University of Virginia Library

Canto V.

A Counsellor, renown'd by fame
For ruling Judgments that are lame,
Rose and address'd himself to Ralph,
The Guardian of his better half;
“The adverse Mob seem resolute,
‘Said he, to keep our Forces out;
‘No Law nor Reason can prevail
‘Against a Rustick with a Flail;
‘When Handy-blows come in the play,
‘Both Law and Reason must give way;
‘No Rhetorick, nor Logick term,
‘Can then secure our Bones from harm;
‘It is in vain to think that words
‘Can guard us for from these Stones and Swords;
‘So further, Sir, ere we proceed,
‘To chuse a Leader we have need.”
Ralph vouched all he said was true,
Desiring he would range the Crew:
Then he was chosen Gen'ral by luck,
Not for his Courage, but his Conduct;
Who, for his Qualities, may pass
Under the name of Hudibras:
Only, 'tis said, the fatal Sisters
Had twisted Courage to his Whiskers,
Whereas our Knight that day had shav'd,
Which was the cause he misbehav'd;
To Sampson you might him compare,
He lost his Vigour with his Hair.
When he was ranging the Kirk-force,
In Line of battle, Foot and Horse,
In Middle of the other Rout
Appear'd a Miller, stern and stout,
Who boldly, without asking leave,
Caught an old Bailie by the sleeve,
And, in a rage, began to swear,
“You Whig-fac'd Knave, you gain'd your gear,
‘And all you have on earth, among us,
‘What Devil tempts you now to wrong us?
‘But, since you have us thus provoked,
‘I wish I hang, if we were yoked,
‘But I shall neatly tan your Hide,
‘So long's my Lewder does abide.”
On which the Bailie thought it best,
Lest that his Doublet should be drest,
To fly from face of such a Rabble,
That did appear so formidable.
This put our Captain in some doubt,
To see the Enemy so stout,
And his own men so cowardly,
That Carles threats made them to fly,
Yet he embraced the command,
And to do feats he took in hand;
Of victory he made no doubt,
When all his forces be call'd out,
In line of battle to appear,
With all the Clergy in the Rear;
With Whigs and Salters in the centre,
Where none but hardy men durst venture,
And all the Tories in the Front.
Mean time a Midden he did mount,
His Courage then made him so witless,
In rage and fury to draw Cutlace.
This Cutlace was a peaceful thing,
As ever was in Numa's reign:
Long had it lurked in the Sheath,
And never witness'd wounds or death,
Nor thumping Handy-blows, nor Knocks,
Save once upon a Chamber-box,
Which did occasion mighty grudging,
In the poor Blade to leave its lodging;
It cost some pains to force it out,
To save its Master from the Rout;
Yet, after tugging and hard pulling,
A token that it was unwilling
To do much harm, it came abroad,
To serve its friends, the Men of God.
Some do affirm, this trusty Shabble
Was consecrate to fright the Rabble,
And that the Kirk devoutly had,
Wrote Faith's Defender on the Blade.
First, he commanded Mr Justice,
In whose good conduct no small trust is,
In form of Law, at a due distance,
To ask the warriours assistance;
Then to advance to the Kirk-Door,
Attended with his Guard de Corps.
A bulky Messenger, and brawny,
Of a complexion somewhat tawny,
With sullen aspect led the Van,
On Mr Justice his right-hand;
And one, who never did succeed
In planting Kirks, the left did lead;
By whose advice the Mob proceeded,
A little further than they needed.
At the first prospect of resistance,
Some sculking stood at a great distance,
Until the first assault was over,
That they some courage might recover,
Resolving, if the Van were victors,
To follow on as stout as Hectors,
But, if the Front should not succeed,
To make their Heels defend their Head:
They judged it a piece of folly,
To venture upon the first Volley;
But had the En'my chanc'd to yield,
They'd been the foremost in the field.
Thus when Sir Mastiff stands his Ground,
Though snarling eurs do him surround,
And all the other cow'rdly whelps,
At distance stands and loudly yelps,
With tusks unsheath'd, the Croud he dares:
But if he chance to turn his arse,
The meanest Cur of Turnspit-race,
Will be the foremost in the Chace.
“Sir, if you are such Argumenters,
‘And by such means persuade Dissenters,
‘We mean to give you some small sport,
‘And your own Arguments retort;
‘And you, I hope, will be content,
‘Whatever may be the event
‘Which in this doubtful Skirmish happens,
‘Since we make use of your own Weapons:
‘No man of Houour will refuse
‘To fight, if he the Weapons chuse.”
Quoth he, but you must know the Laws
Do now support the good Old Cause;
If you oppose, the Judges sentence,
At last, will force you to Repentance;
You'd better now forbear from crimes,
Than mourn for them in after-times.
“Sir, what you call the good Old Cause,
‘Appears so full of Cracks and Flaws,
‘No Art nor Skill the same can solder,
‘It grows the crazier the older,
‘And now is put to a hard shift,
‘When Tories come to lend a lift,
‘And Kirk-dragoons are rais'd to back
‘The Gospel-work you undertake;
‘Besides the Revolution Foot
‘By standing long hath got the Gout,
‘And, prest with useless burden, maugre
‘All faint supports, begins to stagger;
‘The Kirk, which hath no more foundation,
‘But fickle people's inclination,
‘Whene'er the Mob begins to grumble,
‘The tottering Fabric down must tumble,
‘And each convulsion of the people
‘Portends the downfal of the Steeple.”
This Conference being fully ended,
And yet the matter nothing mended;
The Gen'ral call'd a Buchan laird,
The Captain of the Clergy's guard.
To march, with all his chosen force
Which he had brought, both Foot and Horse,
Who came on purpose, I suppose,
The adverse Party to oppose,
Since thrawn Trees do always splinder
Best with a Wedge of their own Timber.
Then, in obedience to command,
He marched up with Sword in hand;
But to the Guard 'ere he had spoken,
By chance his Honour's head was broken;
Which so disordered his Skull,
That his attempt was rend'red null,
Yet from the Kirk he got applause,
For losing Blood in the Old-Cause.
Next him was plac'd a foreign Factor,
Who first resolv'd to be an Actor,
But when he saw the Fray begin,
The fear Minheer had for his skin,
And weakness of his constitution,
Made him to change his Resolution;
Then he with earnestness did pray,
That the propitious Gods, that day,
To save him from the Rabbie's knocks,
Would turn him to a Butter-box.
The Mob, regardless of his prayers,
As they were of his Neighbour's tears,
In fury, with their Trees and Stones,
First broke his head, then beat his bones.
At last, with piteous Tone, he cry'd,
If any will a Sloop provide
To take me off, I here do swear
I never shall again see Deer.
A Weather-beaten son of Mars,
With long Toledo at his arse,
For many warlike Actions fam'd,
Which never were, nor can be nam'd,
Both Wealth and Honour long had sought
In bloody Fields, yet seldom fought,
Now, weary with the Tuck of Drum,
Came home to storm a widow's Bum,
Laid by his Helmet and his Shield,
To cultivate a barren Field;
With care he shunned Wounds and Scars,
Except it were in holy Wars,
That is to say, in Whig Kirk planting,
Where people's inclination's wanting,
And there he mighty Feats had done,
In company with John Gilon,
His bonus Genius and attendant,
Then Whig, but now he's Independent;
Like Proteus, it is his hap,
Most frequently to change his Shape,
And many Turnings he hath made
In his Religion and his Trade:
This Hero, hearing of the Fray,
Could not in Conscience be away;
Lest that the Project should miscarry,
He thought his Presence necessary,
The Mob with Courage to inspire,
But was the first who did retire.