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Triumphant Laurels feem'd to grow
No where so green as on his Brow :
Laden with which, as well as tir'd
With Conquering toil he now retir'd
Unto a Neighbouring Castle by,
To rest his Body, and apply
Fit Med’cines to each glorious Bruise
He got in fight, Reds, Blacks, and Blues ;
To Mollify th’uneasie 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 fort,
By Cupid made, who took his stand
Upon a Widow's Jointure-Land,
(For he, in all his am’rous Battels,
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 swag’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 that 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,
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 lier as much.
'Twas a strange Riddle of a Lady,
Not love, if any lov'd her ? Hey-day!
So Cowards never ufe 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.
Mean while 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 Coney :
Just fo does he by Matrimony,
But all in vaia: Her fubtil Snout
Did quickly wind his Meaning out ;
Which she return'd with too much Scorn,
To be by Mau of Honour Born
Yet much he bore, untill the Distress,
He suffer'd frożn his spightful Mistress,
Did stir his Stomach, and the Pain
He had endur'd, from her Disdain,
Turn’d to Regret, fo resolute,
That he refolv'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 fo nigh by Fate,
The Victory he atchiev'd fo late,
Did fet 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 amorous 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 Envious ways can prove,
not he 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 shouldst thou fear
To be, that art a Conquerer ?
Fortune th' Audacious doth juvare,
But lets the tiinidous 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,
as an Owl that in a Barnı
Sees a Mouse creeping in the Corn,
Sits still and shuts his round blue Eyes,
As if he slept, until he spies