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Which fingle virtue, or which grace,
Above the rest had any place,
Or which he was most famous for,
The camp, the pulpit, or the bar;
Of each he liad an equal fpice,
And was in all so very nice,

That, to speak truth, th' account it loft,
In which he did excel the most.

When he forfook the peaceful dwelling,
And out he went a colonelling,
Strange hopes and fears poffeft the nation,
How he could manage that vocation,
Until he fhew'd it to a wonder,
How nobly he could fight and plunder.
At preaching, too, he was a dab,
More exquifite by far than Squab;
He could fetch ufes, and infer,
Without the help of metaphor,
From any Scripture text, howe'er
Remote it from the purpose were;
And with his fift, instead of a stick,
Beat pulpit, drum ecclefiaftick,
Till he made all the audience weep,
Excepting those that fell asleep,
Then at the bar he was right able,
And could bind o'er as well as fwaddle;
And famous, too, at petty feffions,

Vile harlot ! to destroy a knight, That could both plead, and pray, and fight. 45 Oh! cruel, base, inhuman drab, To give him fuch a mortal stab, That made him pine away and moulder, As though that he had been no foldier: Could'st thou find no one else to kill, 50 Thou inftrument of death and hell! But Hudibras, who stood the Bears So oft against the Cavaliers, And in the very heat of war Took ftout Crowdero prisoner; And did fuch wonders all along, That far exceed both pen and tongue! If he had been in battle flain, We 'ad had lefs reafon to complain; But to be murder'd by a whore,

55

60 Was ever knight so serv'd before?
But, fince he's gone, all we can fay,
He chanc'd to die a lingering way;
If he had liv'd a longer date,
He might, perhaps, have met a fate
65 More violent, and fitting for
A knight fo fam'd in Civil war.
To fum up all-from love and danger
He's now (O happy Knight!) a stranger;
And, if a Mufe can aught foretell,
His fame fhall fill a chronicle,
And he in after-ages be

"Gainst thieves and whores, for long digreffions. He could moft learnedly determine

71

Of errant knights th' epitome.

To Bridewell, or the ftocks, the vermin.

For his addrefs and way of living,

All his behaviour, was fo moving,

That, let the dame be ne'er so chaste,
As people fay, below the waist,
If Hudibras but once come at her,
He'd quickly make her chaps to water;
Then for his equipage and shape,
On veftals they 'd commit a rape;
Which often, as the story says,
Have made the ladies weep both ways.
Ill has he read, that never heard
How he with Widow Tomson far'd,
And what hard conflict was between
Our Knight and that infulting quean.
Sure captive knight ne'er took more pains,
For rhymes for his melodious strains,
Nor beat his brains, or made more faces,
To get into a jilt's good graces,
Than did Sir Hudibras to get
Into this fubtle gypsy's net;
Who, after all her high pretence
To modefty and innocence,
Was thought by moft to be a woman
That to all other knights was common.

Hard was his fate in this, I own,
Nor will I for the trapes atone;
Indeed to guess I am not able,
What made her thus inexorable,
Unless the did not like his wit,
Or, what is worfe, his perquifite.
Howe'er it was, the wound she gave
The Knight, he carry'd to his grave:

75

HUDIBRAS'S EPITAPH

[NDER this stone refts Hudibras,

UND

A Knight as errant as e'er was;
The controverfy only lies,

Whether he was more ftout than wife;
Nor can we here pretend to fay,
Whether he best could fight or pray;
85 So, till those questions are decided,
His virtues must rest undivided.
Full oft he fuffer'd bangs and drubs,
And full as oft took pains in tubs;
Of which the moft that can be faid,
90 He pray'd and fought, and fought and pray
As for his perfonage and shape,

Among the reft we'll let them fcape; Nor do we, as things stand, think fit This stone should meddle with his wit. 95 One thing, 'tis true, we ought to tell, He liv'd and dy'd a colonel;

And for the Good old Caufe ftood buff, 'Gainft many a bitter kick and cuff. But, fince his Worship 's dead and gone, 100 And mouldering lies beneath this stone, The Reader is defir'd to look,

For his atchievements in his Book;
Which will preferve of Knight the Tak
Till Time and Death itself shall fail.

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STREPHON.

But, if her haughty heart defpife
My humble proffer'd one,
The juft compaflion she denies,
I may obtain from others' eyes;
Hers are not fair alone.
Devouring flames require new food;
My heart's confum'd almost :
New fires muft kindle in her bloed,
Or mine go out, and that's as good.

ALEXIS.

Would't live when love is loft? Be dead before thy paffion dies;

For if thou fhould'nt furvive, What anguish would thy heart furprize, To fee her flames begin to rife,

And thine no more alive?

STREPHON.

Rather what pleasure should I meet
In my triumphant fcorn,

To fee my tyrant at my feet;
While, taught by her, unmov'd I fit
A tyrant in my turn.

ALEXIS.

Ungentle fhepherd! ceafe, for fhame, Which way can you pretend

To merit fo divine a flame,

Who to dull life make a mean claim,
When love is at an end?

As trees are by their bark embrac'd,
Love to my foul doth cling;
When torn by the herd's greedy taste,
The injur'd plants feel they're defac'd,
They wither in the fpring.

My rifled love would foon retire,
Diffolving into air,

Should I that nymph cease to admire,
Blefs'd in whofe arms I will expire,
Or at her feet despair.

Α

THE ADVICE.

LL things submit themselves to your con
månd,

Fair Calia, when it does not love withstand:
The power it borrows from your eyes alone;
All but the god muft yield to, who has none.
Were he not blind, fuch are the charms you hav
He'd quit his godhead to become your flave:
Be proud to act a mortal hero's part,

And throw himself for fame on his own dart.
But fate has otherwise difpos'd of things,
In different bands subjected flaves and kings:
Fetter'd in forms of royal state are they,
While we enjoy the freedom to obey.
That fate, like you, refiftlefs does ordain
To Love, that over Beauty he shall reign.
By harmony the universe does move,
And what is harmony but mutual love?
Who would refift an empire fo divine,
Which univerfal nature does enjoin?

See gentle brooks, how quietly they glide,
Kiffing the rugged banks on either fide;
While in their crystal streams at once they fhow,
And with them feed the flowers which they be-
ftow:

Though rudely throng'd by a too near embrace,
In gentle murmurs they keep on their pace
To the lov'd fea; for ftreams have their defires;
Cool as they are, they feel love's powerful fires,
And with fuch paffion, that if any force,
Stop or moleft them in their amorous course,
They fwell, break down with rage, and ravage

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me I obey'd;

The banks they kifs'd, and flowers they fed be- LOVE hide hope, and obed

fore.

Submit then, Calia, ere you be reduc'd,
For rebels, vanquith'd once, are vilely us'd.
Beauty's no more but the dead foil, which Love
Manures, and does by wife commerce improve;
Sailing by fighs, through feas of tears, he fends
Courtships from foreign hearts, for your own ends:
Cherish the trade, for as with Indians we
Get gold and jewels, for our trumpery,
So to cach other, for their useless toys,
Lovers afford whole magazines of joys.
But, if you're fond of baubles, be, and starve,
Your gewgaw reputation still preserve;
Live upon modesty and empty fame,
Foregoing fenfe for a fantastic name.

THE DISCOVERY.
ÆLIA, that faithful fervant you disown,
Would in obedience keep his love his own;

But bright ideas, fuch as you infpire,
We can no more conceal than not admire.
My heart at home in my own breast did dwell,
Like humble hermit in a peaceful cell:
Unknown and undisturb'd it rested there,
Stranger alike to Hope and to Despair.
Now Love with a tumultuous train invades
The facred quiet of thofe hallow'd shades;
His fatal flames fhine out to every eye,
Like blazing comets in a winter fky.
How can my paffion merit your offence,
That challenges fo little recompence?
For I am one born only to admire,
Too humble e'er to hope, fcarce to defire.
A thing, whose blifs depends upon your will,
Who would be proud you'd deign to use him ill.
Then give me leave to glory in my chain,
My fruitless fighs, and my unpity'd pain.
Let me but ever love, and ever be
Th' example of your power and cruelty.
Since fo much scorn does in your breast reside,
Be more indulgent to its mother Pride.
Kill all you ftrike, and trample on their graves;
But own the fates of your neglected flaves:
When in the crowd yours undiftinguifh'd lies
You give away the triumph of your eyes.
Perhaps (obtaining this) you 'll think I find
More mercy, than your anger has defign'd:
But Love has carefully defign'd for me,
The last perfection of mifery,

Then you may e'en defpair, he said,

In vain I ftrive to change her mind.

II.
Honour's got in, and keeps her heart,

Durft he but venture once abroad,
In my own right I'd take your part,
And fhew myself a mightier god.
III.

This huffing Honour domineers

In breasts, where he alone has place: But if true generous Love appears,

The hector dares not fhew his face.

IV.

Let me ftill languish and complain,
Be most inhumanly deny'd:

I have fome pleasure in my pain,
She can have none with all her pride.
V.

I fall a facrifice to Love,

She lives a wretch for Honour's fake, Whofe tyrant does moft cruel prove, The difference is not hard to make. VI. Confider Real Honour then,

You'll find hers cannot be the fame; 'Tis noble confidence in men,

In women mean mistrustful fhamc.

TH

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HE utmoft grace the Greeks could fhew, When to the Trojans they grew kind, Was with their arms to let them go,

And leave their lingering wives behind.
They beat the men, and burnt the town:*
Then all the baggage was their own.
II.

There the kind deity of wine

Kifs'd the foft wanton god of love; This clapp'd his wings, that prefs'd his vine; And their beers united move, While each brave Breck embrac'd his punk, Lull'd her asleep, and then grew drunk 4 [B] 2

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STREPHON,

But, if her haughty heart defpife
My humble proffer'd one,
The juft compaffion fhe denies,
I may obtain from others' eyes;
Hers are not fair alone.
Devouring flames require new food;
My heart's confum'd almost :
New fires muft kindle in her blood,
Or mine go out, and that's as good.

ALEXIS.

Would't live when love is loft? Be dead before thy paffion dies; For if thou fhould'nt furvive, What anguish would thy heart furprize, To fee her flames begin to rife, And thine no more alive?

STREPHON.

Rather what pleasure should I meet
In my triumphant fcorn,

To fee my tyrant at my feet;
While, taught by her, anmov'd I fit
A tyrant in my turn.

ALEXIS.

Ungentle fhepherd! ceafe, for fhame,
Which way can you pretend
To merit fo divine a flame,

Who to dull life make a mean claim,
When love is at an end?

As trees are by their bark embrac'd,
Love to my foul doth cling;
When torn by the herd's greedy taste,
The injur'd plants feel they're defac'd,
They wither in the spring.

My rifled love would foon retire,
Diffolving into air,

Should I that nymph cease to admire,
Blefs'd in whofe arms I will expire,
Or at her feet despair.

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Fair Cælia, when it does not love withstand:
The power it borrows from your eyes alone;
All but the god muft yield to, who has none.
Were he not blind, fuch are the charms you
He'd quit his godhead to become your flave:
Be proud to act a mortal hero's part,
And throw himself for fame on his own dart.
But fate has otherwife difpos'd of things,
In different bands fubjected slaves and kings:
Fetter'd in forms of royal state are they,
While we enjoy the freedom to obey.
That fate, like you, refiftlefs does ordain
To Love, that over Beauty he shall reign.
By harmony the univerfe does move,
And what is harmony but mutual love?
Who would refift an empire fo divine,
Which univerfal nature does enjoin?

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