Samuel Butler: Hudibras Written in the time of the late wars: The text edited by A. R. Waller |
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CANTO II.
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 | Samuel Butler: Hudibras |  |
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.
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.)
29
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.
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.
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,
30
So Horses they affirm to be
Mere Engines made by Geometry,
And were invented first from Engins,
As Indian Britains were from Penguins.
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
31
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.
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;
32
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.
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
33
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,
34
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.
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,
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,
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.
With Visage formidably grim.
And rugged as a Saracin,
35
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,
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
36
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.
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.
37
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.
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.
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.
Than burnish'd Armor of her Knight:
A bold Virago, stout and tall
38
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,
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,
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.
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,
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,
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:
39
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.
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.
Destin'd to blows by fatal Star;
Right expert in Command of Horse,
But cruel, and without remorse.
40
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.
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,
41
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?
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,
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,
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.
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,
42
Which all the Saints, and some, since Martyrs,
Wore in their Hats, like Wedding-Garters,
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,
43
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,
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,
44
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;
Or the French League, in which men vow'd
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.
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?
45
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.
46
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.
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,
47
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,
48
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
49
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.
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,
50
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.
51
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.
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
52
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
53
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
54
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.
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
55
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;
56
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.
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.
And having ty'd Crowdero fast,
57
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.
58
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.
| Samuel Butler: Hudibras | |