THE ARGUMENT.
The scatter'd rout return and rally,
Surround the place; the Knight does sally,
And is made prisoner; then they seize
The' enchanted fort by storm, release
Crowdero, and put the' Squire in's place;
I should have first said Hudibras.
Ay me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron?
What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps
Do dog him still with after-claps?
For though dame Fortune seem to smile,
And leer upon him for a while,
She'll after show him, in the nick
Of all his glories, a dog-trick.
This any man may sing or say
I' th' ditty call'd, 'What if a Day?'
For Hudibras, who thought he 'ad won
The field, as certain as a gun,
And having routed the whole troop,
With victory was cock-a-hoop,
Thinking he'd done enough to purchase
Thanksgiving-day among the Churches,
Wherein his mettle and brave worth
Might be explain'd by holder-forth,
And register'd by fame eternal,
In deathless pages of Diurnal,
Found in few minutes, to his cost,
He did but count without his host,
And that a turnstile is more certain
Than, in events of war, dame Fortune.
For now the late faint-hearted rout,
O'erthrown and scatter'd round about,
Chas'd by the horror of their fear,
From bloody fray of Knight and Bear,
(All but the Dogs, who in pursuit
Of the Knight's victory stood to't,
And most ignobly fought to get
The honour of his blood and sweat,)
Seeing the coast was free and clear
O' the conquer'd and the conqueror,
Took heart again, and fac'd about,
As if they meant to stand it out:
For by this time the routed Bear,
Attack'd by th' enemy i' th' rear,
Finding their number grew too great
For him to make a safe retreat,
Like a bold chieftain fac'd about;
But wisely doubting to hold out,
Gave way to fortune, and with haste
Fac'd the proud foe, and fled, and fac❜d,
Retiring still, until he found
He'd got the' advantage of the ground,
And then as valiantly made head
To check the foe, and forthwith fled,
Leaving no art untried, nor trick
Of warrior stout and politic,
Until, in spite of hot pursuit,
He gain'd a pass, to hold dispute
On better terms, and stop the course
Of the proud foe. With all his force
He bravely charg'd, and for a while
Forc'd their whole body to recoil;
But still their numbers so increas'd,
He found himself at length oppress'd,
And all evasions so uncertain,
To save himself for better fortune,
That he resolv'd, rather than yield,
To die with honour in the field,
And sell his hide and carcase at
A price as high and desperate
As e'er he could. This resolution
He forthwith put in execution,
And bravely threw himself among
The enemy, i' th' greatest throng:
But what could single valour do,
Against so numerous a foe?
Yet much he did, indeed too much
To be believ'd, where the' odds were such;
But one against a multitude,
Is more than mortal can make good:
For while one party he oppos'd,
His rear was suddenly inclos'd,
And no room left him for retreat,
Or fight against a foe so great.
For now the Mastives, charging home,
To blows and handy-gripes were come;
While manfully himself he bore,
And setting his right foot before,
He rais'd himself to show how tall
His person was above them all.
This equal shame and envy stirr'd
In the' enemy, that one should beard
So many warriors, and so stout,
As he had done, and stav'd it out,
Disdaining to lay down his arms,
And yield on honourable terms.
Enraged thus, some in the rear
Attack'd him, and some every where,
Till down he fell; yet falling fought,
And, being down, still laid about;
As Widdrington,* in doleful dumps,
Is said to fight upon his stumps.
But all, alas! had been in vain,
And he inevitably slain,
If Trulla' and Cerdon in the nick
To rescue him had not been quick:
For Trulla, who was light of foot,
As shafts which long-field Parthians shoot,
(But not so light as to be borne
Upon the ears of standing corn,
Or trip it o'er the water quicker
Than witches, when their staves they liquor,
As some report,) was got among
The foremost of the martial throng;
There pitying the vanquish'd Bear,
She call'd to Cerdon, who stood near,
Viewing the bloody fight; to whom,
'Shall we,' quoth she, 'stand still hum drum,
And see stout Bruin, all alone,
By numbers basely overthrown?
Such feats already he 'as achiev'd,
In story not to be believ'd,
And 'twould to us be shame enough,
Not to attempt to fetch him off.'
'I would,' quoth he, venture a limb
To second thee, and rescue him;
* Alluding to the old ballad of Chevy.chase.
But then we must about it straight,
Or else our aid will come too late;
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 conquering foe they soon assail'd,
First Trulla stav'd, and Cerdon tail'd,
Until their Mastives 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, dip'd 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 pull'd on t'other side,
Like scrivener newly crucified:
Or like the late corrected leathern
Ears of the circumcised brethren,
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