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.

Ned Perry, an hostler.

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.