Part I: Canto III

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

Ah me! what perils do environThe man that meddles with cold iron!What plaguy mischiefs and mishapsDo dog him still with after-claps!For though dame Fortune seem to smileAnd leer upon him for a while,She'll after shew him, in the nickOf all his glories, a dog-trick.This any man may sing or say,I' th' ditty call'd, What if a Day?For HUDIBRAS, who thought h' had wonThe field, as certain as a gun;And having routed the whole troop,With victory was cock a-hoop;Thinking h' had done enough to purchaseThanksgiving-day among the Churches,Wherein his mettle, and brave worth,Might be explain'd by Holder-forth,And register'd, by fame eternal,In deathless pages of diurnal;Found 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,O'erthrown, and scatter'd round about,Chas'd by the horror of their fearFrom bloody fray of Knight and Bear,(All but the dogs, who, in pursuitOf the Knight's victory, stood to't,And most ignobly fought to getThe honour of his blood and sweat,)Seeing the coast was free and clearO' th' conquer'd and the conqueror,Took heart again, and fac'd about,As if they meant to stand it out:For by this time the routed Bear,Attack'd by th' enemy i' th' rear,Finding their number grew too greatFor him to make a safe retreat,Like a bold chieftain, fac'd about;But wisely doubting to hold out,Gave way to Fortune, and with hasteFac'd the proud foe, and fled, and fac'd;Retiring still, until he foundH' had got the 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,Until, 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 whileForc'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,That 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 resolutionHe forthwith put in execution,And bravely threw himself amongThe enemy i' th' greatest throng.But what cou'd single valour doAgainst so numerous a foe?Yet 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,His rear was suddenly inclos'd;And no room left him for retreat,Or fight against a foe so great.For now the mastives, charging home,To blows and handy gripes were come:While manfully himself he bore,And setting his right-foot before,He rais'd himself, to shew how tallHis person was above them all.This equal shame and envy stirr'dIn 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.Enraged thus, some in the rearAttack'd him, and some ev'ry where,Till down he fell; yet falling fought,And, being down, still laid about;As WIDDRINGTON, in doleful dumps,Is said to light upon his stumps.

But all, alas! had been in vain,And he inevitably slain,If TRULLA and CERDON, in the nick,To rescue him had not been quick;For TRULLA, who was light of footAs 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 quickerThan witches, when their staves they liquor,As some report,) was got amongThe foremost of the martial throng;There pitying the vanquish'd Bear,She call'd to CERDON, who stood near,Viewing 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 h' has atchiev'd,In 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:But 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 roundAbout their heads, to clear the ground;And joining forces, laid aboutSo fiercely, that th' amazed routTurn'd tale again, and straight begun,As if the Devil drove, to run.Meanwhile 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 their mastives loos'd their hold:And 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,Made 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 martialEncounter, lost a leathern parcelFor as an Austrian Archduke onceHad one ear (which in ducatoonsIs half the coin) in battle par'dClose to his head, so Bruin far'd;But 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' ringHe 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;Close by a softly murm'ring stream,Where lovers us'd to loll and dream.There leaving him to his repose,Secured from pursuit of foes,And wanting nothing but a song,And a well-tun'd 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.

For ORSIN (who was more renown'dFor stout maintaining of his groundIn standing fight, than for pursuit,As being not so quick of foot)Was not long able to keep paceWith others that pursu'd the chace;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;And 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 repeatThe accents of his sad regret.He beat his breast, and tore his hair,For loss of his dear Crony Bear;That Eccho, from the hollow ground,His doleful wailings did resoundMore wistfully, by many times,Than in small poets splay-foot rhimesThat make her, in their rueful storiesTo answer to int'rogatories,And most unconscionably deposeTo 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 BruinArt thou fled to my -- Eccho, Ruin?I thought th' hadst scorn'd to budge a stepFor fear. (Quoth Eccho) Marry guep.Am not I here to take thy part?Then what has quelled thy stubborn heart?Have these bones rattled, and this headSo often in thy quarrel bled?Nor did I ever winch or grudge it,For thy dear sake. (Quoth she) Mum budgetThink'st thou 'twill not be laid i' th' dishThou turn'dst thy back? Quoth Eccho, Fish.To run from those t'hast overcomeThus cowardly? Quoth Eccho, Mum.But what a vengeance makes thee flyFrom me too, as thine enemy?Or if thou hast no thought of me,Nor what I have endur'd for thee,Yet shame and honour might prevailTo keep thee thus from turning tail:For who would grudge to spend his blood inHis honour's cause? Quoth she, A puddin.This 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 woeShould 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 proceedTo action straight, and giving o'erTo search for Bruin any more,He went in quest of HUDIBRAS,To find him out where-e'er he was;And, if he were above ground, vow'dHe'd ferret him, lurk where be wou'd.

But scarce had he a furlong onThis resolute adventure gone,When he encounter'd with that crewWhom HUDIBRAS did late subdue.Honour, 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,As resolute, as ever fought;Whom furious ORSIN thus bespoke:Shall we (quoth be) thus basely brookThe vile affront that paltry ass,And feeble scoundrel, HUDIBRAS,With 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 said,I for the washing gave my bead:Nor did I turn my back for fearO' th' rascals, but loss of my Bear,Which now I'm like to undergo;For whether those fell wounds, or noHe has receiv'd in fight, are mortal,Is more than all my skill can foretellNor do I know what is becomeOf him, more than the Pope of Rome.But if I can but find them outThat caus'd it (as I shall, no doubt,Where-e'er th' in hugger-mugger lurk)I'll make them rue their handy-work;And wish that they had rather dar'dTo pull the Devil by the beard.

Quoth CERDON, Noble ORSIN, th' hastGreat reason to do as thou say'st,And so has ev'ry body here,As well as thou hast, or thy Bear.Others may do as they see good;But if this twig be made of woodThat will hold tack, I'll make the furFly 'bout the ears of that old cur;And the other mungrel vermin, RALPH,That brav'd us all in his behalf.Thy Bear is safe, and out of peril,Though 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,Have 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;And forthwith put themselves in searchOf HUDIBRAS upon their march.Where leave we awhile, to tellWhat the victorious knight befel.For such, CROWDERO being fastIn dungeon shut, we left him last.Triumphant laurels seem'd to growNo where so green as on his brow;Laden with which, as well as tir'dWith conquering toil, he now retir'dUnto 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 pangOf ev'ry honourable bang,Which b'ing by skilful midwife drest,He laid him down to take his rest.But all in vain. H' had got a hurtO' th' inside, of a deadlier sort,By CUPID made, who took his standUpon a Widow's jointure land,(For he, in all his am'rous battels,No 'dvantage finds like goods and chattels,)Drew home his bow, and, aiming right,Let fly an arrow at the Knight:The shaft against a rib did glance,And gall'd him in the purtenance.But time had somewhat 'swag'd his pain,After he found his suit in vain.For that proud dame, for whom his soulWas burnt in's belly like a coal,(That belly which so oft did akeAnd suffer griping for her sake,Till purging comfits and ants-eggsHad 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.She 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 suchAs scorn'd and hated her as much.'Twas a strange riddle of a lady:Not love, if any lov'd her! Hey dey!So cowards never use their might,But against such as will not fight;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.Mean while the Knight had no small taskTo compass what he durst not ask.He loves, but dares not make the motion;Her ignorance is his devotion:Like caitiff vile, that, for misdeed,Rides with his face to rump of steed,Or 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 cony;Just so he does by matrimony:But all in vain; her subtle snoutDid quickly wind his meaning out;Which she return'd with too much scornTo be by man of honour borne:Yet much he bore, until the distressHe suffer'd from his spightful mistressDid stir his stomach; and the painHe had endur'd from her disdain,Turn'd to regret so resolute,That 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;But being brought so nigh by Fate,The victory he atchiev'd so lateDid set his thoughts agog, and opeA door to discontinu'd hope,That seem'd to promise he might winHis dame too, now his hand was in;And that his valour, and the honourH' had newly gain'd, might work upon her.These reasons made his mouth to waterWith am'rous longings to be at her.

Quoth he, unto himself, Who knows,But 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 oppugn love,And virtue invious ways can prove,What may he not confide to doThat brings both love and virtue too?But thou bring'st valour too and wit;Two things that seldom fail to hit.Valour'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 th' audacious doth juvare,But 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.Such thoughts as these the Knight did keep,More 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,As 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 startTo seize upon the widow's heart;Crying 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'dUp to the fort, where he ensconc'd;And all th' avenues had possestAbout the place, from east to west.

That done, a while they made a halt,To view the ground, and where t' assault:Then call'd a council, which was best,By siege or onslaught, to investThe enemy; and 'twas agreed,By storm and onslaught to proceed.This b'ing resolv'd, in comely sortThey now drew up t' attack the fort;When HUDIBRAS, about to enterUpon another-gates adventure,To RALPHO call'd aloud to arm,Not dreaming of approaching storm.Whether Dame Fortune, or the careOf Angel bad or tutelar,Did arm, or thrust him on a dangerTo which he was an utter stranger;That foresight might, or might not, blotThe glory he had newly got;For 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.

His 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'd,Ready to charge them in the field.This somewhat startled the bold Knight,Surpriz'd with th' unexpected sight.The bruises of his bones and fleshThe thought began to smart afresh;Till 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 appearsAs if they had out-run 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.This 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 wieldOur martial weapons in the fieldTo tug for victory; and whenWe shall our shining blades agenBrandish in terror o'er our heads,They'll straight resume their wonted dreads.Fear 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,And make no doubt to overcome.

This said, his courage to inflame,He call'd upon his mistress' name.His pistol next he cock'd a-new,And out his nut-brown whinyard drew;And, placing RALPHO in the front,Reserv'd himself to bear the brunt,As expert warriors use: then ply'dWith iron heel his courser's side,Conveying sympathetic speedFrom heel of Knight to heel of Steed.

Mean while the foe, with equal rageAnd speed, advancing to engage,Both parties now were drawn so close,Almost to come to handy-blows;When ORSIN first let fly a stoneAt RALPHO: not so huge a oneAs that which DIOMED did maulAENEAS on the bum withalYet big enough if rightly hurl'd,T' 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.But HUDIBRAS advanc'd to's aid,And rouz'd his spirits, half dismay'd.He wisely doubting lest the shotOf th' enemy, now growing hot,Might at a distance gall, press'd close,To 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,As expert warriors use to doWhen 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,And for the foe began to stickle.The more shame for her Goody-ship,To give so near a friend the slip.For COLON, choosing out a stone,Levell'd so right, it thump'd uponHis manly paunch with such a force,As almost beat him off his horse.He lost his whinyard, and the rein;But, laying fast hold of the mane,Preserv'd his seat; and as a gooseIn death contracts his talons 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,In all his feats of arms, when leastHe dreamt of it, to prosper best,So now he far'd: the shot, let flyAt random 'mong the enemy,Pierc'd TALGOL's gaberdine, and grazingUpon his shoulder, in the passing,Lodg'd in MAGNANO's brass habergeon,Who straight, A Surgeon, cry'd, A Surgeon.He tumbled down, and, as he fell,Did Murther, Murther, Murther, yell.This 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,He had inevitably done:But he, diverted with the careOr HUDIBRAS his hurt, forbareTo press th' advantage of his fortuneWhile danger did the rest dishearten:For 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 deathHad tir'd them so, th' agreed to breath,Preparing to renew the fight,When the disaster of the Knight,And th' other party, did divertTheir fell intent, and forc'd them part.RALPHO press'd up to HUDIBRAS,And CERDON where MAGNANO was;Each striving to confirm his partyWith stout encouragements, and hearty.

Quoth RALIHO, Courage, valiant Sir,And let revenge and honour stirYour spirits up: once we fall on,The shatter'd foe begins to run:For if but half so well you knewTo use your victory as subdue,They durst not, after such a blowAs you have given them, face us now;But from so formidable a soldierHad fled like crows when they smell powder.Thrice have they seen your sword aloftWav'd o'er their heads, and fled as oft.But if you let them recollectTheir spirits, now dismay'd and checkt,You'll have a harder game to playThan yet y' have had to get the day.

Thus spoke the stout Squire; but was heardBy HUDIBRAS with small regard.His thoughts were fuller of the bangBe lately took than RALPH'S harangue;To which he answer'd, Cruel FateTells me thy counsel comes too late.The knotted blood within my hose,That from my wounded body flows,With mortal crisis doth portendMy days to appropinque an end.I 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,Or trivial basting, to despond:Yet I'd be loth my days to curtail:For if I thought my wounds not mortal,Or that we'd time enough as yet,To make an hon'rable retreat,'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,To 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 of th' enemy.

This said, the Squire, with active speedDismounted from his bonny steed,To seize the arms, which, by mischance,Fell from the bold Knight in a trance.These being found out, and restor'dTo HUDIBRAS their natural lord,As a man may say, with might and main,He hasted to get up again.Thrice he assay'd to mount aloft,But, by his weighty bum, as oftHe 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,When 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,Beheld the sturdy Squire aforesaidPreparing to climb up his horse side.He left his cure, and laying holdUpon his arms, with courage bold,Cry'd out, 'Tis now no time to dally,The enemy begin to rally:Let us, that are unhurt and whole,Fall on, and happy man be's dole.

This said, like to a thunderbolt,He flew with fury to th' assault,Striving the enemy to attackBefore he reach'd his horse's back.RALPHO was mounted now, and gottenO'erthwart his beast with active vau'ting,Wrigling his body to recoverHis 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,Bearing the tough Squire like a sack,Or stout king RICHARD, on his back,'Till stumbling, he threw him down,Sore bruis'd, and cast into a swoon.Meanwhile the Knight began to rouzeThe 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.This, 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,When 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,Assay'd to pull him off his steed.The 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 KnightUpon his quarters opposite.But as a barque, 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;So far'd the Knight between two foes,And knew not which of them t'oppose;Till ORSIN, charging with his lanceAt HUDIBRAS, by spightful chance,Hit CERDON such a bang, as stunn'dAnd laid him flat upon the ground.At this the Knight began to chear up,And, raising up himself on stirrup,Cry'd out, Victoria! Lie thou there,And I shall straight dispatch another,To bear thee company in death:But first I'll halt a while, and breath:As well he might; for ORSIN, griev'dAt th' wound that CERDON had receiv'd,Ran to relieve him with his lore,And cure the hurt he gave before.Mean while the Knight had wheel'd about,To breathe himself, and next find outTh' advantage of the ground, where bestHe might the ruffled foe infest.This b'ing resolv'd, he spurr'd his steed,To run at ORSIN with full speed,While he was busy in the careOf CERDON'S wound, and unaware:But he was quick, and had alreadyUnto 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,The 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,With 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'erWith ruthless bangs were stiff and sore.Right 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;And 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;And some lie sprawling on the ground,With many a gash and bloody wound.CAESAR himself could never sayHe got two victories in a day,As I have done, that can say, Twice IIn one day, Veni, Vidi, Vici.The foe's so numerous, that weCannot so often vincereAs they perire, and yet enowBe left to strike an after-blow;Then, 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 wereIn 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.The 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 preyTo 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:The one we oft to-day have done,The other shall dispatch anon:And though th' art of a diff'rent ChurchI will not leave thee in the lurch.This said, he jogg'd his good steed nigher,And 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 lightening behind.She had been long in search aboutMAGNANO'S wound, to find it out;But could find none, nor where the shot,That had so startled him, was gotBut having found the worst was past,She 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 drewTo succour him; for, as he bow'dTo help him up, she laid a loadOf blows so heavy, and plac'd so well,On t'other side, that down he fell.Yield, scoundrel base, (quoth she,) or die:Thy 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 a-fresh,I'll wave my title to thy flesh,Thy arms and baggage, now my right;And if thou hast the heart to try't,I'll lend thee back thyself a while,And once more, for that carcass vile,Fight upon tick. -- Quoth HUDIBRAS,Thou 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,And 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,Consider whilst thou may'st, what 'tisTo interrupt a victor's course,B' opposing such a trivial force:For if with conquest I come off,(And that I shall do sure enough,)Quarter 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,To shew how much she priz'd his speech,)Quarter or counsel from a foeIf thou can'st force me to it, do.But lest it should again be said,When I have once more won thy head,I 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 press'd so home,That he retir'd, and follow'd's bum.Stand to't (quoth she) or yield to mercyIt is not fighting arsie-versieShall serve thy turn. -- This stirr'd his spleenMore than the danger he was in,The 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 armAbove 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,Waiting an opportunityTo pay all back with usury;Which long she fail'd not of; for nowThe Knight with one dead-doing blowResolving to decide the fight,And she, with quick and cunning slight,Avoiding it, the force and weightHe charged upon it was so great,As almost sway'd him to the ground.No sooner she th' advantage found,But in she flew; and secondingWith home-made thrust the heavy swing,She laid him flat upon his side;And mounting on his trunk a-stride,Quoth she, I told thee what would comeOf 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?A man of war to damn his soul,In basely breaking his paroleAnd when, before the fight, th' had'st vow'dTo give no quarter in cold bloodNow thou hast got me for a Tartar,To make me 'gainst 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:My 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,But 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 illustriousFor being benign, and not blustrous,Against a vanquish'd foe: their swordsWere sharp and trenchant, not their words;And did in fight but cut work outTo employ their courtesies about.

Quoth she, Although thou hast deserv'dBase slubberdegullion, to be serv'dAs thou did'st vow to deal with me,If thou had'st got the victoryYet I shall rather act a partThat suits my fame than thy desert.Thy arms, thy liberty, besideAll that's on th' outside of thy hide,Are mine by military law,Of which I will not hate one straw:The rest, thy life and limbs, once more,Though doubly forfeit, I restore,

Quoth HUDIBRAS, It is too lateFor me to treat or stipulateWhat thou command'st, I must obey:Yet those whom I expugn'd to-dayOf thine own party, I let go,And gave them life and freedom too:Both dogs and bear, upon their parole,Whom I took pris'ners in this quarrel.

Quoth TRULLA, Whether thou or theyLet 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,Where still he lies, and with regretHis gen'rous bowels rage and fret.But now thy carcass shall redeem,And serve to be exchang'd for him.

This said, the Knight did straight submit,And 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,Take that, and wear it for my sakeThen 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,Port-cannons, perriwigs, and feathers;Just so the proud insulting lassArray'd and dighted HUDIBRAS.

Mean while the other champions, yerstIn hurry of the fight disperst,Arriv'd, when TRULLA won the day,To share in th' honour and the prey,And out of HUDIBRAS his hideWith vengeance to be satisfy'd;Which now they were about to pourUpon 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 sword,And vow'd they should not break her word;Sh' had giv'n him quarter, and her bloodOr theirs should make that quarter good;For she was bound by law of armsTo see him safe from further harms.In dungeon deep CROWDERO, castBy HUDIBRAS, as yet lay fast;Where, to the hard and ruthless stones,His great heart made perpetual moans:Him she resolv'd that HUDIBRASShould ransom, and supply his place.

This stopt their fury, and the bastingWhich toward HUDIBRAS was hasting.They thought it was but just and right,That what she had atchiev'd in fight,She should dispose of how she pleas'd.CROWDERO ought to be releas'd;Nor could that any way be doneSo well as this she pitch'd uponFor who a better could imagineThis therefore they resolv'd t'engage in.The Knight and Squire first they madeRise from the ground, where they were laidThen mounted both upon their horses,But with their faces to the arses,ORSIN led HUDIBRAS's beast,And 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.In this proud order and arrayThey put themselves upon their way,Striving to reach th' enchanted castle,Where stout CROWDERO in durance lay still.Thither with greater speed than showsAnd triumph over conquer'd foesDo use t' allow, or than the bearsOr pageants borne before Lord-MayorsAre wont to use, they soon arriv'dIn order, soldier-like contriv'd;Still 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 aboutBegirt 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;And 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,Restor'd t' his fiddle and his case,And liberty, his thirsty rageWith luscious vengeance to asswage:For he no sooner was at large,But TRULLA straight brought on the charge,And in the self-same limbo putThe Knight and Squire where he was shut;Where leaving them in Hockley i' th' Hole,Their bangs and durance to condole,Confin'd and conjur'd into narrowEnchanted 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,Chear'd up himself with ends of verse,And sayings of philosophers.

Quoth he, Th' one half of man, his mind,Is, sui juris, unconfin'd,And cannot be laid by the heels,Whate'er the other moiety feels.'Tis not restraint or libertyThat makes men prisoners or free;But perturbations that possessThe mind, or aequanimities.The 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(For 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;The active, and the passive valiant;Both which are pari libra gallant:For both to give blows, and to carry,In fights are equinecessaryBut in defeats, the passive stoutAre always found to stand it outMost desp'rately, and to out-doThe active 'gainst the conqu'ring foe.Tho' we with blacks and blues are suggill'd,Or, as the vulgar say, are cudgell'd;He 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 chattelNot 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.For as we see th' eclipsed sunBy mortals is more gaz'd upon,Than when, adorn'd with all his light,He shines in serene sky most bright:So valour, in a low estate,Is 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.As gifted brethren, preaching byA carnal hour-glass, do imply,Illumination can conveyInto them what they have to say,But not how much; so well enoughKnow 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 offWould put it to a second proof?A politic exploit, right fitFor Presbyterian zeal and wit.

Quoth HUDIBRAS, That cuckow's tone,RALPHO, thou always harp'st upon.When thou at any thing would'st rail,Thou mak'st Presbytery the scaleTo take the height on't, and explainTo what degree it is prophaneWhats'ever will not with (thy what d'ye call)Thy light jump right, thou call'st synodical;As if Presbytery were the standardTo size whats'ever's to he slander'd.Dost not remember how this day,Thou to my beard wast bold to say,That thou coud'st prove bear-baiting equalWith synods orthodox and legal?Do if thou canst; 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,That has but any guts in 's brains,And cou'd 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,Where elders, deputies, church-wardens,And other members of the court,Manage the Babylonish sport;For prolocutor, scribe, and bear-ward,Do differ only in a mere word;Both are but sev'ral synagoguesOf carnal men, and bears, and dogs:Both antichristian assemblies,To mischief bent far as in them lies:Both stave and tail with fierce contests;The 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;Where Saints themselves are brought to stakeFor gospel-light, and conscience sake;Expos'd to Scribes and Presbyters,Instead of mastive dogs and curs,Than whom th' have less humanity;For 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;As is demonstrated at fullBy him that baited the Pope's Bull.Bears nat'rally are beasts of prey,That live by rapine; so do they.What are their orders, constitutions,Church-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?For to prohibit and dispense;To find out or to make offence;Of Hell and Heaven to dispose;To play with souls at fast and loose;To set what characters they please,And mulcts 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;And force all people, though againstTheir consciences, to turn Saints;Must prove a pretty thriving trade,When Saints monopolists are made;When pious frauds, and holy shifts,Are dispensations and gifts,Their godliness becomes mere ware,And ev'ry Synod but a fair.Synods are whelps of th' Inquisition,A mungrel breed of like pernicion,And growing up, became the siresOf scribes, commissioners, and triers;Whose bus'ness is, by cunning slight,To cast a figure for mens' light;To find, in lines of beard and face,The 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;By black caps underlaid with white,Give certain guess at inward light.Which serjeants at the gospel wear,To make the spiritual calling clear;The handkerchief about the neck(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)Judge 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;To rule is to be sanctified:To domineer, and to controul,Both o'er the body and the soul,Is the most perfect disciplineOf church-rule, and by right-divine.Bell and the Dragon's chaplains wereMore moderate than these 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;They must have wealth and power too,Or else with blood and desolationThey'll tear it out o' th' heart o' th' nation.Sure these themselves from primitiveAnd Heathen Priesthood do derive,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 thenThey slaughter'd only beasts, now men.For then to sacrifice a bullock,Or now and then a child to Moloch,They count a vile abomination,But not to slaughter a whole nation.Presbytery does but translateThe Papacy to a free state;A commonwealth of Popery,Where ev'ry village is a SeeAs well as Rome, and must maintainA 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;More haughty and severe in's place,Than GREGORY or BONIFACE.Such Church must (surely) be a monsterWith many heads: for if we consterWhat in th' Apocalypse we find,According to th' Apostle's mind,'Tis that the Whore of BabylonWith many heads did ride upon;Which heads denote the sinful tribeOf Deacon, Priest, Lay-Elder, Scribe.

Lay-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;Cleric before, and lay behind;A lawless linsie-woolsie brother,Half of one order, half another;A creature of amphibious nature;On land a beast, a fish in water;That 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 SaintIdolatrous or ignorant,When superciliously he siftsThrough coarsest boulter others' gifts;For all men live and judge amiss,Whose talents jump not just with his.He'll lay on gifts with hands, and placeOn dullest noddle Light and Grace,The manufacture of the Kirk.Those pastors are but th' handy-workOf his mechanic paws, instillingDivinity in them by feeling;From whence they start up Chosen Vessels,Made by contact, as men get meazles.So Cardinals, they say, do gropeAt th' other end the new-made Pope.

Hold, 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 makeAre 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.I'll force you, by right ratiocination,To leave your vitilitigation,And make you keep to th' question close,And argue dialecticos.

The question then, to state it first,Is, 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.If so, not worst; for if th' are idemWhy then, tantundem dat tantidem.For if they are the same, by course,Neither is better, neither worse.But I deny they are the same,More than a maggot and I am.That both are animaliaI grant, but not rationalia:For though they do agree in kind,Specific difference we find;And 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;Whats'ver assembly's not impow'r'dTo censure, curse, absolve, and ordain,Can be no Synod: but bear-gardenHas no such pow'r; ergo, 'tis none:And so thy sophistry's o'erthrown.

But 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,Is 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;Or 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 bears a savage beast, of allMost ugly and unnaturalWhelp'd without form, until the damHas lick'd it into shape and frame:But all thy light can ne'er evict,That ever Synod-man was lick'd;Or brought to any other fashion,Than his own will and inclination.But thou dost further yet in thisOppugn thyself and sense; that is,Thou would'st have Presbyters to goFor bears and dogs, and bearwards too;A strange chimera of beasts and men,Made up of pieces heterogene;Such as in nature never metIn eodem subjecto yet.Thy other arguments are allSupposures, hypothetical,That do but beg, and we may choseEither to grant them, or refuse.Much thou hast said, which I know whenAnd 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,And tore a handful of my beard:The self-same cavils then I heard,When, b'ing in hot dispute aboutThis controversy, we fell outAnd what thou know'st I answer'd then,Will 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;A trade of knowledge, as repleteAs 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,Like little DAVID in SAUL's doublet;A cheat that scholars put uponOther mens' reason and their own;A fort of error, to ensconceAbsurdity and ignorance,That renders all the avenuesTo truth impervious and abstruse,By making plain things, in debate,By art, perplex'd, and intricateFor nothing goes for sense or lightThat 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.For as, in sword-and-buckler fight,All blows do on the target light;So when men argue, the great'st partO' th' contests falls on terms of art,Until the fustian stuff be spent,And 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,But to the former oppositeAnd contrary as black to white;Mere disparata; that concerningPresbytery; this, human learning;Two things s'averse, they never yetBut in thy rambling fancy met.But I shall take a fit occasionT' evince thee by ratiocination,Some other time, in place more properThan this we're in; therefore let's stop here,And rest our weary'd bones a-while,Already tir'd with other toil.