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No sooner did the Knight perceive her, But streight he fell into a Fever, Inflam'd all over with Disgrace, To be seen by her in such a Place ; Which made him hang his Head, and scoul, And wink and goggle like an Owl. He felt his Brains begin to swim, When thus the Dame accosted him.
This Place (quoth she) they say's Enchanted,
And with Delinquent Spirits haunted,
That here are ty'd in Chains, and scourg'd,
Until their guilty Crimes be purg'd:
Look, there are two of them
Like Persons I have seen somewhere:
Some have mistaken Blocks and Posts
For Spectres, Apparitions, Ghofts,
With Sawcer-Eyes, and Horns, and some
Have heard the Devil beat a Drum :
But if our Eyes are not falfe Glasses,
That give a wrong Account of Faces;
That Beard and I should be acquainted,
Before 'twas Conjur'd and Enchanted;
For tho' it be disfigur’d somewhat,
Asif t'had lately been in Coinbat,
It did belong t a wortliy Knight,
Howe'er this Goblin is come by't.
When Hudibras the Lady heard
Discoursing thus upon his Beard,
And speak with such Respect and Hoitour,
Both of the Beard, and the Beard's Owner
He thought it best to set as good
A Face upon it as he cou'd,
And thus he spoke : Lady, Your Bright
And radiant Eyes are in the Right ;
The Beard's th’ Identick Beard you knew,
The fame numerically trije:
Nor is it worn by Fiend, or Elf,
But its Proprietor himself,
Oh Heavens! quoth the, can that be true?
I do begin to fear 'tis you
Not by your individual Whiskers,
But by your Dialect and Discourse,
That never spoke to Man or Beast
In Notions vulgarly expref.
But what malignan Star, alas!
Has brought you both to this sad pass?
Quoth he, The fortune of the War
Which I am less afflicted for,
Than to be seen with Beard and Face
By you in such a homely cafe.
Quoth she, those need not be asham’d,
For being honourably maim’d;
If he that is in Battle Conquerid,
Have any Title to his own Beard,
Though yours be forely lugg'd and torn,
It does your Visage more adorn,
Than if'twere prun'd, and starcht;and lander'd,
And cut square by the Russian Standard.
A torn Beard's like a tatter'd Ensign,
That's bravest which there are most Rents in.
That Petticoat about your Shoulders
Does not so well become a Soldier's,
And I'm afraid they are worse handled,
Although i'th'Rear, your Beard the Van lead;
And those uneafie Bruises make
My heart for Company to ake,
To see so Worshipfull a Friend
I'th' Pill’ry set at the
Quoth Hudibras, This Thing call'd Pain,
Is (as the Learned Stoicks maintain)
Not bad fimpliciter, nor good,
But meerly as 'tis understood.
Sense is deceitful, and may feign,
As well in Counterfeiting Pain
As other grofs Phænomena's,
In which it oft mistakes the Case ;
But since th' Immortal Intellect
( 'That's free from Errour and Defect,
Whose Objects still persist the same)
Is free from outward Bruise or Maim,
Which nought external can expose
To gross material Bangs or Blows ;
It follows we can ne'er be sure,
Whether we Pain or not endure ;
And just so far are sore and griev'd,
As by the Fancy is believ'd :
Some have been wounded with Conceit,
And dy'd of meer Opinion ftreight ;
Others, though wounded fore in Reason,
Felt no Contusion, nor Discretion.
A Saxon Duke did grow so fat,
That Mice (as Histories relate)
Eat Grots and Labyrinths, to dwell in
His Postick parts without his feeling ;
Then how is't possible a Kick
Shou'd e'er reach that way to the quick?
Quoth she, I grant it is in vain
For one that's basted to feel pain,
Because the Pangs his Bones endure
Contribute nothing to the Cure;
Yet Honour hurt, is wont to rage 1
With Pain no Med’cine can afswage.
Quoth he, That Honour's very squeamish, That takes a Bafting for a Blemish : For what's more hon'rable than Scars, Or Skin to Tatters rent in Wars? Some have been beaten till they know What Wood a Cudgel's of by th’ Blow; Some kick'd until they can feel whether A Shoe be Spanish or Nent's Leather z