Hudibras — Part 1 — Canto 3

The scatter'd rout return and rally,Surround the place; the Knight does sally,And is made pris'ner: then they seizeTh' enchanted fort by storm, releaseCrowdero, and put the Squire in's place:I should have first said Hudibras.

Y me! what perils do environThe man that meddles with cold iron!What plaguy mischiefs and mishapsDo dog him still with afterclaps!For tho' dame Fortune seem to smile,5And leer upon him for a while,She'll after show him, in the nickOf all his glories, a dog-trick.This any man may sing or sayI' th' ditty call'd, "What if a day?10For Hudibras, who thought he'd wonThe field as certain as a gun,And having routed the whole troop,With victory was cock-a-hoop;

Thinking he'd done enough to purchase 15Thanksgiving-day among the churches,Wherein his metal and brave worthMight be explain'd by holder-forth,And register'd by fame eternal,In deathless pages of diurnal;20Found in few minutes, to his cost,He did but count without his host:And that a turn-stile is more certainThan, in events of war, Dame Fortune.For now the late faint-hearted rout.25O'erthrown and scatter'd round about,Chas'd by the horror of their fear,From bloody fray of Knight and Bear,All but the dogs, who, in pursuitOf the Knight's victory, stood to 't30And most ignobly sought to getThe honour of his blood and sweat,Seeing the coast was free and clearO' the conquer'd and the conqueror,Took heart of grace, and fac'd about,35As if they meant to stand it out:For now the half defeated bear,Attack'd by th' enemy i' th' rear.Finding their number grew too greatFor him to make a safe retreat,40Like a bold chieftain fac'd about;But wisely doubting to hold out,Grave way to fortune, and with hasteFac'd the proud foe, and fled, and fac'd,

Retiring still, until he found45He'd got th' advantage of the ground;And then as valiantly made headTo check the foe, and forthwith fled,Leaving no art untry'd, nor trickOf warrior stout and politick;50Until, in spite of hot pursuit,He gain'd a pass, to hold disputeOn better terms, and stop the courseOf the proud foe. With all his forceHe bravely charg'd, and for a while 55Forc'd their whole body to recoil;But still their numbers so increas'd,He found himself at length oppress'd,And all evasions so uncertain,To save himself for better fortune,60That he resolv'd, rather than yield,To die with honour in the field.And sell his hide and carcase atA price as high and desperateAs e'er he could. This resolution65He forthwith put in execution,And bravely threw himself amongTh' enemy i' th' greatest throng;But what could single valour doAgainst so numerous a foe? 70Yet much he did, indeed too muchTo be believ'd, where th' odds were such;But one against a multitudeIs more than mortal can make good:For while one party he oppos'd,75His rear was suddenly enclos'd.And no room left him for retreat,Or fight against a foe so great.For now the mastiffs, charging home,To blows and handy-gripes were come;80While manfully himself he bore,And, setting his right foot before,He rais'd himself, to show how tallHis person was, above them all.

This equal shame and envy stirr'd85In th' enemy, that one should beardSo many warriors, and so stout,As he had done, and stav'd it. out,Disdaining to lay down his arms,And yield on honourable terms.90Enraged thus, some in the rearAttack'd him, and some ev'rywhere,Till down he fell; yet falling fought,And, being down, still laid about;As Widdrington, in doleful dumps, 95Is said to fight upon his stumps.But all, alas! had been in vain,And he inevitably slain,lf Trulla and Cerdon, in the nick,To rescue him had not been quick: 100For Trulla, who was light of foot,As shafts which long-field Parthians shoot:But not so light as to be borneUpon the ears of standing corn,Or trip it o'er the water quicker105Than witches, when their states they liquor,As some report, was got amongThe foremost of the martial throng;Where pitying the vanquish'd bear,She call'd to Cerdon, who stood near,110Viewing the bloody fight; to whom,Shall we, quoth she, stand still hum-drum,And see stout Bruin, all alone,By numbers basely overthrown?

Such feats already he 'as achiev'd,115In story not to be believ'd,And 'twould to us be shame enough,Not to attempt to fetch him off.I would, quoth he, venture a limbTo second thee, and rescue him;120But then we must about it straight,Or else our aid will come too late;Quarter he scorns, he is so stout,And therefore cannot long hold out.This said, they wav'd their weapons round125About their heads, to clear the ground;And joining forces, laid aboutSo fiercely, that th' amazed routTurn'd tail again, and straight begun,As if the devil drove, to run.130Meanwhile th' approach'd th' place where BruinWas now engag'd to mortal ruin:The conqu'ring foe they soon assail'd;First Trulla stav'd, and Cerdon tail'd,Until the mastiffs loos'd their hold:135And yet, alas! do what they could,The worsted bear came off with storeOf bloody wounds, but all before:For as Achilles, dipt in pond,Was anabaptiz'd free from wound,140Made proof against dead-doing steelAll over, but the pagan heel;

So did our champion's arms defendAll of him but the other end,His head and ears, which in the martial145Encounter lost a leathern parcel;For as an Austrian archduke onceHad one ear, which in ducatoonsIs half the coin, in battle par'dClose to his head, so Bruin far'd;150But tugg'd and pull'd on th' other side,Like scriv'ner newly crucify'd;Or like the late-corrected leathernEars of the circumcised brethren.But gentle Trulla into th' ring155He wore in's nose convey'd a string.With which she march'd before, and ledThe warrior to a grassy bed,As authors write, in a cool shade,Which eglantine and roses made;160Close by a softly murm'ring stream,Where lovers use to loll and dream:There leaving him to his repose,Secured from pursuit of foes,

And wanting nothing but a song,165And a well-tuned theorbo hungUpon a bough, to ease the painHis tugg'd ears suffer'd, with a strain.They both drew up, to march in questOf his great leader, and the rest.170For Orsin, who was more renown'dFor stout maintaining of his groundIn standing fights, than for pursuit,As being not so quick of foot,Was not long able to keep pace175With others that pursu'd the chase,But found himself left far behind,Both out of heart and out of wind;Griev'd to behold his bear pursu'dSo basely by a multitude, 180And like to fall, not by the prowess,But numbers, of his coward foes.He rag'd, and kept as heavy a coil asStout Hercules for loss of Hylas;Forcing the vallies to repeat185The accents of his sad regret:He beat his breast, and tore his hair,For loss of his dear crony bear;That Echo, from the hollow ground,His doleful wailings did resound190

More wistfully, by many times.Than in small poets' splay-foot rhymes,That make her, in their ruthful stories,To answer to inter'gatories.And most unconscionably depose195To things of which she nothing knows;And when she has said all she can say,'Tis wrested to the lover's fancy.Quoth he, O whither, wicked Bruin,Art thou fled to my—Echo, ruin.200I thought th' hadst scorn'd to budge a step,For fear. Quoth Echo, Marry guep.Am not I here to take thy part?Then what has quail'd thy stubborn heart?Have these bones rattled, and this head205So often in thy quarrel bled?Nor did I ever wince or grudge it,For thy dear sake. Quoth she, Mum budget.Thinks't thou 'twill not be laid i' th' dishThou turn'dst thy back? Quoth Echo, Pish.210To run from those th' hadst overcomeThus cowardly? Quoth Echo, Mum.But what a-vengeance makes thee flyFrom me too, as thine enemy?

Or, if thou hast no thought of me,215Nor what I have endur'd for thee,Yet shame and honour might prevailTo keep thee thus from turning tail:For who would grutch to spend his blood inHis honour's cause? Quoth she, a Puddin.220This said, his grief to anger turn'd,Which in his manly stomach burn'd;Thirst of revenge, and wrath, in placeOf sorrow, now began to blaze.He vow'd the authors of his woe225Should equal vengeance undergo;And with their bones and flesh pay dearFor what he suffer'd and his bear.This b'ing resolv'd, with equal speedAnd rage, he hasted to proceed230To action straight, and giving o'erTo search for Bruin any more.He went in quest of Hudibras,To find him out, where'er he was;And if he were above ground, vow'd235He'd ferret him, lurk where he wou'd.But scarce had he a furlong onThis resolute adventure gone,When he encounter'd with that crewWhom Hudibras did late subdue.240Honour, revenge, contempt, and shame,Did equally their breasts inflame.'Mong these the fierce Magnano was,And Talgol, foe to Hudibras;Cerdon and Colon, warriors stout,245And resolute, as ever fought;Whom furious Orsin thus bespoke:Shall we, quoth he, thus basely brookThe vile affront that paltry ass,And feeble scoundrel, Hudibras,250With that more paltry ragamuffin,Ralpho, with vapouring and huffing,Have put upon us, like tame cattle,As if th' had routed us in battle?

For my part, it shall ne'er be said255I for the washing gave my head:Nor did I turn my back for fearO' th' rascals, but loss of my bear,Which now I'm like to undergo;For whether these fell wounds, or no,260He has received in fight, are mortal,Is more than all my skill can foretel;Nor do I know what is becomeOf him, more than the Pope of Rome,But if I can but find them out265That caused it, as I shall no doubt,Where'er th' in hugger-mugger lurk,I'll make them rue their handiwork,And wish that they had rather dar'dTo pull the devil by the beard.270Quoth Cerdon, noble Orsin, th' hastGreat reason to do as thou say'st,And so has ev'rybody here,As well as thou hast, or thy bear:Others may do as they see good;275But if this twig be made of woodThat will hold tack, I'll make the furFly 'bout the ears of the old cur,

And th' other mongrel vermin, Ralph,That brav'd us all in his behalf.280Thy bear is safe, and out of peril,Tho' lugg'd indeed, and wounded very ill;Myself and Trulla made a shiftTo help him out at a dead lift;And having brought him bravely off,285Have left him where he's safe enough:There let him rest; for if we stay,The slaves may hap to get away.This said, they all engag'd to joinTheir forces in the same design,290And forthwith put themselves, in searchOf Hudibras, upon their march:Where leave we them awhile, to tellWhat the victorious Knight befell;For such, Crowdero being fast295In dungeon shut, we left him last.Triumphant laurels seem'd to growNowhere so green as on his brow;Laden with Avhich, as well as tir'dWith conqu'ring toil, he now retir'd300Unto a neighb'ring castle by,To rest his body, and applyFit med'cines to each glorious bruiseHe got in fight, reds, blacks, and blues;To mollify th' uneasy pang305Of ev'ry honourable bang.Which b'ing by skilful midwife drest,He laid him down to take his rest.But all in vain: he 'ad got a hurtO' th' inside, of a deadlier sort,310By Cupid made, who took his standUpon a widow's jointure-land,

For he, in all h is am'rous battles,No 'dvantage finds like goods and chattels,Drew home his bow, and aiming right,315Let fly an arrow at the Knight;The shaft against a rib did glance,And gall him in the purtenance;But time had somewhat 'swaged his pain,After he had found his suit in vain:320For that proud dame, for whom his soulWas burnt in 's belly like a coal,That belly that so oft did ake.And suffer griping for her sake,Till purging comfits and ant's eggs325Had almost brought him off his legs,—Us'd him so like a base rascallion,That old Pyg—what d' y' call him—malion,That cut his mistress out of stone,Had not so hard a hearted one.330She had a thousand jadish tricks,Worse than a mule that flings and kicks;'Mong which one cross-grain'd freak she had,As insolent as strange and mad;She could love none but only such335As scorn'd and hated her as much.'Twas a strange riddle of a lady;Not love, if any lov'd her? hey-day!So cowards never use their might.But against such as will not fight.340

So some diseases have been foundOnly to seize upon the sound.He that gets her by heart, must say herThe back-way, like a witch's prayer.Meanwhile the Knight had no small task345To compass what he durst not ask:He loves, but dares not make the motion;Her ignorance is his devotion:Like caitiff vile, that for misdeedHides with his face to rump of steed;350Or rowing scull, he 's fain to love,Look one way and another move;Or like a tumbler that does playHis game, and look another way,Until he seize upon the coney;355Just so does he by matrimony.

But all in vain: her subtle snoutDid quickly wind his meaning out;Which she return'd with too much scorn,To be by man of honour borne;360Yet much he bore, until the distressHe suffer'd from his spightful mistressDid stir his stomach, and the painHe had endur'd from her disdainTurn'd to regret so resolute,365That he resolv'd to wave his suit,And either to renounce her quite,Or for a while play least in sight.This resolution b'ing put on,He kept some months, and more had done,370But being brought so nigh by fate,The vict'ry he achiev'd so lateDid set his thoughts agog, and opeA door to discontinu'd hope,That seem'd to promise he might win375His dame too, now his hand was in;And that his valour, and the honourHe 'ad newly gain'd, might work upon her:These reasons made his mouth to water,With am'rous longings to be at her.380Thought he unto himself, who knowsBut this brave conquest o'er my foesMay reach her heart, and make that stoop,As I but now have forc'd the troop?If nothing can oppugne love,385And virtue invious ways can prove.What may not he confide to doThat brings both love and virtue too?But thou bring'st valour too, and wit,Two things that seldom fail to hit.390Valour's a mouse-trap, wit a gin,Which women oft are taken in:

Then, Hudibras, why should'st thou fearTo be, that art a conqueror?Fortune the audacious doth juvare,395But lets the timidous miscarry:Then, while the honour thou hast gotIs spick and span new, piping hot,Strike her up bravely thou hadst best,And trust thy fortune with the rest.400Such thoughts as these the Knight did keepMore than his bangs, or fleas, from sleep;And as an owl, that in a barnSees a mouse creeping in the corn,Sits still, and shuts his round blue eyes,405As if he slept, until he spiesThe little beast within his reach,Then starts, and seizes on the wretch;So from his couch the Knight did start,To seize upon the widow's heart;410Crying, with hasty tone and hoarse,Ralpho, dispatch, to horse, to horse!And 'twas but time; for now the rout,We left engag'd to seek him out,By speedy marches were advanc'd415Up to the fort where he ensconc'd,And all the avenues possestAbout the place, from east to west.That done, awhile they made a halt,To view the ground, and where t' assault:420Then call'd a council, which was best,By siege, or onslaught, to investThe enemy; and 'twas agreedBy storm and onslaught to proceed.This b'ing resolv'd, in comely sort425They now drew up t' attack the fort;

When Hudibras, about to enterUpon anothergates adventure,To Ralpho call'd aloud to arm,Not dreaming of approaching storm.430Whether dame Fortune, or the careOf angel bad, or tutelar,Did arm, or thrust him on a danger,To which he was an utter stranger,That foresight might, or might not, blot435The glory he had newly got;Or to his shame it might be said,They took him napping in his bed:To them we leave it to expound,That deal in sciences profound.440His courser scarce he had bestrid,And Ralpho that on which he rid,When setting ope the postern gate,Which they thought best to sally at,The foe appear'd, drawn up and drill'd445Ready to charge them in the field.This somewhat startled the bold Knight,Surpris'd with th' unexpected sight:The bruises of his bones and fleshHe thought began to smart afresh;450Till recollecting wonted courage,His fear was soon converted to rage,And thus he spoke: The coward foe,Whom we but now gave quarter to.Look, yonder's rally'd, and appears455As if they had outrun their fears;The glory we did lately get,The Fates command us to repeat;

And to their wills we must succumb,Quocunque trahunt, 'tis our doom.460This is the same numeric crewWhich we so lately did subdue;The self-same individuals thatDid run, as mice do from a cat,When we courageously did wield465Our martial weapons in the field,To tug for victory: and whenWe shall our shining blades agenBrandish in terror o'er our heads,They 'll straight resume their wonted dreads.470Fear is an ague, that forsakesAnd haunts, by fits, those whom it takes;And they'll opine they feel the painAnd blows they felt to-day, again.Then let us boldly charge them home,475And make no doubt to overcome.This said, his courage to inflame,He call'd upon his mistress' name;His pistol next he cock'd anew,And out his nut-brown whinyard drew;480And placing Ralpho in the front,Reserv'd himself to bear the brunt,As expert warriors use; then ply'd,With iron heel, his courser's side,Conveying sympathetic speed485From heel of Knight to heel of steed.Meanwhile the foe, with equal rageAnd speed, advancing to engage.Both parties now were drawn so close,Almost to come to handy-blows:490When Orsin first let fly a stoneAt Ralpho; not so huge a one

As that which Diomed did maulÆneas on the bum withal;Yet big enough, if rightly hurl'd,495T' have sent him to another world,Whether above ground, or below,Which saints, twice dipt, are destin'd to.The danger startled the bold Squire,And made him some few steps retire; 500But lludibras advanc'd to's aid,And rous'd his spirits half dismay'd.He n'isely doubting lest the shotO' th' enemy, now growing hot,Might at a distance gall, press'd close505To come, pell-mell, to handy-blows,And that he might their aim decline,Advanc'd still in an oblique line;But prudently forbore to fire,Till breast to breast he had got nigher; 510As expert warriors use to do,When hand to hand they charge their foe.This order the advent'rous Knight,Most soldier-like, observ'd in fight,When Fortune, as she's wont, turn'd fickle,515And for the foe began to stickle.The more shame for her GoodyshipTo give so near a friend the slip.For Colon, choosing out a stone,Levell'd so right, it thump'd upon520His manly paunch, with such a force,As almost beat him oft' his horse,He loos'd his whinyard, and the rein.But laying fast hold on the mane,Preserv'd his seat: and, as a goose 525In death contracts his taloua close,

So did the Knight, and with one clawThe trigger of his pistol draw.The gun went off; and as it wasStill fatal to stout Hudibras,530In all his feats of arms, when leastHe dreamt of it, to prosper best;So now he far'd: the shot let fly,At random, 'mong the enemy,Pierced Talgol's gaberdine, and grazing 535Upon his shoulder, in the passingLodg'd in Magnano's brass habergeon,Who straight, A surgeon! cried—a surgeon!He tumbled down, and, as he fell.Did murder! murder! murder! yell.540This startled their whole body so,That if the Knight had not let goHis arms, but been in warlike plight,H' had won, the second time, the fight;As, if the Squire had but fall'n on,545He had inevitably done.But he, diverted with the careOf Hudibras his wound, forbareTo press th' advantage of his fortune,While danger did the rest dishearten.550For he with Cerdon b'ing engag'dIn close encounter, they both wag'dThe fight so well, 'twas hard to sayWhich side was like to get the day.And now the busy work of death 555Had tir'd them so, they 'greed to breathe,Preparing to renew the fight,When th' hard disaster of the knight,And th' other party, did divertTheir fell intent, and forc'd them part.560Ralpho press'd up to Hudibras,And Cerdon where Magnano was,

Each striving to confirm his partyWith stout encouragements and hearty.Quoth Ralpho, Courage, valiant Sir,565And let revenge and honour stirYour spirits up; once more fall on,The shatter'd foe begins to run:For if but half so well you knewTo use your vict'ry as subdue,570They durst not, after such a blowAs you have giv'n them, face us now;But from so formidable a soldier,Had fled like crows when they smell powder.Thrice have they seen your sword aloft575Wav'd o'er their heads, and fled as oft:But if you let them recollectTheir spirits, now dismay'd and check'd,You 'll have a harder game to playThan yet y' have had, to get the day.580Thus spoke the stout Squire; but was heardBy Hudibras with small regard.His thoughts were fuller of the bangHe lately took, than Ralph's harangue;To which he answer'd, Cruel fate,585Tells me thy counsel comes too late,The clotted blood within my hose,That from my wounded body flows,With mortal crisis doth portendMy days to appropinque an end.590I am for action now unfit,Either of fortitude or wit;Fortune, my foe, begins to frown,Resolv'd to pull my stomach down.

I am not apt, upon a wound,595Or trivial basting, to despond;Yet I'd be loath my days to curta'l;For if I thought my wounds not mortal,Or that we'd time enough as yetTo make an honourable retreat,600'Twere the best course; but if they findWe fly, and leave our arms behindFor them to seize on, the dishonour,And danger too, is such, I'll soonerStand to it boldly, and take quarter,605To let them see I am no starter.In all the trade of war no featIs nobler than a brave retreat:For those that run away, and fly,Take place at least o' th' enemy.610This said, the Squire, with active speed,Dismounted from his bony steedTo seize the arms, which by mischanceFell from the bold Knight in a trance.These being found out, and restor'd615To Hudibras, their natural lord,As a man may say, with might and main,He hasted to get up again.

Thrice he essay'd to mount aloft;But by his weighty bum, as oft 620He was pull'd back: 'till having foundTh' advantage of the rising ground,Thither he led his warlike steed,And having plac'd him right, with speedPrepar'd again to scale the beast, 625When Orsin, who had newly drestThe bloody scar upon the shoulderOf Talgol, with Promethean powder,And now was searching for the shotThat laid Magnano on the spot, 630Beheld the sturdy Squire aforesaidPreparing to climb up his horse-side;He left his cure, and laying holdUpon his arms, with courage boldCry'd out, 'Tis now no time to dally, 635The enemy begin to rally:Let us that are unhurt and wholeFall on, and happy man be's dole.This said, like to a thunderbolt,He flew with fury to th' assault, 640Striving the enemy to attackBefore he reach'd his horse's back.Ralpho was mounted now, and gottenO'erthwart his beast with active vau'ting,Wriggling his body to recover 645His seat, and cast his right leg over;When Orsin, rushing in, bestow'dOn horse and man so heavy a load,The beast was startled, and begunTo kick and fling like mad, and run, 650Bearing the tough Squire, like a sack,Or stout king Richard, on his back;

'Till stumbling, lie threw him down,Sore bruis'd, and cast into a swoon.Meanwhile the Knight began to rouse 655The sparkles of his wonted prowess;He thrust his hand into his hose,And found, both by his eyes and nose,'Twas only choler, and not blood,That from his wounded body flow'd. 660This, with the hazard of the Squire,Inflam'd him with despightful ire;Courageously he fac'd about,And drew his other pistol out,And now had half-way bent the cock, 665When Cerdon gave so fierce a shock,With sturdy truncheon, 'thwart his arm,That down it fell, and did no harm:Then stoutly pressing on with speed,Essay'd to pull him off his steed.670The Knight his sword had only left,With which he Cerdon's head had cleft.Or at the least cropt off a limb,But Orsin came and rescu'd him.He with his lance attack'd the Knight 675Upon his quarters opposite.But as a bark, that in foul weather,Toss'd by two adverse winds together,Is bruis'd and beaten to and fro,And knows not which to turn him to: 680So far'd the Knight between two foes,And knew not which of them t' oppose;'Till Orsin charging with his lanceAt Hudibras, by spightful chanceHit Cerdon such a bang, as stunn'd 685And laid him flat upon the ground.At this the Knight began to cheer up,And raising up himself on stirrup,Cry'd out, Victoria! lie thou there,And I shall straight dispatch another, 690

To bear thee company in death:But first I'll halt awhile, and breathe.As well he might: for Orsin griev'dAt th' wound that Cerdon had receiv'd,Ran to relieve him with his lore, 695And cure the hurt he made before.Meanwhile the Knight had wheel'd about,To breathe himself, and next find outTh' advantage of the ground, where bestHe might the ruffled foe infest. 700This b'ing resolv'd, he spurr'd his steed,To run at Orsin with full speed,While he was busy in the careOf Cordon's wound, and unaware:But he was quick, and had already 705Unto the part apply'd remedy;And seeing th' enemy prepar'd,Drew up, and stood upon his guard:Then, like a warrior, right expertAnd skilful in the martial art, 710The subtle Knight straight made a halt,And judg'd it best to stay th' assault,Until he had reliev'd the Squire,And then, in order, to retire;Or, as occasion should invite, 715With forces join'd renew the fight.Ralpho, by this time disentranc'd.Upon his bum himself advanc'd,Though sorely bruis'd; his limbs all o'er,With ruthless bangs were stiff and sore; 720Bight fain he would have got uponHis feet again, to get him gone;When Hudibras to aid him came.Quoth he, and call'd him by his name,Courage, the day at length is ours, 725And we once more as conquerors,Have both the field and honour won,The foe is profligate, and run;

I mean all such as can, for someThis hand hath sent to their long home;730And some lie sprawling on the ground,With many a gash and bloody wound.Cæsar himself could never say,He got two vict'ries in a day,As I have done, that can say, twice I, 735In one day, Veni, vidi, vici.The foe's so numerous, that weCannot so often vincere,And they perire, and yet enowBe left to strike an after-blow. 740Then, lest they rally, and once morePut us to fight the bus'ness o'er,Get up, and mount thy steed; dispatch,And let us both their motions watch.Quoth Ralph, I should not, if I were 745In case for action, now be here;Nor have I turn'd my back, or hang'dAn arse, for fear of being bang'd.It was for you I got these harms,Advent'ring to fetch off your arms. 750The blows and drubs I have receiv'dHave bruis'd my body, and bereav'dMy limbs of strength: unless you stoop,And reach your hand to pull me up,I shall lie here, and be a prey 755To those who now are run away.That thou shalt not, quoth Hudibras:We read, the ancients held it wasMore honourable far servareCivem, than slay an adversary; 760The one we oft to-day have done,The other shall dispatch anon:

And tho' th' art of a diff'rent church,I will not leave thee in the lurch.This said, he jogg'd his good steed nigher,765And steer'd him gently toward the Squire;Then bowing down his body, stretch'dHis hand out, and at Ralpho reach'd;When Trulla, whom he did not mind,Charg'd him like lightning behind. 770She had been long in search aboutMagnano's wound, to find it out;But could find none, nor where the shotThat had so startled him was got:But having found the worst was past 775She fell to her own work at last,The pillage of the prisoners,Which in all feats of arms was hers:And now to plunder Ralph she flew,When Hudibras his hard fate drew 780To succour him; for, as he bow'dTo help him up, she laid a loadOf blows so heavy, and plac'd so well,On th' other side, that down he fell.Yield, scoundrel, base, quoth she, or die, 785Thy life is mine, and liberty:But if thou think'st I took thee tardy,And dar'st presume to be so hardy,To try thy fortune o'er afresh,I'll wave my title to thy flesh,790Thy arms and baggage, now my right:And if thou hast the heart to try't,I'll lend thee back thyself awhile,And once more, for that carcase vile,Fight upon tick.—Quoth Hudibras, 795Thou offer'st nobly, valiant lass,And I shall take thee at thy word.First let me rise, and take my sword;

That sword, which has so oft this dayThrough squadrons of my foes made way,800And some to other worlds dispatch'd,Now with a feeble spinster match'd,Will blush with blood ignoble stain'd,By which no honour's to be gain'd.But if thou'lt take m' advice in this,805Consider, while thou may'st, what 'tisTo interrupt a victor's course,B' opposing such a trivial force.Tor if with conquest I come off.And that I shall do sure enough,810Quarter thou canst not have, nor grace,By law of arms, in such a case;Both which I now do offer freely.I scorn, quoth she, thou coxcomb silly,Clapping her hand upon her breech,815To show how much she priz'd his speech,Quarter or counsel from a foe:If thou canst force me to it, do.But lest it should again be said,When I have once more won thy head,820I took thee napping, unprepar'd,Arm, and betake thee to thy guard.This said, she to her tackle fell,And on the Knight let fall a pealOf blows so fierce, and prest so home,825That he retir'd, and follow'd 's bum.Stand to't, quoth she, or yield to mercy,It is not fighting arsie-versie

Shall serve thy turn.—This stirr'd his spleenMore than the danger he was in,830The blows he felt, or was to feel,Although th' already made him reel.Honour, despight, revenge, and shame,At once into his stomach came;Which fir'd it so, he rais'd his arm835Above his head, and rain'd a stormOf blows so terrible and thick,As if he meant to hash her quick.But she upon her truncheon took them,And by oblique diversion broke them;840Waiting an opportunityTo pay all back with usury,Which long she fail'd not of; for nowThe Knight, with one dead-doing blow,Resolving to decide the fight,845And she with quick and cunning slightAvoiding it, the force and weightHe charg'd upon it was so great,As almost sway'd him to the ground:Ko sooner she th' advantage found,850But in she flew; and seconding,With home-made thrust, the heavy swing,She laid him flat upon his side,And mounting on his trunk astride,Quoth she, I told thee what would come855Of all thy vapouring, base scum.Say, will the law of arms allowI may have grace, and quarter now?Or wilt thou rather break thy word,And stain thine honour, than thy sword?860A man of war to damn his soul,In basely breaking his parole.

And when before the fight, th' hadst vow'dTo give no quarter in cold blood;Now thou hast got me for a Tartar,865To make m' against my will take quarter;Why dost not put me to the sword,But cowardly fly from thy word?Quoth Hudibras, The day 's thine own;Thou and thy stars have cast me down:870My laurels are transplanted now,And flourish on thy conqu'ring brow:My loss of honour 's great enough,Thou need'st not brand it with a scoff:Sarcasms may eclipse thine own,875But cannot blur my lost renown:I am not now in fortune's power,He that is down can fall no lower.The ancient heroes were illustr'ousFor being benign, and not blust'rous 880Against a vanquish'd foe: their swordsWhere sharp and trenchant, not their words;And did in tight but cut work outT' employ their courtesies about.Quoth she, Altho' thou hast deserv'd,885Base Slubberdegullion, to be serv'dAs thou didst vow to deal with me,If thou hadst got the victory;Yet I should rather act a partThat suits my fame, than thy desert.890

Thy arms, thy liberty, besideAll that's on th' outside of thy hide,Are mine by military law,Of which I will not bate one straw;The rest, thy life and limbs, once more,895Though doubly forfeit, I restore.Quoth Hudibras, It is too lateFor me to treat or stipulate;What thou command'st I must obey;Yet those whom I expugn'd to-day,900Of thine own party, I let go,And gave them life and freedom too,Both dogs and bear, upon their parol,Whom I took pris'ners in this quarrel.Quoth Trulla, Whether thou or they 905Let one another run away,Concerns not me; but was't not thouThat gave Crowdero quarter too?Crowdero, whom in irons bound,Thou basely threw'st into Lob's pound,910Where still he lies, and with regretHis generous bowels rage and fret:But now thy carcase shall redeem,And serve to be exchang'd for him.This said, the Knight did straight submit,915And laid his weapons at her feet:Next he disrob'd his gaberdine,And with it did himself resign.She took it, and forthwith divestingThe mantle that she wore, said, jesting,920Take that, and wear it for my sake;Then threw it o'er his sturdy back:

And as the French, we conquer'd once,Now give us laws for pantaloons,The length of breeches, and the gathers,925Port-cannons, perriwigs, and feathers,Just so the proud, insulting lassArray'd and dighted Hudibras.Meanwhile the other champions, yerstIn hurry of the fight disperst,930Arriv'd, when Trulla 'd won the day,To share in th' honour and the prey,And out of Hudibras his hide,With vengeance to be satisfy'd;Which now they were about to pour 935Upon him in a wooden show'r:But Trulla thrust herself between,And striding o'er his back agen,She brandish'd o'er her head his swordAnd vow'd they should not break her word;940Sh' had given him quarter, and her blood,Or theirs, should make that quarter good.For she was bound, by law of arms,To see him safe from further harms.In dungeon deep Crowdero cast 945By Hudibras, as yet lay fast,Where to the hard and ruthless stones,His great heart made perpetual moans;

Him she resolved that HudibrasShould ransom, and supply his place. 950This stopp'd their fury, and the bastingWhich toward Hudibras was hasting.They thought it was but just and right,That what she had achiev'd in fight,She should dispose of how she pleas'd; 955Crowdero ought to be releas'd:Nor could that any way be doneSo well, as this she pitch'd upon:For who a better could imagine?This therefore they resolv'd t' engage in. 960The Knight and Squire first they madeRise from the ground where they were laid,Then mounted both upon their horses,But with their faces to the arses.Orsin led Hudibras's beast, 965And Talgol that which Ralpho prest;Whom stout Magnano, valiant Cerdon,And Colon, waited as a guard on;All ush'ring Trulla, in the rear,With th' arms of either prisoner.970In this proud order and array,They put themselves upon their way,Striving to reach th' enchanted Castle,Where stout Crowdero in durance lay still.Thither with greater speed than shows,975And triumph over conquer'd foes,Do use t' allow; or than the bears,Or pageants borne before lord-mayors,Are wont to use, they soon arriv'd,In order, soldier-like contriv'd: 980Still marching in a warlike posture,As fit for battle as for muster.The Knight and Squire they first unhorse,And, bending 'gainst the fort their force,They all advanc'd, and round about 985Begirt the magical redoubt.

Magnan' led up in this adventure,And made way for the rest to enter:For he was skilful in black art,No less than he that built the fort,990And with an iron mace laid flatA breach, which straight all enter'd at,And in the wooden dungeon foundCrowdero laid upon the ground:Him they release from durance base, 995Restored t' his fiddle and his case,And liberty, his thirsty rageWith luscious veng'ance to assuage;For he no sooner was at large,But Trulla straight brought on the charge, 1000And in the self-same limbo putThe Knight and Squire, where he was shut;Where leaving them i' th' wretched hole,Their bangs and durance to condole,Confin'd and conjur'd into narrow 1005Enchanted mansion, to know sorrow,In the same order and arrayWhich they advanc'd, they march'd away:But Hudibras, who scorn'd to stoopTo fortune, or be said to droop, 1010Cheer'd up himself with ends of verse,And sayings of philosophers.Quoth he, Th' one half of man, his mind,Is, sui juris, unconfined,And cannot be laid by the heels, 1015Whate'er the other moiety feels.

'Tis not restraint, or liberty,That makes men prisoners or free;But perturbations that possessThe mind, or equanimities. 1020The whole world was not half so wideTo Alexander, when he cry'd,Because he had but one to subdue,As was a paltry narrow tub toDiogenes: who is not said, 1025For aught that ever I could read,To whine, put finger i' th' eye, and sob,Because h' had ne'er another tub.The ancients make two sev'ral kindsOf prowess in heroic minds,1030The active and the passive valiant,Both which are pari libra gallant;For both to give blows, and to carry,In fights are equi-necessary:But in defeats, the passive stout 1035Are always found to stand it outMost desp'rately, and to out-doThe active, 'gainst a conqu'ring foe:Tho' we with blacks and blues are suggil'd,Or, as the vulgar say, are cudgel'd; 1040He that is valiant, and dares fight,Though drubb'd, can lose no honour by't.Honour's a lease for lives to come,And cannot be extended fromThe legal tenant: 'tis a chattel 1045Not to be forfeited in battel.If he that in the field is slain.Be in the bed of honour lain,He that is beaten may be saidTo lie in honour's truckle-bed. 1050

For as we see th' eclipsed sunBy mortals is more gaz'd uponThan when, adorn'd with all his light,He shines in serene sky most bright;So valour, in a low estate, 1055Is most admir'd and wonder'd at.Quoth Ralph, How great I do not knowWe may, by being beaten, grow;But none that see how here we sit,Will judge us overgrown with wit. 1060As gifted brethren, preaching byA carnal hour-glass, do implyIllumination, can conveyInto them what they have to say,But not how much; so well enough 1065Know you to charge, but not draw off.For who, without a cap and bauble,Having subdu'd a bear and rabble,And might with honour have come off,Would put it to a second proof: 1070A politic exploit, right fitFor Presbyterian zeal and wit.Quoth Hudibras, That cuckoo's tone,Ralpho, thou always harp'st upon;When thou at anything would'st rail, 1075Thou mak'st presbytery thy scale

To take the height on't, and explainTo what degree it is profane:Whats'ever will not with thy—what d'ye callThy light—jump right, thou call'st synodical. 1080As if presbytery were a standardTo size whats'ever's to be slander'd.Dost not remember how this dayThou to my beard was bold to say,That thou could'st prove bear-baiting equal 1085With synods, orthodox and legal?Do, if thou can'st, for I deny't,And dare thee to't with all thy light.Quoth Ralpho, Truly that is noHard matter for a man to do, 1090That has but any guts in's brains,And could believe it worth his pains;But since you dare and urge me to it,You'll find I've light enough to do it.Synods are mystical bear-gardens, 1095Where elders, deputies, church-wardens,And other members of the court,Manage the Babylonish sport.For prolocutor, scribe, and bearward,Do differ only in a mere word, 1100Both are but sev'ral synagoguesOf carnal men, and bears, and dogs:Both antichristian assemblies,To mischief bent, as far's in them lies:Both stave and tail with fierce contests, 1105The one with men, the other beasts.The diff'rence is, the one fights withThe tongue, the other with the teeth;And that they bait but bears in this,In th' other souls and consciences; 1110

Where saints themselves are brought to stakeFor gospel-light, and conscience-sake;Expos'd to scribes and presbyters,Instead of mastiff dogs and curs;Than whom th' have less humanity, 1115For these at souls of men will fly.This to the prophet did appear,Who in a vision saw a bear,Prefiguring the beastly rageOf church-rule, in this latter age: 1120As is demonstrated at fullBy him that baited the pope's bull.Bears naturally are beasts of prey,That live by rapine; so do they.What are their orders, constitutions, 1125Church-censures, curses, absolutions,But sev'ral mystic chains they make,To tie poor Christians to the stake?And then set heathen officers,Instead of dogs, about their ears. 1130For to prohibit and dispense,To find out, or to make offence;Of hell and heav'n to dispose,To play with souls at fast and loose;To set what characters they please, 1135And mulets on sin or godliness;Reduce the church to gospel-order,By rapine, sacrilege, and murder;To make presbytery supreme,And kings themselves submit to them;1140

And force all people, tho' againstTheir consciences, to turn saints;Must prove a pretty thriving trade,When saints monopolists are made:When pious frauds, and holy shifts,1145Are dispensations and gifts;There godliness becomes mere ware,And ev'ry synod but a fair.Synods are whelps o' th' Inquisition,A mungrel breed of like pernicion,1155And growing up, became the siresOf scribes, commissioners, and triers;

Whose bus'ness is, by cunning slight,To cast a figure for men's light;To find, in lines of beard and face, 1155The physiognomy of grace;And by the sound and twang of nose,If all be sound within disclose,Free from a crack, or flaw of sinning,As men try pipkins by the ringing; 1160By black caps, underlaid with white,Give certain guess at inward light;Which Serjeants at the gospel wear,To make the sp'ritual calling clear.The handkerchief about the neck, 1165—Canonical cravat of smeck,

From whom the institution came,When Church and State they set on flame,And worn by them as badges thenOf spiritual warfaring-men,—1170Judge rightly if regenerationBe of the newest cut in fashion:Sure 'tis an orthodox opinion,That grace is founded in dominion.Great piety consists in pride;1175To rule is to be sanctified:To domineer, and to control,Both o'er the body and the soul,Is the most perfect disciplineOf church-rule, and by right divine.1180Bell and the Dragon's chaplains wereMore moderate than those by far:For they, poor knaves, were glad to cheat,To get their wives and children meat;But these will not be fobb'd off so,1185They must have wealth and power too;Or else with blood and desolation'They '11 tear it out o' th' heart o' th' nation.Sure these themselves from primitiveAnd heathen priesthood do derive,1190

When butchers were the only clerks,Elders and presbyters of kirks;Whose Directory was to kill;And some believe it is so still.The only diff'rence is, that then1195They slaughter'd only beasts, now men.For them to sacrifice a bullock,Or, now and then, a child to Moloch,They count a vile abomination,But not to slaughter a whole nation.1200Presbytery does but translateThe papacy to a free state,A commonwealth of popery,Where ev'ry village is a seeAs well as Rome, and must maintain 1205A tithe-pig metropolitan;Where ev'ry presbyter and deaconCommands the keys for cheese and bacon;And ev'ry hamlet's governedBy's holiness, the church's head,1210

More haughty and severe in's placeThan Gregory and Boniface.Such church must, surely, be a monsterWith many heads: for if we consterWhat in th' Apocalypse we find, 1215According to th' Apostle's mind,'Tis that the Whore of Babylon,With many heads, did ride upon;Which heads denote the sinful tribeOf deacon, priest, lay-elder, scribe.1220Lay-elder, Simeon to Levi,Whose little finger is as heavyAs loins of patriarchs, prince-prelate,And bishop-secular. This zealotIs of a mungrel, diverse kind,1225Cleric before, and lay behind;A lawless linsey-woolsey brother,Half of one order, half another;

A creature of amphibious nature,On land a beast, a fish in water:1230That always preys on grace or sin;A sheep without, a wolf within.This fierce inquisitor has chiefDominion over men's beliefAnd manners; can pronounce a saint1235Idolatrous, or ignorant,When superciliously he sifts,Through coarsest bolter, others' gifts.For all men live and judge amiss,Whose talents jump not just with his.1240He'll lay on gifts with hand, and placeOn dullest noddle light and grace.The manufacture of the kirk.Whose pastors are but th' handiworkOf his mechanic paws, instilling1245Divinity in them by feeling.From whence they start up chosen vessels,Made by contact, as men get measles.So cardinals, they say, do gropeAt th' other end the new-made pope.1250Hold, hold, quoth Hudibras, soft fire,They say, does make sweet malt. Good Squire,Festina lente, not too fast;For haste, the proverb says, makes waste.The quirks and cavils thou dost make 1255Are false, and built upon mistake:And I shall bring you, with your packOf fallacies, t' Elenchi back;And put your arguments in moodAnd figure to be understood.1260I'll force you by right ratiocinationTo leave your vitilitigation.

And make you keep to the question close,And argue dialecticōs.The question then, to state it first,1265Is, which is better, or which worst,Synods or bears. Bears I avowTo be the worst, and synods thou.But, to make good th' assertion,Thou say'st th' are really all one.1270If so, not worst; for if th' are idem,Why then, tantundem dat tantidem.For if they are the same, by courseNeither is better, neither worse.But I deny they are the same,1275More than a maggot and I am.That both are animalia,I grant, but not rationalia:For though they do agree in kind,Specific difference we find;1280And can no more make bears of these,Than prove my horse is Socrates.That synods are bear-gardens too,Thou dost affirm; but I say, No:And thus I prove it, in a word,1285Whats'ever assembly's not impow'r'dTo censure, curse, absolve, and ordain,Can be no synod: but bear-garden

Has no such power, ergo 'tis none;And so thy sophistry's o'erthrown.1290But yet we are beside the questionWhich thou didst raise the first contest on:For that was, Whether bears are betterThan synod-men? I say, Negatur.That bears are beasts, and synods men,1295Is held by all: they're better then,For bears and dogs on four legs go,As beasts; but synod-men on two.'Tis true, they all have teeth and nails;But prove that synod-men have tails:1300Or that a rugged, shaggy furGrows o'er the hide of presbyter;Or that his snout and spacious earsDo hold proportion with a bear's.A bear's a savage beast, of all 1305Most ugly and unnatural,Whelp'd without form, until the damHas lickt it into shape and frame:But all thy light can ne'er evict,That ever synod-man was lickt, 1310Or brought to any other fashionThan his own will and inclination.But thou dost further yet in thisOppugn thyself and sense; that is,Thou would'st have presbyters to go 1315For bears and dogs, and bearwards too;A strange chimæra of beasts and men,Made up of pieces het'rogene;Such as in nature never met,In codem subjecto yet. 1320

Thy other arguments are allSupposures hypothetical,That do but beg; and we may chuseEither to grant them, or refuse.Much thou hast said, which I know when,1325And where thou stol'st from other men;Whereby 'tis plain thy light and giftsAre all but plagiary shifts;And is the same that Ranter said.Who, arguing with me, broke my head,1330And tore a handful of my beard:The self-same cavils then I heard,When b'ing in hot dispute aboutThis controversy, we fell out;And what thou know'st I answer'd then 1335Will serve to answer thee agen.Quoth Ralpho, Nothing but th' abuseOf human learning you produce;Learning, that cobweb of the brain.Profane, erroneous, and vain;1340

A trade of knowledge as replete,As others are with fraud and cheat;An art t' incumber gifts and wit,And render both for nothing fit;Makes light unactive, dull and troubled,1345Like little David in Saul's doublet:A cheat that scholars put uponOther men's reason and their own;A fort of error to ensconceAbsurdity and ignorance,1350That renders all the avenuesTo truth impervious, and abstruse,By making plain things, in debate,By art perplex'd, and intricate:For nothing goes for sense or light 1355That will not with old rules jump right,As if rules were not in the schoolsDeriv'd from truth, but truth from rules.This pagan, heathenish inventionIs good for nothing but contention.1360For as in sword-and-buckler fight.All blows do on the target light;So when men argue, the greatest partO' th' contest falls on terms of art.Until the fustian stuff be spent,1365And then they fall to th' argument.Quoth Hudibras, Friend Ralph, thou hastOut-run the constable at last;For thou art fallen on a newDispute, as senseless as untrue,1370But to the former opposite,And contrary as black to white;

Mere disparata, that concerningPresbytery, this human learning;Two things's' averse, they never yet,1375But in thy rambling fancy, met.But I shall take a fit occasionT' evince thee by ratiocination,Some other time, in place more properThan this w' are in: therefore let's stop here,1380And rest our weary'd bones awhile,Already tir'd with other toil.