DOUBTLESS the pleasure is as great
Of being cheated, as to cheat;
As lookers on feel most delight,
That least perceive a juggler's flight,
And still lefs they understand,
'The more th' admire his flight of hand.
Some with a noife, a greafy light,
Are fnapt, as men catch larks by night,
Enfnar'd and hamper'd by the foul,
As noofes by the legs catch fowl.
Some with a med'cine and receipt
Are drawn to nibble at the bait;
And though it be a two-foot trout,
"Tis with a fingle hair pull'd out.

Others believe no voice t' an organ
So fweet as lawyer's in his bar-gown,
Until with fubtle cobweb-cheats
They're catch'd in knotted law, like nets;
In which, when once they are imbrangled,
The more they ftir, the more the're tangled;
And while their purfes can difpute,
There's no end of th' immortal suit.

Others ftill grape t' anticipate The cabinet-defigns of Fate,

Apply to wizards, to foresee
What fhall, and what fhall never be ;
And as thofe vultures do forebode,
Believe events prove bad or good;
A flam more fenfelefs than the roguery
Of old aurufpicy and aug'ry,
That out of garbages of cattle
Prefag'd th' events of truce or battle;
From flight of birds, or chickens pecking,
Succefs of great'st attempts wou'd reckon :
Though cheats, yet more intelligible,
Than those that with the stars do fribble.
This Hudibras by proof found true,
As in due time and place we'll fhew:
For he with beard and face made clean,
Being mounted on his steed agen,
(And Ralpho got a cock-horse too,
Upon his beaft, with much ado)
Advanc'd on for the Widow's house,
T'acquit himself, and pay his vows;
When various thoughts began to bustle,
And with his inward man to juftle.
He thought what danger might accrue,
If the should find he fwere untrue;

Or if his Squire or he should fail,
And not be punctual in their tale,
It might at once the ruin prove
Both of his honour, faith, and love:
But if he fhould forbear to go,

She might conclude he'd broke his vow;
And that he durft not now, for fhame,
Appear in court to try his claim,
This was the penn' worth of his thought,
To pafs time, and uneafy trot.

Quoth he, In all my past adventures
I ne'er was fet fo on the tenters,
Or taken tardy with dilemma,
That ev'ry way I turn docs hem me,
And with inextricable doubt,
Befets my puzzled wits about:

For though the Dame has been my bail,
To free me from enchanted jail,
Yet as a dog, committed clofe

For fome offence, by chance breaks loose;
And quits his clog; but all in vain,
He ftill draws after him his chain :
So though my ankle the has quitted,
My heart continues ftill committed;
And like a bail'd and mainpriz'd lover,
Although at large, I am bound over :
And when I fhall appear in court
To plead my caufe, and answer for't,
Unless the judge do partial prove,
What will become of me and love?
For if in our account we vary,
Or but in circumstance mifcarry;
Or if the put me to ftrict proof,
And make me pull my doublet off,
To fhew, by evident record,
Writ on my fkin, I've kept my word,
How can I e'er expect to have her,
Having demurr'd into her favour?
But faith, and love, and honour loft,
Shall be reduc'd t' a Knight o' th' Post?
Befide that ftripping may prevent
What I'm to prove by argument,
And justify I have a tail,

And that way, too, my proof may fail.
Oh that I could enucleate,

And folve the problems of my fate;
Or find, by necromantic art,

How far the Deft'nies take my part;
For if I were not more than certain
To win and wear her and her fortune,
I'd go no farther in this courtfhip,.
To hazard foul, eftate, and Worship:
For though an oath obliges not,
Where any thing is to be got,
(As thou haft prov'd) yet 'tis profane,
And finful, when men fwear in vain.

Quoth Ralph, Not far from hence doth dwell
A cunning man, hight Sidrophel",
That deals in Deftiny's dark counfels,
And fage opinion of the Moon fells,

William Lilly, the famous aftrologer of thofe times, who in his yearly almanacks foretold victories for the Parlia ent with as much certainty as the preachers did in their termons.

To whom all people, far and near,
On deep importances repair;
When brafs and pewter hap to ftray,
And linen links out o' the way;
When geefe and pullen are feduc'd,

nd fows of fucking pigs are chows'd;
When cattle feel indifpofition,
And need th' opinion of phyfician;
When murrain reigns in hogs or sheep,
And chickens languifh of the pip;
When yeft and outward means do fail,
And have no pow'r to work on ale;
When butter does refufe to come,
And love proves crofs and humourfome;
To him with questions, and with urinc,
They for discov'ry flock, for curing.

Quoth Hudibras, This Sidrophel
I've heard of, and fhould like it well,
If thou canft prove the Saints have freedom
To go to forc'rers when they need 'em,

Says Ralpho, There's no doubt of that;
Thofe principles I quoted late,
Prove that the Godly may allege
For any thing their privilege,
And to the dev'l himself may go,
If they have motives thereunto:
For as there is a war between
The dev'l and them, it is no fin,
If they by fubtle ftratagem
Make ufe of him, as he does them.
Has not this present Parlament
A leger to the dev'l fent,
Fully empower'd to treat about
Finding revolted witches out?
And has not he, within a year,
Hang'd threefcore of 'em in one fhire;
Some only for not being drown'd,
And fome for fitting above ground,
Whole days and nights, upon their breeches,
And feeling pain, were hang'd for witches;
And fome for putting knavish tricks
Upon green geefe and turkey-chicks,
Or pigs that fuddenly deceaft
Of griefs unnat'ral, as he gueft;
Who after prov'd himfelf a witch,
And made a rode for his own breech.
Did not the dev'l appear to Martin
Luther in Germany, for certain?
And wou'd have gull'd him with a trick,
But Mart. was too, too politic.
Did he not help the Dutch to purge,
At Antwerp, their cathedral church?
Sing catches to the Saints at Mascon,
And tell them all they came to ask him?
Appear in divers fhapes to Kelly,
And speak i' th' Nun of Loudon's belly?
Meet with the parl'ment's Committee,
At Woodstock, on a pers'nal treaty?
At Sarum take a Cavalier

I' th' Caufe's fervice, prisoner?
As Withers in immortal rhyme
Has register'd to aftertime.

This Withers was a Puritanical officer in the Parlia ment army, and a great pretender to poetry, as appears from his Poems enumerated by A. Wood,

Do not our great Reformers ufe
This Sidrophel to forebode news;
To write of victories next year,
And castles taken yet i' th' air?
Of battles fought at fea, and fhips
Sunk two years hence, the laft eclipfe?
A total o'erthrow giv'n the King

In Cornwall, horfe and foot, next fpring?
And has not he point-blank foretold
Whats'e'er the Clofe Committee would?
Made Mars and Saturn for the Caufe,
The Moon for fundametal laws?
The Ram, the Bull, and Goat, declare
Against the Book of Common-Prayer?
The Scorpion take the Proteftation,
And Bear engage for Reformation?
Made all the Royal stars recant,
Compound, and take the Covenant?

Quoth Hudibras, The cafe is clear
The Saints may 'mploy a Conjurer,
As thou haft prov'd it by their practice;
No argument like matter of fact is:
And we are best of all led to
Men's principles, by what they do.
Then let us ftraight advance in quest
Of this profound gymnosophist,
And as the Fates and he advise,
Purfue, or wave this enterprise.
This faid, he turn'd about his fteed,
And eftfoons on th' adventure rid;
Where leave we him and Ralph awhile,
And to the conj'rer turn our style,
To let our reader understand
What's ufeful of him beforehand.
He had been long t'wards mathematics,
Optics, philofopy, and statics,
Magic, horofcopy, aftrology,
And was old dog at physiology;
But as a dog that turns the spit
Beftirs himself, and plies his feet
To climb the wheel, but all in vain,
His own weight brings him down again,
And ftill he's in the self-fame place
Where at his fetting out he was;
So in the circle of the arts
Did he advance his nat'ral parts,
'Till falling back ftill, for retreat,
He fell to juggle, cant, and cheat:
For as thofe fowls that live in water
Are never wet, he did but fmatter;
Whate'er he labour'd to appear,
His understanding still was clear;
Yet none a deeper knowledge boafted,
Since old Hodge Bacon, and Bob Grofted t.
Th' intelligible world he knew,

And all men dream on't to be truc,
That in this world's not a wart

That has not there a counterpart;

Roger Bacon, commonly called Friar Baron, lived in the reign of our Edward I.; and for fome litrie thi! he had in the mathematics, was by the rabble accounted a con jurer, and had the fortith dory of the Brezen Head father. cd upon him by the ignorant Monks of those days. + Bithop Grutted was Billop of Lincoln, 25th Henry III. A. D. 1235.

Nor can there on the face of ground
An individual beard be found
That has not, in that foreign nation,
A fellow of the felf-fame fafhion;
So cut, fo colour'd, and fo curl'd,
As thofe are in th' inferior world.
He'd read Dee's § prefaces before,
The Devil, and Euclid, o'er and o'er;
And all th' intrigues 'twixt him and Kelly,
Lafcus and th' Emperor, would tell ye :
But with the moon was more familiar
Than e'er was almanack well-willer;
Her fecrets understood fo clear,
That fome believ'd he had been there;
Knew when he was in fitteft mood
For cutting corns, or letting blood:
When for anointing fcabs or itches,
Or to the bum applying leeches;
When fows and bitches may be spay'd,
And in what fign beft cyder's made;
Whether the wane be, or increase,
Beft to fet garlic, or fow peafe;
Who first found out the man o' th' moon,
That to th' Ancients was unknown;
How many dukes, and carls, and peers,
Are in the planetary spheres;
Their airy empire, and command,
Their fevral strengths by fea and land;
What factions they've, and what they drive at
In public vogue, or what in private:
With what defigns and interefts
Each party manages contefts.
He made an inftrument to know
If the moon fhine at full or no;

That would, as foon as e'er the fhone, straight,
Whether 'twere day or night demonftrate;
Tell what her d'ameter to an inch is,
And prove that she's not made of green cheese.
It wou'd demonftrate, that the man in
The moon's a fea Mediterranean;
And that it is no dog or bitch

That ftands behind him at his breech,

But a huge Cafpian fea or lake,

With arms, which men for legs miftake;

How large a gulf his tail compofes,

And what a goodly bay his nose is;

How many German leagues by th' scale

Cape Snout's from Promontory Tail.

He made a planetary gin,

Which rats would run their own heads in,
And come on purpose to be taken,
Without th' expence of cheese or bacon,
With luftrings he would counterfeit
Maggots that crawl on difh of meat;
Quote moles and fpots on any place
O' th' body, by the index face;
Detect loit maidenheads by fneezing,
Or breaking wind of dames, or pifling;

Dee was a Welchman, and educated at Oxford, where be commenced Doctor, and afterwards traveled into fo reign parts.

Albertus Lafcus, Lafky, or Alafco Prince Palatine of Poland, concerned with Dee and Kelly,

Cure warts and corns, with application
Of medicines to th' imagination:
Fright agues into dogs, and scare,
With rhymes, the toothach and catarrh ;
Chafe evil sp'rits away by dint
Of fickle, horseshoe, hollow flint;
Spit fire out of a walnut-fhell,
Which made the Roman slaves rebel;
And fire a mine in China here,
With fympathetic gunpowder.

He knew whats'ever's to be known,

But much more than he knew would own.
What med'cine 'twas that Paracelfus
Could make a man with, as he tells us;
What figur'd flates are best to make,
On wat'ry furface, duck or drake;
What bowling-ftones, in running race
Upon a board, have swifteft pace;
Whether a pulfe beat in the black
Lift of a dappled loufe's back;
If fyftole or diaftole move
Quickest when he's in wrath, or love;
When two of them do run a race,
Whether they gallop, trot, or pace;
How many scores a flea will jump,
Of his own length from head to rump,
Which Socrates and Chærephon
In vain affay'd fo long agone;
Whether his fnout a perfect nofe is,
And not an elephant's proboscis ;
How many different fpecies
Of maggots breed in rotten cheese;
And which are next of kin to those
Engender'd in a chandler's nofe;
Or those not seen, but understood,
That live in vinegar and wood.

A paltry wretch he had, half-ftarv'd, That him in place of zany serv'd, Hight Whachum, bred to dafh and draw, Not wine, but more unwholesome law; To make 'twixt words and lines huge gaps, Wide as meridians in maps; To fquander paper, and fpare ink, Or cheat men of their words, fome think. From this, by merited degrees, He'd to more high advancement rise, To be an under-conjurer,

Or journeyman aftrologer :

His bus'nefs was to pump and wheedle,
And men with their own keys unriddle;
To make them to themselves give answers
For which they pay the necromancers;
To fetch and carry 'ntelligence

Of whom, and what, and where, and whence
And all discoveries difperfe

Among the whole pack of conjurers;
What cut-purfes have left with them,
For the right owners to redeem,

Journeyman to Sydrophel, who was one Tem Jones, a foolith Welchman. In a key to a poem of Mr Butler's, Whachum is faid to be one Richard Green, who publish ed a pamphet of about five theets of baf cribaldry, and called, Hudibras in a Share it was printed about the year 1657.

And what they dare not vent, find out,
To gain themselves and th' art repute,
Draw figures, schemes, and horoscopes,
Of Newgate, Bridewell, brokers' fhops,
Of thieves afcendant in the cart,
And find out all by rules of art;
Which way a ferving man, that's run
With clothes or money away, is gone;
Who pick'd a fob at Holding-forth,
And where a watch, for half the worth,
May be redeem'd; or stolen plate
Reftor'd at conscionable rate.
Befide all this, he ferv'd his master

quality of poetafter,

And rhymes appropriate could make
To ev'ry month i' th' almanack;
When terms begin and end could tell,
With their returns, in doggerel;
When the Exchequer opes and fhuts,
And fowgelder with safety cuts;
When men may eat and drink their fill,
And when be temp'rate, if they will;
When ufe, and when abstain from vice,
Figs, grapes, phlebotomy, and spice.
And as in prison mean rogues beat
Hemp for the fervice of the great,
So Whachum beat his dirty brains
T' advance his mafter's fame and gains,
And, like the devil's oracles,
Put into doggrel rhymes his fpells,
Which over ev'ry month's blank page
I' th' almanack, strange bilks prefage.
He would an elegy compofe
On maggots fqueez'd out of his nose;
In lyric numbers write an ode on
His miftrefs, eating a black pudden;
And when imprison'd air efcap'd her,
It puft him with poetic rapture.
His fonnets charm'd th' attentive crowd,
By wide-mouth'd mortal troll'd aloud,
That, circled with his long car'd guests,
Like Orpheus look'd among the beafts;
A carman's horfe could not pass by,
But stood ty'd up to poetry;
No porter's burden pafs'd along,
But ferv'd for burden to his fong:
Each window like a pill'ry appears,
With heads thrust through, nail'd by the cars
All trades run in as to the fight
Of monsters to their dear delight
The gallow-tree, when cutting purse
Breeds bus nefs for heroic verfe,

Which none does hear but would have hung
T' have been the theme of fuch a song.

Thofe two together long had liv'd

In mansion prudently contriv'd,
Where neither tree nor house could bar
The free detection of a star;

And nigh an ancient obelisk

Was rais'd by him, found out by Fisk,
On which was written, not in words,
But hieroglyphic mute of birds,
Many rare pithy faws, concerning
The worth of astrologic learning:

No

1

From top of this there hung a rope,
To which he faften'd telescope,
The fpectacles with which the stars
He reads in fmalleft characters.
It happen'd as a boy, one night,
Did fly his tarsel of a kite,

The ftrangeft long-wing'd hawk that flies,
That, like a bird of Paradife,

Or herald's martlet, has no legs,
Nor hatches young ones, nor lays eggs;
His train was fix yards long, milk-white,
At th' end of which there hung a light,
Inclos'd in lantern made of paper,
That far off like a ftar did appear:
This Sidrophel by chance espy'd,
And with amazement staring wide,
Blefs us, quoth he, what dreadful wonder
Is that appears in heav'n yonder?
A comet, and without a beard!
Or ftar that ne'er before appear'd?
I'm certain 'tis not in the scroll

Of all thofe beasts, and fish, and fowl,
With which, like Indian plantations,
The learned stock the conftellations;
Nor thofe that drawn for figns have been
To th' houfes where the planets inn.
It must be fupernatural,

Unless it be that cannon-ball

That, fhot i' th' air point blank upright,
Was borne to that prodigious height
'I hat, learn'd philofophers maintain,
It ne'er came backwards down again
But in the airy region yet

Hangs, like the body of Mahomet :
For if it be above the fhade

That by the earth's round bulk is made,
'Tis probable it may, from far,
Appear no bullet, but a star,

This faid, he to his engine flew,
Plac'd near at hand, in open view,
And rais'd it till it levell'd right
Against the glow-worm tail of kite,

Then peeping through, Blefs us! (quoth he) It is a planet, now, I fee;

And, if I err not, by his proper Figure, that's like tobacco ftopper, It should be Saturn: yes, 'tis clear 'Tis Saturn, but what makes him there? He's 's got between the Dragon's tail And farther leg behind o' th' whale; Pray Heav'n divert the fatal omen, For 'tis a prodigy not common, And can no less than the world's end, Or Nature's funeral, portend. With that he fell again to pry, Through perspective, more wiftfully. When, by mifchance, the faral string, That kept the tow'ring fowl on wing, Breaking down fell the ftar. Well fhot, Quoth Whachum, who right wifely thought He'ad levell'd at a star, and hit it ; But Sidrophel, more fubtle-witted, Cry'd out, What horrible and fearful Portent is this, to fee a star fall ?

It threatens Nature, and the doom
Will not be long before it come!
When stars do fall, 'tis plain enough
The day of judgment's not far off;
As lately 'twas reveal'd to Sedgwick",
And fome of us find out by magic:
Then fince the time we have to live
In this world's fhorten'd, let us strive
To make our beft advantage of it,
And pay our loffes with our profit.

This feat fell out not long before
The Knight, upon the forenam'd score,
In queft of Sidrophel advancing,
Was now in profpect of the mansion;
Whom he discov'ring, turn'd his glass,
And found far off 't was Hudibras.

Whachum, (quoth he) look yonder, fome
To try or use our art are come :
The one's the learned Knight; feek out,
And pump'em what they come about.
Whachum advanc'd, with all fubmiff'nefs
T'accoft 'em, but much more their bus'nefs:
He held a stirrup, while the knight
From leathern Bare-bones did alight;
And taking from his hand the bridle,
Approach'd the dark Squire to unriddle.
He gave him firft the time o' th' day,
And welcom'd him, as he might say:
He afk'd him whence they came, and whither
Their bus'nefs lay? Quoth Ralpho, Hither.
Did you not lofs-Quoth Ralpho, Nay.
Quoth Whachum, Sir, I meant your way!
Your Knight, quoth Ralpho, is a lover,
And pains intol'rable doth fuffer;

For lovers' hearts are not their own hearts,
Nor lights nor lungs, and fo forth downwards.
What time-Quoth Ralpho, Sir, too long,
Three years it off and on has hung-
Quoth he, I meant what time o' the day 'tis ;
Quoth Ralpho, Between seven and eight 'tis ;
Why then (quoth Whachum) my small art
Tells me the dame has a hard heart,

Or great eftate.-Quoth Ralpho, A jointer,
Which makes him have fo hot a mind t' her.
Mean-while the Knight was making water,
Before he fell upon the matter;
Which having done, the Wizard steps in,
To give him fuitable reception;
But kept his bus'nefs at a bay,
Till Whachum put him in the way ;
Who having now, by Ralpho's light
Expounded ch' errand of the Knight,
And what he came to know, drew near,
To whifper in the conj'rer's ear,
Which he prevented thus: What was't,
Quoth he, that I was faying laft,
Before thefe gentlemen arriv'd?

Quoth Whachum, Venus you retriev'd,
In oppofition with Mars,

And no benign friendly ftars

T'allay the effect, Quoth Wizard, So!
In Virgo? Ha! quoth Whachum, No;
Has Saturn nothing to do in it,
One tenth of's circle to a minute?

* William Sedgwick, a whimsical enthufiafta