ALL the politics of the great
Are like the canning of a cheat,
That lets his falfe dice freely run,
And trufts them to themselves alone,
But never lets a true one ftir
Without fome fingering trick or flur;
And, when the gamefters doubt his play,
Conveys his falte dice fafe away,
And leaves the true ones in the lurch,
T'endure the torture of the fearch.
WHAT elfe does hiftory ufe to tell us,
But tales of fubjects being rebellious;
The vain perfidioufness of lords,
And fatal breach of princes' words;
To fottish pride and infolence
Of statesmen, and their want of fenfe;
Their treachery, that undoes, of custom,
Their own felves first, next those who trust them?
BECAUSE a feeble limb 's careft,
And more indulg'd than all the rest,
So frail and tender confciences
Are humour'd to do what they please ;
When that which goes for weak and feeble
Is found the most incorrigible,
To outdo all the fiends in hell
With rapine, murther, blood, and zeal
AS at th' approach of winter all
The leaves of great trees ufe to fall,
And leave them naked to engage
With ftorins and tempefts when they rage;
While humbler plants are found to wear
Their fresh green liveries all the year:
So, when the glorious feafon 's gone
With great men; and hard times come on,
The great'ft calamities opprefs
The greatest still, and spare the lefs.
AS when a greedy raven fees
A fheep entangled by the fleece,
With hafty cruelty he flies
T' attack him, and pick out his eyes;
So do thofe vultures ufe, that keep
Poor prifoners faft like filly theep,
As greedily to prey on all
That in their ravenous clutches fall:
For thorns and brambles, that came in
To wait upon the curfe for fin,
And were no part o' th' first creation,
But, for revenge, a new plantation,
Are yet the fitt'ft materials
T'enclofe the earth with living walls.
So jailors, that are most accurft,
Are found most fit in being worst.
THERE needs no other charm, nor conjurer, To raise infernal fpirits up, but fear; That makes men pull their horns in like a fnail, That's both a prifoner to itfelf, and jail; Draws more fantastic fhapes than in the grains Of knotted wood in fome men's crazy brains, When all the cocks they think they fee, and bulls, Are only in the infides of their fculis.
THE Roman Mufti, with his triple crown, Does both the earth, and hell, and heaven, own, Befide th' imaginary territory,
He lays a title to in Purgatory;
Declares himself an abfolute free prince
In his dominions, only over fins;
But as for heaven, fince it lies fo far
Above him, is but only titular,
And, like his Crois-keys badge upon a tavern,
Has nothing there to tempt, command, or go-
Yet, when he comes to the accompt, and share The profit of his proftituted ware,
He finds his gains increafe, by fin and women, Above his richest titular dominion.
A JUBILEE is but a spiritual fair T'expofe to fale all forts of impious ware, In which his Holinefs buys nothing in, To stock his magazines, but deadly fin, And deals in extraordinary crimes, That are not vendible at other times; For, dealing both for Judas and th' high-prieft, He makes a plentifuller trade of Chrift.
THAT fpiritual pattern of the church, the ark,
In which the ancient world did once imbark, Had ne'er a helm in 't to direct its way, Although bound through an univerfal fea; When all the modern church of Rome's concern Is nothing elfe but in the helm and stern.
IN the church of Rome to go to fhrift,
Is but to put the foul on a clean shift.
AN afs will with his long ears fray,
The flies, that tickle him, away;
But man delights to have his ears
Blown maggots in by flatterers.
ALL wit does but divert men from the road
In which things vulgarly are understood,
And force Miftake and Ignorance to own
A better fenfe than commonly is known.
IN little trades, more cheats and lying
Are us'd in felling than in buying;
But in the great, unjufter dealing
Is us'd in buying than in felling.
ALL fmatterers are more brifk and pert
Than thofe that understand an art;
As little fparkles thine more bright
Than glowing coals, that give them light.
LAW does not put the least restraint
Upon our freedom, but maintain 't;
Or, if it does, 'tis for our good,
To give us freer latitude:
For wholefome laws preferve us free,
By ftinting of our liberty.
THE world has long endeavoured to reduce Thofe things to practice that are of no ufe;
And ftrives to practise things of speculation,
And bring the practical to contemplation;
And by that error renders both in vain,
by forcing Nature's course against the grain.
IN all the world there is no vice
Lefs prone t' excess than avarice;
It neither cares for food nor cloathing:
Nature's content with little, that with nothing.
IN Rome no temple was fo low
As that of Honour, built to fhow
How humble honour ought to be,
Though there 'twas all authority.
IT is a harder thing for men to rate
Their own parts at an equal eftimare,
Than caft up fractions, in th' accompt of heaven
Of time and motion, and adjust them even;
For modeft perfons never had a true
Particular of all that is their due.
SOME people's fortunes, like a weft or stray
Are only gain'd by lofing of their way.
AS he that makes his mark is understood
To write his name, and 'tis in law as good;
So he that cannot write one word of fenie,
Believes he has as legal a pretence
To fcribble what he does not understand,
As idiots have a title to their land.
WERE Tully now alive, he'd be to feek
In all our Latin terms of art and Greek;
Would never underftand one word of fenfe
The mott irrefragable fchoolman means:
As if the schools defign'd their terms of art
Not to advance a fcience, but divert;
As Hocus Pocus conjures, to amufe
The rabble from obferving what he does.
AS 'tis a greater mystery, in the art
Of painting, to foreshorten any pait
Than draw it out; fo 'tis in books the chief
Of all perfections to be plain and brief.
THE man that for his profit 's bought t' obey,
Is only hir'd, on liking, to betray;
And, when he 's bid a liberaller price,
Will not be fluggish in the work, nor nice,
OPINIATORS naturally differ
From other men; as wooden legs are ftiffer
Than thofe of pliant joints, to yield and bow,
Which way foe'er they are defign'd to go.
NAVIGATION, that withflood
The mortal fury of the Flood,
And prov'd the only means to fave
All earthly creatures from the wave,
Has, for it, taught the fea and wind
To lay a tribute on mankind,
That, by degrees, has fwallow'd more
Than ali it drown'd at once before.
THE prince of Syracufe, whofe deftin'd fate It was to keep a fchool and rule a itate,
Found that his fceptre never was fo aw'd,
As when it was tranflated to a rod;
And that his fubjects ne'er were fo obedient,
As when he was inaugurated pedant:
For to instruct is greater than to rule,
And no command 's fo imperious as a school.
AS he whose destiny does prove
To dangle in the air above,
Does lofe his life for want of air,
That only fell to be his fhare;
So he whom Fate at once defign'd
To plenty and a wretched mind,
Is but condemn'd t' a rich distress,
And starves with niggardly excess.
THE univerfal medicine is a trick,
That Nature never meant, to cure the fick,
Untefs by death, the fingular receipt,
To root out all difeafes by the great:
For univerfals deal in no one part
Of Nature, nor particulars of Art;
And therefore that French quack that fet up phy.
Call'd his receipt a General Specific. [fic
For, though in mortal poifons every one
Is mortal univerfally alone,
Yet Nature never made an antidote
To cure them all as easy as they're got;
Much lefs, among fo many variations
Of different maladies and complications,
Make all the contrarieties in Nature
Submit themselves t' an equal moderator.
A CONVERT 's but a fly, that turns about, After his head 's pull'd off, to find it out.
ALL mankind is but a rabble,
As filly and unreasonable
As thofe that, crowding in the street,
To fee a show or monster, meet;
Of whom no one is in the right,
Yet all fall out about the fight;
And, when they chance t' agree, the choice is
Still in the most and worst of vices;
And all the reasons that prevail
Are measur'd, not by weight, but tale,
AS in all great and crowded fairs
Monsters and puppet-plays are wares,
Which in the lefs will not go off,
Because they have not money enough;
So men in princes' courts will país,
That will not in another place.
LOGICIANS ufe to clap a propofition,
As juftices do criminals, in prison,
And, in as learn'd authentic nonfense writ,
The names of all their moods and figures fit:
For a logician's one that has been broke
To ride and pace his reason by the book,
And by their rules, and precepts, and examples,
To put his wits into a kind of trammels.
THOSE get the least that take the greatest pains
But most of all i' th' drudgery of brains;
A natural fign of weakness, as an ant
Is more laborious than an elephant;
DESCRIPTION OF HOLLAND.
COUNTRY that draws fifty foot of water, In which men live as in the hold of Nature, And, when the fea does in upon them break, And drowns a province, does but spring a leak; That always ply the pump, and never think They can be fafe, but at the rate they stink; That live as if they had been run aground, And, when they die, are caft away and drown'd; That dwell in fhips, like fwarms of rats, and prey Upon the goods all nations' fleets convey;
And, when their merchants are blown-up, and crackt,
Whole towns are caft away in storms, and wreckt;
That feed, like Cannibals, on other fishes,
And ferve their coufin-germans up in dishes ;
A land that rides at anchor, and is moor'd,
In which they do not live, but go aboard,
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N days of yore, when knight or fquire
By Fate were fummoned to retire,
Some menial poet ftill was near,
To bear them to the hemifphere,
And there among the ftars to leave them,
Until the gods fent to relieve them:
And fure our Knight, whofe very fight wou'd
Entitle him Mirror of Knighthood,
Should he neglected lie, and rot,
Stink in his grave, and be forgot,
Would have just reason to complain,
If he fhould chance to rife again;
And therefore, to prevent his dudgeon,
In mournful doggrel thus we trudge on.
Oh me! what tongue, what pen, can tell
How this renowned champion fell,
But muft refect, alas! alas!
All human glory fades like grafs,
And that the ftrongest martial feats
Witnefs our Knight, who fure has done
Of errant knights are all but cheats!
More valiant actions, ten to one,
Than of More-Hall the mighty More,
Or him that made the Dragon roar;
Has knock'd more men and women down
Than Beyis of Southampton town,
Or than our modern heroes can,
To take them fingly man by man,
No, fure, the grilly King of terror
Has been to blame, and in an error,
To iffue his dead-warrant forth,
To feize a knight of fo much worth,
Juft in the nick of all his glory,
I tremble when I tell the story.
Oh! help me, help me, fome kind Mufe,
This furly tyrant to abuse,
Who, in his rage, has been fo cruel
To rob the world of fuch a jewel!
A knight, more learned, ftout, and good,
Sure ne'er was made of flesh and blood;
All his perfections were fo rare,
The wit of man could not declare
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*Neither this Elegy, nor the following Epitaph, is to be found in The Genuine Remains of Butler, as published by Mr. Thyer. Both however having frequently been reprinted in The Poftbumous Works of Samuel Butler; and as they, befides, relate particularly to the hero of his principal poem; there needs no apology for their being thus preferved. Some other of the posthumous poems would not have difgraced their fuppofed author; but, as they are fo pofitively rejected hy Mr. Thyer, we have not ventured to admi them. N.
And out he went a colonelling,
That, to speak truth, th' account it loft,
Strange hopes and fears poffeft the nation,
How he could manage that vocation,
Until he thew'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, inftead 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,
And in the very heat of war
Took ftout Crowdero prifoner;
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,
60 Was ever knight fo ferv'd before?
But, fince he 's gone, all we can say,
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.
"Gainft thieves and whores, for long digreffions. He could moft learnedly determine
To fum up all-from love and danger
He's now (O happy Knight!) a stranger; 130 And, if a Mufe can aught foretell,
His fame fhall fill a chronicle,
And he in after-ages be
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 fo chafte,
As people fay, below the waift, 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 ftory fays,
Have made the ladies weep both ways.
Ill has he read, that never heard
How he with Widow Tomfon 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
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 beft could fight or pray; 85 So, till thofe queftions are decided, His virtues must reft undivided. Full oft he fuffer'd bangs and drubs, And full as oft took pains in tubs; Of which the most that can be faid,
90 He pray'd and fought, and fought and pray'd.
As for his perfonage and fape,
Among the rest we 'll let them fcape;
Nor do we, as things ftand, think fit
This stone should meddle with his wit.
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,
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 Tales
Till Time and Death itself fhall fail.
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