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         Butler, Samuel, 1612-1680.
      
       
         
           1663
        
      
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             Hudibras the second part.
             Butler, Samuel, 1612-1680.
          
           [2], 100 p.
           
             [s.n.],
             London :
             1663.
          
           
             In verse.
             A spurious continuation of Butler's Hudibras, published before he brought out his second part.
             Written by Samuel Butler. Cf. BM.
             Reproduction of original in Huntington Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
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           Hudibras
           .
        
         
           THE
           Second
           Part.
           
        
         
           LONDON
           ,
           Printed
           in
           the
           Year
           ,
           1663.
           
        
      
    
     
       
         
         
         
           The
           first
           Canto
           .
        
         
           
             Argument
             .
          
           
             
               We
               sing
               no
               further
               o
               th'
            
             disputes
          
           
             'Twixt
             Knight
             ,
             and
             Squire
             ,
             
               nor
               their
            
             confutes
             ;
          
           
             
               Nor
               how
               by
            
             Puissant
             trick
             ,
             or
             Chance
             ,
          
           
             From
             Chanted
             
               Castle
               they
               advance
            
             ;
          
           
             
               Since
               skill'd
            
             Magicians
             
               know
               as
               well
            
          
           
             
               How
               to
            
             undo
             ,
             
               as
               make
               the
               spell
            
             :
          
           
             
               Nor
               yet
               of
            
             Talgol
             ,
             Bruin
             ,
             Orson
             ,
          
           
             
               Whom
               Writers
               say
               was
               but
               a
            
             Whorson
             :
          
           
             But
             Hudibras
             
               more
               strange
            
             Adventures
             ,
          
           
             
               That
               hitherto
               have
               hung
               on
            
             Tenters
             .
          
        
         
           
           The
           May-pole
           .
        
         
           IT
           happened
           at
           the
           time
           when
           Oysters
        
         
           'Gan
           loose
           their
           Operative
           moystures
           ,
        
         
           When
           Sol
           with
           heat
           did
           fill
           his
           Car
           ,
        
         
           And
           that
           the
           Month
           did
           want
           an
           R
           ;
        
         
           Which
           was
           before
           ,
           or
           June
           ,
           or
           July
           ,
        
         
           When
           Countrey
           Placquets
           grow
           unruly
           :
        
         
           For
           ,
           as
           the
           Wise
           say
           ,
           in
           August
        
         
           If
           One
           won't
           do
           't
           ,
           another
           must
           .
        
         
           When
           Cherries
           hardly
           ripen'd
           ,
           Nod
           ,
        
         
           And
           Children
           for
           'em
           venture
           Rod
           ;
        
         
           When
           Mother
           Nature
           doth
           disperse
        
         
           Her
           help
           to
           Man
           ,
           (
           that
           Universe
           )
        
         
           When
           fresh
           blood
           empty
           veins
           supply
           ,
        
         
           Which
           suffer'd
           by
           Phlebotomy
           ;
        
         
           That
           he
           who
           can
           the
           Hill
           get
           o're
           ,
        
         
           In
           hope
           to
           live
           is
           ,
           scarce
           before
           ,
        
         
         
           When
           Midwife
           Flora's
           newly
           seen
        
         
           In
           Meadows
           gay
           ,
           and
           Gardens
           green
           ,
        
         
           The
           Pink
           ,
           the
           Primrose
           ,
           Tulip-flowre
           ,
        
         
           (
           Off-springs
           of
           a
           quondam
           showre
           ,
           )
        
         
           With
           
             Lily
             ,
             Violet
          
           and
           Dazy
           ,
        
         
           The
           Merry-milk
           pales
           deck
           ,
           which
           praise
           I
           ,
        
         
           When
           Barnes
           are
           freed
           from
           Mice
           and
           Rats
           ,
        
         
           By
           
             Madam
             Owle
          
           ,
           better
           then
           Cats
           ;
        
         
           When
           with
           
             a
             Garland
          
           to
           be
           Crown'd
           ,
        
         
           The
           sweaty
           hoofs
           do
           tare
           the
           ground
           ;
        
         
           And
           Fidilero
           and
           Pipero
        
         
           In
           every
           Village
           peep
           ,
           and
           peere
           ho
           !
        
         
           When
           Mortals
           feed
           on
           Sage
           and
           Butter
           ,
        
         
           Drink
           Whey
           by
           quarts
           to
           make
           'em
           squtt
           —
        
         
           And
           for
           the
           Ladies
           of
           the
           season
           ,
        
         
           Prepared
           are
           green
           Cheese
           and
           Peason
           ,
        
         
           With
           Macquerels
           brought
           up
           in
           Shoals
           ,
        
         
           Colon
           to
           fill
           of
           hungry
           soules
           ;
        
         
           And
           Silla-bub
           ,
           with
           
             lip-lov'd
             Tanzy
          
        
         
           For
           Roger
           ,
           is
           prepar'd
           by
           Nancy
           .
        
         
         
           When
           ,
           as
           in
           Landskips
           we
           discover
        
         
           In
           every
           shade
           ,
           a
           lolling
           Lover
           ,
        
         
           With
           head
           on
           lap
           ,
           of
           female
           wight
           ,
        
         
           Hand
           underneath
           her
           garment
           white
           ,
        
         
           And
           she
           
             turns
             up
          
           her
           womanhood
           ,
        
         
           Whil'st
           Pego
           forrages
           for
           food
           ;
        
         
           And
           Surgeons
           put
           up
           in
           sheath
        
         
           Cleans'd
           syringes
           for
           fall
           of
           leaf
           :
        
         
           At
           the
           same
           time
           I
           must
           not
           vary
           ,
        
         
           Jack
           met
           with
           Gill
           ,
           and
           Mat
           with
           Mary
           ;
        
         
           Which
           was
           soon
           after
           ,
           (
           as
           't
           is
           said
           )
        
         
           Mars
           had
           laid
           by
           his
           Tool
           ,
           and
           Trade
           ,
        
         
           And
           All
           was
           ready
           to
           bring
           in
        
         
           The
           Maid
           with
           dimpled
           Cheeks
           ,
           and
           Chin
           :
        
         
           When
           that
           the
           people
           might
           be
           free
        
         
           T'
           enjoy
           their
           (
           Juggl'd
           )
           liberty
           ,
        
         
           As
           then
           the
           Bells
           at
           Westminster
        
         
           Did
           clapper-claw
           the
           Countreys
           ear
           ;
        
         
           And
           ev'ry
           creeping
           thing
           on
           earth
        
         
           From
           Cricket
           did
           incline
           to
           mirth
           ;
        
         
         
           Nay
           ,
           th'
           grand
           Hectorian-Olivero
        
         
           Left
           Ranting
           ,
           and
           fell
           to
           Primero
           ,
        
         
           A
           Game
           ,
           he
           had
           long
           study'd
           ,
           but
        
         
           As
           some
           do
           say
           ,
           was
           hard
           put
           to
           't
           ,
        
         
           For
           others
           knew
           't
           as
           well
           as
           he
           ,
        
         
           And
           stickl'd
           for
           the
           Mastery
           ,
        
         
           All
           Hectors
           of
           his
           only
           breeding
           ,
        
         
           For
           they
           could
           pray
           ,
           and
           lie
           exceeding
           ,
        
         
           And
           such
           as
           now
           remain
           ,
           do
           claim
        
         
           From
           those
           the
           vigour
           of
           that
           Name
           :
        
         
           And
           follow
           all
           their
           wayes
           of
           Plunder
           ,
        
         
           Only
           to
           hear
           ,
           
             they
             pray
          
           ,
           is
           wonder
           ;
        
         
           But
           for
           their
           lying
           are
           expert
           ,
        
         
           And
           swearing
           they
           have
           got
           by
           heart
           ;
        
         
           There
           let
           it
           lie
           ,
           like
           fatal
           dagger
        
         
           In
           peaceful
           sheath
           ,
           until
           they
           swagger
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           to
           what
           we
           were
           about
           ,
        
         
           Which
           all
           this
           while
           we
           have
           left
           out
           .
        
         
           A
           jolly
           crew
           of
           Lads
           well
           fitted
           ,
        
         
           And
           Buxome
           Lasses
           ,
           Mother
           witty'd
           ,
        
         
         
           Met
           on
           a
           day
           ,
           no
           matter
           what
           ,
        
         
           In
           the
           same
           month
           it
           was
           ,
           that
           's
           flat
           ;
        
         
           And
           that
           it
           might
           not
           loose
           its
           Name
           ,
        
         
           They
           all
           prepared
           were
           for
           Game
           ;
        
         
           Which
           though
           the
           learned
           could
           not
           scan
        
         
           To
           be
           th'
           Isthmean
           ,
           or
           Nemean
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           it
           a
           title
           had
           ,
           and
           good
           ,
        
         
           For
           ,
           Hocktide
           ,
           may
           be
           understood
           ;
        
         
           And
           doth
           as
           clear
           construction
           carry
        
         
           As
           Bess
           take
           Tom
           ,
           and
           Joan
           take
           Harry
           ;
        
         
           Or
           Tom
           take
           Bess
           ,
           and
           
             Harry
             Jone
          
        
         
           Leap
           over
           sword
           ,
           and
           it
           is
           done
           ;
        
         
           So
           the
           Inducted
           Market
           place
        
         
           Clapt
           up
           at
           once
           ,
           two
           Babes
           of
           Grace
        
         
           Which
           never
           Issue
           had
           ,
           but
           what
        
         
           The
           
             Peaceful
             —
             Justice
             —
             Parson
          
           got
           ,
        
         
           For
           they
           all
           Functions
           did
           supply
           ,
        
         
           And
           into
           every
           hole
           could
           pry
           ,
        
         
           Had
           an
           Instinctive
           Art
           to
           Strole
        
         
           If
           that
           the
           she-heast
           were
           with
           fole
           ,
        
         
         
           Were
           the
           States
           Midwives
           ,
           and
           could
           strain
           ,
        
         
           More
           then
           could
           Doctor
           Chamberlain
           ;
        
         
           Though
           he
           could
           dip
           ,
           and
           pray
           ,
           and
           preach
           ,
        
         
           And
           fiery-pated
           Squibb
           did
           teach
           ,
        
         
           Until
           he
           grew
           as
           quaint
           as
           he
        
         
           In
           their
           Occult
           Idolatry
           .
        
         
           And
           't
           may
           be
           now
           and
           then
           could
           bite
        
         
           The
           Buttock
           of
           a
           Prosolite
           .
        
         
           But
           what
           was
           this
           ?
           a
           Game
           at
           Whist
           ,
        
         
           Unto
           our
           Plowden-Canonist
           ,
        
         
           Bewitcht
           into
           a
           power
           ,
           by
           some
        
         
           That
           ner'e
           lov'd
           Kent
           nor
           Christendome
           ,
        
         
           And
           hating
           all
           things
           Orthodox
        
         
           Did
           send
           Religion
           to
           the
           Stocks
           .
        
         
           In
           Church
           refus'd
           to
           take
           the
           pains
           ,
        
         
           But
           in
           the
           streets
           would
           ask
           the
           Banes
           ,
        
         
           And
           Ceremonies
           ,
           long
           allow'd
           ,
        
         
           Laid
           by
           ,
           when
           they
           grew
           Pint
           —
           proud
           ,
        
         
           That
           Master
           Justice
           was
           declar'd
        
         
           The
           Viccar
           to
           Dog
           and
           Bitch-yard
           ,
        
         
         
           Which
           brought
           in
           Tythes
           as
           fast
           as
           Hops
           ,
        
         
           Cerberus
           must
           be
           fed
           with
           Sops
           ;
        
         
           And
           as
           the
           Ancients
           have
           defin'd
           ,
        
         
           So
           these
           were
           duly
           paid
           ,
           in
           kind
           .
        
         
           Without
           a
           Suit
           in
           the
           Exchequer
           ,
        
         
           Complaining
           they
           to
           Noll
           were
           Debtor
           .
        
         
           They
           took
           a
           surer
           course
           and
           way
           ,
        
         
           Peter
           knew
           how
           to
           make
           'em
           pay
           ,
        
         
           And
           thus
           these
           holy
           men
           of
           Orders
        
         
           Did
           ferk
           the
           fry
           of
           
             Sodome
             Borders
          
           :
        
         
           Though
           Tom
           want
           Tool
           ,
           and
           Nell
           a
           Nose
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           reconcil'd
           are
           in
           the
           Close
           .
        
         
           There
           let
           'em
           stink
           ,
           to
           sweeten
           (
           then
           )
        
         
           My
           lines
           ,
           pray
           whistle
           to
           my
           Pen
           ;
        
         
           To
           minde
           me
           of
           the
           former
           matter
           ,
        
         
           Though
           not
           Incongruent
           to
           the
           latter
           .
        
         
           Then
           first
           to
           shew
           you
           what
           they
           were
        
         
           That
           met
           ,
           observe
           each
           Character
           ,
        
         
           For
           ,
           it
           is
           requisite
           we
           strow
        
         
           The
           way
           with
           flowers
           as
           they
           go
           :
        
         
         
           Bushero
           height
           the
           Twisters
           led
           ,
        
         
           To
           whom
           he
           was
           both
           Cap
           ,
           and
           Head
           ,
        
         
           For
           Neatness
           he
           was
           held
           the
           best
           ,
        
         
           Good
           reason
           ,
           he
           could
           Trim
           the
           rest
           .
        
         
           And
           in
           his
           Calling
           was
           so
           rare
           ,
        
         
           He
           fitted
           'em
           unto
           a
           hair
           ;
        
         
           And
           er'e
           they
           for
           their
           Progress
           met
        
         
           Had
           given
           his
           Shirt
           the
           Somerset
           ;
        
         
           (
           A
           Tumbling
           word
           ,
           and
           used
           much
        
         
           By
           Men
           ,
           Professors
           to
           be
           such
           :
           )
        
         
           In
           all
           things
           he
           was
           
             Cap
             à
             pe
          
           ,
        
         
           Only
           his
           hose
           was
           out
           at
           knee
           ,
        
         
           And
           doublet-elbow
           wanted
           clout
           ,
        
         
           But
           there
           ,
           you
           know
           ,
           love
           will
           break
           out
           ,
        
         
           And
           therefore
           time
           is
           vainly
           spent
        
         
           To
           patch
           up
           what
           must
           needs
           be
           rent
           :
        
         
           If
           any
           ding'd
           him
           on
           the
           lip
           ,
        
         
           With
           that
           ,
           quoth
           he
           ,
           you
           may
           go
           snip
           :
        
         
           Of
           person
           he
           was
           something
           squat
           ,
        
         
           With
           Ribbons
           Hat-ban-neding-Hat
           ,
        
         
         
           He
           had
           some
           judgement
           in
           the
           Gyttern
           ,
        
         
           And
           Master
           was
           of
           Kitt
           and
           Cyttern
           ,
        
         
           Which
           Cythera
           sung
           to
           first
           ,
        
         
           When
           she
           her
           God-babe
           Cupid
           nurst
           .
        
         
           To
           follow
           him
           did
           Shanco
           roame
        
         
           From
           ladies
           service
           newly
           come
           ;
        
         
           As
           finical
           for
           life
           as
           he
           ,
        
         
           If
           that
           Comparisons
           may
           be
           !
        
         
           Was
           drest
           with
           Muffe
           and
           Pantaloon
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           Pocketto
           silver
           Spoon
           ,
        
         
           Which
           slept
           secure
           ,
           till
           Cream
           and
           Cake
        
         
           Did
           waken
           it
           ,
           for
           Masters
           sake
           :
        
         
           He
           was
           of
           person
           pleasing
           Tall
           ,
        
         
           As
           streight
           as
           Wand
           ,
           but
           slimm
           withall
           ;
        
         
           He
           walk'd
           as
           though
           he
           trod
           on
           Eggs
           ;
        
         
           And
           Cat-sticks
           were
           suppos'd
           his
           Legs
           :
        
         
           His
           body
           burthen'd
           was
           with
           points
           ,
        
         
           Which
           ty'd
           together
           all
           his
           Joynts
           ;
        
         
           His
           eyes
           and
           legs
           kept
           time
           together
           ,
        
         
           They
           danc'd
           ,
           and
           mov'd
           you
           'd
           wonder
           whither
           .
        
         
         
           Such
           as
           ner'e
           understood
           the
           firk
        
         
           Took
           him
           for
           piece
           of
           dutch
           Clockwork
           ;
        
         
           He
           was
           the
           least
           beholding
           to
        
         
           The
           flesh
           ,
           of
           any
           man
           you
           know
           .
        
         
           Though
           he
           to
           it
           was
           mainly
           given
           ,
        
         
           With
           him
           it
           ner'e
           made
           Reck'ning
           even
           ;
        
         
           Perhaps
           it
           may
           by
           some
           be
           thought
        
         
           He
           had
           as
           good
           return'd
           ,
           as
           brought
           :
        
         
           But
           in
           that
           Sense
           there
           's
           Nicity
           ,
        
         
           Which
           in
           this
           must
           avoided
           be
           ,
        
         
           Only
           it
           is
           confest
           he
           was
        
         
           His
           Ladies
           Limbeck
           ;
           his
           own
           Ass
           .
        
         
           In
           breech
           of
           him
           ,
           Butlero
           came
           ,
        
         
           With
           Coquo
           ,
           eager
           for
           the
           Game
           .
        
         
           Butlero
           did
           in
           Napkin
           neat
        
         
           Bring
           salt
           ,
           and
           bread
           ,
           and
           Coquo
           meat
           :
        
         
           The
           one
           Comptroller
           was
           o
           th'
           Bin
           ,
        
         
           The
           other
           of
           the
           good
           Kitchin
           ;
        
         
           The
           only
           Over-ruling
           Pair
        
         
           That
           had
           to
           do
           below
           the
           stair
           :
        
         
         
           The
           one
           the
           merry
           Bottles
           brought
           ,
        
         
           T'other
           with
           Limbs
           of
           Capons
           fraught
           .
        
         
           Which
           newly
           had
           (
           without
           denial
           )
        
         
           On
           Gridiron
           past
           the
           fiery
           Tryal
           ,
        
         
           The
           Parties
           equal-parted
           were
           ,
        
         
           Each
           did
           of
           eithers
           office
           share
        
         
           So
           Lawyers
           ner'e
           fall
           out
           for
           fee
        
         
           Among
           themselves
           ,
           
             ka
             me
             ,
             ka
             thee
          
           .
        
         
           Butlero
           may
           be
           thought
           of
           Kin
        
         
           To
           him
           that
           plaid
           o
           th'
           Vyolin
           ,
        
         
           And
           famous
           was
           for
           Clownery
           ,
        
         
           Which
           City-wits
           call
           Drollery
           :
        
         
           He
           could
           Arthur
           of
           Bradley
           do
           ,
        
         
           The
           Countrey-man
           ,
           and
           Courtier
           too
           ,
        
         
           And
           had
           an
           insight
           in
           the
           City
           ,
        
         
           Inspir'd
           by
           those
           that
           then
           were
           witty
           ;
        
         
           From
           whom
           the
           thrifty-Poet
           steals
           ,
        
         
           To
           furnish
           Beardw
           —
           for
           his
           Meals
           .
        
         
           Ours
           plaid
           to
           what
           he
           could
           not
           sing
           .
        
         
           An
           Instrument
           without
           a
           string
           ;
        
         
         
           But
           let
           me
           not
           his
           judgement
           wrong
           ,
        
         
           The
           Tool
           did
           carry
           with
           't
           a
           To●gue
           ;
        
         
           And
           by
           the
           Hebrews
           was
           allow'd
           ,
        
         
           As
           well
           as
           Cymbal
           ,
           or
           the
           Crowd
           ;
        
         
           And
           by
           Amphion
           playd
           upon
           ,
        
         
           If
           ever
           he
           did
           play
           on
           One
           :
        
         
           Now
           our
           Butlero
           in
           good
           Sooth
        
         
           Could
           play
           on
           two
           from
           hand
           to
           mouth
           .
        
         
           Coquo
           the
           Tongs
           could
           finger
           well
           ,
        
         
           And
           had
           a
           Key
           for
           what
           I
           tell
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           Invention
           was
           no
           easie
           Task
           ,
        
         
           It
           took
           its
           birth
           from
           the
           Crand
           Mask
           :
        
         
           The
           Teacher
           had
           the
           happy
           fate
        
         
           To
           live
           in
           Street
           call'd
           Byshopsgate
           ,
        
         
           And
           pity
           't
           was
           (
           he
           did
           so
           thrive
           )
        
         
           He
           had
           not
           left
           his
           like
           alive
           .
        
         
           Thus
           they
           to
           please
           their
           Lasses
           do
        
         
           Bring
           hither
           Meat
           ,
           and
           Musick
           too
           :
        
         
           These
           were
           the
           Heads
           ,
           and
           now
           advances
        
         
           The
           Gathers
           ,
           or
           th'
           appurtenances
           ,
        
         
         
           The
           first
           with
           hand
           ,
           or
           tongue
           could
           sway
        
         
           The
           pamper'd
           d●●●des
           of
           Asia
           ,
        
         
           I
           mean
           not
           Tamberlaine's
           the
           Great
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           he
           that
           fell
           out
           of
           his
           Seat
           ,
        
         
           But
           Masters
           His
           ,
           of
           better
           blood
           ,
        
         
           That
           fed
           not
           upon
           others
           food
           .
        
         
           Sartoro
           brisk
           as
           body-lowse
        
         
           Forsook
           his
           Stall
           ,
           annext
           to
           house
           ,
        
         
           And
           though
           he
           was
           not
           worth
           a
           Dodkin
           ,
        
         
           Wenches
           call'd
           him
           their
           Standing
           Bodkin
           .
        
         
           Trituratoro
           good
           at
           Flayl
           .
        
         
           As
           Orsin
           erst
           at
           Staffe
           and
           Tayl
           ,
        
         
           His
           skill
           in
           that
           did
           keep
           him
           safe
           ,
        
         
           He
           Could
           distinguish
           Corn
           from
           Chaffe
           .
        
         
           Then
           Molindario
           furl'd
           up
           Sayl
           ,
        
         
           The
           scornful
           Wind
           had
           turned
           Tayl
           ,
        
         
           H'
           was
           held
           a
           Man
           of
           judgement
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Or
           else
           his
           Neighbours
           did
           him
           wrong
           ;
        
         
           He
           could
           into
           a
           Mill-stone
           see
           ,
        
         
           As
           far
           (
           't
           is
           said
           )
           as
           any
           Hee
           .
        
         
         
           Lanio
           ,
           and
           Tergo
           neer
           ally'd
           ,
        
         
           As
           Calf
           to
           Cow
           ,
           or
           Skin
           to
           Hide
           ,
        
         
           Were
           next
           enranck'd
           ;
           Pistoro
           stout
        
         
           As
           ever
           Crab-tree
           threw
           about
           ,
        
         
           Not
           far
           behind
           ;
           his
           legs
           were
           small
           ,
        
         
           But
           sure
           as
           Bandy
           at
           the
           Ball
           ,
        
         
           The
           Ancient
           Poet
           Heywood
           draws
        
         
           From
           Ancestors
           of
           These
           his
           Laws
        
         
           Of
           Dramma
           ,
           to
           fill
           up
           each
           Sceane
        
         
           With
           Souldiers
           good
           ,
           to
           please
           Plebe'ne
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           those
           famous
           Stories
           told
        
         
           The
           Grecian
           Warrs
           ,
           and
           Beauchamps
           bold
           .
        
         
           At
           distance
           some
           ,
           Thatchero
           came
           ,
        
         
           Approved
           Martial
           to
           the
           Game
           ,
        
         
           In
           one
           hand
           Dudgeon-knife
           he
           bore
           ,
        
         
           The
           other
           Gantlet-Mittin
           wore
           ,
        
         
           The
           Hyroglyphick
           of
           bad
           Musick
        
         
           Did
           follow
           him
           ,
           which
           made
           me
           Spue-sick
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           the
           belov'd
           malicious
           noyse
        
         
           Attracted
           had
           whole
           scores
           of
           Boyes
        
         
         
           Armed
           with
           Clubs
           and
           hideous
           sounds
           ,
        
         
           As
           when
           they
           go
           to
           view
           the
           bounds
        
         
           Of
           Parish
           theirs
           ,
           Or
           as
           I
           've
           known
        
         
           The
           Pan-cake
           Prentices
           come
           down
        
         
           On
           Fritter-day
           ,
           Vice
           to
           abollish
           ,
        
         
           And
           
           Reverend-Matron-Baud
           demollish
           .
        
         
           Then
           with
           Majestick
           pace
           came
           on
        
         
           Cartero
           ,
           like
           Diego-Don
           ,
        
         
           Whistling
           forth
           Rhetorick
           to
           the
           Beast
           ,
           his
           ,
        
         
           Which
           drew
           ,
           of
           this
           discourse
           ,
           the
           Thesis
           ,
        
         
           In
           Wagon
           ,
           Anglice
           ,
           Dung-Cart
           ,
        
         
           Lay
           Pole
           so
           good
           ,
           cut
           out
           by
           Art
           ,
        
         
           And
           ornamented
           with
           no
           less
        
         
           Then
           Ribbons
           given
           by
           Doll
           ,
           and
           Bess
           ,
        
         
           And
           others
           of
           the
           Fairy-crew
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Colours
           red
           ,
           white
           ,
           black
           ,
           and
           blew
           ,
        
         
           Yellow
           ,
           cinnamon
           ,
           and
           green
           ,
        
         
           Here
           ,
           and
           there
           ,
           Nose-gay
           between
           ,
        
         
           Likewise
           many
           a
           Wedding
           Garter
           ,
        
         
           Tickling
           Lasses
           into
           laughter
           ,
        
         
         
           For
           the
           Thing
           above
           the
           knee
        
         
           Seldome's
           seen
           ,
           though
           felt
           it
           be
           :
        
         
           But
           no
           more
           of
           this
           ,
           't
           is
           fit
        
         
           That
           hereafter
           come
           not
           yet
           .
        
         
           On
           either
           side
           this
           early
           Tryumph
        
         
           Attended
           ,
           
             Tony
             ,
             Row
          
           -
           and
           Ry-Umph
           -
        
         
           
             Sowgeldero
             Ratratchero
          
           ,
        
         
           
             Cummultis
             aliis
          
           ,
           sause
           fear
           ho
           !
        
         
           Th'
           Lasses
           ,
           like
           Dyanae's
           Troopers
           ,
        
         
           Came
           i
           th'
           Rear
           with
           Main
           and
           Cruppers
           :
        
         
           Meg
           ,
           and
           Kate
           ,
           and
           Doll
           ,
           and
           Joan
           ,
        
         
           Buxome
           Lasses
           every
           one
           ;
        
         
           With
           Pegs
           ,
           and
           Lett.
           and
           Luce
           ,
           and
           Betty
           ,
        
         
           For
           her
           face
           and
           foot
           call'd
           pretty
           ;
        
         
           Moll
           ,
           and
           Sall
           ,
           and
           Nan
           ,
           and
           Frank
           ,
        
         
           Wenches
           free
           ,
           and
           fat
           i
           th'
           flank
           :
        
         
           On
           Agnes
           Eve
           they
           'd
           strictly
           fast
           ,
        
         
           And
           dream
           of
           those
           had
           kist
           'em
           last
           ;
        
         
           Or
           on
           Sr.
           Quintius
           watch
           all
           Night
           ,
        
         
           With
           Smock
           hung
           up
           ,
           for
           Lovers
           sight
           :
        
         
         
           Some
           of
           the
           Lawndry
           were
           (
           no
           flashing
           )
        
         
           That
           would
           not
           give
           their
           heads
           for
           washing
           ;
        
         
           Others
           o
           th'
           Chamber
           ,
           and
           the
           Dairy
           ,
        
         
           All
           kept
           their
           Arms
           free
           from
           the
           Fairy
           :
        
         
           Thus
           they
           pass
           through
           Market-place
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           Town-green
           hye
           apace
           ,
        
         
           Highly
           fum'd
           for
           Hooktide
           Games
           ,
        
         
           
             Yclip'd
             Kingston
          
           super
           Thames
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Sir
           Hudibras
           ,
           invited
        
         
           To
           dinner
           was
           ,
           but
           newly
           lighted
           :
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           to
           self
           ,
           I
           had
           before
        
         
           A
           Stomack
           good
           ,
           this
           stirs
           it
           more
           :
        
         
           Had
           I
           best
           charge
           'em
           before
           dinner
           ?
        
         
           No
           ,
           quoth
           he
           ,
           as
           I
           'm
           a
           Sinner
           :
        
         
           Let
           'em
           wait
           till
           I
           do
           come
           ,
        
         
           Charity
           begins
           at
           home
           :
        
         
           Serve
           self
           first
           ,
           the
           Commonweal
        
         
           May
           stay
           till
           I
           have
           made
           my
           Meal
           .
        
         
           And
           so
           he
           enters
           House
           ,
           while
           Rout
        
         
           To
           set
           up
           May-pole
           went
           about
           .
        
         
         
           The
           Lasses
           too
           put
           helping
           hand
        
         
           To
           make
           the
           merry
           business
           stand
           .
        
         
           There
           let
           'em
           rest
           a
           while
           ,
           and
           now
        
         
           To
           Hudibras
           the
           great
           kill-Cow
           ,
        
         
           Who
           having
           on
           the
           Creature
           fed
           ,
        
         
           And
           drank
           far
           more
           then
           he
           had
           bled
           ,
        
         
           He
           in
           a
           fury
           flung
           from
           Table
           ,
        
         
           And
           bid
           his
           Man
           fetch
           Steed
           from
           Stable
           :
        
         
           Some
           business
           of
           the
           State
           ,
           quoth
           he
           ,
        
         
           Doth
           retrograde
           to
           Manners
           me
           :
        
         
           However
           Friend
           ,
           and
           Cosen
           Narsey
           ,
        
         
           For
           entertainment
           God-a-mercy
           .
        
         
           But
           er'e
           I
           go
           ,
           a
           word
           or
           two
        
         
           With
           you
           Bro.
           Knight
           ,
           and
           eke
           with
           you
           ,
        
         
           For
           pairs
           of
           Sirs
           ,
           there
           were
           in
           sight
           ,
        
         
           That
           had
           but
           little
           maw
           to
           fight
           ;
        
         
           Of
           Stomacks
           good
           ,
           and
           had
           been
           able
        
         
           To
           serve
           King
           Arthur
           at
           his
           Table
           .
        
         
           One
           did
           Command
           the
           Cheshire
           Forces
           ,
        
         
           And
           had
           a
           face
           as
           Round
           as
           Horses
           ;
        
         
         
           His
           teeth
           were
           grown
           to
           the
           same
           length
           ,
        
         
           And
           wanted
           nothing
           but
           in
           strength
        
         
           To
           passe
           for
           one
           ,
           Beasts
           know
           not
           theirs
           ,
        
         
           And
           he
           was
           robb'd
           of
           his
           by
           fears
           ;
        
         
           His
           Name
           did
           Rumble
           like
           to
           Thun
           -
        
         
           Der
           
             -
             Guilielmo
          
           Knight
           Sir
           
             B
             —
             ton
          
           .
        
         
           The
           other
           was
           of
           last
           Edition
           ,
        
         
           A
           Justice
           too
           upon
           Petition
           :
        
         
           He
           pretty
           well
           could
           understand
        
         
           The
           Penal
           Laws
           at
           second
           hand
           ,
        
         
           For
           he
           a
           Clerk
           had
           that
           might
           pass
        
         
           For
           an
           Intelligible
           Ass
           .
        
         
           After
           Sir
           Hud
           .
           discovered
           had
        
         
           By
           Whispers
           Consequences
           bad
           .
        
         
           So
           Brother
           Knights
           ,
           they
           streight
           Array
        
         
           Themselves
           ,
           and
           Horses
           ,
           and
           away
           :
        
         
           Each
           trusty
           Twible
           ties
           to
           side
           ,
        
         
           Fury
           Conducter
           was
           and
           Guide
           .
        
         
           They
           Course
           on
           with
           might
           and
           main
           .
        
         
           'Till
           they
           came
           in
           sight
           of
           Train
           ,
        
         
         
           Who
           had
           newly
           fixt
           their
           Pole
           ,
        
         
           Which
           vext
           'em
           to
           their
           very
           soul
           ,
        
         
           Round
           about
           it
           some
           were
           frisking
           ,
        
         
           Others
           on
           the
           Grass
           as
           brisking
           ;
        
         
           Most
           in
           Mirth
           ,
           set
           hand
           to
           labour
           ,
        
         
           Tongs
           ,
           and
           Gridiron
           ,
           Trump
           ,
           and
           Tabor
           ,
        
         
           Cytern
           ,
           with
           a
           Voice
           as
           lewd
           ,
        
         
           Rhimes
           too
           were
           but
           lately
           stewd
        
         
           In
           Brain-pan
           ,
           and
           set
           to
           Tune
        
         
           The
           Cuckow
           rants
           in
           May
           and
           June
           ,
        
         
           For
           Lovers
           sake
           ,
           while
           thus
           they
           sport
           ,
        
         
           Sir
           Hudibras
           does
           call
           a
           Court
        
         
           Consisting
           of
           three
           Knights
           ,
           three
           Squires
           ,
        
         
           That
           long
           before
           had
           left
           their
           Sires
           ,
        
         
           To
           seek
           Adventures
           ,
           and
           attended
        
         
           The
           Sequel
           now
           ,
           which
           is
           not
           ended
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           what
           's
           best
           to
           do
           ?
        
         
           Six
           heads
           is
           better
           far
           then
           two
           .
        
         
           The
           Romans
           did
           more
           glory
           gain
           ,
        
         
           By
           living
           Citizens
           ,
           then
           slain
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           brave
           Cyneus
           with
           a
           word
        
         
           Did
           Conquer
           more
           then
           Perhus
           Sword.
        
         
           Shall
           we
           with
           smooth
           Caresses
           go
        
         
           And
           soften
           flinty
           hearted
           foe
           ?
        
         
           Or
           if
           then
           bow
           ,
           had
           rather
           break
           ,
        
         
           Defie
           'em
           ,
           and
           not
           poorly
           sneak
           ?
        
         
           But
           try
           what
           fortune
           will
           allow
        
         
           To
           edge
           of
           Sword
           ,
           and
           potent
           blow
           ,
        
         
           For
           Points
           in
           fights
           Knight-Errantry
        
         
           Were
           still
           rebated
           ,
           that
           you
           'l
           see
        
         
           In
           Writs
           of
           yore
           ;
           let
           rumours
           cease
        
         
           Dissention
           breeds
           ,
           I
           'm
           of
           the
           Peace
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Justice
           then
           ,
           and
           of
           the
           Town
        
         
           Else
           I
           'd
           not
           value
           a
           crackt
           Crown
           :
        
         
           More
           then
           pins
           head
           ,
           I
           think
           it
           meet
        
         
           With
           wisdoms
           lore
           the
           crew
           to
           greet
           ,
        
         
           The
           safter
           weapon
           of
           the
           two
        
         
           And
           will
           not
           make
           so
           much
           ado
           ;
        
         
           Then
           quoth
           Sir
           Hudibras
           I
           le
           spare
        
         
           Your
           braines
           the
           labour
           to
           ensnare
        
         
         
           Their
           wits
           and
           wills
           ,
           quoth
           then
           Sir
           Guill
           —
        
         
           Were
           my
           Troop
           here
           I
           'd
           not
           stand
           still
           ,
        
         
           Courage
           quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           and
           now
        
         
           Wit
           shew
           thy self
           ,
           or
           weapon
           ,
           thou
           ;
        
         
           Then
           Cicero
           my
           tongue
           adapt
        
         
           Or
           strenthen
           arm
           thou
           mighty
           Capt
           —
        
         
           So
           on
           they
           jog
           ,
           and
           with
           an
           eye
        
         
           Well
           read
           in
           modern
           Policy
        
         
           The
           numerous
           crew
           they
           do
           behold
        
         
           With
           patience
           strong
           and
           courage
           bold
           .
        
         
           And
           soon
           Sir
           Hud
           .
           doth
           them
           Accost
        
         
           But
           all
           in
           vain
           ,
           his
           labours
           lost
           ,
        
         
           He
           moves
           to
           them
           with
           sober
           speech
           ,
        
         
           And
           strokes
           his
           beard
           while
           they
           turn
           breech
           ;
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           you
           Males
           ,
           for
           to
           the
           Shee
           s
           ,
        
         
           I
           'le
           offer
           nothing
           shall
           displease
           ,
        
         
           How
           durst
           you
           set
           up
           
             (
             Sans
          
           advice
           )
        
         
           A
           May-pole
           of
           ungodly
           size
        
         
           For
           height
           it
           may
           amaze
           the
           people
           ,
        
         
           And
           streighter
           is
           then
           Grantham
           Steeple
           ;
        
         
         
           Which
           States-men
           do
           conclude
           upon
        
         
           Might
           ferk
           the
           whore
           of
           Babylon
           ;
        
         
           Have
           you
           to
           scoure
           a
           scurvy
           Cliffe
        
         
           Brought
           Gyants
           Toole
           from
           Teneriffe
        
         
           Ossa
           or
           Pelion
           ?
           No
           ,
           quoth
           Tergo
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           for
           the
           Sisters
           ,
           Ruth
           and
           Pergo
        
         
           And
           such
           as
           follow
           Covinticle
           ,
        
         
           No
           brother
           has
           a
           Toole
           so
           mickle
           ,
        
         
           
             Monstra
             morendum
          
           quoth
           Sir
           Hud
           —
        
         
           What
           are
           you
           men
           of
           flesh
           ,
           or
           Wood
           ?
        
         
           Will
           you
           in
           spight
           of
           Ordinance
           ,
        
         
           A
           whorish
           Stallion
           thus
           advance
           ?
        
         
           Where
           are
           your
           Scences
           ,
           pray
           look
           to
           't
           ,
        
         
           Have
           we
           not
           struck
           at
           Branch
           and
           Root
           ?
        
         
           And
           ta'ne
           the
           Smock
           from
           off
           the
           Whore
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           will
           you
           aggravate
           us
           more
           ?
        
         
           Quoth
           Lanio
           ,
           hence
           thou
           Weasel
           ,
           Rat
           ,
        
         
           That
           scarce
           durst
           look
           in
           face
           a
           Cat
           ,
        
         
           Who
           sent
           for
           thee
           ?
           what
           mak'st
           thou
           here
           ?
        
         
           And
           these
           thy
           Chitterlings
           so
           neer
           ?
        
         
         
           Whence
           com'st
           thou
           ,
           from
           what
           nasty
           Sinck
        
         
           Didst
           thou
           creep
           forth
           ,
           to
           prate
           and
           stink
           ?
        
         
           Depart
           in
           peace
           ,
           or
           by
           this
           Truncheon
           ,
        
         
           Thy
           Beastly
           back
           I
           'le
           raise
           a
           Bunch
           on
           ,
        
         
           Bigger
           then
           that
           thou
           bear'st
           ,
           ner'e
           grudge
           it
           ,
        
         
           'T
           shall
           taken
           be
           for
           Tinkers
           Budget
           .
        
         
           Can
           Nature
           Monsters
           such
           afford
           ,
        
         
           That
           will
           not
           hear
           from
           Man
           a
           word
           ?
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           more
           deaf
           then
           Adder
        
         
           To
           common
           Sense
           ,
           to
           make
           me
           madder
           ?
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           face
           of
           Justice
           too
           !
        
         
           Sword
           keep
           to
           me
           ,
           as
           I
           'le
           to
           you
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           then
           Sir
           Jus.
           my
           Brothers
           both
           ,
        
         
           To
           agravate
           the
           Case
           I
           'm
           loth
           ,
        
         
           Because
           these
           all
           my
           Neighbours
           are
           ,
        
         
           And
           you
           my
           worthy
           Friends
           ,
           and
           dear
           ,
        
         
           An
           even
           hand
           I
           mean
           to
           carry
           ,
        
         
           In
           Weighty
           matters
           must
           be
           wary
           .
        
         
           He
           spit
           ,
           and
           then
           he
           spake
           ,
           quoth
           he
           ,
        
         
           My
           Friends
           ,
           as
           many
           as
           there
           be
           ,
        
         
         
           I
           hope
           it
           is
           no
           bad
           advice
           ,
        
         
           To
           bid
           all
           be
           merry
           and
           wise
           ;
        
         
           I
           need
           no
           farther
           learning
           borrow
           ,
        
         
           Then
           sawcy
           Mirth
           will
           bring
           ,
           or
           Sorrow
           :
        
         
           And
           though
           for
           number
           we
           seem
           fools
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           dangerous
           meddling
           with
           Edge
           tools
           :
        
         
           And
           here
           are
           mighty
           Men
           and
           strong
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           Arts
           are
           in
           the
           Army
           sung
           .
        
         
           Root
           up
           your
           Pole
           ,
           remove
           it
           hence
           ,
        
         
           And
           let
           your
           own
           homes
           be
           your
           fence
           .
        
         
           For
           I
           'm
           impowred
           by
           Commission
           ,
        
         
           To
           force
           you
           from
           this
           lewd
           Condition
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Shanco
           (
           quaintly
           )
           Mr.
           Justice
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           our
           Strength
           ,
           not
           you
           ,
           our
           Trust
           is
           ,
        
         
           With
           Wit
           ,
           or
           Weapon
           ,
           choose
           you
           whether
           ,
        
         
           Or
           one
           ,
           or
           both
           ,
           or
           altogether
           ;
        
         
           We
           are
           resolv'd
           ,
           and
           so
           have
           at
           ye
           ,
        
         
           If
           words
           won't
           do
           't
           ,
           by
           Jove
           wee
           'l
           pat
           ye
           .
        
         
           I
           am
           the
           Lasses
           Champion
           ,
           then
        
         
           Be
           safe
           ,
           and
           get
           you
           back
           agen
           .
        
         
         
           Well
           said
           
             Core
             Shanco
          
           ,
           quoth
           Tonsore
           ,
        
         
           I
           'le
           second
           thee
           upon
           that
           score
           .
        
         
           Awake
           ,
           quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           thou
           Fox
           :
        
         
           Hold
           ,
           quoth
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           I
           hate
           these
           Knocks
           :
        
         
           The
           People
           will
           be
           mollifi'd
        
         
           If
           that
           the
           Lord
           be
           on
           our
           fide
           .
        
         
           Scarce
           had
           he
           spoke
           ,
           er'e
           Stratagem
        
         
           (
           By
           Shanco
           laid
           )
           surrounded
           them
           ,
        
         
           But
           by
           stout
           Molindario
           led
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           very
           looks
           did
           speak
           'em
           dead
           .
        
         
           What
           mean
           you
           then
           ,
           quoth
           Hudibras
           ?
        
         
           Fie
           on
           't
           ,
           this
           't
           is
           to
           be
           an
           Ass
           ,
        
         
           And
           leave
           my
           Instruments
           of
           danger
        
         
           At
           six
           and
           sevens
           ,
           Rack
           and
           Manger
           :
        
         
           But
           Tom
           ,
           (
           speaking
           to
           doughty
           Squire
           )
        
         
           This
           is
           thy
           fault
           ,
           or
           I
           'm
           a
           lyer
           .
        
         
           Now
           Valour
           must
           be
           brought
           on
           knees
        
         
           To
           Rascal
           Rout
           ,
           and
           their
           Pedees
           .
        
         
           Down
           with
           that
           Maggot
           quoth
           the
           Boyes
           :
        
         
           Children
           to
           School
           ,
           and
           leave
           your
           noyse
           .
        
         
         
           Quoth
           Justice
           good
           ,
           how
           comes
           it
           thus
        
         
           you
           hem
           us
           in
           ,
           may'nt
           we
           untruss
           ?
        
         
           My
           little
           Body
           can't
           contain
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           my
           Spirit
           main
           ,
        
         
           I
           'le
           run
           the
           hazard
           :
           knock
           him
           down
        
         
           Cries
           one
           ,
           as
           soon
           as
           said
           't
           is
           done
           .
        
         
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           did
           shew
           his
           Teeth
           ,
           but
           durst
        
         
           Not
           bite
           ,
           though
           he
           had
           Mastiffs
           nurst
           .
        
         
           The
           ground
           was
           burthen'd
           with
           the
           Groanes
        
         
           Of
           Knights
           ,
           and
           Squires
           ,
           these
           pitions
           ones
           ;
        
         
           And
           how
           to
           rid
           'em
           thence
           was
           thought
           ,
        
         
           Coltstaffes
           with
           quick
           dispatch
           were
           brought
           ,
        
         
           On
           which
           they
           hoysted
           were
           ,
           and
           so
        
         
           Convey'd
           to
           Town
           ,
           who
           durst
           say
           no
           ?
        
         
           Where
           they
           were
           met
           with
           mocks
           and
           laughter
           ,
        
         
           Their
           Horses
           ,
           as
           rank
           Beasts
           ,
           sent
           after
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           The
           second
           Canto
           .
        
         
           
             Argument
             .
          
           
             
               The
               Knights
               retir'd
               their
               Case
               Condole
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Big
               with
               Revenge
               as
               Mare
               with
               Fole
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Consult
               the
               means
               ,
               but
               can't
               agree
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Part
               ,
               and
               put
               up
               th'
               Indignity
               .
            
          
           
             
               Knights
               two
               ,
               to
               wit
               ,
               Sir
            
             Hudibras
             ,
          
           
             And
             Guill
             .
             
               leave
               Town
               and
               further
               pass
            
             ,
          
           
             
               Their
               Squires
               attend
               ;
               Encounters
               meet
            
          
           
             
               In
               Journeys-Road
               ,
               Yclipped
               Street
            
             .
          
           
             
               Where
               on
               thae
               next
               day
               kept
               was
               Fair
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Then
               doth
               ensue
               what
               happen'd
               there
               .
            
          
        
         
           SIR
           Hudibras
           (
           though
           Fortune
           had
        
         
           With
           wry-mouth
           flouted
           him
           )
           grew
           mad
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           nothing
           else
           would
           serve
           his
           turn
        
         
           To
           quench
           the
           Rage
           in
           him
           did
           burn
           ,
        
         
           But
           a
           full
           Goblet
           of
           French
           Wine
        
         
           Was
           dulcifi'd
           with
           Sugar
           fine
           ;
        
         
           Which
           having
           guzzell'd
           down
           Gullet
           ,
        
         
           He
           thought
           on
           speech
           ,
           and
           then
           he
           spet
        
         
           The
           clear
           preserver
           of
           his
           Wit
        
         
           For
           that
           ,
           being
           Salt
           did
           season
           it
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           I
           was
           a
           thirst
           indeed
           ,
        
         
           Now
           Brothers
           ,
           pray
           do
           you
           proceed
           :
        
         
           I
           'm
           sure
           you
           shar'd
           in
           blows
           and
           beating
           ,
        
         
           A
           Julip's
           good
           after
           a
           heating
           .
        
         
           He
           wipes
           ,
           and
           then
           he
           hulminates
           ,
        
         
           Words
           that
           through
           Ear
           late
           penetrates
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           we
           ,
           quoth
           he
           ,
           sit
           down
           with
           loss
           ,
        
         
           And
           faintly
           go
           by
           weeping
           Cross
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           we
           with
           Patience
           take
           their
           frumps
           ,
        
         
           And
           Heads
           revengeless
           go
           for
           bumps
           ?
        
         
           Given
           by
           the
           hand
           of
           wreaking
           Foe
           ,
        
         
           What
           er'e
           you
           think
           ,
           I
           think
           not
           so
           .
        
         
         
           Shall
           Triumph
           revel
           in
           their
           smiles
           ,
        
         
           Our
           Courage
           pinion'd
           all
           the
           whiles
           ?
        
         
           Shall
           we
           besotted
           be
           with
           beating
           ,
        
         
           And
           bury
           Honour
           by
           retreating
           ?
        
         
           Honour
           that
           's
           not
           so
           cheaply
           bought
        
         
           As
           Eggs
           that
           to
           your
           Markets
           brought
           .
        
         
           But
           is
           the
           purchase
           of
           the
           daring
           ,
        
         
           That
           will
           not
           of
           their
           blood
           be
           sparing
           .
        
         
           Rally
           for
           shame
           then
           ,
           let
           'em
           know
           ,
        
         
           We
           scorn
           to
           flinch
           for
           knock
           or
           two
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           (
           good
           Omen
           )
           I
           have
           got
        
         
           My
           Pistols
           ,
           that
           I
           then
           had
           not
           ,
        
         
           Which
           careless
           Squire
           did
           leave
           behind
           ,
        
         
           I
           would
           he
           had
           been
           beaten
           blind
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Justice
           ,
           you
           want
           Charity
           ,
        
         
           Bro.
           Knight
           ,
           Sir
           Hud
           .
           assuredly
           ,
        
         
           For
           true
           it
           is
           (
           or
           else
           blame
           me
           )
        
         
           When
           Men
           are
           blind
           they
           cannot
           see
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           is
           there
           no
           way
        
         
           To
           put
           a
           period
           to
           this
           day
        
         
         
           By
           Conquest
           ours
           ?
           where
           art
           thou
           Pate
           ?
        
         
           Or
           thus
           —
           or
           thus
           —
           no
           ,
           now
           I
           have
           't
           :
        
         
           To
           th'
           Parliament
           with
           speed
           I
           'le
           send
           ,
        
         
           Where
           I
           have
           got
           a
           special
           Friend
           .
        
         
           Hold
           ,
           quoth
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           Bro.
           Hudibras
           ,
        
         
           I
           have
           it
           here
           ,
           and
           it
           shall
           pass
           ;
        
         
           Bring
           Ink
           and
           Paper
           ,
           I
           'le
           dispatch
        
         
           Letters
           to
           Nantwich
           ,
           where
           my
           Match
           -
        
         
           Less
           Troop
           doth
           quarter
           ;
           come
           they
           hither
           ,
        
         
           They
           'd
           tear
           these
           Rogues
           ears
           ,
           though
           of
           leather
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           't
           is
           trick
           of
           Clown
           ,
        
         
           To
           take
           one
           up
           before
           he
           's
           down
           ;
        
         
           Yours
           is
           the
           work
           of
           half
           a
           year
           ,
        
         
           And
           my
           Design
           does
           lie
           but
           here
        
         
           A
           stones
           throw
           off
           ,
           but
           twenty
           mile
           ,
        
         
           And
           may
           be
           done
           while
           one
           does
           pile
        
         
           A
           load
           of
           Wood.
           I
           think
           not
           so
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Justice
           then
           ,
           though
           much
           I
           know
           .
        
         
           Yes
           upon
           Motion
           of
           my
           Friend
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           I
           know
           they
           'l
           send
           ,
        
         
         
           Either
           a
           Company
           ,
           or
           Troop
           ,
        
         
           Shall
           make
           these
           stubborn
           Rascals
           stoop
           ,
        
         
           But
           good
           Sir
           Bro.
           quoth
           Justice
           ,
           Sir
           ,
        
         
           What
           will
           their
           coming
           here
           infer
           ?
        
         
           'T
           is
           true
           ,
           that
           after
           Beef
           comes
           Musterd
           ,
        
         
           When
           Belly
           's
           full
           ,
           then
           Bring
           in
           Custerd
           :
        
         
           In
           plain
           ,
           the
           Proverb
           's
           good
           I
           swear
           ,
        
         
           They
           'l
           come
           a
           day
           after
           the
           fair
           ;
        
         
           Or
           as
           (
           of
           yore
           )
           the
           learned
           Clerk
           it
           ,
        
         
           Will
           come
           at
           th'
           end
           of
           a
           bad
           Market
           ;
        
         
           At
           end
           of
           Feast
           I
           cannot
           say
           ;
        
         
           But
           after
           fray
           I
           justly
           may
           .
        
         
           Then
           (
           undet
           favour
           )
           Brother
           Knights
           ,
        
         
           Yout
           Reasons
           are
           not
           in
           the
           rights
           ;
        
         
           You
           from
           Nantwich
           do
           draw
           Design
           ,
        
         
           And
           you
           fetch
           yours
           beyond
           the
           Line
           ,
        
         
           For
           here
           ,
           or
           there
           ,
           't
           is
           call'd
           all
           one
           ,
        
         
           The
           Line
           of
           Communication
           .
        
         
           And
           the
           wise
           Parliament
           thought
           fit
        
         
           We
           should
           be
           Neighbours
           to
           their
           Wit.
        
         
         
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           I
           cannot
           reach
           your
           sense
           ,
        
         
           Nantwich
           is
           many
           miles
           from
           hence
           ,
        
         
           And
           yours
           I
           'm
           sure
           doth
           lye
           as
           far
        
         
           As
           Kingstone
           is
           from
           Westminster
           ,
        
         
           You
           say
           they
           'l
           come
           ,
           I
           ask
           you
           when
           ?
        
         
           You
           say
           to
           Morrow
           .
           And
           what
           then
           ?
        
         
           I
           do
           Respond
           ,
           before
           they
           come
        
         
           The
           Foe
           is
           gone
           ,
           each
           Wight's
           at
           home
           ,
        
         
           So
           that
           your
           Councel
           is
           no
           more
           ,
        
         
           "
           Then
           Steed
           being
           stoln
           ,
           shut
           Stable
           dore
           .
        
         
           The
           Red-coats
           come
           ,
           and
           simply
           see
        
         
           A
           goodly
           Field
           ,
           and
           long
           Pole-tree
           :
        
         
           Perhaps
           they
           'l
           reak
           Revenge
           on
           Wood
           ,
        
         
           But
           what
           will
           that
           do
           out
           Heads
           good
           ?
        
         
           That
           ake
           with
           blows
           ,
           and
           our
           bones
           more
           ,
        
         
           Will
           that
           be
           Salve
           for
           every
           Sore
           ?
        
         
           Did
           Paracelsus
           ever
           make
        
         
           Plaisters
           of
           Chips
           for
           Valours
           sake
           ?
        
         
           Or
           will
           (
           by
           simpathy
           )
           the
           blows
        
         
           And
           hacks
           on
           Pole
           be
           felt
           by
           Foes
           ?
        
         
         
           You
           may
           as
           well
           say
           ,
           strike
           me
           Brother
        
         
           Here
           ,
           and
           at
           York
           't
           shall
           lite
           on
           t'other
           .
        
         
           I
           need
           not
           further
           wrack
           my
           Brains
           ,
        
         
           (
           And
           't
           may
           he
           little
           thank
           for
           pains
           )
        
         
           To
           bring
           Comparisons
           ,
           save
           this
        
         
           Which
           was
           said
           of
           Diogenes
           ,
        
         
           When
           he
           was
           told
           that
           one
           spoke
           ill
        
         
           Of
           him
           behind
           his
           back
           ,
           It
           will
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           not
           hurt
           me
           if
           he
           do
           ,
        
         
           When
           I
           'm
           not
           present
           beat
           me
           too
           .
        
         
           So
           to
           as
           little
           purpose
           were
        
         
           These
           men
           thought
           on
           ,
           should
           combat
           air
           ,
        
         
           And
           like
           the
           King
           of
           France
           his
           Men
           ,
        
         
           March
           up
           the
           Hill
           ,
           and
           down
           agen
           .
        
         
           More
           I
           could
           say
           ,
           but
           let
           it
           rest
           ,
        
         
           The
           Birds
           at
           night
           will
           fly
           to
           Nest
           :
        
         
           What
           that
           infers
           your selves
           may
           judge
           ,
        
         
           I
           have
           too
           long
           been
           Reasons
           Drudge
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           must
           we
           passe
           by
        
         
           So
           grand
           an
           open
           Injury
           ?
        
         
         
           Render'd
           the
           scorn
           and
           sport
           of
           Clown
           ,
        
         
           And
           Table-talk
           for
           all
           the
           Town
           ?
        
         
           We
           that
           have
           seen
           Death
           in
           the
           Field
           ,
        
         
           And
           made
           the
           surly
           Fellow
           yield
           ;
        
         
           We
           that
           through
           dangers
           mouth
           have
           met
        
         
           The
           Foe
           ,
           and
           ner'e
           the
           worse
           for
           't
           yet
           ,
        
         
           I
           mean
           the
           common
           Enemy
           ,
        
         
           The
           bold
           and
           daring
           Cavalry
           .
        
         
           We
           can't
           deny
           but
           the
           base
           Clubs
        
         
           Of
           this
           rude
           Rout
           have
           given
           us
           Rubs
           ,
        
         
           Which
           will
           remain
           a
           day
           or
           two
        
         
           On
           sides
           ,
           in
           Colours
           black
           and
           blew
           ;
        
         
           And
           '
           gainst
           our
           wills
           are
           forc't
           to
           wear
           'um
           ,
        
         
           Those
           that
           did
           give
           'um
           ,
           
             Old
             Nick
          
           take
           'um
           ,
        
         
           Can
           you
           ,
           Sir
           Jus
           .
           so
           tamely
           take
        
         
           This
           Cudgel-Combat
           ,
           and
           not
           make
        
         
           The
           very
           Basis
           of
           the
           Town
        
         
           To
           tremble
           at
           your
           awful
           frown
           ?
        
         
           Is
           Justice
           lame
           as
           well
           as
           blind
           ,
        
         
           Crippl'd
           in
           Power
           as
           well
           as
           Mind
           ?
        
         
         
           Can
           you
           send
           Begger
           to
           the
           Stocks
           ,
        
         
           And
           have
           no
           Punishment
           for
           Knocks
           ?
        
         
           Knocks
           in
           a
           most
           Malign
           sence
           ,
        
         
           That
           will
           admit
           of
           no
           Pretence
           ?
        
         
           Were
           you
           Commissionated
           Harry
           ,
        
         
           Or
           are
           you
           Supernumerary
           ,
        
         
           To
           wit
           ,
           one
           that
           may
           be
           imploy'd
        
         
           When
           others
           are
           with
           service
           cloy'd
           ?
        
         
           If
           you
           the
           thing
           it self
           assume
           ,
        
         
           In
           your
           own
           strength
           you
           may
           presume
           ,
        
         
           And
           by
           attractive
           Vertue
           draw
        
         
           Obedience
           to
           you
           ,
           Brat
           o
           th'
           Law
           :
        
         
           Pitchforks
           and
           Prongs
           will
           soon
           appear
           .
        
         
           When
           that
           Sir
           Justice
           is
           in
           fear
           .
        
         
           Oblige
           your
           Interest
           ,
           Neighbours
           raise
           ,
        
         
           My
           honour
           then
           will
           bear
           the
           Bayes
           :
        
         
           And
           that
           you
           may
           not
           want
           a
           Man
        
         
           Resolved
           ,
           know
           I
           'le
           head
           the
           Van
           ,
        
         
           You
           and
           Sir
           Guill
           ,
           bring
           up
           the
           Rear
           ,
        
         
           I
           hope
           y'
           are
           not
           ill
           placed
           there
           .
        
         
         
           Sir
           Hud
           .
           and
           Bro.
           I
           must
           confess
           ,
        
         
           Not
           willingly
           I
           'de
           Aqui-ess
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Justice
           ,
           Sir
           ,
           but
           as
           I
           pearch
        
         
           At
           Reason
           ,
           and
           her
           Intrails
           search
           ,
        
         
           I
           know
           there
           's
           no
           good
           to
           be
           done
           ,
        
         
           Either
           with
           Father
           ,
           or
           with
           Son
           :
        
         
           The
           Case
           is
           alter'd
           now
           ,
           quoth
           Ployden
           ,
        
         
           Which
           is
           asserted
           by
           each
           Hoyden
           :
        
         
           When
           danger
           did
           attend
           our
           Gates
        
         
           We
           did
           not
           fear
           to
           venture
           Pates
           ,
        
         
           But
           now
           we
           have
           no
           Enemie
           ,
        
         
           Unless
           among
           our selves
           they
           be
           ,
        
         
           Pray
           who
           do
           they
           then
           Impeach
           ,
        
         
           If
           you
           into
           the
           sense
           will
           reach
           ?
        
         
           They
           plead
           to
           have
           their
           Sports
           restor'd
           ,
        
         
           For
           which
           they
           had
           the
           Senates
           word
           ,
        
         
           And
           trusted
           to
           't
           as
           much
           ,
           Jack
           saith
           ,
        
         
           As
           Tom
           did
           to
           the
           Publique
           Faith.
        
         
           Now
           they
           instead
           of
           being
           protected
        
         
           In
           their
           Pastimes
           ,
           are
           detected
           ,
        
         
         
           Disturb'd
           ,
           molested
           ,
           put
           in
           fear
           ,
        
         
           Which
           is
           a
           Sessions
           matter
           ,
           hear
        
         
           Me
           Brother
           Knights
           ,
           't
           is
           counted
           pacem
        
         
           Terrorem
           too
           ,
           if
           you
           will
           trace
           'em
           ,
        
         
           To
           wit
           ,
           the
           Cynicks
           of
           the
           Law
           ,
        
         
           Who
           in
           this
           Case
           will
           find
           a
           flaw
        
         
           For
           Palm
           of
           fist
           ,
           without
           good
           Friends
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Money
           ,
           which
           makes
           all
           amends
           .
        
         
           But
           I
           digresse
           ;
           of
           this
           no
           more
           ,
        
         
           To
           what
           I
           should
           have
           said
           before
        
         
           My
           puupose
           is
           ;
           the
           promise
           Root
        
         
           To
           all
           their
           hopes
           laid
           under
           foot
           ;
        
         
           By
           whom
           ?
           who
           did
           it
           violate
           ,
        
         
           One
           that
           's
           a
           Servant
           to
           the
           State
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           pro
           and
           con
           ;
           that
           Justice
           I
           ,
        
         
           My
           Conscience
           speaks
           it
           ,
           which
           won't
           lye
           ;
        
         
           And
           so
           for
           service
           yours
           ,
           unsought
           ,
        
         
           I
           'm
           into
           a
           Priminure
           brought
           .
        
         
           Excuse
           me
           Brother
           Knights
           ,
           God
           knows
        
         
           I
           'm
           well
           contented
           with
           my
           blows
           ,
        
         
         
           If
           you
           be
           so
           ,
           for
           said
           my
           Sire
           ,
        
         
           The
           burnt
           Child
           ever
           dreads
           the
           fire
           ,
        
         
           And
           I
           was
           but
           an
           Asse
           ,
           some
           hint
           ,
        
         
           At
           first
           to
           have
           a
           finger
           in
           't
           .
        
         
           Send
           Mittimus
           ,
           then
           quoth
           Sir
           Guill
           .
        
         
           As
           I
           would
           do
           ,
           had
           I
           my
           will.
        
         
           A
           Mittimus
           ,
           quoth
           Justice
           then
           ,
        
         
           For
           what
           ,
           wherefore
           ,
           for
           whom
           ,
           and
           when
           ?
        
         
           Exponere
           .
           And
           who
           shall
           serve
           it
           ?
        
         
           Let
           such
           have
           beating
           that
           deserve
           it
           .
        
         
           The
           Constable
           ,
           nor
           Tything-man
        
         
           Will
           do
           't
           ,
           if
           they
           avoid
           it
           can
           :
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           did
           Justice
           er'e
           obtrude
        
         
           A
           Mittimus
           on
           Multitude
           ?
        
         
           And
           your
           own
           Eyes
           have
           seen
           that
           I
           ,
        
         
           Who
           am
           above
           it
           ,
           they
           defie
           ;
        
         
           For
           all
           conclude
           ,
           (
           or
           else
           they
           'r
           Fools
           )
        
         
           The
           Workman's
           better
           then
           his
           tools
           .
        
         
           In
           brief
           ,
           (
           for
           Brevity's
           the
           best
        
         
           To
           such
           will
           not
           here
           out
           the
           rest
           )
        
         
         
           I
           'm
           confident
           ,
           and
           dare
           aver
           ,
        
         
           Not
           one
           man
           on
           our
           side
           will
           stir
           .
        
         
           The
           Remedy
           we
           have
           is
           this
           ,
        
         
           Bought
           Wit
           is
           best
           ;
           Nor
           is
           it
           miss
        
         
           Applyed
           here
           ,
           which
           bids
           be
           wary
        
         
           Of
           such
           who
           are
           Ubiquitary
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           why
           Brother
           Jus
           .
        
         
           I
           wonder
           you
           should
           Cackel
           thus
           :
        
         
           Has
           the
           Hen
           trod
           you
           ?
           Is
           your
           Comb
        
         
           Cut
           ,
           and
           no
           Cock
           at
           dunghil-home
           ?
        
         
           Prevaricate
           ,
           turn
           Cat
           in
           Pan
           ,
        
         
           Be
           lesse
           then
           Beast
           ,
           yet
           seem
           a
           Man.
        
         
           Do
           you
           wear
           Beard
           ,
           and
           want
           a
           Face
        
         
           To
           add
           a
           Credit
           to
           your
           Place
           ?
        
         
           Too
           much
           ,
           the
           Proverb
           now
           should
           hit
        
         
           In
           you
           ,
           to
           have
           more
           hair
           then
           wit
           :
        
         
           The
           Romans
           shav'd
           themselves
           so
           clean
           ,
        
         
           The
           face
           of
           Justice
           might
           be
           seen
           ;
        
         
           But
           you
           obscure
           it
           with
           a
           Grove
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Maggots
           Nest
           in
           Neighbour-love
           :
        
         
         
           Or
           like
           the
           Creeping
           Syrian
           King
           ,
        
         
           When
           he
           with
           Beasts
           went
           a
           Banquetting
           .
        
         
           What
           strange
           Coherence
           doth
           bewitch
        
         
           Your
           Worships
           Nose
           to
           Plow-mans
           breech
           ?
        
         
           I
           do
           request
           your
           learned
           Noddle
           ,
        
         
           Tell
           me
           what
           's
           that
           in
           Pan
           you
           coddle
           ;
        
         
           For
           Brains
           you
           have
           not
           (
           I
           suppose
           )
        
         
           Unless
           they
           drop
           out
           of
           your
           Nose
           .
        
         
           Are
           you
           a
           Magistrate
           
             per
             se
          
           ,
        
         
           Or
           
             insufficientem
             te
          
           !
        
         
           To
           which
           o
           th'
           Nounes
           do
           you
           incline
           ?
        
         
           Your
           Gender
           sure
           's
           not
           Masculine
           :
        
         
           Rather
           the
           Doubtful
           ,
           like
           long
           Megs
           ,
        
         
           And
           scarce
           can
           stand
           on
           your
           own
           legs
           :
        
         
           The
           Sword
           on
           Shoulder
           was
           mis-laid
           ,
        
         
           When
           kneel
           down
           Gent.
           rise
           Knight
           was
           said
           :
        
         
           And
           he
           that
           made
           thee
           Justice-dasher
        
         
           Did
           spoil
           (
           Sir
           Reverence
           )
           a
           good
           Thrasher
           .
        
         
           Nay
           ,
           quoth
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           I
           promise
           you
           ,
        
         
           Bro.
           Hud
           .
           something
           he
           said
           was
           true
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           now
           for
           Councel
           well
           may
           pass
           ,
        
         
           Though
           one
           would
           take
           him
           for
           an
           Ass
           ,
        
         
           Not
           to
           run
           farther
           into
           th'
           Briers
           ,
        
         
           Is
           all
           that
           his
           advice
           requires
           :
        
         
           And
           truly
           ,
           unlesse
           we
           were
           stronger
           ,
        
         
           I
           think
           't
           not
           safe
           to
           stay
           here
           longer
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           then
           Sir
           Justice
           ,
           't
           is
           all
           one
        
         
           To
           me
           ,
           to
           stay
           ,
           or
           to
           be
           gone
           ;
        
         
           But
           I
           think
           packing
           is
           the
           the
           best
           ,
        
         
           For
           beating
           this
           ,
           is
           but
           Earnest
        
         
           To
           after
           Payments
           that
           will
           follow
           ,
        
         
           When
           as
           the
           Rout
           Triumphs
           ;
           and
           hollow
           ,
        
         
           If
           you
           at
           good
           advice
           will
           rave
           ,
        
         
           Abuse
           your
           Friends
           when
           none
           you
           have
           :
        
         
           Take
           Pepper
           in
           Nostrello
           when
        
         
           You
           want
           a
           Box
           to
           put
           it
           in
           ;
        
         
           I
           care
           not
           a
           Fleas-biting
           for
        
         
           All
           your
           great
           din
           ,
           pudder
           ,
           and
           stir
           ;
        
         
           And
           as
           a
           wiser
           then
           you
           all
        
         
           Did
           speak
           in
           house
           beyond
           the
           Hall
           ,
        
         
         
           If
           without
           cause
           you
           angry
           be
           ,
        
         
           Be
           pleas'd
           without
           amends
           for
           me
           :
        
         
           And
           since
           all
           words
           are
           held
           but
           wind
           ,
        
         
           Your
           Girdles
           buckle
           turn
           behind
           :
        
         
           I
           'le
           not
           be
           bug
           beard
           at
           the
           word
        
         
           Of
           
             Colonel
             Cramp
          
           ,
           or
           wise
           Sir
           Turd
           ,
        
         
           I
           've
           seen
           a
           Knight
           ere
           I
           saw
           you
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           scarce
           one
           so
           true
           ;
        
         
           Mine
           currant
           and
           of
           older
           stampt
        
         
           Then
           thine
           that
           is
           but
           lately
           vampt
           ,
        
         
           Mine
           will
           be
           lasting
           ,
           thine
           decay
           ,
        
         
           The
           More
           's
           your
           shame
           ,
           as
           I
           may
           say
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Justice
           then
           ,
           for
           one
           may
           see
        
         
           You
           're
           Cobler
           but
           in
           Heraldry
           ;
        
         
           And
           If
           I
           don't
           mistake
           my
           Note
           ,
        
         
           You
           basely
           have
           abac'd
           your
           Coat
           ;
        
         
           For
           he
           can
           be
           no
           Childe
           of
           Honour
           ,
        
         
           That
           shall
           for
           favours
           spurn
           at
           th'
           Donor
           :
        
         
           As
           for
           my
           part
           (
           though
           mine
           were
           latter
           )
        
         
           I
           shall
           stick
           still
           to
           the
           first
           matter
           ,
        
         
         
           I
           will
           obedient
           be
           to
           Powers
        
         
           That
           are
           above
           me
           ,
           not
           to
           yours
           ;
        
         
           And
           in
           my
           Neighbours
           love
           will
           dy
           ,
        
         
           I
           value
           not
           wherefore
           ,
           nor
           why
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           to
           horse
           ,
           a
           Curse
        
         
           Upon
           this
           Town
           ,
           Malignants
           Nurse
           ,
        
         
           And
           doth
           derive
           part
           of
           its
           name
        
         
           From
           whom
           (
           at
           first
           )
           Tyranny
           came
           .
        
         
           May
           darkness
           seize
           upon
           your
           dwellings
           ,
        
         
           That
           have
           eclips'd
           my
           high
           Excellings
           ;
        
         
           May
           all
           your
           Wives
           be
           leapt
           by
           Clown
           ,
        
         
           And
           your
           fine
           Bread
           be
           turn'd
           to
           Brown
           ;
        
         
           May
           all
           your
           Cattel
           dye
           o
           th'
           Rot
           ,
        
         
           And
           not
           a
           piece
           be
           had
           for
           Pot
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Spit
           ;
           and
           may
           your
           Children
           mutter
           ,
        
         
           When
           Kine
           want
           Milk
           ,
           and
           they
           want
           Butter
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Justice
           then
           ,
           thou
           art
           no
           Christian
           ,
        
         
           A
           Turk
           ,
           or
           Jew
           ,
           or
           
             Tribe
             Philistian
          
           :
        
         
           Get
           to
           thy
           Crew
           ,
           from
           hence
           for
           shame
           ,
        
         
           Least
           on
           thy
           back
           light
           all
           the
           blame
           .
        
         
         
           So
           part
           they
           did
           with
           Anger
           eager
        
         
           As
           frowns
           on
           Brows
           ,
           and
           Visage
           meager
           :
        
         
           The
           Squires
           were
           call'd
           from
           Tipling-Cell
           ,
        
         
           Not
           dreaming
           of
           what
           had
           befel
           ;
        
         
           Armed
           with
           Liquor
           Male
           they
           stride
        
         
           Thir
           sturdy
           Steeds
           ,
           and
           on
           they
           ride
           ;
        
         
           leaving
           Sir
           Justice
           out
           of
           Peace
           ,
        
         
           Fretting
           ,
           and
           melting
           in
           's
           own
           greace
           ;
        
         
           And
           unto
           Town
           ,
           famous
           for
           Hogs
           ,
        
         
           Butchers
           ,
           and
           their
           like
           ,
           Mastiffe-dogs
           ;
        
         
           And
           for
           a
           Witch
           that
           once
           liv'd
           there
           ,
        
         
           Not
           unlike
           Falstaffe
           in
           Shakespeare
           ;
        
         
           But
           more
           for
           fight
           ,
           when
           Londoneers
        
         
           In
           Thames
           were
           dipt
           or'e
           head
           and
           ears
           ,
        
         
           And
           some
           Limbless
           in
           Carts
           were
           sent
           ,
        
         
           As
           Presents
           unto
           Parliament
           ,
        
         
           Which
           made
           a
           foul
           House
           ,
           and
           no
           doubt
        
         
           Was
           ill
           Resented
           when
           smelt
           out
           ;
        
         
           Thither
           they
           haste
           ,
           but
           in
           their
           way
           ,
        
         
           
             Latet
             in
             anguis
          
           ;
           some
           rubslay
           .
        
         
         
           At
           distance
           mile
           from
           Town
           there
           stood
        
         
           An
           Amphitheatre
           of
           Wood
           ,
        
         
           Back'd
           pretty
           strong
           ,
           a
           Form
           or
           Bench
           ,
        
         
           Where
           sat
           Sir
           Capon
           and
           his
           Wench
           ;
        
         
           A
           Plank
           for
           Stage
           some
           five
           yards
           high
           ,
        
         
           (
           With
           Curtain
           most
           conveniently
           .
           )
        
         
           On
           which
           Sir
           Hud
           .
           whose
           eyes
           were
           walking
           ,
        
         
           Perceiv'd
           a
           fellow
           gape
           ,
           or
           talking
           ,
        
         
           Sometimes
           expanding
           arms
           ,
           then
           clutch
        
         
           His
           fists
           ,
           or
           point
           to
           thumb
           ,
           as
           much
           ,
        
         
           His
           head
           was
           in
           perpetual
           motion
           ,
        
         
           His
           eyes
           the
           same
           ,
           to
           put
           off
           lotion
           ,
        
         
           And
           tongue
           he
           had
           more
           swift
           then
           Jack
           ,
        
         
           Which
           alwayes
           ran
           knick
           knack
           ,
           knick
           ,
           knack
           ,
        
         
           For
           through
           his
           teeth
           such
           jangling
           went
           ,
        
         
           As
           one
           would
           think
           his
           gums
           were
           wrent
           :
        
         
           Spectators
           many
           stood
           before
        
         
           To
           see
           the
           Knacks
           he
           had
           in
           store
           ,
        
         
           With
           
           Algate-Mouths
           ,
           Saracens
           Ear
           ,
        
         
           They
           gape
           to
           taste
           ,
           as
           mad
           to
           hear
           .
        
         
         
           On
           either
           side
           of
           Theater
        
         
           Were
           plac'd
           two
           Tubs
           of
           sturdy
           Beer
           ,
        
         
           And
           Wenches
           ,
           that
           for
           Novelties
           ,
        
         
           Sold
           Ginger-bread
           ,
           and
           Pudding-pies
           ,
        
         
           Which
           fodder
           was
           unto
           the
           Cattel
           ,
        
         
           As
           when
           Train-band
           do
           enter
           battel
           :
        
         
           This
           made
           the
           Knights
           and
           Squires
           to
           pawse
        
         
           A
           while
           ,
           and
           sift
           into
           the
           cause
           :
        
         
           What
           can
           this
           mean
           ,
           quoth
           Hudibras
        
         
           To
           Knight
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           must
           we
           not
           pass
           ?
        
         
           Does
           Courage
           so
           adapt
           my
           blade
           ,
        
         
           That
           Multitudes
           do
           Ambuscade
           ?
        
         
           Day
           thou
           art
           fatal
           ,
           yet
           bright
           Honour
        
         
           Shall
           say
           I
           still
           will
           wait
           upon
           her
           ;
        
         
           Be
           bold
           ,
           troop
           up
           ,
           defie
           the
           Foe
           ;
        
         
           Hold
           ,
           quoth
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           I
           say
           not
           so
           ;
        
         
           Observe
           you
           not
           you
           '
           man
           of
           Zeal
           ,
        
         
           A
           blest
           Tipe
           o
           th'
           Common-weal
           ,
        
         
           With
           held
           up
           hands
           ,
           and
           devout
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           He
           doubtless
           is
           at
           Exercise
           ,
        
         
         
           His
           Faculties
           in
           labour
           are
           ,
        
         
           To
           feed
           the
           Soul
           even
           through
           the
           Ear
           ,
        
         
           A
           Work
           of
           Grace
           he
           is
           a
           doing
           ,
        
         
           Then
           soberly
           let
           us
           be
           going
           ;
        
         
           Curb
           in
           the
           Reins
           of
           wicked
           Horse
           ,
        
         
           And
           pace
           like
           men
           that
           have
           remorse
           ,
        
         
           For
           ah
           ,
           alack
           no
           blows
           controul
        
         
           As
           words
           ,
           that
           cudgel
           do
           the
           Soul
           ,
        
         
           For
           they
           ,
           like
           to
           Achilles
           Speare
           ,
        
         
           Both
           wound
           and
           heal
           ,
           or
           I
           'm
           not
           here
           .
        
         
           So
           on
           they
           amble
           to
           the
           place
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Monsieur
           spake
           with
           a
           boon
           grace
           ;
        
         
           Begar
           me
           kill
           you
           all
           ,
           an
           den
        
         
           Presan
           make
           you
           alive
           agen
           ;
        
         
           Wi
           dis
           me
           do
           all
           de
           gran
           Cure
           ,
        
         
           De
           Pock
           ,
           de
           Scab
           .
           de
           Calenture
           ;
        
         
           Me
           make
           de
           Man
           strong
           ,
           pour
           de
           Wench
           .
        
         
           (
           Then
           riseth
           Capon
           from
           the
           Bench
           )
        
         
           Look
           you
           me
           now
           ,
           do
           you
           no
           see
        
         
           Dead
           yesterday
           ,
           now
           live
           day
           be
           ,
        
         
         
           Four
           boon
           ,
           dey
           leap
           ,
           dey
           dance
           ,
           dey
           sing
           ,
        
         
           May
           foy
           ,
           an
           do
           de
           toder
           ting
           :
        
         
           Begar
           good
           Medicine
           do
           all
           dis
           .
        
         
           Capon
           makes
           legs
           ,
           and
           Wench
           doth
           kiss
           ,
        
         
           Take
           hands
           ,
           and
           throw
           their
           legs
           about
           .
        
         
           Then
           Hudibras
           disturbs
           the
           Rout
           :
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           what
           do
           you
           come
           to
           see
           ,
        
         
           A
           Pandor
           shew
           his
           Harlotry
           ?
        
         
           Then
           forth
           of
           Holster
           doth
           he
           take
        
         
           His
           fatal
           Engine
           ,
           to
           awake
        
         
           His
           long
           slept
           anger
           ;
           '
           mongst
           'em
           them
        
         
           (
           With
           Courage
           would
           serve
           twenty
           Men
           )
        
         
           He
           rusheth
           ,
           makes
           the
           Rabble
           fly
           ;
        
         
           Monsieur
           doth
           Quarter
           ,
           Quarter
           cry
           ;
        
         
           And
           Capon
           (
           but
           for
           Wenches
           Teathers
           )
        
         
           Had
           been
           hung
           up
           in
           his
           own
           Feathers
           :
        
         
           The
           Suttlers
           lay
           as
           they
           were
           dead
           ,
        
         
           To
           see
           their
           Drink
           so
           murdered
           ;
        
         
           Hot
           Custard
           ,
           piping-Pudding-pie
           ,
        
         
           On
           Gods
           cold
           Earth
           at
           distance
           lie
           ;
        
         
         
           The
           Knights
           and
           Ladies
           sunder'd
           are
           ,
        
         
           In
           Ginger-bread
           united
           were
           :
        
         
           But
           th'
           Squires
           did
           in
           Pocketto
           put
        
         
           Some
           Pudding-pies
           ,
           as
           good
           for
           Gut.
        
         
           The
           Rout
           dispers'd
           ,
           quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
        
         
           Brother
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           and
           Squires
           ,
           the
           face
        
         
           Of
           Fortune
           now
           is
           wheel'd
           about
           ,
        
         
           She
           doth
           assist
           the
           bold
           and
           stout
           ;
        
         
           I
           knew
           er'e
           Ev'ning
           did
           close
           in
        
         
           We
           should
           be
           Conqnerours
           ,
           and
           win
           ;
        
         
           Perseverance
           doth
           make
           the
           Man
        
         
           Inclin'd
           to
           Warr
           a
           Champion
           ;
        
         
           Diffidence
           and
           distrust
           confound
           ,
        
         
           And
           bury
           Honour
           under
           ground
           :
        
         
           To
           take
           one
           Wound
           ,
           and
           fear
           another
           ,
        
         
           Makes
           Man
           but
           Valours
           bastard-brother
           ;
        
         
           In
           all
           brave
           Fights
           with
           courage
           born
           ,
        
         
           Ev'nings
           prove
           better
           then
           the
           Morn
           :
        
         
           In
           triumph
           Squires
           lead
           on
           to
           Town
           ,
        
         
           We
           have
           recover'd
           our
           Renown
           .
        
      
       
         
         
           The
           third
           Canto
           .
        
         
           
             Argument
             .
          
           
             The
             Victors
             
               all
               their
               Pris'ners
               carry
            
          
           
             
               Through
               Town
               to
               Castle
               ,
               and
               there
               tarry
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Which
               Pilgrims
               us'd
               in
               times
               of
               yore
            
          
           
             
               To
               call
               an
               Inn
               ,
               and
               shew'd
               wherefore
            
             ;
          
           
             
               There
               they
               in
               Councel
               sit
               ,
               and
               do
            
          
           
             Examine
             Quack
             ,
             Capono
             too
             ,
          
           
             
               Nor
               doth
               the
               Wench
               escape
               their
               reach
               ,
            
          
           
             
               They
               in
               her
               Cote
               do
               find
               a
               breach
               .
            
          
           
             
               But
               in
               the
               Close
               (
               without
               controul
               )
            
          
           
             
               They
               Prisoners
               passe
               on
               their
               Paroul
               .
            
          
           
             
               Then
               new
               Adventures
               they
               do
               seek
            
          
           
             
               'Mong
               Butchers
               rude
               ,
               and
               Puppets
               meek
               .
            
          
        
         
         
           UNhappy
           is
           the
           Wight
           that
           has
        
         
           To
           do
           with
           mighty
           Hudibras
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           Courage
           no
           rebating
           knows
           ,
        
         
           For
           he
           drives
           on
           ,
           and
           calls
           for
           blows
           ,
        
         
           And
           like
           the
           daring
           Scithian
           Shepherd
           ,
        
         
           Keeps
           Sword
           from
           Rust
           ,
           till
           all
           are
           pepper'd
           ,
        
         
           Or
           in
           the
           Sanguine
           liquour
           stew'd
        
         
           Issuing
           from
           Pagan
           Multitude
           ,
        
         
           Though
           Fortune
           on
           his
           side
           may
           frown
        
         
           At
           first
           ,
           at
           last
           her
           Pride
           comes
           down
           ,
        
         
           Which
           he
           takes
           up
           ,
           and
           swells
           his
           Sails
        
         
           With
           glorious
           Nihils
           ,
           empty
           Gales
           :
        
         
           So
           have
           I
           known
           some
           Courtiers
           want
        
         
           Bread
           ,
           more
           then
           ever
           did
           pesant
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           the
           turning
           of
           the
           Wheel
           ,
        
         
           Preferment
           made
           their
           Reason
           reel
           ,
        
         
           And
           slight
           those
           from
           whom
           helps
           they
           had
           ;
        
         
           Success
           ,
           and
           Money
           make
           Men
           mad
           ;
        
         
           Money
           that
           Loyalty
           out-braves
           ,
        
         
           Keeps
           back
           the
           honest
           ,
           brings
           in
           knaves
           ,
        
         
         
           Puts
           fellows
           Principl'd
           in
           Treason
        
         
           In
           Power
           and
           trust
           '
           gainst
           sense
           and
           reason
           ,
        
         
           Replyes
           to
           all
           things
           ,
           Rhimes
           to
           Honey
           ,
        
         
           Ask
           what
           's
           a
           Clock
           ,
           't
           is
           answer'd
           Money
           .
        
         
           Go
           to
           'em
           but
           to
           speak
           about
           ,
        
         
           Some
           business
           ,
           streight
           the
           hand
           's
           held
           out
           ,
        
         
           Which
           signifies
           you
           must
           prepare
           ,
        
         
           Before
           your
           matter
           meet
           their
           Ear
           ;
        
         
           Like
           half-starv'd
           Wretches
           (
           come
           to
           meat
           )
        
         
           Do
           covet
           more
           then
           they
           can
           eat
           :
        
         
           Or
           as
           the
           Proverb
           bids
           you
           mark
           ,
        
         
           
             The
             Priest
             forgets
             he
             er'e
             was
             Clark.
          
        
         
           Sir
           Hudibras
           ,
           whose
           great
           Prowesse
        
         
           Aims
           at
           the
           more
           ,
           forgets
           the
           lesse
           ,
        
         
           Troops
           on
           with
           all
           his
           Captiv'd
           train
        
         
           In
           state
           ,
           much
           like
           to
           Tamberlain
           ,
        
         
           For
           he
           ,
           his
           Conquest
           to
           compleat
           ,
        
         
           Chains
           
             Monsieur
             Quack
          
           like
           Bagazet
           ,
        
         
           And
           at
           Horse
           tayl
           he
           doth
           attend
           ,
        
         
           Like
           one
           made
           for
           no
           other
           end
           ;
        
         
         
           With
           head
           on
           side
           of
           neck
           ,
           he
           goes
           ,
        
         
           His
           Vessels
           leaking
           ,
           Eyes
           and
           Nose
           ,
        
         
           His
           antick
           Motions
           are
           forgot
           ,
        
         
           He
           moves
           as
           though
           he
           moved
           not
           ;
        
         
           Nor
           can
           you
           blame
           him
           thus
           to
           faulter
           ,
        
         
           No
           Dog
           but
           would
           abandon
           halter
           ;
        
         
           And
           he
           well
           knew
           there
           was
           no
           trick
        
         
           In
           reading
           ,
           or
           practice
           Chymick
           ,
        
         
           After
           a
           hanging
           to
           cure
           Gullet
           ,
        
         
           And
           set
           it
           right
           to
           swallow
           Pullet
           :
        
         
           Capono
           and
           his
           Damsel
           brought
        
         
           Up
           Rear
           ,
           with
           Sorrow
           fully
           fraught
           ,
        
         
           His
           Countenance
           betray'd
           him
           loth
        
         
           To
           be
           disht
           up
           amidst
           white
           Broth
           ,
        
         
           And
           doubted
           much
           to
           have
           his
           Book
           ,
        
         
           He
           knew
           he
           had
           a
           hanging
           look
           .
        
         
           The
           Damsel
           lookt
           like
           one
           neer
           dead
           ,
        
         
           But
           comforted
           by
           Ginger-bread
           ,
        
         
           And
           now
           and
           then
           with
           Pudding-Pie
           ,
        
         
           Tender'd
           by
           Squires
           (
           some
           Reason
           why
           )
        
         
         
           For
           as
           Taylors
           preserve
           their
           Cabbage
           ,
        
         
           So
           Squires
           take
           care
           of
           Bag
           and
           Baggage
           .
        
         
           Vesper
           appear'd
           ,
           and
           Sol
           was
           down
           ,
        
         
           When
           Hudibras
           did
           enter
           Town
           :
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           Bro.
           Guill
           .
           observe
           the
           Sun
           ,
        
         
           Envying
           the
           Glories
           we
           have
           won
           ,
        
         
           Is
           gone
           to
           bed
           ,
           and
           in
           meer
           spight
        
         
           Shadows
           our
           Trophies
           with
           the
           Night
           ;
        
         
           But
           er'e
           he
           has
           ta'ne
           Nap
           or
           two
        
         
           Wee
           'l
           rouze
           him
           with
           Atchievements
           new
           ,
        
         
           Bleeding
           like
           Herrings
           in
           their
           Gills
           ,
        
         
           And
           fresh
           too
           ,
           or
           wee
           'l
           want
           our
           wills
           :
        
         
           So
           over
           Lake
           ,
           Anglice
           Kennel
        
         
           (
           Which
           had
           a
           stronger
           scent
           then
           Fennel
           )
        
         
           They
           unto
           Gate
           (
           beyond
           it
           )
           past
           ,
        
         
           Famous
           (
           when
           shut
           )
           for
           being
           fast
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Knight
           to
           Squires
           ,
           go
           one
           of
           you
           ,
        
         
           No
           matter
           which
           ,
           you
           are
           but
           two
           ,
        
         
           And
           ask
           who
           keeps
           this
           Garrison
           ,
        
         
           I
           mean
           the
           house
           ,
           but
           't
           is
           all
           one
           .
        
         
         
           Your
           words
           ,
           quoth
           Squire
           ,
           shall
           be
           obey'd
        
         
           Great
           Hudibras
           ,
           (
           just
           so
           he
           said
           )
        
         
           Before
           the
           turning
           of
           a
           Teaster
           ,
        
         
           Or
           bate
           me
           of
           an
           Egg
           at
           Easter
           .
        
         
           Whoop
           ,
           quoth
           the
           Squire
           ,
           where
           are
           you
           ho
           ?
        
         
           A
           Language
           he
           was
           verst
           into
           ,
        
         
           For
           he
           had
           travell'd
           many
           a
           mile
           ,
        
         
           And
           was
           not
           now
           to
           seek
           his
           stile
           .
        
         
           At
           last
           Ostlero
           did
           appear
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           Nose
           did
           scent
           the
           Beasts
           were
           near
           :
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           why
           bring
           you
           not
           down
           lights
        
         
           For
           Squires
           so
           good
           ,
           and
           eke
           for
           Knights
           ?
        
         
           Quoth
           Squire
           ,
           first
           take
           in
           care
           our
           Horses
           ,
        
         
           And
           then
           you
           may
           Rally
           your
           Forces
           .
        
         
           With
           hand
           as
           useful
           Quacks
           Sirrops
           ,
        
         
           Ostlero
           streight
           takes
           hold
           on
           Stirrops
           ,
        
         
           And
           leads
           the
           Palfryes
           to
           the
           Stable
           ,
        
         
           Where
           he
           did
           do
           what
           he
           was
           able
        
         
           To
           beasts
           ,
           for
           he
           and
           they
           were
           Kin
           ,
        
         
           However
           they
           were
           now
           drawn
           in
           .
        
         
         
           Mean
           while
           was
           Chamberlano
           call'd
           ;
        
         
           He
           came
           ,
           and
           ask'd
           for
           what
           they
           bawl'd
           ,
        
         
           For
           he
           was
           ready
           for
           all
           Squabbles
           ,
        
         
           Having
           been
           beat
           (
           it
           seems
           )
           at
           Tables
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           where
           wert
           thou
           bred
           ?
        
         
           Wilt
           thou
           not
           stand
           us
           now
           in
           sted
           ?
        
         
           Wearied
           with
           doing
           mighty
           things
           ,
        
         
           Spent
           the
           whole
           day
           in
           Bickerings
           ,
        
         
           These
           are
           the
           Guordeons
           of
           our
           toil
           ,
        
         
           Our
           purchase
           and
           our
           lawful
           spoil
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           then
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           oh
           fie
           ,
           good
           Brother
           ,
        
         
           Let
           us
           like
           Christians
           love
           each
           other
           .
        
         
           But
           every
           like
           is
           not
           the
           same
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           you
           are
           to
           blame
           ,
        
         
           You
           will
           be
           twittering
           like
           the
           Drill
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           insignificant
           be
           still
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           these
           are
           meer
           Infidels
           .
        
         
           Begar
           you
           lye
           (
           quoth
           Monsieur
           )
           else
           ,
        
         
           Softly
           to
           self
           ,
           as
           who
           should
           say
           ,
        
         
           He
           would
           speak
           more
           were
           he
           away
           .
        
         
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           shew
           up
           to
           room
           ,
        
         
           For
           they
           shall
           soon
           receive
           their
           Doom
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Chamberlano
           ,
           after
           banging
        
         
           I
           think
           them
           hardly
           worth
           the
           hanging
           ;
        
         
           Yet
           I
           presume
           they
           may
           be
           try'd
           well
           ,
        
         
           And
           sent
           to
           place
           yclipsed
           Bridewell
           .
        
         
           Thou
           hitt'st
           it
           right
           ,
           quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           they
           unto
           Chamber
           pass
           ,
        
         
           The
           fairest
           in
           the
           place
           ,
           you
           may
        
         
           Believe
           whatever
           others
           say
           ;
        
         
           In
           length
           it
           was
           full
           fourteen
           Yards
           ,
        
         
           In
           breadth
           some
           twelve
           ,
           measure
           ,
           Richaurds
           ;
        
         
           The
           Floor
           ,
           for
           Comers
           ,
           strew'd
           with
           Rushes
           ;
        
         
           Chimney
           set
           out
           with
           Boughs
           and
           Bushes
           ;
        
         
           The
           Walls
           ,
           instead
           of
           Tapistry
           ,
        
         
           Were
           hung
           about
           with
           History
           ,
        
         
           As
           those
           of
           the
           
             Prodigal
             Son
          
           ,
        
         
           And
           Judgement
           just
           of
           Solomon
           ,
        
         
           In
           Capitals
           most
           fairly
           writ
           ,
        
         
           To
           take
           the
           Eye
           ,
           and
           help
           the
           Wit
           ;
        
         
         
           Upon
           the
           Ceiling
           one
           might
           see
        
         
           Clouds
           of
           Mens
           names
           in
           Candlery
           ,
        
         
           Who
           had
           been
           Patrons
           to
           the
           place
           ,
        
         
           And
           penny
           spent
           in
           putting
           Case
           ;
        
         
           In
           Window
           laid
           was
           Lavendare
           ,
        
         
           Of
           which
           the
           Cushions
           smel
           most
           rare
           ,
        
         
           With
           pots
           of
           Flowers
           very
           pleasing
        
         
           To
           put
           a
           Man
           into
           a
           sneezing
           :
        
         
           In
           midst
           of
           Room
           a
           Table
           stood
           ,
        
         
           Which
           certainly
           was
           made
           of
           Wood
           ;
        
         
           The
           Superfices
           of
           it
           was
        
         
           A
           Carpet
           ,
           which
           for
           green
           may
           pass
        
         
           T'
           avoid
           disputes
           ,
           but
           to
           say
           true
           ,
        
         
           It
           might
           as
           well
           be
           ta'ne
           for
           blew
           ,
        
         
           Or
           any
           colour
           else
           ,
           or
           none
        
         
           At
           all
           ,
           hower'e
           't
           shall
           pass
           for
           one
           ,
        
         
           Richly
           strip'd
           o're
           with
           dregs
           of
           Ale
           ,
        
         
           Which
           from
           o're-charg'd
           Cups
           seldom
           faile
           ,
        
         
           And
           here
           and
           there
           you
           might
           discry
        
         
           A
           breach
           made
           by
           the
           Enemy
           ,
        
         
         
           Who
           from
           Mundungoes
           took
           its
           name
           ,
        
         
           And
           wastes
           it self
           in
           smoak
           and
           flame
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           ashes
           fatal
           are
           to
           Cloth
           ,
        
         
           Linnen
           ,
           or
           Woolen
           ,
           all
           ,
           or
           both
           :
        
         
           On
           each
           side
           Table
           placed
           were
        
         
           Stools
           joynted
           ,
           and
           at
           end
           a
           Chair
           ,
        
         
           Which
           was
           for
           Worshipful
           ,
           so
           please
           ,
        
         
           But
           all
           was
           for
           the
           Buttocks
           ease
           :
        
         
           And
           lights
           in
           Sticks
           some
           place
           did
           fill
           there
           ,
        
         
           Some
           say
           were
           Tin
           ,
           but
           bright
           as
           Silver
           :
        
         
           At
           end
           of
           Room
           a
           Bed
           did
           stand
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           Posts
           were
           carv'd
           by
           cunning
           hand
           ,
        
         
           Faces
           good
           store
           ,
           but
           ne're
           a
           Nose
           ,
        
         
           And
           Legs
           too
           ,
           without
           Feet
           ,
           or
           Toes
           ,
        
         
           Which
           either
           came
           by
           some
           disaster
           ,
        
         
           Or
           else
           he
           was
           not
           his
           Arts
           Master
           ;
        
         
           And
           yet
           perhaps
           he
           did
           express
        
         
           The
           Art
           he
           had
           in
           ugliness
           ;
        
         
           For
           to
           do
           things
           exactly
           ill
        
         
           Must
           needs
           shew
           (
           though
           not
           Judgement
           )
           Skill
           :
        
         
         
           About
           the
           Teaster
           of
           the
           Bed
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           on
           that
           they
           call
           the
           Head
           ,
        
         
           Were
           painted
           Batts
           (
           like
           Cherubs
           )
           flying
           ,
        
         
           To
           comfort
           Souls
           when
           they
           are
           dying
           .
        
         
           But
           rouze
           my
           Muse
           ,
           y
           'ave
           been
           too
           long
        
         
           Upon
           the
           Bed
           ,
           pursue
           your
           Song
           ;
        
         
           For
           Clio
           (
           as
           some
           Authours
           ken
           )
        
         
           Doth
           sing
           the
           worthy
           Deeds
           of
           Men
           ;
        
         
           So
           all
           this
           while
           ,
           it
           may
           be
           sed
           ,
        
         
           We
           have
           been
           singing
           
             Knights
             to
             bed
          
           :
        
         
           Therefore
           no
           harm
           to
           Ears
           that
           have
        
         
           No
           mind
           to
           hear
           ,
           nor
           those
           that
           crave
           .
        
         
           And
           now
           we
           come
           unto
           the
           Point
           ,
        
         
           By
           this
           time
           Squires
           had
           truckt
           for
           Joint
        
         
           Of
           Mutton
           ,
           or
           some
           wholsome
           food
           ,
        
         
           Which
           they
           knew
           was
           for
           body
           good
           ,
        
         
           And
           brought
           up
           word
           unto
           the
           Knights
           ,
        
         
           Who
           bid
           withdraw
           awhile
           yon'
           Wights
           ,
        
         
           Pointing
           to
           Prisoners
           ,
           who
           stood
           gaping
           ,
        
         
           As
           Damsel
           did
           ,
           who
           long'd
           for
           Japing
           ,
        
         
         
           A
           word
           the
           Gipseys
           much
           affect
           ,
        
         
           And
           held
           by
           These
           in
           like
           respect
           ;
        
         
           Eor
           they
           have
           travell'd
           North
           ,
           and
           South
           ,
        
         
           With
           it
           ,
           and
           tenant
           is
           to
           mouth
           ,
        
         
           Which
           though
           they
           throw
           out
           now
           ,
           and
           then
           ,
        
         
           They
           entertain
           with
           joy
           agen
           ;
        
         
           But
           er'e
           the
           Creature
           was
           brought
           up
           ;
        
         
           Or
           that
           the
           Knights
           had
           ta'ne
           a
           sup
           ,
        
         
           On
           these
           main
           words
           ,
           
             put
             case
          
           ,
           and
           whether
           ,
        
         
           The
           Knights
           condogg'd
           ,
           knockt
           Jolls
           together
           ,
        
         
           At
           last
           for
           private
           Reasons
           they
        
         
           Did
           think
           it
           fit
           the
           Wights
           should
           stay
           ;
        
         
           For
           held
           it
           was
           a
           point
           of
           State
           ,
        
         
           That
           Prisoners
           should
           on
           table
           wait
           .
        
         
           After
           a
           hem
           ,
           Sir
           Hudibras
        
         
           Bespake
           and
           said
           ,
           alas
           ,
           alas
           !
        
         
           Begar
           ,
           quoth
           Monsieur
           ,
           here
           be
           none
           ,
        
         
           Me
           scorn
           your
           vards
           begone
           .
        
         
           There
           's
           no
           such
           haste
           ,
           then
           quoth
           Sir
           Guill
           .
        
         
           Our
           Enmity
           is
           not
           so
           ill
        
         
         
           To
           have
           you
           loose
           part
           of
           the
           Supper
           ,
        
         
           And
           therefore
           stay
           :
           Marry
           come
           up
           here
           ;
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           must
           you
           be
           treated
           ,
        
         
           Whom
           we
           but
           lately
           have
           defeated
           ?
        
         
           Begar
           (
           quoth
           Quack
           )
           vid
           all
           mine
           heart
        
         
           Me
           take
           de
           Supper
           in
           good
           part
           ;
        
         
           Me
           be
           no
           angry
           vid
           dat
           ,
        
         
           Dough
           me
           be
           mad
           at
           me
           know
           vat
           .
        
         
           Then
           
             Chamberlano
             Cloth
          
           did
           lay
           ,
        
         
           Which
           had
           not
           seen
           Sun
           many
           a
           day
           ,
        
         
           And
           Salt
           sat
           down
           with
           little
           losse
           ,
        
         
           Its
           Cell
           .
           was
           part
           of
           Charing-Crosse
           ,
        
         
           In
           equipage
           most
           formidable
        
         
           All
           things
           were
           fitted
           for
           the
           Table
           .
        
         
           Then
           Hudibras
           bid
           all
           be
           bare
           ,
        
         
           Lend
           Ear
           to
           Grace
           (
           but
           none
           was
           there
           )
        
         
           His
           eyes
           and
           hands
           did
           make
           dumb
           shows
           ,
        
         
           His
           tongue
           (
           too
           )
           and
           his
           very
           nose
           ;
        
         
           But
           this
           fume
           did
           not
           last
           him
           long
           ,
        
         
           His
           stomack
           to
           the
           Meat
           was
           strong
           :
        
         
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           give
           Trenchers
           to
           the
           Wretches
           ,
        
         
           Let
           them
           attend
           while
           Colon
           stretches
           .
        
         
           Ma
           foy
           ,
           me
           understand
           no
           dis
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Quack
           ,
           trencher
           in
           hand
           a
           ,
           pis
        
         
           Bougra
           Shack-dog
           ,
           me
           serving
           Man
           ,
        
         
           Dat
           in
           de
           Pock
           have
           de
           Largent
           .
        
         
           Oh
           have
           you
           so
           ,
           quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
        
         
           Wee
           'l
           see
           anon
           if
           it
           will
           pass
           ;
        
         
           Sit
           down
           ,
           and
           let
           your
           Servants
           eat
        
         
           With
           Squires
           so
           good
           ,
           wee
           'l
           leave
           'em
           meat
           .
        
         
           Four
           boone
           begar
           ,
           't
           is
           all
           a
           mode
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Quack
           ,
           poor
           Men
           travel
           de
           Rode.
        
         
           So
           they
           fall
           to
           't
           with
           teeth
           and
           knives
           ,
        
         
           And
           throw
           about
           'em
           for
           their
           lives
           ,
        
         
           They
           little
           leisure
           had
           to
           prate
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           avoided
           all
           debate
           ,
        
         
           To
           wit
           ,
           had
           stomacks
           like
           to
           horse
           ,
        
         
           And
           had
           not
           time
           to
           find
           discourse
           ;
        
         
           They
           did
           so
           pay
           shoulder
           a
           Mutton
           ,
        
         
           That
           morsel
           scarce
           was
           left
           there
           uppon
        
         
         
           For
           Squires
           ,
           and
           Charge
           ,
           whose
           looks
           so
           meager
        
         
           Declar'd
           that
           they
           to
           eat
           were
           eager
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           Squires
           take
           away
           ,
        
         
           Victual
           your
           Camps
           ,
           but
           do
           not
           stay
        
         
           Long
           by
           't
           ;
           and
           hear
           me
           ,
           send
           up
           Pease
           ,
        
         
           They
           will
           our
           appetites
           appease
           ;
        
         
           Dispatch
           ,
           for
           business
           great
           (
           you
           know
           )
        
         
           Effect
           we
           must
           er'e
           sleep
           we
           do
           :
        
         
           So
           down
           go
           Squires
           ,
           and
           into
           Room
           ,
        
         
           Where
           Hogo
           did
           from
           Stable
           come
           ;
        
         
           They
           put
           Capono
           and
           his
           Wench
        
         
           Where
           neither
           stool
           was
           ,
           nor
           yet
           bench
           ,
        
         
           But
           forms
           a
           couple
           by
           good
           hap
           ,
        
         
           And
           table
           too
           ,
           (
           to
           take
           a
           snap
           )
        
         
           Some
           four
           foot
           high
           ,
           and
           two
           yards
           long
           ,
        
         
           With
           legs
           of
           wood
           supported
           strong
           :
        
         
           And
           therefore
           Authors
           say
           the
           word
        
         
           Implies
           (
           in
           very
           truth
           )
           a
           board
           :
        
         
           There
           us'd
           Tapstero
           ,
           and
           Ostlero
           ,
        
         
           To
           play
           at
           Putt
           for
           Cans
           of
           Beer
           ,
           ho
           ;
        
         
         
           On
           board
           ,
           or
           table
           ,
           was
           set
           down
        
         
           The
           burthen'd
           dish
           with
           meatless
           bone
           ;
        
         
           And
           streight
           out
           of
           the
           Kitchin
           popt
        
         
           A
           Wench
           ,
           that
           had
           in
           dripping
           sopt
           ;
        
         
           'T
           is
           true
           ,
           her
           hands
           were
           not
           so
           white
        
         
           As
           theirs
           that
           lie
           in
           gloves
           all
           night
           ;
        
         
           No
           matter
           though
           some
           speak
           'em
           foul
           ,
        
         
           She
           was
           a
           good
           condition'd
           Soul
           ,
        
         
           And
           meerly
           in
           good
           will
           did
           bring
        
         
           A
           clout
           ,
           sh
           'ad
           newly
           been
           wrinsing
           ,
        
         
           After
           it
           serv'd
           had
           dish
           and
           pot
           ,
        
         
           And
           came
           from
           dresser
           reaking
           hot
           :
        
         
           Oh
           fie
           (
           quoth
           she
           )
           are
           you
           without
        
         
           A
           cloth
           ,
           then
           down
           she
           dropt
           her
           clout
           ,
        
         
           And
           spreaded
           it
           to
           best
           advantage
        
         
           (
           In
           cloath
           sometimes
           there
           may
           be
           scantage
           )
        
         
           And
           so
           they
           fell
           to
           picking
           bone
           ,
        
         
           Which
           was
           snatcht
           at
           by
           every
           one
           ,
        
         
           With
           many
           a
           
           Wink-contrived-slip
           ,
        
         
           And
           happy
           he
           could
           get
           a
           snip
           ,
        
         
         
           Only
           for
           Damsel
           carv'd
           was
           Knuckle
           ,
        
         
           And
           she
           as
           stoutly
           with
           't
           did
           buckle
           ;
        
         
           Quoth
           Squires
           ,
           are
           there
           no
           Peason
           left
        
         
           For
           us
           ,
           who
           are
           with
           hunger
           cleft
           ?
        
         
           Hunger
           you
           know
           is
           very
           keen
           ,
        
         
           Or
           (
           as
           some
           have
           it
           )
           sharp
           ,
           which
           e'ne
        
         
           Will
           break
           
             stone
             walls
          
           through
           ;
           then
           what
           hath
        
         
           Man
           to
           defend
           him
           ,
           who
           's
           but
           lath
           ?
        
         
           Quoth
           Squire
           ,
           come
           bring
           us
           (
           and
           then
           drinks
           )
        
         
           Onions
           and
           Cheese
           to
           fill
           up
           chinks
           ;
        
         
           Which
           they
           chop
           down
           with
           far
           more
           ease
        
         
           Then
           Dogs
           (
           in
           Summer
           )
           snap
           up
           Fleas
           .
        
         
           I
           might
           say
           something
           of
           the
           becks
           ,
        
         
           The
           winckings
           ,
           and
           their
           counter-checks
           ,
        
         
           Simprings
           ,
           and
           treading
           on
           the
           toes
           ,
        
         
           Excuses
           (
           too
           )
           to
           pluck
           a
           Rose
           ,
        
         
           Which
           (
           for
           Squires
           sake
           )
           distressed
           Dam
           -
        
         
           Sel
           us'd
           to
           make
           ,
           when
           loose
           i
           th'
           Ham
           ;
        
         
           But
           I
           conceive
           they
           will
           advance
        
         
           Matter
           enough
           for
           some
           Romance
           ;
        
         
         
           So
           I
           acquit
           my self
           the
           pains
        
         
           That
           do
           attend
           those
           busie-brains
           ;
        
         
           And
           unto
           Hudibras
           ,
           who
           now
        
         
           Summons
           his
           Wits
           ,
           and
           knits
           his
           brow
           ,
        
         
           Crosses
           the
           Proverb
           (
           like
           a
           Gull
           )
        
         
           Grows
           angry
           when
           his
           Belly
           's
           full
           ,
        
         
           Stroaks
           up
           his
           forehead
           with
           a
           Grace
           ,
        
         
           And
           looks
           hat-lining
           in
           the
           face
           ,
        
         
           Mutters
           a
           word
           or
           two
           to
           self
           ,
        
         
           Then
           calls
           ,
           where
           's
           Chamberlain
           that
           Elf
           ?
        
         
           To
           clear
           the
           board
           ,
           or
           Tapster
           ,
           he
        
         
           May
           do
           the
           office
           if
           need
           be
           :
        
         
           And
           so
           about
           the
           Room
           he
           struts
           ,
        
         
           Like
           him
           that
           newly
           fill'd
           had
           guts
           ;
        
         
           Or
           as
           't
           is
           said
           of
           Crow
           in
           gutter
           ;
        
         
           His
           arms
           like
           wings
           about
           did
           flutter
           :
        
         
           He
           rubs
           his
           elbow
           ,
           then
           his
           pate
           ,
        
         
           Calls
           up
           the
           Squires
           ,
           quoth
           he
           ,
           't
           is
           late
           ,
        
         
           And
           bid
           'em
           bring
           with
           them
           their
           Charge
           ,
        
         
           My
           word
           is
           a
           Mandamus
           large
        
         
         
           Enough
           ;
           all
           Consultations
           are
        
         
           Ripest
           at
           Night
           ,
           as
           th'
           Romans
           were
           ;
        
         
           The
           Mornings
           dew
           the
           Poets
           suck
           ,
        
         
           That
           makes
           'em
           poor
           (
           the
           worser
           luck
           )
        
         
           Their
           friend
           Aurora
           doth
           inspire
        
         
           Their
           Fancies
           but
           with
           early
           fire
           ,
        
         
           Not
           well
           grown
           up
           ,
           a
           fainting
           light
           ,
        
         
           When
           weighty
           matters
           require
           night
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           the
           States-mans
           Cabinet
           ,
        
         
           We
           therefore
           will
           in
           Councel
           set
           .
        
         
           But
           here
           Sir
           Hudibras
           mistook
           ,
        
         
           And
           went
           a
           mile
           beside
           his
           Book
           ,
        
         
           For
           he
           that
           is
           a
           Poet
           right
        
         
           Doth
           court
           the
           Morn
           ,
           and
           weds
           the
           Night
           :
        
         
           And
           such
           as
           have
           the
           happy
           fate
        
         
           To
           steer
           a
           Stage
           ,
           can
           steer
           a
           State.
        
         
           The
           Squires
           at
           Call
           obedient
           were
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           their
           Arms
           did
           soon
           repair
           ;
        
         
           The
           Prisoners
           were
           conducted
           up
           ,
        
         
           After
           they
           'd
           ta'ne
           a
           lusty
           sup
        
         
         
           Of
           knocking
           Ale
           ,
           though
           liquor
           muddy
           ,
        
         
           It
           in
           their
           Cheeks
           rais'd
           colours
           ruddy
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           drawneerer
           you
           ,
        
         
           And
           you
           Jack-daw
           get
           to
           your
           Crew
           ,
        
         
           Speaking
           to
           Quack
           .
           Be
           me
           Shack-daw
           ?
        
         
           (
           Quoth
           he
           )
           you
           be
           Shack-nape
           ,
           pishaw
           —
        
         
           Me
           no
           care
           dis
           —
           begar
           me
           be
        
         
           A
           Gentlehome
           in
           mine
           Countrey
           ,
        
         
           Me
           tell
           you
           dat
           ,
           better
           den
           you
           ,
        
         
           Vat
           den
           ?
           may
           foy
           me
           speak
           de
           true
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           thou
           sawcy
           Wight
           ,
        
         
           Compare
           how
           dar'st
           thou
           with
           Sir
           Knight
           ?
        
         
           Him
           ,
           into
           whose
           more
           powerful
           hands
        
         
           Confiscate
           are
           thy
           life
           and
           lands
           ,
        
         
           As
           thou
           shalt
           see
           ,
           soon
           after
           Tryal
        
         
           Sentence
           shall
           passe
           without
           denyal
           .
        
         
           So
           he
           surveighs
           the
           Room
           ,
           and
           where
        
         
           Solomon
           painted
           was
           sets
           Chair
           ,
        
         
           And
           seats
           self
           in
           't
           ;
           quoth
           he
           ,
           before
        
         
           We
           handle
           th'
           matter
           shut
           the
           dore
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           snuffe
           the
           Candles
           ,
           they
           burn
           dim
           :
        
         
           The
           Squire
           with
           haste
           obeyed
           him
           .
        
         
           Then
           Hudibras
           bid
           'em
           sit
           down
        
         
           At
           Tables
           end
           ,
           and
           mind
           their
           own
           ,
        
         
           Which
           was
           their
           Armes
           ;
           then
           frown
           he
           threw
        
         
           At
           Prisoners
           ,
           might
           have
           made
           them
           spew
        
         
           Their
           Suppers
           up
           ,
           but
           when
           he
           saw
        
         
           It
           had
           no
           power
           upon
           their
           Maw
           ,
        
         
           He
           finds
           another
           way
           ,
           and
           blisters
        
         
           Sir
           
           Guillielmo's
           Ears
           with
           whispers
           ;
        
         
           At
           fingers
           ends
           he
           pleads
           their
           Cases
           ,
        
         
           (
           The
           ancient
           way
           us'd
           by
           
             Arbaces
             :
          
           )
        
         
           And
           as
           his
           head
           and
           fingers
           plaid
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Capon
           ,
           sure
           he
           's
           of
           our
           Traid
           ;
        
         
           Mark
           ,
           Master
           ,
           if
           he
           can
           refrain
        
         
           To
           shew
           in
           part
           Legerdemain
           ;
        
         
           I
           ,
           now
           again
           ;
           he
           do'st
           with
           ease
           ,
        
         
           And
           has
           more
           Roguish
           tricks
           then
           these
           ;
        
         
           Fear
           not
           ,
           I
           warrant
           we
           are
           quit
           ,
        
         
           Hang
           him
           ,
           he
           has
           a
           pestilent
           Wit
           ,
        
         
         
           Sudden
           as
           Thunder
           (
           that
           soures
           Beer
           )
        
         
           As
           lowd
           too
           ;
           he
           bids
           Wretches
           hear
           ,
        
         
           For
           now
           his
           anger
           is
           grown
           hot
           ,
        
         
           And
           a
           Fools
           bolt
           is
           soonest
           shot
           ;
           )
        
         
           Are
           you
           asham'd
           to
           shew
           your
           Faces
           ?
        
         
           Then
           to
           the
           brown
           Cow
           turn
           your
           Arses
           ,
        
         
           (
           A
           Military
           word
           much
           us'd
        
         
           In
           Scotland
           ,
           though
           by
           some
           abus'd
           ,
        
         
           And
           signifies
           to
           face
           about
           ,
        
         
           True
           ,
           we
           might
           here
           have
           left
           it
           out
           :
           )
        
         
           He
           riseth
           from
           his
           Chair
           ,
           and
           straight
        
         
           Fills
           it
           again
           ,
           to
           shew
           his
           State
           ;
        
         
           Supports
           his
           whiskers
           with
           fore-finger
           ,
        
         
           Bites
           thumb
           ,
           instead
           of
           
             candi'd
             Ginger
          
           ,
        
         
           Which
           ,
           if
           you
           dare
           to
           take
           my
           word
           ,
        
         
           At
           that
           time
           house
           could
           not
           afford
           ,
        
         
           But
           
             Don
             de
             Fogo
          
           (
           by
           relation
           )
        
         
           Speaks
           it
           a
           sign
           of
           indignation
           ,
        
         
           A
           menacement
           unto
           the
           Foe
           ,
        
         
           And
           it
           may
           well
           be
           taken
           so
           ,
        
         
         
           From
           hence
           the
           ancient
           Proverb
           comes
           ,
        
         
           
             The
             angry
             Man
             will
             eat
             his
             Thumbs
             :
          
        
         
           But
           in
           another
           sense
           we
           find
        
         
           The
           matter
           of
           a
           different
           kind
           ,
        
         
           As
           when
           o're
           Coward
           one
           prevails
           ,
        
         
           He
           swears
           hee
           'l
           make
           him
           eat
           his
           Nails
           ,
        
         
           Yet
           seriously
           consider'd
           ,
           we
        
         
           Find
           not
           the
           sense
           to
           disagree
           ,
        
         
           For
           nail
           to
           thumb
           's
           a
           noted
           friend
           ,
        
         
           And
           holds
           out
           to
           the
           very
           end
           ,
        
         
           So
           that
           if
           nail
           a
           sufferer
           be
           ,
        
         
           The
           thumb
           must
           share
           by
           simpathy
           :
        
         
           So
           much
           for
           that
           ,
           and
           now
           to
           him
        
         
           Ycliped
           
             Hudibras
             the
             Grim
          
           ,
        
         
           And
           yet
           hee
           'l
           smile
           ,
           but
           then
           beware
           ,
        
         
           For
           sure
           it
           is
           against
           the
           hair
           ;
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           't
           is
           fit
           we
           should
           take
           care
        
         
           
             (
             Imprimis
          
           )
           to
           know
           what
           you
           are
           ,
        
         
           From
           whence
           you
           came
           ,
           and
           what
           you
           do
        
         
           In
           England
           ,
           not
           a
           place
           for
           you
           ,
        
         
         
           We
           have
           no
           vagrant
           People
           here
           ,
        
         
           But
           what
           are
           punisht
           most
           severe
           ,
        
         
           And
           if
           you
           do
           transgress
           our
           Laws
           ,
        
         
           You
           are
           condemn'd
           for
           the
           same
           Cause
           .
        
         
           Your
           Lex
           (
           quoth
           Quack
           )
           me
           no
           concern
           ,
        
         
           Vat's
           dat
           to
           dee
           ver
           me
           vas
           born
           ,
        
         
           Me
           be
           no
           esham'd
           of
           mi
           Countree
           ,
        
         
           Me
           be
           a
           Frenshman
           de
           Parree
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           no
           four
           boon
           to
           use
           me
           dus
           ,
        
         
           Ven
           Anglond
           be
           in
           League
           vid
           us
           .
        
         
           That
           makes
           not
           for
           you
           a
           bare
           word
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           so
           thumpt
           the
           board
        
         
           with
           fist
           as
           hard
           ,
           as
           who
           should
           say
           ,
        
         
           What
           mischief
           's
           this
           ,
           would
           it
           were
           day
           ,
        
         
           For
           Arguments
           grew
           on
           apace
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           did
           Night
           ,
           put
           Case
           to
           Case
           ;
        
         
           If
           theft
           or
           murder
           you
           commit
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           pray
           ,
           who
           shall
           pardon
           it
           ?
        
         
           Th'
           Offence
           done
           here
           ?
           Good
           Mr.
           Blus
           -
        
         
           Ter
           ,
           must
           not
           th'
           mercy
           come
           from
           us
           ?
        
         
         
           Begar
           (
           quoth
           Quack
           )
           me
           be
           no
           sush
           Man
           ,
        
         
           Me
           travell'd
           
             Swed
             .
             Ital.
          
           and
           Dushland
           ,
        
         
           Nay
           par
           ma
           foy
           all
           de
           Varld
           o're
           ,
        
         
           And
           me
           ner'e
           vas
           serv'd
           dus
           before
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           what
           made
           you
           to
        
         
           About
           you
           call
           so
           base
           a
           Crew
        
         
           Of
           Tag
           and
           Rag
           ,
           lew'd
           hair-brain'd
           fellows
           ,
        
         
           Many
           of
           them
           deserving
           Gallows
           ?
        
         
           This
           will
           be
           found
           an
           Insurrection
           ,
        
         
           To
           which
           the
           Law
           denyes
           protection
           ;
        
         
           In
           time
           of
           Peace
           to
           raise
           a
           rude
        
         
           And
           giddy-headed
           multitude
           ,
        
         
           To
           break
           the
           Peace
           —
           No
           ,
           no
           ,
           begar
        
         
           (
           Quoth
           Quack
           )
           you
           break
           a
           de
           Peace
           vid
           Var
           ,
        
         
           You
           draw
           de
           Sword
           ,
           and
           cock
           de
           Pistall
           ,
        
         
           Come
           down
           sa
           ,
           sa
           ,
           ven
           dey
           ver
           whist
           all
           ,
        
         
           Begar
           you
           break
           a
           de
           Peace
           me
           say
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           an
           Asse
           will
           bray
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           dost
           thou
           ;
           I
           tell
           thee
           ,
           this
        
         
           Crime
           is
           Indictable
           ,
           that
           '
           t
           is
           .
        
         
         
           Ditable
           !
           vat
           be
           dat
           ?
           quoth
           he
           ,
        
         
           Me
           no
           it
           understand
           ,
           fi
           ,
           fi
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           what
           do
           we
           know
        
         
           But
           you
           come
           here
           to
           stir
           up
           Foe
           ;
        
         
           To
           set
           the
           needy
           Cavaleers
        
         
           And
           us
           together
           by
           the
           Ears
           ,
        
         
           That
           Money
           have
           ,
           which
           they
           do
           want
           ,
        
         
           And
           for't
           will
           fight
           like
           Tarmagant
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           our
           Valours
           be
           upbraided
           ,
        
         
           And
           every
           Road
           be
           Ambuscaded
           ;
        
         
           This
           we
           interpret
           may
           a
           Plot
        
         
           To
           raise
           a
           new
           Warr
           ,
           is
           it
           not
           ,
        
         
           Bro.
           
             Guill
             .
          
           ?
           Now
           he
           of
           speech
           was
           slow
           ,
        
         
           Because
           he
           would
           not
           his
           teeth
           show
           ,
        
         
           And
           to
           avoid
           the
           carping
           might
        
         
           Upon
           his
           words
           and
           judgement
           light
           ,
        
         
           Which
           shew'd
           his
           wisdom
           ,
           and
           intent
           ,
        
         
           By
           silence
           still
           to
           give
           consent
           ;
        
         
           For
           the
           best
           way
           to
           shun
           dispute
           ,
        
         
           Is
           to
           say
           nothing
           ,
           or
           be
           mute
           .
        
         
         
           So
           on
           Sir
           Hudibras
           proceeds
           ,
        
         
           And
           agravates
           
           Quack's
           foul
           misdeeds
           ,
        
         
           So
           high
           ,
           and
           with
           so
           strong
           a
           sence
           ,
        
         
           You
           'd
           wonder
           it
           should
           come
           from
           thence
           .
        
         
           Begar
           (
           quoth
           Quack
           )
           you
           be
           strange
        
         
           Man
           in
           de
           Varl
           ,
           your
           vit
           do
           range
           ;
        
         
           Me
           tell
           you
           one
           ,
           two
           ,
           tree
           ,
           fore
           times
           ,
        
         
           Me
           be
           no
           born
           here
           in
           your
           Climes
           ,
        
         
           Me
           be
           de
           Frenchman
           ,
           profess
           Phissick
           ,
        
         
           Me
           cure
           de
           Pock
           ,
           de
           Cough
           ,
           de
           Tissick
           ,
        
         
           De
           Ish
           ,
           de
           Gout
           ,
           the
           Ash
           in
           bones
           ,
        
         
           And
           me
           begar
           can
           cut
           your
           Stones
           .
        
         
           How
           's
           that
           ?
           quoth
           wrathful
           Hudibras
           ,
        
         
           That
           word
           shan't
           unrevenged
           pass
           :
        
         
           A
           Purse
           (
           too
           )
           can
           you
           cut
           ?
           quoth
           he
           ,
        
         
           And
           pick
           a
           Pocket
           if
           need
           be
           ?
        
         
           Or
           are
           employ'd
           by
           those
           that
           do
           ,
        
         
           To
           draw
           the
           main
           end
           up
           ,
           the
           Crew
           ?
        
         
           Me
           no
           endure
           dis
           ting
           ,
           nor
           dat
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Quack
           ,
           come
           hedder
           ,
           shew
           de
           Pat.
        
         
         
           Capon
           ,
           vid
           hands
           of
           approbation
        
         
           From
           de
           College
           ,
           pour
           ,
           tolleration
           ,
        
         
           From
           Potentates
           ,
           and
           mighty
           Princes
           ,
        
         
           Dat
           in
           de
           Varld
           de
           like
           not
           sure
           is
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           oh
           is
           it
           so
           ,
        
         
           You
           kill
           ,
           
             Cum
             privilegie
          
           ;
        
         
           Ensnar'd
           you
           are
           by
           this
           account
           ,
        
         
           And
           Crimes
           on
           Crimes
           
             super
             amount
          
           ,
        
         
           For
           Murder
           ,
           or
           the
           like
           ,
           there
           is
        
         
           No
           help
           left
           for
           you
           saving
           this
           ,
        
         
           Shew
           something
           sign'd
           by
           Parliament
           ,
        
         
           Or
           Oliver
           ,
           to
           that
           intent
           ,
        
         
           And
           wee
           'l
           acquit
           you
           ,
           give
           you
           o're
           ,
        
         
           Else
           we
           proceed
           must
           as
           before
           :
        
         
           What
           say
           you
           for
           your self
           ?
           Dis
           be
        
         
           (
           Quoth
           Quack
           )
           may
           foy
           very
           pretty
           ;
        
         
           Vat
           do
           me
           need
           hands
           from
           fush
           tings
           ,
        
         
           Ven
           me
           have
           got
           de
           hands
           of
           Kings
           ?
        
         
           Me
           never
           did
           seek
           after
           dem
           .
        
         
           Your
           words
           (
           quoth
           Hudibras
           )
           condemn
        
         
         
           Your self
           ;
           but
           e're
           we
           sentence
           pass
           ,
        
         
           Come
           hither
           fellow
           with
           your
           Lass
           :
        
         
           What
           Trade
           art
           thou
           ?
           (
           Quoth
           Capon
           )
           none
           ,
        
         
           I
           thank
           my
           Parents
           ,
           I
           'm
           but
           one
        
         
           Of
           thirteen
           that
           is
           left
           alive
           ,
        
         
           The
           rest
           Grigg
           .
           did
           of
           breath
           deprive
           .
        
         
           'T
           is
           fit
           thou
           make
           up
           Bakers
           dozen
           ,
        
         
           (
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           )
           not
           Hangman
           cozen
           .
        
         
           And
           what
           are
           you
           ,
           there
           ,
           Mistris
           Minks
           ?
        
         
           With
           Cheeks
           that
           look
           like
           drooping
           Pinks
           ?
        
         
           What
           trade
           do
           you
           drive
           'mong
           these
           fellows
           ?
        
         
           Are
           you
           Whore-ripe
           (
           too
           )
           for
           the
           Gallows
           ?
        
         
           At
           which
           the
           Squires
           look'd
           very
           sad
           .
        
         
           Fearing
           her
           Case
           would
           prove
           but
           bad
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           she
           ,
           I
           must
           confess
           I
           am
        
         
           (
           And
           't
           please
           your
           Worship
           )
           what
           I
           am
           ,
        
         
           And
           have
           a
           long
           time
           follow'd
           this
        
         
           French
           Doctor
           here
           for
           
           Had-I
           
             -
             wiss
          
           .
        
         
           Art
           thou
           a
           Man
           ,
           or
           art
           thou
           Womau
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           for
           both
           are
           common
           .
        
         
         
           Quoth
           she
           ,
           I
           'm
           of
           the
           weaker
           Sex
           ,
        
         
           God
           bless
           your
           Worship
           ,
           
             Vivat
             Rex
          
           .
        
         
           What
           's
           that
           ,
           quoth
           he
           ,
           you
           mutter'd
           last
           ?
        
         
           I
           doubt
           y'
           are
           Male
           beneath
           the
           Waste
           ,
        
         
           For
           as
           some
           Authors
           well
           have
           noted
           ,
        
         
           Youths
           have
           been
           sometimes
           petticoated
           ;
        
         
           If
           so
           ,
           there
           must
           be
           danger
           in
           't
           ,
        
         
           Statutes
           against
           it
           live
           in
           Print
           :
        
         
           Search
           her
           ,
           examine
           all
           the
           nicks
           ,
        
         
           For
           I
           do
           hate
           those
           Players
           tricks
           .
        
         
           Glad
           of
           the
           Office
           ,
           Squires
           begin
        
         
           To
           strip
           her
           to
           the
           very
           skin
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Capon
           ,
           hold
           ,
           to
           end
           the
           strife
           ,
        
         
           And
           't
           please
           you
           (
           Sir
           )
           she
           is
           my
           Wife
           ,
        
         
           A
           Woman
           right
           .
           Yes
           (
           Sir
           )
           quoth
           she
           ,
        
         
           Your
           Men
           know
           that
           as
           well
           as
           he
           .
        
         
           She
           had
           a
           quick
           and
           piercing
           sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           found
           they
           Servants
           were
           to
           Knight
           .
        
         
           Nay
           then
           (
           quoth
           Hudibras
           )
           if
           she
        
         
           Be
           leefull
           lawful
           Wife
           to
           thee
           ,
        
         
         
           Enquire
           no
           further
           ;
           Squires
           forbear
           ,
        
         
           And
           touch
           not
           the
           forbidden
           Ware.
        
         
           Quoth
           she
           ,
           I
           thank
           your
           love
           for
           that
           ,
        
         
           Your
           Men
           I
           knew
           would
           harm
           me
           not
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           Friend
           ,
           take
           her
           to
           thee
           ,
        
         
           And
           many
           a
           good
           turn
           may
           she
           do
           thee
           :
        
         
           His
           Passion
           (
           now
           )
           left
           to
           be
           wild
           ,
        
         
           As
           sleep
           came
           on
           ,
           so
           he
           grew
           mild
           ,
        
         
           He
           found
           the
           Night
           look
           monsterous
           grim
           ,
        
         
           And
           Morpheus
           had
           surprized
           him
           ,
        
         
           He
           gapes
           ,
           and
           yawnes
           ,
           and
           nods
           his
           head
           ,
        
         
           (
           Summons
           that
           call
           Mortals
           to
           bed
           )
        
         
           What
           is
           't
           a
           Clock
           (
           quoth
           he
           )
           d'ye
           think
           ?
        
         
           (
           One
           would
           have
           thought
           he'ad
           been
           in
           drink
           )
        
         
           Sure
           it
           draws
           neer
           to
           break
           of
           day
           ,
        
         
           And
           I
           have
           something
           more
           to
           say
           :
        
         
           Oh
           Brother
           ,
           that
           you
           could
           me
           help
           ,
        
         
           But
           you
           are
           better
           skill'd
           in
           Kelp
        
         
           (
           For
           which
           he
           was
           about
           to
           get
        
         
           A
           Patent
           ,
           but
           was
           chous'd
           of
           it
           :
           )
        
         
         
           Since
           then
           (
           quoth
           he
           )
           the
           Charge
           is
           mine
           ,
        
         
           To
           quicken
           Spirits
           fill
           some
           Wine
           ;
        
         
           And
           having
           ta'ne
           a
           glass
           or
           two
           ,
        
         
           As
           Cicero
           did
           use
           to
           do
           ,
        
         
           When
           he
           in
           Councel
           sat
           up
           late
           ,
        
         
           For
           benefit
           of
           
             Roman
             State
          
           ;
        
         
           He
           Temples
           rub
           to
           whet
           his
           Wits
           ,
        
         
           And
           gravely
           down
           again
           he
           sits
           :
        
         
           Quoth
           he
           ,
           your
           Crimes
           are
           great
           I
           know
           ;
        
         
           But
           we
           to
           anger
           (
           now
           )
           are
           slow
           ;
        
         
           Justice
           is
           pictur'd
           blind
           ,
           and
           the
        
         
           Reason
           is
           ,
           '
           cause
           she
           will
           not
           see
           ,
        
         
           And
           though
           some
           say
           she
           is
           Impartial
           ,
        
         
           'T
           is
           found
           contrary
           in
           each
           Martial
           ,
        
         
           Or
           that
           she
           should
           not
           lend
           an
           Ear
        
         
           To
           this
           ,
           or
           that
           ,
           for
           love
           ,
           or
           fear
           .
        
         
           Now
           that
           we
           fear
           you
           not
           ,
           you
           know
           ,
        
         
           And
           love
           you
           can't
           ,
           what
           Snake
           in
           Bo
           ▪
        
         
           Some
           ?
           for
           you
           are
           our
           Enemies
           ,
        
         
           'Twixt
           these
           Extreams
           (
           then
           )
           your
           Case
           lyes
           ;
        
         
         
           So
           that
           a
           moderate
           way
           we
           must
        
         
           Find
           out
           ,
           or
           you
           are
           all
           but
           dust
           ;
        
         
           And
           that
           must
           full
           of
           Honour
           be
           ,
        
         
           Or
           else
           we
           loose
           the
           Glory
           ,
           We
        
         
           By
           Conquest
           won
           ;
           and
           now
           I
           hit
           it
           ,
        
         
           (
           This
           't
           is
           to
           be
           so
           ready
           witted
           )
        
         
           By
           laws
           of
           Armes
           we
           are
           to
           give
        
         
           Quarter
           to
           him
           desires
           to
           live
           ;
        
         
           What
           he
           is
           Master
           of
           is
           Ours
           ,
        
         
           Excepting
           life
           ,
           all
           's
           in
           our
           Powers
           ;
        
         
           For
           such
           ner'e
           Valour
           understood
           ,
        
         
           That
           kills
           his
           Enemy
           in
           cool
           blood
           ;
        
         
           It
           Murder
           is
           conceiv'd
           by
           some
           ,
        
         
           Of
           which
           wee
           'l
           wash
           our
           hands
           ,
           come
           ,
           come
           ;
        
         
           Now
           one
           would
           think
           he
           call'd
           for
           Water
           ,
        
         
           But
           mark
           ,
           I
           pray
           ,
           what
           follow'd
           after
           ;
        
         
           We
           made
           you
           Prisoners
           by
           our
           Might
           ,
        
         
           And
           all
           you
           have
           is
           ours
           by
           right
           ;
        
         
           But
           as
           the
           truly
           generous
           Spirit
        
         
           Minds
           nothing
           more
           then
           Honours
           merrit
           ,
        
         
         
           So
           all
           the
           Plunder
           is
           our
           due
        
         
           We
           gratis
           do
           restore
           to
           you
           ,
        
         
           And
           as
           you
           are
           
             parte
             per
             pale
             ,
          
           ,
        
         
           But
           half
           soul'd
           things
           ,
           and
           therefore
           frail
           ,
        
         
           Wee
           'l
           grant
           you
           so
           your
           liberty
           ,
        
         
           As
           may
           with
           Honour
           best
           agree
           ;
        
         
           There
           's
           several
           wayes
           ,
           which
           are
           not
           strange
           ,
        
         
           Upon
           Parol
           ,
           or
           in
           Exchange
           :
        
         
           Now
           Fortune
           was
           so
           just
           a
           Guide
           ,
        
         
           That
           all
           the
           losse
           was
           on
           your
           side
           ,
        
         
           And
           there
           the
           Case
           does
           differ
           much
           ,
        
         
           Prisoners
           you
           are
           ,
           you
           have
           none
           such
           ;
        
         
           Others
           have
           left
           a
           Guage
           behind
        
         
           'Till
           their
           return
           ,
           which
           is
           to
           bind
           ;
        
         
           But
           wee
           'l
           direct
           a
           neerer
           way
        
         
           For
           you
           to
           walk
           ,
           without
           more
           stay
           ,
        
         
           Y
           'ave
           plentifully
           fed
           on
           food
           ,
        
         
           And
           therefore
           't
           is
           but
           reason
           good
           ,
        
         
           Without
           more
           words
           ,
           or
           further
           beckoning
           ,
        
         
           You
           presently
           discharge
           the
           Reckoning
           ,
        
         
         
           Then
           cast
           your
           Caps
           up
           all
           ,
           and
           cry
           ,
        
         
           Long
           live
           our
           Noble
           Enemy
           .
        
         
           Begar
           me
           vill
           do
           no
           sush
           ting
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Quack
           ,
           me
           say
           ,
           
             Viva
             de
             King
          
           ,
        
         
           Of
           mine
           Countrey
           ;
           vat
           me
           to
           do
        
         
           To
           make
           sush
           Preachament
           pour
           you
           ?
        
         
           Me
           no
           deny
           to
           pay
           mine
           share
           ,
        
         
           Pour
           mine
           self
           ,
           and
           mine
           Servants
           dear
           ,
        
         
           And
           me
           vill
           pay
           no
           more
           begar
           ,
        
         
           Pour
           all
           you
           be
           de
           Man
           of
           Warr.
        
         
           I
           tell
           you
           once
           again
           ,
           y'
           are
           dust
           ,
        
         
           If
           you
           deny
           a
           thing
           so
           just
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ;
           if
           we
           once
           fly
           on
           ,
        
         
           You
           'l
           find
           what
           't
           is
           to
           wake
           a
           Lion
           ;
        
         
           Have
           we
           you
           treated
           more
           like
           Friends
        
         
           Then
           Enemies
           ,
           and
           's
           this
           the
           mends
           ?
        
         
           Squires
           to
           your
           Arms
           ,
           seize
           all
           they
           have
           ,
        
         
           Only
           their
           dirty
           Vitals
           save
           :
        
         
           Now
           Hudibras
           begins
           to
           rant
           ,
        
         
           Lo
           what
           it
           is
           for
           Man
           to
           want
        
         
         
           Sleep
           ;
           Man
           but
           two
           eyes
           has
           in
           's
           head
           ,
        
         
           Must
           they
           be
           ever
           opened
           ?
        
         
           What
           serves
           lids
           for
           ,
           who
           (
           like
           Watch-cases
           )
        
         
           Should
           close
           eyes
           up
           safe
           in
           their
           places
           ?
        
         
           But
           when
           the
           brains
           boyl
           over
           pot
           ,
        
         
           Then
           are
           the
           lids
           made
           fiery
           hot
           ,
        
         
           And
           stiffe
           ,
           they
           cannot
           shut
           the
           eyes
           ,
        
         
           And
           there
           't
           is
           thought
           the
           reason
           lyes
           .
        
         
           The
           Squires
           the
           Fod
           do
           hunch
           and
           justle
           ,
        
         
           But
           't
           was
           in
           vain
           for
           Quack
           to
           bussle
           ,
        
         
           His
           party
           was
           to
           weak
           :
           Quoth
           he
           ,
        
         
           Me
           vill
           pay
           de
           reck'nen
           
             jesvous
             pres
          
           ;
        
         
           All
           ,
           quoth
           the
           Squires
           ,
           or
           none
           :
           Me
           vill
        
         
           Pay
           all
           ,
           quoth
           he
           ,
           but
           hold
           you
           still
           ;
        
         
           It
           be
           no
           boon
           fashion
           to
           pay
           ,
        
         
           Me
           tink
           ,
           till
           me
           do
           go
           avay
           ,
        
         
           Me
           do
           not
           at
           de
           reckonen
           grush
           ,
        
         
           Dough
           me
           do
           tink
           it
           very
           mush
           ,
        
         
           De
           Jentlehome
           ,
           de
           Traveller
           ,
        
         
           Pishaw
           ,
           do
           no
           such
           ting
           begar
           ,
        
         
         
           Dey
           stay
           in
           Inn
           pershanse
           two
           ,
           tree
        
         
           Dayes
           ,
           four
           boon
           ,
           but
           pay
           no
           penny
        
         
           Till
           dey
           do
           mount
           Chivall
           ,
           and
           den
        
         
           Dey
           call
           mine
           Host
           take
           de
           Recknen
           ,
        
         
           Me
           now
           loge
           here
           dis
           night
           ,
           Alles
           ,
        
         
           In
           de
           morning
           me
           cry
           ver
           be
           ye
           ,
        
         
           And
           discharge
           house
           vid
           all
           mine
           Soul.
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           upon
           parole
        
         
           Depart
           you
           may
           ,
           that
           is
           to
           bed
           ,
        
         
           Be
           sure
           you
           keep
           to
           what
           y
           'ave
           said
           ,
        
         
           And
           e're
           your
           Journey
           ,
           in
           the
           Morn
        
         
           Bring
           me
           a
           Plaister
           for
           my
           Corn.
        
         
           Wee
           ,
           Wee
           ,
           quoth
           Quack
           ,
           me
           cure
           you
           all
        
         
           Be
           sis
           a
           Clock
           ,
           or
           Diablo
           sall
           :
        
         
           Which
           reach'd
           not
           Hudibras
           his
           Ears
           ,
        
         
           'T
           was
           mutter'd
           as
           they
           went
           down
           stairs
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Squires
           ,
           wee
           'l
           toss
           a
           Cup
           or
           two
        
         
           (
           When
           Knights
           are
           safe
           in
           bed
           )
           with
           you
           .
        
         
           Vid
           all
           mine
           heart
           ,
           (
           quoth
           Quack
           )
           me'l
           stay
        
         
           One
           ,
           two
           ,
           tree
           oures
           pour
           you
           ma
           foy
           .
        
         
         
           The
           Knights
           hasten
           to
           bed
           apace
           :
        
         
           And
           Squires
           their
           Armour
           do
           unbrace
           ,
        
         
           (
           Yclyped
           Doublets
           )
           Ostler
           call
        
         
           To
           pull
           off
           Boots
           ,
           clean
           'em
           withall
           ;
        
         
           Then
           down
           in
           Bed
           ,
           not
           Bed
           of
           Down
           ,
        
         
           But
           such
           as
           serv'd
           (
           when
           came
           to
           Town
           )
        
         
           
             Tom
             Carrier
          
           ,
           Knights
           their
           Bodies
           lay
           ,
        
         
           And
           bid
           the
           Squires
           take
           lights
           away
           ,
        
         
           Dispatch
           to
           bed
           ,
           and
           special
           care
        
         
           Take
           of
           Portmantua
           that
           was
           there
           ;
        
         
           For
           Truckling
           there
           was
           none
           in
           Room
           ,
        
         
           Unless
           on
           Rushes
           they
           would
           strome
        
         
           (
           Which
           some
           call
           stretch
           )
           themselves
           ,
           and
           so
        
         
           Take
           key
           ,
           shut
           door
           ,
           and
           down
           they
           go
        
         
           To
           seek
           a
           roosting
           place
           ,
           and
           spend
        
         
           Some
           time
           with
           Damosel
           their
           Friend
           ,
        
         
           And
           Quack
           ,
           whose
           Gibberish
           pleas'd
           'em
           much
           ,
        
         
           Capono
           (
           too
           )
           for
           wit
           ,
           none
           such
           ,
        
         
           With
           little
           search
           they
           find
           'em
           out
           ,
        
         
           In
           a
           ground-Chamber
           ,
           hung
           about
        
         
         
           With
           Cobwebs
           of
           the
           finest
           thred
           ,
        
         
           Truckle
           there
           was
           ,
           but
           ne're
           a
           Bed
           ,
        
         
           A
           decent
           Matt
           there
           was
           indeed
           ,
        
         
           Of
           Sheets
           or
           Rugg
           they
           had
           no
           need
           ,
        
         
           Th'
           weather
           was
           insulting
           hot
           ,
        
         
           And
           Fleas
           would
           vex
           where
           they
           would
           not
        
         
           Have
           'em
           ;
           and
           so
           to
           mend
           the
           matter
        
         
           They
           drink
           about
           ,
           and
           no
           words
           scatter
           .
        
         
           At
           last
           (
           as
           if
           't
           had
           been
           allotted
           )
        
         
           The
           Squires
           (
           't
           was
           said
           )
           were
           shrewdly
           potted
           ,
        
         
           And
           sleep
           they
           must
           ,
           then
           down
           on
           Mat
        
         
           They
           threw
           themselves
           ,
           left
           Cloak
           and
           Hat
           ;
        
         
           But
           Subtle
           Quack
           ,
           and
           's
           crafty
           Crew
        
         
           Slept
           not
           ,
           they
           'd
           something
           else
           to
           do
           .
        
         
           By
           this
           time
           day
           began
           to
           peep
           ,
        
         
           And
           fellows
           heard
           cry
           ,
           
             Chimney
             sweep
          
           ,
        
         
           Which
           serves
           as
           Clock
           to
           call
           up
           Bess
           ,
        
         
           Harry
           ,
           or
           Will
           ,
           to
           mind
           Bus'nes
           ,
        
         
           Especially
           the
           Kitchin-maid
           ,
        
         
           To
           make
           fires
           that
           o're
           night
           she
           laid
           :
        
         
         
           In
           the
           mean
           while
           Quack
           was
           not
           idle
        
         
           (
           Cunning
           as
           Horse
           had
           bit
           o
           th'
           Bridle
           :
           )
        
         
           The
           Damsel
           (
           one
           that
           would
           be
           thriving
           )
        
         
           In
           the
           Squires
           Pockets
           fell
           to
           diving
           :
        
         
           Their
           Cloaks
           were
           packt
           up
           '
           mongst
           the
           luggage
           ,
        
         
           Thus
           Men
           are
           serv'd
           when
           they
           are
           sluggish
           :
           )
        
         
           The
           Gates
           but
           newly
           open'd
           were
           ,
        
         
           All
           things
           were
           husht
           ,
           and
           Coast
           was
           clear
           ,
        
         
           And
           so
           unseen
           they
           huddle
           out
        
         
           Into
           the
           Street
           ,
           then
           wheel
           about
           ,
        
         
           Some
           Minutes
           after
           folks
           'gan
           rowze
        
         
           From
           Beds
           ,
           and
           shew
           heads
           out
           of
           house
           ,
        
         
           To
           be
           in
           readiness
           for
           Fair
           ,
        
         
           Some
           to
           shew
           Tricks
           ,
           some
           sell
           their
           Ware
           ,
        
         
           And
           some
           to
           see
           ,
           and
           some
           to
           buy
           ,
        
         
           That
           in
           Purse
           had
           but
           a
           penny
           ;
        
         
           And
           now
           the
           Streets
           began
           to
           fill
           ,
        
         
           While
           Knights
           and
           Squires
           lye
           dormant
           still
           ,
        
         
           Regardless
           of
           their
           late
           mishap
           ,
        
         
           Nor
           dreaming
           of
           an
           
             after
             clap
          
           .
        
         
         
           But
           as
           things
           strangely
           come
           to
           pass
           .
        
         
           So
           happen'd
           it
           with
           Hudibras
           ;
        
         
           Right
           underneath
           his
           Window
           ,
           there
        
         
           Was
           plac'd
           a
           Shew
           ,
           and
           Trumpeter
           ,
        
         
           Who
           to
           intice
           the
           People
           in
           ,
        
         
           Did
           make
           a
           most
           Prodigious
           din
           ,
        
         
           And
           as
           the
           knack
           on
           't
           is
           ,
           another
        
         
           Did
           answer
           him
           ,
           whom
           he
           call'd
           Brother
           ,
        
         
           So
           that
           by
           Repercusions
           they
        
         
           Were
           got
           a
           Note
           beyond
           Ela
           ,
        
         
           Eccho'd
           by
           others
           in
           the
           Fair
           ,
        
         
           As
           though
           they
           meant
           to
           rend
           the
           air
           ,
        
         
           This
           startl'd
           Hudibras
           ,
           who
           flew
        
         
           (
           Like
           Lightning
           )
           out
           of
           Bed
           ,
           and
           drew
        
         
           (
           In
           shirt
           )
           his
           Whynniard
           ,
           what
           are
           we
        
         
           Betray'd
           ?
           Rise
           Brother
           Guill
           .
           quoth
           he
           ;
        
         
           Hark
           ,
           the
           whole
           Town
           is
           up
           in
           Arms
           ;
        
         
           On
           every
           side
           we
           have
           Alarms
           ,
        
         
           Let
           's
           dye
           like
           Men
           ,
           and
           not
           be
           slain
        
         
           In
           Bed
           ,
           or
           like
           tame
           Pigeons
           ta'ne
        
         
         
           Out
           of
           our
           Roost
           ,
           but
           dare
           the
           Foe
           ,
        
         
           ●●ke
           Horse
           ,
           and
           boldly
           '
           mongst
           'em
           go
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           then
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           this
           cannot
           be
        
         
           Our
           late
           defeated
           Enemy
           ,
        
         
           For
           they
           securely
           sleep
           in
           house
           ,
        
         
           As
           sure
           as
           Gournets
           do
           in
           sowse
           ,
        
         
           ●●
           rather
           must
           be
           some
           old
           Plot
        
         
           Newly
           broak
           forth
           ,
           say
           ,
           is
           it
           not
           ?
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           it
           may
           be
           so
           ,
        
         
           ●et
           up
           ,
           and
           we
           shall
           better
           know
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           then
           Sir
           Guill
           ,
           this
           is
           a
           base
           ,
        
         
           (
           And
           to
           
             our
             side
          
           )
           a
           cursed
           place
           ;
        
         
           Move
           not
           fighting
           so
           neer
           th'
           Water
           ,
        
         
           Doubting
           the
           danger
           may
           come
           after
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           't
           is
           but
           a
           sound
           ,
        
         
           ●f
           born
           t'
           be
           hang'd
           ,
           you
           'l
           ne're
           be
           drown'd
           ;
        
         
           Besides
           ,
           wee
           'l
           make
           our
           peace
           with
           these
        
         
           Prisoners
           we
           have
           ;
           the
           Wench
           will
           please
           ,
        
         
           That
           was
           well
           thought
           on
           ,
           quoth
           Sir
           Guill
           ,
        
         
           I
           will
           get
           up
           ,
           I
           that
           I
           will.
        
         
         
           Where
           are
           our
           Squires
           ,
           they
           come
           not
           near
           :
        
         
           Sure
           they
           are
           half
           struck
           dead
           with
           fear
           .
        
         
           The
           Chamberlain
           is
           call'd
           ,
           to
           call
        
         
           The
           Squires
           ,
           to
           bind
           the
           Prisoners
           all
           :
        
         
           Unwillingly
           they
           rise
           from
           Mats
           ,
        
         
           And
           shake
           their
           heads
           like
           two
           drown'd
           Rats
           ,
        
         
           They
           mist
           the
           Monsieur
           and
           his
           Mates
           ,
        
         
           Their
           Cloaks
           and
           Hats
           too
           ,
           scratch'd
           their
           Pate●
        
         
           For
           madness
           they
           should
           be
           serv'd
           so
           ;
        
         
           (
           But
           there
           's
           no
           truth
           in
           fawning
           Foe
           .
           )
        
         
           After
           strict
           search
           th'
           Squires
           fell
           to
           weeping
           ,
        
         
           Must
           we
           then
           pay
           so
           dear
           for
           sleeping
           ?
        
         
           Quoth
           they
           ,
           th'
           worse
           luck
           :
           Oh
           thou
           
             she
             Fiend
          
        
         
           We
           thought
           thou
           wouldst
           have
           prov'd
           our
           friend
        
         
           Knights
           call'd
           above
           (
           in
           fume
           no
           doubt
           )
        
         
           To
           bring
           up
           boots
           ,
           and
           be
           let
           out
           ;
        
         
           The
           Squires
           in
           haste
           thrust
           hands
           in
           Pockets
        
         
           (
           Their
           Wits
           were
           quite
           out
           of
           the
           sockets
           )
        
         
           To
           feel
           for
           Key
           ,
           and
           misse
           their
           Money
           ,
        
         
           Their
           Watches
           (
           too
           )
           oh
           C
           —
           C
           —
        
         
         
           How
           basely
           dost
           thou
           deal
           with
           Man
           ?
        
         
           (
           But
           all
           the
           mischief
           that
           it
           can
           )
        
         
           If
           ever
           we
           meet
           thee
           agen
           ,
        
         
           For
           this
           trick
           we
           will
           shew
           thee
           ten
           :
        
         
           So
           up
           they
           went
           ,
           in
           pitious
           plights
           ,
        
         
           And
           told
           all
           to
           their
           Masters
           ,
           Knights
           .
        
         
           How
           ,
           how
           (
           in
           rage
           )
           quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
        
         
           Durst
           they
           depart
           without
           my
           Pass
           ?
        
         
           Or
           bringing
           Medicine
           for
           my
           Corn
           ,
        
         
           I
           'le
           make
           'em
           rue
           they
           e're
           were
           born
           ,
        
         
           If
           I
           do
           find
           'em
           '
           mongst
           the
           Foe
           ;
        
         
           For
           forth
           I
           will
           ,
           and
           forth
           I
           'le
           goe
           .
        
         
           Ask
           Chamberlain
           if
           they
           have
           paid
        
         
           The
           Reck'ning
           ,
           of
           which
           I
           'm
           afraid
           :
        
         
           No
           Sir
           ,
           quoth
           they
           ,
           they
           ne're
           thought
           on
           't
           ,
        
         
           Our
           Cloaks
           and
           Hats
           too
           marcht
           upon
           't
           ,
        
         
           (
           Money
           ,
           nor
           Watches
           ,
           durst
           not
           name
           ,
        
         
           They
           better
           should
           have
           watcht
           the
           same
           .
           )
        
         
           How
           ,
           robb'd
           ,
           and
           cheated
           too
           (
           oh
           Gull
           !
           )
        
         
           This
           't
           is
           to
           be
           so
           merciful
           ,
        
         
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           can
           none
           discry
        
         
           Where
           ,
           and
           how
           strong
           's
           the
           Enemy
           ?
        
         
           Quoth
           Squire
           (
           one
           )
           here
           is
           kept
           a
           Fair
           ,
        
         
           To
           which
           all
           Comers
           welcome
           are
           ,
        
         
           No
           greater
           Foe
           assure
           dly
           ,
        
         
           Then
           Hobby-horse
           ,
           and
           Puppet-try
           .
        
         
           The
           greatest
           Foe
           of
           all
           ,
           and
           they
        
         
           Shall
           dearly
           for
           your
           losses
           pay
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ;
           among
           that
           Rout
        
         
           The
           others
           sculke
           ,
           wee
           'l
           find
           'em
           out
           .
        
         
           First
           ,
           there
           is
           shewn
           the
           deadly
           sins
           ,
        
         
           Which
           with
           the
           
             Box
             keeper
          
           begins
           ;
        
         
           
             Jane
             Shores
             disgrace
          
           ,
           and
           lamentation
           ,
        
         
           (
           A
           Concubine
           not
           now
           in
           fashion
           .
           )
        
         
           Then
           David
           ,
           and
           
           Uriah's
           Wife
           ,
        
         
           And
           
             Doctor
             Faustus
          
           to
           the
           life
           ;
        
         
           With
           many
           trifles
           more
           ,
           which
           do
        
         
           Allude
           unto
           Prophaneness
           too
           ;
        
         
           Abomination
           '
           mongst
           'em
           dwells
           ,
        
         
           Of
           which
           I
           mean
           to
           rid
           their
           Cells
           ,
        
         
         
           And
           clear
           the
           Streets
           of
           Superstition
           ,
        
         
           And
           its
           Idolatrous
           condition
           .
        
         
           Then
           Knights
           mount
           Steeds
           ,
           and
           at
           a
           word
        
         
           (
           In
           one
           hand
           Pistol
           ,
           t'other
           Sword
           )
        
         
           The
           Squires
           on
           foot
           the
           Horse
           attend
           ,
        
         
           (
           The
           readier
           to
           find
           out
           
             false-friend
             .
          
           )
        
         
           They
           star'd
           about
           ,
           folk
           thought
           'em
           mad
           ,
        
         
           (
           For
           neither
           Cloak
           nor
           Hat
           they
           had
           :
           )
        
         
           As
           soon
           as
           they
           were
           got
           in
           Street
           ,
        
         
           The
           People
           ran
           (
           as
           it
           was
           meet
           )
        
         
           And
           at
           next
           door
           their
           malice
           lights
           ,
        
         
           (
           Which
           lately
           had
           disturb'd
           the
           Knights
           .
           )
        
         
           Quoth
           Hudibras
           ,
           fall
           on
           ,
           fall
           on
           ,
        
         
           And
           spare
           not
           there
           a
           Mothers
           Son
           :
        
         
           At
           which
           the
           folk
           forsook
           the
           Sight
           ,
        
         
           And
           left
           the
           Puppets
           in
           sad
           plight
           ;
        
         
           Some
           lost
           a
           Cloak
           ,
           and
           some
           a
           Hat
           ,
        
         
           Which
           to
           the
           Squires
           came
           very
           pat
           ;
        
         
           The
           Box
           with
           Money
           flew
           about
           ,
        
         
           For
           which
           they
           were
           not
           grown
           so
           stout
        
         
         
           As
           not
           to
           stoop
           ;
           they
           thought
           on
           Quack
           ,
        
         
           And
           then
           the
           Puppets
           went
           to
           wrack
           ;
        
         
           They
           cut
           what
           er'e
           they
           hit
           upon
           ,
        
         
           Down
           comes
           the
           Tower
           of
           Babylon
           .
        
         
           Quoth
           Fellow
           ,
           Pox
           upon
           you
           ,
           Sir
           ,
        
         
           For
           spoiling
           Nabuchadnezer
           ,
        
         
           His
           Nose
           was
           cut
           out
           ill
           before
           ,
        
         
           But
           now
           you
           have
           abus'd
           it
           more
           ,
        
         
           How
           think
           you
           after
           this
           disgrace
        
         
           Hee
           's
           able
           to
           look
           Beast
           in
           face
           ?
        
         
           They
           mind
           him
           not
           ,
           but
           out
           they
           bring
           ,
        
         
           As
           Captive
           bound
           ,
           Babylons
           King
           :
        
         
           And
           in
           their
           havock
           grow
           more
           bold
           ,
        
         
           They
           pull
           down
           Rag
           ,
           which
           Story
           told
           ,
        
         
           And
           as
           a
           Trophee
           bear
           't
           before
        
         
           Sir
           Hudibras
           ,
           and
           one
           Knight
           more
           ,
        
         
           To
           wit
           ,
           Sir
           Guill
           .
           so
           on
           they
           trot
           ,
        
         
           With
           all
           the
           Pillage
           they
           had
           got
           ,
        
         
           Greedy
           of
           more
           ,
           but
           were
           prevented
        
         
           By
           Butchers
           stout
           ,
           that
           Fair
           frequented
           ,
        
         
         
           Who
           seeing
           Squires
           a
           quoyle
           to
           keep
           ,
        
         
           And
           Men
           to
           run
           faster
           then
           Sheep
           ,
        
         
           Quoth
           they
           (
           to
           People
           )
           what
           d'
           ye
           fear
           ?
        
         
           There
           's
           neither
           Bull
           got
           loose
           ,
           nor
           Bear
           ,
        
         
           And
           will
           you
           seem
           to
           make
           escape
        
         
           From
           fencing
           fools
           ,
           and
           Jack-a-nape
        
         
           On
           horse-back
           ?
           Clad
           in
           Coat
           of
           Plush
           ?
        
         
           Yet
           looks
           but
           like
           a
           Sloe
           on
           bush
           :
        
         
           Keep
           ,
           keep
           your
           ground
           ,
           wee
           'l
           force
           'em
           back
           ,
        
         
           Or
           may
           
             —
             we
             never
          
           Money
           lack
           .
        
         
           Then
           out
           they
           Snap
           ,
           and
           Towser
           call
           ,
        
         
           Two
           cunning
           Currs
           ,
           ,
           that
           would
           not
           bawl
           ,
        
         
           But
           slily
           fly
           at
           throat
           ,
           or
           tail
           ,
        
         
           And
           in
           their
           Course
           would
           seldome
           fail
           :
        
         
           The
           Butchers
           hoot
           ,
           the
           Dogs
           fall
           on
           ,
        
         
           The
           Horses
           kick
           ,
           and
           wince
           ,
           anon
           ,
        
         
           Down
           comes
           spruce
           Valour
           to
           the
           ground
           ,
        
         
           And
           both
           Sir
           Knights
           laid
           in
           a
           swound
           ,
        
         
           They
           like
           stout
           Horsemen
           kept
           the
           Saddle
           ,
        
         
           As
           long
           as
           ever
           they
           were
           able
           ;
        
         
         
           But
           such
           as
           Honour
           forward
           pricks
           .
        
         
           Must
           now
           and
           then
           expect
           Horse-tricks
           .
        
         
           The
           Squires
           with
           grief
           ran
           hom
           to
           Quarters
        
         
           To
           hang
           themselves
           ,
           had
           they
           found
           Garters
           :
        
         
           Man
           should
           not
           trust
           to
           Fortune
           more
        
         
           Then
           to
           a
           Sodometick-Whore
           ,
        
         
           Whose
           best
           of
           Actions
           are
           by
           night
           ,
        
         
           So
           ,
           as
           she
           's
           blind
           ,
           she
           hates
           the
           light
           .
        
         
           This
           Hudibras
           (
           who
           not
           long
           since
        
         
           Did
           think
           himself
           a
           petty
           Prince
           )
        
         
           Does
           sorely
           find
           ,
           on
           sides
           and
           guts
           ,
        
         
           (
           Oh
           out
           upon
           such
           fickle
           Sluts
           .
           )
        
         
           So
           out
           o
           th'
           Bowels
           of
           Compassion
           ,
        
         
           Knights
           were
           led
           home
           in
           an
           odd
           fashion
           ,
        
         
           Where
           we
           will
           leave
           'em
           for
           Recovery
           ,
        
         
           And
           then
           set
           forth
           a
           new
           Discovery
           .
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
      
    
     
       
         
           The
           Printer
           to
           the
           Reader
           .
        
         
           THe
           Author
           having
           not
           time
           to
           attend
           the
           Press
           ,
           some
           Mistakes
           have
           happened
           (
           but
           not
           any
           very
           grosse
           )
           which
           is
           desired
           ,
           thou
           wilt
           either
           passe
           by
           ,
           or
           amend
           with
           thy
           Pen.
           
        
         
           Farewell
           .
        
         
      
    
  

