And, like blind Fortune, with a sleight,

Convey men's interest and right

From Stiles's pocket into Nokes's,
As easily as hocus-pocus;

Plays fast and loose, makes men obnoxious,
And clear again, like hiccius-doccius.
Then, whether you would take her life,
Or but recover her for your wife,
Or be content with what she has,
And let all other matters pass,
The bus'ness to the law's alone,
The proof is all it looks upon;
And you can want no witnesses
To swear to any thing you please,
That hardly get their mere expenses
By th' labour of their consciences,
Or letting out to hire their ears
To affidavit-customers,

At inconsiderable values,
To serve for jurymen, or tales,

Although retain'd in th' hardest matters
Of trustees and administrators.

For that (quoth he) let me alone;
We've store of such, and all our own,
Bred up and tutor'd by our Teachers,
The ablest of conscience-stretchers.

That's well (quoth he), but I should guess,
By weighing all advantages,

Your surest way is first to pitch

On Bongey, for a water-witch;*

*Bongey was a Franciscan, and lived towards the end of the thirteenth century, a doctor of divinity in Oxford, and a particular acquaintance of Friar Bacon's. In that ignorant age, every thing that seemed extraordinary was reputed magic, and so both Bacon and Bongey went under the imputation of studying the black art.

And when ye've hang'd the conjurer, Ye've time enough to deal with her. In th' int'rim spare for no trepans To draw her neck into the bans; Ply her with love-letters and billets, And bait 'em well, for quirks and quillets, With trains t' inveigle and surprise Her heedless answers and replies; And if she miss the mouse-trap lines, They'll serve for other by-designs; And make an artist understand To copy out her seal or hand; Or find void places in the paper To steal in something to intrap her; Till with her worldly goods and body, Spite of her heart, she has endow'd ye: Retain all sorts of witnesses,

That ply i' th' temples under trees,

Or walk the round, with Knights o' th' Posts,
About the cross-legg'd knights, their hosts;
Or wait for customers between

The pillar-rows in Lincoln's Inn;
Where vouchers, forgers, common-bail,
And affidavit-men, ne'er fail
T'expose to sale all sorts of oaths,

According to their ears and clothes,

Their only necessary tools,

Besides the Gospel, and their souls;

And when y' are furnished with all purveys

I shall be ready at your service.

I would not give (quoth Hudibras)

A straw to understand a case,

Without the admirable skill
To wind and manage it at will;
To veer, and tack, and steer a cause
Against the weather-gage of laws,

And ring the changes upon cases,
As plain as noses upon faces,
As you have well instructed me,
For which you 've earn'd (here 'tis) your fee
I long to practise your advice,
And try the subtle artifice;
To bait a letter, as you bid:
As, not long after, thus he did:
For, having pump'd up all his wit,

And hummid upon it, thus he writ

"The Knight pursuing this Epistle,
Reliev'd he 'ad brought her to his whistle.

I WHO was once as great as Cæsar, Am now reduc'd to Nebuchadnezzar; And from as fam'd a conqueror

As ever took degree in war,

Or did his exercise in battle,

By you turn'd out to grass with cattle:
For since I am deny'd access

To all my earthly happiness,
And fallen from the paradise
Of your good graces, and fair eyes:
Lost to the worid, and you, I'm sent
To everlasting banishment,

Where all the hopes I had to 've won
Your heart, being dash'd, will break my own.
Yet if you were not so severe

To pass your doom before you hear,
You'd find, upon my just defence,
How much ye 've wrong'd my innocence.
That once I made a vow to you,
Which yet is unperform'd, 'tis true;
But not because it is unpaid,
'Tis violated, though delay'd:
Or, if it were, it is no fault

So heinous as you'd have it thought,
To undergo the loss of ears,
Like vulgar hackney perjurers :
For there's a difference in the case
Between the noble and the base;

Who always are observ'd t' have done 't
Upon as different an account;

The one for great and weighty cause,

To salve, in honour, ugly flaws;

For none are like to do it sooner

Than those who're nicest of their honour:
The other, for base gain and pay,
Forswear and perjure by the day,
And make th' exposing and retailing
Their souls and consciences, a calling.
It is no scandal nor aspersion
Upon a great and noble person,
To say he naturally abhorr'd

Th' old-fashion'd trick to keep his word
Though 'tis perfidiousness and shame,
In meaner men, to do the same:
For to be able to forget

Is found more useful to the great
Than gout, or deafness, or bad eyes,
To make them pass for wondrous wise.