And fat Black-Puddings, proper Food
For Warriors that delight in Blood.
For, as we faid, He always chofe
To carry Vittle in his Hofe,
That often tempted Rats and Mice,
The Ammunition to furprize:
And when he put a hand but in
The one or t' other Magazine,
They ftoutly in defence on't ftood,
And from the wounded Foe drew Blood,
And till th'were ftorm'd and beaten out,
Ne'er left the Fortify'd Redoubt;
And though Knights Errant, as fome think,
Of old did neither eat nor drink,
Because when thorough Defarts vaft
And Regions defolate 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 Provifion on Record:
Which made fome confidently write,
They had no ftomachs, but to fight.
'Tis falfe for Arthur 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 his Knights could eat,
When laying by their Swords and Truncheons,
They took their Breakfafts, or their Nuncheons.
But let that pafs at present, left
We should forget where we digreft:
As Learned Authors use, to whom
We leave it, and to th' purpose come.
His puiffant Sword unto his fide
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 fhoot at Foes, and fometimes Pullets,
To whom he bore fo fell a grutch,
The trenchant Blade, Toledo trufty,
For want of Fighting was grown rufty,
And ate into it self, for lack
Of fome Body to hew and hack.
The peaceful Scabbard where it dwelt,
The Rancor of its Edge had felt :
For of the lower End two Handfull
It had devoured, 'twas fo Manful;
And fo much scorn'd to lurk in Cafe,
As if it durft not fhew its Face.
In many defperate Attempts,
Of Warrants, Exigents, Contempts,
It had appear'd with Courage bolder
Than Sergeant Bum, invading Shoulder.
Oft had it ta'en poffeffion,
And Pris'ners too, or made them run.
This Sword a Dagger had his Page,
That was but little for his Age:
And therefore waited on him fc,
As Dwarfs upon Knights Errant do.
It was a ferviceable Dudgeon,
Either for fighting or for drudging,
When it had ftabb'd, or broke a Head,
It would fcrape Trenchers, or chip Bread,
Toast Cheese or Bacon, though it were
To bait a Mouse-trap 'twould not care,
'Twould make clean Shoes, and in the Earth
Set Leeks and Onions, and fo 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 fame Score.
I' th' Holfters, at his Saddle-bow,
Two aged Pistols he did ftow,
Among the Surplus of fuch Meat
As in his Hofe he could not get.
Thefe would inviegle Rats with th' Scent
To forage when the Cocks were bent;
And fometimes catch 'em with a Snap
As cleaverly as th' ableft Trap.
They were upon hard Duty ftill,
And every Night stood Centinel,
To guard the Magazine i' th' Hofe
From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd Foes.
Thus clad and fortify'd, Sir Knight,
From peaceful home fet forth to fight.
But firft with nimble, active Force
He got on th' outfide of his Horse,
For having but one Stirrup ty'd
T'his Saddle, on the further fide,
It was fo fhort h' had much ado
To reach it with his defp'rate Toe.
But after many ftrains and heaves,
got up to his Saddle Eaves.
From whence he vaulted into th' Seat
With fo much Vigour, Strength, and Heat,
That he had almoft tumbled over
With his own Weight, but did recover,
By laying hold on Tail and Main,
Which oft he us'd instead of Rein.
But now we talk of mounting Steed,
Before we further do proceed,
It doth behove us to fay fomething,
Of that which bore our Valiant Bumkin.
The Beast was sturdy, large, and tall,
With mouth of Meal and Eyes of Wall ;
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