Hudibras - Samuel Butler (story reading txt) 📗

in the front,
Reserv’d himself to bear the brunt,
As expert warriors use: then ply’d
With iron heel his courser’s side,
Conveying sympathetic speed
From heel of Knight to heel of steed.

Meanwhile the foe, with equal rage
And speed, advancing to engage;
Both parties now were drawn so close,
Almost to come to handy-blows;
When Orsin first let fly a stone
At Ralpho; not so huge a one
As that which Diomed did maul
Æneas on the bum withal;
Yet big enough, if rightly hurl’d,
T’ have sent him to another world,
Whether above-ground, or below,
Which saints twice dipt are destin’d to.
The danger startled the bold Squire,
And made him some few steps retire;
But Hudibras advanc’d to’ ’s aid,
And rous’d his spirits, half dismay’d.
He, wisely doubting lest the shot
Of th’ enemy, now growing hot,
Might at a distance gall, press’d close,
To come pell-mell to handy-blows,
And, that he might their aim decline,
Advanc’d still in an oblique line;
But prudently forbore to fire,
Till breast to breast he had got nigher,
As expert warriors use to do
When hand to hand they charge their foe.
This order the advent’rous Knight,
Most soldier-like, observ’d in fight,
When fortune (as she’s wont) turn’d fickle,
And for the foe began to stickle.
The more shame for her goodyship,
To give so near a friend the slip.
For Colon, choosing out a stone,
Levell’d so right, it thump’d upon
His manly paunch with such a force,
As almost beat him off his horse.
He lost his whinyard, and the rein;
But, laying fast hold of the mane,
Preserv’d his seat; and as a goose
In death contracts his talons close,
So did the Knight, and with one claw
The trigger of his pistol draw.
The gun went off: and as it was
Still fatal to stout Hudibras,
In all his feats of arms, when least
He dreamt of it, to prosper best,
So now he far’d: the shot, let fly
At random ’mong the enemy,
Pierc’d Talgol’s gaberdine, and grazing
Upon his shoulder, in the passing,
Lodg’d in Magnano’s brass habergeon,
Who straight, A surgeon! cry’d, a surgeon!
He tumbled down, and, as he fell,
Did Murther! Murther! Murther! yell.
This startled their whole body so,
That if the Knight had not let go
His arms, but been in warlike plight,
H’ had won (the second time) the fight;
As, if the Squire had but fall’n on,
He had inevitably done:
But he, diverted with the care
Or Hudibras his hurt, forbare
To press th’ advantage of his fortune,
While danger did the rest dishearten:
For he with Cerdon b’ing engag’d
In close encounter, they both wag’d
The fight so well, ’twas hard to say
Which side was like to get the day.
And now the busy work of death
Had tir’d them, so th’ agreed to breathe,
Preparing to renew the fight,
When the disaster of the Knight,
And th’ other party, did divert
Their fell intent, and forc’d them part.
Ralpho press’d up to Hudibras,
And Cerdon where Magnano was;
Each striving to confirm his party
With stout encouragements and hearty.

Quoth Ralpho, Courage, valiant Sir,
And let revenge and honour stir
Your spirits up: once more fall on,
The shatter’d foe begins to run:
For if but half so well you knew
To use your victory as subdue,
They durst not, after such a blow
As you have given them, face us now;
But from so formidable a soldier
Had fled like crows when they smell powder.
Thrice have they seen your sword aloft
Wav’d o’er their heads, and fled as oft;
But if you let them recollect
Their spirits, now dismay’d and checkt,
You’ll have a harder game to play
Than yet y’ have had to get the day.

Thus spoke the stout Squire; but was heard
By Hudibras with small regard.
His thoughts were fuller of the bang
Be lately took, than Ralph’s harangue;
To which he answer’d, Cruel Fate
Tells me thy counsel comes too late.
The knotted blood within my hose,
That from my wounded body flows,
With mortal crisis doth portend
My days to appropinque an end.
I am for action now unfit,
Either of fortitude or wit:
Fortune, my foe, begins to frown,
Resolv’d to pull my stomach down.
I am not apt, upon a wound,
Or trivial basting, to despond:
Yet I’d be loth my days to curtail:
For if I thought my wounds not mortal,
Or that we’d time enough as yet
To make an hon’rable retreat,
’Twere the best course: but if they find
We fly, and leave our arms behind
For them to seize on, the dishonour,
And danger too, is such, I’ll sooner
Stand to it boldly, and take quarter,
To let them see I am no starter.
In all the trade of war, no feat
Is nobler than a brave retreat:
For those that run away, and fly,
Take place at least of th’ enemy.

This said, the Squire with active speed
Dismounted from his bony steed,
To seize the arms, which, by mischance,
Fell from the bold Knight in a trance.
These being found out, and restor’d
To Hudibras, their natural lord,
As a man may say, with might and main
He hasted to get up again.
Thrice he assay’d to mount aloft,
But, by his weighty bum, as oft
He was pull’d back, till having found
Th’ advantage of the rising ground,
Thither he led his warlike steed,
And having plac’d him right, with speed
Prepar’d again to scale the beast;
When Orsin, who had newly dress’d
The bloody scar upon the shoulder
Of Talgol with Promethean powder,
And now was searching for the shot
That laid Magnano on the spot,
Beheld the sturdy Squire aforesaid
Preparing to climb up his horse’ side.
He left his cure, and laying hold
Upon his arms, with courage bold,
Cry’d out, ’Tis now no time to dally,
The enemy begin to rally;
Let us, that are unhurt and whole,
Fall on, and happy man be’s dole.

This said, like to a thunderbolt,
He flew with fury to th’ assault,
Striving the enemy to attack
Before he reach’d his horse’s back.
Ralpho was mounted now, and gotten
O’erthwart his beast with active vau’ting,
Wriggling his body to recover
His seat, and cast his right leg over,
When Orsin, rushing in, bestow’d
On horse and man so heavy a load,
The beast was startled, and begun
To kick and fling like mad, and run,
Bearing the tough Squire like a sack,
Or stout king Richard, on his back;
Till stumbling, he threw him down,
Sore bruis’d, and cast into a swoon.
Meanwhile the Knight began to rouse
The sparkles of his wonted prowess:
He thrust his hand into his hose,
And found, both by his eyes and nose,
’Twas only choler, and not blood,
That from his wounded body flow’d.
This, with the hazard of the Squire,
Inflam’d him with despiteful ire:
Courageously he fac’d about,
And drew his other pistol out,
And now had half way bent