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But if they dare engage t' a second,
And you b' experiment have prov'd, They're stout and gallant fellows reckon'd.” I cannot love where I'm belov'd.” “ Th' old Romans freedom did bestow,
Quoth Hudibras, “ 'Tis a caprich Our princes worship, with a blow.
Beyond th' infliction of a witch; King Pyrrhus card his splenetic
So cheats to play with those still aim, And testy courtiers with a kick.
That do not understand the game. The Negus, when some mighty lord
Love in your beart as idly burns Or potentate's to be restor'd,
As fire in autique Roman urns And pardon'd for some great offence,
To warm the dead, and vainly light With which he's willing to dispense,
Those only that see nothing by't. First has him laid upon his belly,
Have you not power to entertain, Then beaten back and side t' a jelly ;
And render love for love again; That done, he rises, humbly bows,
As no man can draw in his breath And gives thanks for the princely blows;
At once, and force out air beneath? Departs not meanly proud, and boasting
Or do you love yourself so much, Of his magnificent rib-roasting.
To bear all rivals else a grutch? The beaten soldier proves most manful,
What Fate can lay a greater curse That, like his sword, endures the anvil,
Than you upon yourself would force? And justly's held more formidable,
For wedlock withont love, some say, The more his valour's malleable :
Is but a lock without a key. But he that fears a bastinado,
It is a kind of rape to marry Will run away from his own shadow :
One that neglects, or cares not for ye: And though I'm now in durance fast,
For what does make it ravishment By our own party basely cast,
But being against the mind's consent? Ransom, exchange, parole, refuz'd,
A rape 'hat is the more inhuman, And worse than by th' enemy us'd;
For being acted by a woman. In close catasta shut, past hope
Why are you fair, but to entice us Of wit or valour to elope ;
To love you, that you may despise us? As beards, the nearer that they tend
But though you cannot love, you say, To th' earth, still grow more reverend;
Out of your own fanatic way, And cannons shoot the higher pitches,
Why should you not at least allow The lower we let down their breeches;
Those that love you to do so too? I'll make this low dejected fate
For, as you fly me, and pursue Advance me to a greater height.”
Love more averse, so I do you; Quoth she, “ You ’ave almost made me in love And am by your own doctrine taught With that which did my pity move.
To practise what you call a fault." Great wits and valours, like great states,
Quoth she, If what you say is true, Do sometimes sink with their own weights :
You must fly me as I do you ; Th' extremes of glory and of shame,
But 'tis not what we do, but say, Like east and west, become the same.
In love and preaching, that must sway." No Indian prince has to his palace
Quoth he, “ To bid me not to love, More followers than a thief to the gallows.
Is to forbid my pulse to move, But if a beating seem so brave,
My beard to grow, my ears to prick up, What glories must a whipping have ?
Or (when I'm in a fit) to hiccup. Such great achievements cannot fail
Command me to piss out the Moon, To cast salt on a woman's tail:
And 'twill as easily be done. For if I thought your natural talent
Love's power's too great to be withstood Of passive courage were so gallant,
By feeble human flesh and blood. As you strain hard to have it thought,
'Twas be that brought upon his knees I could grow amorous, and doat.”
The hectoring kill-cow Hercules; When Hudibras this language heard,
Transform'd his leager-lion's skin He prick'd up's ears, and strok'd his beard. T'a petticoat, and made him spin ; Thought he, this is the lucky hour,
Seiz'd on his club, and made it dwindle Wines work when vines are in the flower:
Ti a feeble distaff and a spindle. This crisis then I'll set my rest on,
'Twas be that made emp'rors gallants And put her boldly to the quest'on.
To their own sisters and their aunts;
To play with pages at leap-frog:
And Auxt the house of many a burgess;
Made those that represent the nation I'll stake myself down against you ;
Submit, and suffer amputation; And if I fail in love or troth,
And all the grandees o'th' cabal Be you the wimer, and take both.”
Adjourn to tubs at spring and fall. Quoth she, “ I've heard old cunning stagers He mounted synod-men, and rode them Say, fools for arguments use wagers ;
To Dirty Lane and Little Sodom; And though I prais'd your valour, yet
Made them curvet like Spanish Jenets,
And take the ring at madame 's?
" Stennet, a bawd.
Tras he that made Saint Francis do
Love-passions are like parables, More than the Devil could tempt him to,
By which men still mean something else: In cold and frosty weather grow
Though love be all the world's pretence, Enarnour'd of a wife of snow;
Money's the mythologic sense, And, though she were of rigid temper,
The real substance of the shadow, With melting flames accost and tempt her, Which all address and courtship’s made to." Which after in enjoyment quenching,
Thought he, I understand your play, He hung a garland on his engine.”
And how to quit you your own way; Quoʻh she, “ If love have these effects,
He that will win his dame, must do Why is it not forbid our sex?
As Love does, when he bends his bow; Why is 't not damn'd and interdicted,
With one hand thrust the lady from, For diabolical and wicked ?
And with the other pull her home. And sunt, as out of tune, against,
“ I grant,” quoth he, “wealth is a great As Turk and pope are by the saints?
Provocative to amorous heat: I find I re greater reason for it,
It is all philtres and high diet, Than I believ'd before, t' abhor it."
That makes love rampart and to fly out: Quoth Hudibras, “ These sad effects
'Tis beauty always in the flower, Soring from your heathenish neglects
That buds and blossoms at fourscore: Of Lose's great power, which he returns
'Tis that by which the Sun and Moon, l'pon yourselves with equal scorns,
At their own weapons, are outdone: And those, who worthy lovers slight,
That makes knights-errant fall in trances, Mazues with preposterous appetite:
And lay about them in romances: This made the beauteous queen of Crete
'Tis virtue, wit, and worth, and all To take a town-bull for her sweet;
That men divine and sacred call: Adi from her greatness stoop so low,
For what is worth in any thing, To be the rival of a cow :
But so much money as 'twill bring ? Chers to prostitute their great hearts,
Or what but riches is there known, To be baboons and monkeys' sweethearts:
Which man can solely call his own, Sie wth the Devil himself in league grow, In which no creature goes his half, By's representative a Negro.
Unless it be to squint and laugh? Twas this made vestal maid love-sick,
I do confess, with goods and land, And venture to be buried quick:
I'd have a wife at second hand; Some by their fathers and their brothers
And such you are: nor is 't your person To be made mistresses and mothers.
My stomach 's set so sharp and fierce on; Tes this that proudest dames enamours
But 'tis (your better part) your riches, On lacquies and talets de chambres ;
That my enamour'd heart bewitches : Their haughty stomachs overcomes,
Let me your fortone but possess, And makes them stoop to dirty grooms;
And settle your person how you please, To shght the world, and to disparage
Or make it o'er in trust to the Devil, Caps, issue, infamy, and marriage.”
You'll find me reasonable and civil." Quoth she, “ These judgments are severe,
Quoth she, “ I like this plainness better Yet such as I should rather bear
Than false mock passion, speech, or letter, Than trust men with their oaths, or prove
Or any feat of qualm or sowning, Their faith and secresy in love."
But hanging of yourself or drowning; Says he, “ There is as weighty reason
Your only way with me to break Por scresy in love, as treason.
Your mind, is breaking of your neck: Love is a burglarer, a felon,
For as, when merchants break, o'erthrown That at the windore eye does steal in,
Like nine-pins, they strike others down; To rob the heart; and with his prey
So that would break my heart; which done, Strals oat again a closer way;
My tempting fortune is your own. Which #bosvever can discover,
These are but trifles; every lover He's sare (as he deserves) to suffer.
Will damn bimself over and over, Love is a fire, that burns and sparkles
And greater matters undertake In wen, as nat'rally as in charcoals,
For a less worthy mistress' sake: Which sooty chymists stop in holes,
Yet they 're the only ways to prove When out of wood they extract 'coals;
Th' unfeign'd realities of love; So lovers should their passions choke,
For he that hangs or beats out 's brains, That though they burn they may not smoke. The Devil's in him if he feigns." Ts like that sturdy thief that stole
Quoth Hudibras, “ This way's too rough And dragg'd beasts backwards into 's hole; For mere experiment and proof; So Love does lovers, and us men
It is no jesting, trivial matter, Draws by the tails into his den,
To swing i'th' air, or douce in water, That po impression may discover,
And like a water-witch try love; Ani trace t' his cave the wary lover.
That's to destroy, and not to prove: But if you doubt I should reveal
As if a man should be dissected, What you intrust me under seal,
To find what part is disaffected; 111 prove myself as close and virtuous
Your better way is to make over, As your own secretary Albertus."
In trust, your fortune to your lover: Quoth she, “ I grant you may be close
Trust is a trial; if it break, la biding what your aims propose : .
'Tis not so desperate as a neck:
Beside, th’ experiment's more certain :
And, like to heralds' moons, remain Men venture necks to gain a fortune:
All crescents, without change or wane." The soldier does it every day
“ Hold, hold,” quoth she, “no more of this, (Eight to the week) for sixpence pay;
Sir Knight, you take your aim amiss ; Your pettifoggers damn their souls,
For you will find it a hard chapter, To share with knaves, in cheating fools;
To catch me with poetic rapture, And merchants, vent'ring through the main, In which your mastery of art Slight pirates, rocks, and borns, for gain:
Doth show itself, and not your heart: This is the way I advise you to;
Nor will you raise in mine combustion, Trust me, and see what I will do."
By dint of high heroic fustian. Quoth sbe, “I should be loth to run
She that with poetry is won, Myself all th' hazard, and you none;
Is but a desk to write upon ; Which must be done, unless some deed
And what men say of her, they mean Of your's aforesaid do precede :
No more than on the thing they lean. Give but yourself one gentle swing,
Some with Arabian spices strive For trial, and I'll cut the string ;
T'embalm her cruelly alive: Or give that reverend head a maul,
Or season her, as French cooks use Or two, or three, against a wall,
Their haut-gousts, boullies, or ragousis : To show you are a man of me'tle,
Use her so barbarously ill,
To grind her lips upon a mill,
Fit their rhymes rather than her mouth:
Her mouth, compar'd t' an oyster's, with That, authors say, 'twas musket-proof:
A row of pearl in 't, 'stead of teeth. As it had need to be, to enter,
Others make posies of her cheeks, As yet, on any new adventure:
Where red and whitest colours mix; You see what bangs it has endur'd,
In which the lily and the rose, That would, before new feats, be cur'd:
For Indian lake and ceruse goes. But if that's all you stand upon,
The Sun and Moon, by her bright eyes, Here strike me, Luck, it shall be done."
Eclips'd, and darken'd in the skies, Quoth she, “ The matter's not so far gone Are but black patches, that she wears, As you suppose; two words t'a bargain:
Cut into suns, and moons, and stars; That may be done, and time enough,
By which astrologers, as well When you have given downright proof;
As those in Heaven above, can tell And yet 'tis no fantastic pique
What strange events they do foreshow I have to love, nor coy dislike;
Unto her under-world below. 'Tis no implicit, nice aversion
Her voice, the music of the spheres, T' your conversation, mien, or person;
So loud, it deafens mortals' ears, But a just fear, lest you should prove
As wise philosophers have thought, False and perfidious in love:
And that 's the cause we hear it not. For, if I thought you could be true,
This has been done by some, who those I could love twice as much as you."
Th’ador'd in rhyme would kick in prose; Quoth he, “ My faith, as adamantin
And in those ribbons would have hung, As chains of Destiny, I'll maintain:
Of which melodiously they sung, True as Apollo ever spoke,
That have the hard fate to write best Or oracle from heart of oak;
Of those still that deserve it least ; And if you'll give my fame but vent,
It matters not how false or forc'd, Now in close hugger-mugger pent,
So the best things be said o'th' worst; And shine upon me but benignly,
It goes for nothing when 'tis said, With that one and that other pigsney,
Only the arrow's drawn to th' head, The Sun and day shall sooner part,
Whether it be a swan or goose Than love or you shake off my heart;
They level at: so shepherds use The Sun, that shall no more dispense
To set the same mark on the hip His own, but your bright influence.
Both of their sound and rotten sheep : I'll carve your name on barks of trees,
For wits that carry low or wide With true-loves-knots and flourishes,
Must be aim'd higher, or beside That shall infuse eternal spring,
The mark, which else they ne'er come nigh, And everlasting flourishing ;
But when they take their aim awry. Drink every letter on 't in stum,
But I do wonder you should choose And make it brisk champaign become.
This way t' attack me, with your Muse, Where'er you tread, your foot shall set
As one cut out to pass your tricks on, The primrose and the violet;
With Fulhams ? of poetic fiction :
I rather hop'd I should no more
For hard dry-bastings us d to prove
The readiest remedies of love, The world depend upon your eye,
Next a dry-diet; but if those fail,
Yet this uneasy loop-hold gaol,
: A cant word for false dice.
In which ye 're hamper'd by the fetlock,
Look on this beard, and tell me whether Cannot but put y' in mind of wedlock;
Eunuchs wear such, or geldings either? Wedlock, that 's worse than any bole here,
Next it appears I am no horse, If that may serve you for a cooler
That I can argue and discourse, Tallay your mettle, all agog
Have but two legs, and ne'er a tail." Upon a wife, the heavier clog:
Quoth she, “ That nothing will avail; Nor rather thank your gentler Fate,
For some philosophers of late here, That for a bruisd or broken pate
Write men have four legs by Nature, Has freed you from those knobs that grow
And that 'tis custom makes them go Much harder on the marry'd brow:
Erroneously upon but two; But if no dread can cool your courage,
As 'twas in Germany made good, Fron ventnring on that dragon, marriage,
B'a boy that lost himself in a wood, Yet give me quarter, and advance
And growing down t'a man, was wont To vobler aims your puissance;
With wolves upon all four to hunt. Tezel at Beauty and at Wit;
As for your reasons drawn from tails, The fairest mark is easiest hit."
We cannot say they 're true or false, Quoth Hudibras, “ I am beforehand
Till you explain yourself, and show lo that already, with your command;
B' experiment 'tis so or no.” For where does Beauty and high Wit,
Quoth he, “ If you'll join issue on 't, But in your constellation, meet?”
I'll give you satisfactory account; Quoth she, “ What does a match imply, So you will promise, if you lose, But likeness and equality ?
To settle all, and be my spouse." I know you cannot think me fit
“ That never shall be done,” quoth she, To be th' yoke-fellow of your wit;
To one that wants a tail, by me; Nor take one of so mean deserts,
For tails by Nature sure were meant, To be the partner of your parts;
As well as beards, for ornament; A grace which, if I could believe,
And though the vulgar connt them homely, I've not the conscience to receive.”
In men or beast they are so comely, * That conscience," quoth Hudibras,
So gentee, alamode, and handsome, * Is misinformd ; I'll state the case.
I'll never marry man that wants one: A man may be a legal donor
And till you can demonstrate plain, Oi any thing whereof he's owner,
You have one equal to your mane, And may confer it where he lists,
I'll be torn piecemeal by a horse, I th' judgment of all casuists:
Ere I'll take you for better or worse. Then wit, and parts, and valour, may
| The prince of Cambay's daily food Be ali’nated, and made away,
Is asp, and basilisk, and toad, By those that are proprietors,
Which makes him have so strong a breath, As I may give or sell my horse."
Each night he stinks a queen to death; Quoth she, “ I grant the case is true,
Yet I shall rather lie in 's arms And proper 'twixt your horse and you;
Than your's on any other terms.” But whether I may take, as well
Quoth he, “ What Nature can afford As you may give away or sell?
I shall produce, upon my word ; Buyers, you know, are bid beware;
And if she ever gave that boon And worse than thieves receivers are.
To man, I'll prove that I have one; Hoe shall I answer Hue and Cry,
I mean by postulate illation, For a roan-gelding, twelve hands high,
When you shall offer just occasion; All spurr'd and switch'd, a lock on 's hoof,
But since ye 'ave yet deny'd to give A sorrel mane? Can I bring proof
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 tollid for?
Let that at least your pity feel; Ot, should I take you for a stray,
And for the sufferings of your martyr, Yaa must be kept a year and day,
Give its poor entertainer quarter; (Ere I can own you) here i' th' pound,
And by discharge, or mainprize, grant
Quoth she, “ I grieve to see your leg For all your provender and hay."
Stuck in a hole here like a pez, Quoth he, " It stands me much upon
And if I knew which way to do it, T enervate this objection,
(Your honour safe) Pd let you out. Add prove myself, by topic clear,
That dame; by gaol-delivery No gelding, as you would infer.
Of errant knights have been set free, Loss of virility's averr'd
When by enchantment they have been, To be the cause of loss of beard,
And sometimes for it, too, laid in, That does (like embryo in the womb)
Is that which knights are bound to do Abortive on the chin become:
By order, oath, and honour too; This first a woman did invent,
For what are they renown'd and famous else, In envy of man's ornament,
But aiding of distressed damosels? Semiramis of Babylon,
But for a lady, no ways errant, Who first of all cut men o'th' stone,
To free a knight, we have no warrant To mar their beards, and laid foundation
In any authentical romance, Of sow-geldering operation:
Or classic author yet of France;
And I'd be loth to have you break
Who would not rather suffer whippiti, An ancient custom for a freak,
Than swallow toasts of bits of ribbin? Or innovation introduce
Make wicked verses, treats, and faces, In place of things of antique use,
And spell names over, with beer-glasses? To free your heels by any course
Be under vows to hang and die That might be unwholesome to your spurs :
Love's sacrifice, and all a lie? Which, if I should consent unto,
With China-oranges and tarts, It is not in my power to do;
And whining plays, lay baits for hearts ? For 'tis a service must be done ye
Bribe chamber-maids with love and money, With solemn previous ceremony;
To break no roguish jests upon ye? Which always has been usd t' untie
For lilies limnd on cheeks, and roses, The charms of those who bere do lie:
With painted perfumes, hazard noses? For as the ancients heretofore
Or, venturing to be brisk and wanton, To Honour's temple had no door
Do penance in a paper lantern? But that which thorough Virtue's lay;
All this you may compound for now, So from this dungeon there 's no way
By suffering what I offer you; To honour'd Freedom, but by passing
Which is no more than has been done That other virtuous school of Lashing,
By knights for ladies long agone. Where knights are kept in narrow lists,
Did not the great La Mancha do so With wooden lockets 'bout their wrists;
For the infanta Del Toboso? In which they for a while are tenants,
Did not th' illustrious Bassa make And for their ladies suffer penance:
Himself a slave for Misse's sake, Whipping, that's Virtue's governess,
And with bull's pizzle, for her love, Tutress of arts and sciences;
Was taw'd as gentle as a glove? That mends the gross mistakes of Nature,
Was not young Florio sent (to cool And puts new life into dull matter;
His flame for Biancafiore) to school, That lays foundation for renown,
Where pedant made his pathic bum And all the honours of the gown:
For her sake suffer martyrdom? This suffer'd, they are set at large,
Did not a certain lady whip, And freed with honourable discharge;
Of late, her husband's own lordship? Then, in their robes, the penitentials
And though a grandee of the house, Are straight presented with credentials,
Claw'd him with fundamental blows; And in their way attended on
Ty'd him stark-naked to a bed-post, By magistrates of every town ;
And firk'd his hide, as if she 'ad rid post; And, all respect and charges paid,
And after in the sessions court, They're to their ancient seats conveyd.
Where whipping's judg'd, had honour for't ? Now if you'll venture, for my sake,
This swear you will perform, and then To try the toughness of your back,
I'll set you from th’ enchanted den, And suffer (as the rest have done)
And the magician's circle, clear.” The laying of a whipping-on,
Quoth he, “I do profess and swear, (And may you prosper in your suit
And will perform what you enjoin, As you with equal vigour do't)
Or may I never see you mine." I here engage myself to loose ye,
“ Amen!" quoth she; then turn'd about, And free your heels from caperdewsie.
And bid her squire let him out. But since our sex's modesty
But ere an artist could be found Will not allow I should be by,
T' undo the charms another bound, Bring me on oath a fair account,
The Sun grew low, and left the skies, And honour too, when you have don 't;
Put down (some write) by ladies' eyes. And I'll admit you to the place
The Moon pulld off her veil of light, You claim as due in my good grace.
That hides her face by day from sight, If matrimony and hanging go
(Mysterious veil, of brightness made, By destiny, why not whipping too?
That's both her lustre and her shade!) What med'cine else can cure the fits
And in the lantern of the night, Of lovers when they lose their wits ?
With shining horns hung out her light; Love is a boy, by poets styld,
For darkness is the proper sphere Then spare the rod, and spoil the child.
Where all false glories use t appear. “ A Persian emperor whipp'd his grannam, The twinkling stars began to muster, The Sea, his mother Venus came on;
And glitter with their borrow'd lustre, And hence some reverend men approve
While Sleep the weary'd world reliev'd, Of rosemary in making love.
By counterfeiting Death revivd. As skilful coopers hoop their tubs
His whipping penance, till the morn, With Lydian and with Phrygian dubs,
Our votary thought it best t' adjourn, Why may not whipping have as good
And not to carry on a work A grace? perform'd in time and mood,
Of such importance in the dark, With comely movement, and by art,
With erring haste, but rather stay, Raise passion in a lady's heart?
And do't in th' open face of day; It is an easier way to make
And in the mean time go in quest Love by, than that which many take.
Of next retreat to take his rest.