Sivut kuvina



He thought upon it, and resolv'd to put
His beard into as wonderful a cut,

And, for the further service of the women,
Tabate the rigidness of his opinion;
And, but a day before, had been to find

The ablest virtuoso of the kind,
With whom he long and seriously conferr'd

Who would believe that wicked Earth,
On all intrigues that might concern his beard;

Where Nature only brings us forth
By whose advice he sate for a design

To be found guilty and forgiven,
In little drawn, exactly to a line,

Should be a nursery for Heaven;
That if the creature chance to have occasion

When all we can expect to do
To undergo a thorough reformation,

Will not pay half the debt we owe,
It might be borne conveniently about,

And yet more desperately dare,
And by the meanest artist copy'd out.

As if that wretched trifle were
This done, he sent a journeyman sectary

Too much for the eternal Powers,
He 'ad brought up to retrieve, and fetch, and carry, Not only slight what they enjoin,

Our great and mighty creditors,
To find out one that had the greatest practice,
To prune and bleach the beards of all fanatics, But pay it in adulterate coin?
And set their most confus'd disorders right,

We only in their mercy trust,
Not by a new design, but newer light;

To be more wicked and unjust;
Who usd to shave the grandees of their sticklers,

All our devotions, vows, and prayers,
And crop the worthies of their conventiclers;

Are our own interest, not theirs ;
To whom he show'd his new-invented draught,

Our offerings, when we come t'adore,
And told him how 'twas to be copy'd out.

But begging presents to get more ;
Quoth he, “ Tis but a false and counterfeit,

The purest business of our zeal
And scandalous device of human wit,

Is but to err, by meaning well,
That 's abs'lutely forbidden in the Scripture,

And make that meaning do more harm
To make of any carnal thing the picture.”

Than our worst deeds, that are less warm;
Quoth th' other saint, “You must leave that to us, For the most wretched and perverse

Does not believe himself he errs.
Tagree what 's lawful, or what scandalous ,
For, till it is determind by our vote,

Our holiest actions have been

Th' effects of wickedness and sin;
"Tis either lawful, scandalous, or not:
Which, since we have not yet agreed upon,

Religious houses made compounders
Is left indifferent to avoid or own.”

For th' horrid actions of the founders;
Quoth he, “ My conscience never shall agree

Steeples that totter'd in the air,
To do it, till I know what 'tis to be;

By letchers sinn'd into repair ;

As if we had retain'd no sign
For though I use it in a lawful time,
What if it after should be made a crime?

Nor character of the divine
« Tis true we fought for liberty of conscience,

And heavenly part of human nature,
'Gainst human constitutions, in our own sense,

But only the coarse earthy matter.
Which I'm resolv'd perpetually tavow,
And make it lawful whatsoe'er we do;

other little sketches upon the same subject, but
Then do your office with your greatest skill,

none wortli printing, except the following one may And let th' event befal us how it will."

be thought passable, by way of note.
This said, the nice barbarian took his tools, This reverend brother, like a goat,
To prune the zealot's tenets and his jowles ;

Did wear a tail upon his throat,
Talk'd on as pertinently as he snipt,

The fringe and tassel of a face,
A hundred times for every hair he clipt;

That gives it a becoming grace,
Until the Beard at length began t'appear,

But set in such a curious frame,
And reassume its antique character,

As if 'twere wrought in filograin,
Grew more and more itself, that art might strive, And cut so even, as if 't had been
And stand in competition with the life;

Drawn with a pen upon his chin.
For some have doubted if 'twere made of snips No topiary hedge of quickset
Of sables, glew'd and fitted to his lips,

Was e'er so neatly cut or thick set,
And set in such an artificial frame,

That made beholders more admire,
As if it had been wrought in filograin,

Than China-plate that 's made of wire ;
More subtly fil'd and polish'd than the gin

But being wrought so regular
That Vulcan caught himself a cuckold in;

In every part, and every hair,
That Lachesis, that spins the threads of Fate, Who would believe it should be portal
Could not have drawn it out more delicate.

To unconforming-inward mortal?
But being design'd and drawn so regular,

And yet it was, and did dissent
To a scrupulous punctilio of a hair,

No less from its own government,
Who could imagine that it should be portal

Than from the church's, and detest
To selfish, inward-unconforming mortal ?

That which it held forth and profest;
And yet it was, and did abominate

Did equally abominate
The least compliance in the church or state, Conformity in church and state;
And from itself did equally dissent,

And, like an hypocritic brother,
As from religion and the government :

Profess'd one thing and did another;

As all things, where they 're most profest, ? I find among Butler's manuscripts several Are found to be regarded least.

Our universal inclination

Hence bloody wars at first began, Tends to the worst of our creation;

The artificial plantie of man, As if the stars conspir'd t'imprint,

That from his own invention rise, In our whole species, by instinct,

To scourge his own iniquities; A fatal brand and signature

That, if the heavens should chance to spare Of nothing else but the impure.

Supplies of constant poisond air, The best of all our actions tend

They miglit not, with unfit delay, To the preposterousest end,

For lingering destruction stav; And, like to mongrels, we 're inclin'd

Nor seek recruits of Death so far, To take most to th’ ignobler kind;

But plague themselves with blood and war. Or monsters, that have always least

And if these fail, there is no goodi Of th' human parent, not the beast.

Kind Nature e'er on man bestow'd, Hence 'tis we 've no regard at all

But he can easily divert Of our best half original;

To his own misery and hurt; But, when they differ, still assert

Make that which Hearen meant to bless The interest of th' ignobler part;

Th' ungrateful world with, gentle Peace, Spend all the tiine we have upon

With luxury and excess, as fast The vain capriches of the one,

As war and desolation, waste; But grudge to spare one hour to know

Promote mortality, and kill, What to the better part we owe.

As fast as arms, by sitting still; As, in all compound substances,

Like earthquakes, slay without a blow, The greater still devours the less;

And, only moving, overthrow; So, being born and bred up near

Make law and equity as dear Our earthy gross relations here,

As plunder and free-quarter were, Far from the ancient nobler place

Aud fierce encounters at the bar. Of all our high paternal race,

Undo as fast as those in war; We now degenerate, and grow

Enrich bawds, whores, and usurers, As barbarous, and mean, and low,

Pimps, scriveners, silenc'd ministers, As modern Grecians are, and worse,

That get estates by being undone To their brave nobler ancestors.

For tender conscience, and have none. Yet, as no barbarousness beside

Like those that with their credit drive Is half so barbarous as pride,

A trade, without a stock, and thrive; Nor any prouder insolence

Advance men in the church and state Than that which has the least pretence,

For being of the meanest rate, We are so wretched to profess

Rais'd for their double-guild deserts, A glory in our wretchedness;

Before integrity and parts; To vapour sillily, and rant,

Produce more grievious complaints Of our own misery and want,

For plenty, than before for wants, And grow vain-glorious on a score

And make a rich and fruitful year We ought much rather to deplore;

A greater grievance than a dear; Who, the first moment of our lives,

Make jests of greater dangers far, Are but condemn'd, and giv'n reprieves;

Than those they trembled at in war; And our great'st grace is not to know

Till, unawares, they've lad a train When we shall pay them back, nor how;

To blow the public up again; Begotten with a vain caprich,

Rally with horrour, and, in sport, And live as vainly to that pitch.

Rebellion and destruction court, Oir pains are real things, and all

And make fanatics, in despight Our pleasures but fantastical ;

Of all their madness, reasou right, Diseases of their own accord,

And vouch to all they have foreshown, But cures come difficult and hard.

As other monsters oft have done, Our noblest piles, and stateliest rooms,

Although from truth and sense as far, Are but outhouses to our tombs;

As all their other maggots are: Cities, though e'er so great and brave,

For things said false, and never meant, But mere warehouses to the grave.

Do oft prove true by accident. Our bravery 's but a vain disguise,

That wealth, that bounteous Fortune sends To hide us from the world's dull eyes,

As presents to her dearest friends, The remedy of a defect,

Is oft laid out upon a purchase With which our nakedness is deckt;

Of two yards long in parish-churches, Yet makes us swell with pride, and boast,

And those too-happy inen that bought it As if we 'd gain'd by being lost.

Had iivd, and happier too, without it: All this is nothing to the evils

For what does rast wealth bring but cheat, Which men, and their confederate devils,

Law, luxury, discase, and debt; Inflict, to aggravate the curse

Pain, pleasure, discontent, and sport,
On their own hated kind much worse;"

An easy-troubled life, and short'?
As if by Nature they 'd been serv'd
More gently than their fate deserv'd,
Take pains (in justice) to invent,

'Though this satire seems fairly transcribed for And study their own punishment;

the press, yet, on a vacancy in the sheet opposite That, as their crimes should greater grow,

to this line, I find the following verses, which pruSo might their owu inflictions too.

bably were intended to be added; but as they are

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20) But all these plagues are nothing near

Is lost in both, and breaks his blade Those, far more cruel and severe,

Upon the anvil where 'twas made: Unhappy man takes pains to find,

For, as abortions cost more pain T'inflict himself upon his mind :

Than vigorous births, so all the vain And out of his own bowels spins

And weak productions of man's wit, A rack and torture for his sins;

That aim at purposes unfit, Torments himself in vain, to know

Require more drudgery, and worse,
That most which he can never do;

Than those of strong and lively force.
And, the more strictly 'tis deny'd,
The more he is unsatisfy'd ;
Is busy in finding scruples out,
To languish in eternal doubt;

Sees spectres in the dark, and ghosts,
And starts, as horses do at posts,
And, when his eyes assist him least,

Discerns such subtle objects best.
On hypothetic dreams and visions

Tis a strange age we've liv'd in, and a lewd, Grounds everlasting disquisitions,

As e'er the Sun in all his travels view'd; And raises endless controversies

An age as vile as ever Justice urg'd, On vulgar theorems and hearsays;

Like a fantastic letcher, to be scourg'd; Grows positive and confident,

Nor has it scap'd, and yet has only learn'd, In things so far beyond th' extent

The more 'tis plagued, to be the less concern'd. Of human sense, he does not know

Twice have we seen two dreadtil judgments rage, Whether they be at all or no,

Enough to fright the stubborn'st-hearted age; And doubts as much in things that are

The one to mow vast crowds of people down, As plainly evident and clear;

The other (as then needless) half the town; Disdains all useful sense, and plain,

And two as mighty miracles restore T'apply to th' intricate and vain;

What both had ruin'd and destroy'd before; And cracks his brains in plodding on

In all as unconcern'd, as if they 'ad been That, which is never to be known;

But pastimes for diversion to be seen, .To pose himself with subtleties,

Or, like the plagues of Egypt, meant a curse, And hold no other knowledge wise;

Not to reclaim us, but to make us worse. [head) Although, the subtler all things are,

Twice have men turn'd the World (that silly blockThey 're but to nothing the more near;

The wrong side outward, like a juggler's pocket, And, the less weight they can sustain,

Shook ont hypocrisy as fast and loose The more he still lays on in vain,

As e'er the Devil could teach, or sinners use, And hangs his soul upon as nice

And on the other side at once put in And subtle curiosities,

As impotent iniquity and sin. As oue of that vast multitude,

As sculls that have been crack'd are often found That on a needle's point have stood ;

Upon the wrong side to receive the wound; Weighs right and wrong, and true and false, And like tobacco-pipes at one end hit, l'pon as nice and subtle scales,

To break at th other still that 's opposite: As those that turn upon a plane

So men, who one extravagance would shun, With th' hundredth part of half a grain,

Into the contrary extreme have run; And still the subtler they move,

And all the difference is, that, as the first The sooner false and useless prove.

Provokes the other freak to prove the worst, So man, that thinks to force and strain,

So, in return, that strives to render less Beyond its natural sphere, his brain,

The last delusion, with its own excess, In vain torments it on the rack,

And, like two unskill'd gamesters, use one way, And, for improving, sets it back;

With bungling t' help out one another's play. Is ignorant of his own extent,

For those who heretofore sought private holes, And that to which his aims are bent;

Secure in the dark to damn their souls,

Wore vizards of hypocrisy to steal not regularly inserted, I choose rather to give them Now bring their crimes into the open Sun,

And slink away in masquerade to Hell, by way of note.

For all mankind to gaze their worst upon, For men ne'er digg'd so deep into

As eagles try their young against his rays, The bowels of the Earth below,

To prove if they ’re of generous breed or base; Por metals, that are found to dwell

Call Heaven and Earth to witness how they've aim'd, Near neighbour to the pit of Hell,

With all their utmost vigour, to be damn'd, And have a magic power to sway

And by their own examples, in the view The greedy souls of men that way,

Of all the world, striv'd to damn others too; But with their bodies have been fain

On all occasions sought to be as civil To fill those trenches up again;

As possible they could this grace the Devil, When bloody battles have been fought

To give him no unnecessary trouble, For sharing that which they took out:

Nor in small matters use a friend so noble, Por wealth is all things that conduce

But with their constant practice done their best To man's destruction or his use;

T'improve and propagate his interest: A standard both to buy and sell

For men have now made vice so great an art, All things from Heaven down to Hell.

The matter of fact 's become the slightest part;

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And the debauched'st actions they can do, For just so much regard as men express
Mere trilles to the circumstance and show.

To th' censure of the public, more or less,
For 'tis not what they do that 's now the sin, The same will be return'd to them again,
But what they lewdly affect and glory in.

In shame or reputation, to a grain ; As if preposterously they would profess

And, how perverse soe'er the world appears, A forc'd hypocrisy of wickedness,

"Tis just to all the bad it sees and hears,
And affectation, that makes good things bad, And for that virtue strives to be allow'd
Must make affected shame accurs'd and mad; For all the injuries it does the good.
For vices for themselves may find excuse,

How silly were their sages heretofore,
But never for their compliment and shews; To fright their heroes with a siren whore!
That if there ever were a mystery

Make them believe a water-witch, with charms, Of moral secular iniquity,

Could sink their men of war as easy as storms, And that the churches may not lose their due And turn their mariners, that heard them sing, Ky being encroach'd upon, 'tis now, and new : Into land-porpusses, and cod and ling; For men are now as scrupulous and nice,

To terrify those mighty champions, And tender-conscienc'd of low paltry vice,

As we do children now with Bloodybones; Disdain as proudly to be thought to have

Until the subtlest of their conjurers To do in any mischief but the brave,

Seal'd up the labels to his soul, his ears, As the most scrupulous zealot of late times And ty'd his deafen'd sailors (while he pass'd T appear in any but the horrid'st crimes; The dreadful lady's lodgings) to the mast, Have as precise and strict punctilios

And rather venture drowning, than to wrong Now to appear, as then to make no shows, The sea-pugs' chaste ears with a bawdy song: And steer the world, by disagreeing force

To b' out of countenance, and, like an ass, Of different customs, 'gainst her natural course: Not pledge the lady Circe one beer-glass; So powerful 's ill Example to encroach,

Unmannerly refuse her treat and wine, And Nature, spite of all her laws, debauch, For fear of being turn'd into a swine, Example, that imperious dictator,

When one of our heroic adventurers now Of all that 's good or bad to human nature, Would drink her down, and turn her int' a sow! By which the world's corrupted and reclaim'd, So simple were those times, when a grave sage Hopes to be sav'd, and studies to be damn'd; Could with an old wife's tale instruct the age, That reconciles all contrarieties,

Teach virtue more fantastic ways and nice, Makes wisdom foolishness, and folly wise,

Than ours will now endure t'improve in vice; Imposes on divinity, and sets

Made a dull sentence, and a moral fable, Her seal alike on truths and counterfeits;

Do more than all our holdings-forth are able, Alters all characters of virtue and vice,

A forc'd obscure mythology convince, And passes one for th’ other in disguise ;

Beyond our worst inflictions upon sins; Makes all things, as it pleases, understood, When an old proverb, or an end of verse, The good receiv'd for bad, and bad for good; Could more than all our penal laws coerce, That slyly counterchanges wrong and right, And keep men honester than all our furies Like white in fields of black, and black in white; Of jailors, judges, constables, and juries; As if the laws of Nature had been made

Who were converted then with an old saying, Of purpose only to be disobey'd ;

Better than all our preaching now, and praying. Or man had lost his mighty interest,

What fops had these been, had they liv'd with us, By having been distinguish'd from a beast ; Where the best reason 's made ridiculous, And had no other way but sin and vice,

And all the plain and sober things we say, To be restor'd again to Paradise.

By raillery are put beside their play? How copious is our language lately grown, For men are grown above all knowledge now, To make blaspheming wit, and a jargon !

And what they 're ignorant of disdain to know; And yet how expressive and significant,

Engross truth (like fanatics) underhand, In damme, at once to curse, and swear, and rant! And boldly judge before they understand; As if no way express'd men's souls so well, The self-same courses equally advance, As damning of them to the pit of Hell ;

In spiritual and carnal ignorance, Nor any asseveration were so civil,

And, by the same degrees of confidence, As mortgaging salvation to the Devil;

Become impregnable against all sense ; Or that his name did add a charming grace, For, as they outgrew ordinances then, And blasphemy a purity to our phrase.

So would they now morality again. For what can any language more enrich,

Though Drudgery and Knowledge are of kin, Than to pay souls for viciating speech;

And both descended from one parent, Sin, When the great'st tyrant in the world made those And therefore seldom have been known to part, But lick their words out that abus'd his prose ? In tracing out the ways of Truth and Art,

What trivial punishments did then protect Yet they have north-west passages to steer, To public censure a profound respect,

A short way to it, without pains or care: When the most shameful penance, and severe, For, as implicit faith is far more stiff That could b'inflicted on a cavalier,

Than that which understands its own belief, For infamous debauchery, was no worse

So those that think, and do but think they know, Than but to be degraded from his horse,

Are far more obstinate than those that do, And have his livery of oats and hay,

And more averse than if they 'ad ne'er been taught Instead of cutting spurs off, tak’n away?

A wrong way, to a right one to be brought; They held no torture then so great as shame, Take boldness upon credit beforehand, And that to slay was less than to defame;

And grow too positive to understand ;

Believe themselves as knowing and as famous, But strive to ruin and destroy
As if their gifts had gotten a mandamus,

Those, that mistake it for fair play;
A bill of store to take up a degree,

That have their fulbams at command, With all the learning to it, custom-free,

Brought up to do their feats at hand;
And look as big for what they bought at court, That understand their calls and knocks,
As if they 'ad done their exercises for 't.

And how to place themselves i'th' box;
Can tell the oddses of all games,
And when to answer to their names;
And, when he conjures them t' appear,

Like imps, are ready every where;

When to play foul, and when run fair

(Out of design) upon the square, What fool would trouble Fortune more,

And let the greedy cully win, When she has been too kind before;

Only to draw hiin further in; Or tempt her to take back again

While those with which he idly plays What she had thrown away in vain,

Have no regard to what he says, By idly venturing her good graces

Although he jernie and blaspheme, To be dispos'd of by ames-aces ;

When they miscarry, Heaven and them, Or settling it in trust to uses

And damn his soul, and swear, and curse, Out of his power, on trays and deuces;

And crucify his Saviour worse To put it to the chance, and try,

Than those Jew-troopers, that threw out, I'th' ballot of a box and die,

When they were raftling for his coat; Whether his money be his own,

Denounce revenge, as if they heard, And Inse it, if he be o'erthrown;

And rightly understood and fear'd, As if he were betray'd, and set

And would take heed another time, By his own stars to every cheat,

How to commit so bold a crime; Or wretchedly condemn’d by Fate

When the poor bones are innocent To throw dice for his own estate;

Of all he did, or said, or meant, As mutineers, by fatal doom,

And have as little sense, almost, Do for their lives upon a drum?

As he that damns them when he 'as lost; For what less influence can produce

As if he had rey'd upon so great a monster as a chouse,

Their judgment rather than his own; Or any two-legg'd thing possess

And that it were their fault, not his, With such a brutish sottishness?

That manag'd them himself amiss, Unless those tutelary stars,

And gave them ill instructions how Intrusted by astrologers

To run, as he would have them do, To have the charge of man, combin'd

And then condemns them sillily
To use him in the self-same kind ;

For having no more wit than he !
As those that help'd them to the trust,
Are wont to deal with others just.
Por to become so sadly dull
And stupid, as to fine for gull,
(Not, as in cities, to b' excus’d,

But to be judg'd fit to be us'd)
That whosoe'er can draw it in

Great famous wit! whose rich and easy vein,
Is sure inevitably t'win,

Free, and unus'd to drudgery and pain, And, with a curs'd half-witted fate,

Has all Apollo's treasure at command, To grow more dully desperate,

And how good verse is coin'd do'st understand ; The more 'tis made a common prey,

In all Wit's combats master of defence ! And cheated foppishly at play,

Tell me, how dost thou pass on Rhyne and Sense? Is their condition; Fate betrays

'Tis said they apply to thee, and in thy verse To Folly first, and then destroys,

Do freely range themselves as volunteers, For what but miracles can serve

And without pain, or pumping for a word, So great a madness to preserve,

Place themselves fitly of their own accord. As his, that ventures goods and chattles

1, whom a loud caprich (for some great crime (Where there's no quarter given) in battles, I have committed) has condemned to rhymne, And fights with money-bags as bold,

With slavish obstinacy vex my As men with sand-bags did of old;

To reconcile thein, but, alas! in vain. Puts lands, and tenements, and stocks,

Sometimes I set my wits upon the rack, Into a paltry juggler's box;

And, when I would say white, the rerse savs black; And, like an alderman of Gotham,

When I would drug trave man to the liter Embarketh in so vile a bottom;

It names some slave, that pimps to his own wife, Engages blind and senseless hap

Mr base poltroon, that would have sold his ranginter, 'Gainst high, and low, and slur, and knap,

If he had met with any to have bought her; (As Tartars with a man of straw

When I would praise an author, the untoward Encounter lions hand to paw)

Damn'd sense says Virgil, but the rhyme —; (Howara) With those that never venture more

In fine, whate'er I strive to bring abont,
Than they had safely ensur'd before;

The contrary (spite of my heart) comes out.
Who, when they knock the box, and shakc, Sometimes, enray'd for time and pains mispent,
Do, like the Indian rattlesnake,

I give it over, tir'd, and discontent,


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