What strum, what phrenitic mood

495

Makes you thus lavish of your blood, &c. &c.

In name of king and parliament,

I charge ye all, no more foment

This feud, but keep the peace between
Your brethren and your countrymen ;
And to those places straight repair,
Where your respective dwellings are.
But to that purpose first surrender
The fiddler, as the prime offender,
Th' incendiary vile, that is chief
Author and engineer of mischief;

665

670

That makes division between friends,

For profane and malignant ends.

He, and that engine of vile noise,
On which illegally he plays,

Shall, dictum factum, both be brought

675

To condign punishment, as they ought.
This must be done, and I would fain see
Mortal so sturdy as to gainsay:
For then I'll take another course,
And soon reduce you all by force.
This said, he clapt his hand on sword,
To shew he meant to keep his word.

But Talgol, who had long supprest
Inflamed wrath in glowing breast,

680

Which now began to rage and burn as 685
Implacably as flame in furnace,

Thus answer'd him: Thou vermin wretched
As e'er in measled pork was hatched;
Thou tail of worship, thou dost grow
On rump of justice as of cow;

How dar'st thou with that sullen luggage
O' th' self, old ir'n, and other baggage,
With which thy steed of bones and leather
Has broke his wind in halting hither;
How durst th', I say, adventure thus
T'oppose thy lumber against us?

690

695

No subtle question rais'd among

Those out-o'-their wits, and those i' th' wrong;

But if th' hast brain enough in scull

731

To keep itself in lodging whole,
And not provoke the rage of stones
And cudgels to thy hide and bones;
Tremble, and vanish, while thou mayst,
Which I'll not promise if thou stay'st.
At this the knight grew high in wroth,
And lifting hands and eyes up both,

735

Three times he smote on stomach stout,

From whence at length these words broke out.

Was I for this intitled Sir,

And girt with trusty sword and spur,

For fame and honour to wage battle,
Thus to be brav'd by foe to cattle?

741

Not all that pride that makes thee swell
As big as thou dost blown-up veal;
Nor all thy tricks and sleights to cheat,
And sell thy carrion for good meat;
Not all thy magic to repair

Decay'd old age in tough lean ware,
Make nat❜ral death appear thy work,
And stop the gangrene in stale pork;

Not all that force that makes thee proud,
Because by bullock ne'er withstood;

745

750

Though arm'd with all thy cleavers, knives, 755

And axes made to hew down lives,

Shall save or help thee to evade

The hand of justice, or this blade,
Which I, her sword-bearer, do carry,
For civil deed and military.

760

739. "Three times." If the figure of Hudibras be attentively examined in the map, it will be seen in fact to have three outlines of face one before the other and nearly parallel; a circumstance referred to in this line, in 943, and very frequently hereafter.

Nor shall these words of venom base,
Which thou hast from their native place,
Thy stomach, pump'd to fling on me,

Go unreveng'd, though I am free.

Thou down the same throat shall devour'em,

Like tainted beef, and pay dear for 'em.

765

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,

770

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 gunshot, that in holsters watch'd; And bending cock, he levell'd full

775

Against th' outside of Talgol's scull;
Vowing that he should ne'er stir further,
Nor henceforth cow or bullock murther.

But Pallas came in shape of rust,

780

And 'twixt the spring and hammer thrust
Her Gorgon shield, which made the cock
Stand stiff, as 'twere transform'd to stock.
Mean while fierce Talgol gath'ring might, 785
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,

790

And shrunk from its great master's gripe, Knock'd down and stunn'd with mortal stripe. Then Hudibras, with furious haste,

Drew out his sword; yet not so fast,

But Talgol first with hearty 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.

795

800

And though the sword, some understood, 805 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 engaged,

Is so implacably enraged;

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;
Whilst all the rest amaz'd stood still,
Expecting which should take, or kill.

810

815