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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 the amazed rout
Turn'd tail again, and straight begun,
As if the devil drove, to run.
Meanwhile they approach'd the place where Bruin
Was now engag’d to mortal ruin.
The conqu’ring foe they soon assail'd,
First Trulla stay'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 pullid on th' other side,
Like scriv'ner 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 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 hung
Upon a bough, to ease bis pain
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 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'd
So basely by a multitude,
Not to atiempt to fetch him off.
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:
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 the other mongrel 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; 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
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.
So let them be, as I was saying,
They their live engines ply’d, not staying
Until they reach'd the fatal champain
Which th' enemy did then encamp on;
The dire Pharsalian plain, where battle
Was to be wag'd 'twixt puissant cattle,
And fierce auxiliary men,
That came to aid their bretheren;
Who now began to take the field,
As knight from ridge of steed beheld.
For as our modern wits behold,
Mounted a pick-back on the old,
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
All postures of the enemy:
Wherefore he bids the squire ride further,
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,
To fit himself for martial deed :
Both kinds of metal he prepar'd,
Either to give blows or to ward;
Courage and steel, both of great force,
Prepar'd for better or for worse.
His death-charg'd pistols he did fit well,
Drawn out from life-preserving vittle.
These being prim’d, with force he labour'd
To free's sword from retentive scabbard;
And, after many a painful pluck,
From rusty durance he bail'd tuck:
Then shook himself, to see that prowess
In scabbard of his arms sat loose ;
And, rais'd upon his desp'rate foot,
On stirrup-side he gaz'd about,
Portending blood, like blazing star,
The beacon of approaching war.
Ralpho rode on with no less speed
Than Hugo in the forest did,
But far more in returning made;
For now the foe he had survey'd,
Rang'd, as to him they did appear,
With van, main-battle, wings and rear.
l'th' head of all this warlike rabble,
Crowdero march'd, expert and able.
Instead of trumpet and of drum,
That makes the warrior's stomach come,
Whose noise whets valour sharp, like beer
By thunder turn'd to vinegar,
(For if a trumpet sound, or drum beat, Suppose they did, no matter how;
Who has not a month's mind to combat?)
A squeaking engine he apply'd
Unto his neck, on north-east side,
Just where the hangman does dispose,
To special friends, the knot of noose :
For 'tis great grace, when statesmen straight
Dispatch a friend, let others wait.
His warped ear hung o'er the strings,
Which was but souse to chitterlings:
For guts, some write, ere they are sodden,
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,
And ev'ry man ate up his saddle;
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
As stout as any upon earth is.
Talgol and Orsin oft had been,
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,
Never got aught of him but blows ;
Yet Talgol was of courage stout,
B’ing prudently apply'd to it,
Thus virtuous Orsin was endu'd
As Joan of France, or English Mall:
Through perils both of wind and limb,
Through thick and thin she followed him
In ev'ry adventure h' undertook,
And never him or it forsook:
At breach of wall, or hedge surprise,
She shar'd i'th' hazard and the prize;
At beating quarters up, or forage,
And laid about in fight more busily
Than th’ Amazonian dame Penthesile.
And though some critics here cry shame,
And say our authors are to blame,
That (spight of all philosophers
Who hold no females stout but bears,
And heretofore did so abhor
That women should pretend to war,
They would not suffer the stout'st dame
To swear by Hercules's name)
Make feeble ladies, in their works,
To fight like termagants and Turks;
To lay their native arms aside,
Their modesty, and ride astride;
To run atilt at men, and wield
Their naked tools in open field;
As stout Armida, bold Tbalestris,
And she that would have been the mistress
Of Gondibert, but he had grace,
And rather took a country lass;
They say 'tis false without all sense,
But of pernicious consequence
To government, which they suppose
Can never be upheld in Piree;
Strip Nature naked to the skin,
You'll find about her no such thing.
It may be so, yet what we tell
Shall be depos'd by those have seen 't,
Or, what's as good, produc'd in print;
And if they will not take our word,
We'll prove it true upon record.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE RIDING.
At this the Knight grew high in chafe,
And, staring furiously on Ralph,
He trembled, and look'd pale with ire,
Like ashes first, then red as fire.
Have I (quoth he) been ta'en in fight,
And for so many moons lain by 't,
And when all other ineans did fail,
Have been exchang’d for tubs of ale?
Not but they thought me worth a ransom
Much more consid'rable and handsome,
But for their own sakes, and for fear
They were not safe when I was there;
Now to be baffled by a scoundrel,
An upstart sect'ry, and a mongrel,
Such as breed out of peccant humours
Th' one half would thrust, the other strike;
He scorn'd to turn his parts behind.
He Trulla lovd; Trulla, more bright