And those that have writ best, had they been That neither th' other can abide, rich, Had ne'er been clapp'd with a poetic itch; But, being for all other trades unfit, THEY that do write in others' praises, For praise, that 's due, does give no more That sets a gloss on what 's amiss, And writes what should be, not what is. IN foreign universities, When a king's born, or weds, or dies, And seem more learnedish than those And, as wit goes by colleges, As well as standing and degrees, He still writes better than the rest, That's of the house that 's counted best. FAR greater numbers have been lost by hopes Than all the magazines of daggers, ropes, And other ammunitions of despair, Were ever able to dispatch by fear. THERE's nothing our felicities endears But too much reason on each side? AUTHORITY is a disease and cure, Which men can neither want nor well endure. DAME Justice puts her sword into the scales, With which she's said to weigh out true and false, With no design but, like the antique Gaul, To get more money from the capital. ALL that which Law and Equity miscalls For one at one time, and upon free cost, is The old wife, Law and Justice, will not trot. THE law, that makes more knaves than e'er it hung, Little considers right or wrong; But, like authority, 's soon satisfy'd THE law can take a purse in open court, Whilst it condemns a less delinquent for 't. WHO can deserve, for breaking of the laws, A greater penance than an honest cause? ALL those that do but rob and steal enough, Are punishment and court-of-justice proof, And need not fear, nor be concern'd a straw, In all the idle bugbears of the law, But confidently rob the gallows too, As well as other sufferers, of their due. OLD laws have not been suffer'd to be pointed, Like that which falls among our doubts and fears, To leave the sense at large the more disjointed, And furnish lawyers, with the greater ease, And strive perpetually to make the standard A MAN of quick and active wit For drudgery is more unfit, Compar'd to those of duller parts, Than running-nags to draw in carts. Too much or too little wit Do only render th' owners fit For nothing, but to be undone Much easier than if they 'ad none. As those that are stark blind can trace The nearest ways from place to place, And find the right way easier out, Than those that hoodwink'd try to do 't; So tricks of state are manag'd best By those that are suspected least, And greatest finesse brought about By engines most unlike to do 't. ALL the politics of the great Are like the cunning of a cheat, That lets his false dice freely run, And trusts them to themselves alone, But never lets a true one stir Without some fingering trick or slur; And, when the gamesters doubt his play, Conveys his false dice safe away, And leaves the true ones in the lurch, T endure the torture of the search. WHAT else does history use to tell us, of statesmen, and their want of sense; Their own selves first, next those who trustthem? BECAUSE a feeble limb 's carest, And more indulg'd than all the rest, Are humour'd to do what they please; As, at th' approach of winter, all While humbler plants are found to wear As when a greedy raven sees That in their ravenous clutches fall: T'enclose the Earth with living walls. So jailors, that are most accurst, THERE needs no other charm, nor conjurer, To raise infernal spirits up, but fear; That makes men pull their horns in like a snail, That's both a prisoner to itself, and jail; Draws more fantastic shapes, than in the grains Of knotted wood, in some men's crazy brains, When all the cocks they think they see, and bulls, Are only in the insides of their sculls. THE Roman mufti, with his triple crown, Does both the Earth, and Hell, and Heaven, own, Beside th' imaginary territory, He lays a title to in Purgatory; Declares himself an absolute free prince In his dominions, only over sins; But as for Heaven, since it lies so far Above him, is but only titular, And, like his cross-keys badge upon a tavern, Has nothing there to tempt, command, or govern: He finds his gains increase, by sin and women, A JUBILEE is but a spiritual fair, T" expose to sale all sorts of impious ware, THAT Spiritual pattern of the church, the ark, In which the ancient world did once embark, Had ne'er a helm in 't to direct its way, Although bound through an universal sea; When all the modern church of Rome's concern Is nothing else but in the helm and stern. In the church of Rome to go to shrift, Is but to put the soul on a clean shift. An ass will with his long ears fray The flies, that tickle him, away; But man delights to have his ears Blown maggots in by flatterers. ALL wit does but divert men from the road In which things vulgarly are understood, And force Mistake and Ignorance to own A better sense than commonly is known. IN little trades, more cheats and lying Are us'd in selling than in buying; But in the great, unjuster dealing Is us'd in buying than in selling. 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. LAW does not put the least restraint For wholesome laws preserve us free, THE world has long endeavour'd to reduce In all the world there is no vice Less prone t' excess than avarice; It neither cares for food nor clothing: Nature's content with little, that with nothing. 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. It is a harder thing for men to rate Their own parts at an equal estimate, Than cast up fractions, in th' account of Heaven, Of time and motion, and adjust them even; For modest persons never had a true Particular of all that is their due. SOME people's fortunes, like a weft or stray, Are only gain'd by losing of their way. As he that makes his mark is understood To write his name, and 'tis in law as good; So he, that cannot write one word of sense, Believes he has as legal a pretence To scribble what he does not understand, As idiots have a title to their land. WERE Tully now alive, he 'd be to seek In all our Latin terms of art and Greek; Would never understand one word of sense The most irrefragable schoolman means: As if the schools design'd their terms of art Not to advance a science, but divert; As Hocus Pocus conjures, to amuse The rabble from observing what he does. As 'tis a greater mystery, in the art Of painting, to foreshorten any part Than draw it out; so 'tis in books the chief Of all perfections to be plain and brief. THE man, that for his profit 's bought t' obey, Is only hir'd, on liking, to betray; And, when he's bid a liberaller price, Will not be sluggish in the work, nor nice. OPINIATORS naturally differ From other men; as wooden legs are stiffer Than those of pliant joints, to yield and bow, Which way soe'er they are design'd to go. NAVIGATION, that withstood The mortal fury of the Flood, THE prince of Syracuse, whose destin'd fate It was to keep a school and rule a state, Found, that his sceptre never was so aw'd, As when it was translated to a rod; And that his subjects ne'er were so obedient, As when he was inaugurated pedant: For to instruct is greater than to rule, And no command 's so imperious as a school As he, whose destiny does prove To dangle in the air above, Does lose his life for want of air, That only fell to be his share; So he, whom Fate at once design'd To plenty and a wretched mind, Is but condemn'd t' a rich distress, And starves with niggardly excess. THE universal med'cine is a trick, That Nature never meant, to cure the sick, And therefore that French quack, that set up physic. For, though in mortal poisons every one Yet Nature never made an antidote A CONVERT 's but a fly, that turns about, After his head 's pull'd off, to find it out. ALL mankind is but a rabble, As those that, crowding in the street, Yet all fall out about the sight; And, when they chance t' agree, the choice is Are measur'd, not by weight, but tale. Do not mine affection slight, 'Cause my locks with age are white: 227 THOSE get the least that take the greatest pains, Your breasts have snow without, and snow within, But most of all i' th' drudgery of brains; A natural sign of weakness, as an ant Is more laborious than an elephant ; And children are more busy at their play, Than those that wisely'st pass their time away. ALL the inventions that the world contains, Were not by reason first found out, nor brains; But pass for theirs who had the luck to light Upon them by mistake or oversight. While flames of fire in your bright eyes are seen. EPIGRAM ON A CLUB OF SOTS. THE jolly members of a toping club, For nothing else but only to hold drink. TRIPLETS UPON AVARICE. As misers their own laws enjoin, For fear they should the ore purloin; So he that toils and labours hard Is from the use of all debarr'd. And, though he can produce more spankers Than all the usurers and bankers, Yet after more and more he hankers; And, after all his pains are done, DESCRIPTION OF HOLLAND. A COUNTRY that draws fifty foot of water, HUDIBRAS'S ELEGY'. IN days of yore, when knight or squire To bear them to the hemisphere, And there among the stars to leave them, And sure our knight, whose very sight wou'd And therefore, to prevent his dudgeon, Oh me! what tongue, what pen, can tell I Neither this elegy, nor the following epitaph, is to be found in The Genuine Remains of Butler, as published by Mr. Thyer. Both however having frequently been reprinted in The Posthumous Works of Samuel Butler, and as they, besides, relate to the hero of his particular poem, there needs no apology for their being thus preserved. Some other of the posthumous poems would not have disgraced their supposed author; but, as they are so positively rejected by Mr. Thyer, we have not ventured to admit them. N. Or than our modern heroes can, Oh! help me, help me, some kind Muse, A knight, more learned, stout, and good, That, to speak truth, th' account it lost, And famous, too, at petty sessions, 'Gainst thieves and whores, for long digressions, He could most learnedly determine To Bridewell, or the stocks, the vermin. Was thought by most to be a woman Hard was his fate in this, I own, To give him such a mortal stab, He might, perhaps, have met a fate A knight so fam'd in civil war. To sum up all-from love and danger Of errant knights th' epitome. HUDIBRAS'S EPITAPH. UNDER this stone rests Hudibras, |