Dead vermin on a gallows hung,
And, while the dogs run underneath,
Escaped by counterfeiting death,
Not out of cunning, but a train
Of atoms justling in his brain,
As learned philosophers give out;
So Sidrophello cast about,
1125 And fell to's wonted trade again,
To feign himself in earnest slain:
First stretched out one leg, then another,
And, seeming in his breast to smother
A broken sigh, quoth he, 'Where am I? 1130 Alive, or dead or which way came I
Through so immense a space so soon?
But now I thought myself i' th' moon,
And that a monster, with huge whiskers
More formidable than a Switzer's,
1135 My body through and through had drilled,
And Whachum by my side had killed,
Had cross-examined both our hose,
And plundered all we had to lose;
Look, there he is, I see him now,
1140 And feel the place I am run through:
And there lies Whachum by my side
Stone-dead, and in his own blood dyed,
Oh! oh!' with that he fetched a groan,
And fell again into a swoon;
1145 Shut both his eyes, and stopped his breath, And to the life out-acted death,
That Hudibras, to all appearing,
Believed him to be as dead as herring.
He held it now no longer safe
To tarry the return of Ralph,
But rather leave him in the lurch :
Thought he, 'He has abused our church,
Refused to give himself one firk
To carry on the public work;
1155 Despised our synod-men like dirt,
And made their discipline his sport;
Divulged the secrets of their classes,
And their conventions proved high places;
Disparaged their tithe-pigs, as pagan,
1160 And set at nought their cheese and bacon;
Railed at their covenant, and jeered
Their reverend parsons, to my beard;
For all which scandals, to be quit
At once, this juncture falls out fit.
1165 I'll make him henceforth, to beware,
And tempt my fury, if he dare:
He must, at least, hold up his hand,
By twelve free-holders to be scanned,
Who, by their skill in palmistry,
1170 Will quickly read his destiny,
And make him glad to read his lesson,
Or take a turn for 't at the session:
Unless his light and gifts prove truer
Than ever yet they did, I'm sure;
1175 For if he 'scape with whipping now,
"Tis more than he can hope to do;
And that will disengage my conscience
Of th' obligation, in his own sense:
I'll make him now by force abide,
1180 What he by gentle means denied,
To give my honour satisfaction,
And right the brethren in the action.'
This being resolved, with equal speed,
And conduct, he approached his steed,
1185 And, with activity unwont,
Essayed the lofty beast to mount;
Which once achieved, he spurred his palfrey,
To get from th' enemy and Ralph free;
Left danger, fears, and foes behind,
1190 And beat, at least three lengths, the wind.
AN HEROICAL EPISTLE OF HUDIBRAS
ELL, Sidrophel, though 'tis in vain
To tamper with your crazy brain,
Without trepanning of your skull,
As often as the moon's at full,
'Tis not amiss, ere ye're given o'er,
To try one desperate medicine more;
For where your case can be no worse,
The desp'rat'st is the wisest course.
Is't possible that you, whose ears
10 Are of the tribe of Issachar's,
And might, with equal reason, either
For merit, or extent of leather,
With William Prynne's, before they were
Retrenched, and crucified, compare,
15 Should yet be deaf against a noise
So roaring as the public voice?
That speaks your virtues free and loud,
And openly in every crowd,
As loud as one that sings his part
20 T'a wheelbarrow, or turnip-cart,
Or your new nicked-named old invention
To cry green-hastings with an engine;
As if the vehemence had stunned,
And torn your drumheads with the sound;
And 'cause your folly's now no news,
But overgrown, and out of use,
Persuade yourself there's no such matter,
But that 'tis vanished out of nature;
When folly, as it grows
The more extravagant appears;
For who but you could be possessed
With so much ignorance and beast,
That neither all men's scorn and hate,
Nor being laughed and pointed at,
35 Nor brayed so often in a mortar,
Can teach you wholesome sense and nurture,
But, like a reprobate, what course
Soever used, grow worse and worse ?
Can no transfusion of the blood,
40 That makes fools cattle, do you good?
Nor putting pigs t' a bitch to nurse,
To turn them into mongrel curs,
Put you into a way, at least,
To make yourself a better beast?
45 Can all your critical intrigues,
Of trying sound from rotten eggs;
Your several new-found remedies,
Of curing wounds and scabs in trees;
Have no effect to operate
Upon that duller block, your pate?
But still it must be lewdly bent
To tempt your own due punishment;
And, like your whimsied chariots, draw
The boys to course you without law;
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