Hudibras Samuel Butler (free novels to read TXT) 📖

Quoth Ralpho, Honour’s but a word
To swear by only in a lord:
In other men, ’tis but a huff
To vapour with, instead of proof;
That, like a wen, looks big and swells,
Is senseless, and just nothing else.

Let it (quoth he) be what it will,
It has the world’s opinion still.
But as men are not wise that run
The slightest hazard they may shun,
There may a medium be found out
To clear to all the world the doubt;
And that is, if a man may do’t,
By proxy whipt, or substitute.

Though nice and dark the point appear
(Quoth Ralph,) it may hold up and clear.
That sinners may supply the place
Of suff’ring saints is a plain case.
Justice gives sentence many times
On one man for another’s crimes.

Our brethren of New England use
Choice malefactors to excuse,
And hang the guiltless in their stead,
Of whom the churches have less need;
As lately ’t happen’d: In a town100
There liv’d a cobbler, and but one,
That out of doctrine could cut use,
And mend men’s lives as well as shoes.
This precious brother having slain,
In time of peace, an Indian,
(Not out of malice, but mere zeal,
Because he was an Infidel,)
The mighty Tottipottymoy
Sent to our elders an envoy,
Complaining sorely of the breach
Of league held forth by brother Patch
Against the articles in force
Between both churches, his and ours;
For which he crav’d the saints to render
Into his hands or hang th’ offender:
But they maturely having weigh’d
They had no more but him o’ th’ trade,
(A man that serv’d them in a double
Capacity, to teach and cobble),
Resolv’d to spare him; yet, to do
The Indian Hoghgan Moghgan too
Impartial justice, in his stead did
Hang an old weaver, that was bed-rid.
Then wherefore may not you be skipp’d,
And in your room another whipp’d?
For all philos’phers, but the sceptic,
Hold whipping may be sympathetic.

It is enough, quoth Hudibras,
Thou hast resolv’d and clear’d the case;
And canst, in conscience, not refuse
From thy own doctrine to raise use.
I know thou wilt not (for my sake)
Be tender conscienc’d of thy back:
Then strip thee off thy carnal jerkin,
And give thy outward-fellow a ferking;
For when thy vessel is new hoop’d,
All leaks of sinning will be stopp’d.

Quoth Ralpho, You mistake the matter;
For in all scruples of this nature,
No man includes himself, nor turns
The point upon his own concerns.
As no man of his own self catches
The itch, or amorous French aches;
So no man does himself convince,
By his own doctrine, of his sins:
And though all cry down self, none means
His own self in a literal sense.
Beside, it is not only foppish,
But vile, idolatrous and popish,
For one man, out of his own skin,
To ferk and whip another’s sin;
As pedants out of school-boys’ breeches
Do claw and curry their own itches.
But in this case it is profane,
And sinful too, because in vain:
For we must take our oaths upon it,
You did the deed, when I have done it.

Quoth Hudibras, That’s answer’d soon:
Give us the whip, we’ll lay it on.

Quoth Ralpho, That we may swear true,
’Twere properer that I whipp’d you:
For when with your consent ’tis done,
The act is really your own.

Quoth Hudibras, It is in vain
(I see) to argue ’gainst the grain;
Or, like the stars, incline men to
What they’re averse themselves to do:
For when disputes are weary’d out,
’Tis interest still resolves the doubt:
But since no reason can confute ye,
I’ll try to force you to your duty;
For so it is, howe’er you mince it,
As, ere we part, I shall evince it
And curry (if you stand out) whether
You will or no, your stubborn leather.
Canst thou refuse to hear thy part
I’ th’ public work, base as thou art?
To higgle thus for a few blows,
To gain thy knight an op’lent spouse,
Whose wealth his bowels yearn to purchase,
Merely for th’ interest of the churches?
And when he has it in his claws
Will not be hide-bound to the cause:
Nor shalt thou find him a curmudgeon,
If thou dispatch it without grudging:
If not, resolve, before we go,
That you and I must pull a crow.

Y’ had best (quoth Ralpho) as the ancients
Say wisely, have a care o’ th’ main chance,
And look before you ere you leap;
For as you sow, y’ are like to reap:
And were y’ as good as George-a-Green,
I shall make bold to turn agen:
Nor am I doubtful of the issue
In a just quarrel, and mine is so.
Is ’t fitting for a man of honour
To whip the saints, like Bishop Bonner?
A Knight t’ usurp the beadle’s office,
For which y’ are like to raise brave trophies?
But I advise you (not for fear,
But for your own sake) to forbear;
And for the churches, which may