We mean on th’ inside, not the outward;
That next of all we shall discuss:
Then listen, Sirs, it follows thus:
His tawny beard was th’ equal grace
Both of his wisdom and his face;
In cut and dye so like a tile,
A sudden view it would beguile:
The upper part thereof was whey;
The nether, orange mix’d with grey.
This hairy meteor did denounce
The fall of sceptres and of crowns;
With grisly type did represent
Declining age of government;
And tell with hieroglyphick spade,
Its own grave and the state’s were made.
Like Samson’s heart-breakers, it grew
In time to make a nation rue;
Tho’ it contributed its own fall,
To wait upon the publick downfall:
It was monastick, and did grow
In holy orders by strict vow;26
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;
But with his rusty sickle mow
Both down together at a blow.
So learned Taliacotius27 from
The brawny part of porter’s bum
Cut supplemental noses, which
Would last as long as parent breech;
But when the date of nock was out,
Off dropp’d the sympathetic snout.
His back, or rather burthen, show’d,
As if it stoop’d with its own load:
For as Æneas28 bore his sire
Upon his shoulders thro’ the fire,
Our Knight did bear no less a pack
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 vittle, which anon
We farther shall dilate upon,
When of his hose we come to treat,
The cupboard 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
To carry vittle in his hose,
That often tempted rats and mice
The ammunition to surprise:
And when he put a hand but in
The one or t’ 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 deserts vast,
And regions desolate, they past,
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 Arthur29 wore in hall
Round table like a farthingal,
On which, with shirt 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 carry’d as much meat
As he and all the 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 digrest,
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,30
For want of fighting, was grown rusty,
And ate unto itself, for lack
Of somebody to hew and hack.
The peaceful scabbard where it dwelt
The rancour of its edge had felt;
For of the lower end two handful
It had devour’d, ’twas so manful;
And so much scorn’d to lurk in case,
As if it durst not shew its face.
In many desperate attempts,
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 t’ his page,
That was but little for his age;
And therefore waited on him so,
As dwarfs upon knights-errant do.
It was a serviceable dudgeon,
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
Have lately done on the same score.31
In th’ holsters, at his saddle-bow,
Two aged pistols he did stow,
Among the surplus of such meat
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 ev’ry night stood sentinel,
To guard the magazine i’ the 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 th’ outside of his horse;
For having but one stirrup ty’d
T’ his saddle, on the farther side,
It was so short h’ had much ado
To reach it with his desp’rate toe:
But after many strains and heaves,
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 mane,
Which oft he us’d instead of rein.
But
