Still ready to be rent and torn, With red-hot irons to be tortur'd, 270 But when the state should hap to reel, 'Twas to submit to fatal steel, And fall, as it was consecrate, A sacrifice to fall of state; Whose thread of life the fatal sisters 275 Did twist together with its whiskers, And twine so close, that time should never, In life or death, their fortunes sever; But with his rusty sickle mow Both down together at a blow. 280 But when the date of Nock was out, 285 Off dropt the sympathetic snout. His back, or rather burden, show'd, 290 To poise this equally, he bore A paunch of the same bulk before; To keep well cramm'd with thrifty fare; When of his hose we come to treat, The cupboard where he kept his meat. And though not sword, yet cudgel-proof; Who fear'd no blows but such as bruise. And till th' were storm'd and beaten out, 325 Ne'er left the fortify'd redoubt. And though knights-errant, as some think, Because when thorough desarts vast And regions desolate they past, 330 Unless they graz'd, there's not one word Which made some confidently write, 335 340 As he and all the knights could eat, When laying by their swords and truncheons, 345 They took their breakfast on their nuncheons. We should forget where we digrest; As learned authors use, to whom 350 His puissant sword unto his side, 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, 355 To shoot at foes and sometimes pullets; To whom he bore so fell a gratch, He ne'er gave quarter t' any such. For want of fighting was grown rusty, 360 For of the lower end two handful. 365 And so much scorn'd to lurk in case, As if it durst not shew its face, In many desperate attempts, And pris'ners too, or made them run. 370 This sword a dagger had his page, Toast cheese or bacon, though it were To bait a mouse-trap, 'twould not care. 'Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth In th' holsters at his saddle-bow 375 380 385 390 As in his hose he could not get. These would inveigle rats with th' scent, 395 To forage when the cocks were bent; And sometimes catch them with a snap, They were upon hard duty still, And ev'ry night stood centinel, 400 To guard the magazine i' th' hose, From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd foes. From peaceful home set forth to fight. But first with nimble active force, From whence he vaulted into th' seat, With so much vigour, strength, and heat, 405 410 That he had almost tumbled over, But now we talk of mounting steed, 415 420 425 430 As if he griev'd to touch the ground; That Cæsar's horse, who, as fame goes, Had corns upon his feet and toes, Was not by half so tender-hooft, 435 Nor trod upon the ground so soft. And as that beast would kneel and stoop, (Some write) to take his rider up; So Hudibras his, 'tis well known, 445 His strutting ribs on both sides show'd 450 Still as his tender side he prick'd With arm'd heel, or with unarm'd, kick'd: For Hudibras wore but one spur, As wisely knowing could he stir |