Go unreveng’d, though I am free:
Thou down the same throat shalt 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 gun-shot, that in holsters watch’d;
And bending cock, he levell’d full
Against th’ outside of Talgol’s skull;
Vowing that he should ne’er stir further,
Nor henceforth cow nor 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.
Meanwhile fierce Talgol, gath’ring might,
With rugged truncheon charg’d the Knight;
But he with petronel upheav’d,
Instead of shield, the blow receiv’d.
The gun 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 by mortal stripe.
Then Hudibras, with furious haste,
Drew out his sword; yet not so fast,
But Talgol first, with hardy 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)
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 engag’d,
Is so implacably enrag’d,
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;
While 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 part of him the blow
Had slit as sure as that below.
Meanwhile th’ 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,
Perform’d 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 cropp’d 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,
He gave the Knight’s steed such a thump
As made him reel. The Knight did stoop,
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.
As Sancho on a blanket fell,
And had no hurt, ours far’d as well
In body; though his mighty spirit,
B’ing heavy, did not so well bear it.
The bear was in a greater fright,
Beat down and worsted by the Knight.
He roar’d, and rag’d, and flung about,
To shake off bondage from his snout.
His wrath inflam’d, boil’d o’er, and from
His jaws of death he threw the foam:
Fury in stranger postures threw him,
And more than herald ever drew him.
He tore the earth which he had sav’d
From squelch of Knight, and storm’d and rav’d,
And vext the more because the harms
He felt were ’gainst the law of arms:
For men he always took to be
His friends, and dogs the enemy;
Who never so much hurt had done him,
As his own side did falling on him.
It griev’d him to the guts that they
For whom h’ had fought so many a fray,
And serv’d with loss of blood so long,
Shou’d offer such inhuman wrong;
Wrong of unsoldier-like condition:
For which he flung down his commission;
And laid about him, till his nose
From thrall of ring and cord broke loose.
Soon as he felt himself enlarg’d,
Through thickest of his foes he charg’d,
And made way through th’ amazed crew;
Some he o’erran, and some o’erthrew,
But took none; for by hasty flight
He strove t’ escape pursuit of Knight;
From whom he fled with as much haste
And dread as he the rabble chas’d.
In haste he fled, and so did they;
Each and his fear a several way.
Crowdero only kept the field;
Not stirring from the place he held,
Though beaten down and wounded sore,
I’ th’ fiddle, and a leg that bore
One side of him; not that of bone,
But much its better, th’ wooden one.
He spying Hudibras lie strow’d
Upon the ground, like log of wood,
With fright of fall, supposed wound,
And loss of urine, in a swound,
In haste he snatch’d the wooden limb,
That hurt i’ th’ ankle lay by him,
And fitting it for sudden fight,
Straight drew it up t’ attack the Knight;
For getting up on stump and huckle,
He with the foe began to buckle;
Vowing to be reveng’d for breach
Of crowd and skin upon the wretch,
Sole author of all detriment
He and his fiddle underwent.
But Ralpho (who had now begun
T’ adventure resurrection
From heavy squelch, and had got up
Upon his legs, with sprained crup)
Looking about, beheld pernicion
Approaching Knight from fell musician.
He snatch’d his whinyard up, that fled
When he was falling off his steed,
(As rats do from a falling house,)
To hide itself from rage
