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's, With whom his black-thumb'd ancestor Was comrade in the ten-years' war: For when the restless Greeks sat 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 only 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 being 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 sculls. Last Colon came, bold man of war, Destin'd to blows by fatal star; Right expert in command of horse, But eruel, and without remorse. That which of Centaur 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 vigour, fury, wroth: Yet he was much the rougher part, And always had a 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 clean a stable; As great a drover, and as great A critic 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 they 'ad almost por'd out their eyes) Did very learnedly decide
The business on the horse's side, And prov'd not only 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 counties round about, From villages remote, and shires Of east and western hemispheres.
From foreign parishes and regions, Of different manners, speech, religions, Came men and mastiffs; some to fight For fame and honour, some for sight. And now the field of death, the lists, Were enter'd by antagonists,
And blood was ready to be broach'd, When Hudibras in haste approach'd, With squire and weapons to attack them; But first thus from his horse bespake them. "What rage, O citizens! what fury Doth you to these dire actions hurry? What œstrum, what phrenetic mood Makes you thus lavish of your blood, While the proud Vies your trophies boast, And unreveng'd walks Waller's ghost? What towns, what garrisons, might you, With hazard of this blood, subdue, Which now y' are bent to throw away In vain untriumphable fray? Shall saints in civil bloodshed 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 swearings to begin, The Solemn League and Covenant Will seem a mere 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 blood 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 resolv'd by either 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 Join 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-women lock'd their fish up, And trudg'd away, to cry No Bishop; The mousetrap-men laid savealls by, And 'gainst Ev'l Counsellors did cry; Botchers left old clothes in the lurch, And fell to turn and patch the Church; Some cry'd The Covenant, instead Of pudding-pies and gingerbread; And some for brooms, old boots, and shoes, Bawl'd out to Purge the Common-house: Instead of kitchen-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 carryings-on did tend? Hath Public Faith, like a young heir, For this tak'n up all sorts of ware, And run int' every 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 coin 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 dragon's teeth being sown. Then was the cause of gold and plate, The brethrens' offerings, 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 sarcasmus scandal true, By running after dogs and bears,
Beasts more unclean than calves or steers ? Have powerful preachers ply'd their tongues, And laid themselves out and their lungs; Us'd all means, both direct and sin'ster, I' th' power of gospel-preaching min'ster? 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 the enemy's design, And which way best to countermine ? Prescrib'd what ways it hath to work, Or it will ne'er 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, the parl'ament,) 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 agog, And all this for a bear and dog? The parl'ament drew up petitions
To 'tself, and sent them, like commissions, To well-affected persons, down In every city and great town, With power 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 the pillory rode? Have all these courses, these efforts, Been try'd by people of all sorts, Velis et 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 covenant 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 business, to reform The church and state, is but a worm; For to subscribe, unsight, unseen, T' an unknown church-discipline, What is it else, but before-hand T'engage, 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 blood. These slanders will be thrown upon The cause and work we carry on, If we permit men to run headlong T" exorbitances fit for Bedlam, Rather than gospel-walking times, When slightest sins are greatest crimes. But we the matter so shall handle, As to remove that odious scandal: In name of king and parl'ament, I charge you all, no more foment This feud, but keep the peace between Your brethren and your countrymen, And to those places straight repair Where your respective dwellings are. But to that purpose first surrender The fiddler, as the prime offender, Th' incendiary vile, that is chief Author and engineer of mischief; That makes division between friends, For profane and malignant ends. He and that engine of vile noise, On which illegally he plays, Shall (dictum factum) both be brought To condign pun'shment, as they ought. This must be done, and I would fain see Mortal so sturdy as to gainsay; For then I'll take another course, And soon reduce you all by force." This said, he clapt his hand on sword, To show he meant to keep his word.
But Talgol, who had long supprest Inflamed 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 measled 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' th'self, old ir'n, 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 itself about,
Where thou, secure from wooden blow, Thy busy vanity might show? Was no dispute a-foot between The caterwauling 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's stickle, without hazard Of outrage to thy hide and mazzard, And not, for want of business, come To us to be thus troublesome, To interrupt our better sort Of disputants, and spoil our sport? Was there no felony, no bawd, Cutpurse, or burglary abroad? No stolen pig, nor plunder'd goose, To tie thee up from breaking loose? No ale unlicens'd, broken hedge, For which thou statute might'st allege, To keep thee busy from foul evil, And shame due to thee from the Devil? Did no committee sit, where he Might cut out journey-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 commonweal? Much better had it been for thee
He 'ad kept thee where th' art us'd to be, Or sent th' on business any whither, So he had never brought thee hither: But if th' hast brain enough in scull To keep itself in 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 eyes and hands up both, Three times he smote on stomach stout, From whence, at length, these words broke out:
"Was I for this entitled Sir,
And girt with trusty sword and spur, For fame and honour to wage battle, Thus to be brav'd by foe to cattle? Not all that pride, that makes thee swell As big as thou dost blown up veal, Nor all thy tricks and sleights to cheat, And sell thy carrion for good meat; Not all thy magic to repair Decay'd old-age in tough lean ware, Make natural death appear thy work, And stop the gangrene in stale pork ; Not all that force that makes thee proud, Because by bullock ne'er withstood; Though arm'd with all thy cleavers, 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 them, Like tainted beef, and pay dear for them: Nor shall it e'er be said, that wight With gantlet blue and bases white, And round blunt truncheon 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 scull, Vowing that he should 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 'twere transform'd to stock. Meanwhile fierce Talgol, gathering might, With rugged truncheon charg'd the knight; But he with petronel up-heav'd, Instead of shield, the blow receiv'd: The gun recoil'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, With stomach huge he laid about, Imprinting many a wound upon His mortal foe, the truncheon: The trusty cudgel did oppose Itself against dead-doing blows, To guard his leader from fell bane, And then reveng'd itself again.
And though the sword (some understood) In force had much the odds of wood, 'Twas nothing so; both sides were balanc't So equal, none knew which was val'ant'st: For wood, with honour being engag'd, Is so implacably enrag'd,
Though iron hew and mangle sore, Wood wounds and bruises honour more. And now both knights were out of breath, Tir'd in the hot pursuits of death, Whilst 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 sleight; for had it hit The upper part of him, the blow Had slit, as sure as that below.
Meanwhile the incomparable Colon, To aid his friend, began to fall on; Him Ralph encounter'd, and straight grew
A dismal combat 'twixt them two;
Th' one arm'd with metal, th' 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 incline; Until Magnano, who did envy
That two should with so many men vy, 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 cropt them from the root, He clapp'd them underneath the tail Of steed, with pricks as sharp as nail : The angry beast did straight resent The wrong done to his fundament, Began to kick, and fling, and wince, As if he 'ad been beside his sense, Striving to disengage from thistle, That gall'd him sorely under his tail; Instead of which, he threw the pack, Of squire and baggage, from his back; And blundering still, with smarting rump, He gave the knight's steed such a thump As made him reel. The knight did stoop, And sat on further side aslope. This Talgol viewing, who had now By sleight escap'd the fatal blow, He rally'd, and again fell to 't; For, catching foe by nearer foot,
He lifted with such might and strength,
As would have hurl'd him thrice 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, our's far'd as well In body, though his mighty spirit, Being 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 inflam'd, boil'd o'er, and from His jaws of death he threw the foam; 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 vex'd 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 he 'ad fought so many a fray, And serv'd with loss of blood so long, Should offer such inhuman 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'erthrew, But took none; for by hasty flight He strove t' escape, pursuit of knight, From whom he fled with as much haste And dread, as he the rabble chas'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 better, th' wooden one. He spying Hudibras lie 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 i' th' ankle 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 skin, 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 pernicion Approaching knight from fell musician; He snatch'd his whinyard up, that fled When he was falling off his steed, (As rats do from a falling house) To hide itself from rage of blows; And, wing'd with speed and fury, flew To rescue knight from black and blue; Which ere he could achieve, 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 On th' wooden member such a load, That down it fell, and with it bore Crowdero, whom it propp'd before. To him the squire right nimbly run, And, setting conquering foot upon
His trunk, thus spoke: What desperate frenzy Made thee (thou whelp of Sin) to fancy Thyself, and all that coward rabble,
T" encounter us in battle 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 oak, 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 rhetoric, nor the gaol, To keep from flaying scourge thy skin, And ancle free from iron gin? Which now thou shalt-but first our care Must see how Hudibras does fare." This said, he gently rais'd the knight, And set him on his bum upright.
To rouse him from lethargic dump, He tweak'd his nose, with gentle thump Knock't 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 opening lid, the casement, Look'd out, but yet with some amazement. This gladded 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 yourself 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 prisoner 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 powerful eye Must sentence him to live or die. 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 conqueror; Though dispensations were not strong Conclusions, whether right or wrong; Although out-goings did 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 they' injuriously detain't; Of him they hold their luxuries,
Their dogs, their horses, whores, and dice, Their riots, revels, masks, delights, Pimps, buffoons, fiddlers, parasites; All which the saints have title to, And ought t' enjoy, if they'd 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 began to rouze, And by degrees grew 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 business, sooner Than from your hand to have the honour Of his destruction; I that am A nothingness in deed and name, Did scorn to hurt his forfeit carcass, Or ill entreat his fiddle or case: Will you, great sir, that glory blot In cold blood, which you gain'd in hot?
Will you employ your conquering 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 power to kill, Argues your power above your will; And that your will and power have less Than both might have of selfishness. This power, 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 be his conqueror Not you, and free him from that terrour. If danger from his life accrue,
Or honour from his death, to you, "Twere policy and honour too
To do as you resolv'd to do:
But, sir, 'twould wrong your valour much, To say it needs, or fears a crutch. Great conquerors greater glory gain By foes in triumph led, than slain: The laurels 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' honour 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 pique; Or if his death will save or yield Revenge or fright, it is reveal'd, Though he has quarter, ne'ertheless
Y' have power to hang him when you please; This has been often done by some Of our great conquerors, 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 conqueror, 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 ourselves 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 business 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.
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