Selected quad for the lemma: book_n
Text snippets containing the quad
|
ID |
Title |
Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
STC |
Words |
Pages |
|
A30770
|
Hudibras in three parts.
|
Butler, Samuel, 1612-1680.
|
1684
(1684)
|
Wing B6319; ESTC R32601
|
158,128
|
695
|
'T is more than he can hope to do And that will disingage my Conscience Of th' Obligation in his own sense I 'll make him now by force abide What he by gentle means deny'd To give my Honor satisfaction And right the Brethren in the Action This being resolv'd with equal speed And Conduct he approach'd his Steed And with Activity unwont Essay'd the lofty Beast to mount Which once atchiev'd he spurr'd his Palfrey To get from th' Enemy and Ralph free Left Danger Fears and Foes behind And beat at least three lengths the Wind. AN HEROICAL EPISTLE OF HUDIBRAS TO SIDROPHEL Ecce iterum Crispinus WEll Sidrophel though 't is in vain To tamper with your Crazy Brain Without Trepanning of your Scull As often as the Moon 's at Full 'T is not amiss ere y' are giv'n o'er To try one desp'rate Med'cine more For where your Case can be no worse The desp'rat'st is the wisest course Iâ—'t possible that you whose Ears Are of the Tribe of Issachars And might with equal Reason either For Merit or extent of Leather With William Pryn's before they were Retrench'd and Crucifi'd compare Should you be deaf against a noise So roaring as the Publick Voice That speaks your virtues free and loud And openly in ev'ry croud As loud as one that sings his part T' a Wheel-barrow or Turnip Cart Or your new Nicknam'd old Invention To cry Green Hastings with an Engine As if the vehemence had stun'd And torn your Drum-heads with the sound And ' cause your Folly 's now no news But over-grown and out of use Persuade your self there 's no such matter But that 't is vanish'd out of Nature When Folly as it grows in years The more extravagant appears For who but you could be possest With so much Ignorance and Beast That neither all mens Scorn and Hate Nor being Laugh'd and Pointed at Nor bray'd so often in a Morter Can teach you wholesome Sense and Nurture But like a Reprobate what course S'ever's us'd grow worse and worse Can no Transfusion of the Blood That makes Fools Cattle do you good Nor putting Pigs t' a Bitch to Nurse To turn 'em into Mungrel-Curs Put you into a way at least To make your self a better Beast Can all your critical Intrigues Of trying sound from rotten Eggs Your several New-found Remedies Of curing Wounds and Scabs in Trees Your Arts of Fluxing them from Claps And Purging their infected Saps Recov'ring Shankers Chrystallines And Nodes and Botches in their Rindes 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 whimsey'd Chariots draw The Boys to course you without Law â—s if the Art you have so long â—rofest of making old Dogs young In you had Virtue to renew Not only Youth but Childhood too Can you that understand all Books By judging only with your Looks Resolve all Problems with your Face As others do with B's and A's Unriddle all that Mankind knows With solid bending of your Brows All Arts and Sciences advance With screwing of your Countenance And with a penetrating Eye Into th' abstrusest Learning pry Know more of any Trade b' a hint Than those that have been bred up in 't And yet have no Art true or false To help your own bad Naturals But still the more you strive t' appear Are found to be the wretcheder For Fools are known by looking wise As Men find Woodcocks by their Eies Hence 't is that ' cause y'have gai'nd o' th' Colledge A Quarter-share at most of Knowledge And brought in none but spent Repute Y' assume a Pow'r as absolute To Judge and Censure and Controll As if you were the sole Sir Poll And saucily pretend to know More then your Dividend comes to You 'll find the thing will not be done With Ignorance and Face alone No though y' have purchas'd to your Name In History so great a Fame That now your Talent's so well known For having all belief outgrown That ev'ry strange Prodigious Tale Is measur'd by your German Scale By which the Virtuosi try The Magnitude of ev'ry Ly Cast up to what it does amount And place the big'st to your account That all those stories that are lay'd Too truly to you and those made Are now still charg'd upon your score And lesser Authors nam'd no more Alas that Faculty destroys Those soonest it designs to raise And all your vain Renown will spoil As Guns o're-charg'd the more recoyl Though he that has but Impudence To all things has a fair Pretence And put among his wants but shame To all the World may lay his claim Though you have try'd that nothing's born With greater ease than Publique Scorn That all affronts do still give Place To your Impenetrable Face That makes your way through all affairs As Pigs through Hedges creep with theirs Yet as 't is Counterfeit and Brass You must not think 't will always pass For all Impostors when they 'r known Are past their Labor and undone And all the best that can befall An Artificial Natural Is that which Madmen find as soon As once th' are broke loose from the Moon And proof against her Influence Relapse to e're so little Sense To turn stark Fools and Subjects fit For sport of Boys and Rabble-wit Annotations TO THE SECOND PART But now t' observe c. THe beginning of this Second Part may perhaps seem strange and abrupt to those who do not know that it was written of purpose in imitation of Virgil who begins the IV Book of his Aeneides in the very same manner At Regina gravi c. And this is enough to satisfie the curiosity of those who believe that Invention and Fancy ought to be measur'd like Cases in Law by Precedents or else they are in the power of the Critick A Saxon Duke did grow so fat This History of the Duke of Saxony is not altogether so strange as that of a Bishop his Country-man who was quite eaten up with Rats and Mice King Pyrrhus cur'd his Splenetick And testy Courtiers with a kick Pyrrhus King of Epirus who as Pliny says had this occult Quality in his Toe Pollicis in dextro Pede tactu Lienosis medebatur L. 7. C. 11. In close Catasta shut c. Catasta is but a pair of Stocks in English But Heroical Poetry must not admit of any vulgar word especially of paultry signification and therefore some of our Modern Authors are fain to import foraign words from abroad that were never before heard of in our Language 'T was he that made St. Francis do c. The Ancient Writers of the Lives of Saints were of the same sort of People who first writ of Knight-Errantry and as in the one they rendred the brave Actions of some very great Persons ridiculous by their prodigious Lies and sottish way of describing them So they have abus'd the Piety of some very devout Persons by imposing such stories