At the' outward wall, near which there stands
A Bastile, built to' imprison hands;
By strange enchantment made to fetter
The lesser parts, and free the greater:
For though the body may creep through,
The hands in grate are fast enow:
And when a circle 'bout the wrist
Is made by beadle exorcist,

The body feels the spur and switch,
As if 'twere ridden post by witch,
At twenty miles an hour pace,
And yet ne'er stirs out of the place.
On top of this there is a spire,

On which Sir Knight first bids the Squire
The Fiddle, and its spoils, the case,
In manner of a trophy place.

That done, they ope the trap-door gate,
And let Crowdero down thereat;
Crowdero making doleful face,

'Like hermit poor in pensive place,"
To dungeon they the wretch commit,
And the survivor of his feet;

But the' other that had broke the peace,
And head of Knighthood, they release,
Though a delinquent false and forged,
Yet being a stranger, he's enlarged;
While his comrade, that did no hurt,
Is clap'd up fast in prison for❜t:
So Justice, while she winks at crimes,
Stumbles on innocence sometimes.

See Hawkins' sixth edition of Walton's Angler, p. 110, where the old song so entitled is inserted.

PART I. CANTO III.

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.

Ar 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 reque

him;

* Alluding to the old ballad of Chevy-chase.