Though cheats, yet more intelligible 35
Than those that with the stars do fribble. 
This Hudibras by proof found true,
As in due time and place we’ll shew: 
For he, with beard and face made clean,
B’ing mounted on his steed agen, 40
(And Ralpho got a cock-horse too
Upon his beast, with much ado)
Advanc’d on for the Widow’s house,
To acquit himself, and pay his vows;
When various thoughts began to bustle, 45
And with his inward man to justle
He thought what danger might accrue
If she should find he swore untrue;
Or if his squire or he should fail,
And not be punctual in their tale:  50
It might at once the ruin prove
Both of his honour, faith, and love. 
But if he should forbear to go,
She might conclude h’had broke his vow;
And that he durst not now for-shame 55
Appear in court to try his claim. 
This was the pen’worth of his thought,
To pass time and uneasy trot.

Quoth he, In all my past adventures
I ne’er was set so on the tenters; 60
Or taken tardy with dilemma,
That ev’ry way I turn does hem me,
And with inextricable doubt
Besets my puzzled wits about: 
For tho’ the dame has been my bail, 65
To free me from enchanted jail,
Yet as a dog, committed close
For some offence, by chance breaks loose,
And quits his clog, but all in vain,
He still draws after him his chain; 70
So, though my ankle she has quitted,
My heart continues still committed;
And like a bail’d and main-priz’d lover,
Altho’ at large, I am bound over;
And when I shall appear in court, 75
To plead my cause, and answer for’t,
Unless the judge do partial prove,
What will become of me and love? 
For if in our account we vary,
Or but in circumstance miscarry; 80
Or if she put me to strict proof,
And make me pull my doublet off,
To shew, by evident record
Writ on my skin, I’ve kept my Word;
How can I e’er expect to have her, 85
Having demurr’d onto her favour? 
But faith, and love, and honour lost,. 
Shall be reduc’d t’ a Knight o’ th’ Post. 
Beside, that stripping may prevent
What I’m to prove by argument, 90
And justify I have a tail
And that way, too, my proof may fail. 
Oh that I cou’d enucleate,
And solve the problems of my fate
Or find, by necromantick art, 95
How far the dest’nies take my part
For if I were not more than certain
To win and wear her, and her fortune,
I’d go no farther in his courtship,
To hazard soul, estate, and worship 100
For though an oath obliges not
Where any thing is to be got,
(As thou last prov’d) yet ’tis profane,
And sinful, when men swear in vain.