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His knowledge was not far behind
He Anthroposophus and Floud, The Knight's, but of another kind,
And Jacob Behmen understood; And he another way came by 't:
Knew many an amulet and charm, Some call it Gifts, and some New-light ;
That would do neither good nor harm; A lib'ral art, that costs no pains
In Rosycrucian lore as learned, Of study, industry, or brains.
As he that Verè adeptus earned : His wit was sent him for a token,
He understood the speech of birds But in the carriage crack'd and broken ;
As well as they themselves do words! Like commendation ninepence crookt
Could tell what subtlest parrots mean With-To and from my love-it lookt.
That speak and think contrary clean: He ne'er consider'd it, as loth
What member ʼtis of whom they talk To look a gift-horse in the mouth,
When they cry Rope, and Walk, Knave, walk. And very wisely would lay forth
He'd extract numbers out of matter, No more upon it than 'twas worth ;
And keep them in a glass, like water, But as he got it freely, so
Of sov’reign power to make men wise; He spent it frank and freely too :
For, dropt in blear thick-sighted eyes, For saints themselves will sometimes be
They'd make them see in darkest night, Of gifts that cost them nothing, free.
Like owls, though purblind in the light. By means of this, with hem and cough,
By help of these (as he profest) Prolongers to enlighten'd stuff,
He had First Matter seen undrest ; He could deep mysteries unriddle,
He took her naked, all alone, As easily as thread a needle;
Before one rag of form was on. For as of vagabonds we say,
The Chaos, too, he had descry'd, That they are ne'er beside their way,
And seen quite through, or else he ly'd; Whate'er men speak by this new-light,
Not that of pasteboard, which men shew Still they are sure to be i'th' right.
For groats, at fair of Barthol'mew; 'Tis a dark lantern of the Spirit,
But its great grandsire, first o'th' name, Which none see by but those that bear it;
Whence that and Reformation came, A light that falls down from on high,
Both cousin-germans, and right able For spiritual trades to cozen by;
Tinveigle and draw in the rabble; An ignis fatuus, that bewitches,
But Reformation was, some say, And leads men into pools and ditches,
O'th' younger house to puppet-play. To make them dip themselves, and sound
He could foretel whats'ever was For Christendom in dirty pond;
By consequence to come to pass : To dive, like wild fowl, for salvation,
As death of great men, alterations, And fish to catch regeneration.
Diseases, battles, inundations : This light inspires and plays upon
All this without th' eclipse of th' sun, The nose of saint, like bagpipe drone,
Or dreadful comet, he hath done And speaks through hollow empty soul,
By inward light, a way as good, As through a trunk, or whisp’ring hole,
And easy to be understood : Such language as no mortal ear
But with more lucky hit than those But spiritual eaves-droppers can hear;
That use to make the stars depose, So Phæbus, or some friendly muse,
Like Knights o' th' Post, and falsely charge Into small poets song infuse,
Upon themselves what others forge ; Which they at second-hand rehearse,
As if they were consenting to Through reed or bagpipe, verse for verse.
All mischiefs in the world men do; Thus Ralph became infallible
Or, like the devil, did tempt and sway 'em As three or four-legg'd oracle,
To rogueries, and then betray 'em. The ancient cup, or modern chair;
They'll search a planet's house, to know Spoke truth point blank, though unaware.
Who broke and robb’d a house below; For mystic learning, wondrous able
Examine Venus, and the Moon, In magic, talisman, and cabal,
Who stole a thimble or a spoon ; Whose primitive tradition reaches
And though they nothing will confess, As far as Adam's first green breeches ;
Yet by their very looks can guess, Deep-sighted in intelligences,
And tell what guilty aspect bodes, Ideas, atoms, influences;
Who stole, and who receiv'd the goods : And much of Terra Incognita,
They'll question Mars, and, by his look, Th’intelligible world could say ;
Detect who 'twas that nimm'd a cloke ; A deep occult philosopher,
Make Mercury confess, and 'peach As learn'd as the wild Irish are,
Those thieves which he himself did teach. Of Sir Agrippa, for profound
They'll find, in th' physiognomies And solid lying much renown'd;
O'th' planets, all men's destinies:
Like him who took the doctor's bill,
THE BATTLE BETWEEN BRUIN AND And swallow'd it instead o'th' pill,
HIS FOES. Cast th' nativity of th' question,
Ay me! what perils do environ And from positions to be guest on,
The man that meddles with cold iron? As sure as if they knew the moment
What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps Of Native's birth, tell what will come on't.
Do dog him still with after-claps ? They'll feel the pulses of the stars,
For though Dame Fortune seem to smile, To find out agues, coughs, catarrhs ;
And leer upon him for awhile, And tell what crisis does divine
She'll after shew him, in the nick The rot in sheep, or mange in swine ;
Of all his glories, a dog-trick. In men, what gives or cures the itch,
This any man may sing or say What makes them cuckolds, poor or rich ;
l'th' ditty call’d, What if a Day? What gains or loses, hangs or saves !
For Hudibras, who thought he'd won
And having routed the whole troop,
With victory was cock-a-hoop, No more than can the astrologians :
Thinking he'd done enough to purchase There they say right, and like true Trojans.
Thanksgiving-day among the Churches, This Ralpho knew, and therefore took
Wherein his mettle and brave worth The other course, of which we spoke.
Might be explain’d by holder-forth, Thus was th' accomplish'd Squire endued And register'd by fame eternal, With gifts and knowledge per'lous shrewd : In deathless pages of Diurnal, Never did trusty squire with knight,
Found in few minutes, to his cost, Or knight with squire, e'er jump more right. He did but count without his host, Their arms and equipage did fit,
And that a turnstile is more certain As well as virtues, parts, and wit:
Than, in events of war, Dame Fortune. Their valours, too, were of a rate ;
For now the late faint-hearted rout, And out they sally'd at the gate.
O’erthrown and scatter'd round about, Few miles on horseback had they jogged,
Chas'd by the horror of their fear, But Fortune unto them turn'd dogged ;
From bloody fray of Knight and Bear, For they a sad adventure met,
(All but the Dogs, who in pursuit Of which anon we mean to treat :
Of the Knight's victory stood to't, But e'er we venture to unfold
And most ignobly fought to get Achievements so resolv'd and bold,
The honour of his blood and sweat) We should, as learned poets use,
Seeing the coast was free and clear Invoke th' assistance of some Muse,
O'the conquer'd and the conqueror, However critics count it sillier
Took heart again, and fac'd about, Than jugglers talking t'a familiar ;
As if they meant to stand it out: We think 'tis no great matter which,
For by this time the routed Bear, They're all alike, yet we shall pitch
Attack'd by th' enemy i' th' rear, On one that fits our purpose most,
Finding their number grew too great Whom, therefore, thus do we accost :
For him to make a safe retreat, Thou that with ale, or viler liquors,
Like a bold chieftain fac'd about; Didst inspire Withers, Pryn, and Vickars,
Bat wisely doubting to hold out, And force them, though it was in spite
Gave way to fortune, and with haste Of Nature, and their stars, to write ;
Fac'd the proud foe, and fled, and fac'd, Who (as we find in sullen writs,
Retiring still, until he found And cross-grain'd works of modern wits)
He 'ad got the advantage of the ground, With vanity, opinion, want,
And then as valiantly made head The wonder of the ignorant,
To check the foe, and forthwith fled, The praises of the author, penn'd
Leaving no art untry'd, nor trick B' himself, or wit-insuring friend;
Of warrior stout and politic, The itch of picture in the front,
Until, in spite of hot pursuit, With bays and equal rhyme upon 't,
He gain'd a pass, to hold dispute All that is left o'th' Forked Hill
On better terms, and stop the course To make men scribble without skill ;
Of the proud foe. With all his force Canst make a poet, spite of Fate,
He bravely charg'd, and for awhile And teach all people to translate,
Forc'd their whole body to recoil; Though out of languages in which
But still their numbers so increas'd, They understand no part of speech ;
He found himself at length oppress'd, Assist me but this once, I 'mplore,
And all evasions so uncertain, And I shall trouble thee no more.
To save himself for better fortune,
That he resolv’d, rather than yield,
Quarter he scorns, he is so stout, To die with honour in the field,
And therefore cannot long hold out. And sell his hide and carcass at
This said, they wav'd their weapons round A price as high and desperate
About their heads to clear the ground, As e'er he could. This resolution
And joining forces, laid about He forth with put in execution,
So fiercely, that the amazed rout 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 multitude,
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 ;
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 corn,
And a well-tun'd theorbo hung
Upon a bough, to ease his pain
They both drew up, to march in quest
Of his great leader and the rest. There pitying the vanquish'd Bear,
For Orsin (who was more renown'd She callid to Cerdon, who stood near,
For stout maintaining of his ground, Viewing the bloody fight; to whom,
In standing fight, than for pursuit, Shall we (quoth she) stand still hum drum,
As being not so quick of foot) Aad see stout Bruin, all alone,
Was not long able to keep pace By numbers basely overthrown?
With others that pursu'd the chace, Such feats already he 'as achiev'd,
But found himself left far behind, In story not to be believ'd,
Both out of heart and out of wind; And 't would to us be shame enough
Griev'd to behold his Bear pursu'd Not to attempt to fetch him off.
So basely by a multitude, I wonld (quoth he) venture a limb
And like to fall, not by the prowess, To second thee, and rescue him ;
But numbers, of his coward foes. But then we must about it straight,
He rag'd, and kept as heavy a coil as Os else our aid will come too late ;
Stout Hercules for loss of Hylas;
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 ;
To mollify th' uneasy pang 'Mong these the fierce Magnano was 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,