Part III: An Heroical Epistle of Hudibras to His Lady

I who was once as great as CAESAR,Am now reduc'd to NEBUCHADNEZZAR;And from as fam'd a conquerorAs ever took degree in war,Or did his exercise in battle,By you turn'd out to grass with cattle:For since I am deny'd accessTo all my earthly happinessAm fallen from the paradiseOf your good graces, and fair eyes;Lost to the world, and you, I'm sentTo everlasting banishment;Where all the hopes I had t' have wonYour heart, b'ing dash'd, will break my own.

Yet if you were not so severeTo pass your doom before you hear,You'd find, upon my just defence,How much y' have wrong'd my innocence.That once I made a vow to you,Which yet is unperformed, 'tis true:But not because it is unpaid,'Tis violated, though delay'd;Or, if it were, it is no fau't,So heinous as you'd have it thought;To undergo the loss of ears,Like vulgar hackney perjurersFor there's a diff'rence in the case,Between the noble and the base,Who always are observ'd t' have done'tUpon as different an account:The one for great and weighty cause,To salve in honour ugly flaws;For none are like to do it soonerThan those who are nicest of their honour:The other, for base gain and pay,Forswear, and perjure by the day;And make th' exposing and retailingTheir souls and consciences a calling.

It is no scandal, nor aspersion,Upon a great and noble person,To say he nat'rally abhorr'dTh' old-fashion'd trick, To keep his word;Though 'tis perfidiousness and shameIn meaner men to do the same:For to be able to forget,Is found more useful to the great,Than gout, or deafness, or bad eyes,To make 'em pass for wond'rous wise.But though the law on perjurersInflicts the forfeiture of ears,It is not just that does exemptThe guilty, and punish th' innocent;To make the ears repair the wrongCommitted by th' ungovern'd tongue;And when one member is forsworn,Another to be cropt or torn.And if you shou'd, as you design,By course of law, recover mine,You're like, if you consider right,To gain but little honour by't.For he that for his lady's sakeLays down his life or limbs at stake,Does not so much deserve her favour,As he that pawns his soul to have her,This y' have acknowledg'd I have done,Although you now disdain to own;But sentence what you rather oughtT' esteem good service than a fau't.Besides, oaths are not bound to bearThat literal sense the words infer,But, by the practice of the age,Are to be judg'd how far th' engage;And, where the sense by custom's checkt,Are found void, and of none effect.For no man takes or keeps a vowBut just as he sees others do;Nor are th' oblig'd to be so brittle,As not to yield and bow a little:For as best-temper'd blades are found,Before they break, to bend quite round,So truest oaths are still most tough,And though they bow, are breaking proof.Then wherefore should they not b' allow'dIn love a greater latitude?For as the law of arms approvesAll ways to conquest, so should love's;And not be ty'd to true or false,But make that justest that prevailsFor how can that which is aboveAll empire, high and mighty love,Submit its great prerogativeTo any other power alive?Shall love, that to no crown gives place,Become the subject of a case?The fundamental law of nature,Be over-rul'd by those made after?Commit the censure of its causeTo any but its own great laws?Love, that's the world's preservative,That keeps all souls of things alive;Controuls the mighty pow'r of fate,And gives mankind a longer date;The life of nature, that restoresAs fast as time and death devours;To whose free-gift the world does owe,Not only earth, but heaven too;For love's the only trade that's driven,The interest of state in heav'n,Which nothing but the soul of manIs capable to entertain.For what can earth produce, but loveTo represent the joys above?Or who but lovers can converse,Like angels, by the eye-discourse?Address and compliment by vision;Make love and court by intuition?And burn in amorous flames as fierceAs those celestial ministers?Then how can any thing offend,In order to so great an end?Or heav'n itself a sin resent,That for its own supply was meant?That merits, in a kind mistake,A pardon for th' offence's sake.Or if it did not, but the causeWere left to th' injury at laws,What tyranny can disapproveThere should be equity in love;For laws that are inanimate,And feel no sense of love or hate,That have no passion of their own,Nor pity to be wrought upon,Are only proper to inflictRevenge on criminals as strictBut to have power to forgive,Is empire and prerogative;And 'tis in crowns a nobler gemTo grant a pardon than condemn.Then since so few do what they ought,'Tis great t' indulge a well-meant fau't.For why should he who made address,All humble ways, without success,And met with nothing, in return,But insolence, affronts, and scorn,Not strive by wit to countermine,And bravely carry his design?He who was us'd so unlike a soldier,Blown up with philters of love-powder?And after letting blood, and purging,Condemn'd to voluntary scourging;Alarm'd with many a horrid fright,And claw'd by goblins in the night;Insulted on, revil'd, and jeer'd,With rude invasion of his beard;And when your sex was foully scandal'd,As foully by the rabble handled;Attack'd by despicable foes,And drub'd with mean and vulgar blows;And, after all, to be debarr'dSo much as standing on his guard;When horses, being spurr'd and prick'd,Have leave to kick for being kick'd?

Or why should you, whose mother-witsAre furnish'd with all perquisites,That with your breeding-teeth begin,And nursing babies, that lie in,B' allow'd to put all tricks uponOur cully sex, and we use none?We, who have nothing but frail vowsAgainst your stratagems t' oppose;Or oaths more feeble than your own,By which we are no less put down?You wound, like Parthians, while you fly,And kill with a retreating eye:Retire the more, the more we pressTo draw us into ambushes.As pirates all false colours wearT' intrap th' unwary mariner,So women, to surprise us, spreadThe borrow'd flags of white and red;Display 'em thicker on their cheeksThan their old grandmothers, the Picts;And raise more devils with their looks,Than conjurer's less subtle books;Lay trains of amorous intrigues,In tow'rs, and curls, and perriwigs,With greater art and cunning rear'd,Than PHILIP NYE's thanksgiving beard,Prepost'rously t' entice, and gainThose to adore 'em they disdain;And only draw 'em in, to clogWith idle names a catalogue.

A lover is, the more he's brave,T' his mistress but the more a slave;And whatsoever she commands,Becomes a favour from her hands;Which he's obliged t' obey, and must,Whether it be unjust or just.Then when he is compell'd by herT' adventures he would else forbear,Who with his honour can withstand,Since force is greater than command?And when necessity's obey'd,Nothing can be unjust or badAnd therefore when the mighty pow'rsOf love, our great ally and yours,Join'd forces not to be withstoodBy frail enamour'd flesh and blood,All I have done, unjust or ill,Was in obedience to your will;And all the blame that can be due,Falls to your cruelty and you.Nor are those scandals I confest,Against my will and interest,More than is daily done of courseBy all men, when they're under force;When some upon the rack confessWhat th' hangman and their prompters please;But are no sooner out of pain,Than they deny it all again.But when the Devil turns confessor,Truth is a crime he takes no pleasureTo hear, or pardon, like the founderOf liars, whom they all claim underAnd therefore, when I told him none,I think it was the wiser done.Nor am I without precedent,The first that on th' adventure wentAll mankind ever did of course,And daily dues the same, or worse.For what romance can show a lover,That had a lady to recover,And did not steer a nearer course,To fall a-board on his amours?And what at first was held a crime,Has turn'd to honourable in time.

To what a height did infant ROME,By ravishing of women, comeWhen men upon their spouses seiz'd,And freely marry'd where they pleas'd,They ne'er forswore themselves, nor ly'd.Nor, in the mind they were in, dy'd;Nor took the pains t' address and sue,Nor play'd the masquerade to woo;Disdain'd to stay for friends' consents;Nor juggled about settlements:Did need no license, nor no priest,Nor friends, nor kindred, to assist;Nor lawyers, to join land and moneyIn th' holy state of matrimony,Before they settled hands and hearts,Till alimony or death them parts:Nor wou'd endure to stay untilTh' had got the very bride's good will;But took a wise and shorter courseTo win the ladies, downright force.And justly made 'em prisoners then,As they have often since, us men,With acting plays, and dancing jigs,The luckiest of all love's intrigues;And when they had them at their pleasure,Then talk'd of love and flames at leisure;For after matrimony's over,He that holds out but half a lover,Deserves for ev'ry minute moreThan half a year of love before;For which the dames in contemplationOf that best way of application,Prov'd nobler wives than e'er was known,By suit or treaty to be won;And such as all posterityCou'd never equal nor come nigh.

For women first were made for men,Not men for them. -- It follows, then,That men have right to ev'ry one,And they no freedom of their ownAnd therefore men have pow'r to chuse,But they no charter to refuse.Hence 'tis apparent, that what courseSoe'er we take to your amours,Though by the indirectest way,'Tis no injustice, nor foul play;And that you ought to take that course,As we take you, for better or worse;And gratefully submit to thoseWho you, before another, chose.For why should ev'ry savage beastExceed his great lord's interest?Have freer pow'r than he in grace,And nature, o'er the creature has?Because the laws he since has madeHave cut off all the pow'r he had;Retrench'd the absolute dominionThat nature gave him over women;When all his pow'r will not extendOne law of nature to suspend;And but to offer to repealThe smallest clause, is to rebel.This, if men rightly understoodTheir privilege, they wou'd make good;And not, like sots, permit their wivesT' encroach on their prerogatives;For which sin they deserve to beKept, as they are, in slavery:And this some precious Gifted Teachers,Unrev'rently reputed leachers,And disobey'd in making love,Have vow'd to all the world to prove,And make ye suffer, as you ought,For that uncharitable fau't.But I forget myself, and roveBeyond th' instructions of my love.

Forgive me (Fair) and only blameTh' extravagancy of my flame,Since 'tis too much at once to showExcess of love and temper too.All I have said that's bad and true,Was never meant to aim at you,Who have so sov'reign a controulO'er that poor slave of yours, my soul,That, rather than to forfeit you,Has ventur'd loss of heaven too:Both with an equal pow'r possest,To render all that serve you blest:But none like him, who's destin'd eitherTo have, or lose you, both together.And if you'll but this fault release(For so it must be, since you please)I'll pay down all that vow, and more,Which you commanded, and I swore,And expiate upon my skinTh' arrears in full of all my sin.For 'tis but just that I should payTh' accruing penance for delay,Which shall be done, until it moveYour equal pity and your love.

The Knight, perusing this Epistle,Believ'd h' had brought her to his whistle;And read it like a jocund lover,With great applause t' himself, twice over;Subscrib'd his name, but at a fitAnd humble distance to his wit;And dated it with wond'rous art,Giv'n from the bottom of his heart;Then seal'd it with his Coat of Love,A smoaking faggot -- and above,Upon a scroll -- I burn, and weep;And near it -- For her Ladyship;Of all her sex most excellent,These to her gentle hands present.Then gave it to his faithful Squire,With lessons how t' observe and eye her.

She first consider'd which was better,To send it back, or burn the letter.But guessing that it might import,Though nothing else, at least her sport,She open'd it, and read it out,With many a smile and leering flout:Resolv'd to answer it in kind,And thus perform'd what she design'd.