When Cerdon gave so fierce a shock,
With sturdy truncheon, ’thwart his arm,
That down it fell, and did no harm:
Then stoutly pressing on with speed,
Assay’d to pull him off his steed.
The Knight his sword had only left,
With which he Cerdon’s head had cleft,
Or at the least cropt off a limb,
But Orsin came, and rescu’d him.
He, with his lance, attack’d the Knight
Upon his quarters opposite:
But as a bark, that in foul weather,
Toss’d by two adverse winds together,
Is bruis’d, and beaten to and fro,
And knows not which to turn him to;
So far’d the Knight between two foes,
And knew not which of them t’oppose;
Till Orsin, charging with his lance
At Hudibras, by spiteful chance,
Hit Cerdon such a bang, as stunn’d
And laid him flat upon the ground.
At this the Knight began to cheer up,
And, raising up himself on stirrup,
Cry’d out, Victoria! lie thou there,
And I shall straight dispatch another,
To bear thee company in death;
But first I’ll halt a while, and breathe:
As well he might; for Orsin, griev’d
At th’ wound that Cerdon had receiv’d,
Ran to relieve him with his lore,
And cure the hurt he gave before.
Meanwhile the Knight had wheel’d about,
To breathe himself, and next find out
Th’ advantage of the ground, where best
He might the ruffled foe infest.
This b’ing resolv’d, he spurr’d his steed,
To run at Orsin with full speed,
While he was busy in the care
Of Cerdon’s wound, and unaware;
But he was quick, and had already
Unto the part apply’d remedy;
And, seeing th’ enemy prepar’d,
Drew up, and stood upon his guard.
Then, like a warrior right expert
And skilful in the martial art,
The subtle Knight straight made a halt,
And judg’d it best to stay th’ assault,
Until he had reliev’d the Squire,
And then in order to retire;
Or, as occasion should invite,
With forces join’d renew the fight.
Ralpho, by this time disentranc’d,
Upon his bum himself advanc’d,
Though sorely bruis’d; his limbs all o’er
With ruthless bangs were stiff and sore.
Right fain he would have got upon
His feet again, to get him gone,
When Hudibras to aid him came:
Quoth he (and call’d him by his name,)
Courage! the day at length is ours;
And we once more, as conquerors,
Have both the field and honour won:
The foe is profligate, and run.
I mean all such as can; for some
This hand hath sent to their long home;
And some lie sprawling on the ground,
With many a gash and bloody wound.
Caesar himself could never say
He got two victories in a day,
As I have done, that can say, Twice I
In one day, Veni, Vidi, Vici.
The foe’s so numerous, that we
Cannot so often vincere
As they perire, and yet enow
Be left to strike an after-blow;
Then, lest they rally, and once more
Put us to fight the bus’ness o’er,
Get up, and mount thy steed: Dispatch,
And let us both their motions watch.
Quoth Ralph, I should not, if I were
In case for action, now be here:
Nor have I turn’d my back, or hang’d
An arse, for fear of being bang’d.
It was for you I got these harms,
Advent’ring to fetch off your arms.
The blows and drubs I have receiv’d
Have bruis’d my body, and bereav’d
My limbs of strength. Unless you stoop,
And reach your hand to pull me up,
I shall lie here, and be a prey
To those who now are run away.
That thou shalt not (quoth Hudibras;)
We read the ancients held it was
More honourable far, servare
Civem, than slay an adversary:
The one we oft to-day have done,
The other shall dispatch anon:
And though th’ art of a different church,
I will not leave thee in the lurch.
This said, he jogg’d his good steed nigher,
And steer’d him gently towards the Squire;
Then bowing down his body, stretch’d
His hand out, and at Ralpho reach’d;
When Trulla, whom he did not mind,
Charg’d him like lightening behind.
She had been long in search about
Magnano’s wound, to find it out;
But could find none, nor where the shot,
That had so startled him, was got:
But having found the worst was past,
She fell to her own work at last,
The pillage of the prisoners,
Which in all feats of arms was hers;
And now to plunder Ralph she flew,
When Hudibras his hard fate drew
To succour him; for, as he bow’d
To help him up, she laid a load
Of blows so heavy, and plac’d so well,
On t’ other side, that down he fell.
Yield, scoundrel base (quoth she,) or die:
Thy life is mine, and liberty:
But if thou think’st I took thee tardy,
And dar’st presume to be so hardy,
To try thy fortune o’er afresh,
I’ll wave my title to thy flesh;
Thy arms and baggage, now my right;
And if thou hast the heart to try ’t,
I’ll lend thee back thyself a while,
And once more, for that carcass vile,
Fight upon tick.—Quoth Hudibras,
Thou offer’st nobly, valiant lass,
And I shall take thee at thy word.
First let me rise and take my sword;
That sword which has so oft this day
Through squadrons of my foes made way,
And some to other worlds dispatch’d,
Now with a feeble spinster match’d,
Will blush with blood ignoble stain’d,
By which no honour’s to be gain’d.
But if thou’lt take m’ advice in this,
Consider whilst thou may’st, what ’tis
To interrupt a victor’s course,
B’ opposing such a trivial force:
For if with conquest I come off,
(And that I shall do, sure enough,)
Quarter thou canst not have, nor grace,
By law of arms, in such a case;
Both which I now do offer freely.
I scorn (quoth she) thou coxcomb silly,
(Clapping her hand upon her breech,
To show how much she priz’d his speech,)
Quarter or counsel from a foe;
If thou can’st force me to it, do.
But lest it should again be said,
When I have once more won thy head,
I took thee napping, unprepar’d,
Arm, and betake thee to thy guard.
This said, she to her tackle fell,
And on the Knight let fall a peal
Of blows so fierce, and press’d so home,
That he retir’d, and follow’d ’s bum.
Stand to ’t (quoth she) or yield to mercy:
It is not fighting arsie-versie
Shall serve thy turn.—This stirr’d his spleen
More than the danger he was in,
The blows he felt, or was to feel,
Although th’ already made him reel.
Honour, despight, revenge and shame,
At once into his stomach came,
Which fir’d it so, he rais’d his arm
Above his head, and rain’d a storm
Of blows so terrible and thick,
As if he
