Hudibras Samuel Butler (free novels to read TXT) 📖

By all these arts, and many more
H’ had practis’d long and much before,
Our state artificer foresaw
Which way the world began to draw.
For as old sinners have all points
O’ th’ compass in their bones and joints,
Can by their pangs and aches find
All turns and changes of the wind,
And better than by Napier’s bones178
Feel in their own the age of moons;
So guilty sinners in a state
Can by their crimes prognosticate,
And in their consciences feel pain
Some days before a show’r of rain:
He therefore wisely cast about,
All ways he could, t’ ensure his throat;
And hither came, t’ observe and smoke
What courses other riskers took;
And to the utmost do his best
To save himself, and hang the rest.

To match this saint, there was another179
As busy and perverse a brother,
An haberdasher of small wares
In politics and state affairs:
More Jew than Rabbi AchitopheL,
And better gifted to rebel:
For when h’ had taught his tribe to ’spouse
The Cause, aloft, upon one house,
He scorn’d to set his own in order,
But try’d another, and went farther;
So suddenly addicted still
To ’s only principle, his will,
That whatsoe’er it chanc’d to prove,
Nor force of argument could move,
Nor law, nor cavalcade of Holborn,
Could render half a grain less stubborn;
For he at any time would hang
For th’ opportunity t’ harangue;
And rather on a gibbet dangle,
Than miss his dear delight, to wrangle;
In which his parts were so accomplisht,
That, right or wrong, he ne’er was nonplust;
But still his tongue ran on, the less
Of weight it bore, with greater ease;
And with its everlasting clack
Set all men’s ears upon the rack.
No sooner could a hint appear,
But up he started to picqueer,
And made the stoutest yield to mercy,
When he engag’d in controversy:
Not by the force of carnal reason,
But indefatigable teasing;
With vollies of eternal babble,
And clamour, more unanswerable:
For though his topics, frail and weak,
Could ne’er amount above a freak,
He still maintain’d ’em, like his faults,
Against the desp’ratest assaults;
And back’d their feeble want of sense
With greater heat and confidence;
As bones of Hectors, when they differ,
The more they’re cudgel’d, grow the stiffer.
Yet when his profit moderated,
The fury of his heat abated;
For nothing but his interest
Could lay his devil of contest.
It was his choice, or chance, or curse,
T’ espouse the cause for better or worse,
And with his worldly goods and wit,
And soul and body worshipp’d it:
But when he found the sullen trapes
Possess’d with the devil, worms, and claps;
The Trojan mare in foal, with Greeks,180
Not half so full of jadish tricks,
Though squeamish in her outward woman,
As loose and rampant as Doll Common,
He still resolv’d to mend the matter,
T’ adhere and cleave the obstinater;
And still the skittisher and looser
Her freaks appear’d to sit the closer:
For fools are stubborn in their way,
As coins are harden’d by th’ allay;
And obstinacy’s ne’er so stiff
As when ’tis in a wrong belief.
These two, with others, being met,
And close in consultation set,
After a discontented pause,
And not without sufficient cause,
The orator we nam’d of late,
Less troubled with the pangs of state
Than with his own impatience,
To give himself first audience,
After he had a while look’d wise,
At last broke silence, and the ice.

Quoth he, There’s nothing makes me doubt
Our last outgoings brought about,
More than to see the characters
Of real jealousies and fears
Not feign’d, as once, but sadly horrid,
Scor’d upon ev’ry member’s forehead;
Who, ’cause the clouds are drawn together,
And threaten sudden change of weather,
Feel pangs and aches of state-turns,
And revolutions in their corns;
And, since our workings-out are cross’d,
Throw up the cause before ’tis lost.
Was it to run away we meant,
When, taking of the Covenant,
The lamest cripples of the brothers
Took oaths to run before all others,
But in their own sense only swore
To strive to run away before;
And now would prove that words and oath
Engage us to renounce them both?
’Tis true, the cause is in the lurch,
Between a right and mongrel-church:
The Presbyter and Independent,
That stickle which shall make an end on’t;
As ’twas made out to us the last
Expedient⁠—(I mean Marg’ret’s Fast,)181
When Providence had been suborn’d
What answer was to be return’d:
Else why should tumults fright us now,
We have so many times come through,
And understand as well to tame,
As when they serve our turns t’ inflame?
Have prov’d how inconsiderable
Are all engagements of the rabble,
Whose frenzies must be reconcil’d,
With drums and rattles, like a child;
But never prov’d so prosperous,
As when they were led on by us:
For all our scourging of religion
Began with tumult and sedition;
When hurricanes of fierce commotion
Became strong motives to devotion;
(As carnal seamen in a storm,
Turn pious converts, and reform;)
When rusty weapons, with chalk’d edges,
Maintain’d our feeble privileges;
And brown-bills levy’d in the city,
Made bills to pass the grand committee;
When zeal, with aged clubs and gleaves,
Gave chase to rochets and white sleeves,
And made the church, and state, and laws,
Submit t’ old iron and the cause.
And as we thriv’d by tumults then,
So might we better now agen,
If we knew how, as then we did,
To use them rightly in our need:
Tumults, by which the mutinous
Betray themselves instead of us.
The hollow-hearted, disaffected,
And close malignant, are detected,
Who lay their lives and fortunes down
For pledges to secure our own;
And freely sacrifice their ears
T’