Samuel Butler: Hudibras :: :: University of Virginia Library

Samuel Butler: Hudibras

Written in the time of the late wars: The text edited by A. R. Waller

Butler, Samuel (1612-1680)

[section]

HUDIBRAS.

[The First Part.]

The Argument of the First CANTO.

CANTO I.

The Argument of the Second CANTO.

II.

CANTO II.

The Argument of the Third CANTO.

III.

CANTO III.

The Second PART of HUDIBRAS.

The Argument of the first Canto.

CANTO I.

II.

CANTO II.

III.

CANTO III.

AN HEROICAL EPISTLE OF HUDIBRAS TO SIDROPHEL.

HUDIBRAS. The Third and Last Part.

The ARGUMENT of the FIRST CANTO of the Third Part.

CANTO I.

THE ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND CANTO Of the Third Part.

II.

CANTO II.

III.

CANTO III.

An Heroical Epistle of Hudibras to his Lady.

THE LADY'S ANSWER TO THE KNIGHT.

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1. [The First Part.]

The Argument of the First CANTO.

Sir Hudibras his passing worth,
The manner how he sally'd forth:
His Arms and Equipage are shown;
His Horse's Vertues, and his own.
Th' Adventure of the Bear and Fiddle
Is sung, but breaks off in the middle.

CANTO I.

When civil fury first grew high,
And men fell out they knew not why,
When hard Words, Jealousies, and Fears,
Set Folks together by the Ears,
And made them fight, like mad or drunk,
For Dame Religion as for Punk,
Whose honesty they all durst swear for,
Though not a man of them knew wherefore:
When Gospel-Trumpeter surrounded,
With long-ear'd rout to Battel sounded,
And Pulpit, Drum Ecclesiastick,
Was beat with fist, instead of a stick:
Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling,
And out he rode a Colonelling.

A Wight he was, whose very sight wou'd
Entitle him Mirror of Knighthood;
That never bent his stubborn knee
To any thing but Chivalry,
Nor put up blow, but that which laid
Right worshipful on Shoulder-blade:
Chief of Domestick Knights and Errant,
Either for Chartel or for Warrant:
Great on the Bench, Great in the Saddle,
That could as well bind o'er, as swaddle.

Bind over to the Sessions, as being a Justice of the Peace in his Country, as well as Colonel of a Regiment of Foot, in the Parliaments Army, and a Committee-man.

Mighty he was at both of these,
And styl'd of War as well as Peace.
(So some Rats of amphibious nature,
Are either for the Land or Water)
But here our Authors make a doubt,
Whether he were more wise, or stout.
Some hold the one, and some the other:
But howsoe'er they make a pother,
The difference was so small, his Brain
Outweigh'd his Rage but half a Grain:
Which made some take him for a Tool
That Knaves do work with, call'd a Fool.
And offer to lay wagers that
As Mountaigne playing with his Cat,

Mountaigne in his Essays supposes his Cat thought him a Fool, for loosing his time, in playing with her.

Complains she thought him but an Ass,
Much more she would Sir Hudibras.
(For that's the Name our valiant Knight
To all his Challenges did write.)
But they're mistaken very much,
'Tis plain enough he was no such.
We grant, although he had much wit,
H' was very shie of using it,
As being loath to wear it out,
And therefore bore it not about.
Unless on Holy-days, or so,
As Men their best Apparel do.
Beside, 'tis known he could speak Greek,
As naturally as Pigs squeek:
That Latine was no more difficile,
Than to a Black-bird 'tis to whistle.

Being rich in both, he never scanted
His Bounty unto such as wanted;
But much of either would afford,
To many that had not one word.
For Hebrew Roots, although th' are found
To flourish most in barren ground,
He had such plenty as suffic'd
To make some think him circumcis'd:
And truely so perhaps, he was
'Tis many a Pious Christians case.

He was in Logick a great Critick,
Profoundly skill'd in Analytick.

Analytique is a part of Logick that teaches to Decline and Construe Reason, as Grammar does Words.

He could distinguish, and divide
A Hair 'twixt South and South-West side:
On either which he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute.
He'd undertake to prove by force
Of Argument, a Man's no Horse.
He'd prove a Buzard is no Fowl,
And that a Lord may be an Owl,
A Calf an Alderman, a Goose a Justice,
And Rooks Committee-men, and Trustees;
He'd run in Debt by Disputation,
And pay with Ratiocination.
All this by Syllogism, true
In mood and Figure, he would do.

For Rhetorick he could not ope
His mouth, but out there flew a Trope:
And when he hapned to break off
I'th' middle of his speech, or cough,
H' had hard words, ready to shew why,
And tell what Rules he did it by.
Else when with greatest Art he spoke,
You'd think he talk'd like other folk,
For all a Rhetoricians Rules,
Teach nothing but to name his Tools,
His ordinary Rate of Speech
In loftiness of sound was rich,

A Babylonish dialect,

A confusion of Languages, such, as some of our Modern Virtuosi use to express themselves in.

Which learned Pedants much affect.
It was a parti-colour'd dress
Of patch'd and pyball'd Languages:
'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,
Like Fustian heretofore on Sattin.
It had an odd promiscuous Tone,
As if h'had talk'd three parts in one.
Which made some think when he did gabble,
Th' had heard three Labo'rers of Babel;
Or Cerberus himself pronounce
A Leash of Languages at once.
This he as volubly would vent
As if his stock would ne'er be spent.
And truly to support that charge
He had supplies as vast and large.
For he could coin or counterfeit
New words with little or no wit:
Words so debas'd and hard, no stone
Was hard enough to touch them on.
And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em,
The Ignorant for currant took 'em.
That had the Orator who once,

Demosthenes, who is said to have a defect in his Pronunciation, which he cur'd by using to speak with little stones in his mouth.

Did fill his Mouth with Pibble Stones
When he harangu'd, but known his Phrase,
He would have us'd no other ways.

In Mathematicks he was greater
Than Tycho Brahe, or Erra Pater:
For he, by Geometrick scale,
Could take the size of Pots of Ale;
Resolve by Signs and Tangents streight,
If Bread or Butter wanted weight;
And wisely tell what hour o'th' day
The Clock doth strike, by Algebra.

Beside he was a shrewd Philosopher,
And had read every Text and gloss over:
What e'er the crabbed'st Author hath
He understood b' implicit Faith,

What ever Sceptick could inquire for;
For every why he had a wherefore;
Knew more than forty of them do,
As far as words and terms could go.
All which he understood by Rote,
And as occasion serv'd, would quote;
No matter whether right or wrong:
They might be either said or sung.
His Notions fitted things so well,
That which was which he could not tell;
But oftentimes mistook th' one
For th' other, as great Clerks have done.
He could reduce all things to Acts,

The old Philosophers thought to extract Notions out of Natural things, as Chymists do Spirits and Essences; and when they had refin'd them into the nicest subtleties, gave them as insignificant Names, as those Operators do their Extractions: But (as Seneca says) the subtler things are render'd, they are but the nearer to Nothing. So are all their definitions of things by Acts, the nearer to Nonsense.

And knew their Natures by Abstracts,
Where Entity and Quiddity
The Ghosts of defunct Bodies flie;
Where Truth in Person does appear,

Some Authors have mistaken Truth for a Real thing, when it is nothing but a right Method of putting those Notions, or Images of things (in the understanding of Man) into the same state and order, that their Originals hold in Nature, and therefore Aristotle says, unumquodque sicut se habet secundum esse, ita se habet secundum veritatem. Met. l. 2.

Like words congeal'd in Northern Air.

Some report, that in Nova Zemble, and Greenland, Mens words are wont to be Frozen in the Air, and at the Thaw may be heard.

He knew what's what, and that's as high
As Metaphysick Wit can fly,
In School Divinity as able
As he that hight Irrefragable;
Profound in all the Nominal
And real ways beyond them all;
And with as delicate a Hand,
Could twist as tough a Rope of Sand.
And weave fine Cobwebs, fit for Skull
That's empty when the Moon is full;
Such as take Lodgings in a Head
That's to be lett unfurnished.
He could raise Scruples dark and nice,
And after solve 'em in a trice:
As if Divinity had catch'd
The Itch, of purpose to be scratch'd;
Or, like a Mountebank, did wound
And stab her self with doubts profound,
Only to shew with how small pain
The sores of faith are cur'd again;
Although by woful proof we find,
They always leave a Scar behind.

He knew the Seat of Paradise,

There is nothing more ridiculous than the various opinions of Authors about the Seat of Paradise; Sir Walter Rawleigh has taken a great deal of pains to collect them; in the beginning of his History of the World; where those who are unsatisfied, may be fully inform'd.

Could tell in what degree it lies:
And as he was dispos'd, could prove it,
B[e]low the Moon, or else above it.
What Adam dreamt of when his Bride
Came from her Closet in his side:
Whether the Devil tempted her
By a High Dutch Interpreter:

Goropius Becanus endeavours to prove that High-Dutch was the Language that Adam and Eve spoke in Paradise.

If either of them had a Navel;

Adam and Eve being Made, and not Conceiv'd, and Form'd in the Womb, had no Navel, as some Learned Men have suppos'd, because they had no need of them.

Who first made Musick malleable:

Musick is said to be invented by Pythagoras, who first found out the Proportion of Notes, from the sounds of Hammers upon an Anvil.

Whether the Serpent at the fall
Had cloven Feet, or none at all.
All this without a Gloss or Comment,
He would unriddle in a moment:
In proper terms, such as men smatter
When they throw out and miss the matter.

For his Religion it was fit
To match his Learning and his Wit:
'Twas Presbyterian true blew,
For he was of that stubborn Crew
Of Errant Saints, whom all men grant
To be the true Church Militant:
Such as do build their Faith upon
The holy Text of Pike and Gun;
Decide all Controversies by
Infallible Artillery;
And prove their Doctrine Orthodox
By Apostolick Blows and Knocks;
Call Fire and Sword and Desolation,
A godly-thorough-Reformation,
Which always must be carry'd on,
And still be doing, never done:
As if Religion were intended
For nothing else but to be mended.
A Sect, whose chief Devotion lies
In odd perverse Antipathies;
In falling out with that or this,
And finding somewhat still amiss:
More peevish, cross, and splenetick,

Than Dog distract, or Monky sick.
That with more care keep Holy-day
The wrong, than others the right way:
Compound for Sins, they are inclin'd to;
By damning those they have no mind to;
Still so perverse and opposite,
As if they worshipp'd God for spight,
The self-same thing they will abhor
One way, and long another for.
Free-will they one way disavow,
Another, nothing else allow.
All Piety consists therein
In them, in other Men all Sin.
Rather than fail, they will defie
That which they love most tenderly,
Quarrel with minc'd Pies, and disparage
Their best and dearest friend, Plum-porridge;
Fat Pig and Goose it self oppose,
And blaspheme Custard through the Nose.
Th' Apostles of this fierce Religion,
Like Mahomet's, were Ass and Widgeon,

Mahomet had a tame Dove that used to pick Seeds out of his Ear, that it might be thought to whisper and Inspire him. His Ass was so intimate with him, that the Mahometans believe it carry'd him to Heaven, and stays there with him to bring him back again.

To whom our Knight, by fast instinct
Of Wit and Temper was so linkt,
As if Hipocrisie and Non-sence
Had got th' Advouson of his Conscience.

Thus was he gifted and accouter'd,
We mean on th' inside, not the outward:
That next of all we shall discuss;
Then listen Sirs, it followeth thus:

His tawny Beard was th' equal grace
Both of his Wisdom and his Face;
In Cut and Dy so like a Tile,
A sudden view it would beguile:
The upper part thereof was Whey,
The nether Orange mixt with Grey.
This hairy Meteor did denounce
The fall of Scepters and of Crowns;
With grizly type did represent

Declining Age of Government;
And tell with Hieroglyphick Spade,
Its own grave and the State's were made.
Like Sampson's Heart-breakers, it grew
In time to make a Nation rue;
Though it contributed its own fall,
To wait upon the publick downfall.
It was Canonick, and did grow
In Holy Orders by strict vow;

He made a Vow never to cut his Beard, until the Parliament had subdued the King, of which Order of Phanatique Votaries, there were many in those times.

Of Rule as sullen and severe,
As that of rigid Cordeliere:
'Twas bound to suffer Persecution
And Martyrdome with resolution;
T'oppose it self against the hate
And vengeance of th' incensed State:
In whose defiance it was worn,
Still ready to be pull'd and torn,
With red-hot Irons to be tortur'd,
Revil'd, and spit upon, and martyr'd.
Maugre all which, 'twas to stand fast,
As long as Monarchy should last.
But when the State should hap to reel,
'Twas to submit to fatal Steel,
And fall, as it was consecrate
A Sacrifice to fall of State;
Whose thred of life the fatal Sisters
Did twist together with its Whiskers,
And twine so close, that time should never,
In life or death, their fortunes sever;
But with his rusty Sickle mow
Both down together at a blow.

So learned Taliacotius from

Taliacotius was an Italian Chirurgeon, that found out a way to repair lost and decay'd Noses.

The brawny part of Porter's Bum,
Cut supplemental Noses, which
Would last as long as Parent breech:
But when the Date of Nock was out,
Off dropt the Sympathetick Snout.

His Back, or rather Burthen show'd
As if it stoop'd with its own load.
For as Æneas bore his Sire,
Upon his S[h]oulders through the Fire:
Our Knight did bear no less a Pack
Of his own Buttocks on his Back:
Which now had almost got the Upper-
Hand of his Head, for want of Crupper.
To poize this equally, he bore
A Paunch of the same bulk before:
Which still he had a special care
To keep well cramm'd with thrifty fare;
As White-pot, Butter-milk, and Curds,
Such as a Countrey house affords;
W[i]th other Victual, which anon,
We further shall dilate upon,
When of his Hose we come to treat,
The Cub-bord where he kept his meat.

His Doublet was of sturdy Buff,
And though not Sword, yet Cudgel-proof;
Whereby 'twas fitter for his use.
That fear'd no blows but such as bruise.

His Breeches were of rugged Woollen,
And had been at the Siege of Bullen,
To old King Harry so well known,
Some Writers held they were his own.
Through they were lin'd with many a piece,
Of Ammunition-Bread and Cheese,
And fat Black-puddings, proper food
For Warriers that delight in Blood;
For, as we said, he alway chose
To carry Vittle in his Hose.
That often tempted Rats, and Mice,
The Ammunition to surprize:
And when he put a Hand but in
The one or th' other Magazine,
They stoutly in defence on't stood
And from the wounded Foe drew bloud,

And till th' were storm'd and beaten out,
Ne'r left the fortifi'd Redoubt;
And though Knights Errant, as some think,
Of old did neither eat nor drink,
Because when thorough Desarts vast
And Regions Desolate they past,
Where Belly-timber above ground
Or under was not to be found,
Unless they graz'd, there's not one word
Of their Provision on Record:
Which made some confidently write,
They had no stomachs but to fight,
'Tis false: for Arthur wore in Hall
Round Table like a Farthingal,
On which, with Shirt pull'd out behind,
And eke before his good Knights din'd.
Though 'twas no Table, some suppose,
But a huge pair of round Trunk-hose;
In which he carry'd as much meat
As he and all his Knights could eat;
When laying by their Swords and Truncheons,
They took their Breakfasts, or their Nuncheons;
But let that pass at present, lest
We should forget where we digrest;
As learned Authors use, to whom
We leave it, and to th' purpose come,
His Puissant Sword unto his side
Near his undaunted Heart was ty'd,
With Basket-hilt, that wou'd hold broth,
And serve for Fight, and Dinner both.
In it he melted Lead for Bullets,
To shoot at Foes, and sometimes Pullets;
To whom he bore so fell a Grutch,
He ne'er gave quarter t'any such.
The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,
For want of fighting was grown rusty,
And eat into it self, for lack
Of some body to hew and hack.
The peaceful Scabbard where it dwelt,
The Rancor of its Edge had felt:

For of the lower end two handful,
It had devoured 'twas so manful;
And so much scorn'd to lurk in case,
As if it durst not shew its face.
In many desperate Attempts
Of Wars, Exigents, Contempts,
It had appear'd with Courage bolder
Than Sergeant Bum, invading shoulder.
Oft had it ta'en possession,
And Pris'ners too, or made them run.

This Sword a Dagger had his Page.
But was but little for his age:
And therefore waited on him so,
As Dwarfs upon Knights Errant do.
It was a serviceable Dudgeon,
Either for fighting or for drudging;
When it had stab'd or broke a head,
It would scrape Trenchers, or chip Bread,
Toast Cheese or Bacon, though it were
To bait a Mouse-trap, 'twould not care.
'Twould make clean shooes, and in the Earth
Set Leeks and Onions, and so forth.
It had been Prentice to a Brewer,
Where this and more it did endure.
But left the Trade, as many more
Have lately done on the same score.

Oliver Cromwel and Colonel Pride had been both Brewers.

In th' Holsters, at his Saddle-bow,
Two aged Pistols he did stow,
Among the surplus of such meat
As in his Hose he could not get.
They were upon hard Duty still,
And every night stood Sentinel,
To guard the Magazine i'th' Hose
From two legg'd and from four legg'd Foes.

Thus clad and fortifi'd, Sir Knight
From peaceful home set forth to fight.
But first with nimble active force

He got on th' outside of his Horse.
For having but one stirrup ty'd
T'his Saddle, on the further side,
It was so short, h'had much adoe
To reach it with his desperate Toe.
But after many strains and heaves
He got up to the Saddle eaves.
From whence he vaulted into th' Seat
With so much vigor, strength, and heat,
That he had almost tumbled over
With his own weight, but did recover,
By laying hold of Tail and Mane,
Which oft he us'd instead of Rein.

But now we talk of mounting Steed,
Before we f[ur]ther do proceed,
It doth behove us to say something,
Of that which bore our valiant Bumkin.
The Beast was sturdy large and tall,
With Mouth of Meal and Eyes of Wall:
I would say Eye, for h'had but one,
As most agree, though some say none.
He was well stay'd, and in his Gate
Preserv'd a grave majestick state.
At Spur or Switch no more he skipt,
Or mended pace, than Spaniard whipt:
And yet so fiery, he would bound,
As if he griev'd to touch the Ground:
That Cæsar's Horse, who, as Fame goes,
Had Corns upon his Feet and Toes,

Julius Cæsar had a Horse with Feet like a Man's. Utebatur equo insigni, pedibus prope Humanis, & in modum Digitorum ungulis fissis. Sueton in Jul. Cap. 61.

Was not by half so tender-hooft,
Nor trode upon the ground so soft.
And as that Beast would kneel and stoop,
(Some write) to take his Rider up:
So Hudibras his ('tis well known,)
Would often do, to set him down.
We shall not need to say what lack
Of Leather was upon his back:
For that was hidden under pad,
And breech of Knight gall'd full as bad.

His strutting Ribs on both sides show'd
Like furrows he himself had plow'd:
For underneath the skirt of Pannel,
'Twixt every two there was a Channel.
His dragling Tail hung in the Dirt,
Which on his Rider he would flirt
Still as his tender side he prickt,
With arm'd heel or with unarm'd kickt:
For Hudibras wore but one Spur,
As wisely knowing, could he stir
To active trot one side of's Horse,
The other would not hang an Arse:

A Squire he had whose name was Ralph,
That in th' adventure went his half.
Though Writers (for more statelier tone)
Do call him Ralpho, 'tis all one:
And when we can with Meeter safe,
We'll call him so, if not plain Ralph,
For Rhime the Rudder is of Verses,
With which like Ships they stear their courses.
An equal stock of Wit and Valour
He had laid in, by birth a Taylor.
The mighty Tyrian Queen that gain'd
With subtle shreds a Tract of Land,

Dido Queen of Carthage, who bought as much Land as she could compass with an Oxes Hide, which she cut into small Thongs and cheated the owner of so much ground, as serv'd her to build Carthage upon.

Did leave it with a Castle fair
To his great Ancestor, her Heir:
From him descended cross-leg'd Knights,
Fam'd for their Faith and Warlike Fights
Against the bloudy Caniball,
Whom they destroy'd both great and small.
This sturdy Squire had as well
As the bold Trojan Knight, seen hell,

Æneas whom Virgil reports to use a Golden Bough, for a Pass to Hell, and Tailors call that place Hell, where they put all they steal.

Not with a counterfeited Pass
Of Golden Bough, but true Gold-lace.
His knowledge was not far behind
The Knights, but of another kind,
And he another way came by't,
Some call it Gift, and some New light;
A liberal Art, that costs no pains

Of Study, Industry, or Brains.
His Wits were sent him for a Token,
But in the Carriage crackt and broken
Like Commendation Nine-pence, crookt
With to and from my Love, it lookt,
He ne'r consider'd it, as loath
To look a Gift-horse in the Mouth;
And very wisely would lay forth
No more upon it than 'twas worth.
But as he got it freely, so
He spent it frank and freely too.
For Saints themselves will sometimes be,
Of Gifts that cos[t] them nothing, free.
By means of this, with hem and cough,
Prolongers to enlightned Snuff,
He could deep Mysteries unriddle,
As easily as thread a Nee[d]le;
For as of Vagabonds we say,
That they are ne'r beside their way:
What e'r men speak by this New Light,
Still they are sure to be i'th' right.
'Tis a Dark-Lanthorn of the Spirit,
Which none see by but those that bear it.
A Light that falls down from on high,
For Spiritual Trades to couzen by:
An Ignis Fatuus that bewitches,
And leads Men into Pools and Ditches,
To make them dip themselves, and sound
For Christendom [in] dirty Pond;
To dive like Wild-foul for Salvation,
And fish to catch Regeneration.
This Light inspires, and plays upon
The nose of Saint like Bag-pipe drone,
And speaks through hollow empty Soul,
As through a Trunk, or whisp'ring hole,
Such language as no mortal Ear
But spiritual Eve-droppers can hear.
So Phœbus or some friendly Muse
Into small Poets song infuse;
Which they at second-hand rehearse

Through Reed or Bag-pipe, Verse for Verse.

Thus Ralph became infallible,
As three or four-leg'd Oracle,
The ancient Cup, or modern Chair,
Spoke truth point-blank, though unaware:

For mystick Learning, wondrous able
In Magick Talisman, and Cabal,

Talisman is a Device to destroy any sort of Vermin by casting their Images in Metal, in a precise minute, when the Stars are perfectly inclin'd to do them all the mischief they can. This has been experimented by some modern Virtuosi, upon Rats. Mice, and Fleas, and found (as they affirm) to produce the Effect with admirable success.

Raymund Lully interprets Cabal, out of the Arabick, to signifie Scientia superabundans, which his Comentator Cornelius Agrippa, by over magnifying, has render'd a very superfluous Foppery.

Whose Primitive Tradition reaches
As far as Adam's first green Breeches:

The Author of Magia Adamica endeavours to prove the Learning of the antient Magi, to be deriv'd from that knowledge which God himself taught Adam in Paradise, before the Fall.

Deep-sighted in Intelligences,
Idea's, Atomes, Influences;
And much of Terra Incognita,
Th' intelligible World could say;

The Intelligible world, is a kind of Terra del Fuego, or Psittacorum Regio, discover'd only by the Philosophers, of which they talk, like Parrots, what they do not understand.

A deep occult Philosopher,
As learn'd as the Wild Irish are,

No Nation in the World is more addicted to this occult Philosophy, than the Wild Irish, as appears by the whole practice of their Lives, of which see Cambden in his description of Ireland.

Or Sir Agrippa, for profound
And solid Lying much renown'd:
He Anthroposophus, and Floud,
And Jacob Behmen understood;
Knew many an Amulet and Charm,
That would do neither good nor harm:
In Rosy-Crucian Lore as Learned,
As he that Verè adeptus earned.

The Fraternity of the Rosy-Crucians is very like the Sect of the antient Gnostici who call'd themselves so, from the excellent Learning they pretended to, although they were really the most ridiculous Sots of all Mankind.

Vere Adeptus, is one that has Commenc'd in their Fanatique extravagance.

He understood the speech of Birds
As well as they themselves do words:
Could tell what subtlest Parrots mean,
That speak and think contrary clean;
What Member 'tis of whom they talk
When they cry Rope, and Walk Knave, walk.
He'd extract numbers out of matter,
And keep them in a Glass, like water,
Of Sov'raign pow'r to make men wise;
For dropt in blere, thick-sighted Eyes,
They'd make them see in darkest night,
Like Owls, though pur-blind in the light.
By help of these (as he profest)
He had First Matter seen undrest:
He took her naked all alone,

Before one Rag of Form was on.
The Chaos too he had descry'd,
And seen quite through, or else he ly'd:
Not that of Past-board which men shew
For Groats at Fair of Barthol'mew;
But its great Gransire, first o'th' name,
Whence that and Reformation came:
Both Cousin-Germans, and right able
T'inveigle and draw in the Rabble.
But Reformation was, some say,
O'th' younger house to Puppet-Play.
He could foretell whats'ever was
By consequence to come to pass.
As Death of Great Men, Alterations,
Diseases, Battels, Inundations.
All this without th' Eclipse of Sun,
Or dreadful Comet, he hath done
By inward Light, a way as good,
And easie to be understood.
But with more lucky hit than those
That use to make the Stars depose,
Like Knights o'th' Post, and falsly charge
Upon themselves what others forge:
As if they were consenting to
All mischief in the World men do:
Or like the Dev'l, did tempt and sway 'em
To Rogueries, and then betray 'em.
They'l search a Planet's house, to know,
Who broke and robb'd a house below:
Examine Venus, and the Moon
Who stole a Thimble and a Spoon:
And though they nothing will confess,
Yet by their very looks can guess,
And tell what guilty Aspect bodes,
Who stole, and who receiv'd the Goods.
They'l question Mars, and by his look
Detect who 'twas that nimm'd a Cloke:
Make Mercury confess and peach
Those Thieves which he himself did teach.
They'l find i'th' Phisiognomies

O'th' Planets all mens destinies.
Like him that took the Doctor's Bill,
And swallow'd it instead o'th' Pill.
Cast the Nativity o'th' Question,
And from Positions to be guest on,
As sure as if they knew the Moment
Of Natives birth, tell what will come on't.
They'l feel the Pulses of the Stars,
To find out Agues, Coughs, Catarrhs;
And tell what Crysis does divine
The Rot in Sheep, or Mange in Swine:
In Men what gives or cures the Itch,
What make[s] them Cuckolds, poor or rich:
What gains or loses, hangs or saves;
What makes men great, what fools or knaves;
But not what wise, for only of those
The Stars (they say) cannot dispose,
No more than can the Astrologians.
There they say right, and lik true Trojans.
This Ralpho knew, and therefore took
The other course, of which we spoke.

Thus was th' accomplish'd Squire endu'd
With Gifts and Knowledge, per'lous shrew'd.
Never did trusty Squire with Knight,
Or Knight with Squire jump more right.
Their Arms and Equipage did fit,
As well as Virtues, Parts, and Wit.
Their Valors too were of a Rate,
And out they sally'd at the Gate.
Few miles on horseback had they jogged,
But fortune unto them turn'd dogged.
For they a sad adventure met,
Of which we now prepare to Treat:
But e'er we venture to unfold
Atchievements so resolv'd and bold,
We should as learned Poets use,
Invoke the assistance of some Muse;
However Criticks count it sillier
Than Juglers talking t'a Familiar.

We think 'tis no great matter which,
They're all alike, yet we shall pitch
On one that fits our purpose most,
Whom therefore thus do we accost.

Thou that with Ale or viler Liquors,
Didst inspire Withers, Prin, and Vickars,

This Vickars was a Man of as great Interest and [Authority] in the late Reformation, as Pryn, or Withers, and as able a Poet; He Translated Virgils Æneids into as horrible Travesty in earnest, as the French Scaroon did in Burlesque, and was only out-done in his way by the Politick Author of Oceana.

And force them, though it were in spight
Of Nature, and their Stars, to write;
Who, as we finde in sullen Writs,
And cross-graind Works of modern Wits,
With Vanity, Opinion, Want,
The wonder of the Ignorant,
The Praises of the Author, penn'd
By himself, or wit-ensuring friend,
The Itch of Picture in the Front,
With Bays, and wicked Rhime upon't
All that is left o'th' forked Hill
To make men scribble without skill,
Canst make a Poet, spight of fate,
And teach all People to translate;
Though out of Languages in which
They understand no Part of Speech:
Assist me but this once, I'mplore,
And I shall trouble thee no more.

In Western Clime there is a Town
To those that dwell therein well known;
Therefore there needs no more be sed here
We unto them refer our Reader:
For brevity is very good,
When w'are, or are not understood.
To this Town People did repair
On days of Market or of Fair,
And to crack'd Fiddle, and hoarse Tabor
In merriment did drudge and labor:
But now a sport more formidable
Had rak'd together Village rabble.
'Twas an old way of Recreating,

Which learned Butchers call Bear-baiting:
A bold Advent'rous exercise,
With ancient Heroe's in high prize;
For Authors do affirm it came
From Ist[h]mian or Nemean game;
Others derive it from the Bear
That's fixt in Northern Hemisphere,
And round about the Pole does make
A circle like a Bear at stake,
That at the Chain's end wheels about,
And over-turns the Rabble-rout.
For after solemn Proclamation
In the Bear's name (as is the fashion,
According to the Law of Arms,
To keep men from inglorious harms)
That none presume to come so near
As forty foot of stake of Bear;
If any yet be so fool-hardy,
T'expose themselves to vain Jeopardy;
If they come wounded off and lame
No honour's got by such a maim.
Although the Bear gain'd much b'ing bound
In honour to make good his ground.
When he's engag'd, and take no notice,
If any press upon him, who 'tis,
But let them know at their own cost
That he intends to keep his post.
This to prevent, and [other] harms,
Which always wait on feats of Arms,
(For in the hurry of a Fray
'Tis hard to keep out of harm's way)
Thither the Knight his course did stear,
To keep the peace 'twixt Dog and Bear;
As he believ'd h'was bound to doe,
In Conscience and Commission too.
And therefore thus bespoke the Squire;

We that are wisely mounted higher

This Speech is set down as it was deliver'd by the Knight in his own words: but since it is below the Gravity of Heroical Poetry, to admit of Humor, but all men are oblig'd to speak wisely alike. And too much of so extravagant a Folly would become tedious, and impertinent, the rest of his Harangues have only his Sense exprest in other words, unless in some few places where his own words could not be so well avoided.

Then Constables, in Curule wit,
When on Tribunal bench we sit,

Like Speculators, should foresee
From Pharos of Authority,
Portended Mischiefs farther then
Low Proletarian Tithing-men.
And therefore being inform'd by bruit,
That Dog and Bear are to dispute;
For so of late men fighting name,
Because they often prove the same;
(For where the first does hap to be
The last does coincidere)
Quantum in nobis, have thought good,
To save th' expence of Christian blood,
And try if we by Mediation
Of Treaty and accommodation
Can end the quarrel, and compose
The bloudy Duel without blows.
Are not our Liberties, our Lives,
The Laws, Religion, and our Wives
Enough at once to lie at stake,
For Cov'nant and the Causes sake;
But in that quarrel Dogs and Bears
As well as we must venture theirs?
This Feud by Jesuits invented,
By evil Counsel is fomented,
There is a Machiavilian Plot,
(Though ev'ry Nare olfact it not)
A deep design in't to divide
The well-affected that confide,
By setting Brother against Brother,
To claw and curry one another.
Have we not enemies plus satis,
That Cane & angue pejus hate us?
And shall we turn our fangs and claws
Upon our selves without a cause?
That some occult design doth lie
In bloudy Cynarctomachy

Cynarctomarchy signifies nothing in the World, but a Fight between Dogs and Bears, though both the Learned and Ignorant agree, that in such words very great Knowledge is contained: and our Knight as one, or both of those, was of the same opinion.

Is plain enough to him that knows
How Saints lead Brothers by the Nose.
I wish my self a Pseudo-Prophet,
But sure some mischief will come of it:

Unless by providential wit
Or force we averruncate it.

Another of the same kind, which though it appear ever so Learned, and Profound, means nothing else but the weeding of Corn.

For what design, what interest
Can Beast have to encounter Beast?
They fight for no espoused Cause;
Frail Priviledge, Fundamental Laws,
Nor for a thorough Reformation,
Nor Covenant, nor Protestation;
Nor Liberty of Consciences,
Nor Lords and Commons Ordinances;
Nor for the Church, nor for Church Lands,
To get them in their own no Hands;
Nor evil Counsellors to bring
To Justice that seduce the King;
Nor for the worship of us men,
Though we have done as much for them.
Th' Egyptians worshipp'd Dogs, and for
Their faith made fierce and zealous Warr.
Others ador'd a Rat, and some
For that Church suffer'd Martyrdome.
The Indians fought for the truth
Of th' Elephant, and Monkey's Tooth:

The History of the White Elephant, and the Monkeys Tooth, which the Indians ador'd, is written by Monsieur Le Blanc. This Monkey's Tooth was taken by the Portuguese from those that worship'd it, and though they offer'd a vast Ransom for it, yet the Christians were perswaded by their Priests, rather to burn it. But as soon as the fire was kindled, all the People present were not able to indure the horrible stink that came from it, as if the Fire had been made of the same Ingredients, with which Seamen use to compose that kind of Granado's, which they call Stinkards.

And many, to defend that faith,
Fought it out mordicus to death.
But no Beast ever was so slight,
For Man, as for his God, to fight.
They have more wit, alas! and know
Themselves and us better than so.
But we, we onely do infuse
The Rage in them like Boute-feus.

Bout-feus is a French word, and therefore it were uncivil to suppose any English Person (especially of Quality) ignorant of it, or so ill-bred as to need an Exposition.

'Tis our example that instills
In them th' infection of our ills.
For as some late Philosophers
Have well observed, Beasts that converse
With Man, take after him, as Hogs
Get Pigs all th' year, and Bitches Dogs.
Just so by our example Cattle
Learn to give one another Battel.
We read in Nero's time, the Heathen,
When they destroy'd the Christian Brethren,

They sow'd them in the skins of Bears,
And then set Dogs about their Ears:
From whence, no doubt, th' invention came
Of this lewd Antichristian Game.

To this, quoth Ralpho, Verily,
The Point seems very plain to be.
It is an Antichristia[n] Game,
Unlawful both in thing and name;
First for the Name, The word Bear-baiting,
Is Carnal, and of man's creating:
For certainly there's no such word
In all the Scripture on Record.
Therefore unlawful and a sin,
And so is (secondly) the thing.
A vile Assembly 'tis, that can
No more be prov'd by Scripture than
Provincial, Classick, National;
Mere humane Creature-Cobwebs all.
Thirdly, it is Idolatrous:
For when men run a-whoring thus
With their Inventions whatsoe'r
The thing be, whether Dog or Bear,
It is Idolatrous and Pagan
No less than worshipping of Dagon.

Quoth Hudibras, I smell a Rat;
Ralpho, thou dost prevaricate.
For though the Thesis which thou lay'st
Be true ad amussim as thou say'st:
(For that Bear-baiting should appear
Jure Divino lawfuller
Than Synods are, thou dost deny,
Totidem verbis so do I)
Yet there's a fallacy in this:
For if by sly Homœosis,
Thou would'st Sophistically imply
Both are unlawful, I deny.

And I (quoth Ralpho) do not doubt

But Bear-baiting may be made out
In Gospel-times, as lawful as is
Provincial or Parochial Classis:
And that both are so near of kin,
And like in all as well as sin,
That put them in a bag and shake 'em,
Your self o'th' sudden would mistake 'em,
And not know which is which, unless
You measure by their wickedness:
For 'tis not hard t'imagine whether
O'th' two is worst, though I name neither.

Quoth Hudibras, thou offer'st much,
But art not able to keep touch.
Mira de lente, as 'tis i'th' Adage,
Id est, to make a Leak a Cabbage.
Thou canst at best but overstrain
A Paradox, and th' own hot brain:
For what can Synods have at all
With Bears that's Analogical?
Or what relation has debating
Of Church-Affairs with Bear-baiting?
A just comparison still is,
Of things ejusdem generis.
And then what Genus rightly doth,
Include and comprehend them both?
If Animal, both of us may
As justly pass for Bears as they.
For we are Animals no less,
Although of different Specieses.
But, Ralpho this is no fit place,
Nor time to argue out the Case:
For now the Field is not far off,
Where we must give the world a proof
Of Deeds, not Words, and such as suit
Another manner of Dispute.
A Controversie that affords
Actions for Arguments, not Words:
Which we must manage at a rate
Of Prowess and Conduct adæquate;

To what our place and fame doth promise,
And all the godly expect from us.
Nor shall they be deceiv'd, unless
W'are flurr'd and outed by success:
Success, the Mark no mortal Wit,
Or surest hand can always hit:
For whatsoe're we perpetrate,
We do but row, we'are steer'd by Fate,
Which in success oft disinherits,
For spurious Causes, noblest merits.
Great Actions are not always true Sons
Of great and mighty Resolutions:
Nor doth the bold'st attempts bring forth
Events still equal to their worth;
But sometimes fail, and in their stead,
Fortune and Cowardise succeed,
Yet we have no great cause to doubt,
Our actions still have born us out.
Which though th' are known to be so ample,
We need no copy from example,
We'are not the onely person durst
Attempt this Province, nor the first.
In Northern Clime a valorous Knight
Did whilom kill his Bear in fight,
And wound a Fidler: we have both
Of these the objects of our Wroth,
And equal Fame and Glory from
Th' Attempt or Victory to come.
'Tis sung, There is a valiant Marmaluke
In foreign Land, yclep'd---
To whom we have been oft compar'd
For Person, Parts, Address and Beard:
Both equally reputed stout,
And in the same Cause both have fought.
He oft in such Attempts as these
Came off with glory and success.
Nor will we fail in th' execution,
For want of equal Resolution.
Honour is, like a Widow, won
With brisk Attempt and putting on;

With ent'ring manfully, and urging;
Not slow approaches, like a Virgin.

This said, as once the Phrygian Knight,
So ours, with rusty steell, did smite
His Trojan Horse, and just as much
He mended pace upon the touch;
But from his empty stomach groan'd
Just as that hollow Beast did sound,
And angry answer'd from behind,
With brandish'd Tail and blast of Wind.
So have I seen with armed heel,
A Wight bestride a Commonweal;
Whil'st still the more he kick'd and spurr'd,
The less the sullen Jade has stirr'd.

The Argument of the Second CANTO.

The Catalogue and Character
Of the Enemies best Men of War;
Whom in a bald Harangue, the Knight
Defy's, and challenges to fight:
H' incounters Talgol, routs the Bear,
And takes the Fidler Prisoner;
Conveys him to enchanted Castle,
There shuts him fast in wooden Bastile.

CANTO II.

There was an ancient sage Philosopher,
That had read Alexander Ross over,
And swore the world, as he could prove,
Was made of Fighting and of Love:
Just so Romances are, for what else
Is in them all, but Love and Battels?
O'th' first of these w'have no great matter
To treat of, but a world o'th' latter:
In which to do the injur'd Right
We mean in what concerns just fight.
Certes our Authors are to blame,
For to make some well-sounding name
A Pattern fit for modern Knights,
To copy out in Frays and Fights,
(Like those that a whole street do raze,
To build a Palace in the place.)

They never care how many others
They kill, without regard of Mothers,
Or Wives, or Children, so they can
Make up some fierce dead-doing man,
Compos'd of many ingredient Valors
Just like the Manhood of nine Tailors.
So a wilde Tartar when he spies
A man that's handsome, valiant, wise,
If he can kill him, thinks t'inherit
His Wit, his Beauty, and his Spirit:
As if just so much he enjoy'd
As in another is destroy'd.
For when a Giant's slain in fight,
And mow'd o'erthwart, or cleft downright,
It is a heavy case, no doubt,
A man should have his Brains beat out,
Because he's tall, and has large Bones;
As Men kill Beavers for their Stones.
But as for our part, we shall tell
The naked Truth of what befell;
And as an equal friend to both
The Knight and Bear, but more to Troth,
With neither faction shall take part,
But give to each his due desert:
And never coyn a formal lye on't,
To make the Knight o'rcome the Giant.
This b'ing profest, we hope's enough,
And now go on where we left off.

They rode, but Authors having not
Determin'd whether Pace or Trot,
(That is to say, whether Tolutation,
As they do term't, or Succussation)
We leave it, and go on, as now
Suppose they did, no matter how.
Yet some from subtle hints [h]ave got
Mysterious light, it was a Trot.
But let that pass: they now begun
To spurr their living Engines on.
For as whipp'd Tops and bandy'd Balls,

The learned hold, are Animals,
So Horses they affirm to be
Mere Engines made by Geometry,
And were invented first from Engins,
As Indian Britains were from Penguins.

The American Indians call a great Bird they have, with a white head a Penguin; which signifies the same thing in the Brittish Tongue: from whence (with other words of the same kind) some Authors have endeavour'd to prove, That the Americans are originally deriv'd from the Brittains.

So let them be, and, as I was saying,
They their live Engines ply'd, not staying
Until they reach'd the fatal Champain,
Which the Enemy did then encamp on,
The dire Pharsalian Plain, where Battel
Was to be wag'd 'twixt puissant Cattel,
And fierce Auxiliary Men,
That came to aid their Brethren:
Who now began to take the Field
As from his Steed the Knight beheld:
For as our modern Wits behold,
Mounted a Pick-back on the Old,
Much further off, much further he
Rais'd on his aged Beast could see:
But not sufficient to descry
All postures of the Enemy.
And therefore orders the bold Squire
T'advance, and view their Body nigher,
That when their motions he had known,
He might know how to fit his own.
Mean while he stopp'd his willing Steed:
To fit himself for Martial deed:
Both kinds of mettle he prepar'd,
Either to give blows or to ward,
Courage within, and Steel without
To give, or to receive a Rout.
His Death-charg'd Pistols he did fit well
Drawn out from life-preserving Vittle.
These being prim'd, with force he labour'd
To free's Sword from retentive Scabbard:
And after many a painful pluck,
He clear'd at length the rugged Tuck.
Then shook himself, to see that Prowess
In Scabbard of his Arms set loose;
And rais'd upon his desperate foot

On stirrup side he gaz'd about,
Portending Bloud, like Blazing Star,
The Beacon of approaching War.
The Squire advanc'd with greater speed;
Then could b' expected from his Steed;
But far more in returning made,
For now the Foe he had survey'd
Rang'd, as to him they did appear,
With Van, main Battel, Wings and Rear.

In th' head of all this Warlike Rabble
Crowdero march'd, expert and able:
Instead of Trumpet and of Drum,
That makes the Warrier's stomach come,
Whose noise whets Valour sharp, like Beer
By Thunder turn'd to Vineger:
For if a Trumpet sound, or Drum beat,
Who has not a months mind to combat?
A squeaking Engine he apply'd,
Unto his Neck on North-east side,
Just where the Hangman does dispose,
To special Friends the fatal Noose:
For 'tis great Grace when Statesmen straight
Dispatch a Friend, let others wait.
His warped Ear hung o'er the strings,
Which was but Souce to Chitterlings:
For Guts, some write, e're they are sodden,
Are fit for Musick, or for Pudden:
From whence men borrow ev'ry kind
Of Minstrelsy, by string or wind.
His grizly Beard was long and thick,
With which he strung his Fiddle-stick:
For he to Horse-tail scorn'd to owe,
For what on his own chin did grow.
Chiron, the four legg'd Bard, had both
A Beard and Tail of his own growth;
And yet by Authors 'tis averr'd,
He made use onely of his Beard.
In Staffordshire, where Virtuous worth
Does raise the Minstrelsie, not Birth;

Where Bulls do chuse the boldest King
And Ruler, o'er the men of string;
(As once in Persia, 'tis said,
Kings were proclaim'd by a Horse that neigh'd)
He bravely vent'ring at a Crown,
By chance of War was beaten down,
And wounded sore: his Leg then broke,
Had got a Deputy of Oke:
For when a shin in fight is cropt,
The knee with one of timber's propt;
Esteem'd more honorable than the other,
And takes place, though the younger Brother.

Next march'd brave Orsin, famous for
Wise Conduct, and success in War:
A skilful Leader, stout, severe,
Now Marshal to the Champion Bear.
With Truncheon tip'd with Iron head,
The Warrior to the Lists [he] led;
With solemn march and stately pace,
But far more grave and solemn face:
Grave as the Emperor of Pegu,
Or Spanish Potentate Don Diego.
This Leader was of knowledge great,
Either for Charge or for Retreat.
Knew when t'engage his Bear Pel-mel
And when to bring him off as well.
So Lawyers, least the Bear Defendent,
And Plaintiff Dog should make an end on't,
Do stave and tail with Writs of Error,
Reverse of Judgement, and Demurrer,
To let them breathe awhile and then
Cry whoop, and set them on agen.
As Romulus a Wolf did rear,
So he was dry-nurs'd by a Bear,
That fed him with the purchas'd prey
Of many a fierce and bloody fray;
Bred up where Discipline most rare is,
In Military Garden-Paris.
For Soldiers heretofore did grow

In Gardens, Just as Weeds do now;
Until some splay-foot Politicians
T'Apollo offer'd up Petitions,
For licensing a new invention
Th' 'ad found out of an antique Engine
To root out all the Weeds that grow
In publick Garden at a blow,
And leave th' Herbs standing. Quoth Sir Sun,
My friends, that is not to be done.
Not done? quoth Statesmen; yes, an't please ye,
When 'tis once known, you'l say 'tis easie.
Why, then let's know it, quoth Apollo.
We'll beat a Drum, and they'll all follow.
A Drum (quoth Phœbus) troth that's true,
A pretty invention quaint and new.
But though of Voice and Instrument
We are ('tis true) chief President;
We such loud Musick do n't profess,
The Devil's Master of that Office,
Where it must pass, if't be a Drum,
He'l sign it with Cler. Parl. Dom. Com.
To him apply your selves, and he
Will soon dispatch you, for his Fee.
They did so, but it prov'd so ill,
Th' had better have let them grow there stil.
But to resume what we discoursing
Were on before, that is stout Orsin:
That which [so] oft by sundry writers,
Has been apply'd to almost all fighters,
More justly may b' ascrib'd to this,
Than any other Warrior (viz.)
None [ever] acted both parts bolder,
Both of a Chieftain and a Soldier.
He was of great descent and high,
For splendor and antiquity;
And from Cælestial origine
Deriv'd himself in a right Line.
Not as the ancient Heroes did,
Who, that their base births might be hid,
(Knowing they were of doubtful gender,

And that they came in at a Windore)
Made Jupiter himself and others
O'th' Gods Gallants to their own Mothers.
To get on them a Race of Champions,
Of which old Homer first made Lampoons.
Arctophylax, in Northern Sphere,
Was his undoubted Ancestor:
From [him] his Great Forefathers came,
And in all Ages bore his name.
Learn'd he was in Med'c'nal Lore,
For by his side a Pouch he wore
Replete with strange Hermetick Powder,
That Wounds six Miles point-blank would solder,
By skilful Chymist with great cost
Extracted from a rotten Post;
But of a heav'nlier influence,
Than that which Mountebanks dispense;
Though by Promethean Fire made,
As they do quack that drive that Trade,
For as when Slovens do amiss
At others doors by Stool or Piss,
The Learned write, a Red-hot Spit,
B'ing prudently apply'd to it,
Will convey mischief from the Dung,
Unto the part that did the wrong:
So this did healing, and as sure
As that did mischief, this would cure.

Thus virtuous Orsin was endu'd,
With Learning, Conduct, Fortitude,
Incomparable: and as the Prince
Of Poets, Homer, sung long since,
A skilful Leech is better far
Than half a hundred Men of War;
So he appear'd, and by his skill,
No less than Dint of Sword could kill.

The Gallant Bruin marcht next' him,
With Visage formidably grim.
And rugged as a Saracin,

Or Turk of Mahomet's own kin;
Clad in a Mantle de la Guer
Of rough impenetrable Fur;
And in his Nose, like Indian King,
He wore for Ornament a Ring;
About his Neck a three-fold Gorget,
As tough as trebled leathern Tar[g]et;
Armed, as Heralds cant, and langu[e]d,
Or, as the Vulgar say, sharp fanged.
For as the Teeth in Beasts of Prey
Are Swords, with which they fight in Fray.
So Swords in Men of War, are Teeth,
Which they do eat their Vittle with.
He was, by birth, some Authors write,
A Russian, some a M[u]scovite,
And 'mong the Cossacks had been bred,
Of whom we in Diurnals read,
That serve to fill up Pages here,
As with their Bodies Ditches there.
Scrimansky was his Cousin-german
With whom he serv'd and fed on Vermin:
And when these fail'd he'd suck his claws,
And quarter himself upon his paws.
And though his Country-men, the Huns,

This custom of the Huns is describ'd by Ammianus Marcellinus. Hunii Semicruda cujusvis Pecoris carne vescuntur, quam inter femora sua & equorum terga subsertam, fotu calefaciunt brevi. Pag. 686.

Did use to stew between their Bums,
And their warm Horses backs, their meat,
And every man his Saddle eat:
He was not half so nice as they,
But eat it raw when 't came in 'is way.
He had trac'd Countreys far and near,
More than Le Blanc the Traveller;
Who writes, He Spous'd in India,
Of noble house, a Lady gay,

This story in Le Blanc, of a Bear that married a Kings Daughter, is no more strange than many others in most Travellers, that pass with allowance, for if they should write nothing but what is possible, or probable, they might appear to have lost their labor, and observed nothing, but what they might have done as well at home.

And got on her a Race of Worthies
As stout as any upon Earth is.
Full many a Fight for him between
Talgol and Orsin oft had been;
Each striving to deserve the Crown
Of a sav'd Citizen: the one
To guard his Bear, the other fought

To aid his Dog; both made more stout
By sev'ral spurs of neighborhood,
Church-fellow-membership, and blood:
But Talgol, mortal foe to Cows,
Never got ought of him but blows;
Blows hard and heavy, such as he
Had lent, repay'd with Usury.

Yet Talgol was of Courage stout,
And vanquish'd oftner than he fought:
Inur'd to labor, sweat, and toyl,
And like a Champion, shone with Oyl.
Right many a Widow his keen blade,
And many a Fatherless, had made.
He many a Bore and huge Dun Cow
Did, like another Guy, o'erthrow.
But Guy with him in fight compar'd,
Had like the Bore or Dun Cow far'd.
With greater Troops of Sheep h'had fought
Than Ajax, or bold Don Quixot:
And many a Serpent of fell kind,
With wings before, and stings behind,
Subdu'd; as Poets say, long agone
Bold Sir George, Saint George did the Dragon.
Nor Engine, nor Device Polemick,
Disease, nor Doctor Epidemick,
Though stor'd with Deletery Med'cines,
(Which whosoever took is Dead since)
E'er sent so vast a Colony
To both the under-worlds as he.
For he was of that noble Trade
That Demi-gods and Heroes made,
Slaughter and knocking on the head;
The Trade to which they all were bred;
And is, like others, glorious when
'Tis great and large, but base if mean.
The former rides in Triumph for it;
The latter in a two wheel'd Chariot,
For daring to prophane a thing
So Sacred, with vile bungling.

Next these the brave Magnano came,
Magnano great in Martial Fame.
Yet when with Orsin he wag'd fight,
'Tis sung he got but little by't.
Yet he was fierce as Forest-Bore,
Whose Spoils upon his Back he wore,
As thick as Ajax seven-fold Shield,
Which o'er his brazen A[r]ms he held.
But Brass was feeble to resist
The fury of his armed fist;
Nor could the hardest Ir'n hold out
Against his blows, but they would through't.

In Magick he was deeply read,
As he that made the Brazen-head;
Profoundly skill'd in the Black Art,
As English Merlin for his heart;
But far more skilful in the Spheres
Than he was at the Sieve and Shears.
He could transform himself in Color,
As like the Devil as a Collier;
As like as Hypocrites in show
Are to true Saints, or Crow to Crow.

Of Warlike Engines he was Author,
Devis'd for quick dispatch of slaughter:
The Cannon, Blunderbuss, and Saker,
He was th' Inventer of and Maker:
The Trumpet and the Kettle-Drum
Did both from his Invention come.
He was the first that e'r did teach
To make, and how to stop a breach.
A Lance he bore with Iron pike,
The one half would thrust, the other strike:
And when their forces he had join'd,
He scorn'd to turn his Parts behind.

He Trulla lov'd, Trulla more bright
Than burnish'd Armor of her Knight:
A bold Virago, stout and tall

As Joan of France, or English Mall,
Through perils both of Wind and Limb,
Through thick and thin she follow'd him,
In ev'ry Adventure h'undertook,
And never him, or it forsook.
At breach of Wall, or Hedge surprize,
She shar'd i'th' hazard and the prize:
At beating Quarters up, or Forage,
Behav'd her self with matchless courage;
And laid about in fight more bus'ly,
Than the Amazonian Dame, Penthesile.

And though some Criticks here cry shame,
And say our Authors are [to] blame,
That spight of all Philosophers,
Who hold no Females stout but Bears,
And heretofore did so abhor
Their Women should pretend to War,
They would not suffer the stout'st Dame,
To swear by Hercules his Name,

The old Romans had particular Oaths for Men and Women to swear by, and therefore Macrobius says, Viri per Castorem non jurabant antiquitus, nec Mulieres per Herculem, Ædepol autem juramentum erat tam mulieribus quam viris commune, &c.

Make feeble Ladies, in their Works,
To fight like Termagants and Turks;
To lay their native Arms aside,
Their modesty, and ride a-stride;
To run a-Tilt at Men, and wield
Their naked Tools in open field;
As stout Armida, bold Thalestris,

Two formidable Women at Arms, in Romances, that were cudgell'd into Love by their Gallants.

And she that would have been the Mistriss
Of Gundibert, but he had grace,
And rather took a Country Lass:
They say 'tis false, without all sense
But of pernicious consequence
To Government, which they suppose
Can never be upheld in Prose:
Strip Nature naked to the skin,
You'll find about her no such thing.
It may be so, yet what we tell
Of Trulla, that's improbable,
Shall be depos'd by those have seen't,
Or, what's as good, produc'd in print:

And if they will not take our word,
We'll prove it true upon record.

The upright Cerdon next advanc't
Of all his Race the Valiant'st;
Cerdon the Great, renown'd in Song,
Like Herc'les, for repair of wrong:
He rais'd the low, and fortifi'd
The weak against the strongest side.
Ill has he read, that never hit
On him in Muses deathless writ.
He had a weapon keen and fierce,
That through a Bull-hide shield would pierce,
And cut it in a thousand pieces,
Though tougher than the Knight of Greece his;
With whom his black thumb'd Ancestor
Was Comrade in the ten years War:
For when the restless Greeks sate down
So many years before Troy Town,
And were renown'd, as Homer writes,
For well-sol'd Boots, no less than Fights;
They ow'd that Glory onely to
His Ancestor, that made them so.
Fast Friend he was to Reformation,
Until 'twas worn quite out of fashion.
Next Rectifier of Wry Law,
And would make three, to cure one flaw.
Learned he was, and could take note,
Transcribe, Collect, Translate and Quote.
But Preaching was his chiefest Talent,
Or Argument, in which b'ing valiant,
He us'd to lay about and stickle,
Like Ram or Bull, at Conventicle:
For Disputants like Rams and Bulls,
Do fight with Arms that spring from Skulls.

Last Colon came, bold Man of War,
Destin'd to blows by fatal Star;
Right expert in Command of Horse,
But cruel, and without remorse.

That which of Centaure long ago
Was said, and has been wrested to
Some other Knights, was true of this,
He and his Horse, were of a piece.
One Spirit did inform them both,
The self-same Vigor, Fury, Wroth:
Yet he was much the rougher part,
And always had the harder heart;
Although his Horse had been of those,
That fed on Man's flesh, As Fame goes.
Strange food for Horse! and yet, alas,
It may be true, for Flesh is Grass,
Sturdy he was, and no less able
Than Hercules to cleanse a Stable;
As great a Drover, and as great
A Critick too in Hog or Neat.
He ripp'd the Womb up of his Mother,
Dame Tellus, 'cause she wanted fother
And Provender wherewith to feed
Himself and his less cruel Steed.
It was a question whether He
Or's Horse were of a Family
More Worshipful: till Antiquaries,
(After th' 'ad almost por'd out their Eyes)
Did very learnedly decide
The bus'ness on the Horse's side,
And prov'd not onely Horse, but Cows,
Nay Pigs, were of the elder house:
For Beasts, when man was but a piece
Of earth himself, did th' earth possess.

These Worthies were the chief that led
The Combatants, each in the head
Of his Command, with Arms and Rage,
Ready and longing to engage.
The numerous Rabble was drawn out
Of several Companies round about;
From Villages remote, and Shires,
Of East and Western Hemispheres:
From forain Parishes and Regions,

Of different Manners, Speech, Religions,
Came Men and Mastives; some to fight
For Fame and Honor, some for sight.
And now the field of Death, the Lists
Were ent'red by Antagonists,
And blood was ready to be broached;
When Hudibras in haste approached,
With Squire and Weapons to attack 'em:
But first thus from his Horse bespake 'em.

What Rage, O Citizens, what fury
Doth you to those dire actions hurry?
What Oestrum, what phrenetick mood
Makes you thus lavish of your blood,
While the proud Vies your Trophies boast,
And unreveng'd walks—ghost?
What Towns, what Garisons might you
With hazard of this blood subdue,
Which now y'are bent to throw away
In vain, untriumphable fray?

Shall Saints in Civil bloudshed wallow
Of Saints, and let the Cause lie fallow?
The Cause for which we fought and swore
So boldly, shall we now give o'er?
Then because Quarrels still are seen
With Oaths and Swearing to begin,
The Solemn League and Covenant
Will seem a meer God-dam-me Rant;
And we that took it, and have fought,
As lewd as Drunkards that fall out.
For as we make War for the King
Against himself, the self-same thing
Some will not stick to swear we do
For God and for Religion too.
For if Bear-baiting we allow,
What good can Reformation do?
The Bloud and Treasure that's laid out,
Is thrown away, and goes for nought.
Are these the fruits o'th' Protestation,

The Prototype of Reformation,
Which all the Saints, and some, since Martyrs,
Wore in their Hats, like Wedding-Garters,

Some few days after the King had accus'd the Five Members of Treason in the House of Commo[n]s; great crouds of the Rabble came down to Westminster-Hall, with Printed Copies of the Protestation, ty'd in their Hats like Favors.

When 'twas resolved by their House
Six Members quarrel to espouse?
Did they for this draw down the Rabble,
With zeal and noises formidable;
And make all Cries about the Town
Joyn throats to cry the Bishops down?
Who having round begirt the Palace,
(As once a month they do the Gallows)
As Members gave the sign about
Set up their throats with hideous shout.
When Tinkers bawl'd aloud, to settle
Church Discipline, for patching Kettle.
No Sow-gelder did blow his Horn
To geld a Cat, but cry'd Reform.
The Oyster-wom[e]n lock'd their Fish up,
And trudg'd away to cry No Bishop.
The Mouse-trap men laid Save-alls by,
And 'gainst Ev'l Counsellors did cry.
Botchers left old Cloaths in the lurch,
And fell to turn and patch the Church.
Some cry'd the Covenant instead
Of Pudding-pies and Ginger-bread:
And some for Broom, old Boots, and Shooes,
Baul'd out to purge the Commons House:
Instead of Kitchin-stuff, some cry
A Gospel-preaching-Ministry;
And some for Old Suits, Coats, or Cloak,
No Surplices, nor Service-Book.
A strange harmonious inclination
Of all degrees to Reformation.
And is this all? is this the end
To which these carr'ings on did tend?
Hath Publick Faith like a young heir
For this ta'en up all sorts of Ware,
And run int' ev'ry Tradesman's Book,
Till both turn'd Bankrupts, and are broke?
Did Saints for this bring in their Plate,

And crowd as if they came too late?
For when they thought the Cause had need on't,
Happy was he that could be rid on't.
Did they coyn Piss-pots, Bowls, and Flaggons,
Int' Officers of Horse and Dragoons;
And into Pikes and Musqueteers
Stamp Beakers, Cups, and Porringers?
A Thimble, Bodkin, and a Spoon
Did start up living men as soon
As in the Furnace they were thrown,
Just like the Dragons teeth being sown.
Then was the Cause all Gold and Plate,
The Brethrens off'rings, consecrate
Like th' Hebrew-calf, and down before it
The Saints fell prostrate, to adore it.
So say the Wicked—and will you
Make that Sarcasmous Scandal true,

Abusive, or insulting had been better, but our Knight believ'd the Learned Languages, more convenient to understand in, then his own Mother-tongue.

By running after Dogs and Bears,
Beasts more unclean than Calves and Steers?
Have pow'rful Preachers ply'd their tongues,
And laid themselves out and their Lungs;
Us'd all means both direct and sinister
I'th' power of Gospel-Preaching Minister?
Have they invented Tones, to win
The Women, and make them draw in
The Men, as Indians with a Female
Tame Elephant inveigle the Male?
Have they told Prov'dence what it must do,
Whom to avoid, and whom to trust to?
Discover'd th' Enemy's design,
And which way best to countermine;
Prescrib'd what ways he hath to work,
Or it will ne'r advance the Kirk,
Told it the News o'th' last express,
And after good or bad success
Made Prayers, not so like Petitions,
As Overtures and Propositions,
(Such as the Army did present
To their Creator th' Parliament)
In which they freely will confess,

They will not, cannot acquiesce,
Unless the Work be carry'd on
In the same way they have begun,
By setting Church and Common-weal,
All on a flame bright as their zeal,
On which the Saints were all-a-gog.
And all this for a Bear and Dog.

The Parliament drew up Petitions
To 't self, and sent them, like Commissions,
To Well-affected Persons down,
In ev'ry City and great Town;
With pow'r to levy Horse and Men,
Only to bring them back agen:
For this did many, many a mile,
Ride manfully in Rank and File,
With Papers in their Hats, that show'd
As if they to th' Pillory rode,
Have all these courses, these efforts,
Been try'd by people of all sorts,
Velis & Remis, omnibus Nervis,
And all t'advance the Cause's service:
And shall all now be thrown away
In petulant intestine fray:
Shall we that in the Cov'nant swore,
Each man of us to run before
Another still in Reformation,
Give Dogs and Bears a Dispensation?
How will dissenting Brethren relish it?
What will Malignants say? Videlicet,
That each man swore to do his best,
To damn and perjure all the rest:
And bid the Devil take the hin'most,
Which at this Race is like to win most.
They'll say our bus'ness to reform
The Church and State is but a worm;
For to subscribe unsight, unseen,
T'an unknown Churches Discipline:
What is it else, but before-hand,
T'ingage, and after understand?

For when we swore to carry on
The present Reformation,
According to the Purest mode
Of Churches, best Reform'd abroad,
What did we else but make a vow
To do we know not what, nor how?
For no three of us will agree
Where, or what Churches these should be.
And is indeed the self-same case
With theirs that swore Et cæteras;

The Convocation in one of the short Parliaments that usher'd in the long one (as Dwarfs are wont to do Knights Errant) made an Oath to be taken, by the Clergy, for observing of Canonical obedience; in which they injoyn'd their Brethren, out of the abundance of their Consciences, to swear to Articles with &c.

Or the French League, in which men vow'd
To fight to the last drop of bloud.

The Holy League in France, design'd and made for the Extirpation of the Protestant Religion, was the Original, out of which the Solemn League and Covenant here, was (with difference only of Circumstances) most faithfully Transcrib'd. Nor did the success of both differ more than the Intent and Purpose; for after the destruction of vast numbers of People of all sorts, both ended with the Murthers of two Kings, whom they had both sworn to defend: and as our Covenanters swore every Man, to run one before another in the way of Reformation, So did the French in the Holy League, to fight to the last drop of Bloud.

These slanders will be thrown upon
The Cause and Work we carry on,
If we permit men to run headlong
T'exorbitancies fit for Bedlam,
Rather then Gospel-walking times,
When slighted Sins are greatest Crimes.
But we the matter so shall handle,
As to remove that odious scandal
In name of King and Parliament,
I charge ye all, no more foment
This feud, but keep the Peace between
Your Brethren and your Countrey-men;
And to those places straight repair
Where your respective dwellings are.
But to that purpose first surrender,
The Fidler, as the prime offender,
Th' Incendiary vile, that is the chief
Author and Enginier of mischief;
That makes division between friends,
For prophane and malignant ends.
He and that Engine of vile noise,
On which illegally he plays,
Shall (dictum factum) both be brought
To condigne Punishment as th'y ought.
This must be done, and I would fain see
Mortal so sturdy as to gain-say:
For then [I]'ll take another course,
And son Reduce you all by force.

This said, he clapt his hand on Sword,
To shew he meant to keep his word.

But Talgol, who had long supprest
Enflamed wrath in glowing breast,
Which now began to rage and burn as
Implacably as flame in Furnace,
Thus answer'd him. Thou Vermin wretched,
As e'er in Meazel'd Pork was hatched;
Thou Tail of Worship, that dost grow
On Rump of Justice as of Cow;
How dar'st thou with that sullen Luggage
[O'] thy self, old I'rn and other Baggage,
With which thy Steed of Bones and Leather
Has broke his wind in halting hither;
How durst th', I say, adventure thus
T'oppose thy Lumber against us?
Could thine Impertinence find out
No work t'employ it self about,
Where thou secure from Wooden blow
Thy busy vanity might'st show?
Was no dispute afoot between
The Catterwauling Brethren?
No subtle Question rais'd among
Those out-o'-their wits and those i'th' wrong?
No prize between those Combatants
O'th' times, the Land and Water-Saints;
Where thou might'st stickle without hazard
Of outrage to thy hide and mazard,
And not for want of bus'ness come
To us to be thus troublesome,
To interrupt our better sort
Of Disputants, and spoil our sport?
Was there no Felony, no Bawd,
Cut-purse, nor Burglary abroad?
No Stolen Pig, nor Plunder'd Goose,
To tye thee up from breaking loose?
No Ale unlicenc'd, broken hedge,
For which thou Statute might'st alledge,
To keep thee busie from foul evil,

And shame due to thee from the Devil?
Did no Committee sit, where he
Might cut out journy-work for thee;
And set th' a task, with subornation,
To stitch up sale and sequestration;
To cheat with Holiness and Zeal
All Parties, and the Common-weal?
Much better had it been for thee,
H'had kept thee where th'art us'd to be;
Or sent th'on bus'ness any whither,
So he had never brought thee hither.
But if th'hast Brain enough in Sk[u]ll
To keep within it's lodging whole.
And not provoke the rage of Stones
And Cudgels to thy Hide and Bones;
Tremble, and vanish while thou may'st
Which I'll not promise if thou stay'st.
At this the Knight grew high in wroth,
And lifting hands and eyes up both,
Three times [he] smote on stomach stout,
From whence at length these words broke out.
Was I for this entit'led Sir,
And girt with trusty Sword and Spur,
For Fame and Honor to wage Battel,
Thus to be brav'd by Foe to Cattel?
Not all that Pride that makes thee swell
As big as thou dost blown-up Veal;
Nor all thy tricks and slights to cheat,
And sell thy Carrion for good Meat;
Not all thy Magick to repair
Decay'd old age in tough lean ware,
Make Natural Death appear thy work,
And stop the Gangreen in stale Pork;
Not all that force that makes thee proud,
Because by Bullock ne'er withstood;
Though arm'd with all thy Clevers, Knives,
And Axes made to hew down lives;
Shall save or help thee to evade
The hand of Justice, or this blade
Which I her Sword-bearer do carry,

For civil Deed and Military.
Nor shall these words of Venom base,
Which thou hast from their Native place,
Thy stomach, pump'd to fling on me,
Go unreveng'd, though I am free,
Thou down the same throat shalt devour 'em,
Like tainted Beef, and pay dear for 'em.
Nor shall it e'er be said, that wight
With Gantlet blew and Bases white,
And round blunt Dudgeon by his side,
So great a man at Arms defy'd
With words far bitterer than Wormwood,
That would in Job or Grizel stir mood.
Dogs with their Tongues their Wounds do heal
But Men with hands as thou shalt feel.
This said, with hasty rage he snatch'd
His Gun-shot, that in holsters watch'd;
And bending Cock, he level'd full
Against th' outside of Talgol's Skull,
Vowing that he would ne'er stir further,
Nor henceforth Cow or Bullock murther.
But Pallas came in shape of Rust,
And 'twixt the Spring and Hammer thrust
Her Gorgon-shield which made the Cock
Stand stiff as if 'twere turn'd t'a stock.
Mean while fierce Talgol gath'ring might,
With rugged Truncheon charg'd the Knight.
And he his rusty Pistol held
To take the blow on, like a Shield;
The Gun recoyl'd, as well it might,
Not us'd to such a kind of fight,
And shrunk from its great Master's gripe,
Knock'd down and stunn'd with mortal stripe.
Then Hudibras with furious haste
Drew out his sword; yet not so fast,
But Talgol first with hardy thwack
Twice bruis'd his head, and twice his back.
But when his nut-brown Sword was out,
Courageously he laid about,
Imprinting many a wound upon

His mortal foe the Truncheon.
The trusty Cudgel did oppose
It self against dead-doing blows,
To guard its Leader from fell bane,
And then reveng'd it self again.
And though the sword (some understood)
In force had much the odds of Wood;
'Twas nothing so, both sides were ballanc't
So equal, none knew which was valiant'st.
For Wood with Honor be'ng engag'd,
Is so implacably enrag'd,
Though Iron hew and mangle sore,
Wood wounds and bruises Honor more.
And now both Knights were out of breath,
Tir'd in the hot pursuit of Death;
While all the rest amaz'd stood still,
Expecting which should take, or kill.
This Hudibras observ'd, and fretting
Conquest should be so long a getting,
He drew up all his force into
One Body, and that into one Blow.
But Talgol wisely avoided it
By cunning slight; for had it hit,
The Upper part of him the Blow
Had slit, as sure as that below.

Mean while th' incomparable Colon,
To aid his Friend began to fall on,
Him Ralph encountred, and straight grew
A fierce Dispute betwixt them two:
Th'one arm'd with Metall, t'other with Wood;
This fit for bruise, and that for Blood.
With many a stiff thwack, many a bang,
Hard Crab-tree and old Iron rang;
While none that saw them could divine
To which side Conquest would encline:
Until Magnano, who did envy
That two should with so many men vye,
By subtle stratagem of brain
Perform'd what force could ne'er attain,

For he by foul hap having found
Where Thistles grew on barren ground,
In haste he drew his weapon out
And having crop'd them from the Root
He clapp'd them under th' Horses Tail
With prickles sharper than a Nail:
The angry Beast did strait resent
The wrong done to his Fundament,
Begun to kick, and fling, and wince,
As if h'had been beside his sense,
Striving to disingage from Smart,
And raging Pain, th'afflicted Part,
Instead of which he threw the pack
Of Squire and Baggage from his back;
And blundring still with smarting rump,
He gave the Champions Steed a thump,
That stagger'd him. The Knight did stoop
And sate on further side aslope,
This Talgol viewing, who had now
By flight escap'd the fatal blow,
He rally'd, and again fell to't;
For catching him by nearer foot,
He lifted with such might and strength,
As would have hurl'd him twice his length,
And dash'd his brains (if any) out.
But Mars that still protects the stout,
In Pudding-time came to his aid,
And under him the Bear convey'd;
The Bear, upon whose soft Fur-Gown
The Knight with all his weight fell down.
The friendly Rug preserv'd the ground,
And headlong Knight from bruise or wound,
Like Feather-Bed betwixt a Wall,
And heavy brunt of Cannon-ball.
As Sancho on a Blanket fell,
And had no hurt; ours far'd as well
In body, though his mighty Spirit,
B'ing heavy, did not so well bear it.
The Bear was in a greater fright,
Beat down and worsted by the Knight.

He roar'd, and rag'd, and flung about,
To shake off bondage from his snout.
His wrath enflam'd boil'd o'er, and from
His jaws of Death he threw the fome,
Fury in stranger postures threw him,
And more, than ever Herald drew him,
He tore the Earth, which he had sav'd
From squelch of Knight, and storm'd and rav'd
And vext the more, because the harms
He felt were 'gainst the Law of Arms:
For Men he always took to be
His friends, and Dogs the Enemy:
Who never so much hurt had done him,
As his own side did falling on him.
It griev'd him to the Guts, that they
For whom h'had fought so many a fray,
And serv'd with loss of blood so long,
Should offer such inhumane wrong;
Wrong of unsoldier-like condition:
For which he flung down his Commission,
And laid about him, till his Nose
From thrall of Ring and Cord broke loose.
Soon as he felt himself enlarg'd,
Through thickest of his foes he charg'd,
And made way through th'amazed crew,
Some he o'er ran, and some o'er threw
But took none; for by hasty flight
He strove t'avoid the conqu'ring Knight.
From whom he fled with as much haste
And dread as he the Rabble chac'd.
In haste he fled, and so did they,
Each and his fear a several way.

Crowdero only kept the field,
Not stirring from the place he held,
Though beaten down and wounded sore
I'th' Fiddle, and a Leg that bore
One side of him, not that of bone,
But much its betters, th'wooden one.
He spying Hudibras lye strow'd

Upon the ground, like log of Wood,
With fright of fall, supposed Wound,
And loss of Urine, in a swound,
In haste he snatch'd the Wooden limb
That hurt in th' anckle lay by him,
And fitting it for sudden fight,
Straight drew it up, t'attack the Knight.
For getting up on stump and huckle,
He with the foe began to buckle,
Vowing to be reveng'd for breach
Of Crowd and Shin upon the Wretch,
Sole Author of all Detriment
He and his Fiddle underwent.
But Ralpho (who had now begun
T'adventure Resurrection
From heavy Squelch, and had got up
Upon his Legs with sprained Crup)
Looking about beheld the Bard
To charge the Knight intranc'd prepar'd,
He snatch't his Whiniard up, that fled
When he was falling off his Steed,
(As Rats do from a falling house)
To hide it self from rage of blows;
And wing'd with speed and fury, flew
To rescue Knight from black and blew.
Which e're he could atchieve, his Sconce
The Leg encounter'd twice and once:
And now 'twas rais'd, to smite agen,
When Ralpho thrust himself between.
He took the blow upon his Arm,
To shield the Knight from further harm;
And joining wrath with force, bestow'd
O'th' wooden member such a load,
That down it fell, and with it bore
Crowdero, whom it prop'd before.
To him the Squire did right nimbly run,
And setting his bold foot upon
His Trunk, thus spoke: What desp'rate Frenzie
Made thee, (thou whelp of sin) to fancy
Thy self and all that Coward Rabble

T'encounter us in battel able?
How durst th', I say, oppose thy Curship
'Gainst Arms, Authority, and Worship?
And Hudibras, or me provoke,
Though all thy Limbs were heart of Oke,
And th' other half of thee as good
To bear out blows as that of Wood?
Could not the whipping-post prevail
With all its Rhet'rick, nor the Jail,
To keep from flaying scourge thy skin,
And ankle free from Iron Gin?
Which now thou shalt—but first our care
Must see how Hudibras doth fare.
This said, he gently rais'd the Knight,
And set him on his Bum upright:
To rouze him from Lethargick dump;
He tweak'd his Nose with gentle thump;
Knock'd on his breast, as if't had been
To raise the Spirits lodg'd within.
They waken'd with the noise, did fly
From inward Room to Window eye,
And gently op'ning lid, the Casement,
Lookt out, but yet with some amazement.
This gladed Ralpho much to see,
Who thus bespoke the Knight: Quoth he
Tweaking his Nose, You are, great Sir,
A Self-denying Conqueror;
As high, victorious and great,
As e'er fought for the Churches yet,
If you will give your self but leave
To make out what y'already have;
That's Victory. The foe, for dread
Of your Nine-worthiness, is fled,
All save Crowdero, for whose sake
You did th' espous'd Cause undertake:
And he lies pris'ner at your feet,
To be dispos'd as you think meet:
Either for Life, or Death, or Sale,
The Gallows, or perpetual Jail.
For one wink of your pow'rful Eye

Must Sentence him to live or dye.
His Fiddle is your proper purchase,
Won in the service of the Churches;
And by your doom must be allow'd
To be, or be no more, a Crowd.
For though success did not confer
Just Title on the Conquerer;
Though dispensations were not strong
Conclusions whether right or wrong;
Although Out-goings did not confirm,
And Owning were but a mere term:
Yet as the wicked have no right
To th' Creature, though usurp'd by might,
The property is in the Saint,
From whom th' injuriously detain't;
Of him they hold their Luxuries,
Their Dogs, their Horses, Whores and Dice,
Their Riots, Revels, Masks, Delights,
Pimps, Buffoons, Fidlers, Parasites:
All which the Saints have Title to,
And ought t'enjoy, if th' had their due.
What we take from them is no more
Than what was ours by right before.
For we are their true Landlords still,
And they our Tenants but at will.

At this the Knight begun to rouse,
And by degrees grow valorous.
He star'd about, and seeing none
Of all his foes remain but one,
He snatch'd his weapon that lay near him,
And from the ground began to rear him;
Vowing to make Crowdero pay
For all the rest that ran away.
But Ralpho now in colder blood,
His fury mildly thus withstood:
Great Sir, quoth he, your mighty Spirit
Is rais'd too high, this Slave does merit
To be the Hangman's bus'ness sooner
Than from your hand to have the honour

Of his destruction. I that am
So much below in Deed and Name,
Did scorn to hurt his forfeit Carcass,
Or ill intreat his Fiddle or Case.
Will you, Great Sir, that Glory blot
In cold bloud, which you gain'd in hot?
Will you employ your Conque'ring Sword,
To break a Fiddle and your Word?
For though I fought, and overcame,
And quarter gave, 'twas in your name.
For great Commanders always own
What's prosperous by the Soldier done.
To save, where you have pow'r to kill,
Argues your Pow'r above your Will;
And that your Will and Pow'r have less
Than both might have of Selfishness.
This Pow'r which now alive with dread
He trembles at, if he were dead,
Would no more keep the Slave in awe,
Than if you were a Knight of Straw:
For death would then b' his Conqueror,
Not you, and free him from that terror.
If danger from his life accreu,
Or honour from his death to you;
'Twere Policy, and Honor too,
To do as you resolv'd to do;
But, Sir, 'twould wrong your valor much,
To say it needs or fears a Crutch.
Great Conquerors greater glory gain
By Foes in Triumph led, than slain:
The Lawrels that adorn their brows
Are pull'd from living, not dead boughs,
And living foes the greatest fame
Of Cripple slain can be but lame.
One half of him's already slain,
The other is not worth your pain.
Th' honor can but on one side light,
As Worship did, when y'were dubb'd Knight.
Wherefore I think it better far,
To keep him Prisoner of War;

And let him fast in bonds abide,
At Court of Justice to be try'd:
Where if h'appear so bold or crafty;
There may be danger in his safety;
If any Member there dislike
His Face, or to his Beard have pike;
Or if his death will save, or yield,
Revenge, or fright, it is reveal'd,
Though he has quarter, ne'ertheless
Y'have pow'r to hang him when you please.
This hath been often done by some
Of our great Conqu'rors, you know whom:
And has by most of us been held
Wise Justice, and to some reveal'd.
For Words and Promises that yoke,
The Conqu'ror, are quickly broke,
Like Samson's Cuffs, though by his own
Direction and advice put on.
For if we should fight for the Cause
By rules of military Laws,
And only do what they call just,
The Cause would quickly fall to dust.
This we among our selves may speak,
But to the Wicked or the Weak
We must be cautious to declare
Perfection-truths, such as these are.

This said, the high outrageous mettle
Of Knight began to cool and settle.
He lik'd the Squire's advice, and soon
Resolv'd to see the bus'ness done:
And therefore charg'd him first to bind
Crowdero's hands on rump behind;
And to its former place and use
The Wooden member to reduce:
But force it take an Oath before,
Ne'er to bear Arms against him more.

Ralpho dispatch'd with speedy haste
And having ty'd Crowdero fast,

He gave Sir Knight the end of Cord
To lead the Captive of his Sword
In triumph while the Steeds he caught,
And them to further service brought.
The Squire in state rode on before
And on his nut-brown Whiniard bore
The Trophee Fiddle and the Case,
Plac'd on his shoulder like a Mace.
The Knight himself did after ride,
Leading Crowdero by his side,
And tow'd him, if he lagg'd behind,
Like Boat against the Tide and Wind.
Thus grave and solemn they march on,
Until quite through the Town th' had gone,
At further end of which there stands
An ancient Castle, that commands
Th' adjacent parts; in all the fabrick
You shall not see one stone nor a brick:
But all of Wood, by pow'rful Spell
Of Magick made impregnable,
There's neither Iron-bar, nor Gate,
Portcullis, Chain, nor Bolt, nor Grate:
And yet men durance there abide,
In Dungeon scarce three inches wide;
With Roof so low, that under it
They never stand, but lie, or sit,
And yet so foul, that whoso is in,
Is to the middle-leg in Prison,
In Circle Magical confin'd,
With Walls of subtle Air and Wind,
Which none are able to break thorough,
Until th' are freed by head of Borough.
Thither arriv'd the advent'rous Knight
And bold Squire from their Steeds alight,
At th' outward Wall, near which [there] stands
A Bastile built t'imprison hands;
By strange enchantment made to fetter
The lesser parts, and free the greater.
For though the Body may creep through,
The Hands in Grate are fast enough.

And when a Circle 'bout the Wrist
Is made by Beadle Exorcist,
The Body feels the Spur and Switch,
As if 'twere ridden Post by 'witch
At twenty miles an hour pace,
And yet ne'er stirs out of the place.
On top of this there is a Spire,
On which Sir Knight first bids the Squire,
The Fiddle, and its Spoils, the Case,
In manner of a Trophee place.
That done, they ope the Trap-dore-gate,
And let Crowdero down thereat.
Crowdero making doleful face,
Like Hermit poor in pensive place,
To Dungeon they the wretch commit,
And the survivor of his feet:
But th' other that had broke the peace,
And head of Knighthood, they release,
Though a Deli[n]quent false and forged,
Yet b'ing a stranger, he's enlarged;
While his Comrade that did no hurt,
Is clapt up fast in prison for't,
So Justice, while she winks at Crimes,
Stumbles on Innocence sometimes.

The Argument of the Third CANTO.

The scatter'd Rout return and rally,
Surround [t]he Place; the Knight does sally,
And is made Pris'ner: then they seize
Th' Inchanted Fort by storm, release
Crowdero, and put the Squire in's place.
I should have first said, Hudibras.

CANTO III.

Ay me! what perils do environ
The Man that meddles with cold Iron!
What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps
Do dog him still with after-claps!
For though Dame Fortune seem to smile
And leer upon him for a while;
She'll after shew him, in the nick
Of all his Glories, a Dog-trick,
This any man may sing or say
I'th' Ditty call'd, What if a Day:
For Hudibras, who thought h'had won
The Field as certain as a Gun,
And having routed the whole Troop,
With Victory was Cock-a-hoop;

Thinks h'had done enough to purchase
Thanksgiving Day among the Churches,
Wherein his Mettle and brave Worth
Might be explain'd by Holder-forth,
And Register'd by Fame eternal,
In Deathless Pages of Diurnal;
Found in few minutes, to his Cost,
He did but Count without his Host;
And that a Turn-stile is more certain,
Than in events of War Dame Fortune.

For now the late faint-hearted Rout
O'erthrown and scatter'd round about,
Chac'd by the horror of their fear
From bloody fray of Knight and Bear,
(All but the Dogs, who in pursuit
Of the Knight's Victory stood to't,
And most ignobly sought to get
The honor of his blood and sweat)
Seeing the Coast was free and clear
O'th' Conquer'd and the Conquerer,
Took heart again, and fac'd about,
As if they meant to stand it out:
For now the half-defeated Bear
Attack'd by th' Enemy i'th' rear,
Finding their number grew too great
For him to make a safe retreat,
Like a bold Chieftain fac'd about;
But wisely doubting to hold out,
Gave way to fortune, and with haste
Fac'd the proud foe, and fled, and fac'd,
Retiring still, until he found
H' had got th' advantage of the ground;
And then as valiantly made head,
To check the foe, and forthwith fled;
Leaving no Art untry'd, nor Trick
Of Warrior stout and Politick,
Until in spight of hot pursuit,
He gain'd a Pass, to hold dispute
On better terms, and stop the course

Of the proud foe. With all his force
He bravely charg'd, and for a while
Forc'd their whole Body to recoil:
But still their numbers so increast
He found himself at length opprest,
And all evasions so uncertain,
To save himself for better fortune,
That he resolv'd, rather than yield,
To die with honour in the field,
And sell his Hide and Carcass at
A price as high and desperate
As e'er he could. This Resolution
He forthwith put in execution,
And bravely threw himself among
The Enemy i'th' greatest throng.
But what could single Valor do
Against so numerous a foe?
Yet much [he] did, indeed too much
To be believ'd. where th' odds was such:
But one against a multitude,
Is more than mortal can make good.
For while one party he oppos'd,
His Rear was suddenly enclos'd,
And no room left him for retreat,
Or fight against a foe so great.
For now the Mastives charging home
To blows and handy-gripes were come;
While manfully himself he bore,
And setting his right foot before,
He rais'd himself to shew how tall
His person was above them all.
This equal shame and envy stirr'd
I'th' Enemy, that one should beard
So many Warriors and so stout,
As he had done, and stand it out,
Disdaining to lay down his Arms,
And yield on honorable terms.
Enraged thus some in the rear
Attack'd him, and some ev'ry where,
Till down he fell, yet falling fought,

And being down still laid about;
As Widdrington in doleful dumps
Is said to fight upon his stumps.

But all, alas! had been in vain,
And he inevitably slain,
If Trulla and Cerdon in the nick
To rescue him had not been quick.
For Trulla, who was light of foot,
As shafts which long-field Parthians shoot
(But not so light as to be born
Upon the Ears of standing Corn,
Or [trip] it o'er the water quicker
Than Witches when their staves they liquor,
As some report) was got among
The foremost of the Martial throng;
Where pittying the vanquish'd Bear,
She call'd to Cerdon who stood near
Viewing the bloudy fight, to whom
Shall we (quoth she) stand still hum drum,
And see stout Bruin all alone
By numbers basely overthrown?
Such feats already h'has atchiev'd,
In story not to be believ'd:
And 'twould to us be shame enough,
Not to a[t]tempt to fetch him off.

I would (quoth he) venture a Limb
To second thee, and rescue him:
But then we must about it straight,
Or else our aid will come too late.
Quarter he scorns, he is so stout,
And therefore cannot long hold out.
This said, they wav'd their weapons round
About their heads, to clear the ground;
And joining forces laid about
So fiercely, that th' amazed rout
Turn'd tail again, and straight begun,
As if the Devil drove, to run.
Mean while th' aproach'd the place where Bruin

Was now engag'd to mortal ruine:
The conquering foe they soon assail'd;
First Trulla stav'd, and Cerdon tail'd,

Staving and Tailing are terms of Art us'd in the Bear-Garden, and signifie there only the parting of Dogs and Bears, though they are us'd Metaphorically, in several other Professions, for moderating, as Law, Divinity, Hectoring, &c.

Until their Mastives loos'd their hold:
And yet alas! do what they could,
The worsted Bear came off with store
Of bloudy wounds, but all before.
For as Achilles dipt in Pond,
Was Anabaptized free from wound,
Made proof against dead-doing steel
All over but the Pagan heel,
So did our Champion's Arms defend
All of him but the other end,
His Head and Ears, which in the Martial
Encounter lost a Leathern parcel,
For as an Austrian Archduke once
Had one ear (which in Ducatoons
Is half the Coyn) in Battel par'd
Close to his head; so Bruin far'd:
But tugg'd and pull'd on th'other side,
Like Scrivener newly crucify'd;
Or like the late-corrected Leathern
Ears of the circumcised Brethren.

Pryn, Bastwyck, and Burton, who laid down their Ears as Proxies for three Professions of the Godly Party, who not long after maintain'd their Right and Title to the Pillory, to be as good and lawful, as theirs, who first of all took possession of it in their Names.

But gentle Trulla into th' Ring
He wore in's Nose, conveyed a string,
With which she march'd before, and led
The Warrior to a grassie Bed,
As Authors write, in a cool shade,
Which Eglentine and Roses made,
Close by a softly-murm'ring stream
Where Lovers us'd to loll and dream,
There leaving him to his repose,
Secured from pursuit of foes.
And w[a]nting nothing but a Song,
And a well-tun'd Theorbo hung
Upon a Bough, to ease the pain
His tugg'd ears suffer'd, with a strain.
They both drew up, to march in quest
Of his great Leader, and the rest.

For Orsin (who was more renown'd
For stout maintaining of his ground
In standing fights than for pursuit,
As being not so quick of foot)
Was not long able to keep pace
With others that pursu'd the Chace,
But found himself left far behind,
Both out of heart and out of wind;
Griev'd to behold his Bear pursu'd
So basely by a multitude,
And like to fall, not by the prowess,
But numbers of his Coward foes.
He rag'd and kept as heavy a coyl as
Stout Hercules for loss of Hylas,
Forcing the Valleys to repeat
The Accents of his sad regret.
He beat his Breast, and tore his Hair,
For loss of his dear Crony Bear:
That Eccho from the hollow ground
His doleful wailings did resound
More wistfully by many times,
Than in small Poets splay-foot Rhimes,
That make her, in their ruthful stories,
To answer to Inter'gatories,
And most unconscionably depose
To things of which she nothing knows:
And when she has said all she can say,
'Tis wrested to the Lover's fancy.
Quoth he, O whether, wicked Bruin,
Art thou fled to my—Eccho, ruin?
I thought th' hadst scorn'd to budge a step
For fear. (Quoth Eccho) Marry guep.
Am I not here to take thy [part?]
Then what has quail'd thy stubborn heart?
Have these Bones ratled, and this Head
So often in thy quarrel bled?
Nor did I ever winch or grudge it,
For thy dear sake, (Quoth she) Mum budget.
Think'st thou 'twill not be laid i'th' dish,
Thou turn'dst thy back? Quoth Eccho, Pish.

To run from those th' hadst overcome
Thus cowardly? Quoth Eccho, Mum.
But what a-vengeance makes thee fly
From me too, as thine Enemy?
Or if thou hast no thought of me
Nor what I have endur'd for thee,
Yet shame and honor might prevail
To keep thee thus from turning tail:
For who would grutch to spend his bloud in
His honors cause? Quoth she, a Puddin.
This said, his grief to anger turn'd,
Which in his manly stomach burn'd;
Thirst of Revenge and Wrath, in place
Of Sorrow now began to blaze.
He vow'd the Authors of his woe
Should equal vengeance undergo;
And with their Bones and Flesh pay dear
For what he suffer'd, and his Bear.
This b'ing resolv'd, with equal speed
And rage he hasted to proceed
To action streight, and giving o'er
To search for Bruin any more,
He went in quest of Hudibras,
To find him out, where e'er he was:
And if he were above ground, vow'd
He'd ferret him, lurk where he wou'd.

But scarce had he a furlong on
This resolute adventure gone,
When he encounter'd with that Crew
Whom Hudibras did late subdue.
Honor, Revenge, Contempt, and Shame,
Did equally their breasts enflame.
'Mong these the fierce Magnano was,
And Talgol foe to Hudibras;
Cerdon and Colon, Warriors stout
And resolute as ever fought:
Whom furious Orsin thus bespoke,

Shall we (quoth he) thus basely brook
The vile affront that paultry Ass

And feeble Scoundrel Hudibras,
With that more paultry Ragamuffin
Ralpho, with vapouring and huffing,
Have put upon us like tame Cattel,
As if th' had routed us in battel?
For my part, it shall ne'er be sed,
I for the washing gave my Head:
Nor did I turn my back for fear
Of them, but loosing of my Bear,
Which now I'm like to undergo;
For whether these fell wounds, or no,
He has receiv'd in fight are mortal,
Is more than all my skill can foretel.
Nor do I know what is become
Of him, more than the Pope of Rome.
But if I can but find them out
That cau'sd it, (as I shall no doubt,
Where e'er th' in hugger-mugger lurk)
I'll make them rue their handy-work;
And wish that they had rather dar'd
To pull the Devil by the Beard.

Quoth Cerdon, noble Orsin th' hast
Great reason to do as thou say'st,
And so has every body here
As well as thou hast, or thy Bear.
Others may do as they see good;
But if this Twig be made of Wood
That will hold tack, I'll make the Fur
Fly 'bout the Ears of that old Cur,
And th' other mungrel Vermin, Ralph,
That brav'd us all in his behalf.
Thy Bear is safe and out of peril,
Though lugg'd indeed, and wounded very ill.
My self and Trulla made a shift
To help him out at a dead lift;
And having brought him bravely off,
Have left him where he's safe enough,
There let him rest; for if we stay,
The Slaves may hap to get away.

This said, they all engag'd to join
Their forces in the same design:
And forthwith put themselves in search
Of Hudibras upon their march.
Where leave we them a while, to tell
What the Victorious Knight befel:
For such, Crowdero being fast
In Dungeon shut, we left him last.
Triumphant Laurels seem'd to grow
No where so green as on his brow:
Laden with which, as well as tir'd
With conquering toil, he now retir'd
Unto a neighb'ring Castle by,
To rest his Body, and apply
Fit Med'cines to each glorious bruise
He got in fight Reds, Blacks, and Blews;
To mollifie the uneasie pang
Of ev'ry honorable bang.
Which b'ing by skilful Midwife drest,
He laid him down to take his rest.

But all in vain. H'had got a hurt
O'th' inside of a deadlier sort,
By Cupid made, who took his stand
Upon a Widows Jointure-Land,
(For he, in all his amorous battels
No 'dvantage finds like Goods and Chattels)
Drew home his Bow, and aiming right,
Let fly an Arrow at the Knight.
The shaft against a Rib did glance,
And gall him in the Purtenance.
But time had somewhat swag'd his pain,
After he found his suit in vain,
For that proud Dame for whom his soul
Was burnt in's belly like a coal,
(That belly that so oft did ake
And suffer griping for her sake
Till purging Comfits and Ants Eggs
Had almost brought him off his Legs)
Us'd him so like a base Rascallion,

That old Pyg- (what d'y' call him) malion,
That cut his Mistress out of stone,
Had not so hard-a-hearted-one.
She had a thousand jadish tricks,
Worse than a Mule that flings and kicks:
'Mong which one cross-grain'd freak she had,
As insolent as strange and mad:
She could love none but onely such
As scorn'd and hated her as much.
'Twas a strange Riddle of a Lady;
Not love, if any lov'd her, ha day!
So Cowards never use their might,
But against such as will not fight.
So some diseases have been found
Onely to seize upon the sound.
He that gets her by heart must say her
The back-way, like a Witches Prayer.
Mean while the Knight had no small task,
To compass what he durst not ask.
He loves, but dares not make the motion;
Her ignorance is his devotion.
Like Caitiff vile, that for misdeed,
Rides with his face to rump of Steed,
Or rowing Scull, he's fain to love,
Look one way, and another move;
Or like a tumbler that does play
His game, and look another way:
Until he seize upon the Cony:
Just so does he by Matrimony,
But all in vain: her subtle snout
Did quickly wind his meaning out;
Which she return'd with too much scorn,
To be by man of honor born.
Yet much he bore, till the distress
He suffer'd from his spightful Mistress
Did stir his stomach, and the Pain
He had endur'd from her disdain
Turn'd to regret, so resolute,
That he resolv'd to wave his suit,
And either to renounce her quite,

Or for a while play least in sight,
This resolution b'ing put on,
He kept some months, and more had done;
But being brought so nigh by Fate,
The Victory h'atchiev'd so late
Did set his thoughts agog, and ope
A door to discontinu'd hope,
That seem'd to promise he might win
His Dame too now his hand was in;
And that his valor and the honor
H' had newly gain'd might work upon her:
These reasons made his mouth to water
With amorous longings to be at her.

Thought he unto himself, Who knows
But this brave Conquest o'er my foes,
May reach her heart, and make that stoop,
As I but now have forc'd the Troop?
If nothing can oppugne love,
And virtue envious ways can prove,
What may not he confide to do
That brings both love and virtue too?
But thou bring'st valor too and wit,
Two things that seldom fail to hit.
Valor's a Mouse-trap, Wit a Gin,
Which Women oft are taken in.
Then, Hudibras, why should'st thou fear
To be, that art, a Conquerer?
Fortune th' audacious doth juvare,
But lets the timidous miscarry.
Then while the honour thou hast got
Is spick and span-new, piping hot,
Strike her up bravely thou had'st best,
And trust thy fortune with the rest.

Such thoughts as these the Knight did keep,
More than his bangs or fleas, from sleep.
And as an Owl that in a Barn
Sees a Mouse creeping in the Corn,
Sits still, and shuts his round blew eyes

As if he slept, until he spies
The little beast within his reach,
Then starts, and seizes on the wretch:
So from his Couch the Knight did start,
To seize upon the Widow's heart;
Crying with hasty tone and hoarse,
Ralpho, dispatch, to horse, to horse,
And 'twas but time, for now the Rout
We left engag'd to seek him out,
By speedy marches were advanc'd
Up to the Fort where he ensconc'd,
And had all th' avenues possest
About the place, from East to West.
That done, a while they made a halt,
To view the Ground, and where t'assault:
Then call'd a Councel, which was best,
By siege or onslaught, to invest
The enemy: and 'twas agreed,
By storm and onslaught to proceed.
This b'ing resolv'd, in comely sort,
They now drew up t'attack the Fort.
When Hudibras about to enter
Upon another gate's adventure;
To Ralpho call'd aloud to arm,
Not dreaming of approaching storm.
Whether Dame Fortune, or the care
Of Angel bad, or Tutelare,
Did arm or thrust him on a danger,
To which he was an utter stranger:
That foresight might, or might not blot
The glory he had newly got;
Or to his shame it might be sed,
They took him napping in his bed:
To them we leave it to expound,
That deal in Sciences profound.
His Courser scarce he had bestrid,
And Ralpho that on which he rid,
When setting ope the Postern Gate,
To take the Field and sally at,
The Foe appear'd, drawn up and drill'd,

Ready to charge them in the field.
This somewhat startl'd the bold Knight,
Surpriz'd with th' unexpected sight
The bruises of his Bones and Flesh,
He thought began to smart afresh:
Till recollecting wonted Courage,
His fear was soon converted to rage.
And thus he spoke: The Coward Foe,
Whom we but now gave quarter to,
Look, yonder's rally'd, and appears,
As if they had out-run their fears.
The Glory we did lately get,
The Fates command us to repeat,
And to their wills we must succumb,
Quocunque trahunt, 'tis our doom.
This is the same numerick Crew
Which we so lately did subdue,
The self-same individuals that
Did run, as Mice do from a Cat,
When we courageously did wield
Our Martial weapons in the field,
To tug for Victory: and when
We shall our shining blades agen
Brandish in terror o'er our heads,
They'll straight resume their wonted dreads.
Fear is an Ague, that forsakes
And haunts by fits those whom it takes.
And they'll opine they feel the pain
And blows, they felt to day, again.
Then let us boldly charge them home,
And make no doubt to overcome.

This said, his Courage to enflame,
He call'd upon his Mistriss name,
His Pistol next he cockt anew,
And out his nut-brown Whiniard drew.
And placing Ralpho in the front,
Reserv'd himself to bear the brunt;
As expert Warriors use: then ply'd
With Iron heel his Courser's side,

Conveying Sympathetick speed
From heel of Knight to heel of Steed.

Mean while the foe with equal rage
And speed advancing to engage,
Both parties now were drawn so close,
Almost to come to handiblows.
When Orsin first let fly a stone
At Ralpho; not so huge a one
As that which Diomed did maul
Æneas on the Bum withal;
Yet big enough, if rightly hurl'd,
T'have sent him to another world;
Whether above-ground, or below,
Which Saints twice dipt are destin'd to.
The danger startled the bold Squire,
And made him some few steps retire.
But Hudibras advanc'd to's aid,
And rouz'd his Spirits half dismay'd.
He, wisely doubting lest the shot
Of th' Enemy now growing hot,
Might at a distance gall, prest close,
To come, pell-mell, to handiblows:
And that he might their aim decline,
Advanc'd still in an oblique line;
But prudently forbore to fire,
Till breast to breast he had got nigher:
As expert Warriors use to do,
When hand to hand they charge the foe.
This order the advent'rous Knight
Most Soldier-like observ'd in fight:
When Fortune (as she's wont) turn'd fickle.
And for the foe began to stickle.
The more shame for her Goody-ship,
To give so near a friend the slip.
For Colon chusing out a stone,
Levell'd so right, it thumpt upon
His manly panch with such a force,
As almost beat him off his Horse.
He loos'd his weapon, and the Rein;

But laying fast hold on the Mane
Preserv'd his seat: And as a Goose
In death contracts his Talons loose;
So did the Knight, and with one Claw
The tricker of his Pistol draw.
The Gun went off: and as it was
Still fatal to stout Hudibras,
In all his feats of Arms, when least
He dreamt of it to prosper best;
So now he far'd, the shot let fly
At randome 'mong the Enemy,
Pierc'd Talgol's Gabberdine, and grazing
Upon his Shoulder, in the passing
Lodg'd in Magnano's brass Habergeon,
Who straight a Surgeon cry'd, a Surgeon.
He tumbled down, and as he fell,
Did Murther, murther, murther yell.
This startled their whole Body so,
That if the Knight had not let go
His Arms, but been in warlike plight,
H' had won (the second time the fight.)
As if the Squire had but fal'n on,
He had inevitably done:
But he diverted with the care
Of Hudibras his wound forbare
To press th' advantage of his fortune,
While danger did the rest dishearten.
He had with Cerdon been engag'd
In close encounter, which both wag'd
So desp'rately, 'twas hard to say
Which side was like to get the day.
And now the busie work of death
Had tir'd them so, th' agreed to breath,
Preparing to renew the fight;
When th' heard the disaster of the Knight
And th' other party did divert
And force their sullen Rage to part
Ralpho prest up to Hudibras,
And Cerdon where Magnano was;
Each striving to confirm his party

With stout encouragements and hearty.
Quoth Ralpho, Courage, valiant Sir,
And let Revenge and Honour stir
Your spirits up, once more fall on,
The shatter'd Foe begins to run:
For if but half so well you knew
To use your Victory as subdue,
They durst not, after such a blow
As you have giv'n them, face us now;
But from so formidable a Soldier
Had fled like Crows when they smell Powder.
Thrice have they seen your Sword aloft
Wav'd o'er their heads, and fled as oft:
But if you let them recollect
Their spirits, now dismay'd and checkt,
You'll have a harder game to play,
Than yet y'have had to get the day.

Thus spoke the stout Squire; but was heard
By Hudibras with small regard.
His thoughts were fuller of the bang
He lately took, than Ralph's harangue;
To which he answer'd, Cruel fate
Tells me thy Counsel comes too late.
The knotted blood within my hose,
That from my wounded body flows,
With mortal Crisis doth portend
My days to appropinque an end.
I am for action now unfit,
Either of Fortitude or Wit.
Fortune my foe begins to frown,
Resolv'd to pull my stomach down.
I am not apt upon a wound,
Or trivial basting, to despond:
Yet I'd be loath my days to curtal.
For if I thought my wounds not mortal,
Or that we'd time enough as yet
To make an honourable retreat,
'Twere the best course: but [if] they find
We fly, and leave our Arms behind,

For them to seize on, the dishonor
And danger too is such, I'll sooner
Stand to it boldly, and take quarter,
To let them see I am no starter.
In all the trade of War, no feat
Is nobler than a brave retreat.
For those that run away, and fly,
Take Place at least of th' enemy.

This said. the Squire with active speed,
Dismounted from his bony Steed,
To seize the Arms which by mischance
Fell from the bold Knight in a trance.
These being found out, and restor'd
To Hudibras, their nat'ral Lord,
The active Squire with might and main
Prepar'd in haste to mount again.
Thrice he assay'd to mount aloft,
But by his weighty Bum as oft
He was pull'd back: till having found
Th' advantage of the rising ground,
Thither he led his warlike Steed,
And having plac'd him right, with speed
Prepar'd again to scale the Beast.
When Orsin, who had newly drest
The bloudy scar upon the shoulder
Of Talgol with Promethean Powder,
And now was searching for the shot
That laid Magnano on the spot,
Beheld the sturdy Squire aforesaid
Preparing to climb up his Horse side.
He left his Cure, and laying hold
Upon his Arms with Courage bold
Cry'd out, 'Tis now no time to dally,
The Enemy begins to rally:
Let us that are unhurt and whole
Fall on, and happy man be's dole.

This said, like to a Thunderbolt
He flew with fury to th' assault,

Striving the Enemy to attack
Before he reacht his Horse's back.
Ralpho was mounted now, and gotten
O'erthwart his Beast with active vau'ting.
Wrigling his body to recover
His seat, and cast his right Leg over;
When Orsin rushing in, bestow'd
On Horse and Man so heavy a load,
The Beast was startled, and begun
To kick and fling like mad, and run;
Bearing the tough Squire like a Sack,
Or stout King Richard on his back:
Till stumbling, he threw him down,
Sore bruis'd and cast into a swoun.
Mean while the Knight began to rowse
The sparkles of his wonted prowess;
He thrust his Hand into his Hose,
And found both by his Eyes and Nose,
'Twas only Choler, and not Bloud,
That from his wounded Body flow'd.
This, with the hazard of the Squire,
Inflam'd him with despightful Ire;
Courageously he fac'd about,
And drew his other Pistol out,
And now had half-way bent the Cock,
When Cerdon gave so fierce a shock,
With sturdy truncheon thwart his Arm
That down it fell, and did no harm;
Then stoutly pressing on with speed,
Assay'd to pull him off his Steed.
The Knight his Sword had onely left,
With which he Cerdon's Head had cleft,
Or at the least cropt off a Limb,
But Orsin came and rescu'd him.
He with his Lance attac'd the Knight
Upon his quarters opposite.
But as a Bark that in foul weather,
Toss'd by two adverse winds together,
Is bruis'd and beaten too and fro,
And knows not which to turn him to:

So far'd the Knight between two foes,
And knew not which of them t'oppose.
Till Orsin charging with his Lance
At Hudibras, by spightful chance
Hit Cerdon such a bang, as stunn'd
And laid him flat upon the ground.
At this the Knight began to chear up,
And raising up himself on stirrup,
Cry'd out Victoria; lie thou there,
And I shall straight dispatch another,
To bear thee company in death:
But first I'll halt awhile and breath.
As well he might: for Orsin griev'd
At th' wound that Cerdon had receiv'd
Ran to relieve him with his lore
And cure the hurt he made before.
Mean while the Knight had wheel'd about,
To breathe himself, and next find out
Th' advantage of the ground, where best
He might the ruffled foe infest.
This b'ing resolv'd, he spurr'd his Steed;
To run at Orsin with full speed,
While he was busie in the care
Of Cerdon's wound, and unaware:
But he was quick, and had already
Unto the part apply'd remedy;
And seeing th' enemy prepar'd,
Drew up, and stood upon his guard.
Then like a Warrior right expert
And skilful in the martial Art,
The subtle Knight straight made a halt,
And judg'd it best to stay th' assault,
Until he had reliev'd the Squire,
And then (in order) to retire;
Or, as occasion should invite,
With Forces join'd renew the fight.
Ralpho by this time disentranc'd,
Upon his Bum himself advanc'd,
Though sorely bruis'd; his Limbs all o're
With ruthless bangs were stiff and sore.

Right fain he would have got upon
His feet again, to get him gone;
When Hudibras to aid him came.

Quoth he, (and call'd him by his name)
Courage, the day at length is ours,
And we once more as Conquerors,
Have both the Field and Honor won,
The Foe is profligate and run;
I mean all such as can, for some
This hand hath sent to their long home;
And some lie sprauling on the ground,
With many a gash and bloody wound.
Cæsar himself could never say
He got two Victories in a day;
As I have done, that can say, Twice I
In one day, Veni, vidi, vici,
The foe's so numerous, that we
Cannot so often vincere
As they perire, and yet enough
Be left to strike an after-blow.
Then lest they rally, and once more
Put us to fight the bus'ness o'er,
Get up, and mount thy Steed, dispatch,
And let us both their motions watch.

Quoth Ralph, I should not, if I were
In case for action, now be here;
Nor have I turn'd my back, or hang'd
An Arse, for fear of being bang'd:
It was for you I got these harms,
Advent'ring to fetch off your Arms.
The blows and drubs I have receiv'd,
Have bruis'd my body, and bereav'd
My Limbs of strength: unless you stoop,
And reach your hand to pull me up,
I shall lie here, and be a prey
To those who now are run away.

That shalt thou not (quoth Hudibras)
We read, the Ancients held it was

More honorable far Servare
Civem, than slay an adversary.
The one we oft to day have done;
The other shall dispatch anon.
And though th' art of a different Church,
I will not leave thee in the lurch.
This said, he jogg'd his good Steed nigher,
And steer'd him gently toward the Squire.
Then bowing down his Body, stretcht
His Hand out, and at Ralpho reacht;
When Trulla, whom he did not mind,
Charg'd him like Lightening behind.
She had been long in search about
Magnano's wound, to find it out:
But could find none, nor where the shot
That had so startl'd him was got.
But having found the worst was past,
She fell to her own work at last
The pillage of the Prisoners,
Which all in feat of Arms was hers:
And now to plunder Ralph she flew,
When Hudibras his hard fate drew
To succor him; for as he bow'd
To help him up, she laid a load
Of blows so heavy, and plac'd so well,
On th' other side, that down he fell.

Yield Scoundrel base, (quoth she) or dye;
Thy Life is mine and Liberty.
But if thou think'st I took thee tardy,
And dar'st presume to be so hardy,
To try thy fortune o'er afresh,
I'll wave my Title to thy flesh,
Thy Arms and Baggage, now my right:
And if thou hast the heart to try't,
I'll lend [thee] back thy self awhile,
And once more for that carcass vile
Fight upon tick—Quoth Hudibras,
Thou offer'st nobly, valiant Lass,
And I shall take thee at thy word.

First let me rise, and take my sword;
That sword which has so oft this day
Through Squadrons of my foes made way,
And some to other worlds dispatcht,
Now with a feeble Spinster matcht,
Will blush with bloud ignoble stain'd,
By which no honor's to be gain'd.
But if thou'lt take m'advice in this,
Consider while thou may'st, what 'tis
To interrupt a Victor's course,
B' opposing such a trivial force.
For if with Conquest I come off,
(And that I shall do sure enough)
Quarter thou canst not have, nor grace,
By Law of Arms in such a case;
Both which I now do offer freely.

I scorn (quoth she) thou Coxcomb silly,
(Clapping her hand upon her breech,
To shew how much [s]he priz'd his speech)
Quarter or Counsel from a foe:
If thou canst force me to it, do.
But lest it should again be sed,
When I have once more won thy head,
I took thee napping unprepar'd,
Arm and betake thee to thy Guard.

This said, she to her Tackle fell,
And on the Knight let fall a peal
Of blows so fierce, and prest so home,
That he retir'd and follow'd's Bum.
Stand to't (quoth she) or yield to mercy
It is not fighting Arsie-versie
Shall serve thy turn—This stirr'd his spleen
More than the danger he was in,
The blows he felt, or was to feel,
Although the' already made him reel,
Honor, despight, revenge, and shame,
At once unto his stomach came;
Which fir'd it so, he rais'd his Arm

Above his Head, and rain'd a storm
Of blows so terrible and thick,
As if he meant to hash her quick.
But she upon her truncheon took 'em;
And by oblique diversion broke 'em;
Waiting an opportunity
To pay all back with usury,
Which long she fail'd not of, for now
The Knight with one dead-doing blow
Resolving to decide the fight,
And she with quick and cunning slight
Avoiding it, the force and weight
He charg'd upon it was so great,
As almost sway'd him to the ground.
No sooner she th' advantage found,
But in she flew, and seconding
With home-made thrust the heavy swing,
She laid him flat upon his side,
And mounting on his Trunk a-stride,
Quoth she, I told thee what would come
Of all thy vapouring base Scum.
Say, will the Law of Arms allow
I may have Grace, and Quarter now?
Or wilt thou rather break thy word,
And stain thine Honor, than thy Sword.
A Man of War to damn his Soul,
In basely breaking his Parole.
And when before the Fight, th' hadst vow'd
To give no quarter in cold blood:
Now thou hast got me for a Tartar,
To make m'against my will take quarter?
Why dost not put me to the sword,
But cowardly fly from thy word?
Quoth Hudibras, the days thine own;
Thou and thy stars have cast me down:
My Laurels are transplanted now,
And flourish on thy conqu'ring brow:
My loss of Honor's great enough,
Thou need'st not brand it with a scoff:
Sarcasmes may eclipse thine own,

But cannot blur my lost renown:
I am not now in Fortune's power,
He that is down can fall no lower.
The ancient Hero's were illustrious
For b'ing benigne, and not blustrous,
Against a vanquish'd foe: their swords
Were sharp and trencheant, not their words;
And did in fight but cut work out
T'employ their courtesies about.

Quoth she, although thou hast deserv'd,
Base Slubberdegullion, to be serv'd
As thou did'st vow to deal with me,
If thou had'st got the Victory;
Yet I shall rather act a part
That suits my Fame, than thy desert.
Thy Arms, thy Liberty, beside
All that's o'th' out-side of thy Hide,
Are mine by Military Law,
Of which I will not bate one straw:
The rest, thy Life and Limbs, once more,
Though doubly forfeit, I restore.

Quoth Hudibras, it is too late
For me to treat, or stipulate;
What thou Command'st I must obey:
Yet those whom I expugn'd to day,
Of thine own party, I let go,
And gave them life and freedom too,
Both Dogs and Bears, upon their parol,
Whom I took pris'ners in this quarrel.

Quoth Trulla, Wh[e]ther thou or they
Let one another run away,
Concerns not me; but was't not thou
That gave Crowdero quarter too?
Crowdero, whom in Irons bound,
Thou basely threw'st into Lob's pound;
Where still he lies, and with regret
His generous Bowels rage and fret.

But now thy Carcass shall redeem,
And serve to be exchange for him.

This said, the Knight did straight submit,
And laid his weapons at her feet.
Next he disrob'd his Gaberdine,
And with it did himself resigne.
She took it, and forthwith devesting
The Mantle that she wore, said jesting,
Take that, and wear it for my sake;
Then threw it o'er his sturdy back.
And as the French we conquer'd once
Now give us Laws for Pantaloons,
The length of Breeches, and the gathers
Port-cannons, Perriwigs, and Feathers;
Just so the proud insulting Lass
Array'd and dighted Hudibras.

Mean while the other Champions, [y]erst
In hurry of the fight disperst,
Arriv'd when Trulla 'd won the day,
To share in th' Honor and the Prey,
And out of Hudibras his Hide
With vengeance to be satisfi'd;
Which now they were about to pour
Upon him in a wooden showr.
But Trulla thrust her self between,
And striding o'er his back agen,
She brandisht o'er her head his sword,
And vow'd they should not break her word;
Sh' had given him quarter, and her blood
Or theirs, should make their quarter good.
For she was bound by Law of Arms
To see him safe from further harms.
In Dungeon deep Crowdero cast
By Hudibras as yet lay fast,
Where to the hard and ruthless stones
His great Heart made perpetual mones.
Him she resolv'd that Hudibras
Should ransome, and supply his place.

This stopt the fury and the basting
Which toward Hudibras was hasting.
They thought it was but just and right,
That what she had atchiev'd in fight,
She should dispose of how she pleas'd:
Crowdero ought to be releas'd;
Nor could that any way be done
So well as this she pitcht upon:
For who a better could imagine?
This therefore they resolv'd t'engage in.
The Knight and Squire first they made
Rise from the ground where they were laid;
Then mounted both upon their Horses,
But with their Faces to the Arses.
Orsin led Hudibras's beast,
And Talgol that which Ralpho prest,
Whom stout Magnano, valiant Cerdon,
And Colon waited as a guard on,
All ush'ring Trulla, in the reer
With th' Arms of either prisoner.
In this proud order and array
They put themselves upon their way,
Striving to reach th' inchanted Castle,
Where stout Crowdero in durance lay still.
Thither with greater speed, than shows
And triumphs over conquer'd foes
Do use t'allow, or then the Bears
Or Pageants born before Lord Mayors
Are wont to use, they soon arriv'd
In order Soldier-like contriv'd,
Still marching in a warlike posture,
As sit for Battel as for Muster.
The Knight and Squire they first unhorse,
And bending 'gainst their Fort their force,
They all advanc'd, and round about
Begirt the Magical Redoubt.
Magnan' led up in this adventure,
And made way for the rest to enter.
For he was skilful in Black Art

No less than he that left the Fort;
And with an Iron Mace laid flat
A breach, which straight all enter'd at,
And in the wooden Dungeon found
Crowdero laid upon the ground.
Him they release from durance base,
Restor'd t'his Fiddle and his Case,
And liberty, his thirsty rage
With lushious vengeance to asswage.
For he no sooner was at large,
But Trulla straight brought on her charge,
And in the self-same Limbo put
The Knight and Squire where he was shut.
Where leaving them i'th' wretched hole,
Their bangs and durance to condole
Confin'd and conjur'd into narrow
Enchanted Mansion, to know sorrow;
In the same order and array
Which they advanc'd, they marcht away.

But Hudibras, who scorn'd to stoop
To Fortune, or be said to droop,
Chear'd up himself with ends of Verse,
And sayings of Philosophers.
Quoth he, Th' one half of Man, his Mind
Is Sui juris unconfin'd,
And cannot be laid by the heels,
What e'er the other moiety feels.
'Tis not Restraint or Liberty
That makes Men prisoners or free;
But perturbations that possess
The Mind or Æquanimities.
The whole world was not half so wide
To Alexander when he cry'd,
Because h'had but one to subdue,
As was a paultry narrow tub to
Diogenes, who is not said
(For ought that ever I could read)
To whine, put finger i'th' eye, and sob
Because h'had ne'er another Tub.

The ancient[s] make two several kinds
Of Prowess in heroick minds,
The Active and the Passive valiant;
Both which are pari libra gallant:
For both to give blows and to carry,
In fights are equenecessary;
But in defeats, the Passive stout
Are always found to stand it out
Most desp'rately, and to out-doe
The Active, 'gainst a conquering foe.
Though we with blacks and blews are suggil'd,
Or, as the vulgar say are cudgel'd:
He that is valiant, and dares fight,
Though drubb'd, can lose no honor by't.
Honour's a lease for lives to come,
And cannot be extended from
The legal Tenant: 'tis a Chattel,
Not to be forfeited in Battel.
If he that in the field is slain,
Be in the Bed of Honor lain:
He that is beaten may be sed
To lie in Honor's Truckle-bed.
For as we see th' eclipsed Sun
By mortals is more gaz'd upon,
Than when adorn'd with all his light
He shines in Serene Sky most bright:
So Valor in a low estate
Is most admir'd and wonder'd at.

Quoth Ralph, How great I do not know
We may by being beaten grow;
But none that see how here we sit
Will judge us overgrown with Wit.
As gifted Brethren preaching by
A Carnal Hour-glass, do imply
Illumination can convey
Into them what they have to say,
But not how much; so well enough
Know you to charge, but not to draw off.
For who without a Cap and Bauble,

Having subdu'd a Bear and Rabble,
And might with Honor have come off,
Would put it to a second proof:
A politick exploit, right fit
For Presbyterian Zeal and Wit.

Quoth Hudibras, That Cuckolds tone,
Ralpho, thou always harp'st upon:
When tho[u] at any thing would'st rail,
Thou mak'st Presbytery thy scale
To take the height on't, and explain
To what degree it is prophane,
Whats'ever will not with thy (what d' ye call)
Thy light Jump right thou call'st Synodical.
As if Presbytery were a standard
To size whats'ever's to be slander'd.
Dost not remember how this day
Thou to my Beard wast bold to say,
That thou could'st prove Bear-baiting equal
With Synods, Orthodox and legal?
Do if thou can'st, for I deny't,
And dare thee to't with all thy light:

Quoth Ralpho, Truely that is no
Hard matter for a man to do,
That has but any Guts in's Brains,
And could believe it worth his pains,
But since you dare and urge me to it,
You'l find I've light enough to do it.

Synods are mystical Bear-gardens,
Where Elders, Deputies, Church-wardens,
And other Members of the Court,
Manage the Babylonish sport.
For Prolocutor, Scribe, and Bearward,
Do differ onely in a mere word.
Both are but several Synagogues
Of carnal Men, and Bears and Dogs:
Both Antichristian Assemblies,
To mischief bent as far's in them lies
Both stave and tail, with fierce contests,

The one with Men, the other Beasts.
The diff'rence is, The one fights with
The Tongue, the other with the Teeth;
And that they bait but Bears in this,
In th' other Souls and Consciences;
Where Saints themselves are brought to stake
For Gospel light, and Conscience sake;
Expos'd to Scribes and Presbyters,
Instead of Mastive Dogs and Curs;
Then whom th' have less humanity,
For these at Souls of Men will fly.
This to the Prophet did appear,
Who in a Vision saw a Bear,
Prefiguring the beastly rage
Of Church-rule in this latter Age:
As is demonstrated at full
By him that baited the Popes Bull.

A Learned Divine in King James's time wrote a Polemick Work against the Pope, and gave it that unlucky Nick-Name, of The Popes Bull Baited.

Bears naturally are Beasts of prey,
That live by Rapine, so do they;
What are their Orders, Constitutions,
Church Censures, Curses, Absolutions,
But sev'ral mystick chains they make,
To tye poor Christians to the stake?
And then set Heathen Officers,
Instead of Dogs, about their Ears.
For to prohibit and dispence,
To find out, or to make offence:
Of Hell and Heaven to dispose;
To play with Souls at fast and lose;
To set what Characters they please,
And mulcts of sin or Godliness;
Reduce the Church to Gospel-Order,
By Rapine, Sacriledge, and Murder;
To make Presbytery supreme,
And Kings themselves submit to them;
And force all people, though against
Their Consciences, to turn Saints,
Must prove a pretty thriving Trade,
When Saints Monopolists are made.
When pious frauds and holy shifts

Are dispensations and gifts,
There Godliness becomes mere ware,
And ev'ry Synod but a Fair.

Synods are whelps of th' Inquisition,
A mungrel breed of like pernicion,
And growing up became the Sires
Of Scribes, Commissioners, and Triers;
Whose bus'ness is, by cunning slight
To cast a figure for mens Light;
To find in lines of Beard and Face,
The Phisiognomy of Grace;
And by the sound and twang of Nose,
If all be sound within disclose,
Free from a crack or flaw of sinning,
As Men try Pipkins by the ringing.
By Black Caps underlaid with White,
Give certain guess at inward Light;
Which Serjeants at the Gospel wear,
To make the Spiritual Calling clear.
The Hand[k]erchief about the neck
(Canonical Crabat of Smeck,

Smectymnius was a Club of Parliamentary Holders-forth, The Characters of whose Names and Talents were by themselves exprest, in that senseless insignificant word; They wore Handkerchers about their Necks for a Note of Distinction, (as the Officers of the Parliament Army then did) which afterwards degenerated into Carnal Crabats.

From whom the Institution came
When Church and State they set on flame,
And worn by them as badges then
Of Spiritual Warfaring Men)
Judge rightly if Regeneration
Be of the newest Cut in fashion.
Sure 'tis an Orthodox opinion
That Grace is founded in Dominion.
Great Piety consists in Pride;
To rule is to be sanctifi'd:
To domineer and to controul
Both o'er the Body and the Soul,
Is the most perfect discipline
Of Church-rule, and by right divine.
Bell and the Dragons Chaplains were
More moderate than these by far:
For they (poor Knaves) were glad to cheat,
To get their Wives and Children Meat:

But these will not be fobb'd off so,
They must have Wealth and Power too,
Or else with blood and desolation,
They'll tear it out o'th' heart o'th' Nation,
Sure these themselves from Primitive
And Heathen Priesthood do derive,
When Butchers were the only Clerks,
Elders and Presbyters of Kirks,
Whose Directory was to Kill;
And some believe it is so still.
The onely diff'rence is, that then
They slaughter'd only Beasts, now Men.
For then to sacrifice a Bullock,
Or now and then a Child to Moloch,
They count a vile Abomination,
But not to slaughter a whole Nation.
Presbytery does but translate
The Papacy to a Free State,
A Commonwealth of Popery,
Where ev'ry Village is a See
As well as Rome, and must maintain
A Tithe Pig Metropolitane:
Where ev'ry Presbyter and Deacon
Commands the Keys for Cheese and Bacon;
And ev'ry Hamlet's governed
By's Holiness, the Church's Head,
More haughty and severe in's place
Than Gregory and Boniface.
Such Church must (surely) be a Monster
With many heads: for if we conster
What in th' Apocalypse we find,
According to th' Apostles mind,
'Tis that the Whore of Babylon
With many heads did ride upon;
Which Heads denote the sinful Tribe
Of Deacon, Priest, Lay-Elder, Scribe.

Lay-Elder, Simeon to Levi,
Whose little finger is as heavy
As loins of Patriarchs, Prince-Prelate,

Archbishop-secular. This Zelot
Is of a mungrel, divers kind,
Clerick before, and Lay behind;
A Lawless Linsy-woolsy Brother,
Half of one Order, half another;
A Creature of amphibious nature,
On Land a Beast, a Fish in Water,
That always preys on Grace, or Sin;
A Sheep without, a Wolf within.
This fierce Inquisitor has chief
Dominion over Mens Belief
And Manners: Can pronounce a Saint
Idolatrous, or ignorant,
When superciliously he sifts,
Through coursest Boulter, others gifts.
For all Men live and judge amiss
Whose Talents jump not just with his.
He'll lay on Gifts with hands, and place
On dullest noddle light and grace,
The manufacture of the Kirk,
Whose Pastors are but th' Handiwork
Of his Mechanick Paws, instilling
Divinity in them by feeling.
From whence they start up chosen Vessels,
Made by Contact, as Men get Meazles.
So Cardinals, they say, do grope
At th' other end the new made Pope.

Hold, hold, quoth Hudibras, Soft fire,
They say, does make sweet Malt. Good Squire.
Festina lente, not too fast;
For haste (the Proverb says) makes waste.
The Quirks and Cavils thou dost make
Are false, and built upon mistake.
And I shall bring you, with your pack
Of Falacies, t'Elenchi back;
And put your Arguments in mood
And figure to be understood.
I'll force you by right ratiocination
To leave your Vitilitigation,

Vitilitigation is a word the Knight was passionately in love with, and never fail'd to use it upon all possible occasions: and therefore to omit it, when it fell in the way, had argu'd too great a Neglect of his Learning, and Parts, though it means no more than a perverse humour of wrangling.

And make you keep to th' question close,
And argue Dialectic ως.

The Question then, to state it first,
Is which is better, or which worst,
Synods or Bears. Bears I avow
To be the worst, and Synods thou.
But to make good th' Assertion,
Thou say'st th' are really all one.
If so, not worst; for if th' are idem,
Why then, Tantundem dat tantidem.
For if they are the same, by course
Neither is better, neither worse.
But I deny they are the same,
More than a Maggot and I am.
That both are Animalia,
I grant, but not Rationalia:
For though they do agree in kind,
Specifick difference we find.
And can no more make Bears of these,
Than prove my Horse is Socrates.

That Synods are Bear-gardens too,
Thou dost affirm; but I say no:
And thus I prove it, in a word,
Whats'ever Assembly's not impowr'd
To censure, curse, absolve, and ordain,
Can be no Synod: but Bear-garden
Has no such pow'r, Ergo 'tis none.
And so thy Sophistry's o'erthrown.

But yet we are beside the Question
Which thou did'st raise the first contest on;
For that was, Whether Bears are better
Than Synod-men, I say Negatur.
That Bears are Beasts, and Synods Men,
Is held by all: They'r better then.
For Bears and Dogs on four Legs go,
As Beasts, but Synod-men on Two.

'Tis true, they all have Teeth and Nails;
But prove that Synod-men have tails;
Or that a rugged, shaggy Fur
Grows o'er the Hide of Presbyter;
Or that his snout and spacious Ears
Do hold proportion with a Bear's.
A Bear's a savage Beast, of all
Most ugly and unnatural,
Whelpt without form, until the Dam
Have lickt him into shape and frame;
But all thy light can ne'er evict
That ever Synod-man was lickt;
Or brought to any other fashion
Than his own Will and Inclination.

But thou dost further yet in this
Oppugne thy self and sense, that is,
Thou would'st have Presbyters to go
For Bears and Dogs, and Bearwards too.
A strange Chimæra of Beasts and Men,
Made up of pieces Heterogene,
Such as in Nature never met
In eodem Subjecto yet.

Thy other Arguments are all
Supposures, Hypothetical,
That do but beg, and we may chuse
Either to grant them, or refuse.
Much thou hast said, which I know when,
And where, thou stol'st from other Men
(Whereby 'tis plain thy light and gifts
Are all but plagiary shifts;)
And is the same that Ranter sed,
That arguing with me, broke my head,
And tore a handful of my Beard:
The self-same Cavils then I heard,
When b'ing in hot dispute about
This Controversie, we fell out;
And what thou know'st I answer'd then,
Will serve to answer thee agen.

Quoth Ralpho, Nothing but th' abuse
Of Humane Learning you produce;
Learning that Cobweb of the Brain,
Profane, erronious, and vain;
A trade of knowledge as repleat
As others are with fraud and cheat;
An Art t'incumber Gifts and Wit,
And render both for nothing fit;
Makes light unactive, dull and troubled,
Like little David in Saul's Doublet;
A cheat that Scholars put upon
Other mens reason and their own;
A Fort of Error, to ensconce
Absurdity and Ignorance;
That renders all the avenues
To Truth impervious and abstruse,
By making plain things, in debate,
By Art, perplext and intricate:
For nothing goes for Sense or Light
That will not with old rules jump right.
As if Rules were not in the Schools
Deriv'd from Truth, but Truth from Rules.

This Pagan, Heathenish invention
Is good for nothing but Contention.
For as in Sword-and-Buckler Fight,
All blows do on the Target light:
So when Men argue, the great'st part
O'th' Contest falls on terms of Art,
Until the Fustian stuff be spent,
And then they fall to th' Argument.

Quoth Hudibras, Friend Ralph, thou hast
Out-run the Constable at last;
For thou art fallen on a new
Dispute, as sensless as untrue,
But to the former opposite,
And contrary as black to white;
Mere Disparata, that concerning
Presbytery, this Humane Learning;

Two things s'averse, they never yet
But in thy rambling fancy met.
But I shall take a fit occasion
To evince thee by Ratiocination,
Some other time, in place more proper
Than this w'are in: therefore let's stop here,
And rest our wearied bones a while,
Already tir'd with other toil.