And if she miss the mouse-trap lines,
They'll serve for other by-designs;
And make an artist understand
To copy out her seal, or hand;
Or find void places in the paper
To steal in something to entrap her;
Till with her worldly goods, and body,
Spite of her heart, she has endow'd ye :
Retain all sorts of witnesses,

That ply i' th' Temple, under trees,

Or walk the round, with Knights o' th' Posts,

About the cross-legg'd knights, their hosts;
Or wait for customers between

The pillar-rows in Lincoln's Inn;
Where vouchers, forgers, common-bail,
And affidavit-men, ne'er fail

T'expose to sale all sorts of oaths,
According to their ears and clothes,
Their only necessary tools,

Besides the Gospel and their souls:

And when ye're furnish'd with all purveys,

I shall be ready at your service.

I would not give (quoth Hudibras)

A straw to understand a case,
Without the admirable skill
To wind and manage it at will;

To veer, and tack, and steer a cause
Against the weathergage of laws,
And ring the changes upon cases,
As plain as noses upon faces,
As you have well instructed me,
For which you've earn'd (here 'tis) your

fee.

Samuel Butler.-Born 1612, Died 1680.

643-THE ELEPHANT IN THE MOON.

A learn'd society of late,
The glory of a foreign state,
Agreed upon a summer's night,

To search the moon by her own light;
To take an invent'ry of all
Her real estate, and personal;
And make an accurate survey
Of all her lands, and how they lay,
As true as that of Ireland, where
The sly surveyors stole a shire;

T' observe her country how 'twas planted,
With what sh' abounded most, or wanted;
And make the prop'rest observations
For settling of new plantations,
If the society should incline
T'attempt so glorious a design.

This was the purpose of their meeting,
For which they chose a time as fitting,
When, at the full, her radiant light
And influence too were at their height.
And now the lofty tube, the scale
With which they heav'n itself assail,
Was mounted full against the moon,
And all stood ready to fall on,
Impatient who should have the honour
To plant an ensign first upon her.

When one, who for his deep belief
Was virtuoso then in chief,
Approv'd the most profound, and wise,
To solve impossibilities,
Advancing gravely, to apply

To th' optic glass his judging eye,
Cried, Strange! then reinforc'd his sight
Against the moon with all his might,
And bent his penetrating brow
As if he meant to gaze her through:
When all the rest began t' admire,
And, like a train, from him took fire,
Surpris'd with wonder, beforehand,
At what they did not understand,
Cried out, impatient to know what
The matter was they wonder'd at.
Quoth he, Th' inhabitants o' th' moon,
Who, when the sun shines hot at noon,
Do live in cellars under ground,

Of eight miles deep and eighty round
(In which at once they fortify
Against the sun and th' enemy),

Which they count towns and cities there,
Because their people's civiller

Than those rude peasants that are found
To live upon the upper ground,
Call'd Prevolvans, with whom they are
Perpetually in open war;

And now both armies, highly enrag'd,
Are in a bloody fight engag'd,
And many fall on both sides slain,
As by the glass 'tis clear and plain.
Look quickly then, that every one
May see the fight before 'tis done.

With that a great philosopher,
Admir'd and famous far and near,
As one of singular invention,
But universal comprehension,
Applied one eye and half a nose
Unto the optic engine close;
For he had lately undertook
To prove and publish in a book,
That men whose nat'ral eyes are out,
May, by more powerful art, be brought
To see with th' empty holes, as plain
As if their eyes were in again!
And if they chanc'd to fail of those,
To make an optic of a nose,

As clearly it may, by those that wear
But spectacles, be made appear,
By which both senses being united,
Does render them much better sighted.
This great man, having fix'd both sights
To view the formidable fights,
Observ'd his best, and then cried out,
The battle's desperately fought;
The gallant Subvolvani rally,
And from their trenches make a sally
Upon the stubborn enemy,
Who now begin to route and fly.
These silly ranting Prevolvans

Have ev'ry summer their campaigns,
And muster, like the warlike sons
Of Rawhead and of Bloodybones,
As numerous as Solan geese,
I' th' islands of the Orcades,

Courageously to make a stand,
And face their neighbours hand to hand,
Until the long'd-for winter's come,
And then return in triumph home,
And spend the rest o' th' year in lies,
And vap'ring of their victories;
From th' old Arcadians they're believ'd
To be, before the moon, deriv'd,
And when her orb was new created,
To people her were thence translated:
For as th' Arcadians were reputed
Of all the Grecians the most stupid,
Whom nothing in the world could bring
To civil life, but fiddling,

They still retain the antique course
And custom of their ancestors,
And always sing and fiddle to
Things of the greatest weight they do.
While thus the learn'd man entertains
Th' assembly with the Prevolvans,
Another, of as great renown,
And solid judgment, in the moon,
That understood her various soils,

And which produc'd best gennet-moyles,
And in the register of fame

Had enter'd his long-living name,
After he had por'd long and hard
I' th' engine, gave a start, and star'd-
Quoth he, A stranger sight appears
Than e'er was seen in all the spheres ;
A wonder more unparallel'd
Than ever mortal tube beheld;
An elephant from one of those
Two mighty armies is broke loose,
And with the horror of the fight
Appears amaz'd, and in a fright:
Look quickly, lest the sight of us
Should cause the startled beast t' emboss.
It is a large one, far more great
Than e'er was bred in Afric yet,
From which we boldly may infer
The moon is much the fruitfuller.
And since the mighty Pyrrhus brought
Those living castles first, 'tis thought,
Against the Romans in the field,
It may an argument be held
(Arcadia being but a piece,
As his dominions were, of Greece),
To prove what this illustrious person
Has made so noble a discourse on,
And amply satisfied us all
Of th' Prevolvans' original.
That elephants are in the moon,
Though we had now discover'd none,
Is easily made manifest,
Since, from the greatest to the least,
All other stars and constellations
Have cattle of all sorts of nations,
And heaven, like a Tartar's hoard,
With great and numerous droves is stor`d;
And if the moon produce by nature
A people of so vast a stature,
'Tis consequent she should bring forth
Far greater beasts, too, than the earth
(As by the best accounts appears
Of all our great'st discoverers),

And that those monstrous creatures there, Are not such rarities as here.

Meanwhile the rest had had a sight Of all particulars o' the fight, And ev'ry man, with equal care, Perus'd of th' elephant his share; When one, who, for his excellence In height'ning words and shad'wing sense, And magnifying all he writ, With curious microscopic wit, Was magnified himself no less In home and foreign colleges, Began, transported with the twang Of his own trillo, thus t' harangue : "Most excellent and virtuous friends, This great discov'ry makes amends For all our unsuccessful pains, And lost expense of time and brains; For, by this sole phenomenon, We've gotten ground upon the moon, And gain'd a pass, to hold dispute With all the planets that stand out; To carry this most virtuous war Home to the door of every star, And plant the artillery of our tubes Against their proudest magnitudes : To stretch our victories beyond Th' extent of planetary ground, And fix our engines, and our ensigns, Upon the fix'd stars' vast dimensions (Which Archimede, so long ago, Durst not presume to wish to do), And prove if they are other suns, As some have held opinions,

Or windows in the empyreum,

From whence those bright effluvias come
Like flames of fire (as others guess)
That shine i' th' mouths of furnaces.
Nor is this all we have achiev'd,
But more, henceforth to be believ'd,
And have no more our best designs,
Because they're ours, believ'd ill signs.
T' out-throw, and stretch, and to enlarge,
Shall now no more be laid t' our charge;
Nor shall our ablest virtuosis
Prove arguments for coffee-houses;
Nor those devices, that are laid
Too truly on us, nor those made
Hereafter, gain belief among
Our strictest judges, right or wrong:
Nor shall our past misfortunes more
Be charg'd upon the ancient score;
No more our making old dogs young
Make men suspect us still i' th' wrong;
Nor new invented chariots draw
The boys to course us without law;
Nor putting pigs t' a bitch to nurse,
To turn 'em into mongrel curs,
Make them suspect our skulls are brittle,
And hold too much wit, or too little;
Nor shall our speculations, whether
An elder-stick will save the leather
Of schoolboy's breeches from the rod,
Make all we do appear as odd.
This one discovery's enough
To take all former scandals off:

But since the world 's incredulous

Look'd wise, then said :-"All this is true,

Of all our scrutinies, and us,
And with a prejudice prevents
Our best and worst experiments
(As if they were destin'd to miscarry,
In concert tried, or solitary),
And since it is uncertain when
Such wonders will occur again,
Let us as cautiously contrive
To draw an exact narrative

Of what we ev'ry one can swear

Our eyes themselves have seen appear,
That, when we publish the account,
We all may take our oaths upon't."

This said, they all with one consent
Agreed to draw up th' instrument,
And, for the gen'ral satisfaction,
To print it in the next transaction;
But whilst the chiefs were drawing up
This strange memoir o' th' telescope,
One, peeping in the tube by chance,
Beheld the elephant advance,
And from the west side of the moon
To th' east was in a moment gone.
This being related, gave a stop
To what the rest were drawing up;
And ev'ry man, amaz'd anew
How it could possibly be true,
That any beast should run a race
So monstrous, in so short a space,
Resolv'd, howe'er, to make it good,
At least as possible as he could,
And rather his own eyes condemn,
Than question what he 'ad seen with them.
While all were thus resolv'd, a man
Of great renown there, thus began
"Tis strange, I grant, but who can say
What cannot be-what can-and may?
Especially at so hugely vast

:

A distance as this wonder's plac'd,
Where the least error of the sight
May show things false, but never right;
Nor can we try them, so far off,
By any sublunary proof:

For who can say that Nature there
Has the same laws she goes by here?

Nor is it like she has infus'd,

In ev'ry species there produc'd,
The same efforts she does confer
Upon the same productions here,

Since those with us, of sev'ral nations,
Have such prodigious variations,
And she affects so much to use
Variety in all she does.

Hence may b'. inferr'd that, though I grant
We've seen i' th' moon an elephant,

That elephant may differ so

From those upon the earth below,
Both in his bulk, and force, and speed,
As being of a diff'rent breed,

That though our own are but slow-pac'd,
Theirs there may fly, or run as fast,
And yet be elephants no less
Than those of Indian pedigrees."

This said, another of great worth, Fam'd for his learned works put forth,

And learnedly observ'd by you;
But there's another reason for 't,
That falls but very little short
Of mathematic demonstration,
Upon an accurate calculation;
And that is-as the earth and moon
Do both move contrary upon
Their axes, the rapidity

Of both their motions cannot be
But so prodigiously fast,

That vaster spaces may be past
In less time than the beast has gone,
Though he'd no motion of his own,
Which we can take no measure of,
As you have clear'd by learned proof.
This granted, we may boldly thence
Lay claim t' a nobler inference,
And make this great phenomenon
(Were there no other) serve alone
To clear the grand hypothesis

Of th' motion of the earth from this."
With this they all were satisfied,
As men are wont o' th' bias'd side,
Applauded the profound dispute,
And grew more gay and resolute,
By having overcome all doubt,
Than if it never had fall'n out;
And, to complete their narrative,
Agreed t' insert this strange retrieve.

But while they were diverted all
With wording the memorial,
The footboys, for diversion too,
As having nothing else to do,
Seeing the telescope at leisure,
Turn'd virtuosis for their pleasure:
Began to gaze upon the moon,
As those they waited on had done,
With monkeys' ingenuity,

That love to practise what they see;
When one, whose turn it was to peep,
Saw something in the engine creep,
And, viewing well, discover'd more
Than all the learn'd had done before.
Quoth he "A little thing is slunk
Into the long star-gazing trunk,
And now is gotten down so nigh,
I have him just against mine eye."

This being overheard by one
Who was not so far overgrown
In any virtuous speculation,
To judge with mere imagination,
Immediately he made a guess
At solving all appearances,
A way far more significant

Than all their hints of th' elephant,
And found, upon a second view,

His own hypothesis most true;
For he had scarce applied his eye
To th' engine, but immediately
He found a mouse was gotten in
The hollow tube, and, shut between
The two glass windows in restraint,
Was swell'd into an elephant,
And prov'd the virtuous occasion
Of all this learned dissertation:

And, as a mountain heretofore
Was great with child they say, and bore
A silly mouse; this mouse, as strange,
Brought forth a mountain in exchange.

Meanwhile, the rest in consultation
Had penn'd the wonderful narration,
And set their hands, and seals, and wit,
T'attest the truth of what they 'ad writ,
When this accurs'd phenomenon
Confounded all they'd said or done:
For 'twas no sooner hinted at,
But they all were in a tumult straight,
More furiously enrag'd by far,

Than those that in the moon made war, To find so admirable a hint,

When they had all agreed to have seen't, And were engag'd to make it out, Obstructed with a paltry doubt.

This being resolv'd, they, one by one, Review'd the tube, the mouse, and moon; But still the narrower they pried, The more they were unsatisfied, In no one thing they saw agreeing, As if they 'ad sev'ral faiths of seeing; Some swore, upon a second view, That all they 'ad seen before was true, And that they never would recant One syllable of th' elephant; Avow'd his snout could be no mouse's, But a true elephant's proboscis. Others began to doubt and waver, Uncertain which o' th' two to favour, And knew not whether to espouse The cause of th' elephant or mouse. Some held no way so orthodox To try it, as the ballot-box, And, like the nation's patriots, To find or make the truth by votes: Others conceiv'd it much more fit T'unmount the tube and open it, And, for their private satisfaction, To re-examine the transaction, And after, explicate the rest As they should find cause for the best. To this, as th' only expedient, The whole assembly gave consent; But ere the tube was half let down, It clear'd the first phenomenon ; For, at the end, prodigious swarms Of flies and gnats, like men in arms, Had all pass'd muster, by mischance, Both for the Sub- and Prevolvans. This being discover'd, put them all Into a fresh and fiercer brawl, Asham'd that men so grave and wise Should be chaldes'd by gnats and flies, And take the feeble insects' swarms For mighty troops of men at arms; As vain as those who, when the moon Bright in a crystal river shone, Threw casting nets as subtily at her, To catch and pull her out o' the water. But when they had unscrew'd the glass, To find out where the impostor was,

And saw the mouse that, by mishap,
Had made the telescope a trap,
Amaz'd, confounded, and afflicted,
To be so openly convicted,
Immediately they get them gone,
With this discovery alone,
That those who greedily pursue
Things wonderful, instead of true,
That in their speculations choose
To make discoveries strange news,
And natural history a gazette
Of tales stupendous and far-fet;
Hold no truth worthy to be known,
That is not huge and overgrown,
And explicate appearances,

Not as they are, but as they please;
In vain strive nature to suborn,
And, for their pains, are paid with scorn.
Samuel Butler.-Born 1612, Died 1680.

644.-MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS.

The truest characters of ignorance
Are vanity, and pride, and arrogance;
As blind men used to bear their noses higher
Than those that have their eyes and sight
entire.

All wit and fancy, like a diamond,
The more exact and curious 'tis ground,
Is forc'd for every carat to abate
As much in value as it wants in weight.

Love is too great a happiness
For wretched mortals to possess ;
For could it hold inviolate
Against those cruelties of fate
Which all felicities below
By rigid laws are subject to,
It would become a bliss too high
For perishing mortality;

Translate to earth the joys above,
For nothing goes to Heaven but Love.
All love at first, like generous wine,
Ferments and frets until 'tis fine;
For when 'tis settled on the lee,
And from the impurer matter free,
Becomes the richer still the older,
And proves the pleasanter the colder.

As at the approach of winter, all
The leaves of great trees use to fall,
And leave them naked, to engage
With storms and tempests when they rage,
While humbler plants are found to wear
Their fresh green liveries all the year;

So when their glorious season's gone
With great men, and hard times come on,
The greatest calamities oppress
The greatest still, and spare the less.

In Rome no temple was so low
As that of Honour, built to show
How humble honour ought to be,
Though there 'twas all authority.

All smatterers are more brisk and pert
Than those that understand an art;
As little sparkles shine more bright
Than glowing coals that give them light.
Samuel Butler.-Born 1612, Died 1680.

645.-TO HIS MISTRESS.

Do not unjustly blame

My guiltless breast,

For venturing to disclose a flame
It had so long supprest.

In its own ashes it design'd

For ever to have lain ;

But that my sighs, like blasts of wind, Made it break out again.

Samuel Butler.-Born 1612, Died 1680.

Yet more and more he smiles upon
The happy revolution.

Why should we then suspect or fear
The influences of a year,

So smiles upon us the first morn,
And speaks us good as soon as born?
Plague on't! the last was ill enough,
This cannot but make better proof;
Or, at the worst, as we brush'd through
The last, why so we may this too;
And then the next in reason should
Be super-excellently good:

For the worst ills, we daily see,
Have no more perpetuity
Than the best fortunes that do fall;
Which also brings us wherewithal
Longer their being to support,
Than those do of the other sort:
And who has one good year in three,
And yet repines at destiny,
Appears ungrateful in the case,
And merits not the good he has.
Then let us welcome the new guest
With lusty brimmers of the best :
Mirth always should good fortune meet,
And renders e'en disaster sweet :
And though the princess turn her back,
Let us but line ourselves with sack,
We better shall by far hold out
Till the next year she face about.

Charles Cotton.-Born 1630, Died 1687.

646.-THE NEW YEAR.

Hark! the cock crows, and yon bright star
Tells us the day himself 's not far;
And see,
where, breaking from the night,
He gilds the western hills with light.
With him old Janus doth appear,
Peeping into the future year,
With such a look as seems to say
The prospect is not good that way.
Thus do we rise ill sights to see,
And 'gainst ourselves to prophesy ;
When the prophetic fear of things
A more tormenting mischief brings,
More full of soul-tormenting gall
Than direst mischiefs can befall.
But stay! but stay! methinks my sight,
Better inform'd by clearer light,
Discerns sereneness in that brow,
That all contracted seem'd but now.
His reversed face may show distaste,
And frown upon the ills are past;
But that which this way looks is clear,
And smiles upon the New-born Year.
He looks, too, from a place so high,
The year lies open to his eye;
And all the moments open are
To the exact discoverer.

647.-INVITATION TO IZAAK WALTON.
Whilst in this cold and blustering clime,
Where bleak winds howl, and tempests roar,
We pass away the roughest time
Has been of many years before;
Whilst from the most tempestuous nooks
The chillest blasts our peace invade,
And by great rains our smallest brooks
Are almost navigable made;

Whilst all the ills are so improv'd

Of this dead quarter of the year,

That even you, so much belov'd,

We would not now wish with us here:

In this estate, I say, it is

Some comfort to us to suppose, That in a better clime than this, You, our dear friend, have more repose;

And some delight to me the while,

Though nature now does weep in rain,
To think that I have seen her smile,
And haply may I do again.

If the all-ruling Power please
We live to see another May,
We'll recompense an age of these
Foul days in one fine fishing day.