Though 'twas no table some suppose,
But a huge pair of round trunk hose,
In which he carried as much meat
As he and all the knights could eat,

When laying by their swords and truncheons,
They took their breakfasts, or their nuncheons.
But let that pass at present, lest

We should forget where we digress'd,
As learned authors use, to whom
We leave it, and to' the purpose come.
His puissant sword unto his side,
Near his undaunted heart was tied,
With basket-hilt that would hold broth,
And serve for fight and dinner both;
In it he melted lead for bullets
To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets,
To whom he bore so fell a grutch,
He ne'er gave quarter to' any such.
The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,
For want of fighting was grown rusty,
And ate into itself, for lack
Of some body to hew and hack:
The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt,
The rancour of its age had felt;
For of the lower end two handful
It had devour'd, 'twas so manful,
And so much scorn'd to lurk in case,
As if it durst not show its face.
In many desperate attempts
Of warrants, exigents, contempts,

It had appear'd with courage bolder
Than Serjeant Bum invading Shoulder:
Oft had it ta'en possession,

And prisoners too, or made them run,

This sword a dagger had, his page,
That was but little for his age,
And therefore waited on him so
As dwarfs upon knights-errant do:
It was a serviceable dudgeon,

Either for fighting or for drudging:
When it had stabb'd or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread;
Toast cheese or bacon; though it were
To bait a mouse-trap, 'twould not care:
"Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth
Set leeks and onions, and so forth:
It had been 'prentice to a brewer,*
Where this and more it did endure,
But left the trade, as many more
Have lately done on the same score.
In the' holsters, at his saddle-bow,
Two aged pistols he did stow
Among the surplus of such meat
As in his hose he could not get:
These would inveigle rats with the' scent,
To forage when the cocks were bent,
And sometimes catch 'em with a snap,
As cleverly as the' ablest trap:
They were upon hard duty still,
And every night stood centinel,
To guard the magazine i' th' hose
From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd foes.
Thus clad and fortified, Sir Knight
From peaceful home set forth to fight.
But first with nimble active force
He got on the' outside of his horse;

* A banter on Oliver Cromwell, Colonel Pride, and others, of the party, who had been concerned in breweries.

For having but one stirrup tied
To' his saddle on the further side,
It was so short, he' had much ado
To reach it with his desperate toe;
But after many strains and heaves,
He got up to the saddle-eaves,

From whence he vaulted into the' seat
With so much vigour, strength, and heat,
That he had almost tumbled over
With his own weight; but did recover,
By laying hold on tail and main,
Which oft he us'd instead of rein.

But now we talk of mounting steed,
Before we further do proceed,
It does behove us to say something
Of that which bore our valiant bumkin.
The beast was sturdy, large, and tall,
With mouth of meal, and eyes of wall;
I would say eye, for he' had but one
As most agree, though some say none.
He was well stay'd, and in his gait
Preserv'd a grave, majestic state;
At spur or switch no more he skipt
Or mended pace, than Spaniard whipt;
And yet so fiery, he would bound
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,
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)
Would often do, to set him down.

We shall not need to say what lack
Of leather was upon his back;
For that was hidden under pad,

And breech of Knight, gall'd full as bad:
His strutting ribs on both sides show'd
Like furrows he himself had plough'd;
For underneath the skirt of pannel,
"Twixt every two there was a channel:
His draggling tail hung in the dirt,
Which on his rider he would flirt,
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
To active trot one side of's horse,
The other would not hang an arse.

A Squire he had whose name was Ralph,*
That in the' adventure went his half,
Though writers, for more stately tone,
Do call him Ralpho, 'tis all one;

And when we can, with metre safe,
We'll call him so; if not, plain Ralph;

(For rhyme the rudder is of verses,

With which, like ships, they steer their courses)
An equal stock of wit and valour

He had lain in, by birth a tailor.
The mighty Tyrian queen, that gain'd
With subtle shreds a tract of land,

* Sir Roger L'Estrange says, 'This famous Squire was one Isaac Robinson, a zealous butcher in Moorfields, who was always contriving some new querpo-cut in church government:' but, in a Key at the end of a burlesque poem of Mr. Butler's, 1706, it is observed, That Hudibras's Squire was one Pemble, a tailor, and one of the Committee of Sequestrators.'

Did leave it with a castle fair

To his great ancestor, her heir;

From him descended cross-leg'd knights,
Fam'd for their faith and warlike fights
Against the bloody Cannibal,

Whom they destroy'd both great and small.
This sturdy Squire he had, as well
As the bold Trojan knight, seen hell,
Not with a counterfeited pass

Of golden bough, but true gold-lace:
His knowledge was not far behind
The Knight's, but of another kind,
And he another way came by't;
Some call it Gifts, and some New-light;
A liberal art, that costs no pains
Of study, industry, or brains.
His wit was sent him for a token,

But in the carriage crack'd and broken;
Like commendation nine-pence* crook'd
With To and from my love'-it look'd.
He ne'er consider'd it, as loth

To look a gift-horse in the mouth,
And very wisely would lay forth
No more upon it than 'twas worth;
But as he got it freely, so

He spent it frank and freely too;

For saints themselves will sometimes be,
Of gifts that cost them nothing, free.

* Until the year 1696, (when all money, not milled, was called in) a ninepenny piece of silver was as common as sixpences or shil. lings, and these ninepences were usually bent as sixpences commonly are now, which bending was called To my love,' and 'From my love;' and such ninepences the ordinary fellows gave or sent to their sweethearts as tokens of love.