More honourable far fervare
Civem, than flay an adversary;
The one we oft' to-day have done,
The other shall dispatch anon :
And tho' th' art of a diff'rent church,
I will not leave thee in the lurch.
This faid, he jogg'd his good steed nigher, 765
And steer'd him gently toward the Squire;
Then bowing down his body, stretch'd
His hand out, and at Ralpho reach'd;
When Trulla, whom he did not mind,
Charg'd him like lightning behind.
She had been long in fearch about
Magnano's wound, to find it out;
But could find none, nor where the fhot
That had so startled him was got:
But having found the worst was past,
She fell to her own work at last,
The pillage of the prisoners,
Which in all feats of arms was hers:
And now to plunder Ralph she flew,
When Hudibras his hard fate drew
To fuccour him; for, as he bow'd
To help him up, fhe laid a load
Of blows fo heavy, and plac'd fo well,
On th' other fide, that down he fell.
Yield, fcoundrel base, quoth fhe, or die; Thy life is mine, and liberty:
But if thou think'st I took thee tardy,
And dar'st presume to be so hardy,
To try thy fortune o'er afresh,
I'll wave my title to thy flesh,
Thy arms and baggage, now my right:
And if thou haft the heart to try 't,
I'll lend thee back thyself awhile,
And once more, for that carcafe vile,
Fight upon tick.—Quoth Hudibras,
Thou offer'st nobly, valiant lass,
And I shall take thee at thy word.
First let me rise, and take my sword;
That sword, which has so oft this day
Through squadrons of my foes made way,
And fome to other worlds dispatch'd,
Now with a feeble spinster match'd,
Will blush with blood ignoble stain'd,
By which no honour's to be gain'd.
But if thou'lt take m' advice in this,
Confider, while thou may'st, what 'tis
To interrupt a victor's course,
B'oppofing fuch a trivial force.
For if with conqueft I come off,
And that I fhall do fure enough,
Quarter thou can'ft not have, nor grace,
By law of arms, in such a case;
Both which I now do offer freely.
I fcorn, quoth fhe, thou coxcomb filly,
Clapping her hand upon her breech,
To fhew how much the priz'd his fpeech,
Quarter or counfel from a foe:
If thou canst force me to it, do.
But left it should again be said,
When I have once more won thy head,
I took thee napping, unprepar'd,
Arm, and betake thee to thy guard.
This faid, fhe to her tackle fell,
And on the Knight let fall a peal
Of blows fo fierce, and prest so home,
That he retir'd, and follow'd 's bum,
Stand to 't, quoth fhe, or yield to mercy,
It is not fighting arfie-versie
Shall ferve thy turn.—This stirr'd his spleen
More than the danger he was in,
The blows he felt, or was to feel,
Although th' already made him reel.
Honour, defpight, revenge, and fhame,
At once into his ftomach came;
Which fir'd it fo, he rais'd his arm
Above his head, and rain'd a storm
Of blows fo terrible and thick,
As if he meant to hash her quick.
But the upon her truncheon took them,
And by oblique diversion broke them;
Waiting an opportunity
To pay all back with usury,
Which long she fail'd not of; for now
The Knight, with one dead-doing blow,
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