Quoth Ralpho, You mistake the matter;
For in all scruples of this nature,
No man includes himself, nor turns
The point upon his own concerns. 
As no man of his own self catches 455
The itch, or amorous French aches
So no man does himself convince,
By his own doctrine, of his sins
And though all cry down self, none means
His ownself in a literal sense. 460
Beside, it is not only foppish,
But vile, idolatrous and Popish,
For one man, out of his own skin,
To ferk and whip another’s sin;
As pedants out of school-boys’ breeches 465
Do claw and curry their own itches. 
But in this case it is prophane,
And sinful too, because in vain;
For we must take our oaths upon it,
You did the deed, when I have done it. 470

Quoth Hudibras, That’s answer’d soon
Give us the whip, we’ll lay it on.

Quoth Ralpho, That we may swear true,
’Twere properer that I whipp’d you
For when with your consent ’tis done, 475
The act is really your own.

Quoth Hudibras, It is in vain
(I see) to argue ’gainst the grain;
Or, like the stars, incline men to
What they’re averse themselves to do:  480
For when disputes are weary’d out,
’Tis interest still resolves the doubt
But since no reason can confute ye,
I’ll try to force you to your duty
For so it is, howe’er you mince it; 485
As ere we part, I shall evince it
And curry (if you stand out) whether
You will or no, your stubborn leather. 
Canst thou refuse to hear thy part
I’ th’ publick work, base as thou art? 490
To higgle thus for a few blows,
To gain thy Knight an op’lent spouse
Whose wealth his bowels yearn to purchase,
Merely for th’ interest of the Churches;
And when he has it in his claws, 495
Will not be hide-bound to the Cause? 
Nor shalt thou find him a Curmudgin,
If thou dispatch it without grudging. 
If not, resolve, before we go,
That you and I must pull a crow. 500

Y’ had best (quoth Ralpho) as the ancients
Say wisely, Have a care o’ th’ main chance,
And look before you ere you leap;
For as you sow, y’ are like to reap: 
And were y’ as good as George-a-Green, 505
I shall make bold to turn agen
Nor am I doubtful of the issue
In a just quarrel, and mine is so. 
Is’t fitting for a man of honour
To whip the Saints, like Bishop Bonner? 510
A Knight t’ usurp the beadle’s office,
For which y’ are like to raise brave trophies. 
But I advise you (not for fear,
But for your own sake) to forbear;
And for the Churches, which may chance,