Fit med’cines to each glorious bruise
He got in fight, reds, blacks, and blues,
To mollify the uneasy pang
Of ev’ry honourable bang,
Which b’ing by skilful midwife drest,
He laid him down to take his rest.
But all in vain. H’ had got a hurt
O’ th’ inside, of a deadlier sort,
By Cupid made, who took his stand
Upon a widow’s jointure land,
(For he, in all his am’rous battles,
No ’dvantage finds like goods and chattels,)
Drew home his bow, and, aiming right,
Let fly an arrow at the Knight:
The shaft against a rib did glance,
And gall’d him in the purtenance.
But time had somewhat ’suag’d his pain
After he found his suit in vain.
For that proud dame, for whom his soul
Was burnt in ’s belly like a coal,
(That belly which so oft did ake
And suffer griping for her sake,
Till purging comfits and ants’-eggs
Had almost brought him off his legs,)
Us’d him so like a base rascallion,
That old Pyg—(what d’y’ call him) malion,76
That cut his mistress out of stone,
Had not so hard a hearted one.
She had a thousand Jadish tricks,
Worse than a mule that flings and kicks;
’Mong which one cross-grain’d freak she had,
As insolent as strange and mad;
She could love none, but only such
As scorn’d and hated her as much.
’Twas a strange riddle of a lady:
Not love, if any lov’d her! Hey-dey!
So cowards never use their might,
But against such as will not fight;
So some diseases have been found
Only to seize upon the sound.
He that gets her by heart, must say her
The back way, like a witch’s prayer.
Meanwhile the Knight had no small task
To compass what he durst not ask.
He loves, but dares not make the motion;
Her ignorance is his devotion:
Like caitiff vile, that, for misdeed,
Rides with his face to rump of steed,
Or rowing scull, he’s fain to love,
Look one way, and another move;
Or like a tumbler, that does play
His game, and look another way,
Until he seize upon the cony;
Just so he does by matrimony:
But all in vain; her subtle snout
Did quickly wind his meaning out;
Which she return’d with too much scorn
To be by man of honour borne:
Yet much he bore, until the distress
He suffer’d from his spiteful mistress
Did stir his stomach; and the pain
He had endur’d from her disdain,
Turn’d to regret so resolute,
That he resolv’d to wave his suit,
And either to renounce her quite,
Or for a while play least in sight.
This resolution b’ing put on,
He kept some months, and more had done,
But being brought so nigh by fate,
The victory he achiev’d so late
Did set his thoughts agog, and ope
A door to discontinu’d hope,
That seem’d to promise he might win
His dame too, now his hand was in;
And that his valour, and the honour
H’ had newly gain’d, might work upon her.
These reasons made his mouth to water
With am’rous longings to be at her.
Quoth he, unto himself, Who knows,
But this brave conquest o’er my foes
May reach her heart, and make that stoop,
As I but now have forc’d the troop?
If nothing can oppugn love,
And virtue invious ways can prove,
What may he not confide to do
That brings both love and virtue too?
But thou bring’st valour too and wit:
Two things that seldom fail to hit.
Valour’s a mouse-trap, wit a gin,
Which women oft are taken in.
Then, Hudibras, why should’st thou fear
To be, that art a conqueror?
Fortune th’ audacious doth juvare,
But lets the timidous miscarry.
Then while the honour thou hast got
Is spick and span new, piping hot,
Strike her up bravely, thou hadst best,
And trust thy fortune with the rest.
Such thoughts as these the Knight did keep,
More than his bangs or fleas, from sleep.
And as an owl, that in a barn
Sees a mouse creeping in the corn,
Sits still, and shuts his round blue eyes,
As if he slept, until he spies
The little beast within his reach,
Then starts, and seizes on the wretch;
So from his couch the Knight did start
To seize upon the widow’s heart;
Crying with hasty tone, and hoarse,
Ralpho, dispatch; to horse, to horse.
And ’twas but time; for now the rout,
We left engag’d to seek him out,
By speedy marches, were advanc’d
Up to the fort, where he ensconc’d;
And all th’ avenues had possest
About the place, from east to west.
That done, a while they made a halt,
To view the ground, and where t’ assault:
Then call’d a council, which was best,
By siege or onslaught, to invest
The enemy; and ’twas agreed,
By storm and onslaught to proceed.
This b’ing resolv’d, in comely sort
They now drew up t’ attack the fort:
When Hudibras, about to enter
Upon another-gates adventure,
To Ralpho call’d aloud to arm,
Not dreaming of approaching storm.
Whether dame Fortune, or the care
Of angel bad or tutelar,
Did arm, or thrust him on a danger
To which he was an utter stranger,
That foresight might, or might not, blot
The glory he had newly got;
For to his shame it might be said,
They took him napping in his bed;
To them we leave it to expound,
That deal in sciences profound.
His courser scarce he had bestrid,
And Ralpho that on which he rid,
When setting ope the postern gate,
Which they thought best to sally at,
The foe appear’d, drawn up and drill’d,
Ready to charge them in the field.
This somewhat startled the bold Knight,
Surpris’d with th’ unexpected sight:
The bruises of his bones and flesh
He thought began to smart afresh;
Till recollecting wonted courage,
His fear was soon converted to rage,
And thus he spoke: The coward foe,
Whom we but now gave quarter to,
Look, yonder’s rally’d, and appears
As if they had outrun their fears.
The glory we did lately get,
The Fates command us to repeat;
And to their wills we must succumb,
Quocunque trahunt, ’tis our doom.
This is the same numeric crew
Which we so lately did subdue;
The self-same individuals that
Did run as mice do from a cat,
When we courageously did wield
Our martial weapons in the field,
To tug for victory; and when
We shall our shining blades agen
Brandish in terror o’er our heads,
They’ll straight resume their wonted dreads.
Fear is an ague, that forsakes
And haunts by fits those whom it takes;
And they’ll opine they feel the pain
And blows they felt to-day again.
Then let us boldly charge them home,
And make no doubt to overcome.
This said, his courage to inflame,
He call’d upon his mistress’ name.
His pistol next he cock’d anew,
And out his nut-brown whinyard drew;
And, placing Ralpho
