With which thy Steed of Bones and Leather
Has broke his Wind in halting hither;
How durft th', I fay, adventure thus
T'oppose thy Lumber against us?
Could thine Impertinence find out
No Work t' employ it felf about,
Where thou, fecure from Wooden Blow,
Thy Bufy Vanity might'ft fhow?.
Was no Difpute a-foot between
The Caterwauling Bretheren?
No fubtle Qeftion rais'd among
Thofe out-o'-their Wits, and thofe i'th' Wrong
No Prize between those Combatants
O'th' Times, the Land and Water-Saints;
Where thou might'ft ftickle without Hazard
Of Outrage to thy Hide and Mazzard,
And not for want of bus'nefs come
To us to be thus troublesome,
To interrupt our better Sort
Of Difputants, and spoil our Sport?
Was there no Felony, no Bawd,
Cut-Purfe, nor Burglary abroad?
No Stollen-Pig, nor Plunder'd Goofe,
To tye thee up from breaking loofe?
No Ale unlicens'd, broken Hedge,"
For which thou Statute might'ft alledge,
To keep thee bufie from foul evil,
And shame due to thee from the Devil;
Did no Committee fit, where he
Might cut out Journey-work for thee;
And fet th' a Task, with Subornation,
To ftitch up Sale and Sequeftration
To cheat with Holiness and Zeal
All Parties, and the Common-weal?
Much better had it been for thee,
H' had kept thee where th'art us'd to be;
Or fent th' on bus'nefs any whither,
So he had never brought thee hither.
But if th' haft Brain enough in Scull
To keep it self in lodging whole,
And not provoke the Rage of Stones
And Cudgels to thy Hide and Bones;
Tremble and vanish while thou may'st
Which I'll not promise if thou stay'st.
At this the Knight grew high in wroth,
And lifting Hands and Eyes up both,
Three times he fmote on ftomach ftout,
From whence at length these words broke out.
Was I for this entitled Sir,
And girt with rufty 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 fwell
As big as thou doft blown-up Veal;
Nor all thy tricks and flights to cheat,
And fell thy Carrion for good Meat ;
Not all thy Magick to repair
Decay'd old Age in tough lean Ware,
Make Natural Death appear thy Work,
And flop the Gangreen in ftale Pork;
Not all that Force that makes thee proud,
Because y' Bullock ne'er withstood
Though arm'd with all thy Clevers, Knives,
And Axes made to hew down Lives;
Shall fave or help thee to evade
The hand of Juftice, or this Blade,
Which I, her Sword-Bearer, do carry,
For Civil Deed and Military.
Nor fhall thefe Words of Venom base,
Which thou haft, from their Native place,
Thy Stomach, pump'd to fling on me,
Go unreveng'd, though I am free.
Thou down the fame Throat fhalt devour 'em,
Like tainted Beef, and pay dear for 'em.
Nor fhall it e'er be faid, that Wight
With Gantlet blue and Bafes white,
And round blunt Truncheon by his fide,
So great a Man at Arms defy'd
With words far bitterer than Wormwood,
That would in Job or Grizel stir Mood.
(heal;
Dogs with their Tongues their Wounds do
But Men with Hands, as thou fhalt feel.
This faid, with hafty Rage he snatch'd
His Gun-fhot, that in Holfters watch'd;
And bending Cock, he level'd full
Against th'outside of Talgol's Skull;
Vowing that he should ne'er ftir further,
Nor henceforth Cow or Bullock murther.
But Pallas came in fhape of Ruft,
And 'twixt the Spring and Hammer thruft
Her Gorgon fhield, which made the Cock
Stand ftiff as 'twere transform'd to stock.
Mean while fierce Talgol gath'ring might,
With rugged Truncheon charg'd the Knight.
And he with Petronel upheav'd,
Inftead of Shield, the Blow receiv'd.
The Gun recoil'd, as well it might,
Not us'd to fuch a kind of fight,
And fhrunk from its great Master's gripe,
Knock'd down and stunn'd with mortal stripe
Then Hudibras with furious hafte
Drew out his Sword; yet not fo faft,
But Talgol firft with hardy thwack
Twice bruis'd his Head, and twice his Back.
But when his nut-brown Sword was out,
With ftomach huge he laid about,
Imprinting many a Wound upon
His mortal Foe the Truncheon;
The trufty Cudgel did oppofe
It felf against dead-doing blows,
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