Prince,
And Truth was quite discountenanc'd,
A nice Distinction was advanc'd
Betwixt those two united Things,
The Person, and the Pow'r of Kings:
But when they were at Distance set,
Behold the sad succeeding Fate;
A nicer Diff'rence then they made
Betwixt the Body and the Head.
Thus could not prop their first Position,
Until they'd made their last Division,
And prov'd too plainly what they meant,
By Dint of Ax, not Argument.
FINIS.
| Hudibras Redivivus | |