Quarrel with minc'd-pies, and disparage

Their best and dearest friend plumb-porridge ;

Fat pig and goose itself oppose, And blaspheme custard thro' the nose. Th' apostles of this fierce religion,

Like Mahomet's, were ass and widgeon.

To whom our Knight, by fast instinct Of wit and temper, was so link'd,
As if hypocrisy and nonsense Had got th' adowson of his conscience.
Thus was he gifted and accouter'd,
We mean on the inside, not the outward;

Then listen, Sirs, it follows thus :
Both of his wisdom and his face;
A sudden view it would beguile;
The nether orange mix'd with grey.
The fall of scepters and of crowns:
Declining age of government;

That next of all we shall discuss;
His tawny beard was th' equal grace
In cut and die so like a tile,
The upper part whereof was whey;
This hairy meteor did denounce
With grisly type did represent

In time to make a nation rue; To wait upon the public downfal.

And tell with hieroglyphic spade,
Its own grave and the state's were made.
Like Samson's heart-breakers, it grew
Tho' it contributed its own fall,
It was monastic, and did grow
In holy orders by strict vow;
Of rule as sullen and severe,
As that of rigid Cordelier:
'Twas bound to suffer persecution And martyrdom with resolution;
T'oppose itself against the hate And vengeance of th' incensed state,
In whose defiance it was worn, Still ready to be pull'd and torn,
With red-hot irons to be tortur'd, Revil'd, and spit upon, and martyr'd.
Maugre all which, 'twas to stand fast, As long as monarchy should last,
But, when the state should hap to reel, 'Twas to submit to fatal steel,
And fall, as it was consecrate,
A sacrifice to fall of state,

Whose thread of life the fatal sisters
Did twist together with its whiskers,
And twine so close, that Time should never,
In life or death their fortunes sever,

Both down together at a blow.
The brawny part of porter's bum,
Would last as long as parent breech

But with his rusty sickle mow
So learned Taliacotius from
Cut supplemental noses, which
But when the date of Nock was out,
His back, or rather burden, show'd
For as Æneas bore his sire,
Our Knight did bear no less a pack

;

Off drop'd the sympathetic snout.
As if it stoop'd with its own load:
Upon his shoulders, thro' the fire,
Of his own buttocks on his back:
Which now had almost got the upper-
Hand of his head, for want of crupper.

To poise this equally, he bore

A paunch of the same bulk before;

Which still he had a special care
To keep well-cramm'd with thrifty fare;

As white-pot, butter-milk, and curds, Such as a country-house affords ;
With other victual, which anon
We farther shall dilate upon,

When of his hose we come to treat,

The cup-board, where he kept his meat.

His doublet was of sturdy buff, And tho' not sword- yet cudgel- proof; Whereby 'twas fitter for his use,

Who fear'd no blows but such as bruise.

His breeches were of rugged woollen,
And had been at the siege of Bullen;
To old King Harry so well known,
Some writers held they were his own.
Thro' they were lin❜d with many a piece
Of ammunition, bread and cheese,

And fat black-puddings, proper food For warriors that delight in blood :

For, as we said, he always chose

That often tempted rats and mice
And when he put a hand but in

To carry victual in his hose, The ammunition to surprise : The one or ť other magazine,

They stoutly in defence on't stood,

And from the wounded foe drew blood;

And till th' were storm'd and beaten out, Ne'er left the fortify'd redoubt. And tho' knights-errant, as some think,

Of old did neither eat nor drink

Because when thorough desarts vast And regions desolate they pass'd, Where belly-timber, above ground, Or under, was not to be found, Unless they graz'd, there's not one word Of their provision on record: Which made some confidently write,

They had no stomachs but to fight;

'Tis false for Arthur wore in hall Round table, like a farthingal,
On which, with shirts pull'd out behind,
And eke before, his good knights din'd.
Though 'twas no table some suppose,
But a huge pair of round trunk hose,

In which he carried as much meat As he and all his knights could eat,
When, laying by their swords and truncheons,

They took their breakfasts, or their nuncheons.

But let that pass at present, lest We should forget where we digress'd, As learned authors use, to whom We leave it, and to th' purpose come. His puissant sword unto his side, Near his undaunted heart, was ty'd ; With basket-hilt, that would hold broth,

And serve for fight and dinner both :

In it he melted lead for bullets,

To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets;

To whom he bore so fell a grutch, He ne'er gave quarter t' any such. The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,

For want of fighting was grown rusty.

And ate into itself, for lack

Of some body to hew and hack.

The peaceful scabbard where it dwelt The rancour of its edge had felt ;
For of the lower end two handful
And so much scorn'd to lurk in case,
In many desperate attempts

It had devoured, 'twas so manful,
As if it durst not shew its face.
Of warrants, exigents, contempts,

It had appear'd with courage bolder Than Serjeant Bum invading shoulder. Oft had it ta'en possession, And pris'ners too, or made them run. This sword a dagger had, his page, And therefore waited on him so, It was a serviceable dudgeon,

That was but little for his age; As dwarfs upon knights-errant do. Either for fighting or for drudging.

When it had stabb'd, or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread;

Toast cheese or bacon, tho' it were

To bait a mouse-trap, 'twould not care.
'Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth
Set leeks and onions, and so forth.

It had been 'prentice to a brewer, Where this and more it did endure ;

But left the trade, as many more
In th' holsters, at his saddle-bow,
Among the surplus of such meat

Have lately done on the same score.
Two aged pistols he did stow,
As in his hose he could not get.

These would inveigle rats with th' scent,
To forage when the cocks were bent;

And sometimes catch 'em with a snap, As cleverly as th' ablest trap.
They were upon hard duty still, And every night stood centinel,

To guard the magazine i' th' hose

From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd foes.
Thus clad and fortify'd, Sir Knight,
From peaceful home, set forth to fight.

But first, with nimble active force, He got on the out-side of his horse;

For having but one stirrup ty'd
It was so short, h' had much ado
But, after many strains and heaves,

T' his saddle, on the further side, To reach it with his desp'rate toe: He got up to the saddle-eaves,

From whence he vaulted into th' seat,
With so much vigour, strength and heat,
That he had almost tumbled over
With his own weight, but did recover,

By laying hold on tail and main,

Which oft he us'd instead of rein. But, now we talk of mounting steed, Before we further do proceed, It doth behove us to say something

Of that which bore our valiant bumkin.
The beast was sturdy, large, and tall,
With mouth of meal, and eyes of wall;

I would say eye, for h' had but one, As most agree, tho' some say none.
He was well stay'd, and in his gate Preserv'd a grave, majestic state.
At spur or switch no more he skipt,

Or mended pace, when Spaniard whipt:

And yet so fiery, he would bound, As if he griev'd to touch the ground; That Cæsar's horse, who, as fame goes,

Had corns upon his feet and toes,

Was not by half so tender hooft, Nor trod upon the ground so soft. And as that beast would kneel and stoop

(Some write) to take his

rider up;

So Hudibras his ('tis well known)

Would often do to set him down.

We shall not need to say what lack Of leather was upon his back;
For that was hidden under pad,

And breech of Knight, gall'd full as bad.
His strutting ribs on both sides show'd
Like furrows he himself had plow'd :
For underneath the skirt of pannel,
'Twixt every two there was a channel.

His draggling tail hung in the dirt,

Which on his rider he wou'd flurt

Still as his tender side he prick'd
With arm'd heel, or with unarm'd kick'd;

For Hudibras wore but one spur, As wisely knowing, could he stir
To active trot one side of's horse, The other wou'd not hang on worse.
A Squire he had whose name was Ralph,
That in th' adventure went his half.

Though writers, for more stately tone, Do call him Ralpho, 'tis all one : And when we can with metre safe, We'll call him so; if not plain Raph; (For rhyme the rudder is of verses,

With which like ships they steer their courses.)

An equal stock of wit and valour He had lain in, by birth a tailor. The mighty Tyrian Queen, that gain'd,

With subtle shreds, a tract of land,

Did leave it, with a castle fair,

To his great ancestor, her heir;

From him descended cross-legg'd knights,

Fam'd for their faith, and warlike fights

Against the bloody canibal, Whom they destroy'd both great and small. This sturdy Squire, he had, as well

As the bold Trojan Knight, seen hell,

Not with a counterfeited pass

Of golden bough, but true gold lace.
His knowledge was not far behind The knight's, but of another kind,
And he another way came by't: Some call it gifts, and some new-light,
A lib'ral art, that costs no pains
Of study, industry, or brains.

His wit was sent him, for a token,
But in the carriage crack'd and broken;
Like commendation nine-pence crook'd,
With-To and from my Love-it look'd.

He ne'er consider'd it, as loth
And very wisely would lay forth
But as he got it freely, so

To look a gift-horse in the mouth;
No more upon it than 'twas worth ;
He spent it frank and freely too :
For saints themselves will sometimes be,
Of gifts that cost them nothing, free,

By means of this, with hem and cough, Prolongers to enlighten'd stuff,
He could deep mysteries unriddle, As easily as thread a needle,
For as of vagabonds we say, That they are ne'er beside their way;
Whate'er men speak by this new light, Still they are sure to be i' th' right.
'Tis a dark-lanthorn of the spirit,

Which none see by but those that bear it ;

A light that falls down from on high, For spiritual trades to cozen by; An ignis fatuus that bewitches And leads men into pools and ditches, To make them dip themselves, and sound

For Christendom in dirty pond;

To dive, like wild-fowl, for salvation, And fish to catch regeneration,
This light inspires and plays upon The nose of saint, like bagpipe drone,
And speaks through hollow empty soul,
As through a trunk, or whisp'ring hole,

Such language as no mortal ear But spiritu'l eaves-droppers can hear,
So Phœbus, or some friendly muse,
Into small poets song infuse,

Which they at second hand rehearse,
Thro' reed or bagpipe, verse for verse.

Thus Ralph became infallible,

As three or four-legg❜d oracle,

The ancient cup, or modern chair, Spoke truth point blank, tho' unaware. For mystic learning, wond'rous able In magic talisman and cabal,

Whose primitive tradition reaches As far as Adam's first green breeches ;
Deep-sighted in intelligences,
And much of terra incognita,
A deep occult philosopher,
Or Sir Agrippa, for profound
He Anthroposophus, and Floud

Ideas, atoms, influences; Th' intelligible world, could say ; As learn'd as the wild Irish are, And solid lying much renown'd; And Jacob Behemen understood ;

Knew many an amulet and charm,
That would do neither good nor harm:

In Rosicrucian lore as learned,

As he that verè adeptus earned :

He understood the speech of birds As well as they themselves do words;
Could tell what subtlest parrots mean,
That speak and think contrary clean;
What member 'tis of whom they talk

When they cry Rope, and Walk, knave, walk.

He'd extract numbers out of matter, And keep them in a glass like water;
Of sovereign power to make men wise;
For, drop'd in blear thick-sighted eyes,
They'd make them see in darkest night,
Like owls, tho' purblind in the light.

By help of these (as he profess'd) He had first matter seen undress'd;
He took her naked all alone,
The chaos too he had descry'd,

Before one rag of form was on.
And seen quite thro', or else he ly'd :
Not that of paste-board, which men shew
For groats, at fair of Barthol'mew;
But its great grandsire, first o' th' name,
Whence that and reformation came,

Both cousins-german, and right able T'inveigle and draw in the rabble.
But reformation was, some say, O' th' younger house to puppet-play,

He could foretel whatsoe'er was

As death of great men, alterations,
All this without th' eclipse of the sun,
By inward light, a way as good,

By consequence to come to pass.
Diseases, battles, inundations;
Or dreadful comet, he hath done,
And easy to be understood,

But with more lucky hit than those That use to make the stars depose,
Like knights o' th' post, and falsely charge
Upon themselves what others forge,

As if they were consenting to

All mischiefs in the world men do:

Or, like the devil, did tempt and sway 'em
To rogueries, and then betray 'em.
They'll search a planet's house to know
Who broke and robb'd a house below;

Examine Venus, and the Moon,

Who stole a thimble or a spoon:

And though they nothing will confess, Yet by their very looks can guess,
And tell what guilty aspect bodes,

Who stole and who received the goods.
They'll question Mars, and by his look,
Detect who 'twas that nimm'd a cloak:
Make Mercury confess and 'peach
Those thieves which he himself did teach,

They'll find, i' th' physiognomies

Like him that took the doctor's bill,

O' th' planets, all men's destinies And swallow'd it instead o' th' pill;

Cast the nativity o' th' question, And from positions to be guessed on,