Wit, folly, honour, virtue, vice,
Trade, travel, women, claps, and dice.
And draw, with the firft air they breathe,
Bartle and murder, fudden death,
Are not thefe fine commodities
To be imported from the skies,
And vended here among the rabble,
For ftaple goods and warrantable?
Like money by the Druids borrow'd,
In th' other world to be reftor'd.
Quoth Sidrophel, To let
You wrong the art, and artifts too,
Since arguments are loft on those
That do our principles oppofe,
I will (altho' I've done 't before)
Demonftrate to your fenfe once more,
And draw a figure that thall tell you
What you, perhaps, forget befell you
By way of horary inspection,
Which fome account our worst erection.
With that he circles draws, and fquares,
With ciphers, aftral characters,
Then looks 'em o'er to understand 'em,
Altho' fet down habnab, at random.
Quoth he, This fcheme of th' heav'ns fet,
Difcovers how in fight you met,
At Kingfton, with a May pole idol,
And that y' were bang'd both fide and back well,
And tho' you overcame the bear,
The dogs beat you at Brentford fair;
Where sturdy butchers broke your noddle,
And handled you like a fop-doodle.
Quoth Hudibras, I now perceive
You are no conj'rer, by your leave;
That paltry story is untrue,
And forg'd to cheat fuch gulls as you.
Not true! quoth he, Howe'er you vapour,
I can what I affirin make appear;
Whacum fhall justify it t' your face,
And prove he was upon the place a
He play'd the faltinbancho's part,
Transform'd t'a Frenchman by my art;
He ftole your cloak, and pick'd your pocket;
Chows'd and caldes'd ye like a blockhead,
And what you loft I can produce,
If you deny it, here i' th' house.
Quoth Hudibras, I do believe
That argument's demonstrative;
Ralpho, bear witnefs, and go fetch us
A conftable to feize the wretches;
For tho' they're both falfe knaves and cheats,
Impoftors, jugglers, counterfeits,
I'll make them ferve for perpendic❜lars
As true as e'er were us'd by brick layers.
They're guilty, by their own confeffions,
Of felony, and at the feffions,
Upon the bench, I will fo handle 'em,
That the vibration of this pendulum
Shall make all tailor's yards of one
Unanimous opinion:
A thing he long has vapour'd of,
But now fhall make it out by proof.
Quoth Sidrophel, I do not doubt
To find friends that will bear me out;
Nor have I hazarded my art,
And neck, fo long on the State's part,
To be expos'd, i' th' end, to fuffer
By fuch a braggadocio huffer.
Huffer, quoth Hudibras, this fword,
Shall down thy falfe throat cram that word.
Ralpho, make hafte, and call an officer,
To apprehend this Stygian fophifter;
Meanwhile I'll hold 'em at a bay,
Left he and Whachum run away.
But Sidrophel, who from th' afpect
Of Hudibras did now erect
A figure worfe portending far
Than that of most malignant star,
Believ'd it now the fittest moment
To fhun the danger that might come on't,
While Hudibras was all alone,
And he and Whachum, two to one.
This being refolv'd, he fpy'd, by chance,
Behind the door, an iron lance,
That many a sturdy limb had gor'd,
And legs, and loins, and fhoulders bor'd;
He fnatch'd it up, and made a pafs,
To make his way through Hudibras.
Whachum had got a fire-fork,
With which he vow'd to do his work;
But Hudibras was well prepar'd,
And floutly ftood upon his guard;
He put by Sidrophello's thrust,
And in right manfully he rusht;
The weapon from his gripe he wrung,
And laid him on the earth along.
Whachum his feacoal prong threw by,
And bafely turn'd his back to fly;
But Hudibras gave him a twitch,
As quick as lightning, in the breech,
Juft in the place where honour's lodg'd,
As wife philofophers have judg'd,
Becaufe a kick in that place more
Hurts honour than deep wounds before.
Quoth Hudibras, The ftars determin
You are my prifoners, bafe vermin:
Cou'd they not tell you fo, as well
As what I came to know foretel?
By this what cheats you are we find,
That in your own concerns are blind.
Your lives are now at my difpofe,
To be redeem'd by fine or blows:
But who is honour would defile,
To take, or fell, two lives fo vile ?
I'll give you quarter; but your pillage,
The conqu'ring warrior's crop and tillage?
Which with his fword he reaps and plows,
That's mine the law of arms allows.
This faid in hafte, in hafte he fell
To rummaging of Sidrophel.
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