Your surest way is first to pitch
On Bongey* for a water-witch;
And when ye 'ave hang'd the conjurer,
Ye 'ave time enough to deal with her.
In the' interim, spare for no trepans
To draw her neck into the banns;
Ply her with love-letters and billets,
And bait 'em well, for quirks and quillets,
With trains to' inveigle and surprise
Her heedless answers and replies;
And if she miss the mouse-trap lines,
They'll serve for other by-designs;
And make an artist understand
To copy out her seal, or hand;
Or find void places in the paper
To steal in something to intrap her;
Till, with her worldly goods, and body,
Spite of her heart, she has endow'd ye.
Retain all sorts of witnesses,
That ply i' th' temples, under trees,
Or walk the round, with Knights o' th' Posts,
About the cross-leg'd knights, their hosts;
Or wait for customers between
The pillar-rows in Lincoln's Inn;
Where vouchers, forgers, common bail,
And affidavit men ne er fail
To' expose to sale all sorts of oaths,
According to their ears and clothes,
*Bongey was a Franciscan, and lived towards the end of the thirteenth century, a doctor of divinity in Oxford, and a particular acquaintance of Friar Bacon's. In that ignorant age every thing that seemed extraordinary was reputed magic, and so both Bacon and Bongey went under the imputation of studying the black art.
Their only necessary tools,
Besides the Gospel, and their souls;
And when ye're furnish'd with all purveys,
I shall be ready at your service.'
'I would not give,' quoth Hudibras,
A straw to understand a case,
Without the admirable skill
To wind and manage it at will;
To veer, and tack, and steer a cause.
Against the weather-gage of laws;
And ring the changes upon cases,
As plain as noses upon faces,
As you have well instructed me,
For which you 'ave earn'd, (here 'tis) your fee.
I long to practice your advice,
And try the subtle artifice,
To bait a letter, as you bid.'-
As, not long after, thus he did;
For, having pump'd up all his wit,
And hum'd upon it, thus he writ.
'I WHO was once as great as Cæsar,
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 denied 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 to 'ave won
Your heart, b'ing dash'd, will break my own.
'Yet if you were not so severe
To pass your doom before you hear,
You'd find, upon my just defence,
How much ye 'ave wrong'd my innocence.
That once I made a vow to you,
Which yet is unperform'd, 'tis true;
But not, because it is unpaid,
'Tis violated, though delay'd:
Or, if it were, it is no fault,
So heinous as you'd have it thought;
To undergo the loss of ears,
Like vulgar hackney-perjurers:
For there's a difference in the case,
Between the noble and the base;
Who always are observ'd to 'ave don't
Upon as different an account;
The one for great and weighty cause,
To salve, in honour, ugly flaws;
(For none are like to do it sooner,
Than those who 're nicest of their honour :)
The other, for base gain and pay,
Forswear and perjure by the day;
And make the' exposing and retailing
Their souls, and consciences, a calling.
'It is no scandal nor aspersion,
Upon a great and noble person,
To say he naturally abhor'd
The' old-fashion'd trick to keep his word,
Though 'tis perfidiousness and shame,
In meaner men, to do the same:
For to be able to forget,
Is found more useful to the great
Than gout, or deafness, or bad eyes,
To make 'em pass for wondrous wise.
But though the law, on perjurers,
Inflicts the forfeiture of ears,
It is not just, that does exempt
The guilty, and punish the' innocent;
To make the ears repair the wrong
Committed by the' ungovern'd tongue;
And, when one member is forsworn,
Another to be crop❜d or torn.
And if you should, as you design,
By course of law, recover mine;
You 're like, if you consider right,
To gain but little honour by't.
For he that for his lady's sake
Lays down his life, or limbs, at stake,
Does not so much deserve her favour,
As he that pawns his soul to have her.
This y' 'ave acknowledg'd I have done,
Although you now disdain to own;
But sentence what you rather ought
To' esteem good service than a fault.
Besides, oaths are not bound to bear
That literal sense the words infer;
But, by the practice of the age,
Are to be judg'd how far th' engage;
And where the sense by custom's checkt,
Are found void and of none effect;
For no man takes or keeps a vow,
But just as he sees others do;
Nor are th' oblig'd to be so brittle,
As not to yield and bow a little :
For as best-temper'd blades are found,
Before they break, to bend quite round;
So truest oaths are still more tough,
And, though they bow, are breaking proof.
Then wherefore should they not be' allow'd
In love a greater latitude?
For as the law of arms approves
All ways to conquest, so should love's;
And not be tied to true or false,
But make that justice that prevails:
For how can that which is above
All empire, high and mighty love,
|