CANTO III.]
HUDIBRAS.
399
And from th' enchantments of a widow,
Who 'd turn'd you int' a beast, have freed you;
And, tho' a prisoner of war,
Have brought you safe, where now you are;
Which you wou'd gratefully repay, 115
Your constant Presbyterian way.
That's stranger, quoth the Knight, and stranger;
Who gave thee notice of my danger?
Quoth he, Th' infernal conjurer
Pursu'd, and took me prisoner; 120
And, knowing you were hereabout,
Brought me along to find you out,
Where I, in hugger-mugger hid,[1]
Have noted all they said or did:
And, tho' they lay to him the pageant, 125
I did not see him nor his agent;
Who play'd their sorceries out of sight,
T' avoid a fiercer second fight.
But didst thou see no devils then?
Not one, quoth he, but carnal men, 130
A little worse than fiends in hell,
And that she-devil Jezebel,
That laugh'd and tee-he'd with derision
To see them take your deposition.
What then, quoth Hudibras, was he 135
That play'd the dev'l to examine me?
A rallying weaver in the town,
That did it in a parson's gown,
Whom all the parish take for gifted,
But, for my part, I ne'er believ'd it: 140
In which you told them all your feats,
Your conscientious frauds and cheats;
Deny'd your whipping, and confess'd
The naked truth of all the rest,
More plainly than the rev'rend writer 145
That to our churches veil'd his mitre.[2]
Who 'd turn'd you int' a beast, have freed you;
And, tho' a prisoner of war,
Have brought you safe, where now you are;
Which you wou'd gratefully repay, 115
Your constant Presbyterian way.
That's stranger, quoth the Knight, and stranger;
Who gave thee notice of my danger?
Quoth he, Th' infernal conjurer
Pursu'd, and took me prisoner; 120
And, knowing you were hereabout,
Brought me along to find you out,
Where I, in hugger-mugger hid,[1]
Have noted all they said or did:
And, tho' they lay to him the pageant, 125
I did not see him nor his agent;
Who play'd their sorceries out of sight,
T' avoid a fiercer second fight.
But didst thou see no devils then?
Not one, quoth he, but carnal men, 130
A little worse than fiends in hell,
And that she-devil Jezebel,
That laugh'd and tee-he'd with derision
To see them take your deposition.
What then, quoth Hudibras, was he 135
That play'd the dev'l to examine me?
A rallying weaver in the town,
That did it in a parson's gown,
Whom all the parish take for gifted,
But, for my part, I ne'er believ'd it: 140
In which you told them all your feats,
Your conscientious frauds and cheats;
Deny'd your whipping, and confess'd
The naked truth of all the rest,
More plainly than the rev'rend writer 145
That to our churches veil'd his mitre.[2]
- ↑ Meaning privately and without order. Thus Shakspeare, in Hamlet "We've done but greenly in hugger-mugger to inter him; poor Ophelia."
- ↑ This character has been applied to several church dignitaries: Williams, Bishop of Lincoln, afterward Archbishop of York, "the pepper-nosed Caitiff that snuffs, puffs, and nuffs ingratitude to Parliament—a jack-a-lent made
