Hudibras - Samuel Butler (story reading txt) 📗

haunt.
For opportunities t’ improve
Designs of thievery or love;
With drugs convey’d in drink or meat,
All feats of witches counterfeit;
Kill pigs and geese with powder’d glass,
And make it for enchantment pass;
With cow-itch meazle like a leper,
And choke with fumes of Guinea pepper;
Make lechers, and their punks, with dewtry,
Commit fantastical advowtry;
Bewitch Hermetic-men to run143
Stark staring mad with manicon;
Believe mechanic virtuosi
Can raise ’em mountains in Potosi;144
And, sillier than the antic fools,
Take treasure for a heap of coals;
Seek out for plants with signatures,
To quack of universal cures;
With figures ground on panes of glass
Make people on their heads to pass;
And mighty heaps of coin increase,
Reflected from a single piece,
To draw in fools, whose nat’ral itches
Incline perpetually to witches;
And keep me in continual fears,
And danger of my neck and ears;
When less delinquents have been scourg’d,
And hemp on wooden anvil forg’d,
Which others for cravats have worn
About their necks and took a turn.

I pity’d the sad punishment
The wretched caitiff underwent,
And left my drubbing of his bones,
Too great an honour for poltroons;
For knights are bound to feel no blows
From paltry and unequal foes,
Who, when they slash, and cut to pieces,
Do all with civilest addresses:
Their horses never give a blow,
But when they make a leg, and bow.
I therefore spar’d his flesh, and prest him
About the witch with many a question.

Quoth he, For many years he drove
A kind of broking-trade in love;
Employ’d in all th’ intrigues and trust
Of feeble, speculative lust:
Procurer to th’ extravagancy
And crazy ribaldry of fancy,
By those the devil had forsook,
As things below him to provoke.
But b’ing a virtuoso, able
To smatter, quack, and cant, and dabble,
He held his talent most adroit
For any mystical exploit;
As others of his tribe had done,
And rais’d their prices three to one:
For one predicting pimp has th’ odds
Of chaldrons of plain downright bawds.
But as an elf (the devil’s valet)
Is not so slight a thing to get;
For those that do his bus’ness best,
In hell are us’d the ruggedest;
Before so meriting a person
Cou’d get a grant, but in reversion,
He serv’d two ’prenticeships, and longer,
I’ th’ myst’ry of a lady-monger.
For (as some write) a witch’s ghost,
As soon as from the body loos’d,
Becomes a puny imp itself,
And is another witch’s elf:
He, after searching far and near,
At length found one in Lancashire
With whom he bargain’d before-hand,
And, after hanging, entertain’d;
Since which h’ has play’d a thousand feats,
And practis’d all mechanic cheats,
Transform’d himself to th’ ugly shapes
Of wolves and bears, baboons and apes,
Which he has vary’d more than witches,
Or Pharaoh’s wizards, could their switches;
And all with whom he has to do,
Turn’d to as monstrous figures too:
Witness myself, whom h’ has abus’d,
And to this beastly shape reduc’d,
By feeding me on beans and peas,
He crams in nasty crevices,
And turns to comfits by his arts,
To make me relish for deserts,
And one by one, with shame and fear,
Lick up the candy’d provender.
Beside⁠—But as he was running on,
To tell what other feats h’ had done,
The lady stopt his full career,
And told him now ’twas time to hear:
If half those things (said she) be true⁠—
They’re all, (quoth he,) I swear by you.
Why then (said she,) that Sidrophel
Has damn’d himself to th’ pit of hell;
Who, mounted on a broom, the nag
And hackney of a Lapland hag,
In quest of you came hither post,
Within an hour (I’m sure) at most;
Who told me all you swear and say,
Quite contrary another way;
Vow’d that you came to him to know
If you should carry me or no;
And would have hir’d him, and his imps,
To be your match-makers and pimps,
T’ engage the devil on your side,
And steal (like Proserpine) your bride.
But he disdaining to embrace.
So filthy a design and base,
You fell to vapouring and huffing
And drew upon him like a ruffian;
Surpriz’d him meanly, unprepar’d,
Before h’ had time to mount his guard;
And left him dead upon the ground,
With many a bruise and desperate wound:
Swore you had broke and robb’d his house,
And stole his talismanique louse,
And all his new-found old inventions;
With flat felonious intentions;
Which he could bring out where he had,
And what he bought them for, and paid.
His flea, his morpion, and punaise,
H’ had gotten for his proper ease,
And all in perfect minutes made,
By th’ ablest artists of the trade,
Which (he could prove it) since he lost,
He has been eaten up almost;
And all together might amount
To many hundreds on account;
For which h’ had got sufficient warrant
To seize the malefactors errant,
Without capacity of bail,
But of a cart’s or horse’s tail;
And did not doubt to bring the wretches
To serve for pendulums to watches;
Which modern virtuosos say,
Incline to hanging every way.
Beside, he swore, and swore ’twas true,
That, e’re he went in quest of you,
He set a figure to discover
If you were fled to Rye or Dover;
And found it clear, that, to betray
Yourselves and me, you fled this way;
And that he was upon pursuit,
To take you somewhere hereabout.
He vow’d he had intelligence
Of all that past before and since;
And found, that ere you came to him,
Y’ had been engaging life and limb
About a case of tender conscience,
Where both abounded in your own sense;
Till Ralpho, by his light and grace,
Had clear’d all scruples in the case,
And prov’d that you might swear and own
Whatever’s by the wicked done,
For which, most basely to requite
The service of his gifts and light,
You strove t’ oblige him, by main force,
To scourge his ribs instead of yours;
But that he stood upon his guard,
And all your vapouring out-dar’d;
For which, between you both, the feat
Has never been perform’d as yet.

While thus the Lady talk’d, the Knight
Turn’d th’ outside of his eyes to white,
(As men of inward light are wont
To turn their optics in upon ’t)
He wonder’d how she came to know
What he had done and meant to do;
Held up his affidavit hand,
As if h’ had been to be arraign’d;
Cast t’wards the door a ghastly look,
In dread of Sidrophel, and spoke:

Madam, if but one word be true
Of all the wizard has told you,
Or but one single circumstance
In all th’ apocryphal romance,
May dreadful earthquakes swallow down
This vessel, that is all your own;
Or may the heavens fall, and cover
These reliques of your constant lover.

You have provided well, quoth she,
(I thank you) for yourself and me,
And shown your Presbyterian wits
Jump punctual