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I'll give you quarter; but your pillage, The conquering warrior's crop and tillage, Which with his sword he reaps and ploughs, That's mine, the law of arms allows."

This said in haste, in haste he fell

To rummaging of Sidrophel.

First he expounded both his pockets,

And found a watch, with rings and lockets,
Which had been left with him t' erect
A figure for, and so detect;

A copper-plate, with almanacs
Engrav'd upon 't, with other knacks

Of Booker's, Lilly's, Sarah Jimmers' 12,
And blank-schemes to discover nimmers;
A moon-dial, with Napier's bones,
And several constellation stones,
Engrav'd in planetary hours,

That over mortals had strange powers
To make them thrive in law or trade,
And stab or poison to evade;
In wit or wisdom to improve,
And be victorious in love.

Whachum had neither cross nor pile,
His plunder was not worth the while;
All which the conqueror did discompt,
To pay for curing of his rump.
But Sidropiel, as full of tricks
As Rota-men of politics,
Straight cast about to over-reach
Th' unwary conqueror with a fetch,
And make him glad, at least, to quit
His victory, and fly the pit,
Before the secular prince of darkness
Arriv'd to seize upon his carcass :
And as a fox, with hot pursuit
Chas'd through a warren, casts about
To save his credit, and among
Dead vermin on a gallows hung,
And while the dogs run underneath,
Escap'd (by counterfeiting death)
Not out of cunning, but a train
Of atoms justling in his brain,
As learn'd philosophers give out;
So Sidrophello cast about,

And fell to 's wonted trade again,
To feign himself in earnest slain:
First stretch'd out one leg, then another,
And, seeming in his breast to smother
A broken sigh; quoth he, "Where am I?
Alive, or dead? or which way came I
Through so immense a space so soon?
But now I thought myself i' th' Moon,
And that a monster, with huge whiskers,
More formidable than a Switzer's,
My body through and through had drill'd,
And Whachum by my side had kill'd;

Had cross-examin'd both our hose,

And plunder'd all we had to lose:
Look, there he is! I see him now,
And feel the place I am run through:

12 John Booker was born in Manchester, and was a famous astrologer in the time of the Civil wars. He was a great acquaintance of Lilly's; and so was this Sarah Jimmers, whom Lilly calls Sarah Shelhorn, a great speculatrix. He owns he was very familiar with her (quod nota ;) so that it is no wonder that the knight found several of their knick-knacks in Sidrophel's cabinet.

And there lies Whachum by my side
Stone dead, and in his own blood dy'd.
Oh! oh!"-With that he fetch'd a groan,
And fell again into a swoon,

Shut both his eyes, and stopt his breath,

And to the life out-acted death,
That Hudibras, to all appearing,
Believ'd him to be dead as herring.

He held it now no longer safe

To tarry the return of Ralph,
But rather leave him in the lurch:
Thought he, "He has abus'd our church,
Refus'd to give himself one firk

To carry on the public work;
Despis'd our synod-men like dirt,
And made their discipline his sport;
Divulg'd the secrets of their classes,
And their conventions prov'd high-places;
Disparag'd their tythe-pigs, as pagan,
And set at nought their cheese and bacon;
Rail'd at their covenant, and jeer'd
Their reverend parsons, to my beard;
For all which scandals to be quit
At once, this juncture falls out fit.
I'll make him henceforth to beware,
And tempt my fury if he dare:
He must at least hold up his hand,
By twelve freeholders to be scann'd,
Who, by their skill in palmistry,
Will quickly read his destiny,
And make him glad to read his lesson,
Or take a turn for 't at the session,
Unless his light and gifts prove truer
Than ever yet they did, I 'm sure;
For if he 'scape with whipping now,
'Tis more than he can hope to do;
And that will disengage my conscience
Of th' obligation, in his own sense:
I'll make him now by force abide
What he by gentle means deny'd,
To give my honour satisfaction,
And right the brethren in the action."
This being resolv'd, with equal speed
And conduct he approach'd lyis steed,
And, with activity unwont,

Assay'd the lofty beast to mount;
Which once achiev'd, he spurr'd his palfry,
To get from th' enemy and Ralph free;
Left danger, fears, and foes behind,

And beat, at least three lengths, the wind.

AN

HEROICAL EPISTLE'

OF

HUDIBRAS TO SIDROPHEL.

Ecce iterum Crispinus.......

WELL, Sidrophel, though 'tis in vain
To tamper with your crazy brain,

This Epistle was published ten years after the Third Canto of this Second Part, to which it is now annexed, namely, in the year 1674, and is said, n a Key to a burlesque poem of Mr. Butler's, pubshed 1706, p. 13, to have been occasioned by sir Paul Neal, a conceited virtuoso, and member of

Without trepanning of your skull,
As often as the Moon's at full,
'Tis not amiss, ere ye 're giv'n o'er,
To try one desp'rate med'cine more;
For, where your case can be no worse,
The desperat'st is the wisest course.
Is 't possible that you, whose ears
Are of the tribe of Issachar's,
And might (with equal reason) either
For merit, or extent of leather,
With William Pryn's, before they were
Retrench'd and crucify'd, compare,
Should yet be deaf against a noise
So roaring as the public voice?

That speaks your virtues free and loud,
And openly in every crowd,

As loud as one that sings his part
Ta wheel-barrow or turnip-cart,

Or your new nick'd-nam`d old invention
To cry green-hastings with an engine;
(As if the vehemence had stunn'd,
And torn your drum-heads with the sound)
And, 'cause your folly's now no news,
Bet overgrown, and out of use,
Persuade yourself there's no such matter,
But that 'tis vanish'd out of Nature;
When Folly, as it grows in years,
The more extravagant appears;
For who but you could be possest
With so much ignorance and beast,
That neither all men's scorn and hate,
Nur being langh'd and pointed at,
For bray'd so often in a mortar,

Can teach you wholesome sense and nurture;
But (like a reprobate) what course
Soever us'd, grow worse and worse?
Can no transfusion of the blood,

That makes fools cattle, do you good?
Nor putting pigs t' a bitch to nurse,
To turn them into mongrel-curs,
Put you into a way, at least,
To make yourself a better beast?
Can all your critical intrigues,
Oftring sound from rotten eggs,
Your several new-found remedies, ·
Of curing wounds and scabs in trees,
Your arts of fluxing them for claps,
And purging their infected saps,
Recovering shankers, crystallines,
And nodes and botches in their rinds,
Hare no effect to operate
Tpon that duller block, your pate?
but still it must be lewdly bent
To tempt your own due punishment;
And, like your whimsy'd chariots, draw
The boys to course you without law;
As if the art you have so long
Profess'd, of making old dogs young,
In you had virtue to renew

Not only youth, but childhood too.
Can you, that understand all books,
By judging only with your looks,
Resolve all problems with your face,
As others do with B's and A's;

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Unriddle all that mankind knows
With solid bending of your brows;
All arts and sciences advance,
With screwing of your countenance,
And with a penetrating eye
Into th' abstrusest learning pry;
Know more of any trade b' a hint,
Than those that have been bred up in 't,
And yet have no art, true or false,
To help your own bad naturals?
But still, the more you strive t' appear,

Are found to be the wretcheder:
For fools are known by looking wise,

As men find woodcocks by their eyes,

Hence 'tis, that 'cause ye 'ave gain'd o' th' college
A quarter share (at most) of knowledge,
And brought in none, but spent repute,

Y' assume a power as absolute
To judge, and censure, and controul,
As if you were the sole sir Poll,
And saucily pretend to know
More than your dividend comes to:
You'll find the thing will not be done
With ignorance and face alone:

No, though ye 've purchas'd to your name,
In history, so great a fame;

That now your talent 's so well known

For having all belief outgrown,

That every strange prodigious tale

Is measur'd by your German scale-
By which the virtuosi try

The magnitude of every lie,

Cast up to what it does amount,
And place the bigg'st to your account;
That all those stories, that are laid
Too truly to you, and those made,
Are now still charg'd upon your score,
And lesser authors nam'd no more.
Alas! that faculty betrays
Those soonest it designs to raise;
And all your vain renown will spoil,
As guns o'ercharg'd the more recoil;
Though he, that has but impudence,
To all things has a fair pretence;
And, put among his wants but shame,
To all the world may lay his claim:
Though you have try'd that nothing 's borne
With greater ease than public scorn,
That all affronts do still give place

To your impenetrable face;

That makes your way through all affairs,
As pigs through hedges creep with theirs:
Yet, as 'tis counterfeit and brass,
You must not think 'twill always pass;
For all impostors, when they 're known,
Are past all labour, and undone :
And all the best that can befall
An artificial natural,

Is that which madmen find, as soon
As once they're broke loose from the Moon,
And, proof against her influence,
Relapse to e'er so little sense,
To turn stark fools, and subjects fit
For sport of boys and rabble-wit.

discovery of an elephant in the Moon, which, upon examination, proved to be no other than a mouse, which had mistaken its way, and got into his tele scope.

L

HUDIBRA S.

IN THREE PARTS.

PART III. CANTO I.

THE ARGUMENT.

The knight and squire resolve at once,
The one the other to renounce;
They both approach the lady's bower,
The squire t' inform, the knight to woo her.
She treats them with a masquerade,
By Furies and Hobgoblins made;
From which the squire conveys the knight,
And steals him from himself by night.

'Tis true, no lover has that power
T'enforce a desperate amour,

As he that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too;
For then he's brave and resolute,
Disdains to render in his suit;

Has all his flames and raptures double,

And hangs, or drowns, with half the trouble;
While those, who sillily pursue
The simple downright way, and true,
Make as unlucky applications,

And steer against the stream their passions.
Some forge their mistresses of stars,
And, when the ladies prove averse,
And more untoward to be won
Than by Caligula the Moon,
Cry out upon the stars for doing
Ill offices, to cross their wooing,

When only by themselves they 're hindered,
For trusting those they made her kindred,
And still, the harsher and hide-bounder
The damsels prove, become the fonder;
For what mad lover ever dy'd

To gain a soft and gentle bride?
Or for a lady tender-hearted,

In purling streams or hemp departed?
Leap'd headlong int' Elysium,

Through th' windows of a dazzling room?
But for some cross ill-natur'd dame,
The amorous fly burnt in his flame.
This to the knight could be no news,
With all mankind so much in use,
Who therefore took the wiser course,
To make the most of his amours,
Resolv'd to try all sorts of ways,
As follows in due time and place.

No sooner was the bloody fight
Between the wizard and the knight,

With all th' appurtenances, over,
But he relaps'd again t' a lover,
As he was always wont to do,
When he 'ad discomfited a foe,
And us'd the only antique philters
Deriv'd from old heroic tilters.
But now, triumphant and victorious,
He held th' achievement was too glorious
For such a conqueror, to meddle
With petty constable or beadle,
Or fly for refuge to the hostess

Of th' inns of court and chancery, Justice;
Who might, perhaps, reduce his cause
To th' ordeal trial of the laws,

Where none escape, but such as, branded
With red-hot irons, have past bare-handed;
And if they cannot read one verse

I' th' Psalms, must sing it, and that 's worse.
He, therefore, judging it below him
To tempt a shame the Devil might owe him,
Resolv'd to leave the squire for bail
And mainprize for him to the gaol,
To answer, with his vessel, all
That might disastrously befall,
And thought it now the fittest juncture
To give the lady a rencounter,
T'acquaint her with his expedition,
And conquest o'er the fierce magician;
Describe the manner of the fray,
And show the spoils he brought away;
His bloody scourging aggravate,
The number of the blows, and weight;
All which might probably succeed,
And gain belief he 'ad done the deed:
Which he resolv'd to enforce, and spare
No pawning of his soul to swear;
But, rather than produce his back,
To set his conscience on the rack:
And, in pursuance of his urging
Of articles perform'd, and scourging,
And all things else, upon his part,
Demand delivery of her heart,
Her goods and chattles, and good graces,
And person, up to his embraces.
Thought he, "The ancient errant knights
Won all their ladies' hearts in fights,
And cut whole giants into fritters,
To put them into amorous twitters;
Whose stubborn bowels scorn'd to yield,
Until their gallants were half kill'd;

But when their bones were drubb'd so sore,
They durst not woo one combat more,
The ladies' hearts began to melt,
Subdued by blows their lovers felt

So Spanish heroes, with their lances,
At once wound bulls, and ladies' fancies;
And he acquires the noblest spouse
That widows greatest herds of cows;
Then what may I expect to do,
Who 've quell'd so vast a buffalo?"
Meanwhile the squire was on his way,
The knight's late orders to obey;
Who sent him for a strong detachment
Of beadles, constables, and watchmen,
Tattack the cunning-man, for plunder
Committed falsely on his lumber;
When he, who had so lately sack'd
The enemy, had done the fact,
Had rifled all his pokes and fobs

of gimcracks, whims, and jiggumbobs,
Which he by hook or crook had gather'd,
And for his own inventions father'd;
And when they should, at gaol-delivery,
Criddle one another's thievery,
Both might have evidence enough
To render neither halter-proof:
He thought it desperate to tarry,
Adventure to be accessary;

Bat rather wisely slip his fetters,

And leave them for the knight, his betters.

He call'd to mind th' unjust foul play

He would have offer'd him that day,

To make him curry his own hide,
Which no beast ever did beside,
Without all possible evasion,
But of the riding dispensation:
And therefore, much about the hour
The knight (for reasons told before)
Resolv'd to leave him to the fury
Of Justice and an unpack'd jury,
The squire concurr'd t' abandon him,
And serve him in the self-same trim;
Tacquaint the lady what he 'ad done,
And what he meant to carry on;
What project 'twas he went about,
When Sidrophel and he fell out;
Harm and stedfast resolution,
Twear her to an execution;
Dan his inward ears to marry her,

And bribe the Devil himself to carry her; in which both dealt, as if they meant Their party-saints to represent, Who never fail'd, upon their sharing la any prosperous arms-bearing, To lay themselves out to supplant Each other cousin-german saint. Bat ere the knight could do his part, The squire had got so much the start, Bead to the lady done his errand, And told her all his tricks aforehand. Jast as he finish'd his report, The knight alighted in the court, And, having ty'd his beast t' a pale, And taking time for both to stale, He put his band and beard in order, The sprucer to accost and board her: adow began t' approach the door, When she, wh' had spy'd him out before, Convey'd th' informer out of sight, tad went to entertain the knight; Ah whom encountering, after longees bumble and submissive congees, all due ceremonies paid, He stroak'd his beard, and thus he said;

"Madam, I do, as is my duty,
Honour the shadow of your shoe-tie;
And now am come to bring your ear
A present, you'll be glad to hear;
At least I hope so: the thing 's done,
Or may I never see the Sun;
For which I humbly now demand
Performance at your gentle hand;
And that you'd please to do your part,
As I have done mine, to my smart."
With that he shrugg'd his sturdy back,
As if he felt his shoulders ache:
But she, who well enough knew what
(Before he spoke) he would be at,
Pretended not to apprehend

The mystery of what he mean'd;
And therefore wish'd him to expound
His dark expressions less profound.

44

Madam," quoth he, "I come to prove
How much I've suffer'd for your love,
Which (like your votary) to win,
I have not spar'd my tatter'd skin;
And, for those meritorious lashes,
To claim your favour and good graces."
Quoth she, "I do remember once

I freed you from th' enchanted sconce,
And that you promis'd, for that favour,
To bind your back to th' good behaviour,
And for my sake and service vow'd,
To lay upon 't a heavy load.

And what 'twould bear t' a scruple prove,
As other knights do oft make love;
Which whether you have done or no
Concerns yourself, not me, to know;
But if you have, I shall confess
Y are honester than I could guess."
Quoth he, "If you suspect my troth,
I cannot prove it but by oath;
And if you make a question on 't,
I'll pawn my soul that I have done 't,
And he that makes his soul his surety,
I think, does give the best security."
Quoth she, "Some say the soul's secure
Against distress and forfeiture;
Is free from action, and exempt
From execution and contempt;
And to be summon'd to appear
In th' other world 's illegal here;
And therefore few make any account
Int' what encumbrances they run 't:
For most men carry things so even,
Between this world, and Hell, and Heaven,
Without the least offence to either,
They freely deal in all together,
And equally abhor to quit

This world for both, or both for it;

And when they pawn and damn their souls,
They are but prisoners on paroles."

"For that," quoth he, "tis rational
They may be accountable in all :
For when there is that intercourse
Between divine and human powers,
That all that we determine here
Commands obedience every where;
When penalties may be commuted
For fines, or ears, and executed;
It follows, nothing binds so fast
As souls in pawn and mortgage past:
For oaths are th' only tests and seals
Of right and wrong, and true and false;

And there's no other way to try The doubts of Law and Justice by."

Quoth she, "What is it you would swear? There's no believing till I hear: For, till they're understood, all tales (Like nonsense) are not true nor false."

Quoth he, "When I resolv'd t' obey
What you commanded th' other day,
And to perform my exercise,

(As schools are wont) for your fair eyes,
T' avoid all scruples in the case,
I went to do 't upon the place;
But as the castle is enchanted
By Sidrophel the witch, and haunted
With evil spirits, as you know,
Who took my squire and me for two,
Before I 'ad hardly time to lay
My weapons by, and disarray,
I heard a formidable noise,
Loud as the Stentrophonic voice,

That roar'd far off, Dispatch, and strip,
I'm ready with th' infernal whip,
That shall divest thy ribs of skin,
To expiate thy lingering sin;
Thou 'ast broke perfidiously thy oath,
And not perform'd thy plighted troth,
But spar'd thy renegado back,

Where thou 'adst so great a prize at stake;
Which now the Fates have order'd me,
For penance and revenge, to flea,
Unless thou presently make haste;
Time is, time was:' and there it ceast.
With which, though startled, I confess,
Yet th' horrour of the thing was less
Than th' other dismal apprehension
Of interruption or prevention;
And therefore, snatching up the rod,
I laid upon my back a load,
Resolv'd to spare no flesh and blood,
To make my word and honour good;
Till tir'd, and taking truce at length,
For new recruits of breath and strength,
I felt the blows still ply'd as fast,
As if they 'ad been by lovers plac'd,
In raptures of Platonic lashing,

And chaste contemplative bardashing ;
When, facing hastily about,

To stand upon my guard and scout,
I found th' infernal cunning-man,
And th' under-witch, his Caliban,
With scourges (like the Furies) arm'd,
That on my outward quarters storm'd.
In haste I snatch'd my weapon up,
And gave their hellish rage a stop;
Call'd thrice upon your name, and fell
Courageously on Sidrophel,

Who now, transform'd himself t' a bear,
Began to roar aloud and tear;
When I as furiously press'd on,
My weapon down his throat to run,
Laid hold on him, but he broke loose,
And turn'd himself into a goose,
Div'd under water in a pond,
To hide himself from being found.
In vain I sought him; but as soon
As I perceiv'd him fled and gone,
Prepar'd, with equal haste and rage,
His under-sorcerer to engage;
But, bravely scorning to defile
My sword with feeble blood, and vile,

I judg'd it better from a quick-
Set hedge to cut a knotted stick,
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 worse caprich,
Who sends me out on many a jaunt,
Old houses in the night to haunt,
For opportunities t' improve
Designs of thievery or love;

With drugs convey'd in drink or meat,
All feats of witches counterfeit,
Kill pigs and geese 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 lechers, and their punks, with dewtry,
Commit fantastical advowtry;

Bewitch Hermetic-men to run
Stark staring mad with manicon;
Believe mechanic virtuosi

Can raise them mountains in Potosi ;

And, sillier than the antic fools,
Take treasure for a heap of coals;
Seek out for plants with signatures,
To quack off universal cures ;
With figures, ground on panes of glass,
Make people on their heads to pass;
And mighty heaps of coin increase,
Reflected from a single piece;

To draw in fools, whose natural itches
Incline perpetually to witches,
And keep me in continual fears,
And danger of my neck and ears;
When less delinquents have been scourg'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 sad punishment
The wretched caitiff underwent,
And held my drubbing of his bones
Too great an honour for poltrones;
For knights are bound to feel no blows
From paltry and unequal foes,

Who, when they slash, and cut to pieces,
Do all with civilest addresses:
Their horses never give a blow,
But when they make a leg and bow.

I therefore spar'd his flesh, and prest him
About the witch with many a question.

"Quoth he, For many years he drove
A kind of broking trade in love,
Employ'd in all th' intrigues and trust
Of feeble speculative Lust;
Procurer to th' extravagancy
And crazy ribaldry of Fancy,
By those the Devil had forsook,
As things below him, to provoke;
But being a virtuoso, able

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

For any mystical 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 Devil's valet)
Is not so slight a thing to get;

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