Hudibras by Samuel Butler (simple e reader .TXT) 📕

the difference marriage makes
’Twixt wives and ladies of the lakes;
Besides the joys of place and birth,
The sex’s paradise on earth;
A privilege so sacred held,
That none will to their mothers yield;
But rather than not go before,
Abandon heaven at the door.
And if th’ indulgent law allows
A greater freedom to the spouse,
The reason is, because the wife
Runs greater hazards of her life;155
Is trusted with the form and matter
Of all mankind by careful Nature:
Where man brings nothing but the stuff
She frames the wondrous fabric of;
Who therefore, in a strait, may freely
Demand the clergy of her belly,
And make it save her the same way
It seldom misses to betray;
Unless both parties wisely enter
Into the liturgy indenture.
And though some fits of small contest
Sometimes fall out among the best,
That is no more than ev’ry lover
Does from his hackney-lady suffer;
That makes no breach of faith and love,
But rather (sometimes) serves t’ improve.
For as, in running, ev’ry pace
Is but between two legs a race,
In which both do their uttermost
To get before, and win the post,
Yet when they’re at their race’s ends,
They’re still as kind and constant friends,
And, to relieve their weariness,
By turns give one another ease;
So all those false alarms of strife
Between the husband and the wife,
And little quarrels, often prove
To be but new recruits of love;
When those wh’ are always kind or coy,
In time must either tire or cloy.
Nor are their loudest clamours more,
Than as they’re relish’d, sweet or sour;
Like music, that proves bad or good,
According as ’tis understood.
In all amours, a lover burns
With frowns as well as smiles by turns;
And hearts have been as oft with sullen
As charming looks surpris’d and stolen.
Then why should more bewitching clamour
Some lovers not as much enamour?
For discords make the sweetest airs,
And curses are a kind of prayers;
Too slight alloys for all those grand
Felicities by marriage gain’d.
For nothing else has pow’r to settle
Th’ interests of love perpetual;
An act and deed, that makes one heart
Becomes another’s counterpart,
And passes fines on faith and love,
Inroll’d and register’d above,
To seal the slippery knots of vows,
Which nothing else but death can loose.
And what security’s too strong,
To guard that gentle heart from wrong,
That to its friend is glad to pass
Itself away, and all it has;
And, like an anchorite, gives over
This world for th’ heaven of a lover?

I grant (quoth she) there are some few
Who take that course, and find it true;
But millions whom the same does sentence
To heav’n b’ another way⁠—repentance.
Love’s arrows are but shot at rovers,
Though all they hit they turn to lovers;
And all the weighty consequents
Depend upon more blind events
Than gamesters, when they play a set
With greatest cunning at piquet,
Put out with caution, but take in
They know not what, unsight, unseen,
For what do lovers, when they’re fast
In one another’s arms embrac’d,
But strive to plunder, and convey
Each other, like a prize, away?
To change the property of selves,
As sucking children are by elves?
And if they use their persons so,
What will they to their fortunes do?
Their fortunes! the perpetual aims
Of all their ecstasies and flames.
For when the money’s on the book,
And, All my worldly goods⁠—but spoke,
(The formal livery and seisin
That puts a lover in possession,)
To that alone the bridegroom’s wedded;
The bride a flam that’s superseded:
To that their faith is still made good,
And all the oaths to us they vow’d:
For when we once resign our pow’rs,
W’ have nothing left we can call ours:
Our money’s now become the Miss
Of all your lives and services;
And we forsaken, and postpon’d,
But bawds to what before we own’d;
Which, as it made y’ at first gallant us,
So now hires others to supplant us,
Until ’tis all turn’d out of doors,
(As we had been) for new amours:
For what did ever heiress yet
By being born to lordships get?
When the more lady sh’ is of manors,
She’s but expos’d to more trepanners,
Pays for their projects and designs,
And for her own destruction fines;
And does but tempt them with her riches,
To use her as the dev’l does witches;
Who takes it for a special grace
To be their cully for a space,
That when the time’s expir’d, the drazels
For ever may become his vassals:
So she, bewitch’d by rooks and spirits,
Betrays herself and all sh’ inherits;
Is bought and sold like stolen goods,
By pimps, and match-makers, and bawds,
Until they force her to convey,
And steal the thief himself away.
These are the everlasting fruits
Of all your passionate love-suits,
Th’ effects of all your amorous fancies
To portions and inheritances;
Your love-sick rapture for fruition
Of dowry, jointure, and tuition;
To which you make address and courtship,
Ad with your bodies strive to worship,
That th’ infants’ fortunes may partake
Of love too, for the mother’s sake.
For these you play at purposes,
And love your loves with A’s and B’s.
For these at Beste and L’Ombre woo,
And play for love and money too;
Strive who shall be the ablest man
At right gallanting of a fan;
And who the most genteelly bred
At sucking of a vizard-head;
How best t’ accost us in all quarters,
T’ our question-and-command new Garters;
And solidly discourse upon
All sorts of dresses pro and con;
For there’s no mystery nor trade,
But in the art of love is made;
And when you have more debts to pay
Than Michaelmas and Lady-Day,
And no way possible to do ’t,
But love and oaths, and restless suit,
To us y’ apply to pay the scores
Of all your cully’d past amours;
Act o’er your flames and darts again,
And charge us with your wounds and pain;
Which others influences long since
Have charm’d your noses with, and shins;
For which the surgeon is unpaid,
And like to be, without our aid.
Lord! what an am’rous thing is want!
How debts and mortgages enchant!
What graces must that lady have
That can from executions save!
What charms that can reverse extent,
And null decree and exigent!
What magical attracts and graces,
That can redeem from scire facias!
From bonds and statutes can discharge,
And from contempts of courts enlarge!
These are the highest excellencies
Of all your true or false pretences;
And you would damn yourselves, and swear
As much t’ an hostess dowager,
Grown fat and pursy by retail
Of pots of beer and bottled ale,
And find her fitter for your turn,
For fat is wondrous apt to burn;
Who at your flames would soon take fire,
Relent, and melt to your desire,
And like a candle in the socket,
Dissolve her graces int’