And rather took a country lass;
They say, ’tis false, without all sense,
But of pernicious consequence
To government, which they suppose
Can never be upheld in prose;
Strip Nature naked to the skin,
You’ll find about her no such thing.
It may be so; yet what we tell
Of Trulla that’s improbable,
Shall be depos’d by those who’ve seen’t,
Or, what’s as good, produc’d in print:
And if they will not take our word,
We’ll prove it true upon record.
The upright Cerdon next advanc’t,
Of all his race the valiant’st:
Cerdon the Great, renown’d in song,
Like Herc’les, for repair of wrong:
He rais’d the low and fortify’d
The weak against the strongest side:
Ill has he read, that never hit
On him in Muses’ deathless writ.
He had a weapon keen and fierce,
That through a bull-hide shield would pierce,
And cut it in a thousand pieces,
Tho’ tougher than the Knight of Greece his,
With whom his black-thumb’d ancestor
Was comrade in the ten years war:
For when the restless Greeks sat down
So many years before Troy town,
And were renown’d, as Homer writes,
For well sol’d boots no less than fights,
They ow’d that glory only to
His ancestor, that made them so.
Fast friend he was to Reformation,
Until ’twas worn quite out of fashion.
Next rectifier of wry law,
And would make three to cure one flaw.
Learned he was, and could take note,
Transcribe, collect, translate, and quote.
But preaching was his chiefest talent,
Or argument, in which b’ing valiant,
He us’d to lay about and stickle,
Like ram or bull, at conventicle:
For disputants, like rams and bulls,
Do fight with arms that spring from skulls.
Last Colon came, bold man of war,
Destin’d to blows by fatal star;
Right expert in command of horse,
But cruel, and without remorse.
That which of Centaur long ago
Was said, and has been wrested to
Some other knights, was true of this;
He and his horse were of a piece.
One spirit did inform them both;
The self-same vigour, fury, wroth;
Yet he was much the rougher part,
And always had a harder heart:
Although his horse had been of those
That fed on man’s flesh, as fame goes.
Strange food for horse! and yet, alas!
It may be true, for flesh is grass.
Sturdy he was, and no less able
Than Hercules to clean a stable;
As great a drover, and as great
A critic too, in hog or neat.
He ripp’d the womb up of his mother,
Dame Tellus, ’cause she wanted fother
And provender wherewith to feed
Himself, and his less cruel steed.
It was a question, whether he
Or ’s horse were of a family
More worshipful: ’till antiquaries
(After th’ had almost por’d out their eyes)
Did very learnedly decide
The business on the horse’s side;
And prov’d not only horse, but cows,
Nay, pigs, were of the elder house:
For beasts, when man was but a piece
Of earth himself, did th’ earth possess.
These worthies were the chief that led
The combatants, each in the head
Of his command, with arms and rage,
Ready and longing to engage.
The numerous rabble was drawn out
Of sev’ral counties round about,
From villages remote, and shires,
Of east and western hemispheres:
From foreign parishes and regions,
Of different manners, speech, religions,
Came men and mastiffs; some to fight
For fame and honour, some for sight.
And now the field of death, the lists,
Were enter’d by antagonists,
And blood was ready to be broach’d,
When Hudibras in haste approach’d,
With Squire and weapons, to attack ’em;
But first thus from his horse bespake ’em:
What rage, O citizens! what fury
Doth you to these dire actions hurry?
What oestrum, what phrenetic mood,68
Makes you thus lavish of your blood,
While the proud Vies your trophies boast
And unreveng’d walks—ghost?
What towns, what garrisons might you
With hazard of this blood subdue,
Which now y’ are bent to throw away
In vain, untriumphable fray!
Shall saints in civil bloodshed wallow
Of saints, and let the Cause lie fallow?
The Cause for which we fought and swore
So boldly, shall we now give o’er?
Then, because quarrels still are seen
With oaths and swearings to begin,
The solemn League and Covenant
Will seem a mere God-dam-me rant;
And we, that took it, and have fought,
As lewd as drunkards that fall out.
For as we make war for the king
Against himself, the self-same thing,
Some will not stick to swear, we do
For God and for religion too:
For if bear-baiting we allow,
What good can Reformation do?
The blood and treasure that’s laid out,
Is thrown away, and goes for nought.
Are these the fruits o’ th’ Protestation,
The Prototype of Reformation,
Which all the Saints, and some, since martyrs,
Wore in their hats like wedding garters,69
When ’twas resolv’d by either House
Six Members quarrel to espouse?70
Did they for this draw down the rabble,
With zeal and noises formidable,
And make all cries about the town
Join throats to cry the bishops down?
Who having round begirt the palace
(As once a month they do the gallows,)
As members gave the sign about,
Set up their throats with hideous shout.
When tinkers bawl’d aloud to settle
Church discipline, for patching kettle:
No sow-gelder did blow his horn
To geld a cat, but cry’d Reform.
The oyster-women lock’d their fish up,
And trudg’d away, to cry, No bishop.
The mouse-trap men laid save-alls by,
And ’gainst ev’l counsellors did cry.
Bothers left old clothes in the lurch,
And fell to turn and patch the Church.
Some cry’d the Covenant instead
Of pudding-pies and ginger-bread;
And some for brooms, old boots and shoes,
Bawl’d out to purge the Commons’ House.
Instead of kitchen-stuff, some cry,
A gospel-preaching ministry;
And some, for old suits, coats, or cloak,
No Surplices nor Service-Book.
A strange harmonious inclination
Of all degrees to Reformation.
And is this all? Is this the end
To which these carr’ings on did tend?
Hath public faith, like a young heir,
For this ta’en up all sorts of ware,
And run int’ every tradesman’s book,
Till both turn’d bankrupts, and are broke?
Did Saints for this bring in their plate,
And crowd as if they came too late?
For when they thought the Cause had need on’t,
Happy was he that could be rid on’t.
Did they coin piss-pots, bowls, and flagons,
Int’ officers of horse and dragoons;
And into pikes and musqueteers
Stamp beakers, cups, and porringers?
A thimble, bodkin, and a spoon,
Did start up living men as soon
As in the furnace they were thrown,
Just like the dragon’s teeth b’ing sown.
Then was the Cause of gold and plate,
The brethren’s off’rings, consecrate,
Like th’ Hebrew calf, and down before it
The saints fell prostrate, to adore it
So say the wicked—and will you
Make that sarcasmus scandal true,71
By running after dogs
