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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 propt before.
To him the Squire right nimbly run,
And setting conqu’ring foot upon
His trunk, thus spoke: What desp’rate frenzy 955
Made the, 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? 960
And Hudibras, or me provoke,
Though all thy limbs were heart of oak,
And th’ other half of these as good
To bear out blows, as that of wood ?
Could not the whipping-post prevai] 965
With all its rhet'ric, nor the jail,
To keep from flaying scourge thy skin,
And ancle free from iron gin?
Which now thou shalt-but first our care
Must see how Hudibras doth fare. .: 970

ir care

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This said, he gently rais’d 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 975
To raise the spirits lodg'd 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. 930
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,

990 All, save Crowdero, for whose sake You did th’ espous'd cause undertake: And he lies pris'ner at your feet, To be dispos'd as you think meet,

Either for life, or death, or sale,

995 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 ; 1000 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

1005 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, 1010 The property is in the saint, From whom th' injuriously detaint; Of him they hold their luxuries, Their dogs, their horses, whores, and dice, Their riots, revels, masks, delights, 1015 Pimps, buffons, fiddlers parasites, All which the saints have title to, And ought t' enjoy, if th’ had their due.

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