Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Beside, th' experiment's more certain:
Men venture necks to gain a fortune:
The soldier does it every day
(Eight to the week) for sixpence pay;
Your pettifoggers damn their souls,

To share with knaves, in cheating fools;
And merchants, vent'ring through the main,
Slight pirates, rocks, and horns, for gain:
This is the way I advise you to;
Trust me, and see what I will do."

Quoth she, "I should be loth to run
Myself all th' hazard, and you none;
Which must be done, unless some deed
Of your's aforesaid do precede :
Give but yourself one gentle swing,
For trial, and I'll cut the string;
Or give that reverend head a maul,
Or two, or three, against a wall,
To show you are a man of me tle,
And I'll engage myself to settle."

Quoth he, " My head's not made of brass, As Friar Bacon's noddle was,

Nor (like the Indian's scull) so tough,
That, authors say, 'twas musket-proof:
As it had need to be, to enter,
As yet, on any new adventure:
You see what bangs it has endur'd,
That would, before new feats, be cur'd:
But if that's all you stand upon,
Here strike me, Luck, it shall be done."

Quoth she, "The matter's not so far gone
As you suppose; two words t' a bargain:
That may be done, and time enough,
When you have given downright proof;
And yet 'tis no fantastic pique
I have to love, nor coy dislike;
'Tis no implicit, nice aversion
T' your conversation, mien, or person;
But a just fear, lest you should prove
False and perfidious in love:
For, if I thought you could be true,
I could love twice as much as you."
Quoth he, " My faith, as adamantin
As chains of Destiny, I'll maintain:
True as Apollo ever spoke,
Or oracle from heart of oak;
And if you'll give my flame but vent,
Now in close hugger-mugger pent,
And shine upon me but benignly,
With that one and that other pigsney,
The Sun and day shall sooner part,
Than love or you shake off my heart;
The Sun, that shall no more dispense
His own, but your bright influence.
I'll carve your name on barks of trees,
With true-loves-knots and flourishes,
That shall infuse eternal spring,
And everlasting flourishing;
Drink every letter on 't in stum,
And make it brisk champaign become.
Where'er you tread, your foot shall set
The primrose and the violet;

All spices, perfumes, and sweet powders,
Shall borrow from your breath their odours;
Nature her charter shall renew,

And take all lives of things from you;
The world depend upon your eye,
And when you frown upon it, die:
Only our loves shall still survive,
New worlds and natures to outlive,

And, like to heralds' moons, remain

All crescents, without change or wane."

[ocr errors]

Hold, hold," quoth she, "no more of this, Sir Knight, you take your aim amiss;

For you will find it a hard chapter,

To catch me with poetic rapture,

In which your mastery of art
Doth show itself, and not your heart:
Nor will you raise in mine combustion,
By dint of high heroic fustian.
She that with poetry is won,
Is but a desk to write upon;
And what men say of her, they mean
No more than on the thing they lean.
Some with Arabian spices strive
T embalm her cruelly alive:

Or season her, as French cooks use
Their haut-gousts, boullies, or ragousts:
Use her so barbarously ill,

To grind her lips upon a mill,
Until the facet doublet doth

Fit their rhymes rather than her mouth:
Her mouth, compar'd t' an oyster's, with
A row of pearl in 't, 'stead of teeth.
Others make posies of her cheeks,
Where red and whitest colours mix;
In which the lily and the rose,
For Indian lake and ceruse goes.
The Sun and Moon, by her bright eyes,
Eclips'd, and darken'd in the skies,
Are but black patches, that she wears,
Cut into suns, and moons, and stars;
By which astrologers, as well

As those in Heaven above, can tell
What strange events they do foreshow
Unto her under-world below.

Her voice, the music of the spheres,
So loud, it deafens mortals' ears,
As wise philosophers have thought,
And that's the cause we hear it not.
This has been done by some, who those
Th' ador'd in rhyme would kick in prose;
And in those ribbons would have hung,
Of which melodiously they sung,
That have the hard fate to write best
Of those still that deserve it least ;
It matters not how false or forc'd,
So the best things be said o' th' worst;
It goes for nothing when 'tis said,
Only the arrow's drawn to th' head,
Whether it be a swan or goose
They level at: so shepherds use
To set the same mark on the hip
Both of their sound and rotten sheep:
For wits that carry low or wide
Must be aim'd higher, or beside

The mark, which else they ne'er come nigh,
But when they take their aim awry.

But I do wonder you should choose

This way t' attack me, with your Muse,

As one cut out to pass your tricks on,
With Fulhams of poetic fiction:

I rather hop'd I should no more
Hear from you o' th' gallanting score;
For hard dry-bastings us'd to prove
The readiest remedies of love,
Next a dry-diet; but if those fail,
Yet this uneasy loop-hol'd gaol,

2 A cant word for false dice.

In which ye 're hamper'd by the fetlock,
Cannot but put y' in mind of wedlock;
Wedlock, that 's worse than any hole here,
If that may serve you for a cooler
Tallay your mettle, all'agog
Upon a wife, the heavier clog:
Nor rather thank your gentler Fate,
That for a bruis'd or broken pate

Has freed you from those knobs that grow
Much harder on the marry'd brow:
But if no dread can cool your courage,
From venturing on that dragon, marriage,
Yet give me quarter, and advance
To nobler aims your puissance;
Level at Beauty and at Wit;
The fairest mark is easiest hit."

Quoth Hudibras, "I am beforehand
In that already, with your command;
For where does Beauty and high Wit,
But in your constellation, meet?"

Quoth she, "What does a match imply, But likeness and equality?

I know you cannot think me fit
To be th' yoke-fellow of your wit;
Nor take one of so mean deserts,
To be the partner of your parts;
A grace which, if I could believe,
I've not the conscience to receive."
"That conscience," quoth Hudibras,
"Is misinform'd; I'll state the case.
A man may be a legal donor
Of any thing whereof he's owner,
And may confer it where he lists,
I' th' judgment of all casuists:

Then wit, and parts, and valour, may
Be ali'nated, and made away,
By those that are proprietors,
As I may give or sell my horse."

Quoth she, "I grant the case is true,
And proper 'twixt your horse and you;
But whether I may take, as well
As you may give away or sell?
Buyers, you know, are bid beware;
And worse than thieves receivers are.
How shall I answer Hue and Cry,
For a roan-gelding, twelve hands high,
All spurr'd and switch'd, a lock on 's hoof,

A sorrel mane? Can I bring proof

Look on this beard, and tell me whether
Eunuchs wear such, or geldings either?
Next it appears I am no horse,
That I can argue and discourse,
Have but two legs, and ne'er a tail."

Quoth she, "That nothing will avail;
For some philosophers of late here,
Write men have four legs by Nature,
And that 'tis custom makes them go
Erroneously upon but two;

As 'twas in Germany made good,
B' a boy that lost himself in a wood,
And growing down t' a man, was wont
With wolves upon all four to hunt.
As for your reasons drawn from tails,
We cannot say they 're true or false,
Till you explain yourself, and show
B' experiment 'tis so or no."

Quoth he, "If you'll join issue on 't,
I'll give you satisfactory account;

So you will promise, if you lose,
To settle all, and be my spouse."

"That never shall be done," quoth she,
To one that wants a tail, by me;
For tails by Nature sure were meant,
As well as beards, for ornament;

And though the vulgar count them homely,
In men or beast they are so comely,
So gentee, alamode, and handsome,
I'll never marry man that wants one:
And till you can demonstrate plain,
You have one equal to your mane,
I'll be torn piecemeal by a horse,
Ere I'll take you for better or worse.
The prince of Cambay's daily food
Is asp, and basilisk, and toad,

Which makes him have so strong a breath,
Each night he stinks a queen to death;
Yet I shall rather lie in 's arms
Than your's on any other terms."

Quoth he, "What Nature can afford
I shall produce, upon my word;
And if she ever gave that boon
To man, I'll prove that I have one;
I mean by postulate illation,
When you shall offer just occasion;
But since ye 'ave yet deny'd to give
My heart, your prisoner, a reprieve,

Where, when, by whom, and what y' were sold for, But made it sink down to my heel,

And in the open market toll'd for?

Or, should I take you for a stray,
You must be kept a year and day,
(Ere I can own you) here i' th' pound,
Where, if ye 're sought, you may be found;
And in the mean time I must pay
For all your provender and hay."

Quoth he, "It stands me much upon

T enervate this objection,
And prove myself, by topic clear,
No gelding, as you would infer.

Loss of virility's averr'd

To be the cause of loss of beard,

That does (like embryo in the womb)
Abortive on the chin become:

This first a woman did invent,
In envy of man's ornament,

Semiramis of Babylon,

Who first of all cut men o' th' stone,

To mar their beards, and laid foundation
Of sow-geldering operation:

Let that at least your pity feel;
And for the sufferings of your martyr,
Give its poor entertainer quarter;
And by discharge, or mainprize, grant
Delivery from this base restraint."

Quoth she, "I grieve to see your leg
Stuck in a hole here like a peg,
And if I knew which way to do 't,
(Your honour safe) I'd let you out.
That dames by gaol-delivery

Of errant knights have been set free,
When by enchantment they have been,
And sometimes for it, too, laid in,

Is that which knights are bound to do

By order, oath, and honour too;

For what are they renown'd and famous else,

But aiding of distressed damosels?

But for a lady, no ways errant,

To free a knight, we have no warrant

In any authentical romance,

Or classic author yet of France;

And I'd be loth to have you break
An ancient custom for a freak,
Or innovation introduce

In place of things of antique use,
To free your heels by any course

That might be unwholesome to your spurs:
Which, if I should consent unto,
It is not in my power to do;
For 'tis a service must be done ye
With solemn previous ceremony;
Which always has been us'd t' untie
The charms of those who here do lie:
For as the ancients heretofore
To Honour's temple had no door
But that which thorough Virtue's lay;
So from this dungeon there 's no way
To honour'd Freedom, but by passing
That other virtuous school of Lashing,
Where knights are kept in narrow lists,
With wooden lockets 'bout their wrists;
In which they for a while are tenants,
And for their ladies suffer penance:
Whipping, that's Virtue's governess,
Tutress of arts and sciences;
That mends the gross mistakes of Nature,
And puts new life into dull matter;
That lays foundation for renown,
And all the honours of the gown:
This suffer'd, they are set at large,
And freed with honourable discharge;
Then, in their robes, the penitentials
Are straight presented with credentials,
And in their way attended on
By magistrates of every town;
And, all respect and charges paid,
They're to their ancient seats convey'd.
Now if you'll venture, for my sake,
To try the toughness of your back,
And suffer (as the rest have done)
The laying of a whipping-on,
(And may you prosper in your suit
As you with equal vigour do't)
I here engage myself to loose ye,
And free your heels from caperdewsie.
But since our sex's modesty
Will not allow I should be by,
Bring me on oath a fair account,
And honour too, when you have don 't;
And I'll admit you to the place
You claim as due in my good grace.
If matrimony and hanging go
By destiny, why not whipping too?
What med'cine else can cure the fits
Of lovers when they lose their wits?
Love is a boy, by poets styl'd,
Then spare the rod, and spoil the child.

"A Persian emperor whipp'd his grannam,
The Sea, his mother Venus came on;
And hence some reverend men approve
Of rosemary in making love.
As skilful coopers hoop their tubs
With Lydian and with Phrygian dubs,
Why may not whipping have as good
A grace? perform'd in time and mood,
With comely movement, and by art,
Raise passion in a lady's heart?
It is an easier way to make
Love by, than that which many take.

Who would not rather suffer whippin,
Than swallow toasts of bits of ribbin?
Make wicked verses, treats, and faces,
And spell names over, with beer-glasses?
Be under vows to hang and die
Love's sacrifice, and all a lie?
With China-oranges and tarts,

And whining plays, lay baits for hearts?
Bribe chamber-maids with love and money,
To break no roguish jests upon ye?
For lilies limn'd on cheeks, and roses,
With painted perfumes, hazard noses?
Or, venturing to be brisk and wanton,
Do penance in a paper lantern?
All this you may compound for now,
By suffering what I offer you;
Which is no more than has been done
By knights for ladies long agone.
Did not the great La Mancha do so
For the infanta Del Toboso?
Did not th' illustrious Bassa make
Himself a slave for Misse's sake,
And with bull's pizzle, for her love,
Was taw'd as gentle as a glove?
Was not young Florio sent (to cool
His flame for Biancafiore) to school,
Where pedant made his pathic bum
For her sake suffer martyrdom?
Did not a certain lady whip,

Of late, her husband's own lordship?
And though a grandee of the house,
Claw'd him with fundamental blows;
Ty'd him stark-naked to a bed-post,
And firk'd his hide, as if she 'ad rid post;
And after in the sessions court,
Where whipping's judg'd, had honour for't?
This swear you will perform, and then
I'll set you from th' enchanted den,
And the magician's circle, clear."

Quoth he, "I do profess and swear,
And will perform what you enjoin,
Or may I never see you mine."

"Amen!" quoth she; then turn'd about,
And bid her squire let him out.
But ere an artist could be found
Tundo the charms another bound,
The Sun grew low, and left the skies,
Put down (some write) by ladies' eyes.
The Moon pull'd off her veil of light,
That hides her face by day from sight,
(Mysterious veil, of brightness made,
That's both her lustre and her shade!)
And in the lantern of the night,
With shining horns hung out her light;
For darkness is the proper sphere
Where all false glories use t' appear.
The twinkling stars began to muster,
And glitter with their borrow'd lustre,
While Sleep the weary'd world reliev'd,
By counterfeiting Death reviv'd.
His whipping penance, till the morn,
Our votary thought it best t' adjourn,
And not to carry on a work
Of such importance in the dark,
With erring haste, but rather stay,
And do't in th' open face of day;
And in the mean time go in quest
Of next retreat to take his rest.

PART II. CANTO II.

THE ARGUMENT.

The knight and squire in hot dispute,
Within an ace of falling out,
Are parted with a sudden fright

Of strange alarm, and stranger sight;
With which adventuring to stickle,
They're sent away in nasty pickle.

Tis strange how some men's tempers suit.
(Like bawd and brandy) with dispute,
That for their own opinions stand fast
Only to have them claw'd and canvast;
That keep their consciences in cases,
As fiddlers do their crowds and bases;
Ne'er to be us'd, but when they're bent
To play a fit for argument:

Make true and false, unjust and just,
Of no use but to be discust;
Dispute, and set a paradox,
Like a strait boot, upon the stocks,
And stretch it more unmercifully

Than Helmot, Montaigne, White, or Tully.
So th' ancient Stoics, in their porch,

With fierce dispute maintain'd their church,
Beat out their brains in fight and study,
To prove that virtue is a body,
That bonum is an animal,

Made good with stout polemic brawl;
In which some hundreds on the place
Were slain outright, and many a face
Retrench'd of nose, and eyes, and beard,
To maintain what their sect averr'd.
All which the knight and squire, in wrath,
Had like t' have suffer'd for their faith;
Each striving to make good his own,
As by the sequel shall be shown.

The Sun had long since, in the lap
Of Thetis, taken out his nap,
And, like a lobster boil'd, the Morn
From black to red began to turn;

When Hudibras, whom thoughts and aching
Twixt sleeping kept, all night, and waking,
Began to rub his drowsy eyes,

And from his couch prepar'd to rise,
Resolving to dispatch the deed

He vow'd to do, with trusty speed:

But first with knocking loud, and bawling,
He rouz'd the squire, in truckle lolling:
And after many circumstances,
Which vulgar authors in romances
Do use to spend their time and wits on,
To make impertinent description,
They got (with much ado) to horse,
And to the castle bent their course,
In which he to the dame before
To suffer whipping-duty swore:
Where now arriv'd, and half unharnest,
To carry on the work in earnest,

He stopp'd, and paus'd upon the sudden,
And, with a serious forehead plodding,
Sprung a new scruple in his head,
Which first he scratch'd, and after said;
"Whether it be direct infringing

An oath, if I should wave this swinging,
VOL. VIII.

And what I've sworn to bear forbear,
And so b' equivocation swear,

Or whether 't be a lesser sin

To be foresworn, than act the thing,
Are deep and subtle points, which must,
T'inform my conscience, be discust;
In which to err a tittle may
To errours infinite make way:
And therefore I desire to know
Thy judgment, ere we further go."
Quoth Ralpho, "Since you do injoin 't,
I shall enlarge upon the point;
And, for my own part, do not doubt
Th' affirmative may be made out.
But first, to state the case aright,
For best advantage of our light:
And thus 'tis; whether 't be a sin
To claw and curry your own skin,
Greater or less, than to forbear,
And that you are forsworn forswear.
But first, o' th' first: The inward man,
And outward, like a clan and clan,
Have always been at daggers-drawing,
And one another clapper-clawing;
Not that they really cuff or fence,
But in a spiritual mystic sense;
Which to mistake, and make them squabble
In literal fray, 's abominable:
'Tis heathenish, in frequent use
With Pagans and apostate Jews,
To offer sacrifice of Bridewells,
Like modern Indians to their idols;
And mongrel Christians of our times,
That expiate less with greater crimes,
And call the foul abomination

Contrition and mortification.

Is 't not enough we 're bruis'd and kicked,
With sinful members of the wicked;
Our vessels, that are sanctify'd,
Profan'd, and curry'd back and side;
But we must claw ourselves with shameful
And heathen stripes, by their example?
Which (were there nothing to forbid it)
Is impious, because they did it:
This, therefore, may be justly reckon'd
A heinous sin. Now to the second;
That saints may claim a dispensation
To swear and forswear on occasion,
I doubt not but it will appear

With pregnant light: the point is clear.

Oaths are but words, and words but wind:

Too feeble implements to bind ;
And hold with deeds proportion, so

As shadows to a substance do.
Then when they strive for place, 'tis fit
The weaker vessel should submit.
Although your church be opposite
To ours, as black friars are to white,
In rule and order, yet I grant
You are a reformado saint;

And what the saints do claim as due,
You may pretend a title to:

But saints, whom oaths and vows oblige,
Know little of their privilege;
Further (I mean) than carrying on
Some self-advantage of their own:
For if the Devil, to serve his turn,

Can tell truth, why the saints should scorn,
When it serves theirs, to swear and lic,
I think there's little reason why:

K

Else he 'as a greater power than they,
Which 'twere impiety to say.
We're not commanded to forbear,
Indefinitely, at all to swear;
But to swear idly, and in vain,
Without self-interest or gain:
For breaking of an oath and lying
Is but a kind of self-denying,

A saint-like virtue; and from hence
Some have broke oaths by Providence:
Some, to the glory of the Lord,

Perjur'd themselves, and broke their word:
And this the constant rule and practice
Of all our late Apostles' acts is.
Was not the cause at first begun
With perjury, and carry'd on?
Was there an oath the godly took,
But in due time and place they broke?
Did we not bring our oaths in first,
Before our plate, to have them burst,
And cast in fitter models, for

The present use of church and war?
Did not our worthies of the house,
Before they broke the peace, break vows?
For, having freed us first from both
Th' allegiance and suprem'cy oath,
Did they not next compel the nation
To take, and break the protestation?
To swear, and after to recant,
The solemn league and covenant?
To take th' engagement, and disclaim it,
Enfore'd by those who first did frame it?
Did they not swear at first, to fight
For the king's safety and his right?
And after march'd to find him out,

And charg'd him home with horse and foot;
But yet still had the confidence
To swear, it was in his defence?
Did they not swear to live and die
With Essex, and straight laid him by?
If that were all, for some have swore
As false as they, if they did no more.
Did they not swear to maintain law,
In which that swearing made a flaw?
For protestant religion vow,
That did that vowing disallow ?
For privilege of parliament,

In which that swearing made a rent?
And since, of all the three, not one
Is left in being, 'tis well known.
Did they not swear, in express words,
To prop and back the house of lords?
And after turn'd out the whole houseful
Of peers, as dangerous and unuseful.
So Cromwell, with deep oaths and vows,
Swore all the commons out o' th' house;
Vow'd that the red-coats would disband,
Ay, marry would they, at their command;
And troll'd them on, and swore, and swore,
Till th' army turn'd them out of door.
This tells us plainly what they thought,
That oaths and swearing go for nought,
And that by them th' were only meant
To serve for an expedient.

What was the public faith found out for,
But to slur men of what they fought for?
The public faith, which every one
Is bound t' observe, yet kept by none;
And if that go for nothing, why
Should private faith have such a tie?

Oaths were not purpos'd, more than law,
To keep the good and just in awe,
But to confine the bad and sinful,
Like mortal cattle in a pinfold.
A saint 's of th' heav'nly realm a peer;
And as no peer is bound to swear,
But on the gospel of his honour,
Of which he may dispose, as owner,
It follows, though the thing be forgery,
And false, t' affirm it is no perjury,
But a mere ceremony, and a breach
Of nothing but a form of speech,
And goes for no more when 'tis took,
Than mere saluting of the book.
Suppose the Scriptures are of force,
They 're but commissions of course;
And saints have freedom to digress,
And vary from them as they please;
Or misinterpret them by private
Instructions, to all aims they drive at
Then why should we ourselves abridge,
And curtail our own privilege?
Quakers (that, like to lanterns, bear
Their light within them) will not swear;
Their gospel is an Accidence,

By which they construe conscience,
And hold no sin so deeply red,

As that of breaking Priscian's head,
(The head and founder of their order,
That stirring hats held worse than murder)
These, thinking they 're oblig'd to troth
In swearing, will not take an oath :
Like mules, who, if they 've not their will
To keep their own pace, stand stock still:
But they are weak, and little know
What free-born consciences may do.
'Tis the temptation of the Devil
That makes all human actions evil;
For saints may do the same things by
The spirit, in sincerity,

Which other men are tempted to,
And at the Devil's instance do,
And yet the actions be contrary,
Just as the saints and wicked vary.
For as on land there is no beast
But in some fish at sea's exprest;
So in the wicked there's no vice
Of which the saints have pot a spice;
And yet that thing that 's pious in
The one, in th' other is a sin.

Is 't not ridiculous and nonsense,

A saint should be a slave to Conscience,
That ought to be above such fancies,
As far as above ordinances?

She's of the wicked, as I guess,

B' her looks, her language, and her dress:
And though, like constables, we search
For false wares one another's church;
Yet all of us hold this for true,
No faith is to the wicked due.
For truth is precious and divine,
Too rich a pearl for carnal swine."

Quoth Hudibras, "All this is true;
Yet 'tis not fit that all men knew
Those mysteries and revelations;
And therefore topical evasions
Of subtle turns and shifts of sense
Serve best with th' wicked for pretence ;
Such as the learned Jesuits use,

And presbyterians, for excuse

« AnteriorContinuar »