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,
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?
Not all that pride that makes thee fwell
As big as thou doft blown-up veal;
Nor all thy tricks and fleights to cheat,
And fell 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 ftale pork;
Not all that force that makes thee proud,
Because by bullock ne'er withstood;

Though arm'd with all thy cleavers, knives,
And axes made to hew down lives,

Shall fave or help thee to evade

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

Nor fhall these words of venom base,
Which thou haft from their native place,
Thy ftomach, pump'd to fling on me,
Go unreveng'd, though I am free.

Thou down the fame throat shall devour 'em,
Like tainted beef, and pay dear for 'em.
Nor fhall it e'er be faid, that wight
With gantlet blue, and basis white,
And round blunt truncheon by his fide,
So great a man at arms defy'd

With words far bitterer than wormwood,
That would in Job or Grizel ftir mood.
Dogs with their tongues their wounds do heal,
But men with hands, as thou shalt feel.

This faid, with hafty rage he fnatch'd
His gunshot, that in holsters watch'd;
And bending cock, he levell'd full
Against the outside of Talgol's fcull;
Vowing that he should ne'er ftir further,
Nor henceforth cow or bullock murther.
But Pallas came in shape of rust,

And 'twixt the spring and hammer thrust
Her Gorgon fhield, which made the cock
Stand stiff, as 'twere transform'd to stock.
Mean while fierce Talgol gath'ring might,
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 fuch a kind of fight,

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 fword; yet not so fast,

But Talgol first with hardy thwack

Twice bruis'd his head, and twice his back.
But when his nut-brown sword was out,
With ftomach huge he laid about,
Imprinting many a wound upon
His mortal foe, the truncheon;
The trufty cudgel did oppose
Itself against the dead-doing blows,
To guard its leader from fell bane,
And then reveng'd itself again.

And though the fword, fome understood,
In force had much the odds of wood,
'Twas nothing fo; both fides were ballanc'd
So equal, none knew which was valiant'ft:
For wood, with honour being engag'd,
Is fo implacably enrag'd;

Though iron hue and mangle fore,

Wood wounds and bruises honour more.
And now both knights were out of breath,
Tir'd in the hot purfuit of death;
Whilft all the rest amaz'd stood still,
Expecting which should take, or kill.
This Hudibras obferv'd; and fretting,
Conqueft should be fo long a-getting,
He drew up all his force into
One body, and that into one blow.
But Talgol wifely avoided it

By cunning fleight; for had it hit,
The upper of him the blow

Had flit, as fure as that below.

Meanwhile th'incomparable Colon,
To aid his friend, began to fall on:
Him Ralph encounter'd, and straight grew
A difmal combat 'twixt them two;
Th'one arm'd with metal, th'other with wood,
This fit for bruife, and that for blood.
With many a ftiff thwack, many a bang,
Hard crab-tree and old iron rang;

While none that faw them could divine
To which fide conqueft would incline,
Until Magnano, who did envy

That two fhould with fo many men vie,
By subtle ftratagem of brain

Perform'd what force could ne'er attaing
For he, by foul hap, having found
Where thiftles grew on barren ground,.
In hafte he drew his weapon out,
And having cropt them from the root,
He clapp'd them underneath the tail
Of steed, with pricks as sharp as nail.
The angry beaft did ftraight refent
The wrong done to his fundament,
Began to kick, and fling, and winces
As if h'd been befide his fenfe,
Striving to difengage from thistle:
That gall'd him forely under his tail:
Inftead of which he threw the packi
Of squire, and baggage from his back;
And blund'ring ftill with fmarting rump,
He gave the knight's steed fuch a thump

As made him reel. The knight did stoop,
And fat on further fide aflope.
This Talgol viewing, who had now
By fleight escap'd the fatal blow,
He rally'd, and again fell to’t;
For catching foe by nearer foot,

He lifted with fuch might and strength,
As would have hurl'd him thrice his length,
And dafh'd his brains (if any) out;
But Mars, that still protects the stout,
In pudding-time came to his aid,
And under him the bear convey'd ;
The bear, upon whose soft fur-gown
The knight with all his weight fell down.
The friendly rug preferv'd the ground,
And headlong knight, from bruise or wound:
Like feather bed betwixt a wall,
And heavy brunt of cannon-ball.
As Sancho on a blanket fell,
And had no hurt; ours far'd as well
In body, though his mighty fpirit,
B'ing heavy, did not fo well bear it.
The bear was in a greater fright,
Beat down and worsted by the knight.
He roar'd and rag'd, and flung about,
To shake off bondage from his fnout.
His wrath inflam'd, boil'd o'er, and from
His jaws of death he threw the foam;
Fury in stranger postures threw him,
And more than ever herald drew him: