Ralpho dispatch'd with speedy haste,
And having ty'd Crowdero fast,
He gave sir Knight the end of cord,
To lead the captive of his sword

In triumph, whilst the steeds he caught,
And them to further service brought.
The squire, in state, rode on before,
And on his nut-brown whinyard bore
The trophee-fiddle and the case,
Leaning on shoulder like a mace.
The knight himself did after ride,
Leading Crowdero by his side;
And tow'd him, if he lagg'd behind,
Like boat, against the tide and wind.
Thus grave and solemn they march on,
Until quite through the town they 'ad gone;
At further end of which there stands
An ancient castle, that commands
Th' adjacent parts; in all the fabric
You shall not see one stone, nor a brick,
But all of wood, by powerful spell
Of magic made impregnable:
There's neither iron-bar nor gate,
Portcullis, chain, nor bolt, nor grate,
And yet men durance there abide,
In dungeon scarce three inches wide;
With roof so low, that under it
They never stand, but lie or sit;
And yet so foul, that whoso is in,
Is to the middle-leg in prison;
In circle magical confin'd,

With walls of subtle air and wind,
Which none are able to break thorough,
Until they're freed by head of borough.
Thither arriv'd, th' adventurous knight
And bold squire from their steeds alight
At th' outward wall, near which there stands
A Bastile, built t' imprison hands;
By strange enchantment made to fetter
The lesser parts, and free the greater:
For though the body may creep through,
The hands in grate are fast enough:
And when a circle 'bout the wrist

Is made by beadle exorcist,

The body feels the spur and switch,

As if 't were ridden post by witch,

At twenty miles an hour pace,
And yet ne'er stirs out of the place.
On top of this there is a spire,
On which sir Knight first bids the squire
The fiddle, and its spoils, the case,
In manner of a trophee place.
That done, they ope the trap-door gate,
And let Crowdero down thereat,
Crowdero making doleful face,
Like hermit poor in pensive place,
To dungeon they the wretch 'commit,
And the survivor of his feet;

But th' other, that had broke the peace,
And head of knighthood, they release,
Though a delinquent false and forged,
Yet being a stranger, he's enlarged,
While his comrade, that did no hurt,
Is clapp'd up fast in prison for't:
So Justice, while she winks at crimes,
Stumbles on innocence sometimes.

Plac'd on his shoulder. Editions 1674, 1684, 1689, 1700. Leaning on shoulder, restored 1704.

PART I. CANTO III.

THE ARGUMENT.

The scatter'd rout return and rally,
Surround the place; the knight does sally,
And is made prisoner: then they seize
Th' enchanted fort by storm, release
Crowdero, and put the squire in 's place;
I should have first said Hudibras.

Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!
What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps
Do dog him still with after-claps!
For though dame Fortune seem to smile,
And leer upon him, for a while,
She'll after show him, in the nick
Of 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 he 'ad won
The field, as certain as a gun,
And having routed the whole troop,
With victory was cock-a-hoop,

Thinking he 'ad done enough to purchase
Thanksgiving-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 turnstile is more certain
Than, 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 fear,
From bloody fray of knight and bear,
(All but the dogs, who in pursuit
Of the knight's victory stood to 't,
And most ignobly fought to get
The honour of his blood and sweat)
Seeing the coast was free and clear
O' the 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 great
For 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 haste
Fac'd the proud foe, and fled, and fac'd,
Retiring still, until he found

He 'ad got th' advantage of the ground,
And then as val'antly made head
To check the foe, and forthwith fled,
Leaving no art untry'd, nor trick
Of warrior stout and politic,
Until, in spite of hot pursuit,
He gain'd a pass, to hold dispute
On better terms, and stop the course
Of the proud foe. With all his force
He bravely charg'd, and for a while
Fore'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 carcass at
A price as high and desperate
As e'er he could. This resolution
He forthwith put in execution,
And bravely threw himself among
The enemy, i' th' greatest throng;
But what could single valour do,
Against so numerous a foe?

Yet much he did, indeed too much

To be believ'd, where th' odds were such;
But one against a multitude,

Is more than mortal can make good:
For while one party he oppos'd,
His rear was suddenly enclos'd,
And no room left him for retreat,
Or fight, against a foe so great.
For now the mastiffs, charging home,
To blows and handy-gripes were come;
While manfully himself he bore,
And, setting his right foot before,
He rais'd himself to show how tall
His person was above them all.
This equal shame and envy stirr'd
In th' enemy, that one should beard
So 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 rear
Attack'd him, and some every where,
Till down he fell; yet falling fought,
And, being down, still laid about;
As Widdrington, in doleful dumps,
Is said to fight 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 foot,

As shafts which long-field Parthians shoot,
(But not so light as to be borne
Upon the ears of standing corn,
Or trip it o'er the water quicker

Than witches, when their staves they liquor,
As some report) was got among
The 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 he 'as achiev'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 limb
To 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 round
About their heads to clear the ground,

And joining forces, laid about

So fiercely, that th' amazed rout
Turn'd tail again, and straight begun,

As if the Devil drove, to run.

Meanwhile th' approach'd the place where Bruin
Was now engag'd to mortal ruin :

The conquering foe they soon assail'd,
First Trulla stav'd, and Cerdon tail'd,
Until their mastiffs loos'd their hold:
And yet, alas! do what they could,
The worsted bear came off with store
Of bloody wounds, but all before:
For as Achilles, dipt in pond,
Was anabaptiz'd free from wound,
Made proof against dead-doing steel
All over, but the pagan heel;

So did our champion's arms defend
All of him but the other end,

His head and ears, which in the martial
Encounter lost a leathern parcel:
For as an Austrian archduke once
Had one ear (which in ducatoons
Is half the coin) in battle par'd
Close to his head, so Bruin far'd;
But tugg'd and pull'd on th' other side,
Like scrivener newly crucify'd:
Or like the late-corrected leathern
Ears of the circumcised brethren.
But gentle Trulla into th' ring

He wore in 's nose convey'd a string,
With which she march'd before, and led
The warrior to a grassy bed,

As authors write, in a cool shade,
Which eglantine and roses made;
Close by a softly murmuring 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 hung
Upon a bough, to ease the pain
His tugg'd ears suffer'd, with a strain
They both drew up, to march in quest
Of his great leader and the rest.

For Orsin (who was more renown'd
For stout maintaining of his ground,
In standing fight, than for pursuit,
As being not so quick of foot)
Was not long able to keep pace
With others that pursued the chase,
But found himself left far behind,
Both out of heart and out of wind;
Griev'd to behold his bear pursued
So 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 as
Stout Hercules for loss of Hylas;
Forcing the vallies to repeat
The accents of his sad regret:
He beat his breast, and tore his hair,
For loss of his dear crony bear,
That Echo, from the hollow ground,
His doleful wailings did resound
More wistfully, by many times,
Than in small poets splay-foot rhymes,
That make her, in their ruthful stories,
To answer to int'rogatories,
And most unconscionably depose
To things of which she nothing knows;

And when she has said all she can say,
'Tis wrested to the lover's fancy.
Quoth he, "O whither, wicked Bruin,
Art thou fled to my"- -Echo, "Ruin."

"I thought thou 'adst scorn'd to budge a step
For fear." Quoth Echo, " Marry guep."
"Am not I here to take thy part?

Then what has quail'd thy stubborn heart?
Have these bones rattled, and this head
So often in thy quarrel bled?

Nor did I ever winch or grudge it

For thy dear sake." Quoth she, "Mum budget."
"Think'st thou 'twill not be laid i' th' dish
Thou turn'st thy back?" Quoth Echo, "Pish."
"To run from those thou 'adst overcome,
Thus cowardly?" Quoth Echo, "Mum."
"But what a vengeance makes thee fly
From 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 prevail
To keep thee thus from turning tail:

For who would grutch to spend his blood in
His 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 place
Of sorrow, now began to blaze.
He vow'd the authors of his woe
Should equal vengeance undergo,
And with their bones and flesh pay dear
For what he suffer'd, and his bear.
This being resolv'd, with equal speed
And rage he hasted to proceed
To action straight; and giving o'er
To search for Bruin any more,
He went in quest of Hudibras,
To find him out where'er he was;
And, if he were above ground, vow'd
He'd ferret him, lurk where he wou'd.
But scarce had he a furlong on
This resolute adventure gone,
When he encounter'd with that crew
Whom 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,
And resolute, as ever fought;
Whom furious Orsin thus bespoke:

"Shall we," quoth he, "thus basely brook
The 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 they had routed us in battle?
For my part, it shall ne'er be said
I for the washing gave my head: •
Nor did I turn my back for fear
O' th' rascals, but loss of my bear,
Which now I'm like to undergo;
For whether these fell wounds, or no,
He has receiv'd in fight, are mortal,
Is more than all my skill can foretel;
Nor do I know what is become

Of him, more than the pope of Rome :
But if I can but find them out
That caus'd it, (as I shall no doubt,
VOL VIII.

Where'er they in hugger-mugger lurk)
I'll make them rue their handy work,
And wish that they had rather dar'd
To pull the Devil by the beard."

Quoth Cerdon, "Noble Orsin, th' hast
Great reason to do as thou say'st,
And so has every body here,

As well as thou hast, or thy bear:
Others may do as they see good;
But if this twig be made of wood,
That will hold tack, I'll make the fur
Fly 'bout the ears of that old cur,
And th' 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 shift
To 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 join
Their forces in the same design,
And forthwith put themselves, in search
Of Hudibras, upon their march:
Where leave we them a while, to tell
What the victorious knight befel;
For such, Crowdero being fast
In dungeon shut, we left him last.
Triumphant laurels seem'd to grow
No where so green as on his brow,
Laden with which, as well as tir'd
With conquering toil, he now retir'd
Unto a neighbouring castle by,
To rest his body, and apply

Fit med'cines to each glorious bruise
He got in fight, reds, blacks, and blues;
To mollify th' uneasy pang
Of every honourable bang,
Which being by skilful midwife drest,
He laid him down to take his rest.

But all in vain: he 'ad got a hurt
O' th' inside, of a deadlier sort,
By Cupid made, who took his stand
Upon a widow's jointure land,
(For he in all his am'rous battles,

No 'dvantage finds like goods and chattles)
Drew home his bow, and, aiming right,
Let fly an arrow at the knight;
The shaft against a rib did glance,
And gall 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 soul
Was burnt in's belly like a coal,
(That belly that so oft did ake,

And suffer griping for her sake,

Till purging comfits and ants' eggs

Had 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 such

As scorn'd and hated her as much

'Twas a strange riddle of a lady:
Not love, if any lov'd her: hey-day!
So cowards never use their might,
But against such as will not fight.
So some diseases have been found
Only to seize upon the sound.

He that gets her by heart, must say her
The back way, like a witch's prayer.
Meanwhile the knight had no small task,
To 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 play
His game, and look another way,
Until he seize upon the coney,
Just so does he by matrimony.
But all in vain; her subtle snout
Did quickly wind his meaning out;
Which she return'd with too much scorn,
To be by man of honour borne;
Yet much he bore, until the distress
He suffer'd from his spiteful mistress
Did stir his stomach, and the pain,
He 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 being put on,

He kept some months, and more had done,
But being brought so nigh by Fate,
The victory he achiev'd so late
Did set his thoughts agog, and ope
A door to discontinued hope,

That seem'd to promise he might win
His dame too, now his hand was in;
And that his valour, and the honour
He 'ad newly gain'd, might work upon her:
These reasons made his mouth to water
With amorous longings to be at her.
Quoth he, unto himself, "Who knows
But this brave conquest o'er my foes
May 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 not he confide to do,
That brings both love and virtue too?
But thou bring'st valour too, and wit,
Two things that seldom fail to hit.
Valour's a mousetrap, wit a gin,
Which women oft are taken in:
Then, Hudibras, why should'st thou fear
To be, that art, a conqueror?
Fortune the audacious doth juvare,
But lets the timidous miscarry:
Then, while the honour thou hast got
Is 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 barn
Sees a mouse creeping in the corn,

Sits still, and shuts his round blue eyes,
As if he slept, until he spies

The little beast within his reach,
Then starts, and seizes on the wretch,
So from his couch the knight did start,
To seize upon the widow's heart,
Crying, with hasty tone, and hoarse,

66

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'd
Up to the fort where he ensconc'd,
And all th' avenues had possest,
About 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 invest
The enemy; and 'twas agreed
By storm and onslaught to proceed.
This being resolv'd, in comely sort
They now drew up t' attack the fort;
When Hudibras, about to enter
Upon another gate's adventure,
To Ralpho call'd aloud to arm,
Not dreaming of approaching storm.
Whether dame Fortune, or the care
Of angel bad, or tutelar,

Did arm, or thrust him on a danger,
To which he was an utter stranger,
That foresight might, or might not, blot
The glory he had newly got,

Or to his shame it might be said,
They took him napping in his bed,
To them we leave it to expound,
That deal in sciences profound.

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,
Surpris'd with th' unexpected sight:
The bruises of his bones and flesh
He 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 appears
As if they had outrun their fears;
The glory we did lately get,
The Fates command us to repeat;
And to their wills we must succomb,
Quocunque trahunt, 'tis our doom.
This is the same numeric crew
Which we so lately did subdue;
The self-same individuals that
Did run, as mice do from a cat,
When we courageously did wield
Our martial weapons in the field,
To tug for victory: and when
We shall our shining blades agen
Brandish in terrour o'er our heads,
They'll straight resume their wonted dreads.
Fear is an ague, that forsakes

And haunts, by fits, those whom it takes;
And they'll opine they feel the pain
And blows they felt to-day again.
Then let us boldly charge them home,
And make no doubt to overcome."