And bless the devil to let them farms

Of forfeit foul, on no worfe terms.

This faid, a near and louder fhout
Put all th' affembly to the rout,
Who now began t' outrun their fear,
As horses do, from those they bear;
But crowded on with fo much hafte,
Until they'd block'd the passage fast,
And barricado'd it with haunches

Of outward men, and bulks and paunches,
That with their shoulders ftrove to squeeze,

And rather fave a crippled piece

1665

1670

Of all their crufh'd and broken members, 1675
Than have them grilly'd on the embers;

Still preffing on with heavy packs
Of one another on their backs,
The vanguard could no longer bear

The charges of the forlorn rear,

1680

But, borne down headlong by the rout,
Were trampled forely under foot;
Yet nothing prov'd so formidable,
As th' horrid cook'ry of the rabble :
And fear, that keeps all feelings out,
As leffer pains are by the gout,
Reliev'd'em with a fresh supply
Of rally'd force, enough to fly,
And beat a Tuscan running horse,
Whose jockey-rider is all spurs.

Parts, Canto 2.Line 1595.