But oftentimes mistook the one

Beside, 'tis known he could speak Greek

As naturally as pigs squeak:
That Latin was no more difficile,
Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle.

Being rich in both, he never scanted
His bounty unto such as wanted:
But much of either would afford
To many that had not one word.

For Hebrew roots, although they're found
To flourish most in barren ground,
He had such plenty, as sufficed
To make some think him circumcised.
He was in logic a great critic,
Profoundly skilled in analytic!
He could distinguish and divide

A hair 'twixt south and south-west side;
On either which he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute.
He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument, a man's no horse.
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a lord may be an owl,
A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,
And rooks committee-men and trustees.
He'd run in debt by disputation,
And pay with ratiocination.
All this by syllogism, true
I'mood and figure, he would do.
For rhetoric, he could not ope

His mouth, but out there flew a trope:
And when he happened to break off
I' the middle of his speech, or cough,
He had hard words ready to shew why,
And tell what rules he did it by:
Else, when with greatest art he spoke,
You'd thing he talked like other folk.
For all a rhetorician's rules

Teach nothing but to name his tools.

His dialect was English cut on Greek and Latin, like fustian heretofore on satin.1

In mathematics he was greater
Than Tycho Brahe or Erra Pater:
For he, by geometric scale,
Could take the size of pots of ale;
Resolve, by sines and tangents, straight,
If bread or butter wanted weight;
And wisely tell what hour o' the day
The clock does strike, by algebra.
Beside, he was a shrewd philosopher,
And had read every text and gloss over:
Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath,
He understood by implicit faith:
Whatever sceptic could enquire for,
For every why, he had a wherefore;
Knew more than forty of them do,
As far as words and terms could go,
All which he understood by rote,
And, as occasion served, would quote:
No matter whether right or wrong,
They might be either said or sung.
His notions fitted things so well,

That which was which he could not tell,

1 Fustian slashed and showing satin through the cuts.

For the other, as great clerks have done.
He could reduce all things to acts,
And knew their natures by abstracts;
Where entity and quiddity,

The ghost of defunct bodies, fly;
Where truth in person doth appear,

Like words congealed in northern air.
He knew what's what, and that's as high
As metaphysic wit can fly.

He was deep in school divinity, and

For his religion, it was fit

To match his learning and his wit:
'Twas Presbyterian true blue;
For he was of that stubborn crew
Of errant saints whom all men grant
To be the true Church Militant;
Such as do build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun,
Decide all controversies by
Infallible artillery,

And prove their doctrine orthodox
By apostolic blows and knocks;
Call fire, and sword, and desolation,
A godly thorough reformation,
Which always must be carried on,
And still be doing, never done;
As if religion were intended
For nothing else but to be mended.
A sect whose chief devotion lies
In odd perverse antipathies,
In falling out with that or this,
And finding somewhat still amiss;
More peevish, cross, and splenetic,
Than dog distract, or monkey sick;
That with more care keep holy-day
The wrong, than others the right way;
Compound for sins they are inclined to,
By damning those they have no mind to:
Still so perverse and opposite,

As if they worshipped God for spite.
The self-same thing they will abhor
One way, and long another for.
Free-will they one way disavow;
Another, nothing else allow.
All piety consists therein

In them, in other men all sin.
Rather than fail, they will decry
That which they love most tenderly;
Quarrel with minced-pies, and disparage
Their best and dearest friend, plum-porridge;

Fat pig and goose itself oppose,

And blaspheme custard through the nose.
The apostles of this fierce religion,
Like Mahomet's, were ass and widgeon;
To whom our knight, by fast instinct
Of wit and temper was so linked,
As if hypocrisy and nonsense
Had got the advowson of his conscience.
Thus was he gifted and accoutered;
We mean on the inside, not the outward.
That next of all we shall discuss:
Then listen, sirs, it follows thus :
His tawny beard was the equal grace
Both of his wisdom and his face;

In cut and dye so like a tile,
A sudden view it would beguile :
The upper part thereof was whey;
The nether, orange mixed with grey.
This hairy meteor did denounce
The fall of sceptres and of crowns,
With grisly type did represent
Declining age of government,
And tell with hieroglyphic spade,

Its own grave and the state's were made.

The hump on his back was balanced by the paunch before. His buff doublet was cudgel-proof; his breeches were of rugged woollen,

And had been at the siege of Bullen',

To old King Harry so well known,

Some writers held they were his own.

He carried bread and cheese and fat black-puddings in his hose, that tempted rats and mice to enter. His sword was tied near his undaunted heart,

With basket-hilt that would hold broth,

And serve for fight or dinner both :

In it he melted lead for bullets,

To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets.

The rusty blade had devoured the lower end of its scabbard. As dwarfs wait on knights-errant, a dagger waited on his sword.

When it had stabbed, 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.

Two aged pistols were in the holsters at his saddlebow, together with what surplus meat he could not get into his hose.

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; 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 mane, Which oft he used instead of rein.

As for the steed,

The beast was sturdy, large and tall, With mouth of meal, and eyes of wall.

1 In the "Century of Painters of the English School," by Richard Redgrave, R.A., and Samuel Redgrave, published in 1866, Mr. Redgrave wrote: "Hogarth, having executed some small commissions for booksellers, which did not go much beyond diagrams, completed in 1726 a set of small designs for an edition of 'Hudibras,' which, so far as we can discover, were the first book-illustrations of story and character, and the beginning of a new art." Hogarth's age was then twenty-nine. That edition of "Hudibras" was in 12mo. The plates were reproduced as illustrations of the two octavo volumes of "Hudibras," with annotations, first published in 1744 by Zachary Grey, LL.D.

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 cracked and broken.
Like commendation ninepence crooked,1
With-to and from my love-it looked.

Ralph, the Independent, talked as one infallible of "gifts" and "lights." After dwelling upon Ralph's wisdom with a wealth of whimsical allusion, Butler goes on:

Thus was the accomplished squire endued With gifts and knowledge, perilous shrewd, Never did trusty squire with knight,

Or knight with squire, e'er jump more right.
Their arms and equipage did fit,
As well as virtues, parts, and wit.
Their valours too were of a rate;
And out they sallied at the gate.

They had ridden few miles when they met with an adventure, to be worthily recited only after an invocation. In Western clime there is a town-a subsequent line calls the town Brentford-in which men made merry at market and fair time; but now the rabble was collected for a bear-baiting. Hudibras thought himself bound to keep the peace 'twixt dog and bear.

And therefore being informed by bruit,
That dog and bear are to dispute;
For so of late men fighting name,
Because they often prove the same
(For where the first does hap to be,
The last does coincidere);

Quantum in nobis, have thought good,
To save the expense of Christian blood,
And try if we, by mediation

Of treaty and accommodation,

Can end the quarrel, and compose

The bloody duel without blows.

Are not our liberties, our lives,
The laws, religion, and our wives,
Enough at once to lie at stake

For covenant and the cause's sake,
But in that quarrel dogs and bears,
As well as we must venture theirs?
This feud, by Jesuits invented,
By evil counsel is fomented:
There is a Machiavilian plot
(Though every Nare olfact it not),
A deep design in it, to divide
The well-affected that confide,
By setting brother against brother,
To claw and curry one another.
Have we not enemies plus satis,

1 Commendation ninepence crooked. Ninepenny-pieces were in use till 1696. They were easily bent and convenient for exchanging crooked silver as lucky tokens "to my love" and "from my love."

That Cane and Angue pejus hate us?
And shall we turn our fangs and claws
Upon our own selves, without cause?
That some occult design doth lie
In bloody cynaretomachy,

Is plain enough to him that knows
How saints lead brothers by the nose.
I wish myself a pseudo-prophet,
But sure some mischief will come of it
Unless by providential wit,
Or force, we averruncate it.
For what design, what interest,
Can beast have to encounter beast?
They fight for no espouséd cause,
Frail privilege, fundamental laws,
Not for a thorough reformation,
Nor covenant, nor protestation,
Nor liberty of consciences,

Nor Lords and Commons' ordinances;
Nor for the church, nor for church-lands,

To get them in their own no hands;
Nor evil counsellors to bring

To justice that seduce the king;

Nor for the worship of us men,
Though we have done as much for them.
The Egyptians worshipped dogs, and for
Their faith made internecine war.
Others adored a rat, and some
For that church suffered martyrdom.
The Indians fought for the truth
Of the elephant and monkey's tooth,
And many, to defend that faith,
Fought it out mordicus to death.
But no beast ever was so slight,
For man, as for his God, to fight.
They have more wit, alas! and know
Themselves and us better than so.

Converse with men injures the characters of the beasts. In Nero's time the heathen sewed Christians in the skins of bears, and then set dogs about their

ears.

From whence, no doubt, th' invention came Of this lewd Antichristian game.

To this quoth Ralpho, "Verily The point seems very plain to me.

It is an Antichristian game,

Unlawful both in thing and name.
First, for the name: the word, bear-baiting
Is carnal, and of man's creating:
For certainly there's no such word
In all the Scripture on record;
Therefore unlawful, and a sin;
And so is, secondly, the thing.

A vile assembly 'tis, that can

No more be proved by Scripture than
Provincial, classic, national;
Mere human-creature cobwebs all.
Thirdly, it is idolatrous."

The dialogue between Hudibras and his Squire continues satire upon Presbyterian and Independent, until Hudibras resolves to emulate the valiant Mameluke, who resembles him in person, parts, address, and beard.

As they do term't, or succussation),
We leave it, and go on, as now
Suppose they did, no matter how;
Yet some from subtle hints have got
Mysterious light, it was a trot:
But let that pass they now begun
To spur their living engines on.

For as whipped tops, and bandied balls,
The learned hold, are animals;

So horses they affirm to be

Mere engines made by geometry;
And were invented first from engines,
As Indian Britons were from penguins.
So let them be; and, as I was saying,
They their live engines plied, not staying
Until they reached the fatal champaign,
Which the enemy did then encamp on;
The dire Pharsalian plain, where battle
Was to be waged 'twixt puissant cattle
And fierce auxiliary men,
That came to aid their brethren,
Who now began to take the field

As knight from ridge of steed beheld.

Then shook himself, and rising in his stirrup surveyed the enemy.

First came Crowdero, the one-legged itinerant fiddler, named heroically from his instrument, the crowd or rustic fiddle.

His grisly beard was long and thick, With which he strung his fiddlestick; For he to horse-tail scorned to owe For what on his own chin did grow.

Sir Roger L'Estrange thought that Crowdero's figure was suggested by a milliner named Jackson, who lived in the Strand. He had lost a leg in the civil wars, and eked out his living in London by stumping about of evenings, upon his wooden leg, from alehouse to alehouse, with a fiddle. After the fiddler came the bear-leader,

-brave Orsin, famous for
Wise conduct and success in war;
A skilful leader, stout, severe,
Now marshal to the champion bear.

With truncheon tipped with iron head,
The warrior to the lists he led ;
With solemn march, and stately pace,
But far more grave and solemn face.

He was of celestial origin-descended from the star Arctophylax (the keeper of the bear). Orsin had by his side a pouch of powders, for he was learned in healing lore.

Thus virtuous Orsin was endued
With learning, conduct, fortitude,
Incomparable and as the prince
Of poets, Homer, sung long since,
A skilful leech is better far
Than half an hundred men of war,
So he appeared; and by his skill,
No less than dint of sword, could kill.
The gallant Bruin marched next him,
With visage formidably grim,
And rugged as a Saracen,

Or Turk of Mahomet's own kin;
Clad in a mantle della guerre
Of rough impenetrable fur;

And in his nose, like Indian King,
He wore, for ornament, a ring;
About his neck a threefold gorget.
As rough as trebled leathern target;
Armed, as heralds cant, and langued;
Or, as the vulgar say, sharp-fanged.
For as the teeth in beasts of prey

Are swords, with which they fight in fray;

So swords, in men of war, are teeth,
Which they do eat their vittle with.
He was by birth, some authors write,
A Russian; some, a Muscovite;
And 'mong the Cossacks had been bred;
Of whom we in diurnals read,
That serve to fill up pages here,
As with their bodies ditches there.
Scrimansky was his cousin-german,

With whom he served, and fed on vermin;
And when these failed, he'd suck his claws,
And quarter himself upon his paws.

But Talgol, mortal foe to cows,
Never got aught of him but blows;
Blows hard and heavy, such as he

Had lent, repaid with usury.
Yet Talgol was of courage stout,
And vanquished oftener than he fought;
Inured to labour, sweat, and toil,

And, like a champion, shone with oil:
Right many a widow his keen blade,
And many a fatherless, had made;
He many a boar and huge dun cow
Did, like another, Guy, o'erthrow;
But Guy with him, in fight compared,
Had like the boar or dun cow fared;

With greater troops of sheep h' had fought Than Ajax, or bold Don Quixote.

No hero equalled Talgol, the stout butcher, in slaughter and knocking on the head, the trade to which they all were bred. For the next hero, Magnano, the tinker, Sir Roger L'Estrange found an original in Simeon Wait, tinker, who was known also as a famous independent preacher.

Next these the brave Magnano came;
Magnano, great in martial fame.
Yet when with Orsin he waged fight,
'Tis sung, he got but little by't.
Yet he was fierce as forest boar,
Whose spoils upon his back he wore,
As thick as Ajax' seven-fold shield,
Which o'er his brazen arms he held:
But brass was feeble to resist
The fury of his arméd fist:

Nor could the hardest iron hold out
Against his blows, but they would through't.
In magic he was deeply read

As he that made the brazen head;
Profoundly skilled in the black art;
As English Merlin for his heart;
But far more skilful in the spheres
Than he was at the sieve and shears.
He could transform himself in colour
As like the devil as a collier;

As like as hypocrites in show
Are to true saints, or crow to crow."

Of warlike engines he was author,
Devised for quick dispatch of slaughter:
The cannon, blunderbuss, and saker,
He was the inventor of, and maker:
The trumpet, and the kettle-drum,
Did both from his invention come.
He was the first that e'er did teach
To make, and how to stop, a breach.
A lance he bore with iron pike;

Th' one half would thrust, the other strike;
And when their forces he had joined,
He scorned to turn his parts behind.

He Trulla loved; Trulla, more bright
Than burnished armour of her knight:
A bold virago, stout and tall,

As Joan of France, or English Mall.1
Through perils both of wind and limb,
Through thick and thin, she followed him,
In every adventure he undertook,
And never him or it forsook.

At breach of wall, or hedge surprise,
She shared i' the hazard and the prize:
At beating quarters up, or forage,
Behaved herself with matchless courage;
And laid about in fight more busily
Than the Amazonian dame Penthesile.

1 English Mall was Mary Frith, known as Moll Cut-purse, a woman who often went upon her expeditions in male dress, and once robbed General Fairfax himself on Hounslow Heath. Her conquests brought plunder enough to enable her to buy herself out of Newgate, and she died in her bed of a disease caused by drinking, at the age of seventyfive. The prowess of this eminent Englishwoman is whimsically paired with that of Joan of Arc.