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greedy women
Fight to extend their vast dominion;
And in the cause impatient Grizel
Has drubbā€™d her husband with bullā€™s pizzle,
And brought him under covert-baron,
To turn her vassal with a murrain;
When wives their sexes shift, like hares,
And ride their husbands like night-mares,
And they, in mortal battle vanquishā€™d,
Are of their charter disenfranchisā€™d,
And by the right of war, like gills,
Condemnā€™d to distaff, horns, and wheels:
For when men by their wives are cowā€™d,
Their horns of course are understood.

Quoth Hudibras, Thou still givā€™st sentence
Impertinently, and against sense.
ā€™Tis not the least disparagement
To be defeated by thā€™ event,
Nor to be beaten by main force;
That does not make a man the worse,
Although his shoulders with battoon
Be clawā€™d and cudgelā€™d to some tune.
A taylorā€™s ā€™prentice has no hard
Measure, thatā€™s bangā€™d with a true yard:
But to turn tail, or run away,
And without blows give up the day,
Or to surrender ere thā€™ assault,
Thatā€™s no manā€™s fortune, but his fault,
And renders men of honour less
Than all thā€™ adversity of success;
And only unto such this show
Of horns and petticoats is due.
There is a lesser profanation,
Like that the Romans callā€™d ovation:
For as ovation was allowā€™d
For conquest purchasā€™d without blood,
So men decree these lesser shows
For victory gotten without blows,
By dint of sharp hard words, which some
Give battle with, and overcome;
These mounted in a chair-curule,
Which moderns call a cucking-stool,
March proudly to the riverā€™s side,
And oā€™er the waves in triumph ride;
Like dukes of Venice, who are said
The Adriatic Sea to wed;
And have a gentler wife than those
For whom the State decrees those shows.
But both are heathenish, and come
From thā€™ whores of Babylon and Rome,
And by the Saints should be withstood,
As Antichristian and lewd;
And we as such, should now contribute
Our utmost struggling to prohibit.

This said, they both advancā€™d, and rode
A dog-trot through the bawling crowd,
Tā€™ attack the leader, and still prest,
Till they approachā€™d him breast to breast:
Then Hudibras, with face and hand,
Made signs for silence; which obtainā€™d,
What means (quoth he) this devilā€™s procession
With men of orthodox profession?
ā€™Tis ethnic and idolatrous,
From heathenism derivā€™d to us.
Does not the Whore of Babylon ride
Upon her horned beast astride
Like this proud dame, who either is
A type of her, or she of this?
Are things of superstitious function
Fit to be usā€™d in gospel sun-shine?
It is an Antichristian opera,
Much usā€™d in midnight times of Popery,
Of running after self-inventions
Of wicked and profane intentions;
To scandalize that sex for scolding,
To whom the saints are so beholden.
Women, who were our first apostles
Without whose aid we had been lost else;
Women, that left no stone unturnā€™d
In which the cause might be concernā€™d;
Brought in their childrenā€™s spoons and whistles,
To purchase swords, carbines, and pistols;
Their husbands, cullies, and sweet-hearts,
To take the saintsā€™ and churchesā€™ parts;
Drew several gifted brethren in,
That for the bishops would have been,
And fixā€™d ā€™em constant to the party,
With motives powerful and hearty;
Their husbands robbā€™d, and made hard shifts
Tā€™ administer unto their gifts
All they could rap, and rend, and pilfer,
To scraps and ends of gold and silver;
Rubbā€™d down the teachers, tirā€™d and spent
With holding forth for Parliament:
Pamperā€™d and edifyā€™d their zeal
With marrow-puddings many a meal;
And led them, with store of meat,
On controverted points to eat;
And crammā€™d ā€™em, till their guts did ake,
With cawdle, custard, and plum-cake:
What have they done, or what left undone,
That might advance the cause at London?
Marchā€™d rank and file, with drum and ensign,
Tā€™ intrench the city for defence in;
Raisā€™d rampiers with their own soft hands,
To put the enemy to stands;
From ladies down to oyster-wenches,
Labourā€™d like pioneers in trenches;
Fell to their pick-axes, and tools,
And helpā€™d the men to dig like moles.
Have not the handmaids of the city
Chose of their members a committee,
For raising of a common purse
Out of their wages to raise horse?
And do they not as triers sit,
To judge what officers are fit?
Have they āø»? At that an egg let fly,
Hit him directly oā€™er the eye,
And running down his cheek, besmearā€™d
With orange tawny slime his beard;
But beard and slime being of one hue,
The wound the less appearā€™d in view.
Then he that on the panniers rode,
Let fly on thā€™ other side a load,
And quickly chargā€™d again, gave fully
In Ralphoā€™s face another volley.
The Knight was startled with the smell,
And for his sword began to feel;
And Ralpho, smotherā€™d with the stink,
Graspā€™d his; when one that bore a link,
Oā€™ thā€™ sudden clappā€™d his flaming cudgel,
Like linstock, to the horseā€™s touch-hole;
And straight another with his flambeaux,
Gave Ralphoā€™s oā€™er the eye a damnā€™d blow.
The beasts began to kick and fling,
And forcā€™d the rout to make a ring,
Through which they quickly broke their way,
And brought them off from further fray;
And though disorderā€™d in retreat,
Each of them stoutly kept his seat:
For, quitting both their swords and reins,
They graspā€™d with all their strength the manes,
And, to avoid the foeā€™s pursuit,
With spurring put their cattle toā€™t;
And till all four were out of wind,
And danger too, neā€™er lookā€™d behind.
After thā€™ had pausā€™d a while, supplying
Their spirits, spent with fight and flying,
And Hudibras recruited force
Of lungs, for action or discourse;

Quoth he, That man is sure to lose
That fouls his hands with dirty foes:
For where no honourā€™s to be gainā€™d,
ā€™Tis thrown away in bā€™ing maintainā€™d.
ā€™Twas ill for us we had to do
With so dishonourable a foe:
For though the law of arms doth bar
The use of venomā€™d shot in war,
Yet, by the nauseous smell, and noisome,
Their case-shot savours strong of poison;
And doubtless have been chewā€™d with teeth
Of some that had a stinking breath;
Else, when we put it to the push,
They have not givā€™n us such a brush.
But as those poltroons that fling dirt
Do but defile, but cannot hurt,
So all the honour they have won,
Or we have lost, is much as one,
ā€™Twas well we made so resolute
And brave retreat, without pursuit;
For if we had not, we had sped
Much worse, to be in triumph led;
Than which the ancients held no state
Of manā€™s life more unfortunate.
But if this bold adventure eā€™er
Do chance to reach the widowā€™s ear,
It may, bā€™ing destinā€™d to assert
Her sexā€™s honour, reach her heart;
And as such homely treats (they say)
Portend good fortune, so this may.
Vespasian being daubā€™d with dirt,105
Was destinā€™d to the empire forā€™t;
And from a scavenger did come
To be a mighty prince in Rome:
And why may not this foul address
Presage in

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