Page:Hudibras - Volume 1 (Butler, Nash, Bohn; 1859).djvu/248

160 As one cut out to pass your tricks on, With fulhams of poetic fiction: I rather hop'd I should no more Hear from you o' th' gallanting score; For hard dry-bastings us'd to prove The readiest remedies of love, Next a dry diet; but if those fail, Yet this uneasy loop-hol'd jail, In which y' are hamper'd by the fetlock, Cannot but put y' in mind of wedlock: Wedlock, that's worse than any hole here, If that may serve you for a cooler, T' allay your mettle, all agog Upon a wife, the heavier clog. Nor rather thank your gentler fate, That, for a bruis'd or broken pate, Has freed you from those hanks that grow, Much harder, on the marry'd brow: But if no dread can cool your courage, From vent'ring on that dragon, marriage; Yet give me quarter, and advance To nobler aims your puissance; Level at beauty and at wit; The fairest mark is easiest hit. Quoth Hudibras, I am beforehand In that already, with your command; Por where does beauty and high wit But in your constellation meet? Quoth she, What does a match imply, But likeness and equality? I know you cannot think me fit To be th' yokefellow of your wit; Nor take one of so mean deserts, To be the partner of your parts;