Oh! help me, help me, fome kind muse,
This furly tyrant to abuse;

Who in his rage has been fo cruel,
To rob the world of such a jewel ?
A knight more learned, ftout, and good,
Sure ne'er was made of flesh and blood:
All his perfections were so rare,
The wit of man could not declare,
Which fingle virtue, or which grace,
Above the reft had any place;

Or which he was most famous for,
The camp, the pulpit, or the bar;
Of each he had an equal spice,
And was in all fo very nice,

That to speak truth th' account is loft,
In which he did excel the most.
When he forfook the peaceful dwelling,
And out he went a colonelling;
Strange hopes and fears poffeft the nation,
How he cou'd manage that vocation,
Until he fhew'd it to a wonder,
How nobly he could fight and plunder :
At preaching too he was a dab,
More exquifite by far than Squab;
He cou'd fetch ufes and infer,
Without the help of metaphor,
From any scripture text howe'er
Remote it from the purpose were;
And with his fift, inftead of a stick,
Beat pulpit drum ecclefiaftick;
'Till he made all the audience weep,
Excepting those that fell asleep.

Then at the bar he was right able,

And cou'd bind o'er as well as fwaddle:

And famous too at petty feffions,

'Gainft thieves and whores for long digreffions.
He cou'd most learnedly determine.

To Bridewell or the ftocks, the vermin.
For his address and way of living,
All his behaviour was fo moving;
That let the dame be ne'er fo chaft,
As people fay, below the wafte,
If Hudibras but once come at her,
He'd quickly make her chaps to water;

Then

ways.

Then for his equipage and shape,
On veftals they'd commit a rape;
Which often, as the story says,
Have made the ladies weep both
Ill has he read that never heard,
How he with widow Tomfon far'd;
And what hard conflict was between
Our knight and that infulting quean.
Sure captive knight ne'er took more pains,
For rhimes for his melodious ftrains;
Nor beat his brains, or made more faces,
To get into a jilt's good graces,
Than did Sir Hudibras to get,
Into this fubtile gypfy's net;
Who after all her high pretence,
To modefty and innocence,

Was thought by most to be a woman,
That to all other knights was common.
Hard was his fate in this I own,
Nor will I for the traps attone:
Indeed to guefs I am not able,
What made her thus inexorable;
Unless fhe did not like his wit,
Or what is worse his perquifite.
How e'er it was, the wound fhe gave
The knight he carry'd to his grave:
Vile harlot to destroy a knight,

That cou'd both plead, and pray, and fight.
Oh! cruel bafe inhuman drab,

To give him fuch a mortal stab;

That made him pine away and moulder,
As tho' that he had been no foldier:
Could't thou find no one else to kill,
Thou inftrument of death and hell?
But Hudibras, who stood the Bears
So oft against the cavaliers;
And in the very heat of war,
Took ftout Crowdero prifoner;
And did fuch wonders all along,
That far exceed both pen and

tongue.

If he had been in battle flain,
We'd had lefs reafon to complain;
But to be murder'd by a whore,
Was ever knight so serv'd before?

But

But fince he's gone, all we can say,
He chanc'd to dye a lingring way;
If he had liv'd a longer date,

He might, perhaps, have met a fate;
More violent, and fitting for

A knight fo fam'd in civil war.

To fum up all, from love and danger,
He's now (O! happy knight) a ftranger;
And if a mufe can ought foretel,
His fame fhall fill a chronicle ;
And he in after-ages be,
Of errant knights th' epitome.

U

HUDIBRAS'S Epitaph.

Nder this ftone refts Hudibras,
A knight as errant

The controverfie only lies,

as e'er was;

Whether he was more flout than wife;
Nor can we here pretend to say,
Whether he beft cou'd fight or pray;
So till thofe queflions are decided,
His virtues must reft undivided;
Full of be fuffer'd bangs and drubs,
And full as oft took pains in tubs ;
Of which the most that can be faid,
He pray'd and fought, and fought and pray'd.
As for his perfonage and shape,

Among the rest we'll let them fcape.
Nor do we, as things fand, think fit,
This fone Should meddle with his wit.
One thing, 'tis true, we ought to tell,
He liv'd and dy'd a colonel;

And for the good old cause flood buff,
'Gainft many a bitter kick and cuff.
But fince his worship's dead and gone,
And mouldring lies beneath this fione,
The reader is defir'd to look,
For his atchievement in his book;
Which will preferve of knight the tale,
Till time and death itself fhall fail.

FINIS.

Alphabetical KEY

то

HUDIBRAS.

By Sir ROGER L'ESTRANGE.

*****

***

T

To the READER.

HIS Key that is now pre-
fented to the Public, I pro-
cured many Years fince from my
Learned Friend Dr Midgley, who
affured me, that it was written by
Sir Roger L'Eftrange to oblige a
Perfon of Quality. But on the
earneft Sollicitations of the Publisher
of thefe Pofthumous Works of Mr
Butler, I gave him this Manuscript,
which I believe will anfwer his
P
Ends,

I

Ends, and oblige the World till a better Key can be found out. am of Opinion, that there can't be a greater Service done to my Country, than expofing the Principles of a Rebellious Republican Party, whose only Aims are Anarchy, Confufion, and utter Subverfion to true Religion and Monarchical Go

vernment.

AN