Which few hold forth against, for fear
Their hands should slip and come too near;
For no sin else, among the Saints,

Is taught so tenderly against.

What made thee break thy plighted vows?
That which makes others break a house,
And hang, and scorn you all, before
Endure the plague of being poor.

Quoth he, I see you have more tricks
Than all our doting politics,
That are grown old and out of fashion,
Compar'd with your new Reformation;
That we must come to school to you
To learn your more refin'd and new.

Quoth he, If you will give me leave
To tell you what I now perceive,
You'll find yourself an errant chouse
If y' were but at a Meeting-house.

'Tis truc (quoth he), we ne'er come there, Because w' have let 'em out by th' year.

Truly (quoth he), you can't imagine
What wondrous things they will engage in ;
That as your fellow fiends in hell
Were angels all before they fell,
So are you like to be agen
Compar'd with th' angels of us men.
Quoth he, I am resolv'd to be
Thy scholar in this mystery;
And therefore first desire to know
Some principles on which you go.

1235

1240

1245

1250

1255

1263

And over moist and crazy brains,

In high spring-tides, at midnight reigns,
Was now declining to the west,

To go to bed and take her rest;
When Hudibras, whose stubborn blows
Deny'd his bones that soft repose,
Lay still, expecting worse and more,
Stretch'd out at length upon the floor;
And, though he shut his eyes as fast
As if h' had been to sleep his last,
Saw all the shapes that fear or wizards
Do make the devil wear for vizards,
And, pricking up his ears to hark

If he could hear too in the dark,

Was first invaded with a groan,

And after, in a feeble tone,

These trembling words: Unhappy wretch!
What hast thou gotten by this fetch,
Or all thy tricks, in this new trade,
Thy holy Brotherhood o' th' blade?
By saunt'ring still on some adventure,
And growing to thy horse a Centaur?
To stuff thy skin with swelling knobs
Of cruel and hard-wooded drubs?

For still th' hast had the worst on 't yet,

As well in conquest as defeat.

Night is the sabbath of mankind,

To rest the body and the mind,

Which now thou art deny'd to keep,

And cure thy labour'd corpse with sleep.

The Knight, who heard the words, explain'd

As meant to him this reprimand,

Because the character did hit
Point-blank upon his case so fit;
Believ'd it was some drolling spright
That stay'd upon the guard that night,
And one of those h' had seen, and felt
The drubs he had so freely dealt;
When, after a short pause and groan,
The doleful Spirit thus went on:

This 'tis t' engage with Dogs and Bears

Pell-mell together by the ears,

1355

1360

And, after painful bangs and knocks,

1365

To lie in limbo in the stocks,

And from the pinnacle of glory

Fall headlong into purgatory

(Thought he, This devil's full of malice,

Condemn'd to whipping, but declin'd it,
By being more heroic-minded;

And at a riding handled worse,

With treats more slovenly and coarse;
Engag'd with fiends in stubborn wars,
And hot disputes with conjurers;

And, when th' hadst bravely won the day,
Wast fain to steal thyself away ·

(I see, thought he, this shameless elf
Would fain steal me too from myself,
That impudently dares to own
What I have suffer'd for and done)

1375

1380

And now, but vent'ring to betray,
Hast met with vengeance the same way.

Thought he, How does the devil know
What 'twas that I design'd to do?

His office of intelligence,

His oracles are ceas'd long since;

1385

And he knows nothing of the Saints,

But what some treach'rous spy acquaints.

1390

This is some pettifogging fiend,

Some under door-keeper's friend's friend,
That undertakes to understand,

And juggles at the second-hand,

And now would pass for Spirit Po,

1395

And all men's dark concerns foreknow.

I think I need not fear him for 't;

These rallying devils do no hurt.

With that he rous'd his drooping heart,
And hastily cry'd out, What art?

A wretch (quoth he) whom want of grace
Has brought to this unhappy place. -
I do believe thee, quoth the Knight;
Thus far I'm sure thou 'rt in the right,
And know what 'tis that troubles thee
Better than thou hast guess'd of me.
Thou art some paltry blackguard spright,
Condemn'd to drudg'ry in the night;
Thou hast no work to do in th' house,
Nor halfpenny to drop in shoes;
Without the raising of which sum
You dare not be so troublesome,

1400

1405

1410

To pinch the slatterns black and blue,
For leaving you their work to do.
This is your bus'ness, good Pug-Robin,
And your diversion dull dry bobbing,
T'entice fanatics in the dirt,

And wash 'em clean in ditches for 't;
Of which conceit you are so proud,
At ev'ry jest you laugh aloud,

As now you would have done by me,
But that I barr'd your raillery.

Sir (quoth the Voice), y' are no such sophi
As you would have the world judge of ye.
If you design to weigh our talents

I' th' standard of your own false balance,
Or think it possible to know

Us ghosts, as well as we do you,
We who have been the everlasting
Companions of your drubs and basting,
And never left you in contest,
With male or female, man or beast,
But prov'd as true t' ye, and entire,
In all adventures as your Squire.

Quoth he, That may be said as true
By th' idlest pug of all your crew:
For none could have betray'd us worse
Than those allies of ours and yours.
But I have sent him for a token
To your low country Hogen-Mogen,
To whose infernal shores I hope

He'll swing like skippers in a rope :

1415

1420

1425

1430

1435

1440