And make him glad, at least, to quit
His victory, and fly the pit,
Before the secular prince of darkness
Arriv'd to seize upon his carcass :
And as a fox, with hot pursuit
Chas'd through a warren, casts about,
To save his credit, and among
Dead vermin on a gallows hung;
And while the dogs run underneath,
Escap'd (by counterfeiting death)
Not out of cunning, but a train
Of atoms justling in his brain,
As learn'd philosophers give out;
So Sidrophello cast about
And fell to's wonted trade again,
To feign himself in earnest slain :
First stretch'd out one leg, then another,
And seeming in his breast to smother
A broken sigh; quoth he, 'Where am I?
Alive, or dead? or which way came I
Through so immense a space so soon?
But now I thought myself i' th' moon,
And that a monster, with huge whiskers,
More formidable than a Switzer's,
My body through and through had drill'd,
And Whachum by my side had kill'd,
Had cross-examin'd both our hose,
And plunder'd all we had to lose;
Look, there he is, I see him now,
And feel the place I am run through;
And there lies Whachum by my side
Stone dead, and in his own blood dy'd.
Oh! oh!'-with that he fetch'd a groan,
And fell again into a swoon,
Shut both his eyes, and stopt his breath,
And to the life out-acted death;
That Hudibras, to all appearing,
Believ'd him to be dead as herring.
He held it now no longer safe
To tarry the return of Ralph,
But rather leave him in the lurch:
Thought he, He has abus'd our Church,
Refus'd to give himself one firk
To carry on the Public Work ;
Despis'd our Synod men like dirt,
And made their Discipline his sport;
Divulg'd the secrets of their Classes,
And their Conventions prov'd high places ;
Disparag❜d their tithe-pigs, as Pagan,
And set at nought their cheese and bacon;
Rail'd at their Covenant, and jeer'd
Their reverend Parsons, to my beard;
For all which scandals, to be quit
At once, this juncture falls out fit.
I'll make him henceforth to beware,
And tempt my fury if he dare :
He must at least hold up his hand,
By twelve freeholders to be scann'd,
Who by their skill in palmistry,
Will quickly read his destiny,
And make him glad to read his lesson,
Or take a turn for't at the Session,
Unless his light and gifts prove truer
Than ever yet they did, I'm sure;
For if he 'scape with whipping now,
'Tis more than he can hope to do;
And that will disengage my Conscience
Of the' obligation, in his own sense :
I'll make him now by force abide
What he by gentle means denied,
To give my honour satisfaction,
And right the Brethren in the action.'
This being resolv'd, with equal speed
And conduct he approach'd his steed,
And, with activity unwont,
Assay'd the lofty beast to mount;
Which once achiev'd, he spurr'd his palfry,
To get from the' enemy and Ralph free;
Left danger, fears, and foes behind,
And beat, at least three lengths, the wind.
WELL, Sidrophel, though 'tis in vain
To tamper with your crazy brain,
Without trepanning of your scull,
As often as the moon's at full,
'Tis not amiss, ere ye're giv'n o'er,
To try one desperate med'cine more;
(1) This Epistle was published ten years after the Third Canto of this Second Part, to which it is now annexed, namely, in the year 1674; and is said, in a Key to a burlesque poem of Mr. Butler's, published 1706, to have been occasioned by Sir Paul Neal, a conceited virtuoso, and member of the Royal Society, who constantly affirmed that Mr. Butler was not the Author of Hudibras, which occasioned this Epistle; and by some he has been taken for the real Sidrophel of the Poem. This was the gentleman who is said to have made a great discovery of an elephant in the moon, which, upon examination, proved to be no other than a mouse which had mistaken its way, and got into his telescope. See Poem, entitled, The Elephant in the Moon, Vol. III.
For where your case can be no worse,
The desp'rat'st is the wisest course.
Is't possible that you, whose ears
Are of the tribe of Issachar's,
And might (with equal reason) either
For merit, or extent of leather,
With William Prynne's, before they were
Retrench'd and crucified, compare,
Should yet be deaf against a noise
So roaring as the public voice?
That speaks your virtues free and loud,
And openly in every crowd,
As loud as one that sings his part
To' a wheel-barrow, or turnip-cart,
Or your new nick'd-nam'd old invention
To cry green-Hastings with an engine;
(As if the vehemence had stunn'd,
And turn your drumheads with the sound)
And 'cause your folly's now no news,
But overgrown, and out of use,
Persuade yourself there's no such matter,
But that 'tis vanish'd out of Nature;
When Folly, as it grows in years,
The more extravagant appears;
For who but you could be possest
With so much ignorance and beast,
That neither all men's scorn and hate,
Nor being laugh'd and pointed at,
Nor bray'd so often in a mortar,
Can teach you wholesome sense and nurture,
But (like a reprobate) what course
'Soever us'd, grow worse and worse?
Can no transfusion of the blood,
That makes fools cattle, do you good?
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