Three times he smote on stomach stout,
From whence at length these words broke out.
Was I for this intitled Sir,
And girt with trusty sword and spur,
For fame and honour to wage battle,
Thus to be brav'd by foe to cattle?
Not all that pride that makes thee swell
As big as thou dost blown-up veal;
Nor all thy tricks and sleights to cheat,
And sell thy carrion for good meat;
Not all thy magic to repair
Decay'd old age in tough lean ware,
Make nat'ral death appear thy work,
And stop the gangrene in stale pork;
Not all that force that makes thee proud,
Because by bullock ne'er withstood;
Though arm'd with all thy cleavers, knives,755
And axes made to hew down lives,
Shall save or help thee to evade
The hand of justice, or this blade,
Which I, her sword-bearer, do carry,
For civil deed and military.
739. "Three times." If the figure of Hudibras be attentively examined in the map, it will be seen in fact to have three outlines of face one before the other and nearly parallel; a circumstance referred to in this line, in 943, and very frequently hereafter.
Nor shall these words of venom base,
Which thou hast from their native place,
Thy stomach, pump'd to fling on me,
Go unreveng'd, though I am free.
Thou down the same throat shall devour 'em,
Like tainted beef, and pay dear for 'em.
Nor shall it e'er be said, that wight
With gantlet blue, and bases white,
And round blunt truncheon by his side,
So great a man at arms defy'd
With words far bitterer than wormwood,
That would in Job or Grizel stir mood.
Dogs with their tongues their wounds do heal,
But men with hands, as thou shalt feel.
This said with hasty rage he snatch'd
His gunshot, that in holsters watch'd;
And bending cock, he levell'd full
Against th' outside of Talgol's scull;
Vowing that he should ne'er stir further,
Nor henceforth cow or bullock murther.
But Pallas came in shape of rust,
And 'twixt the spring and hammer thrust
Her Gorgon shield, which made the cock
Stand stiff, as 'twere transform'd to stock.
Mean while fierce Talgol gath'ring might, 785
With rugged truncheon, charg'd the knight;
But he with petronel upheav'd,
Instead of shield, the blow receiv'd.
recoil'd, as well it might,
Not us'd 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 hearty thwack
Twice bruis'd 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 trusty cudgel did oppose
Itself against dead-doing blows,
To guard its leader from fell bane,
And then reveng'd itself again.
And though the sword, some understood, 805 In force had much the odds of wood,
"Twas nothing so; both sides were balanc'd
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,
Tir'd in the hot pursuit of death;
Whilst all the rest amaz'd stood still,
Expecting which should take, or kill.
This Hudibras observ'd 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 end of him the blow
Had slit, as sure as that below.
Mean while 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 crab-tree 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
Performed 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 clapp'd 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 h' had 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 blund'ring still with smarting rump,
the knight's steed such a thump
As made him reel. The knight did stoop, 855
And sat on further side aslope.
This Talgol viewing, who had now
By sleight escap'd the fatal blow,
He rally'd, and again fell to't;
For catching foe by nearer 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 preserv'd the ground,
And headlong knight, from bruise or wound:
Like feather-bed betwixt a wall,
And heavy brunt of cannon-ball.
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