With which I furiously laid on,
Till in a harsh and doleful tone
It roar'd, O hold for pity, Sir;
I am too great a sufferer,
Abus'd, as you have been, b' a witch,
But conjur'd int' a worfe caprich,
Who fends me out on many a jaunt,
Old houfes in the night to haunt,
For opportunities t'improve
Defigns of thievery or love;

With drugs convey'd in drink or meat,
All feats of witches counterfeit,

Kill pigs and geefe with powder'd glass,
And make it for enchantment pass;
With cow-itch meazle like a leper,
And choke with fumes of Guiney pepper;
Make letchers, and their punks, with dewtry,
Commit fantastical advowtry;
Betwitch Hermetic men to run
Stark ftaring mad with manicon;
Believe mechanic virtuofi

Can raise 'em mountains in Potofi;
And fillier than the antic fools,
Take treasure for a heap of coals;
Seek out for plants with signatures,
To quack of universal cures ;
With figures ground on panes of glass,
Make people on their heads to país;
And mighty heaps of coin increase,
Reflected from a single piece;

To draw in fools, whofe nat'ral itches
Incline perpetually to witches,
And keep me in continual fears,
And danger of my neck and ears;

When lefs delinquents have been fcourg'd,
And hemp on wooden anvils forg'd,
Which others for cravats have worn
About their necks, and took a turn.
I pity'd the fad punishment
The wretched caitiff underwent,
And held my drubbing of his bones
Too great an honour for pultrones;
For knights are bound to feel no blows
From paltry and unequal foes,

Who when they flash. and cut to pieces,
Do all with civilleft addreffes:
Their horses never give a blow,
But when they make a leg and bow."
I therefore fpar'd his flesh, and prest him
About the witch with many a queft'on.

Quoth he, For many years he drove
A kind of broking trade in love,
Employ'd in all th' intrigues, and truft,
Of feeble fpeculative luft;
Procurer to th' extravagancy
And crazy ribaldry of fancy.
By thofe the devil had forfook,
As things below him, to provoke;

But b'ing a virtuofo, able

To fmatter, quack, and cant, and dabble,
He held his talent most adroit,

For any myftical exploit,

As others of his tribe had done,

And rais'd their prices three to one;

For one predicting pimp has th' odds Of chaldrons of plain downright bawds. But as an elf (the dev'l's valet)

Is not fo flight a thing to get,
For those that do his bus'nefs best,
In hell are us'd the ruggedeft,
Before fo meriting a perfon
Cou'd get a grant, but in reverfion,
He ferv'd two' prenticeships, and longer,
I' th' myst'ry of a lady monger.
For (as fome write) a witch's ghost,
As foon as from the body loft,
Becomes a puny imp itself,
And is another witch's elf,
He, after searching far and near,
At length found one in Lancashire,
With whom he bargain'd beforehand,
And, after hanging, entertain'd:
Since which he 'as play'd a thousand feats,
And practif'd all mechanic cheats;
Transform'd himself to th' ugly shapes
Of wolves, and bears, baboons, and apes,
Which he has vary'd more than witches,
Or Pharaoh's wizards, cou'd their switches;
And all with whom he 'as had to do,
Turn'd to as monftrous figures too;
Witness myself, whom he has abus'd,
And to this beastly shape reduc'd,
By feeding me on beans and pease
He crams in nafty crevices,
And turns to comfits by his arts,
To make me relish for deferts,
And one by one, with fhame and fear,
Lick up the candy'd provender.
Befide-But as h' was running on,
To tell what other feats he 'ad done,
The Lady ftopt his full carcer,
And told him now 't was time to hear.
If half those things (faid fhe) be true,
(They 're all, (quoth he) I swear by you)
Why then, faid fhe, that Sidrophel
Has damın'd himself to th' pit of hell,
Who, mounted on a broom, the nag,
And hackney of a Lapland hag,
In queft of you came hither poft,
Within an hour (I'm sure) at most,
Who told me all you swear and fay,
Quite contrary another way;
Vow'd that you came to him, to know
If you thou'd carry me or no,
And would have hir'd him and his imps,
To be your matchmakers and pimps,
T'engage the devil on your fide,
And steal (like Proferpine) your bride;
But he difdaining to embrace
So filthy a design and bafe,
You fell to vapouring and huffing,
And drew upon him like a ruffian;
Surpris'd him meanly, unprepar'd,
Before he 'ad time to mount his guard,
And left him dead upon the ground,
With many a bruise and defp'rate wound;
Swore you had broke and robb'd his houfe,
And stole his talismanique louse,

And all his new-found old inventions,
With flat felonious intentions,
Which he could bring out where he had,
And what he bought them for, and paid;
His flea, his morpion, and punese,
He'd gotten for his proper ease,
And all in perfect minutes made,
By th' ab'left artist of the trade;
Which (he could prove it) fince he loft,
He has been eaten up almoft,
And altogether might amount
To many hundreds on account;

For which he 'ad got fufficient warrant
To feize the male factor's errant,
Without capacity of bail,

But of a cart's or hotfe's tail;

And did not doubt to bring the wretches
To ferve for pendulums to watches,
Which, modern virtuosi fay,
Incline to hanging every way.

Befide, he swore, and fwore 't was true,
That e'er he went in queft of you,
He fet a figure to discover
If you were fled to Rye or Dover,
And found it clear that, to betray
Yourselves and me, you fled this way,
And that he was upon pursuit,
To take you fomewhere hereabout.
He vow'd he had intelligence
Of all that pafs'd before, or fince,
And found that, e'er you came to him,
You'd been engaging life and limb
About a cafe of tender confcience,
Where both abounded in your own fense,
Till Ralpho, by his light and grace,
Had clear'd all fcruples in the cafe,
And prov'd that you might fwear and own
Whatever's by the Wicked done,
For which, moft bafely to requite
The fervice of his gifts and light,
You ftrove t'oblige him, by main force,
To fcourge his ribs infead of your's,
But that he ftood upon his guard,
And all your vapouring outdar'd;
For which, between you both, the feat
Has never been perform'd as yet.

While thus the Lady talk'd, the Knight
Turn'd th' outfide of his eyes to white;
(As meu of inward light are wont
To turn their optics in upon 't)
He wonder'd how the came to know
What he had done, and meant to do;
Held up his affidavit hand,

As if he'ad been to be arraign'd:
Caft towards the door a ghaftly look,
In dread of Sidrophel, and spoke :

Madam, if but one word be true
Of all the wizard has told you,
Or but one fingle circumstance
In all th' apocryphal romance,
May dreadful carthquakes fwallow down
This veffel, that is all your own;
Or may the heavens fall, and cover
These reliques of your conftant lover.

You have provided well (qouth the) (1 thank you) for yourself and me, And fhewn your Prefbyterian wits Jump punctual with the Jefuits; A moft compendious way, and civil, At once to cheat the world, the devil, And heaven and hell, yourfelves, and those On whom you vainly think t' impose. Why then, (quoth he) may hell furprise; That trick (faid fhe) will not pass twice: I've learn'd how far I'm to believe Your pinning oaths upon you fleeve; But there's a better way of clearing What you

would prove, than downright swearing;
For if you have perform'd the feat,
The blows are vifible as yet,
Enough to ferve for fatisfaction
Of niceft fcruples in the action;
And if you can produce thofe knobs,
Although they're but the witch's drubs,
I'll pass them all upon account,
As if your nat❜ral self had don't;
Provided that they pafs th' opinion
Of able juries of old women,
Who us'd to judge all matter of faces
For bellies, may do fo for backs.

Madam, (quoth he) your love's a million,
To do is lefs than to be willing,
As I am, were it in my power,

T' obey what you command, and more:
But for performing what you bid,
I thank you as much as if I did.
You know I ought to have a care,
To keep my wounds from taking air;
For wounds in thofe that are all heart,
Are dangerous in any part.

I find (quoth fhe) my goods and chattels
Are like to prove but mere drawn battles;
For fill the longer we contend,

We are but farther off the end;
But granting now we fhould agree,
What is it you expect from me?
Your plighted faith (quoth he) and word
You paft in heaven on record,
Where all contracts, to have and t' hold,
Are everlastingly enroll'd;

And if 'tis counted treafon here

To raze records, 'tis much more there,

Quoth fhe, There are no bargains driv'n,
Nor marriages clapp'd up, in heav'n,
And that's the reafon, as fome guess,
There is no heav'n in marriages;
Two things that naturally prefs
Too narrowly, to be at ease;
Their bus'nefs there is only love,
Which marriage is not like t' improve :
Love, that's too gen'rous t' abide
To be against its nature ty'd;
For where 'tis of itfelf inclin'd,
It breaks loofe when it is confin'd,
And like the foul, its harbourer,
Debarr'd the freedom of the air,
Dildains against its will to stay,
But ftruggles out, and flies away;

3

And therefore never can comply
T'endure the matrimonial tie,
That binds the female and the male,
Where th' one is but the other's bail;
Like Roman gaolers, when they slept,
Chain'd to the prifoners they kept,
Of which the true and faithfull'it lover
Gives beft fecurity to fuffer.
Marriage is but a beaft, fome fay,
That carries double in foul way,

And therefore 'tis not to b' admir'd
It should fo fuddenly be tir'd;
A bargain, at a venture made,
Between two partners in a trade;

(For what's inferr'd by t' have and t' hold,
But fomething paft away, and fold!)
That, as it makes but one of two,
Reduces all things elfe as low,
And at the beft is but a mart
Between the one and th' other part,
That on the marriage day is paid,
Or hour of death, the bet is laid;
And all the reft of better or worse,
Both are but lofers out of purfe :
For when upon their ungot heirs

Th' entail themfelves, and all that's theirs,
What blinder bargain e'er was driv'n,
Or wager laid at fix and fev'n?
To país themselves away, and turn
'Their children's tenants e'er they're born?
Beg one another idiot

To guardians, c'er they are begot;
Or ever fhall, perhaps, by th' one
Who's bound to vouch 'em for his own,
Though got b' implicit generation,
And gen'ral club of all the nation;
For which the's fortify'd no lefs
Than all the island, with four feas;
Extracts the tribute of her dower,
In ready infolence and power,
And makes him pass away, to have
And hold, to her, hinfelf, her flave.
More wretched than an ancient villain,
Condemn'd to drudgery and tilling;
While all he does upon the by,
She is not bound to justify,
Nor at her proper soft and charge
Maintain the feats he does at large.
Such hideons fots were thofe obedient
Old vaffals to their ladies regent,
To give the cheats the eldeft hand
In foul play by the laws o' th' land,
For which fo many a legal cuckold

Has been run down in courts, and truckell'd:
A law that moft unjustly yokes

All Johns of Stiles to Joans of Noakes,
Without diftinction of degree,
Condition, age, or quality;
Admits no pow'r of revocation,
Nor valuable consideration,
Ner writ of Error, nor reverfe

Of judgment paft, for better or worse;
Will not allow the privileges
That beggars challenge under hedges,

Who, when they're griev'd, can make dead horfes
Their fp'ritual judges of divorces,
While nothing elfe but rem in re
Can fet the proudeft wretches free;
A flavery beyond enduring,
But that 'tis of their own procuring.
As fpiders never feek the fly,
But leave him of himfelf, t' apply;
So men are by themfeves employ'd,
To quit the freedom they enjoy'd,
And run their necks into a noose,
They'd break 'em after to break loofe.
As fome whom death would not depart,
Have done the feat themselves by art.
Like Indian widows, gone to bed,
In flaming curtains, to the dead;
And men as often dangled for't,
And yet will never leave the sport.
Nor do the ladies want excufe
For all the ftratagems they ufe,

To gain th' advantage of the fet,

And lurch the amorous rook and cheat.

For as the Pythagorean foul

Runs through all beasts, and fish, and fowl,
And has a fmack of ev'ry one,

So love does, and has ever done;

And therefore though 'tis ne'er fo fond,
Takes ftrangely to the vagabond.
'Tis but an ague that's reverft,
Whofe hot fit takes the patient first,
That after burns with cold as much
As iron in Greenland does the touch;
Melts in the furnace of defire,
Like glafs, that's but the ice of fire;
And when his heat of fancy's over,
Becomes as hard and frail a lover;
For when he's with love-powder laden,
And prim'd and coak'd by Mifs or Madam,
The fmalleft fparkle of an eye

Gives fire to his artillery,

And of the loud oaths go, but, while
They're in the very act, recoil;
Hence 'tis fo few dare take their chance
Without a fep'rate maintenance;
And widows, who have try'd one lover,
Truft none again till they've made over;
Or if they do, before they marry,
The foxes weigh the geefe they carry,
And e'er they venture o'er a fream,
Know how to fize themselves and them.
Whence wittieft ladies always choofe
To undertake the heavieft goofe;
For now the world is grown fo wary,
That few of either fex dare marry,
But rather truft, on tick, t' amours,
The crofs and pile for better or worse;
A mode that is held honourable
As well as French, and fashionable;
For when it falls out for the best,
Where both are incommoded leaft,
In foul and body two unite
To make up one hermaphrodite,
Still amorous, and fond, and billing,
Like Philip and Mary on a fhilling,

They've more punctilios and capriches
Between the petticoat and breeches,
More petulant extravagances,
Than poets make 'em in romances;

Though when their heroes 'fpoufe the dames,
We hear no more of charms and flames;
For then their late attracts decline,
And turn as eager as prick'd wine,
And all their catterwauling tricks,
In earnest to as jealous piques,
Which th' Ancients wifely fignify'd
By th' yellow mantos of the bride;
For jealoufy is but a kind

Of clap and grincam of the mind
The natural effects of love,
As other flames and aches prove :
But all the mischief is, the doubt

On whofe account they first broke out,
For though Chineses go to bed.
And lie-in in their ladies ftead,
And for the pains they took before,
Are nuts'd and pamper'd to do more,

Our green-men do it worse, when th' hap
To fall in labour of a clap;
Both lay the child to one another,
But who's the father, who the mother,
'Tis hard to fay in multitudes,
Or who imported the French goods.
But health and fickness b ing all one,
Which both engag'd before to own,
And are not with their bodies bound
To worship, only when they're found,
Both give and take their equal shares
Of all they fuffer by falfe wares;
A fate no lover can divert
With all his caution, wit, and art:
For 'tis in vain to think to guess

At women by appearances,

That paint and patch their imperfections
Of intellectual complexions,

And daub their tempers o'er with washes
As artificial as their faces;

Wear under vizard-masks their talents,
And mother-wits before their gallants;
Until they're hamper'd in the noofe,
Too faft to dream of breaking loofe;
When all the flaws they ftrove to hide
Are made unready with the bride,
That with her wedding-cloaths undreffes
Her complaifance and gentilefles;
Tries all her arts to take upon her
The government, from th' easy owner;
Until the wretch is glad to wave
His lawful right, and turn her flave;
Find all his having and his holding
Reduc'd t' eternal noife and fcolding;
The conjugal petard, that tears,
Down all portcullices of ears.
And makes the volly of one tongue
For all their leathern fhields too ftrong;
When only arm'd with noife and nails,
The female filk worms :ide the males,
Transform 'em into rams and goats
Like Syrens, with their charming uotes ;

Sweet as a forecchowl's ferenade,
Or thofe enchanting murmurs made
By th' hufband mandrake, and the wife,
Both bury'd (like themselves) alive.

Quoth he, These reasons are but strains
Of wanton over-heated brains,
Which ralliers in their wit or drink
Do rather wheedle with than think;
Man was not man in Paradise,
Until he was created twice,
And had his better half, his bride,
Carv'd from th' original, his fide,
'T' amend his natural defects,
And perfect his recruiting fex;
Enlarge his breed, at once, and leffen
The pains and labour of increasing,
By changing them for other cares,
As by his dry'd-up paps appears.
His body that ftupendous frame,
Of all the world the anagram,
Is of two equal parts compact,
In fhape and fymmetry exact,
Of which the left and female fide
Is to the manly right a bride,
Both join'd together with fuch art,
That nothing eife but death can part.
Those heav'nly attracts of your's, your eyes,
And face, that all the world furprise,
That dazzle all that look upon ye,
And fcorch all other ladies tawny;
Those ravishing and charming graces.
Are all made up of two half faces
That, in a mathematic line,
Like thofe in other heav'ns, join;
Of which, if either grew alone,
'Twould fright as much to look upon;
And fo would that fweet bud, your lip,
Without the other's fellowship.
Our nobleft fenfes act by pairs,
Two eyes to fee, to hear two ears;
Th' intelligencers of the mind,
To wait upon the foul defign'd;
But thofe that ferve the body' alone
Are single and confin'd to one.
The world is but two parts, that meet
And clofe at th' equinoctial fit;
And fo are all the works of Nature,
Stamp'd with her fignature on matter;
Which all her creatures, to a leaf,
Or malleft blade of grafs, receive.
All which fufficiently declare
How entirely marriage is her care,
The only method that she uses
In all the wonders the produces;
And thofe that take their rules from her
Can never be deceiv'd nor err :
For what fecures the civil life,
But pawns of children, and a wife?
That lie, like hoftages, at stake,

Το

pay for all men undertake; To whom it is as neceffary,

As to be born and breathe, to marry s

So univerfal, all mankind

In nothing else is of one mind;

For in what ftupid age or nation
Was marriage ever out of fashion?
Unless among the Amazons,

Of clcifter'd Friars and Veftal nuns,
Or Stoics, who, to bar the freaks
And loofe exceffes of the fox,
Prepoft'rously would have all women
Turn'd up to all the world in common;
Though men would find fuch mortal feuds
In fharing of their public goods,

'would put them to more charge of lives,
Than they 're fupply'd with now by wives;
Until they graze, and wear their clothes,
As beafts do, of their native growths;
For fimple wearing of their horns
Will not fuffice to ferve their turns.
For what can we pretend t' inherit,
Unless the marriage-deed will bear it?
Could claim no right to lands or rents,
But for our parents' fettlements;

Had been but younger fous o' th' earth,
Debarr'd it all, but for our birth.
What honours, er eftates of peers,
Could be preferv'd but by their heirs?
And what fecurity maintains
Their right and title, but the bans ?
What crowns gould be hereditary,
If greatest monarchs did not marry,
And with their conforts confummate
Their weightiest interests of state?
For all the amours of princes are
But guarantees of peace or war.
Or what but marriage has a charm,
The rage of empires to difarm?
Make blood and defolation ceafe,
And fire and word unite in peace,
When all their fierce contests for forage
Conclude in articles of marriage?
Nor does the genial bed provide
Lefs for the ins'rests of the bride,
Who elfe had not the leaft pretence
'I' as much as due benevelcuce;
Could no more title take upon her
To virtue, quality, and honour,
Than ladies errant unconfin'd,
And feme-coverts t' all mankind.
All women would be of one piece,
The virtuous matron, and the mifs;
'The nymphs of chafle Diana's train,
The fame with thofe in Lewkner's lane,
But for the diff 'rence marriage makes
'Twixt wives and ladies of the Lakes;
Belides the joys of place and birth,
The fex's paradife on earth,
A privilege fo facred held,

That none will to their mothers yield,
But rather than not go before,
Abandon heaven at the door :
And if th' indulgent law allows
A greater freedom to the fpoufe,
The reason is, because the wife
Runs greater hazards of her life:
Is trufted with the form and matter
Of all mankind, by careful Nature,

Where man brings nothing but the fluff
She frames the wondrous fabric of;
Who therefore, in a ftrait, may freely
Demand the clergy of her belly,
And make it Yave her the fame way
It feldom miffes to betray,
Unless both parties wifely enter
Into the Liturgy indenture.

And though fome fits of small conteft
Sometimes fall out among the best,
That is no more than ev'ry lover
Does from his hackney lady fuffer;
That makes no breach of faith and love,
But rather (fometimes) serve t' improve :
For as, in running, ev'ry pace
Is but between two legs a race,
In which both do their uttermost
To get before and win the poft.
Yet when they're at their races' ends,
They're ftill as kind and constant friends,
And, to relieve their weariness,
By turns give one another eafe;
So all thofe falfe alarms of strife
Between the husband and the wife,
And little quarrels, often prove
To be but new recruits of love,
When thofe who're always kind or coy,
In time must either tire or cloy.
Nor are the loudeft clamours more
Than as they're relish'd sweet or four;
Like mufic that proves bad or good,
According as 'tis understood.

In all amours a lover burns

With frowns, as well as fmiles, by turns;
And hearts have been as oft' with fullen
As charming looks furpris'd and stolen:
Then why should more bewitching clamour
Some lovers not as much enamour ?
For difcords make the fweeteft airs,
And curfes are a kind of pray'rs ;
Two flight alloys for all thofe grand
Felicities by marriage gain'd:
For nothing elfe has pow'r to fettle
Th' interefts of love perpetual:
An act and deed that makes one heart
Become another's counterpart,
And paffes fines on faith and love,
Enroll'd and register'd above,

To feal the flippery knots of vows,
Which nothing elfe but death can loofc.
And what fecurity's too ftrong

To guard that gentle heart from wrong,
That to its friend is glad to pafs
Itfelf away, and all it has,

And, like an anchorite, gives over
This world, for the heav'n of a lover?

I grant (quoth fhe) there are fome few
Who take that course, and find it true.
But millions, whom the fame does fentence
To heav'n by' another way, repentance.
Love's arrows are but shot at rovers,
Though all they hit they turn to lovers,
And all the weighty confequents
Depend upon more blind events