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With saucer-eyes, and horns : and some
Have heard the devil beat a drum:
But if our eyes are not false glasses,
That give a wrong account of faces ; : .
That beard and I should be acquainted,
Before 't was conjur'd and inchanted;
For though it be disfigur'd somewhat;
As if 't had lately been in combat,
It did belong to a worthy Knight,
Howe'er this goblin is come by 't.
- When Hudibras the Lady heard,
Discoursing thus upon his beard,
And speak with such respect and honor,
Both of the beard, and the beard's owner;
He thought it best to set as good
A face upon it as he cou'd,
And thus he spoke: Lady, your bright
And radiant eyes are in the right;
The beard's th' identic beard you knew,
The same numerically true : :
Nor is it worn by fiend or elf,
But its proprietor himself.

O heav'ns ! quoth she, can that be true;
I do begin to fear 't is you ;

150 sham’d


Not by your individual whiskers,

But by your dialect and discourse,
That never spoke to man or beast
In notions vulgarly exprest.
But what malignant star, alas ! .
Has brought you both to this sad pass?. 160

Quoth he, The fortune of the war,
Which I am less afflicted for,
Than to be seen with beard and face
By you in such a homely case,

Quoth she, Those need not be asham'd 165
For being honorably maim'd ;
If he that is in battle conquer’d,
Have any title to his own beard,
Tho' yours be sorely lugg’d and torn,
It does your visage more adorn,

170 Than if 't were prun'd, and starch’d, and lander'd, And cut square by the Russian standard, A torn bcard 's like a tatter'd ensign, That 's bravest which there are most rents in. That petticoat about your shoulders, 175 Does not so well become a soldier's ; And I'm afraid they are worse handled; . Altho' i' th’ rear, your beard the van led :

And those unseemly bruises make i t ! My heart for company to ake,

180 To see so worshipful a friend l'th' pillory set, at the wrong end.

Quoth Hudibras, This thing call’d pain Is (as the learned Stoics maintain) Not bad simpliciter, not good; But merely as 't is understood. Sense is deceitful, and may feign, As well in counterfeiting pain As other gross phenomenas, In which it oft mistakes the case. 190 But since th' immortal intellect (That's free from error and defect, . .. Whose objects still persist the same) Is free from outward bruise or maim, Which nought external can expose To gross material bangs or blows; It follows, we can ne'er be sure Whether we pain or not endure ; nos

And just so far are sore and griev'd, · As by the fancy is believ'd. . .. · 200 Some have been wounded with conceit, And dy'd of mere opinion straight;"



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Others, tho' wounded sore in reason, in
Felt no contusion, nor discretion.
A Saxon duke did grow so fat, '. 205
That mice, as histories relate, .
Ate grots and labyrinths to dwell in
His postic parts, without his feeling : :
Then how is 't possible a kick
Should e'er reach that way to the quick? 210

Quoth she, I grant it is in vain ..,
For one that 's basted, to feel pain,
Because the pangs his bones endure, : ..!
Contribute nothing to the cure;. ....
Yet honor hurt is wont to rage ? :: 215
With pain no med’cine can assuage. . .,

Quoth he, That honor's very squeamish,
That takes a basting for a blemish;
For what 's more honorable than scars,
Or skin to tatters rent in wars ?

Some have been beaten till they know
What wood a cudgel ’s of by th' blow:
Some kick’d, until they can feel whether ; ;,'.
A shoe be Spanish or neat's leather ; . :'
And yet have met, after long running, 225
With some whom they have taught that cunning,

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