Sir Hudibras his passing worth;
The manner how he sally'd forth.
His arms and equipage are shown;
His horse's virtues and his own.
Th' adventure of the Bear and Fiddle
Is sung, but breaks off in the middle.
HEN civila dudgeon first grew high,
And men fell out they knew not why?
When hard words, jealousies and fears
Set folks together by the ears,
And made them fight, like mad or drunk,
For dame Religion as for punk;
Whose honesty they all durst swear for,
Tho' not a man of them knew wherefore;
When gospel-trumpeter, surrounded
With long-ear'd rout, to battle sounded, "
And pulpit, drum ecclesiastick,
Was beat with fist instead of a stick;
Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling,
And out he rode a colonelling.
A wight he was whose very sight wou'd
Intitle him, Mirrour of Knighthood;
That never bow'd his stubborn knee
To any thing but chivalry;
Nor put up blow, but that which laid
Right Worshipful on shoulder-blade:
Chief of domestic Knights and errant,
Either for chartel, or for warrant ;
Great on the bench, great in the saddle,
That b could as well bind o'er as swaddle:
Mighty he was at both of these,
And styl'd of war as well as peace.
(So some rats, of amphibious nature,
Are either for the land or water.)
But here our author makes a doubt,
Whether he were more wise or stout.
Some hold the one, and some the other;
But howsoe'er, they make a pother,
The diff'rence was so small, his brain-
Outweigh'd his rage but half a grain;
Which made some take him for a tool,
That knaves do work with, call'd a fool.
For't has been held by many, that
AS MONTAIGNEC, playing with his cat,
Complains she thought him but an ass,
Much more she wou'd Sir HUDIBRAS;
(For that's the name our valiant Knight
To all his challenges did write.)
But they're mistaken very much;
'Tis plain enough he was no such,
We grant, altho' he had much wit,
H' was very shy of using it;
As being loth to wear it out,
And therefore bore it not about;
Unless on holy-days, or so,
As men their best apparel do.
Beside, 'tis known he could speak GREEK
As naturally as pigs squeek:
That LATIN was no more difficile,
Than to a black-bird 'tis to whistle.
Being rich in both, he never scanted
His bounty unto such as wanted:
Not as a proselyte, but for claps.
He was in LOGIC a great critick,
Profoundly skill'd in e analytick !
He cou'd distinguish and divide
A hair 'twixt south and south-west side;
On either which he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute.
He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument, a man's no horse.
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a Lord may be an owl,
A calf an Alderman, a goose a Justice,
And rooks Committee-men and Trustees.
He'd run in debt by disputation,
And pay with ratiocination.
All this by syllogism, true
In mood and figure, he would do.
For RHETORIC, he cou'd not ope
His mouth, but out there flew a trope:
And when he happen'd to break off
I' th' middle of his speech, or cough,
H' had hard words ready to shew why,
And tell what rules he did it by:
Elsc, when with greatest art he spoke,
You'd think he talk'd like other folk.
For all a rhetorician's rules
Teach nothing but to name his tools.
But, when he pleas'd to shew't, his speech,
In loftiness of sound, was rich;
A Babylonish f dialect,
Which learned pedants much affect.
It was a party-colour'd dress
Of patch'd and pye-ball'd languages:
'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,
Like fustian heretofore on satin.
It had an odd promiscuous tone,
As if h' had talk'd three parts in one;
Which made some think, when he did gabble,
And truly to support that charge,
He had supplies as vast and large:
For he cou'd coin or counterfeit
New words, with little or no wit;
Words, so debas'd and hard, no stone
Was hard enough to touch them on:
And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em,
The ignorant for current took 'em ;
That had the h orator, who once
Did fill his mouth with pebble stones
When he harangu'd, but known his phrase,
He would have us'd no other ways.
In MATHEMATICKS he was greater
Than TYCHO BRAHE OF ERRA PATER:
For he, by geometrick scale,
Could take the size of pots of ale;
Resolve, by sines and tangents, straight,
If bread or butter wanted weight;
And wisely tell what hour o' th' day
The clock does strike, by algebra.
Beside, he was a shrewd PHILOSOPHER,
And had read ev'ry text and gloss over:
Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath,
He understood b' implicit faith:
Whatever Sceptic cou'd enquire for,
For ev'ry why, he had a wherefore;
Knew more than forty of them do,
As far as words and terms cou'd go:
All which he understood by rote,
And, as occasion serv'd, would quote:
No matter whether right or wrong,
They might be either said or sung.
His notions fitted things so well,
That which was which he could not tell;
But oftentimes mistook the one
For th' other, as great clerks have done.
He cou'd reduce all things to acts,
And knew their natures by abstracts;
Where entity and quiddity,
The ghost of defunct bodies, fly;
Where m truth in person does appear,
Like words n congeal'd in northern air.
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