Quoth he, It was thy cowardice
That made me from this leaguer rise:
And when I’d half reduc’d the place,
To quit it infamously base:
Was better cover’d by the new-
Arriv’d detachment than I knew;
To slight my new acquests, and run
Victoriously from battles won;
And reck’ning all I gain’d or lost,
To sell them cheaper than they cost;
To make me put myself to flight,
And conqu’ring run away by night;
To drag me out, which th’ haughty foe
Durst never have presum’d to do;
To mount me in the dark, by force,
Upon the bare ridge of my horse;
Expos’d in querpo to their rage,
Without my arms and equipage;
Lest, if they ventur’d to pursue,
I might th’ unequal fight renew;
And, to preserve thy outward man,
Assum’d my place, and led the van.
All this quoth Ralph, I did, ’tis true,
Not to preserve my self, but you;
You, who were damn’d to baser drubs
Than wretches feel in powd’ring tubs?
To mount two-wheel’d caroches, worse
Than managing a wooden-horse;
Dragg’d out through straiter holes by th’ ears,
Eras’d or coup’d for perjurers;
Who, though th’ attempt had prov’d in vain,
Had had no reason to complain:
But since it prosper’d, ’tis unhandsome
To blame the hand that paid our ransom,
And rescu’d your obnoxious bones
From unavoidable battoons.
The enemy was reinforc’d,
And we disabled, and unhors’d,
Disarm’d, unqualify’d for fight,
And no way left but hasty flight,
Which though as desp’rate in th’ attempt,
Has giv’n you freedom to condemn ’t.
But were our bones in fit condition
To reinforce the expedition,
’Tis now unseasonable, and vain,
To think of falling on again.
No martial project to surprise
Can ever be attempted twice;
Nor can design serve afterwards,
As gamesters tear their losing-cards,
Beside our bangs of man and beast
Are fit for nothing now but rest,
And for a while will not be able
To rally and prove serviceable;
And therefore I, with reason, chose
This stratagem t’ amuse our foes;
To make an honourable retreat,
And wave a total sure defeat:
For those that fly may fight again,
Which he can never do that’s slain.
Hence timely running’s no mean part
Of conduct in the martial art;
By which some glorious feats achieve,
As citizens by breaking thrive;
And cannons conquer armies, while
They seem to draw off and recoil;
Is held the gallant’st course, and bravest,
To great exploits, as well as safest;
That spares th’ expense of time and pains,
And dangerous beating out of brains;
And in the end prevails as certain
As those that never trust to fortune;
But make their fear do execution
Beyond the stoutest resolution;
As earthquakes kill without a blow,
And, only trembling, overthrow.
If th’ ancients crown’d their bravest men,203
That only sav’d a citizen,
What victory could e’er be won,
If ev’ry one would save but one?
Or fight endanger’d to be lost,
Where all resolve to save the most?
By this means when a battle’s won,
The war’s as far from being done;
For those that save themselves, and fly,
Go halves, at least, i’ th’ victory;
And sometimes, when the loss is small,
And danger great, they challenge all;
Print new additions to their feats,
And emendations in Gazettes;
And when, for furious haste to run,
They durst not stay to fire a gun,
Have done ’t with bonfires, and at home
Made squibs and crackers overcome;
To set the rabble on a flame,
And keep their governors from blame;
Disperse the news the pulpit tells,
Confirm’d with fire-works and with bells;
And though reduc’d to that extreme,
They have been forc’d to sing Te Deum;
Yet, with religious blasphemy,
By flattering Heaven with a lie,
And for their beating giving thanks,
Th’ have rais’d recruits, and fill’d their banks;
For those who run from th’ enemy,
Engage them equally to fly;
And when the fight becomes a chase,
Those win the day that win the race;
And that which would not pass in fights,
Has done the feat with easy flights;
Recover’d many a desp’rate campaign
With Bordeaux, Burgundy, and Champaign;
Restor’d the fainting high and mighty
With brandy-wine and aqua-vitae;
And made ’em stoutly overcome
With bachrach, hoccamore, and mum;
Whom th’ uncontroll’d decrees of fate
To victory necessitate;
With which, although they run or burn,
They unavoidably return:
Or else their sultan populaces
Still strangle all their routed Bassas.204
Quoth Hudibras, I understand
What fights thou mean’st at sea and land,
And who those were that run away,
And yet gave out th’ had won the day;
Although the rabble sous’d them for ’t,
O’er head and ears in mud and dirt.
’Tis true, our modern way of war
Is grown more politic by far,
But not so resolute and bold,
Nor ty’d to honour, as the old.
For now they laugh at giving battle,
Unless it be to herds of cattle;
Or fighting convoys of provision,
The whole design o’ the expedition;
And not with downright blows to rout
The enemy, but eat them out:
As fighting, in all beasts of prey,
And eating, are perform’d one way,
To give defiance to their teeth,
And fight their stubborn guts to death;
And those achieve the high’st renown,
That bring the others’ stomachs down.
There’s now no fear of wounds, nor maiming;
All dangers are reduc’d to famine;
And feats of arms, to plot, design,
Surprise, and stratagem, and mine;
But have no need nor use of courage,
Unless it be for glory or forage:
For if they fight, ’tis but by chance,
When one side vent’ring to advance,
And come uncivilly too near,
Are charg’d unmercifully i’ th’ rear;
And forc’d, with terrible resistance,
To keep hereafter at a distance;
To pick out ground t’ encamp upon,
Where store of largest rivers run,
That serve, instead of peaceful barriers,
To part th’ engagements of their warriors;
Where both from side to side may skip,
And only encounter at bo-peep:
For men are found the stouter-hearted,
The certainer th’ are to be parted,
And therefore post themselves in bogs,
As th’ ancient mice attack’d the frogs,205
And made their mortal enemy,
The water-rat, their strict ally.
For ’tis not now, who’s stout and bold,
But who bears hunger best, and cold;
And he’s approv’d the most deserving,
Who longest can hold out at starving;
And he that routs most pigs and cows,
The formidablest man of prowess.
So th’ emperor Caligula,
That triumph’d o’er the British Sea,
Took crabs and oysters prisoners,
And lobsters, ’stead of cuirassiers,
Engag’d his legions in fierce bustles
With periwinkles, prawns, and muscles;
And led his troops with furious gallops,
To charge whole regiments of scallops;
Not like their ancient way of war,
To wait on his triumphal car;
But when he went to dine or sup,
More bravely eat his captives up;
And left all war, by his example,
Reduc’d to vict’ling of a camp well.
Quoth Ralph, By all that you have said,
And twice as much that
