the bye; I do not insist upon it. There is another thing I must press more earnestly, and that is this: It seems a good part of my revenue will expire in two or three years, except you will be pleased to continue it. I have to say for it: Pray, why did you give me so much as you have done, unless you resolve to give on as fast as I call for it? The nation hates you already for giving so much, and I will hate you too if you do not give me more. So that, if you stick not to me, you must not have a friend in England. On the other hand, if you will give me the revenue I desire, I shall be able to do those things for your religion and liberty that I have had long in my thoughts, but cannot effect them without a little more money to carry me through. Therefore look to't, and take notice, that if you do not make me rich enough to undo you, it shall lie at your doors. For my part, I wash my hands on it.

If you desire more instances of my zeal, I have them for you. For example, I have converted my sons from popery, and I may say without vanity, it was my own work. 'Twould do one's heart good to hear how prettily George can read already in the Psalter. They are all fine children, God bless 'em, and so like me in their understandings!

I must now acquaint you that, by my lord-treasurer's advice, I have made a considerable retrenchment upon my expenses in candles and charcoal, and do not intend to stop, but will, with your help, look into the late embezzlements of my dripping-pans and kitchen-stuff.

Sir John Suckling

The Pale Lover

WHY SO pale and wan, fond Lover?
Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?

Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame! This will not move; This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her

The devil take her!

The Constant Lover

Our upon it! I have lov'd
Three whole days together,
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fine weather.

Time shall moult away his wings,

Ere he shall discover

In the whole wide world again
Such a constant lover.

But the spite on't is, no praise
Is due at all to me;

Love with me had made no stays
Had it any been but she.

Had it any been but she,

And that very face,

There had been at least, ere this, A dozen dozen in her place!

Samuel Butler

The Logic and Rhetoric of Hudibras

He was in logic a great critic,
Profoundly skilled in analytic;

He could distinguish, and divide

A hair 'twixt south, and south-west side,
On either which he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute.
He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument, a man's no horse;
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a lord may be an owl,

A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,
And rooks committee-men and trustees.
He'd run in debt by disputation,

And pay with ratiocination.

All this by syllogism, true

In mood and figure, he would do.

For rhetoric, he could not ope

His mouth, but out there flew a trope;

And when he happened to break off
I' th' middle of his speech, or cough,
H' had hard words ready to show why,
And tell what rules he did it by;
Else, when with greatest art he spoke,
You'd think he talked like other folk.
For all a rhetorician's rules

Teach nothing but to name his tools.

But, when he pleased to show't, his speech
In loftiness of sound was rich:

A Babylonish dialect,

Which learned pedants much affect.
It was a party-coloured dress
Of patched and piebald languages;
'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,
Like fustian heretofore on satin;
It had an old promiscuous tone,

As if h' had talked three parts in one;

Which made some think, when he did gabble,
Th' had heard three labourers of Babel,

Or Cerberus himself pronounce

A leash of languages at once.

This he as volubly would vent

As if his stock would ne'er be spent:
And truly, to support that charge,
He had supplies as vast and large;
For he could coin, or counterfeit
New words, with little or no wit;
Words so debased and hard, no stone
Was hard enough to touch them on;
And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em,
The ignorant for current took 'em—

That had the orator, who once

Did fill his mouth with pebble stones

When he harangued, but known his phrase,
He would have used no other ways.