Part II: Canto III

The Knight, with various Doubts possest,To win the Lady goes in questOf Sidrophel, the Rosy-Crucian,To know the Dest'nies' Resolution;With whom being met, they both chop LogickAbout the Science Astrologick,Till falling from Dispute to Fight,The Conj'rer's worsted by the Knight.

Doubtless the pleasure is as greatOf being cheated as to cheat;As lookers-on feel most delight,That least perceive a jugler's slight;And still the less they understand,The more th' admire his slight of hand.

Some with a noise, and greasy light,Are snapt, as men catch larks by night;Ensnar'd and hamper'd by the soul,As nooses by their legs catch fowlSome with a med'cine, and receipt,Are drawn to nibble at the bait;And tho' it be a two-foot trout,'Tis with a single hair pull'd out.

Others believe no voice t' an organSo sweet as lawyer's in his bar-gown,Until with subtle cobweb-cheatsTh'are catch'd in knotted law, like nets;In which, when once they are imbrangled,The more they stir, the more they're tangled;And while their purses can dispute,There's no end of th' immortal suit.

Others still gape t' anticipateThe cabinet-designs of fate;Apply to wizards, to foreseeWhat shall and what shall never be;And, as those vultures do forebode,Believe events prove bad or good:A flam more senseless than the rogueryOf old aruspicy and aug'ry.That out of garbages of cattlePresag'd th' events of truce or battle;From flight of birds, or chickens pecking,Success of great'st attempts would reckon:Though cheats, yet more intelligibleThan those that with the stars do fribble.This HUDIBRAS by proof found true,As in due time and place we'll shew:For he, with beard and face made clean,B'ing mounted on his steed agen,(And RALPHO got a cock-horse tooUpon his beast, with much ado)Advanc'd on for the Widow's house,To acquit himself, and pay his vows;When various thoughts began to bustle,And with his inward man to justleHe thought what danger might accrueIf she should find he swore untrue;Or if his squire or he should fail,And not be punctual in their tale:It might at once the ruin proveBoth of his honour, faith, and love.But if he should forbear to go,She might conclude h'had broke his vow;And that he durst not now for-shameAppear in court to try his claim.This was the pen'worth of his thought,To pass time and uneasy trot.

Quoth he, In all my past adventuresI ne'er was set so on the tenters;Or taken tardy with dilemma,That ev'ry way I turn does hem me,And with inextricable doubtBesets my puzzled wits about:For tho' the dame has been my bail,To free me from enchanted jail,Yet as a dog, committed closeFor some offence, by chance breaks loose,And quits his clog, but all in vain,He still draws after him his chain;So, though my ankle she has quitted,My heart continues still committed;And like a bail'd and main-priz'd lover,Altho' at large, I am bound over;And when I shall appear in court,To plead my cause, and answer for't,Unless the judge do partial prove,What will become of me and love?For if in our account we vary,Or but in circumstance miscarry;Or if she put me to strict proof,And make me pull my doublet off,To shew, by evident recordWrit on my skin, I've kept my Word;How can I e'er expect to have her,Having demurr'd onto her favour?But faith, and love, and honour lost,.Shall be reduc'd t' a Knight o' th' Post.Beside, that stripping may preventWhat I'm to prove by argument,And justify I have a tailAnd that way, too, my proof may fail.Oh that I cou'd enucleate,And solve the problems of my fateOr find, by necromantick art,How far the dest'nies take my partFor if I were not more than certainTo win and wear her, and her fortune,I'd go no farther in his courtship,To hazard soul, estate, and worshipFor though an oath obliges notWhere any thing is to be got,(As thou last prov'd) yet 'tis profane,And sinful, when men swear in vain.

Quoth RALPH, Not far from hence doth dwellA cunning man, hight SIDROPHEL,That deals in destiny's dark counsels,And sage opinions of the Moon sells;To whom all people, far and near,On deep importances repair;When brass and pewter hap to stray,And linen slinks out of the way;When geese and pullen are seduc'd,And sows of sucking-pigs are chows'd;When cattle feel indisposition,And need th' opinion of physician;When murrain reigns in hogs or sheep.And chickens languish of the pip;When yeast and outward means do fail,And have no pow'r to work on ale:When butter does refuse to come,And love proves cross and humoursome:To him with questions, and with urine,They for discov'ry flock, or curing.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, This SIDROPHELI've heard of, and should like it well,If thou canst prove the Saints have freedomTo go to Sorc'rers when they need 'em.

Says RALPHO, There's no doubt of thatWhose principles I quoted late,Prove that the Godly may alledgeFor any thing their Privilege;And to the Dev'l himself may go,If they have motives thereunto.For, as there is a war betweenThe Dev'l and them, it is no sin,If they by subtle stratagemMake use of him, as he does them.Has not this present ParliamentA Ledger to the Devil sent,Fully impowr'd to treat aboutFinding revolted witches outAnd has not he, within a year,Hang'd threescore of 'em in one shire?Some only for not being drown'd,And some for sitting above ground,Whole days and nights, upon their breeches,And feeling pain, were hang'd for witches.And some for putting knavish tricksUpon green geese and turky-chicks,And pigs, that suddenly deceastOf griefs unnat'ral, as he guest;Who after prov'd himself a witchAnd made a rod for his own breech.Did not the Devil appear to MARTINLUTHER in Germany for certain;And wou'd have gull'd him with a trick,But Martin was too politick?Did he not help the Dutch to purgeAt ANTWERP their Cathedral Church?Sing catches to the Saints at MASCON,And tell them all they came to ask himAppear'd in divers shapes to KELLY,And speak i' th' Nun of LOUDON's belly?Meet with the Parliament's CommitteeAt WOODSTOCK on a pers'nal treaty?At SARUM take a cavalierI' th' Cause's service prisonerAs WITHERS, in immortal rhime,Has register'd to after-time!Do not nor great Reformers useThis SIDROPHEL to forebode news?To write of victories next year,And castles taken yet i' th' airOf battles fought at sea, and shipsSank two years hence, the last eclipse?A total overthrow giv'n the KingIn Cornwall, horse and foot, next Spring!And has not he point-blank foretoldWhats'e'er the Close Committee would?Made Mars and Saturn for the CauseThe moon for Fundamental Laws?The Ram, the Bull, and Goat declareAgainst the Book of Common-Pray'r?The Scorpion take the Protestation,And Bear engage for Reformation?Made all the Royal Stars recant,Compound and take the Covenant?

Quoth HUDIBRAS, The case is clear,The Saints may 'mploy a Conjurer,As thou hast prov'd it by their practice;No argument like matter of fact is;And we are best of all led toMen's principles by what they do.Then let us straight advance in questOf this profound GymnosophistAnd as the Fates and he advise,Pursue or wave this enterprise,

This said, he turn'd about his steed,And eftsoons on th' adventure rid;Where leave we him and RALPH a while,And to the Conjurer turn our stile,To let our reader understandWhat's useful of him before-hand.

He had been long t'wards mathematicks,Optics, philosophy, and staticks,Magick, horoscopy, astrology,And was old dog at physiologyBut as a dog that turns the spitBestirs himself, and plies his feet,To climb the wheel, but all in vain,His own weight brings him down again,And still he's in the self-same placeWhere at his setting out h wasSo in the circle of the artsDid he advance his nat'ral parts,Till falling back still, for retreat,He fell to juggle, cant, and cheat:For as those fowls that live in waterAre never wet, he did but smatter:Whate'er he labour'd to appear,His understanding still was clearYet none a deeper knowledge boasted,Since old HODGE-BACON and BOB GROSTED.Th' Intelligible World he knew,And all men dream on't to be true;That in this world there's not a wartThat has not there a counterpart;Nor can there on the face of groundAn individual beard be found,That has not, in that foreign nation,A fellow of the self-same fashionSo cut, so colour'd, and so curl'd,As those are in th' Inferior World.H' had read DEE's Prefaces before,The DEV'L, and EUCLID, o'er and o'er;And all the intrigues 'twixt him and KELLY,LESCUS and th' EMPEROR, wou'd tell ye;But with the Moon was more familiarThan e'er was almanack well-willer;Her secrets understood so clear,That some believ'd he had been there;Knew when she was in the fittest moodFor cutting corns, or letting blood;When for anointing scabs or itches,Or to the bum applying leeches;When sows and bitches may be spay'd,And in what sign best cyder's made:Whether the wane be, or increase,Best to set garlick, or sow pease:Who first found out the Man i' th' Moon,That to the ancients was unknown;How many dukes, and earls, and peers,Are in the planetary spheres;Their airy empire and command,Their sev'ral strengths by sea and land;What factions th' have, and what they drive atIn public vogue, or what in private;With what designs and interestsEach party manages contests.He made an instrument to knowIf the Moon shine at full or no;That wou'd as soon as e'er she shone, straightWhether 'twere day or night demonstrate;Tell what her d'meter t' an inch is,And prove that she's not made of green cheese.It wou'd demonstrate, that the Man inThe Moon's a Sea Mediterranean;And that it is no dog nor bitch,That stands behind him at his breech,But a huge Caspian Sea, or lake,With arms, which men for legs mistake;How large a gulph his tail composes,And what a goodly bay his nose is;How many German leagues by th' scaleCape Snout's from Promontory Tail.He made a planetary gin,Which rats would run their own heads in,And cause on purpose to be taken,Without th' expence of cheese or bacon.With lute-strings he would counterfeitMaggots that crawl on dish of meat:Quote moles and spots on any placeO' th' body, by the index face:Detect lost maiden-heads by sneezing,Or breaking wind of dames, or pissing;Cure warts and corns with applicationOf med'cines to th' imagination;Fright agues into dogs, and scareWith rhimes the tooth-ach and catarrh;Chace evil spirits away by dintOf cickle, horse-shoe, hollow-flint;Spit fire out of a walnut-shell,Which made the Roman slaves rebel;And fire a mine in China hereWith sympathetic gunpowder.He knew whats'ever's to be known,But much more than he knew would own;What med'cine 'twas that PARACELSUSCould make a man with, as he tells us;What figur'd slates are best to makeOn watry surface duck or drake;What bowling-stones, in running raceUpon a board, have swiftest pace;Whether a pulse beat in the blackList of a dappled louse's back;If systole or diastole moveQuickest when he's in wrath or loveWhen two of them do run a race,Whether they gallop, trot, or pace:How many scores a flea will jump,Of his own length, from head to rump;Which SOCRATES and CHAEREPHON,In vain, assay'd so long agon;Whether his snout a perfect nose is,And not an elephant's proboscisHow many diff'rent speciesesOf maggots breed in rotten cheeseAnd which are next of kin to thoseEngender'd in a chandler's nose;Or those not seen, but understood,That live in vinegar and wood.

A paultry wretch he had, half-starv'd,That him in place of Zany serv'd.Hight WHACHUM, bred to dash and draw,Not wine, but more unwholesome lawTo make 'twixt words and lines huge gaps,Wide as meridians in maps;To squander paper, and spare ink,And cheat men of their words, some think.From this, by merited degrees,He'd to more high advancement rise;To be an under-conjurer,A journeyman astrologer.His business was to pump and wheedle,And men with their own keys unriddle;And make them to themselves give answers,For which they pay the necromancers;To fetch and carry intelligence,Of whom, and what, and where, and whence,And all discoveries disperseAmong th' whole pack of conjurersWhat cut-purses have left with themFor the right owners to redeem;And what they dare not vent find out,To gain themselves and th' art repute;Draw figures, schemes, and horoscopes,Of Newgate, Bridewell, brokers' shops,Of thieves ascendant in the cart;And find out all by rules of art;Which way a serving-man, that's runWith cloaths or money away, is gone:Who pick'd a fob at holding forth;And where a watch, for half the worth,May be redeem'd; or stolen plateRestor'd at conscionable rate.Beside all this, he serv'd his masterIn quality of poetaster;And rhimes appropriate could makeTo ev'ry month i' th almanackWhat terms begin and end could tell,With their returns, in doggerel;When the exchequer opes and shuts,And sowgelder with safety cutsWhen men may eat and drink their fill,And when be temp'rate, if they will;When use and when abstain from vice,Figs, grapes, phlebotomy, and spice.And as in prison mean rogues beatHemp for the service of the great,So WHACHUM beats his dirty brains,T' advance his master's fame and gainsAnd, like the Devil's oracles,Put into doggrel rhimes his spells,Which, over ev'ry month's blank pageI' th' almanack, strange bilks presage.He would an elegy composeOn maggots squeez'd out of his nose;In lyrick numbers write an ode onHis mistress, eating a black-pudden:And when imprison'd air escap'd her,It puft him with poetic rapture.His sonnets charm'd th' attentive crowd,By wide-mouth'd mortal troll'd aloud,That 'circl'd with his long-ear'd guests,Like ORPHEUS look'd among the beasts.A carman's horse could not pass by,But stood ty'd up to poetry:No porter's burthen pass'd along,But serv'd for burthen to his song:Each window like a pill'ry appears,With heads thrust through, nail'd by the earsAll trades run in as to the sightOf monsters, or their dear delightThe gallow tree, when cutting purseBreeds bus'ness for heroic verse,Which none does hear, but would have hungT' have been the theme of such a song.

Those two together long had liv'd,In mansion prudently contriv'd;Where neither tree nor house could barThe free detection of a starAnd nigh an ancient obeliskWas rais'd by him, found out by FISK,On which was a written not in words,But hieroglyphic mute of birds,Many rare pithy saws concerningThe worth of astrologic learning.From top of this there hung a rope,To a which he fasten'd telescope;The spectacles with which the starsHe reads in smallest characters.It happen'd as a boy, one night,Did fly his tarsel of a kite,The strangest long-wing'd hawk that flies,That, like a bird of Paradise,Or herald's martlet, has no legs,Nor hatches young ones, nor lays eggs;His train was six yards long, milk-white,At th' end of which there hung a light,Inclos'd in lanthorn, made of paper,That far off like a star did appear.This SIDROPHEL by chance espy'd,And with amazement staring wide,Bless us! quoth he, what dreadful wonderIs that appears in heaven yonder?A comet, and without a beard!Or star that ne'er before appear'd!I'm certain 'tis not in the scrowlOf all those beasts, and fish, and fowl,With which, like Indian plantations,The learned stock the constellationsNor those that draw for signs have binTo th' houses where the planets inn.It must be supernatural,Unless it be that cannon-ballThat, shot i' th' air point-blank upright,Was borne to that prodigious height,That learn'd Philosophers maintain,It ne'er came backwards down again;But in the airy region yetHangs like the body of MAHOMETFor if it be above the shadeThat by the earth's round bulk is made,'Tis probable it may from farAppear no bullet, but a star.

This said, he to his engine flew,Plac'd near at hand, in open view,And rais'd it 'till it levell'd rightAgainst the glow-worm tail of kite,Then peeping thro', Bless us! (quoth he)It is a planet, now I seeAnd, if I err not, by his properFigure, that's like tobacco-stopper,It should be Saturn. Yes, 'tis clear'Tis Saturn; but what makes him there?He's got between the Dragon's TailAnd farther Leg behind o' th' Whale.Pray heav'n divert the fatal omen,For 'tis a prodigy not common;And can no less than the world's end,Or Nature's funeral, portend.

With that he fell again to pry.Thro' perspective more wistfully,When by mischance the fatal string,That kept the tow'ring fowl on wing,Breaking, down fell the star. Well shot,Quoth WHACHUM, who right wisely thoughtH' had levell'd at a star, and hit itBut SIDROPHEL, more subtle-witted,Cry'd out, What horrible and fearfulPortent is this, to see a star fall?It threatens nature, and the doomWill not be long before it comeWhen stars do fail, 'tis plain enough,The day of judgment's not far off;As lately 'twas reveal'd to SEDGWICK,And some of us find out by magick.Then since the time we have to liveIn this world's shorten'd, let us striveTo make our best advantage of it,And pay our losses with our profit.

This feat fell out not long beforeThe Knight, upon the forenam'd score,In quest of SIDROPHEL advancing,Was now in prospect of the mansionWhom he discov'ring, turn'd his glass,And found far off, 'twas HUDIBRAS.

WHACHUM, (quoth he), look yonder, someTo try or use our art are comeThe one's the learned Knight: seek out,And pump 'em what they come about.WHACHUM advanc'd, with all submissness,T' accost em, but much more their bus'ness.He held a stirrup, while the KnightFrom leathern bare-bones did alightAnd taking from his hand the bridle,Approach'd the dark Squire to unriddle.He gave him first the time o' th' day,And welcom'd him, as he might say:He ask'd him whence he came, and whitherTheir bus'ness lay? Quoth RALPHO, Hither.Did you not lose? Quoth RALPHO, Nay.Quoth WHACHUM, Sir, I meant your way!Your Knight -- Quoth RALPHO, Is a lover,And pains intolerable doth suffer:For lovers' hearts are not their own hearts,Nor lights, nor lungs, and so forth downwards.What time, (quoth RALPHO), Sir? -- Too longThree years it off and on has hung. --Quoth he, I meant what time o'the day 'tis. --Quoth RALPHO, Between seven and eight 'tis.Why then, (quoth Whachum) my small artTells me, the dame has a hard heart,Or great estate. -- Quoth RALPH, A jointer,Which makes him have so hot a mind t'her.Mean while the Knight was making water,Before he fell upon the matter;Which having done, the Wizard steps in,To give him suitable receptionBut kept his bus'ness at a bayTill WHACHUM put him in the way;Who having now, by RALPHO's light.Expounded th' errand of the Knight,And what he came to know, drew near,To whisper in the Conj'rer's ear,Which he prevented thus: What was't,Quoth he, that I was saying last,Before these gentlemen arriv'd?Quoth WHACHUM, Venus you retriev'd,In opposition with Mars,And no benigne friendly starsT' allay the effect. -- Quoth Wizard, SoIn Virgo? Ha! -- Quoth WHACHUM, No.Has Saturn nothing to do in it?One-tenth of's circle to a minute.'Tis well, quoth he. -- Sir, you'll excuseThis rudeness I am forc'd to useIt is a scheme and face of Heaven,As the aspects are dispos'd this even,I was contemplating uponWhen you arriv'd; but now I've done,

Quoth HUDIBRAS, If I appearUnseasonable in coming hereAt such a tone, to interrupt,Your speculations, which I hop'dAssistance from, and come to use,'T is fit that I ask your excuse.By no means, Sir, quoth SIDROPHEL;The stars your coming did foretel:I did expect you here, and knew,Before you spake, your bus'ness too.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, Make that appear,And I shall credit whatsoe'erYou tell me after on your word,Howe'er unlikely, or absurd.

You are in love, Sir, with a widow,Quoth he, that does not greatly heed you,And for three years has rid your witAnd passion without drawing bit:And now your bus'ness is to know,If you shall carry her or no.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, You're in the right;But how the Devil you came by'tI can't imagine; for the Stars,I'm sure, can tell no more than a horse;Nor can their aspects (though you poreYour eyes out on 'em) tell you moreThan th' oracle of sieve and sheers,That turns as certain as the spheres:But if the Devil's of your counsel,Much may be done my noble Donzel;And 'tis on his account I come,To know from you my fatal doom.

Quoth SIDROPHEL, If you Suppose,Sir Knight, that I am one of those,I might suspect, and take the alarm,Your bus'ness is but to inform;But if it be, 'tis ne'er the near;You have a wrong sow by the ear;For I assure you, for my part,I only deal by rules of art,Such as are lawful, and judge byConclusions of Astrology:But for the Dev'l, know nothing by him;But only this, that I defy him.

Quoth he, Whatever others deem ye,I understand your metonymy:Your words of second-hand intention,When things by wrongful names you mention;The mystick sense of all your terms,That are, indeed, but magick charmsTo raise the Devil, and mean one thing,And that is down-right conjuring;And in itself more warrantable,Than cheat, or canting to a rabble,Or putting tricks upon the Moon,Which by confed'racy are done.Your ancient conjurers were wontTo make her from her sphere dismount.And to their incantations stoop:They scorn'd to pore thro' telescope,Or idly play at bo-peep with her,To find out cloudy or fair weather,Which ev'ry almanack can tell,Perhaps, as learnedly and well,As you yourself -- Then, friend, I doubtYou go the furthest way about.Your modern Indian magicianMakes but a hole in th' earth to piss in,And straight resolves all questions by't,And seldom fails to be i'th' right.The Rosy-Crucian way's more sureTo bring the Devil to the lure;Each of 'em has a sev'ral ginTo catch intelligences in.Some by the nose with fumes trepan 'em,As DUNSTAN did the Devil's grannam;Others, with characters and words,Catch 'em, as men in nets do birds;And some with symbols, signs, and tricks,Engrav'd with planetary nicks,With their own influences will fetch 'emDown from their orbs, arrest, and catch 'em;Make 'em depose and answer toAll questions e're they let them go.BUMBASTUS kept a Devil's birdShut in the pummel of his sword,That taught him all the cunning pranksOf past and future mountebanks.KELLY did all his feats uponThe Devil's looking-glass, a stone;Where playing with him at bo-peep,He solv'd all problems ne'er so deep.AGRIPPA kept a Stygian pug,I' th' garb and habit of a dog,That was his tutor, and the curRead to th' occult philosopher,And taught him subt'ly to maintainAll other sciences are vain.

To this, quoth SIDROPHELLO, Sir,AGRIPPA was no conjurer,Nor PARACELSUS, no, nor BEHMEN;Nor was the dog a Cacodaemon,But a true dog, that would shew tricksFor th' emperor, and leap o'er sticks;Would fetch and carry; was more civilThan other dogs, but yet no Devil;And whatsoe'er he's said to do,He went the self-same way we go.As for the Rosy-Cross Philosophers,Whom you will have to be but sorcerers,What they pretend to is no more,Than TRISMEGISTUS did before,PYTHAGORAS, old ZOROASTER,And APOLLONIUS their master;To whom they do confess they oweAll that they do, and all they know.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, Alas! what is't t' us,Whether 'twas said by TRISMEGISTUS,If it be nonsense, false, or mystick,Or not intelligible, or sophistick?'Tis not antiquity, nor author,That makes Truth Truth, altho' Times daughter;'Twas he that put her in the pitBefore he pull'd her out of it;And as he eats his sons, just soHe feeds upon his daughters too.Nor does it follow, 'cause a herald,Can make a gentleman, scarce a year old,To be descended of a raceOf ancient kings in a small space,That we should all opinions holdAuthentic that we can make old.

Quoth SIDROPHEL, It is no partOf prudence to cry down an art,And what it may perform deny,Because you understand not why(As AVERHOIS play'd but a mean trickTo damn our whole art for eccentrick:)For Who knows all that knowledge containsMen dwell not on the tops of mountains,But on their sides, or rising's seatSo 'tis with knowledge's vast height.Do not the hist'ries of all agesRelate miraculous presages,Of strange turns in the world's affairs,Foreseen b' Astrologers, Soothsayers,Chaldeans, learn'd Genethliacks,And some that have writ almanacks?The MEDIA N emp'ror dreamt his daughterHad pist all ASIA under water,And that a vine, sprung from her haunches,O'erspread his empire with its branches:And did not soothsayers expound it,As after by th' event he found it?When CAESAR in the senate fell,Did not the sun eclips'd foretel,And, in resentment of his slaughter,Look'd pale for almost a year after?AUGUSTUS having, b' oversight,Put on his left shoe 'fore his right,Had like to have been slain that dayBy soldiers mutin'ing for pay.Are there not myriads of this sort,Which stories of all times report?Is it not ominous in all countriesWhen crows and ravens croak upon trees?The Roman senate, when withinThe city walls an owl was seenDid cause their clergy, with lustrations,(Our Synod calls humiliations),The round-fac'd prodigy t'avertFrom doing town or country hurtAnd if an owl have so much pow'r,Why should not planets have much more,That in a region far aboveInferior fowls of the air move,And should see further, and foreknowMore than their augury below?Though that once serv'd the polityOf mighty states to govern byAnd this is what we take in handBy pow'rful art to understandWhich, how we have perform'd, all agesCan speak th' events of our presagesHave we not lately, in the Moon,Found a New World, to the Old unknown?Discover'd sea and land, COLUMBUSAnd MAGELLAN cou'd never compass?Made mountains with our tubes appear,And cattle grazing on 'em there?

Quoth HUDIBRAS, You lie so ope,That I, without a telescope,Can mind your tricks out, and descryWhere you tell truth, and where you lye:For ANAXAGORAS, long agon,Saw hills, as well as you, i' th' Moon;And held the Sun was but a pieceOf red-hot ir'n, as big as Greece;Believ'd the Heav'ns were made of stone,Because the Sun had voided one;And, rather than he would recantTh' opinion, suffer'd banishment.

But what, alas! is it to us,Whether i' th' Moon men thus or thusDo eat their Porridge, cut their corns,Or whether they have tails or horns?What trade from thence can you advance,But what we nearer have from France?What can our travellers bring home,That is not to be learnt at Rome?What politicks, or strange opinions,That are not in our own dominions?What science can he brought from thence,In which we do not here commence?What revelations, or religions,That are not in our native regions?Are sweating lanthorns, or screen-fans,Made better there than th' are in France?Or do they teach to sing and playO' th' gittar there a newer way?Can they make plays there, that shall fitThe public humour, with less wit?Write wittier dances, quainter shows,Or fight with more ingenious blows?Or does the man i' th' moon look big,And wear a huger perriwig,Shew in his gait or face more tricks,Than our own native lunaticks?And if w' out-do him here at home,What good of your design can come?As wind i' th' hypocondries pent,Is but a blast if downward sent,But if it upward chance to fly,Becomes new Light and ProphecySo when your speculations tendAbove their just and useful end,Although they promise strange and greatDiscoveries of things far set,They are but idle dreams and fancies,And savour strongly of the ganzas.Tell me but what's the natural cause,Why on a sign no painter drawsThe full moon ever, but the half;Resolve that with your JACOB's staff;Or why wolves raise a hubbub at her,And dogs howl when she shines in water;And I shall freely give my vote,You may know something more remote.

At this deep SIDROPHEL look'd wise,And staring round with owl-like eyes,He put his face into a postureOf sapience, and began to bluster:For having three times shook his headTo stir his wit up, thus he saidArt has no mortal enemies,Next ignorance, but owls and geese;Those consecrated geese in orders,That to the Capitol were warders;And being then upon patrol,With noise alone beat off the Gaul:Or those Athenian Sceptic owls,That will not credit their own souls;Or any science understand,Beyond the reach of eye or hand;But meas'ring all things by their ownKnowledge, hold nothing's to be knownThose wholesale criticks, that in coffee-Houses cry down all philosophy,And will not know upon what groundIn nature we our doctrine found,Altho' with pregnant evidenceWe can demonstrate it to sense,As I just now have done to you,Foretelling what you came to know.Were the stars only made to lightRobbers and burglarers by night?To wait on drunkards, thieves, gold-finders,And lovers solacing behind doors,Or giving one another pledgesOf matrimony under hedges?Or witches simpling, and on gibbetsCutting from malefactors snippets?Or from the pillory tips of earsOf Rebel-Saints and perjurers?Only to stand by, and look on,But not know what is said or done?Is there a constellation there,That was not born and bred up here?And therefore cannot be to learnIn any inferior concern.Were they not, during all their lives,Most of 'em pirates, whores and thieves;And is it like they have not stillIn their old practices some skillIs there a planet that by birthDoes not derive its house from earth?And therefore probably must know,What is and hath been done below.Who made the Balance, or whence cameThe Bull, the Lion, and the Ram?Did not we here the Argo rig,Make BERENICE's periwig?Whose liv'ry does the Coachman wear?Or who made Cassiopeia's chair?And therefore, as they came from hence,With us may hold intelligence.PLATO deny'd the world can beGovern'd without geometree,(For money b'ing the common scaleOf things by measure, weight, and tale,In all th' affairs of Church and State,'Tis both the balance and the weight;)Then much less can it be withoutDivine Astrology made out;That puts the other down in worth,As far as Heav'n's above the earth.

These reasons (quoth the Knight) I grantAre something more significantThan any that the learned useUpon this subject to produce;And yet th' are far from satisfactory,T' establish and keep up your factory.Th' Egyptians say, the Sun has twiceShifted his setting and his riseTwice has he risen in the west,As many times set in the east;But whether that be true or no,The Dev'l any of you know.Some hold the heavens like a top,And kept by circulation. up;And, were't not for their wheeling round,They'd instantly fall to the ground:As sage EMPEDOCLES of old,And from him modern authors hold.PLATO believ'd the Sun and MoonBelow all other Planets run.Some MERCURY, some VENUS, seatAbove the Sun himself in height.The learned SCALIGER complain'd,Gainst what COPERNICUS maintain'd,That, in twelve hundred years and odd,The Sun had left its ancient road,And nearer to time earth is come'Bove fifty thousand miles from home:Swore 'twas a most notorious flam;And he that had so little shameTo vent such fopperies abroad,Deserv'd to have his rump well claw'd;Which Monsieur BODIN hearing, sworeThat he deserv'd the rod much more,That durst upon a truth give doom;He knew less than the Pope of Rome.CARDAN believ'd great states dependUpon the tip o' th' Bear's tail's end;That, as she whisk'd it t'wards the Sun,Strow'd mighty empires up and down;Which others say must needs be false,Because your true bears have no tails.Some say the Zodiack ConstellationsHave long since chang'd their antique stationsAbove a sign, and prove the sameIn Taurus now once in the Ram;Affirm the trigons chop'd and chang'd,The wat'ry with the fiery rang'd:Then how can their effects still holdTo be the same they were of old?This, though the art were true, would makeOur modern soothsayers mistake:And in one cause they tell more lies,In figures and nativities,Than th' old Chaldean conjurersIn so many hundred thousand yearsBeside their nonsense in translating,For want of accidence and Latin,Like Idus, and Calendae, EnglishtThe quarter-days by skilful linguist;And yet with canting, sleight and, cheat,'Twill serve their turn to do the feat;Make fools believe in their foreseeingOf things before they are in beingTo swallow gudgeons ere th' are catch'd;And count their chickens ere th' are hatch'dMake them the constellations prompt,And give 'em back their own accomptBut still the best to him that givesThe best price for't, or best believes.Some towns and cities, some, for brevity,Have cast the 'versal world's nativity,And made the infant-stars confess,Like fools or children, what they please.Some calculate the hidden fatesOf monkeys, puppy-dogs, and catsSome running-nags and fighting cocks,Some love, trade, law-suits, and the pox;Some take a measure of the livesOf fathers, mothers, husbands, wives;Make opposition, trine, and quartile,Tell who is barren, and who fertile;As if the planet's first aspectThe tender infant did infectIn soul and body, and instillAll future good, and future ill;Which, in their dark fatalities lurking,At destin'd periods fall a working;And break out, like the hidden seedsOf long diseases, into deeds,In friendships, enmities, and strife,And all the emergencies of life.No sooner does he peep intoThe world, but he has done his do;Catch'd all diseases, took all physickThat cures or kills a man that is sick;Marry'd his punctual dose of wives;Is cuckolded, and breaks or thrives.There's but the twinkling of a starBetween a man of peace and war;A thief and justice, fool and knave,A huffing officer and a slave;A crafty lawyer and a pick-pocket,A great philosopher and a blockhead;A formal preacher and a player,A learn'd physician and manslayer.As if men from the stars did suckOld age, diseases, and ill-luck,Wit, folly, honour, virtue, vice,Trade, travel, women, claps, and dice;And draw, with the first air they breathe,Battle and murder, sudden death.Are not these fine commoditiesTo be imported from the skies,And vended here amongst the rabble,For staple goods and warrantable?Like money by the Druids borrow'd,In th' other world to be restor'd?

Quoth SIDROPHEL, To let you knowYou wrong the art, and artists too,Since arguments are lost on thoseThat do our principles oppose,I will (although I've done't before)Demonstrate to your sense once more,And draw a figure, that shall tell youWhat you, perhaps, forget befel you,By way of horary inspection,Which some account our worst erection.With that he circles draws, and squares,With cyphers, astral characters;Then looks 'em o'er, to und'erstand 'em,Although set down hob-nab, at random.Quoth he, This scheme of th' heavens set,Discovers how in fight you metAt Kingston with a may-pole idol,And that y' were bang'd both back and side well;And though you overcame the bear,The dogs beat you at Brentford fair;Where sturdy butchers broke your noddle,And handled you like a fop-doodle.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, I now perceiveYou are no conj'rer, by your leave;That paultry story is untrue,And forg'd to cheat such gulls as you.

Not true? quoth he; howe'er you vapour,I can what I affirm make appear.WHACHUM shall justify't t' your face,And prove he was upon the place.He play'd the Saltinbancho's part,Transform'd t' a Frenchman by my artHe stole your cloak, and pick'd your pocket,Chows'd and caldes'd ye like a blockhead:And what you lost I can produce,If you deny it, here i' th' house.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, I do believeThat argument's demonstrative.RALPHO, bear witness; and go fetch usA constable to seize the wretchesFor though th' are both false knaves and cheats,Impostors, jugglers, counterfeits,I'll make them serve for perpendicularsAs true as e'er were us'd by bricklayers.They're guilty, by their own confessions,Of felony, and at the sessions,Upon the bench, I will so handle 'em,That the vibration of this pendulumShalt make all taylors yards of oneUnanimous opinion,A thing he long has vapour'd of,But now shall wake it out of proof.

Quoth SIDROPHEL, I do not doubtTo find friends that will bear me out,Nor have I hazarded my art,And neck, so long on the state's part,To be expos'd i' th' end to sufferBy such a braggadocio huffer.

Huffer! quoth HUDIBRAS: this swordShall down thy false throat craw that word.RALPHO, make haste, and call an officer,To apprehend this Stygian sophister,Meanwhile I'll hold 'em at a bay,Lest he and WHACHUM run away.

But SIDROPHEL who, from the aspectOf HUDIBRAS did now erectA figure worse portenting farThan that of a malignant star,Believ'd it now the fittest momentTo shun the danger that might come on't,While HUDIBRAS was all alone,And he and WHACHUM, two to one.This being resolv'd, he spy'd, by chance,Behind the door, an iron lance,That many a sturdy limb had gor'd,And legs, and loins, and shoulders bor'd:He snatch'd it up, and made a pass,To make his way through HUDIBRAS.WHACHUM had got a fire-fork,With which he vow'd to do his work.But HUDIBRAS was well prepar'd,And stoutly stood upon his guard:He put by SIDROPHELLO'S thrust,And in right manfully he rusht;The weapon from his gripe he wrung,And laid him on the earth along.WHACHUM his sea-coal prong threw by,And basely turn'd his back to flyBut HUDIBRAS gave him a twitchAs quick as light'ning in the breech,Just in the place where honour's lodg'd,As wise philosophers have judg'd;Because a kick in that place moreHurts honour than deep wounds before.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, The stars determineYou are my prisoners, base vermine!Could they not tell you so as wellAs what I came to know foretell?By this what cheats you are we find,That in your own concerns are blind.Your lives are now at my dispose,To be redeem'd by fine or blows:But who his honour wou'd defile,To take or sell two lives so vile?I'll give you quarter; but your pillage,The conq'ring warrior's crop and tillage,Which with his sword he reaps and plows,That's mine, the law of arms allows.

This said, in haste, in haste he fellTo rummaging of SIDROPHEL.First, he expounded both his pockets,And found a watch, with rings and lockets,Which had been left with him t' erectA figure for, and so detect;A copper-plate, with almanacksEngrav'd upon't; with other knacks,Of BOOKER's LILLY's, SARAH JIMMERS',And blank-schemes to discover nimmers;A moon-dial, with Napier's bones,And sev'ral constellation stones,Engrav'd in planetary hours,That over mortals had strange powersTo make 'em thrive in law or trade,And stab or poison to evade;In wit or wisdom to improve,And be victorious in love,WHACHUM had neither cross nor pile;His plunder was not worth the while;All which the conq'rer did discompt,To pay for curing of his rump.But SIDROPHEL, as full of tricksAs Rota-men of politicks,Straight cast about to over-reachTh' unwary conqu'ror with a fetch,And make him clad (at least) to quitHis victory, and fly the pit,Before the Secular Prince of DarknessArriv'd to seize upon his carcass?And as a fox, with hot pursuitChac'd thro' a warren, casts aboutTo save his credit, and amongDead vermin on a gallows hung,And while the dogs run underneath,Escap'd (by counterfeiting death)Not out of cunning, but a trainOf atoms justling in his brain,As learn'd philosophers give out,So SIDROPHELLO cast about,And fell to's wonted trade again,To feign himself in earnest slain:First stretch'd out one leg, than another,And seeming in his breath to smotherA broken sigh; quoth he, Where am I,Alive or dead? or which way came I,Through so immense a space so soonBut now I thought myself in th' MoonAnd that a monster with huge whiskers,More formidable than a Switzer's,My body through and through had drill'd,And WHACHUM by my side had kill'd:Had cross-examin'd both our hose,And plunder'd all we had to lose.Look, there he is; I see him now,And feel the place I am run through:And there lies WHACHUM by my sideStone dead, and in his own blood dy'd.Oh! Oh! with that he fetch'd a groan,And fell again into a swoon;Shut both his eyes, and stopp'd his breath,And to the life out-acted death;That HUDIBRAS, to all appearing,Believ'd him to be dead as herring.He held it now no longer safeTo tarry the return of RALPH,But rather leave him in the lurch:Thought he, he has abus'd our Church,Refus'd to give himself one firkTo carry on the publick work;Despis'd our Synod-men like dirt,And made their discipline his sport;Divulg'd the secrets of their classes,And their conventions prov'd high places;Disparag'd their tythe-pigs as Pagan,And set at nought their cheese and bacon;Rail'd at their Covenant, and jeer'dTheir rev'rend parsons to my beard:For all which scandals, to be quitAt once, this juncture falls out fit,I'll make him henceforth to beware,And tempt my fury, if he dare.He must at least hold up his hand,By twelve freeholders to be scann'd;Who, by their skill in palmistry,Will quickly read his destiny;And make him glad to read his lesson,Or take a turn for it at the session;Unless his Light and Gifts prove truerThen ever yet they did, I'm sure;For if he scape with whipping now,'Tis more than he can hope to do;And that will disengage my conscienceOf th' obligation in his own sense,I'll make him now by force abideWhat he by gentle means deny'd,To give my honour satisfaction,And right the Brethren in the action.This being resolv'd, with equal speedAnd conduct he approach'd his steed,And with activity unwont,Assay'd the lofty beast to mount;Which once atchiev'd, he spurr'd his palfrey,To get from th' enemy, and RALPH, freeLeft dangers, fears, and foes behind,And beat, at least three lengths, the wind.