Like fustian heretofore on satin.
It had an odd promiscuous tone
As if h' had talked three parts in one;
Which made some think, when he did gabble,
Th' had heard three laborers of Babel;
Or Cerberus himself pronounce
A leash of languages at once.
For he was of that stubborn crew
Of errant saints, whom all men grant
To be the true church militant:
Such as do build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun;
Decide all controversies by
Infallible artillery;
And prove their doctrine orthodox
With apostolic blows, and knocks;
Call fire, and sword, and desolation,
A godly thorough Reformation,
Which always must be carry'd on,
And still be doing, never done
As if religion were intended
For nothing else but to be mended.
A sect whose chief devotion lies
In odd, perverse antipathies:
In falling out with that or this,
And finding somewhat still amiss:
More peevish, cross, and splenetic
Than dog distract, or monkey sick.
That with more care keep holy-day
The wrong, than others the right way:
Compound for sins they are inclin'd to,
By damning those they have no mind to:
Still so perverse and opposite,
As if they worship'd God for spite.
The self-same thing they will abhor
One way, and long another for.
Free-will they one way disavow,
Another, nothing else allow.
All piety consists therein
In them, in other men all sin.
Rather than fail, they will defy
That which they love most tenderly;
Quarrel with minc'd-pies, and disparage
Their best and dearest friend — plum-porridge;
Fat pig and goose itself oppose,
And blaspheme custard through the nose.
PART I, CANTO III, 11. 1041-1056
He that is valiant and dares fight,
Though drubb'd, can lose no honor by't.
Honor's a lease for lives to come,
And cannot be extended from
The legal tenant: 'Tis a chattel
Not to be forfeited in battle.
If he that in the field is slain,
Be in the bed of honor lain,
He that is beaten may be said
To lie in honor's truckle-bed.
For as we see the eclipsèd sun
By mortals is more gaz'd upon
Than when, adorn'd with all his light,
He shines in serene sky most bright ;
So valor, in a low estate,
Is most admir'd and wonder'd at.
PART II, CANTO I, 11. 903-916
The sun grew low and left the skies,
Put down, some write, by ladies' eyes.
The moon pull'd off her veil of light
That hides her face by day from sight.
(Mysterious veil, of brightness made,
That's both her lustre and her shade),
And in the night as freely shone,
As if her rays had been her own:
For darkness is the proper sphere
Where all false glories use t' appear.
The twinkling stars began to muster,
And glitter with their borrow'd lustre,
While sleep the weary'd world reliev'd,
By counterfeiting death reviv'd.
PART II, CANTO II, 11. 29-32
The sun had long since, in the lap
Of Thetis, taken out his nap,
And, like a lobster boil'd, the morn
From black to red began to turn.
PART III, CANTO I, 11. 205-220
Some say the soul's secure
Against distress and forfeiture;
Is free from action, and exempt
From execution and contempt;
And to be summon'd to appear
In the other world's illegal here,
And therefore few make any account
Int' what encumbrances they run't:
For most men carry things so even
Between this world, and hell, and heaven,
Without the least offence to either
They freely deal in all together,
And equally abhor to quit
This world for both, or both for it:
And when they pawn and damn their souls,
They are but pris'ners on paroles.
There are no bargains driv'n; Nor marriages, clapp'd up in heav'n, And that's the reason, as some guess, There is no heav'n in marriages; Two things that naturally press
Too narrowly, to be at ease :
Their bus'ness there is only love,
Which marriage is not like, t' improve;
Love that's too generous t' abide
To be against its nature ty'd ;
For where 'tis of itself inclin'd,
It breaks loose when it is confin'd,
And like the soul, its harborer,
Debarred the freedom of the air,
Disdains against its will to stay,
And struggles out, and flies away:
And therefore never can comply,
T'endure the matrimonial tie,
That binds the female and the male,
Where th' one is but the other's bail;
Like Roman jailers, when they slept,
Chain'd to the prisoners they kept.
WHEN love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd to her eye,
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round,
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free-
Fishes that tipple in the deep
Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my King:
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be Enlargèd winds that curl the flood Know no such liberty.
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
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