Hudibras — Part 1 — Canto 1

Sir Hudibrashis passing worth,The manner how he sallied forth;His arms and equipage are shown;His horse's virtues, and his own.Th' adventure of the bear and fiddleIs sung, but breaks off in the middle.

hen civil dudgeon 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, 5For dame Religion, as for Punk;Whose honesty they all durst swear for,Tho' not a man of them knew wherefore:When Gospel-Trumpeter, surroundedWith long-ear'd rout, to battle sounded, 10

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 would 15Entitle him Mirror of Knighthood;That never bow'd his stubborn kneeTo anything but chivalry;Nor put up blow, but that which laidRight Worshipful on shoulder-blade: 20Chief of domestic 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:

Mighty he was at both of these, 25And styled 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. 30Some hold the one, and some the other;But howsoe'er they make a pother,The diff'rence was so small, his brainOutweigh'd his rage but half a grain;Which made some take him for a tool 35That knaves do work with, call'd a Fool.For t' has been held by many, thatAs Montaigne, playing with his cat,

Complains she thought him but an ass,Much more she would Sir Hudibras: 40For that's the name our valiant knightTo 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, 45H' was very shy of using it;

As being loth to wear it out,And therefore bore it not about,Unless on holy-days, or so,As men their best apparel do. 50Beside, 'tis known he could speak GreekAs naturally as pigs squeak;That Latin was no more difficile,Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle:Being rich in both, he never scanted 55His bounty unto such as wanted;But much of either would affordTo many, that had not one word.For Hebrew roots, although they're foundTo flourish most in barren ground, 60He had such plenty, as sufficedTo make some think him circumcised;And truly so, perhaps, he was'Tis many a pious Christian's case.He was in Logic a great critic, 65Profoundly skill'd in analytic;He could distinguish, and divideA hair 'twixt south, and south-west side:On either which he would dispute,Confute, change hands, and still confute, 70He'd undertake to prove, by forceOf argument, a man's no horse;

He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,And that a Lord may be an owl,A calf an Alderman, a goose a Justice, 75And rooks, Committee-men and Trustees.He'd run in debt by disputation,And pay with ratiocination.All this by syllogism, trueIn mood and figure, he would do. 80For Rhetoric, he could not opeHis mouth, but out there flew a trope;And when he happen'd to break offI' th' middle of his speech, or cough,H' had hard words,ready to show why, 85And 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 Rhetorician's rulesTeach nothing but to name his tools. 90But when he pleased to show 't, his speechIn loftiness of sound was rich;

A Babylonish dialect,Which learned pedants much affect.It was a parti-colour'd dress 95Of patch'd and pie-bald languages;'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,Like fustian heretofore on satin.It had an odd promiscuous tone,As if h' had talk'd three parts in one; 100Which made some think, when he did gabble,Th' had heard three labourers of Babel;Or Cerberus himself pronounceA leash of languages at once.This he as volubly would vent 105As 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 counterfeitNew words, with little or no wit; 110Words so debas'd and hard, no stoneWas hard enough to touch them on.And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em,The ignorant for current took 'em;That had the orator, who once 115Did fill his mouth with pebble stonesWhen he harangued, but known his phrase,He would have used no other ways.In Mathematics he was greaterThan Tycho Brahe, or Erra Pater: 120

For he, by geometric scale,Could take the size of pots of ale;Resolve, by sines and tangents straight,If bread or butter wanted weight;And wisely tell what hour o' th' day 125The clock does strike by algebra.Beside, he was a shrewd Philosopher,And had read ev'ry text and gloss over;Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath,He understood b' implicit faith: 130Whatever Sceptic could inquire for,For ev'ry why he had a wherefore:Knew more than forty of them do,As far as words and terms cou'd go.All which he understood by rote, 135And, 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; 140But oftentimes mistook the oneFor th' other, as great clerks have done.He could reduce all things to acts,And knew their natures by abstracts;Where entity and quiddity, 145The ghosts of defunct bodies fly;

Where Truth in person does appear,Like words congeal'd in northern air.He knew what's what, and that's as highAs metaphysic wit can fly.150In school-divinity as ableAs he that hight irrefragable;A second Thomas, or at once.To name them all, another Duns:Profound in all the nominal, 155And real ways, beyond them all;And, with as delicate a hand,Could twist as tough a rope of sand;And weave tine cobwebs, fit for scullThat's empty when the moon is full; 160Such as take lodgings in a headThat's to be let unfurnished.

He could raise scruples dark and nice,And after solve 'em in a trice;As if Divinity had catch'd 165The itch, on purpose to be scratch'd;Or, like a mountebank, did woundAnd stab herself with doubts profound,Only to show with how small painThe sores of Faith are cured again; 170Although by woful proof we findThey always leave a scar behind.He knew the seat of Paradise,Could tell in what degree it lies;And, as he was disposed, could prove it, 175Below the moon, or else above it:What Adam dreamt of, when his brideCame from her closet in his side:Whether the devil tempted herBy a High-Dutch interpreter: 180If either of them had a navel;Who first made music malleable:

Whether the serpent, at the fall,Had cloven feet, or none at all.All this, without a gloss, or comment, 185He could unriddle in a moment,In proper terms, such as men smatter,When they throw out, and miss the matter.For his Religion, it was fitTo match his learning and his wit: 190'Twas Presbyterian true blue,For he was of that stubborn crewOf errant saints, whom all men grantTo be the true church militant:Such as do build their faith upon 195The holy text of pike and gun;Decide all controversies byInfallible artillery;And prove their doctrine orthodoxBy apostolic blows and knocks; 200Call fire, and sword and desolation,A godly-thorough-Reformation,Which always must be carried on,And still be doing, never done:

As if Religion were intended 205For nothing else but to be mended.A sect, whose chief devotion liesIn odd perverse antipathies:In falling out with that or this,And finding somewhat still amiss: 210More peevish, cross, and splenetick,Than dog distract, or monkey sick:That with more care keep holy-dayThe wrong, than others the right way:Compound for sins they are inclined to, 215By damning those they have no mind to:Still so perverse and opposite,As if they worshipp'd God for spite.The self-same thing they will abhorOne way, and long another for. 220Free-will they one way disavow,Another, nothing else allow:All piety consists thereinIn them, in other men all sin:Rather than fail, they will defy 225That which they love most tenderly;

Quarrel with minced pies, and disparageTheir best and dearest friend, plum-porridge;Fat pig and goose itself oppose,And blaspheme custard through the nose. 230Th' apostles of this fierce religion,Like Mahomet's, were ass and widgeon,To whom our knight, by fast instinctOf wit and temper, was so linkt,As if hypocrisy and nonsense 235Had got th' advowson 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: 240His tawny beard was th' equal graceBoth of his wisdom and his face;In cut and dye so like a tile.A sudden view it would beguile;The upper part thereof was whey, 245The nether orange, mixt with grey.This hairy meteor did denounceThe fall of sceptres and of crowns;With grisly type did representDeclining age of government. 250

And tell, with hieroglyphic spade,Its own grave and the state's were made.Like Samson's heart-breakers, it grewIn time to make a nation rue;Tho' it contributed its own fall, 255To wait upon the public downfal:It was canonic, and did growIn holy orders, by strict vow:Of rule as sullen and severeAs that of rigid Cordeliere.260'Twas bound to suffer persecutionAnd martyrdom with resolution;T' oppose itself against the hateAnd vengeance of th' incensed state:In whose defiance it was worn. 265Still ready to be pull'd and torn,With red-hot irons to be tortured.Reviled, and spit upon, and martyr'd.

Maugre all which, 'twas to stand fastAs long as monarchy should last; 270But when the state should hap to reel,'Twas to submit to fatal steel,And fall, as it was consecrateA sacrifice to fall of state;Whose thread of life the fatal sisters 275Did 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 mowBoth down together at a blow. 280So learned Taliacotius, fromThe brawny part of porter's bum,Cut supplemental noses, whichWould last as long as parent breech:But when the date of Nock was out, 285Off dropt the sympathetic snout.His back, or rather burthen, show'dAs if it stoop'd with its own load.For as Æneas bore his sireUpon his shoulders thro' the fire, 290Our knight did bear no less a packOf his own buttocks on his back:Which now had almost got the upper-Hand of his head, for want of crupper.To poise this equally, he bore 295A paunch of the same bulk before:Which still he had a special careTo keep well-cramm'd with thrifty fare;As white-pot, butter-milk, and curds,Such as a country-house affords; 300

With other victual, which anonWe further shall dilate upon,When of his hose we come to treat,The cupboard where he kept his meat.His doublet was of sturdy buff, 305And though not sword, yet cudgel-proof,Whereby 'twas fitter for his use,Who fear'd no blows but such as bruise.His breeches were of rugged woollen,And had been at the siege of Bullen; 310To old King Harry so well known,Some writers held they were his own.Thro' they were lined with many a pieceOf ammunition-bread and cheese,And fat black-puddings, proper food 315For warriors that delight in blood.For, as we said, he always choseTo carry vittle in his hose,That often tempted rats and mice,The ammunition to surprise: 320And when he put a hand but inThe one or th' other magazine.They stoutly in defence on't stood,And from the wounded foe drew blood;And till th' were storm'd and beaten out, 325Ne'er left the fortified redoubt:And tho' knights errant, as some think,Of old did neither eat nor drink,Because when thorough deserts vast,And regions desolate, they past, 330Where belly-timber above ground,Or under, was not to be found,

Unless they grazed, there's not one wordOf their provision on record:Which made some confidently write, 335They had no stomachs but to fight.'Tis false: for Arthur wore in hallRound-table like a farthingal,On which, with shirt pull'd out behind.And eke before, his good knights dined. 340Tho' 'twas no table some suppose,But a huge pair of round trunk-hose:In which he carried as much meatAs he and all his knights could eat,When laying by their swords and truncheons, 345They 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. 350His puissant sword unto his side,Near his undaunted heart, was tied.With basket-hilt, that would hold broth,And serve for fight and dinner both.In it he melted lead for bullets, 355To 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, 360

And ate into itself, for lackOf somebody to hew and hack.The peaceful scabbard where it dwelt,The rancour of its edge had felt:For of the lower end two handful 365It had devour'd, 'twas so manful,And so much scorn'd to lurk in case,As if it durst not show its face.In many desperate attempts,Of warrants, exigents, contempts, 370It had appear'd with courage bolderThan Serjeant Bum, invading shoulder:Oft had it ta'en possession,And pris'ners too, or made them run.This sword a dagger had, his page, 375That 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: 380When it had stabb'd, or broke a head,It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread,Toast cheese or bacon, though it wereTo bait a mouse-trap, 'twould not care.'Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth 385Set 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 moreHave lately done, on the same score. 390

In th' holsters, at his saddle-bow,Two aged pistols he did stow,Among the surplus of such meatAs in his hose he could not get.These would inveigle rats with th' scent, 395To forage when the cocks were bent;And sometimes catch 'em with a snap,As cleverly as th' ablest trap.They were upon hard duty still,And every night stood sentinel, 400To guard the magazine i' th' hose,From two-legg'd, and from four-legg'd foes.Thus clad and fortified, Sir Knight,From peaceful home, set forth to fight.But first, with nimble active force, 405He got on th' outside of his horse.For having but one stirrup tiedT' his saddle, on the further side,It was so short, h' had much adoTo reach it with his desp'rate toe. 410But after many strains and heaves,He got upon the saddle eaves,From whence he vaulted into th' seat,With so much vigour, strength, and heat,That he had almost tumbled over 415With his own weight, but did recover,By laying hold on tail and mane,Which oft he used instead of rein.But now we talk of mounting steed,Before we further do proceed, 420It doth behove us to say somethingOf 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, 425As most agree, though some say none.He was well stay'd, and in his gait,Preserv'd a grave, majestic state.At spur or switch no more he skipt.Or mended pace, than Spaniard whipt: 430And yet so fiery, he would bound,As if he grieved to touch the ground:That Cæsar's horse, who, as fame goes,Had corns upon his feet and toes,Was not by half so tender-hooft, 435Nor trod 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. 440We shall not need to say what lackOf 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 445Like furrows he himself had plow'd:For underneath the skirt of pannel,'Twixt every two there was a channel.His draggling tail hung in the dirt,Which on his rider he would flirt, 450Still 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, 455The 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 stately tone,Do call him Ralpho, 'tis all one: 460And when we can, with metre safe,We'll call him so, if not, plain Raph.For rhyme the rudder is of verses,With which, like ships, they steer their courses.An equal stock of wit and valour 465He had lain in, by birth a tailor.The mighty Tyrian queen that gain'd,With subtle shreds, a tract of land,Did leave it, with a castle fair,To his great ancestor, her heir; 470From him descended cross-legg'd knights;Famed for their faith and warlike fightsAgainst the bloody Cannibal,Whom they destroy'd both great and small.

This sturdy Squire had, as well 475As the bold Trojan knight, seen hell,Not with a counterfeited passOf golden bough, but true gold lace.His knowledge was not far behindThe knight's, but of another kind, 480And he another way came by't;Some call it Gifts, and some New Light.A lib'ral art, that costs no painsOf study, industry, or brains.His wits were sent him for a token, 485But in the carriage crack'd and broken.Like commendation nine-pence, crooktWith—to and from my love—it lookt.He ne'er consider' d it, as lothTo look a gift-horse in the mouth; 490And very wisely would lay forthNo more upon it than 'twas worth.But as he got it freely, soHe spent it frank and freely too.For saints themselves will sometimes be, 495Of gifts that cost them nothing, free.By means of this, with hem and cough,Prolongers to enlighten'd snuff,He could deep mysteries unriddle.As easily as thread a needle; 500

For as of vagabonds we say,That they are ne'er beside their way:"Whate'er men speak by this new light,Still they are sure to be i' th' right.'Tis a dark-lanthorn of the spirit, 505Which none see by but those that bear it:A light that falls down from on high,For spiritual trades to cozen by:An ignis fatuus, that bewitches,And leads men into pools and ditches, 510To make them dip themselves, and soundFor Christendom in dirty pond;To dive, like wild-fowl, for salvation,And fish to catch regeneration.This light inspires, and plays upon 515The nose of saint, like bagpipe drone,And speaks through hollow empty soul,As through a trunk, or whisp'ring hole,Such language as no mortal earBut spiritual eaves-droppers can hear. 520So Phœbus, or some friendly muse,Into small poets song infuse;Which they at second-hand rehearse,Thro' reed or bag-pipe, verse for verse.Thus Ralph became infallible, 525As three or four legg'd oracle,The ancient cup, or modern chair;Spoke truth point blank, though unaware.

For mystic learning wondrous ableIn magic talisman, and cabal, 530Whose primitive tradition reaches,As far as Adam's first green breeches:Deep-sighted in intelligences,Ideas, atoms, influences;And much of terra incognita, 535Th' intelligible world could say;A deep occult philosopher,As learn'd as the wild Irish are,Or Sir Agrippa, for profoundAnd solid lying much renown'd: 540

He Anthroposophus, and Floud,And Jacob Behmen understood;Knew many an amulet and charm,That would do neither good nor harm;In Rosicrucian lore as learned, 545As he that verè adeptus earned.He understood the speech of birdsAs well as they themselves do words;Could tell what subtlest parrots mean,That speak and think contrary clean; 550"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'reign power to make men wise: 555For, dropt in blear, thick-sighted eyes,They'd make them see in darkest night,Like owls, tho' purblind in the light.By help of these, as he profest,He had first matter seen undrest: 560He took her naked, all alone,Before one rag of form was on.The chaos too he had descry'd,And seen quite thro', or else he lied:Not that of pasteboard, which men shew 565For groats, at fair of Barthol'mew;But its great grandsire, first o' th' name,Whence that and Reformation came,Both cousin-germans, and right ableT'inveigle and draw in the rabble: 570But Reformation was, some say,O' th' younger house to puppet-play.He could foretell wbats'ever was,By consequence, to come to pass:As death of great men, alterations, 575Diseases, battles, inundations:All this without th' eclipse of th' sun,

Or dreadful comet, he hath doneBy Inward Light, a way as good,And easy to be understood: 580But with more lucky hit than thoseThat use to make the stars depose,Like knights o' th' post, and falsely chargeUpon themselves what others forge;As if they were consenting to 585All mischief in the world men do:Or, like the devil, did tempt and sway 'emTo rogueries, and then betray 'em.They'll search a planet's house, to knowWho broke and robb'd a house below; 590Examine Venus and the Moon,Who stole a thimble and a spoon:And tho' they nothing will confess,Yet by their very looks can guess,And tell what guilty aspect bodes, 595Who stole, and who received the goods.They'll question Mars, and, by his look,Detect who 'twas that nimm'd a cloak;Make Mercury confess, and 'peachThose thieves which he himself did teach. 600They'll find, i' th' physiognomiesO' th' planets, all men's destinies;Like him that took the doctor's bill,And swallow'd it instead o' th' pill.Cast the nativity o' th' question, 605And from positions to be guest on,

As sure as if they knew the momentOf Native's birth, tell what will come on't.They'll feel the pulses of the stars,To find out agues, coughs, catarrhs: 610And tell what crisis does divineThe rot in sheep, or mange in swine:In men, what gives or cures the itch,What made them cuckolds, poor, or rich;What gains, or loses, hangs, or saves, 615What makes men great, what fools, or knaves;But not what wise, for only of thoseThe stars, they say, cannot dispose,No more than can the astrologians.There they say right, and like true Trojans. 620This Ralpho knew, and therefore tookThe other course, of which we spoke.Thus was th' accomplish'd squire enduedWith gifts and knowledge per'lous shrewd.Never did trusty squire with knight, 625Or knight with squire, jump more right.Their arms and equipage did fit,As well as virtues, parts, and wit:Their valours too, were of a rate,And out they sallied at the gate. 630Few miles on horseback had they jogged,But fortune unto them turn'd dogged;For they a sad adventure met,Of which anon we mean to treat:But ere we venture to unfold 635Achievements so resolved and bold,We should, as learned poets use,Invoke th' assistance of some Muse;However critics count it sillier,Than jugglers talking t' a familiar: 640We think 'tis no great matter which;They're all alike, yet we shall pitch

On one that fits our purpose most,Whom therefore thus we do accost:—Thou that with ale, or viler liquors, 645Didst inspire Withers, Pryn, and Vickars,And force them, though it were in spiteOf Nature, and their stars, to write;Who, as we find in sullen writs,And cross-grain'd works of modern wits, 650With vanity, opinion, want,The wonder of the ignorant,The praises of the author, penn'dBy himself, or wit-insuring friend;The itch of picture in the front, 655With bays, and wicked rhyme upon't,All that is left o' th' forked hillTo make men scribble without skill;Canst make a poet, spite of fate,And teach all people to translate; 660Though out of languages, in whichThey 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, 665To those that dwell therein well known,Therefore there needs no more be said here,We unto them refer our reader;For brevity is very good.When w' are, or are not understood. 670To this town people did repairOn days of market, or of fair,

And to crack'd fiddle, and hoarse tabor,In merriment did drudge and labour;But now a sport more formidable 675Had raked together village rabble:'Twas an old way of recreating,Which learned butchers call bear-baiting;A bold advent'rous exercise,With ancient heroes in high prize; 680For authors do affirm it cameFrom Isthmian or Nemean game;Others derive it from the bearThat's fix'd in northern hemisphere,And round about the pole does make 685A circle, like a bear at stake,That at the chain's end wheels about,And overturns the rabble-rout.For after solemn proclamation,In the bear's name, as is the fashion, 690According to the law of arms.To keep men from inglorious harms,That none presume to come so nearAs forty feet of stake of bear;If any yet be so fool-hardy, 695T' expose themselves to vain jeopardy,If they come wounded off, and lame,No honour's got by such a maim,Altho' the bear gain much, b'ing bound,In honour to make good his ground, 700When he's engag'd, and take no notice,If any press upon him, who 'tis,But lets them know, at their own cost,That he intends to keep his post.This to prevent, and other harms, 705Which 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 steerTo keep the peace 'twixt dog and bear, 710

As he believed h' was bound to doIn conscience, and commission too;And therefore thus bespoke the Squire:—We that are wisely mounted higherThan constables, in curule wit, 715When on tribunal bench we sit,Like speculators, should foresee,From Pharos of authority,Portended mischiefs farther thanLow proletarian tything-men: 720And 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, 725The last does coincidere.Quantum in nobis, have thought goodTo save th' expense of Christian blood,And try if we, by mediationOf treaty, and accommodation, 730Can end the quarrel, and composeThe bloody duel without blows.Are not our liberties, our lives,The laws, religion, and our wives,

Enough at once to lie at stake 735For Cov'nant, and the Cause's 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; 740There is a Machiavelian plot,Tho' ev'ry nare olfact it not;A deep design in't, to divideThe well-affected that confide,By setting brother against brother 745To claw and curry one another.Have we not enemies plus satis,That cane et angue pejus hate us?And shall we turn our fangs and clawsUpon our own selves, without cause? 750That some occult design doth lieIn bloody cynarctomachy,Is plain enough to him that knowsHow saints lead brothers by the nose.I wish myself a pseudo-prophet, 755But sure some mischief will come of it,

Unless by providential wit,Or force, we averruncate it.For what design, what interest,Can beast have to encounter beast? 760They fight for no espoused Cause,Frail privilege, fundamental laws,Nor for a thorough Reformation,Nor Covenant, nor Protestation,Nor liberty of consciences, 765Nor lords' and commons' ordinances;Nor for the church, nor for church-lands,To get them in their own no hands;Nor evil counsellors to bringTo justice, that seduce the king; 770Nor for the worship of us men,Tho' we have done as much for them.Th' Egyptians worshipp'd dogs, and forTheir faith made internecine war.Others adored a rat, and some 775For that church suffer'd martyrdom.

The Indians fought for the truthOf th' elephant and monkey's tooth;And many, to defend that faith,Fought it out mordicus to death. 780But no beast ever was so slight,For man, as for his god, to fight;They have more wit, alas! and knowThemselves and us better than so.But we, who only do infuse 785The rage in them like boutè-feus,'Tis our example that instilsIn them th' infection of our ills.For, as some late philosophersHave well observed, beasts that converse 790With man take after him, as hogsGet pigs all the year, and bitches dogs.Just so, by our example, cattleLearn to give one another battle.We read, in Nero's time, the Heathen, 795When they destroy' d the Christian brethren,They sew'd them in the skins of bears,And then set dogs about their ears;From whence, no doubt, th' invention cameOf this lewd antichristian game. 800To this, quoth Ralpho, VerilyThe point seems very plain to me;It is an antichristian game,Unlawful both in thing and name.First, for the name; the word bear-baiting 805Is carnal, and of man's creating;

For certainly there's no such wordIn all the Scripture on record:Therefore unlawful, and a sin;And so is, secondly, the thing: 810A vile assembly 'tis, that canNo more be proved by Scripture, thanProvincial, Classic, National;Mere human creature-cobwebs all.Thirdly, it is idolatrous; 815For when men run a-whoring thusWith their inventions, whatsoe'erThe thing be, whether dog or bear,It is idolatrous and pagan,No less than worshipping of Dagon. 820Quoth Hudibras, I smell a rat;Ralpho, thou dost prevaricate:For though the thesis which thou lay'stBe true, ad amussim, as thou say'st;For that bear-baiting should appear, 825Jure divino, lawfullerThan synods are, thou dost denyTotidem verbis; so do I:Yet there's a fallacy in this;For if by sly homœosis, 830Thou wouldst sophistically implyBoth are unlawful, I deny.And I, quoth Ralpho, do not doubtBut bear-baiting may be made out,In gospel-times, as lawful as is 835Provincial, or parochial Classis;

And that both are so near of kin,And like in all, as well as sin,That, put 'em in a bag and shake 'em,Yourself o' th' sudden would mistake 'em, 840And not know which is which, unlessYou measure by their wickedness;For 'tis not hard t' imagine whetherO' th' two is worst, tho' I name neither.Quoth Hudibras, Thou offer'st much, 845But art not able to keep touch.Mira de lente, as 'tis i' th' adage,Id est, to make a leek a cabbage;Thou canst at best but overstrainA paradox, and th' own hot brain; 850For what can synods have at allWith bear that's analogical?Or what relation has debatingOf church-affairs with bear-baiting?A just comparison still is 855Of things ejusdem generis:And then what genus rightly dothInclude, and comprehend them both?If animal, both of its mayAs justly pass for bears as they; 860For we are animals no less,Although of diff'rent specieses.But, Ralpho, this is no fit place,Nor time, to argue out the case:For now the field is not far off, 865Where we must give the world a proof

Of deeds, not words, and such as suitAnother manner of dispute:A controversy that affordsActions for arguments, not words; 870Which we must manage at a rateOf prowess and conduct, adequateTo what our place and fame doth promise,And all the godly expect from us.Nor shall they be deceived, unless 875W' are slurr'd and outed by success;Success, the mark no mortal witOr surest hand can always hit:For whatsoe'er we perpetrate,We do but row, w' are steer'd by fate, 880Which in success oft disinherits,For spurious causes, noblest merits.Great actions are not always true sonsOf great and mighty resolutions;Nor do the bold'st attempts bring forth 885Events still equal to their worth;But sometimes fail, and in their steadFortune and cowardice succeed.Yet we have no great cause to doubt,Our actions still have borne us out; 890Which, tho' they're known to be so ample,We need not copy from example;We're not the only persons durstAttempt this province, nor the first.In northern clime a val'rous knight 895Did whilom kill his bear in fight,And wound a fiddler: we have bothOf these the objects of our wroth,And equal fame and glory fromTh' attempt, or victory to come. 900

'Tis sung, there is a valiant MamalukeIn foreign land, yelep'd ———To whom we have been oft comparedFor person, parts, address, and beard;Both equally reputed stout, 905And 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. 910Honour is, like a widow, wonWith brisk attempt, and putting on;With ent'ring manfully and urging;Not slow approaches, like a virgin.This said, as erst the Phrygian knight, 915So ours, with rusty steel did smiteHis Trojan horse, and just as muchHe mended pace upon the touch;But from his empty stomach groan'd,Just as that hollow beast did sound, 920And, angry, answer'd from behind,With brandish'd tail and blast of wind.So have I seen, with armed heel,A wight bestride a Common-weal,

While still the more he kick'd and spurr'd,925The less the sullen jade has stirr'd.