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BRUIN A

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Quarter he scorns, he is so stout,
That he resolvid, rather than yield,

And therefore cannot long hold out.
To die with honour in the field,

This said, they wav'd their weapons round
And sell his hide and carcass at

About their heads to clear the ground,
A price as high and desperate
As e'er he could. This resolution

And joining forces, laid about
He forthwith put in execution,

So fiercely, that the amazed rout
mile,
And bravely threw himself among

Turn'd tail again, and straight begun,
The enemy, i' th' greatest throng;

As if the devil drove, to run.
But what cou'd single valour do

Meanwhile they approach'd the place where Bruin
Against so numerous a foe?

Was now engag’d to mortal ruin.
Yet much he did, indeed too much

The conqu’ring foe they soon assail'd,
To be believ'd where th' odds were such ;

First Trulla stay'd and Cerdon tail'd,
But one against a mulutude,

Until their Mastiffs loos’d their hold:
Is more than mortal can make good:

And yet, alas! do what they could,
For while one party he oppos'd,

The worsted Bear came off with store
His rear was suddenly enclos'd,

Of bloody wounds, but all before:
And no room left him for retreat,

For as Achilles, dipt in pond,
Or fight against a foe so great.

Was anabaptiz'd free from wound,
For now the mastiffs charging home,

Made proof against dead-doing steel
To blows and handy-gripes were come z

All over, but the Pagan heel ;
While manfully himself he bore,

So did our champion's arms defend
And setting his right foot before,

All of him but the other end,
He rais'd himself to shew how tall

His head and ears, which in the martial
His person was above them all.

Encounter lost a leathern parcel ;
This equal shame and envy stirr'd

For as an Austrian archduke once
In th' enemy, that one should beard

Had one ear (which in ducatoons
So many warriors, and so stout,

Is half the coin) in battle par'd
As he had done, and stay'd it out,

Close to his head, so Bruin far'd;
Disdaining to lay down his arms,

But tugg'd and pullid on th' other side,
And yield on honourable terms,

Like scriv'ner newly crucify’d:
Enraged thus, some in the rear

Or like the late corrected leathern
Attack'd him, and some ev'ry where,

Ears of the circumcised brethren.
Till down he fell; yet falling fought,

But gentle Trulla into th' ring
And being down, still laid about;

He wore in's nose convey'd a string,
As Widdrington in doleful dumps

With which she march'd before, and led
is said to fight upon his stumps.

The warrior to a grassy bed,
But all, alas ! had been in vain,

As authors write in a cool shade,
And he inevitably slain,

Which eglantine and roses made ;
If Trulla and Cerdon in the nick

Close by a softly murm’ring stream,
To rescue him had not been quick:

Where lovers us'd to loll and dream;
For Trulla, who was light of foot,

There leaving him to his repose,
As shafts which long field Parthians shoot,

Secured from pursuit of foes,
(But not so light as to be borne

And wanting nothing but a song,
Upon the ears of standing curn,

And a well-tun'd theorbo hung
Or trip it o'er the water quicker

Upon a bough, to ease bis pain
Than witches, when their staves they liquor, His tugg'd ears suffer'd with a strain,
As some report) was got among

They both drew up, to march in quest
The foremost of the martial throng;

Of his great leader and the rest.
There pitying the vanquish'd Bear,

For Orsin (who was more renown'd
She call’d to Cerdon, who stood near,

For stout maintaining of his ground,

In standing fight, than for pursuit,
Viewing the bloody fight; to whom,

As being not so quick of foot)
Shall we (quoth she) stand still hum drum,

Was not long able to keep pace
And see stout Bruin, all alone,

With others that pursu'd the chace,
By numbers basely overthrown ?

But found himself left far behind,
Such feats already he 'as achiev'd,

Both out of heart and out of wind
In story not to be believ'd,

Griev'd to behold his Bear pursu'd
And 't would to us be shame enough

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 ;

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Not to atiempt to fetch him off.
I wonld (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 ;

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Forcing the vallies to repeat

Whom furious Orsin thus bespoke: The accents of his sad regret;

Shall we (quoth he) thus basely brook He beat his breast, and tore his hair,

The vile affront that paltry ass, For loss of his dear crony Bear,

And feeble scoundrel, Hudibras, That Echo, from the hollow ground,

With that more paltry ragamuffin, His doleful wailings did resound,

Ralpho, with vapouring and huffing, More wistfully, by many times,

Have put upon us, like tame cattle, Than in small poets splay foot rhymes,

As if th' had routed us in battle ? That make her, in their ruthful stories,

For my part, it shall ne'er be said To answer to int'rrogatories,

I for the washing gave my head: And most unconscionably depose

Nor did I turn my back for fear To things of which she nothing knows;

O'th' rascals, but loss of my Bear, And when she has said all she can say,

Which now I'm like to undergo; 'Tis wrested to the lover's fancy,

For whether these fell wounds, or no, Quoth he, O whither, wicked Bruin,

He has receiv'd in fight, are mortal, Art thou fled ? to my-Echo, Ruin.

Is more than all my skill can foretel; I thought th' hadst scorned to budge a step

Nor do I know what is become For fear. Quoth Echo, Marry guep.

Of him, more than the Pope of Rome. Am not I here to take thy part?

But if I can but find them out Then what has quail'd thy stubborn heart?

That caus'd it (as I shall no doubt,

Where'er they in hugger-mugger lurk) Have these bones rattled and this head

l'll make them rue their handywork, So often in thy quarrel bled? Nor did I ever winch or grudge it

And wish that they had rather dar'd For thy dear sake. Quoth she, Mum, budget. To pull the devil by the beard. Think'st thou t'will not be laid i'th' dish

Quoth Cerdon, Noble Orsin, th' hast Thou turn'd’st thy back? Quoth Echo, Pish.

Great reason to do as thou say'st, To run from those th' hadst overcome

And so has ev'ry body here,

As well as thou hast, or thy Bear:
Thus cowardly? Quoth Echo, Mum.

Others may do as they see good;
But what a vengeance makes thee fly
From me too, as thine enemy?

But if this twig be made of wood

That will hold tack, I'll make the fur
Or, if thou hast no thought of me,
Nor what I have endur'd for thee,

Fly 'bout the ears of that old cur,

And the other mongrel vermin, Ralph,
Yet shame and honour might prevail

That brav'd us all in his behalf.
To keep thee thus from turning tail:
For who would grutch to spend his blood in

Thy Bear is safe, and out of peril,
His honour's cause ? Quoth she, a Puddin.

Though lugg'd indeed, and wounded very ill; This said, his grief to anger turn'd,

Myself and Trulla made a shift Which in his manly stomach burn'd;

To help him out at a dead lift; Thirst of revenge, and wrath, in place

And having brought him bravely off, Of sorrow now began to blaze.

Have left him where he's safe enough: He vow'd the authors of his wo

There let him rest; for if we stay, Should equal vengeance undergo,

The slaves may hap to get away. And with their bones and flesh pay dear

This said, they all engag'd to join For what he suffer'd, and his Bear.

Their forces in the same design, This being resolv'd, with equal speed

And forthwith put themselves in search And rage he hasted to proceed

Of Hudibras upon their march: To action straight, and giving o'er

Where leave we them awhile, to tell To search for Bruin any more,

What the victorious Knight befel ; He went in quest of Hudibras,

For such, Crowdero being fast To find him out where'er he was ;

In dungeon shut, we left him last. And, if he were above ground, vow'd,

Triumphant laurels seem'd to grow He'd ferret him, lurk where he wou'd.

No where so green as on his brow. But scarce had he a furlong on

Laden with which, as well as tir'd This resolute adventure gone,

With conqu’ring toil, he now retir'd When he encounter’d with that crew

Unto a neighb'ring castle by, Whom Hudibras did late subdue.

To rest his body, and apply

Fit med'cines to each glorious bruise
Honour, revenge, contempt, and shame,
Did equally their breasts inflame.

He got in fight, reds, blacks, and blues ; 'Mong these the fierce Magnano was

To mollify th' uneasy pang And Talgol, foe to Hudibras ;

Of ev'ry honourable bang, Cerdon and Colon, warriors stout,

Which being by skilful midwife drest, And resolute, as ever fought;

He laid him down to take his rest.

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So let them be, as I was saying,
HUDIBRAS'S HEROES.

They their live engines ply’d, not staying
There was an ancient sage philosopher

Until they reach'd the fatal champain
That had read Alexander Ross over,

Which th' enemy did then encamp on;
And swore the world, as he could prove,

The dire Pharsalian plain, where battle
Was made of fighting and of love.

Was to be wag'd 'twixt puissant cattle,
Just so romances are, for what else
Is in them all but love and battles ?

And fierce auxiliary men,
: O' th' first of these w' have no great matter

That came to aid their bretheren;
To treat of, but a world o' th' latter,

Who now began to take the field,
In which to do the injur'd right,

As knight from ridge of steed beheld.
We mean in what concerns just fight:

For as our modern wits behold,
Certes, our authors are to blame,

Mounted a pick-back on the old,
For to make some well-sounding name

Much farther off, much farther he, 10, A pattern fit for modern knights

Rais'd on his aged beast, could see; l, To copy out in frays and fights,

Yet not sufficient to descry
(Like those that a whole street do raze

All postures of the enemy:
To build a palace in the place)

Wherefore he bids the squire ride further,
They never care how many others

T" observe their numbers and their order, They kill, without regard of mothers,

That when their motions he had known, Or wives, or children, so they can

He might know how to fit his own, rk) Make up some fierce dead-doing man,

Meanwhile he stopp'd his willing steed,
Compos'd of many ingredient valours,

To fit himself for martial deed :
Just like the manhood of nine tailors :

Both kinds of metal he prepar'd,
So a wild Tartar, when he spies

Either to give blows or to ward;
A man that's handsome, valiant, wise,

Courage and steel, both of great force,
If he can kill him, thinks t' inherit

Prepar'd for better or for worse.
His wit, his beauty, and his spirit;

His death-charg'd pistols he did fit well,
As if just so much he enjoy'd,

Drawn out from life-preserving vittle.
As in another is destroyed.

These being prim’d, with force he labour'd
For when a giant's slain in fight,

To free's sword from retentive scabbard;
And mow'd o'erthwart, or cleft downright;

And, after many a painful pluck,
It is a heavy case, no doubt,

From rusty durance he bail'd tuck:
A man should have his brains beat out,

Then shook himself, to see that prowess
Because he's tall, and has large bones,

In scabbard of his arms sat loose ;
As men kill beavers for their stones.

And, rais'd upon his desp'rate foot,
Kery ill
But as for our part, we shall tell

On stirrup-side he gaz'd about,
The naked truth of what befel,

Portending blood, like blazing star,
And as an equal friend to both

The beacon of approaching war.
The Knight and Bear, but more to Troth,

Ralpho rode on with no less speed
With neither faction shall take part,

Than Hugo in the forest did,
But give to each his due desert,

But far more in returning made;
And never coio a formal lie on't,

For now the foe he had survey'd,
To make the knight o'ercome the giant.

Rang'd, as to him they did appear,
This being profest, we've hopes enough,

With van, main-battle, wings and rear.
And now go on where we left off.

l'th' head of all this warlike rabble,
They rode, but authors having not

Crowdero march'd, expert and able.
Determind whether pace or trot,

Instead of trumpet and of drum,
(That is to say, whether tollutation,

That makes the warrior's stomach come,

Whose noise whets valour sharp, like beer
As they do term 't, or succussation)

By thunder turn'd to vinegar,
We leave it, and go on, as now

(For if a trumpet sound, or drum beat, Suppose they did, no matter how;

Who has not a month's mind to combat?)
Yet some, from subtle hints, have got

A squeaking engine he apply'd
Mysterious light it was a trot:

Unto his neck, on north-east side,
But let that pass; they now begun

Just where the hangman does dispose,
To spur their living engines on,

To special friends, the knot of noose :
For as whipp'd tops and bandy'd balls,

For 'tis great grace, when statesmen straight
The learned hold, are animals;

Dispatch a friend, let others wait.
So horses they affirm to be

His warped ear hung o'er the strings,
Mere engines made by geometry,

Which was but souse to chitterlings:
And were invented first from engines,

For guts, some write, ere they are sodden,
As Indian Britons were from Penguins.

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Are fit for music or for pudden;

A skilful leech is better far From whence men borrow ev'ry kind

Than half a hundred men of war; Of minstrelsy by string or wind.

So he appear'd, and by his skill, His grisly beard was long and thick,

No less than dint of sword, cou'd kill. With which he strung his fiddlestick;

The gallant Bruin march'd next him, For he to horse-tail scorn’d to owe

With visage formidably grim, For what on his own chin did grow.

And rugged as a Saracen, Chiron, the four-legg'd bard, had both

Or Turk of Mahomet's own kin, A beard and tail of his own growth;

Clad in a mantle della guerre And yet by authors 'tis averr’d,

Of rough impenetrable fur; He made use only of his beard.

And in his nose, like Indian king, In Staffordshire, where virtuous worth

He wore, for ornament, a ring; Does raise the minstrelsy, not birth,

About his neck a threefold gorget, Where bulls do choose the boldest king

As rough as trebled leathern target; And ruler o'er the men of string,

Armed, as heralds, cant and langued, (As once in Persia, 'tis said,

Or, as the vulgar say, sharp-fanged: Kings were proclaim'd by a horse that neigh'd)

For as the teeth in beasts of prey He, bravely vent'ring at a crown,

Are swords with which they fight in fray, By chance of war was beaten down,

So swords, in men of war, are teeth And wounded sore: his leg, then broke,

Which they do eat their victual with. Had got a deputy of oak;

He was by birth, some authors write, For when a shin in fight is cropt,

A Russian, some a Muscovite, The knee with one of timber's propt,

And ’mong the Cossacs had been bred, Esteem'd more honourable than the other,

Of whom we in diurnals read, And takes place, though the younger brother. That serve to fill up pages here, Next march'd brave Orsin, famous for

As with their bodies ditches there. Wise conduct, and success in war;

Scrimansky was his cousin-german, A skilful leader, stout, severe,

With whom he serv'd, and fed on vermin; Now Marshal to the champion Bear.

And when these fail'd, he'd suck his claws, With truncheon tipp'd with iron head,

And quarter himself upon his paws; The warrior to the lists he led,

And though his countrymen, the Huns, With solemn march, and stately pace,

Did stew their meat between their bums But far more grave and solemn face;

And th' horses' backs o'er which they straddle,
Grave as the

emperor
of Pegui,

And ev'ry man ate up his saddle;
Or Spanish potentate, Don Diego.

He was not half so nice as they, This leader was of knowledge great,

But ate it raw when 't came in 's way. Either for charge or for retreat:

He'd trac'd the countries far and near, He knew when to fall on pellmell,

More than Le Blanc the traveller, To fall back and retreat as well.

Who writes, he spous'd in India, Learn'd he was in med'cinal lore,

Of noble house, a lady gay, For by his side a pouch he wore,

And got on her a race of worthies
Replete with strange hermetic powder,

As stout as any upon earth is.
That wounds nine miles point-blank wou'd solder; Full many a fight for him between
By skilful chemist, with great cost,

Talgol and Orsin oft had been,
Extracted from a rotten post;

Each striving to deserve the crown But of a heav'nlier influence

Of a sav'd citizen ; the one Than that which mountebanks dispense;

To guard his Bear, the other fought Though by Promethean fire made,

To aid his Dog; both made more stout As they do quack that drive that trade,

By sev'ral spurs of neighbourhood, For as when slovens do amiss

Church-fellow-membership, and blood; At other doors, by stool or piss,

But Talgol, mortal foe to cows,
The learned write, a redhot spit

Never got aught of him but blows ;
Blows hard and heavy, such as he
Had lent, repaid with usury.

Yet Talgol was of courage stout,
And vanquish'd oft'ner than he fought;
Inur'd to labour, sweat, and toil,
And, like a champion, shone with oil:
Right many a widow his keen blade,
And many fatherless, had made;
He many a boar and huge dun cow

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B’ing prudently apply'd to it,
Will convey mischief from the dung
Unto the part that did the wrong;
So this did healing, and as sure
As that did mischief, this would cure.

Thus virtuous Orsin was endu'd
With learning, conduct, fortitude,
Incomparable; and as the prince
Of poets, Homer, sung long since,

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BUTLL.

BUTLER.)

As Joan of France, or English Mall:
Did, like another Guy, o'erthrow;

Through perils both of wind and limb,
But Guy with him in fight compar’d,

Through thick and thin she followed him
Had like the boar or dun cow far'd:

In ev'ry adventure h' undertook,
With greater troops of sheep h’ had fought

And never him or it forsook:
Than Ajax, or bold Don Quixote;

At breach of wall, or hedge surprise,
And many a serpent of fell kind,
With wings before and stings behind,

She shar'd i'th' hazard and the prize;
Subdu'd, as poets say, long agone

At beating quarters up, or forage,
Bold Sir George, Saint George, did the Dragon. Behav'd herself with matchless courage,
Nor engine, nor device polemic,

And laid about in fight more busily
Disease, nor doctor epidemic,

Than th’ Amazonian dame Penthesile.
Thougla stor'd with deletery med cines,

And though some critics here cry shame,
(Which whosoever took is dead since)

And say our authors are to blame,
E'er sent so vast a colony

That (spight of all philosophers
To both the under worlds as he;

Who hold no females stout but bears,
For he was of that noble trade

And heretofore did so abhor
That demi-gods and heroes made,

That women should pretend to war,
Slaughter, and knocking on the head,

They would not suffer the stout'st dame
The trade to which they all were bred :

To swear by Hercules's name)
And is, like others, glorious when

Make feeble ladies, in their works,
'Tis great and large, but base, if mean:

To fight like termagants and Turks;
The former rides in triumph for it,

To lay their native arms aside,
The latter in a two-wheel'd chariot,

Their modesty, and ride astride;
For daring to profane a thing

To run atilt at men, and wield
So sacred with vile bungling.

Their naked tools in open field;
Next these the brave Magnano came,

As stout Armida, bold Tbalestris,
Magnano, great in martial fame;

And she that would have been the mistress
Yet when with Orsin he wag'd fight,

Of Gondibert, but he had grace,
'Tis sung he got but little by 't;

And rather took a country lass;
Yet he was fierce as forest boar,

They say 'tis false without all sense,
Whose spoils upon his back he wore,

But of pernicious consequence
As thick as Ajax' sevenfold shield,

To government, which they suppose
Which o'er his brazen arms he held;

Can never be upheld in Piree;
But brass was feeble to resist

Strip Nature naked to the skin,
The fury of his armed fist ;

You'll find about her no such thing.
Nor could the hardest iron hold out

It may be so, yet what we tell
Against his blows, but they would through 't. Of Trulla that's improbable
In magic he was deeply read,

Shall be depos'd by those have seen 't,
As he that made the brazen-head;

Or, what's as good, produc'd in print;
Profoundly skill'd in the black art,

And if they will not take our word,
As English Merlin for his heart;

We'll prove it true upon record.
But far more skilful in the spheres,
Than he was at the sieve and shears.
He could transform himself in colour,

THE ADVENTURE OF THE RIDING.
As like the Devil is the collier;

At this the Knight grew high in chafe,
As like the hypocrites, in shew,

And, staring furiously on Ralph,
Are to true saints, or crow to crow.

He trembled, and look'd pale with ire,
Of warlike engines he was author,

Like ashes first, then red as fire.
Devis’d for quick dispatch of slaughter:

Have I (quoth he) been ta'en in fight,

And for so many moons lain by 't,
The cannon, blunderbuss, and saker,

And when all other ineans did fail,
He was th' inventor of, and maker:

Have been exchang’d for tubs of ale?
The trumpet and the kettle-drum

Not but they thought me worth a ransom
Did both from his invention come:

Much more consid'rable and handsome,
He was the first that e'er did teach

But for their own sakes, and for fear
To make, and how to stop a breach.

They were not safe when I was there;
A lance he bore with iron pike,

Now to be baffled by a scoundrel,

An upstart sect'ry, and a mongrel,
And when their forces he had join'd,

Such as breed out of peccant humours
Of our own church, like wens or tumours,
And, like a maggot in a sore,
Wou'd that which gave it life devour;

=ddle

Th' one half would thrust, the other strike;

He scorn'd to turn his parts behind.

He Trulla lovd; Trulla, more bright
Than burnish'd armour of her knight;
A bold virago, stout and tall,

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