But, Ralpho, this is no fit Place,
Nor Time to argue out the Cafe:
For now the Field is not far off,
Where we must give the World a Proof
Of Deeds, not Words, and fuch as fute
Another manner of Difpute.
A Controversy that affords
Actions for Arguments, not Words:
Which we must manage at a Rate
Of Prowess and Conduct, adæquate
To what our Place and Fame doth promise,
And all the Godly expect from us.
Nor fhall they be deceiv'd, unless
are flur'd' and outed by Succefs:
Succefs, the Mark no Mortal Wit,
Or fureft Hand can always hit:
For whatfoe'r we perpetrate,
We do but row, w' are fteer'd by Fate,
Which in Succefs oft difinherits,
For fpurious Caufes, nobleft Merits:
Great Actions are not always true Sons
Of great and mighty Refolutions:
Nor do the Bold'ft Attemps bring forth
Events ftill equal to their Worth?
But fome times fail, and in their stead
Fortune and Cowardice fucceed.
Yet we have no great Cause to doubt,
Our Actions ftill have born us out.
Which though th' are known to be fo ample,
We need not Copy from Example,
We're not the only Perfons durft
Attempt this Province, nor the firft.
In Northern Clime a Val'rous Knight
Did whilom kill his Bear in fight,
And wound a Fidler: We have both
Of these the Objects of our Wroth,
And equal Fame and Glory from
Th' Attempt of Victory to come.
'Tis fung, there is a Valiant Mamaluke
In foreign Land, yclep'd-
To whom we have been oft compar'd
For Perfon, Parts, Addrefs and Beard;
Both equally reputed ftout, st
And in the fame Caufe both have fought;
He oft in fuch Attempts as thefe
Came off with Glory and Succefs
Nor will we fail in th' Execution,
For want of equal Refolution.
Honour is like a Widow, won
With brisk Attempt and putting on:
With entring manfully, and urging,
Not flow Approaches, like a Virgin.
This faid, as yerft the Phrygian Knight,
So ours, with rufty Steel did fmite
His Trojan Horfe, and juft as much
He mended Pace upon the Touch;
But from his empty Stomach groan'd
Juft as that hollow Beaft did found,
And angry answer'd from behind,
With brandifh'd Tail and blaft of Wind.
So I have feen with armed Heel, w
A Wight beftride a Common-weal';
While ftill the more he kick'd and fpurr'd,
The lefs the fullen Jade has stirr'd.
The Catalogue and Character
Of th Enemies beft Men of War;
Whom, in a bold Harangue, the Knight
Defies, and challenges to fight:
H ́encounters Talgol, routs the Bear,
And takes the Fidler Prifoner ;
Conveys him to enchanted Castle,
There fhuts him faft in Wooden Baftile.
"Here was an ancient fage Philofopher,
That had read Alexander Rofs over,
And fwore the World, as he could prove,
Was made of Fighting and of Love:
Juft fo Romances are, for what else
Is in them all, but Love and Battles ?
O' th' first of these w' have no great Matter
To treat of, but a World o' th' latter:
In which to do the injur'd Right,
We mean, in what concerns juft fight.
Certes our Authors are to blame,
For to make fome well-founding Name,
A Pattern fit for modern Knights
To copy out in Frays and Fights,
(Like those that a whole ftreet do raze
To build a Palace in the Place.)
They never care how many others
They kill without regard of Mothers,
Or Wives, or Children, fo they can
Make up fome fierce dead-doing Man,
Compos'd of many Ingredient Valours
Just like the Manhood of nine Taylors;
So a wild Tartar, when he fpies
A Man that's handsome, valiant, wife,
If he can kill him, thinks t' inherit
His Wit, his Beauty, and his Spirit:
As if just so much he enjoy'd
As in another is destroy'd.
For when a Giant's flain in Fight,
And mow'd o'erthwart, or cleft downright, It is a heavy Cafe, no doubt,
A Man should have his Brains beat out,
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