But ere an artist could be found
T' undo the charms another bound,
The Sun grew low and left the skies,
Put down (some write) by ladies' eyes;
The Moon pull'd off her veil of light,
That hides her face by day from sight
(Mysterious veil, of brightness made,
That 's both her lustre and her shade),
And in the lantern of the night,
With shining horns hung out her light:
For darkness is the proper sphere
Where all false glories use t' appear.
The twinkling stars began to muster,
And glitter with their borrow'd lustre ;
While sleep the weary'd world relieved,
By counterfeiting Death revived.
His whipping penance, till the morn,
Our vot'ry thought it best t'adjourn,
And not to carry on a work
Of such importance in the dark
With erring haste, but rather stay,
And do 't in th' open face of day;
And in the meantime go in quest

Of next retreat to take his rest.

901

910

920

CANTO II.

THE ARGUMENT.

The Knight and Squire, in hot dispute,
Within an ace of falling out,

Are parted with a sudden fright

Of strange alarm, and stranger sight;
With which adventuring to stickle,
They 're sent away in nasty pickle.

'Tis strange how some men's tempers suit
(Like bawd and brandy) with dispute;
That for their own opinions stand fast
Only to have them claw'd and canvass'd;
That keep their consciences in cases,
As fiddlers do their crowds and bases,
Ne'er to be used but when they're bent
To play a fit for argument;

Make true and false, unjust and just,
Of no use but to be discuss'd;
Dispute, and set a paradox,

Like a strait boot, upon the stocks,
And stretch'd it more unmercifully
Than Helmont, Montaigne, White, or Tully.
So th' ancient Stoics, in their porch,
With fierce dispute maintain'd their church,
Beat out their brains in fight and study,
To prove that virtue is a body;
That bonum 1 is an animal,

Made good with stout polemic brawl ;
In which some hundreds on the place
Were slain outright, and many a face

1. Bonum:' good.

Retrench'd of nose, and eyes, and beard,
To maintain what their sect averr'd.

All which the Knight and Squire, in wrath
Had like t' have suffer'd for their faith,
Each striving to make good his own,
As by the sequel shall be shown.

The Sun had long since in the lap
Of Thetis taken out his nap,
And, like a lobster boil'd, the Morn
From black to red began to turn;

When Hudibras, whom thoughts and aching
"Twixt sleeping kept, all night, and waking,
Began to rub his drowsy eyes,

And from his couch prepared to rise,
Resolving to despatch the deed

He vow'd to do, with trusty speed.

But first, with knocking loud, and bawling,
He roused the Squire, in truckle lolling ;
And, after many circumstances,
Which vulgar authors in romances
Do use to spend their time and wits on,
To make impertinent description;
They got (with much ado) to horse,
And to the castle bent their course,

In which he to the Dame before
To suffer whipping-duty swore,

Where now arrived, and half unharness'd,
To carry on the work in earnest,
He stopp'd, and paused upon the sudden,
And with a serious forehead plodding,
Sprung a new scruple in his head,
Which first he scratch'd, and after said:
Whether it be direct infringeing,

An oath, if I should waive this swingeing,

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And what I've sworn to bear, forbear,
And so b' equivocation swear;

Or whether 't be a lesser sin

To be forsworn, than act the thing;
Are deep and subtle points, which must,
T' inform my conscience, be discuss'd;

In which to err a tittle may
To errors infinite make way;
And therefore I desire to know
Thy judgment ere we further go.

Quoth Ralpho, Since you do enjoin 't,
I shall enlarge upon the point;
And, for my own part, do not doubt
The affirmative may be made out.
But first, to state the case aright,
For best advantage of our light;
And thus 'tis: Whether 't be a sin
To claw and curry your own skin,
Greater, or less, than to forbear,
And that you are forsworn forswear.
But first, o' th' first: The inward man,
And outward, like a clan and clan,
Have always been at daggers-drawing,
And one another clapper-clawing:
Not that they really cuff, or fence,
But in a spiritual mystic sense;

Which to mistake, and make 'em squabble,
In literal fray 's abominable:

"Tis Heathenish, in frequent use
With Pagans, and apostate Jews,
To offer sacrifice of Bridewells,
Like modern Indians to their idols;
And mongrel Christians of our times,
That expiate less with greater crimes,

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And call the foul abomination
Contrition and mortification.

Is 't not enough we're bruised and kicked,
With sinful members of the wicked;
Our vessels, that are sanctify'd,

Profaned and curry'd back and side;
But we must claw ourselves with shameful
And Heathen stripes, by their example?
Which (were there nothing to forbid it)
Is impious, because they did it:
This therefore may be justly reckon❜d
A heinous sin. Now, to the second,
That Saints may claim a dispensation
To swear and forswear on occasion,
I doubt not, but it will appear

With pregnant light: The point is clear.
Oaths are but words, and words but wind;
Too feeble implements to bind,

And hold with deeds proportion, so
As shadows to a substance do.

Then when they strive for place, 'tis fit
The weaker vessel should submit.
Although your Church be opposite
To ours, as Black Friars are to White,
In rule and order, yet I grant

You are a Reformado Saint;

And what the Saints do claim as due,
You may pretend a title to.

But Saints, whom oaths and vows oblige,
Know little of their privilege,

Further (I mean) than carrying on
Some self-advantage of their own:
For if the Devil, to serve his turn,

Can tell truth, why the Saints should scorn,