To active trot one side of's horse,
The other would not hang an arse.
A Squire he had, whose name was Ralph, That in th' adventure went his half.
Though writers, for more stately tone, Do call him Ralpho, 'tis all one:
And when we can with metre safe,
We'll call him so; if not, plain Ralph;
(For rbyme the rudder is of verses,
With which, like ships, they steer their courses,)
As the bold Trojan knight, seen hell, Not with a counterfeited pass Of golden bough, but true gold-lace. His knowledge was not far behind
The Knight's, but one of another kind, And he another way came by't: Some call it gifts, and some new light: A lib'ral art, that costs no pains Of study, industry, or brains. His wit was sent him for a token, But in the carriage crack'd and broken. Like commendation ninepence crook'd With-To and from my love-it look'd. He ne'er consider'd it, as loath To look a gift-horse in the month; And very wisely would lay forth No more upon it than 'twas worth. But as he got it freely, so
He spent it frank and freely too,
For saints themselves will sometimes be, Of gifts that cost them nothing, free. By means of this, with hem and cough, Prolongers to enlighten'd stuff, He could deep mysteries unriddle, As easily as thread a needle.
For as of vagabonds we say
That they are ne'er beside their way; Whate'er men speak by this new light,
Still they are sure to be i' th' right.
'Tis a dark lanthorn of the Spirit,
Which none see by but those that bear it;
This light inspires and plays upon The nose of saint, like bagpipe drone, And speaks through hellow empty soul, As through a truuk, or whisp'ring hole, Such language as no mortal ear But spiritual eaves-droppers can hear. So Phœbus, or some friendly muse,
Spoke truth point-blank, though unaware. For mystic learning, wondrous able
In magic talisman and cabal, Whose primitive tradition reaches As far as Adam's first green breeches; Deep-sighted in intelligences, Ideas, atoms, influences;
And much of terra incognita, Th' intelligible world, could say; A deep occult philosopher, As learn'd as the wild Irish are, Or Sir Agrippa, for profound And solid lying much renown'd: He Anthroposophus and Floud, And Jacob Behmen understood; Knew many an amulet and charm,
That would do neither good nor harm; In Rosy-crucian lore as learned,
As he that vere adeptus earned.
He understood the speech of birds,
As well as they themselves do words; Could tell what subtlest parrots mean, That think and speak contrary clean;
What member 'tis of whom they talk
When they cry Rope, and Walk, knave, walk.
He'd extract numbers out of matter,
And keep them in a glass, like water;
Of sov'reign pow'r to make men wise; For dropt in blear, thick-sighted eyes,
They'd make them see in darkest night, Like owls, tho' purblind in the light. By help of these, as he profess'd, He had first matter seen undress'd: He took her naked all alone,
Before one rag of form was on.
The Chaos too he had descry'd
And seen quite through, or eise he ly'd:
Not that of pasteboard, which men shew For groats, at fair of Barthol'mew;
But its great-grandsire, first o' th' name, Whence that and Reformation came; Both cousin-germans, and right able 'T' inveigle and draw in the rabble. But Reformation was, some say, O' th' younger house to puppet-play, He could foretell whats'ever was By consequence to come to pass;
As death of great men, alterations,
Diseases, battles, inundations.
All this without th' eclipse o' th' sun,
Or dreadful comet, he hath done,
By inward light, a way as good,
And easy to be understood;
But with more lucky hit than those
That use to make the stars depose,
Like Knights o' th' post, and falsely charge Upon themselves what others forge;
As if they were consenting to All mischiefs in the world men do;
Or, like the devil, did tempt and sway 'em To rogueries, and then betray 'em. They'll search a planet's house, to know Who broke and robb'd a house below; Examine Venus and the moon, Who stole a thimble or a spoon: And though they nothing will confess, Yet by their very looks can guess, And tell what guilty aspect bodes, Who stole, and who receiv'd the goods. They'll question Mars, and, by his look, Detect who 'twas that nimm'd a cloak: Make Mercury confess, and 'peach
Those thieves which he himself did teach.
As sure as if they knew the moment
Of native's birth, tell what will come on't.
They'll feel the pulses of the stars, To find out agues, coughs, catarrhs; And tell what crisis does divine The rot in sheep, or mange in swine; In men, what gives or cures the itch; What makes them cuckolds, poor or rich;
What makes men great, what fools or knaves; But not what wise; for only of those The stars, they say, cannot dispose,
No more than can the astrologians,
There they say right, and like true Trojans.
Or knight with squire, e'er jump more right,
Achievements so resolv'd and bold, We should, as learned poets use, Invoke th' assistance of some muse; However critics count it sillier, Than jugglers talking to familiar. We think 'tis no great matter which; They're all alike; yet we shall pitch On one that fits our purpose most; Whom therefore thus we do accost:
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