English

There stands a City, — neither large nor small, —
Its air and situation sweet and pretty;
It matters very little — if at all —
Whether its denizens are dull or witty,
Whether the ladies there are short or tall,
Brunettes or blonds, only, there stands a city! —
Perhaps 'tis also requisite to minute
That there's a Castle and a Cobbler in it.

A fair Cathedral, too, the story goes,
And kings and heroes lie entombed within her;

FYTIE I

" Look at the clock!" quoth Winifred Pryce,
As she open'd the door to her husband's knock,
Then paus'd to give him a piece of advice,
" You nasty Warmint, look at the Clock!
Is this the way, you. Wretch, every day you
Treat her who vow'd to love and obey you? —
Out all night! Me in a fright;
Staggering home as it's just getting light!
You intoxified brute! — you insensible block! —

On the lone bleak moor, At the midnight hour,
Beneath the Gallows Tree,
Hand in hand. The Murderers stand
By one, by two, by three!
And the Moon that night. With a grey, cold light
Each baleful object tips;
One half of her form. Is seen through the storm,
The other half's hid in Eclipse!
And the cold wind howls, And the Thunder growls,
And the Lightning is broad and bright;

That you're a beast, and turn'd to grass,
Is no strange news, nor ever was;
At least to me, who once you know,
Did from the pound replevin you,
When both your sword and spurs were won
In combat by an Amazon.
That sword, that did (like Fate) determine
Th' inevitable death of vermine,
And never dealt its furious blows,
But cut the throats of pigs and cows,
By TRULLA was, in single fight,
Disarm'd and wrested from its knight;
Your heels degraded of your spurs,
And in the stocks close prisoners;

I who was once as great as CAESAR,
Am now reduc'd to NEBUCHADNEZZAR;
And from as fam'd a conqueror
As ever took degree in war,
Or did his exercise in battle,
By you turn'd out to grass with cattle:
For since I am deny'd access
To all my earthly happiness
Am fallen from the paradise
Of your good graces, and fair eyes;
Lost to the world, and you, I'm sent
To everlasting banishment;
Where all the hopes I had t' have won
Your heart, b'ing dash'd, will break my own.

Yet if you were not so severe

PART III

CANTO III

THE ARGUMENT.

The Knight and squire's prodigious Flight
To quit th' inchanted Bow'r by Night.
He plods to turn his amorous Suit
T' a Plea in Law, and prosecute
Repairs to Counsel, to advise
'Bout managing the Enterprise;
But first resolves to try by Letter,
And one more fair Address, to get her.

WHO wou'd believe what strange bugbears
Mankind creates itself of fears
That spring like fern, that insect weed,
Equivocally, without seed;

PART III

CANTO II.

THE ARGUMENT.

The Saints engage in fierce Contests
About their Carnal interests;
To share their sacrilegious Preys,
According to their Rates of Grace;
Their various Frenzies to reform,
When Cromwel left them in a Storm
Till, in th' Effigy of Rumps, the Rabble
Burns all their Grandees of the Cabal.

THE learned write, an insect breeze
Is but a mungrel prince of bees,
That falls before a storm on cows,
And stings the founders of his house;

PART III.

CANTO I.

THE ARGUMENT.

The Knight and Squire resolve, at once,
The one the other to renounce.
They both approach the Lady's Bower;
The Squire t'inform, the Knight to woo her.
She treats them with a Masquerade,
By Furies and Hobgoblins made;
From which the Squire conveys the Knight,
And steals him from himself, by Night.

'Tis true, no lover has that pow'r
T' enforce a desperate amour,
As he that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too;

Ecce Iterum Crispinus. —

WELL! SIDROPHEL, though 'tis in vain
To tamper with your crazy brain,
Without trepanning of your skull
As often as the moon's at full
'Tis not amiss, e're y' are giv'n o'er,
To try one desp'rate med'cine more
For where your case can be no worse,
The desp'rat'st is the wisest course.
Is't possible that you, whose ears
Are of the tribe of Issachar's,
And might (with equal reason) either,
For merit, or extent of leather,
With WILLIAM PRYN'S, before they were

PART II

CANTO III.

THE ARGUMENT

The Knight, with various Doubts possest,
To win the Lady goes in quest
Of Sidrophel, the Rosy-Crucian,
To know the Dest'nies' Resolution;
With whom being met, they both chop Logick
About the Science Astrologick,
Till falling from Dispute to Fight,
The Conj'rer's worsted by the Knight.

Doubtless the pleasure is as great
Of being cheated as to cheat;
As lookers-on feel most delight,
That least perceive a jugler's slight;