Her gorgon shield, which made the cock
Stand stiff, as 'twere transform'd to stock.
Meanwhile fierce Talgol, gathering might,
With rugged truncheon charged the Knight;
But he with petronel upheaved,
Instead of shield, the blow received:
The gun recoil'd, as well it might,
Not used 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 bruised 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 crusty cudgel did oppose
Itself against dead-doing blows,
To guard his leader from fell bane,
And then revenged 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 valiant'st:
For wood, with honour b'ing engaged,
Is so implacably enraged,

Though iron hew and mangle sore,
Wood wounds and bruises honour more.
And now both knights were out of breath,
Tired in the hot pursuits of death,
Whilst all the rest amazed stood still,
Expecting which should take, or kill.
This Hudibras observed; 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 crabtree 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 vie,
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 clapt 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'd 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 flight escaped the fatal blow,
He rallied, and again fell to't;
For catching foe by nearest 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 preserved 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, ours fared as well
In body, though his mighty spirit,
B'ing 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 raged, and flung about,
To shake off bondage from his snout:
His wrath inflamed, 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 saved
From squelch of Knight, and storm'd and raved,
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 grieved him to the guts that they
For whom he'd fought so many a fray,
And served with loss of blood so long,
Shou'd 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 enlarged,
Through thickest of his foes he charged,
And made way through th' amazed crew;
Some he o'erran, 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 chased;
In haste he fled, and so did they,
Each and his fear a sev'ral 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 strew'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' ancle, 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 revenged 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 't was raised 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 conqu'ring foot upon

His trunk, thus spoke: What desp'rate 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 jail,
To keep from flaying scourge thy skin,
And ankle free from iron gin?

Which now thou shalt-but first our care
Must see how Hudibras does fare.
This said, he gently raised the Knight,
And set him on his bum upright.
To rouse him from lethargic dump,
He tweak'd his nose, with gentle thump

Knock'd on his breast, as if't had been
To raise the spirits lodged within;
They, waken'd with the noise, did fly
From inward room to window eye,
And gently op'ning 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' espoused cause undertake;
And he lies pris'ner at your feet,
To be disposed 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 Outgoings 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 th' 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 'ad their due.
What we take from 'em 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 rouse,
And by degrees grow valorous:
He stared 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 raised too high; this slave does merit
To be the hangman's bus'ness, 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 carcase,
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?

PART II. CANTO II.

Vicarious Justice exemplified by Ralpho in the case of the
Cobbler that killed the Indian.

JUSTICE gives sentence many times
On one man for another's crimes;
Our brethren of New England use
Choice malefactors to excuse,
And hang the guiltless in their stead,
Of whom the churches have less need;
As lately 't happened: In a town
There lived a cobbler, and but one,
That out of doctrine could cut use,
And mend men's lives, as well as shoes.
This precious brother having slain,
In times of peace, an Indian,
Not out of malice, but mere zeal,
(Because he was an Infidel,)
The mighty Tottipottymoy
Sent to our elders an envoy,
Complaining sorely of the breach

Of league, held forth by Brother Patch,
Against the articles in force

Between both churches, his and ours,
For which he craved the saints to render
Into his hands, or hang th' offender:
But they maturely having weigh'd
They had no more but him o' th' trade,
(A man that served them in a double
Capacity, to teach and cobble,)
Resolved to spare him yet, to do
The Indian Hoghan Moghan too
Impartial justice, in his stead did
Hang an old weaver that was bedrid.

PART III. CANTO III.
Hudibras consulting the Lawyer.

An old dull sot, who toll'd the clock
For many years at Bridewell-dock,
At Westminster, and Hicks'-hall,
And hiccius doctius play'd in all;
Where in all governments and times,
He'd been both friend and foe to crimes,
And used to equal ways of gaining,
By hind'ring justice, or maintaining:
To many a whore gave privilege,
And whipp'd, for want of quarterage,
Cart-loads of bawds to prison sent,
For being behind a fortnight's rent;
And many a trusty pimp and crony
To Puddle-dock, for want of money:
Engaged the constable to seize

All those that would not break the peace;
Nor give him back his own foul words,
Though sometimes commoners, or lords,

And kept 'em prisoners of course,
For being sober at ill hours;
That in the morning he might free
Or bind 'em over for his fee:
Made monsters fine, and puppet-plays,
For leave to practise in their ways;
Farm'd out all cheats, and went a share
With th' headborough and scavenger;
And made the dirt i' th' streets compound
For taking up the public ground;
The kennel and the king's highway,
For being unmolested, pay;

Let out the stocks, and whipping-post,
And cage, to those that gave him most;
Imposed a task on baker's ears,
And, for false weights, on chandelers;
Made victuallers and vintners fine

For arbitrary ale and wine;

But was a kind and constant friend
To all that regularly offend,

As residentiary bawds,

And brokers that receive stol'n goods;
That cheat in lawful mysteries,
And pay church duties and his fees:
But was implacable and awkward
To all that interloped and hawker'd.

To this brave man the Knight repairs For counsel in his law-affairs,

And found him mounted in his pew,
With books and money placed, for show,
Like nest-eggs to make clients lay,
And for his false opinion pay:
To whom the Knight, with comely grace,
Put off his hat, to put his case;
Which he as proudly entertain'd
As th' other courteously strain'd;
And, to assure him 't was not that
He look'd for, bid him put on 's hat,
Quoth he, there is one Sidrophel,
Whom I have cudgell'd-Very well.
And now he brags to 've beaten me-
Better and better still, quoth he.
And vows to stick me to a wall,
Where'er he meets me-
-Best of all.
'Tis true the knave has taken 's oath
That I robb'd him-Well done, in troth.
When he's confess'd he stole my cloak,
And pick'd my fob, and what he took;
Which was the cause that made me bang him,
And take my goods again-Marry, hang him.
Now, whether I should beforehand

Swear he robb'd me ?-I understand.

Or bring my action of conversion

And trover for my goods ?-Ah, whoreson !
Or, if 't is better to endite,

And bring him to his trial?-Right,
Prevent what he designs to do,

And swear for th' state against him?-True.

Or whether he that is defendant

In this ease has the better end on't;
Who, putting in a new cross-bill,
May traverse th' action?-Better still.
Then there's a lady too-Ay, marry!
That's easily proved accessary;

A widow who by solemn vows
Contracted to me, for my spouse,
Combined with him to break her word,
And has abetted all-Good Lord!
Suborn'd th' aforesaid Sidrophel
To tamper with the dev'l of hell,
Who put m' into a horrid fear,
Fear of my life-Make that appear.
Made an assault with fiends and men
Upon my body-Good agen.
And kept me in a deadly fright,
And false imprisonment, all night.
Meanwhile they robb'd me, and my horse,
And stole my saddle-Worse and worse.
And made me mount upon the bare ridge,
T' avoid a wretcheder miscarriage.

Sir, (quoth the lawyer,) not to flatter ye,
You have as good and fair a battery
As heart can wish, and need not shame
The proudest man alive to claim;
For if they've used you as you say,
Marry, quoth I, God give you joy ;
I would it were my case, I'd give
More than I'll say, or you'll believe:
I would so trounce her, and her purse,
I'd make her kneel for better or worse:
For matrimony, and hanging here,
Both go by destiny so clear,

That you as sure may pick and choose,
As cross I win, and pile you lose :
And if I durst, I would advance
As much in ready maintenance,
As upon any case I've known;
But we that practise dare not own:
The law severely contrabands
Our taking bus'ness off men's hands:
"Tis common barratry, that bears
Point-blank an action 'gainst our ears,
And crops them till there is not leather,
To stick a pin in, left of either;
For which some do the summer-sault,
And o'er the bar, like tumblers, vault:
But you may swear, at any rate,
Things not in nature, for the state;
For in all courts of justice here

A witness is not said to swear,

But make oath; that is, in plain terms,
To forge whatever he affirms.

I thank you (quoth the Knight) for that,
Because 'tis to my purpose pat-
For Justice, though she's painted blind,
Is to the weaker side inclined,
Like Charity; else right and wrong
Could never hold it out so long,

And, like blind Fortune, with a sleight,
Conveys men's interest and right
From Stiles's pocket into Nokes's,
As easily as Hocus Pocus;

Plays fast and loose, makes men obnoxious,
And clear again like hiccius doctius.
Then, whether you would take her life,
Or but recover her for your wife,

Or be content with what she has,
And let all other matters pass,
The bus'ness to the law's alone,
The proof is all it looks upon;
And you can want no witnesses
To swear to any thing you please,
That hardly get their mere expenses
By th' labour of their consciences,
Or letting out to hire their ears
To affidavit customers,
At inconsiderable values,

To serve for jurymen, or tallies,
Although retain'd in th' hardest matters
Of trustees and administrators.

For that (quoth he) let me alone;
We've store of such, and all our own,
Bred up and tutor'd by our Teachers,
The ablest of conscience-stretchers.

That's well (quoth he,) but I should guess, By weighing all advantages, Your surest way is first to pitch

On Bongey for a water-witch;

And when you've hang'd the conjurer,
Ye 've time enough to deal with her.
In th' int'rim spare for no trepans
To draw her neck into the bans;
Ply her with love-letters and billets,
And bait 'em well, for quirks and quillets,
With trains t' inveigle and surprise
Her heedless answers and replies;
And if she miss the mouse-trap lines,
They'll serve for other by-designs;
And make an artist understand
To copy out her seal, or hand;
Or find void places in the paper
To steal in something to entrap her;
Till with her worldly goods, and body,
Spite of her heart, she has endow'd ye:
Retain all sorts of witnesses,
That ply i' th' Temple, under trees,

Or walk the round, with Knights o' th' Posts,
About the cross-legg'd knights, their hosts;
Or wait for customers between

The pillar-rows in Lincoln's Inn;
Where vouchers, forgers, common-bail,
And affidavit-men, ne'er fail

T'expose to sale all sorts of oaths,
According to their ears and clothes,

Their only necessary tools,

Besides the Gospel and their souls:

And when ye 're furnish'd with all purveys,

I shall be ready at your service.

I would not give (quoth Hudibras) A straw to understand a case, Without the admirable skill To wind and manage it at will; To veer, and tack, and steer a cause Against the weathergage of laws, And ring the changes upon cases, As plain as noses upon faces, As you have well instructed me, For which you 've earn'd (here 'tis) your fee.

vourite amusement was angling, on which he has left a treatise, together with some interesting biographical memoirs, which have been made well known by many modern and elegant editions.

FROM AN ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VERSE."
IMMODEST words admit of no defence;
For want of decency is want of sense.
What moderate fop would rake the park or stews,
Who among troops of faultless nymphs may
Variety of such is to be found:
[choose?

Take then a subject proper to expound;
But moral, great, and worth a poet's voice;
For men of sense despise a trivial choice:
And such applause it must expect to meet,
As would some painter busy in a street,
To copy bulls and bears, and every sign
That calls the staring sots to nasty wine.
Yet, 'tis not all to have a subject good:
It must delight us when 'tis understood.
He that brings fulsome objects to my view,
(As many old have done, and many new,)
* Probably his dog.

With nauseous images my fancy fills,
And all goes down like oxymel of squills.
Instruct the listening world how Maro sings
Of useful subjects and of lofty things.
These will such true, such bright ideas raise,
As merit gratitude, as well as praise:
But foul descriptions are offensive still,
Either for being like, or being ill:

For who, without a qualm, hath ever look'd
On holy garbage, though by Homer cook'd?
Whose railing heroes, and whose wounded gods
Makes some suspect he snores, as well as nods.
But I offend-Virgil begins to frown,

And Horace looks with indignation down:
My blushing Muse with conscious fear retires,
And whom they like implicitly admires.

On sure foundations let your fabric rise,
And with attractive majesty surprise;

[† Dryden was before him, but Roscommon was the first to write in imitation of Milton's manner.]