Hudibras - Samuel Butler (story reading txt) 📗

and bears,
Beasts more unclean than calves or steers?
Have pow’rful preachers ply’d their tongues,
And laid themselves out and their lungs;
Us’d all means, both direct and sinister,
I’ th’ pow’r of gospel-preaching minister?
Have they invented tones to win
The women, and make them draw in
The men, as Indians with a female
Tame elephant inveigle the male?
Have they told Prov’dence what it must do,
Whom to avoid, and whom to trust to?
Discover’d th’ enemy’s design,
And which way best to countermine?
Prescrib’d what ways it hath to work,
Or it will ne’er advance the kirk?
Told it the news o’ th’ last express,
And after good or bad success,
Made prayers, not so like petitions
As overtures and propositions
(Such as the army did present
To their creator, th’ Parliament,)
In which they freely will confess
They will not, cannot, acquiesce,
Unless the work be carry’d on
In the same way they have begun,
By setting church and common-weal
All on a flame, bright as their zeal,
On which the saints were all agog,
And all this for a bear and dog?
The parliament drew up petitions
To ’tself, and sent them, like commissions,
To well-affected persons down,
In ev’ry city and great town,
With pow’r to levy horse and men,
Only to bring them back agen;
For this did many, many a mile,
Ride manfully in rank and file,
With papers in their hats, that show’d
As if they to the pillory rode.
Have all these courses, these efforts,
Been try’d by people of all sorts,
Velis et remis, omnibus nervis,
And all t’ advance the Cause’s service?
And shall all now be thrown, away
In petulant intestine fray?
Shall we that in the Cov’nant swore,
Each man of us to run before
Another, still in Reformation,
Give dogs and bears a dispensation?
How will Dissenting Brethren relish it?
What will malignants say? videlicet,
That each man swore to do his best,
To damn and perjure all the rest!
And bid the Devil take the hin’most,
Which at this race is like to win most.
They’ll say our bus’ness, to reform
The church and state, is but a worm;
For to subscribe, unsight, unseen,
To an unknown church-discipline,
What is it else, but before-hand
T’ engage, and after understand?
For when we swore to carry on
The present Reformation,
According to the purest mode
Of Churches best reform’d abroad,
What did we else, but make a vow
To do we know not what, nor how?
For no three of us will agree,
Where or what churches these should be;
And is indeed the self-same case
With theirs that swore et caeteras:72
Or the French League, in which men vow’d
To fight to the last drop of blood.73
These slanders will be thrown upon
The cause and work we carry on,
If we permit men to run headlong
T’ exorbitances fit for bedlam
Rather than gospel-walking times,
When slightest sins are greatest crimes.
But we the matter so shall handle,
As to remove that odious scandal,
In name of King and Parliament,
I charge ye all no more foment
This feud, but keep the peace between
Your brethren and your countrymen;
And to those places straight repair
Where your respective dwellings are.
But to that purpose first surrender
The Fiddler, as the prime offender,
Th’ incendiary vile, that is chief
Author and engineer of mischief;
That makes division between friends,
For profane and malignant ends.
He, and that engine of vile noise,
On which illegally he plays,
Shall (dictum factum) both be brought
To condign punishment, as they ought.
This must be done; and I would fain see
Mortal so sturdy as to gainsay:
For then I’ll take another course,
And soon reduce you all by force.
This said, he clapp’d his hand on sword,
To shew he meant to keep his word.

But Talgol, who had long supprest
Inflamed wrath in glowing breast,
Which now began to rage and burn as
Implacably as flame in furnace,
Thus answer’d him:⁠—Thou vermin wretched
As e’er in measled pork was hatched;
Thou tail of worship, that dost grow
On rump of justice as of cow;
How dar’st thou, with that sullen luggage
O’ th’ self, old ir’n, and other baggage,
With which thy steed of bones and leather
Has broke his wind in halting hither;
How durst th’, I say, adventure thus
T’ oppose thy lumber against us?
Could thine impertinence find out
To work t’ employ itself about,
Where thou, secure from wooden blow,
Thy busy vanity might’st show?
Was no dispute a-foot between
The caterwauling brethren?
No subtle question rais’d among
Those out-o’-their wits, and those i’ th’ wrong?
No prize between those combatants
O’ th’ times, the land and water saints;
Where thou might’st strickle without hazard
Of outrage to thy hide and mazzard;
And not for want of bus’ness come
To us to be so troublesome,
To interrupt our better sort
Of disputants, and spoil our sport?
Was there no felony, no bawd,
Cut-purse, no burglary abroad;
No stolen pig, nor plunder’d goose,
To tie thee up from breaking loose?
No ale unlicens’d, broken hedge,
For which thou statute might’st alledge,
To keep thee busy from foul evil,
And shame due to thee from the devil?
Did no committee sit, where he
Might cut out journey-work for thee?
And set th’ a task, with subornation,
To stitch up sale and sequestration;
To cheat, with holiness and zeal,
All parties, and the common weal?
Much better had it been for thee,
H’ had kept thee where th’ art us’d to be;
Or sent th’ on bus’ness any whither,
So he had never brought thee hither.
But if th’ hast brain enough in skull
To keep itself in lodging whole,
And not provoke the rage of stones
And cudgels to thy hide and bones
Tremble, and vanish, while thou may’st,
Which I’ll not promise if thou stay’st.
At this the Knight grew high in wroth,
And lifting hands and eyes up both,
Three times he smote on stomach stout,
From whence at length these words broke out:

Was I for this entitled Sir,
And girt with trusty sword and spur,
For fame and honour to wage battle,
Thus to be brav’d by foe to cattle?
Not all that pride that makes thee swell
As big as thou dost blown-up veal;
Nor all thy tricks and sleights to cheat,
And sell thy carrion for good meat;
Not all thy magic to repair
Decay’d old age in tough lean ware;
Make nat’ral appear thy work,
And stop the gangrene in stale pork;
Not all that force that makes thee proud,
Because by bullock ne’er withstood;
Though arm’d with all thy cleavers, knives,
And axes made to hew down lives,
Shall save or help thee to evade
The hand of Justice, or this blade,
Which I, her sword-bearer, do carry,
For civil deed and military.
Nor shall those words of venom base,
Which thou hast from their native place,
Thy stomach pump’d