CANTO I.]
HUDIBRAS.
309
And if that will not do the deed,
To burning with hot irons proceed.[1]
No sooner was he come t' himself,
But on his neck a sturdy elf 1160
Clapp'd in a trice his cloven hoof,
And thus attack'd him with reproof:
Mortal, thou art betray'd to us
B' our friend, thy evil genius,
Who for thy horrid perjuries, 1165
Thy breach of faith, and turning lies,
The brethren's privilege against
The wicked, on themselves, the saints,
Has here thy wretched carcass sent,
For just revenge and punishment; 1170
Which thou hast now no way to lessen,
But by an open, free confession:[2]
For if we catch thee failing once,
'Twill fall the heavier on thy bones.
What made thee venture to betray, 1175
And filch the lady's heart away,
To spirit her to matrimony?—
That which contracts all matches, money.
It was th' enchantment of her riches,
That made m' apply t' your crony witches;[3] 1180
That in return would pay th' expense,
The wear and tear of conscience,[4]
Which I could have patch'd up, and turn'd,
For th' hundredth part of what I earn'd.
Didst thou not love her then? Speak true. 1185
No more, quoth he, than I love you.—
How would'st thou've us'd her, and her money?
First turn'd her up to alimony;[5]
To burning with hot irons proceed.[1]
No sooner was he come t' himself,
But on his neck a sturdy elf 1160
Clapp'd in a trice his cloven hoof,
And thus attack'd him with reproof:
Mortal, thou art betray'd to us
B' our friend, thy evil genius,
Who for thy horrid perjuries, 1165
Thy breach of faith, and turning lies,
The brethren's privilege against
The wicked, on themselves, the saints,
Has here thy wretched carcass sent,
For just revenge and punishment; 1170
Which thou hast now no way to lessen,
But by an open, free confession:[2]
For if we catch thee failing once,
'Twill fall the heavier on thy bones.
What made thee venture to betray, 1175
And filch the lady's heart away,
To spirit her to matrimony?—
That which contracts all matches, money.
It was th' enchantment of her riches,
That made m' apply t' your crony witches;[3] 1180
That in return would pay th' expense,
The wear and tear of conscience,[4]
Which I could have patch'd up, and turn'd,
For th' hundredth part of what I earn'd.
Didst thou not love her then? Speak true. 1185
No more, quoth he, than I love you.—
How would'st thou've us'd her, and her money?
First turn'd her up to alimony;[5]
- ↑ Alluding to the use of cautery in apoplexy.
- ↑ This scene is imitated, but with much less wit and learning, in a poem called Dunstable Downs, falsely attributed to Butler.
- ↑ Your old friends and companions.
- ↑ The Knight confesses that he would have sacrificed his conscience to money; in reality, he had rid himself of it long before.
- ↑ To provide for herself, as horses do when they are turned to grass. The poet might possibly intend a jeu de mot. Alimony is a separate main-
him as he could. Sir Richard then leaned a good deal from the window; when the colonel seized him by the ears, and drew him out. Soon after the castle surrendered.
