A rape that is the more inhuman For being acted by a woman.

Why are you fair, but to entice us To love you, that you may despise us? 330 But though you cannot Love, you say, Out of your own fanatick way, Why should you not at least allow Those that love you to do so too?

For, as you fly me, and pursue 330 Love more averse, so I do you; And am by your own doctrine taught To practise what you call a fau't.

Quoth she, If what you say is true, You must fly me as I do you; 340 But 'tis not what we do, but say, In love and preaching, that must sway.

Quoth he, To bid me not to love, Is to forbid my pulse to move, My beard to grow, my ears to p.r.i.c.k up, 345 Or (when I'm in a fit) to hickup: Command me to p.i.s.s out the moon, And 'twill as easily be done: Love's power's too great to be withstood By feeble human flesh and blood. 350 'Twas he that brought upon his knees The hect'ring, kill-cow HERCULES; Transform'd his leager-lion's skin T' a petticoat, and made him spin; Seiz'd on his club, and made it dwindle 355 T' a feeble distaff, and a spindle.

'Twas he that made emperors gallants To their own sisters and their aunts; Set popes and cardinals agog, To play with pages at leap-frog. 360 'Twas he that gave our Senate purges, And flux'd the House of many a burgess; Made those that represent the nation Submit, and suffer amputation; And all the Grandees o' the Cabal 365 Adjourn to tubs at Spring and Fall.

He mounted Synod-Men, and rode 'em To Dirty-Lane and Little Sodom; Made 'em curvet like Spanish jenets, And take the ring at Madam [Bennet's] 370 'Twas he that made Saint FRANCIS do More than the Devil could tempt him to, In cold and frosty weather, grow Enamour'd of a wife of snow; And though she were of rigid temper, 375 With melting flames accost and tempt her; Which after in enjoyment quenching, He hung a garland on his engine

Quoth she, If Love have these effects, Why is it not forbid our s.e.x? 380 Why is't not d.a.m.n'd and interdicted, For diabolical and wicked?

And sung, as out of tune, against, As Turk and Pope are by the Saints?

I find I've greater reason for it, 385 Than I believ'd before t' abhor it.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, These sad effects Spring from your Heathenish neglects Of Love's great pow'r, which he returns Upon yourselves with equal scorns; 390 And those who worthy lovers slight, Plagues with prepost'rous appet.i.te.

This made the beauteous Queen of Crete To take a town-bull for her sweet, And from her greatness stoop so low, 395 To be the rival of a cow: Others to prost.i.tute their great hearts, To he baboons' and monkeys' sweet-hearts; Some with the Dev'l himself in league grow, By's representative a Negro. 400 'Twas this made vestal-maids love-sick, And venture to be bury'd quick: Some by their fathers, and their brothers, To be made mistresses and mothers.

'Tis this that proudest dames enamours 405 On lacquies and valets des chambres; Their haughty stomachs overcomes, And makes 'em stoop to dirty grooms; To slight the world, and to disparage Claps, issue, infamy, and marriage. 410

Quoth she, These judgments are severe, Yet such as I should rather bear, Than trust men with their oaths, or prove Their faith and secresy in love,

Says he, There is as weighty reason 415 For secresy in love as treason.

Love is a burglarer, a felon, That at the windore-eyes does steal in To rob the heart, and with his prey Steals out again a closer way, 420 Which whosoever can discover, He's sure (as he deserves) to suffer.

Love is a fire, that burns and sparkles In men as nat'rally as in charcoals, Which sooty chymists stop in holes 425 When out of wood they extract coals: So lovers should their pa.s.sions choak, That, tho' they burn, they may not smoak.

'Tis like that st.u.r.dy thief that stole And dragg'd beasts backwards into's hole: 430 So Love does lovers, and us men Draws by the tails into his den, That no impression may discover, And trace t' his cave, the wary lover, But if you doubt I should reveal 435 What you entrust me under seal.

I'll prove myself as close and virtuous As your own secretary ALBERTUS.

Quoth she, I grant you may be close In hiding what your aims propose. 440 Love-pa.s.sions are like parables, By which men still mean something else, Though love be all the world's pretence, Money's the mythologick sense; The real substance of the shadow, 445 Which all address and courtship's made to.

Thought he, I understand your play, And how to quit you your own way: He that will win his dame, must do As Love does when he bends his bow; 450 With one hand thrust the lady from, And with the other pull her home.

I grant, quoth he, wealth is a great Provocative to am'rous heat.

It is all philters, and high diet, 455 That makes love rampant, and to fly out: 'Tis beauty always in the flower, That buds and blossoms at fourscore: 'Tis that by which the sun and moon At their own weapons are out-done: 460 That makes Knights-Errant fall in trances, And lay about 'em in romances: 'Tis virtue, wit, and worth, and all That men divine and sacred call: For what is worth in any thing, 465 But so much money as 'twill bring?

Or what, but riches is there known, Which man can solely call his own In which no creature goes his half; Unless it be to squint and laugh? 470 I do confess, with goods and land, I'd have a wife at second-hand; And such you are. Nor is 't your person My stomach's set so sharp and fierce on; But 'tis (your better part) your riches, 475 That my enamour'd heart bewitches.

Let me your fortune but possess, And settle your person how you please: Or make it o'er in trust to th' Devil; You'll find me reasonable and civil. 480

Quoth she, I like this plainness better Than false mock-pa.s.sion, speech, or letter, Or any feat of qualm or sowning, But hanging of yourself, or drowning.

Your only way with me to break 485 Your mind, is breaking of your neck; For as when merchants break, o'erthrown, Like nine-pins they strike others down, So that would break my heart; which done, My tempting fortune is your own, 490 These are but trifles: ev'ry lover Will d.a.m.n himself over and over, And greater matters undertake For a less worthy mistress' sake: Yet th' are the only ways to prove 495 Th' unfeign'd realities of love: For he that hangs, or beats out's brains, The Devil's in him if he feigns.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, This way's too rough For mere experiment and proof: 500 It is no jesting, trivial matter, To swing t' th' air, or douce in Water, And, like a water-witch, try love; That's to destroy, and not to prove; As if a man should be dissected 505 To find what part is disaffected.

Your better way is to make over, In trust, your fortune to your lover.

Trust is a trial; if it break, 'Tis not so desp'rate as a neck. 510 Beside, th' experiment's more certain; Men venture necks to gain a fortune: The soldier does it ev'ry day.

(Eight to the week) for sixpence pay: Your pettifoggers d.a.m.n their souls, 515 To share with knaves in cheating fools: And merchants, vent'ring through the main, Slight pirates, rocks, and horns, for gain.

This is the way I advise you to: Trust me, and see what I will do. 520

Quoth she, I should be loth to run Myself all th' hazard, and you none; Which must be done, unless some deed Of your's aforesaid do precede.

Give but yourself one gentle swing 525 For trial, and I'll cut the string: Or give that rev'rend head a maul, Or two, or three, against a wall, To shew you are a man of mettle, And I'll engage myself to settle. 530

Quoth he, My head's not made of bra.s.s, As Friar BACON'S noodle was; Nor (like the Indian's skull) so tough That, authors say, 'twas musket-proof, As yet on any new adventure, 535 As it had need to be, to enter.

You see what bangs it has endur'd, That would, before new feats, be cur'd.

But if that's all you stand upon, Here, strike me luck, it shall be done. 540

Quoth she, The matter's not so far gone As you suppose: Two words t' a bargain: That may be done, and time enough, When you have given downright proof; And yet 'tis no fantastic pique 545 I have to love, nor coy dislike: 'Tis no implicit, nice aversion T' your conversation, mein, or person, But a just fear, lest you should prove False and perfidious in love:, 550 For if I thought you could be true, I could love twice as much as you.

Quoth he, My faith as adamanatine, As chains of destiny, I'll maintain: True as APOLLO ever spoke, 555 Or Oracle from heart of oak; And if you'll give my flame but vent, Now in close hugger-mugger pent, And shine upon me but benignly, With that one, and that other pigsney, 560 The sun and day shall sooner part, Than love or you shake off my heart; The sun, that shall no more dispense His own but your bright influence.

I'll carve your name on barks of trees, 565 With true-loves-knots and flourishes, That shall infuse eternal spring, And everlasting flourishing: Drink ev'ry letter on't in stum, And make it brisk champaign become; 570 Where-e'er you tread, your foot shall set The primrose and the violet: All spices, perfumes, and sweet powders, Shall borrow from your breath their odours: Nature her charter shall renew, 575 And take all lives of things from you; The world depend upon your eye, And when you frown upon it, die: Only our loves shall still survive, New worlds and natures to out-live: 580 And, like to heralds' moons, remain All crescents, without change or wane.

Hold, hold, quoth she; no more of this, Sir Knight; you take your aim amiss: For you will find it a hard chapter 585 To catch me with poetic rapture, In which your mastery of art Doth shew itself, and not your heart: Nor will you raise in mine combustion By dint of high heroic fustian. 590 She that with poetry is won, Is but a desk to write upon; And what men say of her, they mean No more than on the thing they lean.

Some with Arabian spices strive 595 T' embalm her cruelly alive; Or season her, as French cooks use Their haut-gousts, bouillies, or ragousts: Use her so barbarously ill, To grind her lips upon a mill, 600 Until the facet doublet doth Fit their rhimes rather than her mouth: Her mouth compar'd to an oyster's, with A row of pearl in't -- stead of teeth.

Others make posies of her cheeks, 605 Where red and whitest colours mix; In which the lily, and the rose, For Indian lake and ceruse goes.

The sun and moon by her bright eyes Eclips'd, and darken'd in the skies, 610 Are but black patches, that she wears, Cut into suns, and moons, and stars: By which astrologers as well, As those in Heav'n above, can tell What strange events they do foreshow 615 Unto her under-world below.

Her voice, the music of the spheres, So loud, it deafens mortals ears; As wise philosophers have thought; And that's the cause we hear it not. 620 This has been done by some, who those Th' ador'd in rhime, would kick in prose; And in those ribbons would have hung On which melodiously they sung; That have the hard fate to write best 625 Of those still that deserve it least; It matters not how false, or forc'd: So the best things be said o' th' worst: It goes for nothing when 'tis said; Only the arrow's drawn to th' bead, 630 Whether it be a swan or goose They level at: So shepherds use To set the same mark on the hip Both of their sound and rotten sheep: For wits, that carry low or wide, 635 Must be aim'd higher, or beside The mark, which else they ne'er come nigh, But when they take their aim awry.

But I do wonder you should choose This way t' attack me with your Muse, 640 As one cut out to pa.s.s your tricks on, With fulhams of poetic fiction: I rather hop'd I should no more Hear from you o' th' gallanting score: For hard dry-bastings us'd to prove 645 The readiest remedies of love; Next a dry-diet: but if those fail, Yet this uneasy loop-hol'd jail, In which ye are hamper'd by the fetlock, Cannot but put y' in mind of wedlock; 650 Wedlock, that's worse than any hole here, If that may serve you for a cooler, T' allay your mettle, all agog Upon a wife, the heavi'r clog: Or rather thank your gentler fate, 655 That for a bruis'd or broken pate, Has freed you from those k.n.o.bs that grow Much harder on the marry'd brow: But if no dread can cool your courage, From vent'ring on that dragon, marriage, 660 Yet give me quarter, and advance To n.o.bler aims your puissance: Level at beauty and at wit; The fairest mark is easiest hit.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, I'm beforehand 665 In that already, with your command For where does beauty and high wit But in your constellation meet?

Quoth she, What does a match imply, But likeness and equality? 670 I know you cannot think me fit To be th' yoke-fellow of your wit; Nor take one of so mean deserts, To be the partner of your parts; A grace which, if I cou'd believe, 675 I've not the conscience to receive.

That conscience, quoth HUDIBRAS, Is mis-inform'd: I'll state the case A man may be a legal donor, Of any thing whereof he's owner, 680 And may confer it where he lists, I' th' judgment of all casuists, Then wit, and parts, and valour, may Be ali'nated, and made away, By those that are proprietors, 685 As I may give or sell my horse.

Quoth she, I grant the case is true And proper 'twixt your horse and you; But whether I may take as well As you may give away or sell? 690 Buyers you know are bid beware; And worse than thieves receivers are.

How shall I answer hue and cry, For a roan gelding, twelve hands high, All spurr'd and switch'd, a lock on's hoof, 695 A sorrel mane? Can I bring proof Where, when, by whom, and what y' were sold for, And in the open market toll'd for?

Or should I take you for a stray, You must be kept a year and day 700 (Ere I can own you) here i' the pound, Where, if y' are sought, you may be found And in the mean time I must pay For all your provender and hay.

Quoth he, It stands me much upon 705 T' enervate this objection, And prove myself; by topic clear No gelding, as you would infer.

Loss of virility's averr'd To be the cause of loss of beard, 710 That does (like embryo in the womb) Abortive on the chin become.

This first a woman did invent, In envy of man's ornament; SEMIRAMIS, of Babylon, 715 Who first of all cut men o' th' stone, To mar their beards, and lay foundation Of sow-geldering operation.

Look on this beard, and tell me whether Eunuchs wear such, or geldings either? 720 Next it appears I am no horse; That I can argue and discourse Have but two legs, and ne'er a tail.

Quoth she, That nothing will avail For some philosophers of late here, 725 Write, men have four legs by nature, And that 'tis custom makes them go Erron'ously upon but two; As 'twas in Germany made good B' a boy that lost himself in a wood, 730 And growing down to a man, was wont With wolves upon all four to hunt.

As for your reasons drawn from tails, We cannot say they're true or false, Till you explain yourself, and show, 735 B' experiment, 'tis so or no.

Quoth he, If you'll join issue on't, I'll give you satisfactory account; So you will promise, if you lose, To settle all, and be my spouse. 740

That never shall be done (quoth she) To one that wants a tail, by me For tails by nature sure were meant, As well as beards, for ornament: And though the vulgar count them homely, 745 In men or beast they are so comely, So gentee, alamode, and handsome, I'll never marry man that wants one; And till you can demonstrate plain, You have one equal to your mane, 750 I'll be torn piece-meal by a horse, Ere I'll take you for better or worse.

The Prince of CAMBAY's daily food Is asp, and basilisk, and toad; Which makes him have so strong a breath, 755 Each night he stinks a queen to death; Yet I shall rather lie in's arms Than yours, on any other terms.

Quoth he, What nature can afford, I shall produce, upon my word; 760 And if she ever gave that boon To man, I'll prove that I have one I mean by postulate illation, When you shall offer just occasion: But since y' have yet deny'd to give 765 My heart, your pris'ner, a reprieve, But made it sink down to my heel, Let that at least your pity feel; And, for the sufferings of your martyr, Give its poor entertainer quarter; 770 And, by discharge or main-prize, grant Deliv'ry from this base restraint.

Quoth she, I grieve to see your leg Stuck in a hole here like a peg; And if I knew which way to do't 775 (Your honour safe) I'd let you out.

That Dames by jail-delivery Of Errant-Knights have been set free, When by enchantment they have been, And sometimes for it too, laid in, 780 Is that which Knights are bound to do By order, oath, and honour too: For what are they renown'd, and famous else, But aiding of distressed damosels?

But for a Lady no ways errant, 785 To free a Knight, we have no warrant In any authentical romance, Or cla.s.sic author, yet of France; And I'd be loth to have you break An ancient custom for a freak, 790 Or innovation introduce In place of things of antique use; To free your heels by any course, That might b' unwholesome to your spurs; Which, if I should consent unto, 795 It is not in my pow'r to do; For 'tis a service must be done ye With solemn previous ceremony; Which always has been us'd t' untie The charms of those who here do lie 800 For as the ancients heretofore To Honour's Temple had no door, But that which thorough Virtue's lay, So from this dungeon there's no way To honour'd freedom, but by pa.s.sing 805 That other virtuous school of lashing, Where Knights are kept in narrow lists, With wooden lockets 'bout their wrists; In which they for a while are tenants, And for their Ladies suffer penance: 810 Whipping, that's Virtue's governess, Tutress of arts and sciences; That mends the gross mistakes of Nature, And puts new life into dull matter; That lays foundation for renown, 815 And all the honours of the gown.

This suffer'd, they are set at large, And freed with hon'rable discharge.

Then in their robes the penitentials Are straight presented with credentials, 820 And in their way attended on By magistrates of ev'ry town; And, all respect and charges paid, They're to their ancient seats convey'd.

Now if you'll venture, for my sake, 825 To try the toughness of your back, And suffer (as the rest have done) The laying of a whipping on, (And may you prosper in your suit, As you with equal vigour do't,) 830 I here engage myself to loose ye, And free your heels from Caperdewsie.

But since our s.e.x's modesty Will not allow I should be by, Bring me, on oath, a fair account, 835 And honour too, when you have done't, And I'll admit you to the place You claim as due in my good grace.

If matrimony and hanging go By dest'ny, why not whipping too? 840 What med'cine else can cure the fits Of lovers when they lose their wits?

Love is a boy by poets stil'd; Then spare the rod and spoil the child.

A Persian emp'ror whipp'd his grannam 845 The sea, his mother VENUS came on; And hence some rev'rend men approve Of rosemary in making love.

As skilful coopers hoop their tubs With Lydian and with Phrygian dubs, 850 Why may not whipping have as good A grace, perform'd in time and mood, With comely movement, and by art, Raise pa.s.sion in a lady's heart?

It is an easier way to make 855 Love by, than that which many take.

Who would not rather suffer whipping, Than swallow toasts of bits of ribbon?