And bravely threw himself among
But what could single valour do,
Against so numerous a foe?
Yet much he did, indeed too much
To be believ'd, where th' odds were such.
But one against a multitude,
Is more than mortal can make good;
For while one party he oppos'd,
His rear was suddenly inclos'd,
And no room left him for retreat,
Or fight against a foe so great.
For now the mastives, charging home,
To blows and handygripes were come:
While manfully himself he bore,
And setting his right foot before,
He rais'd himself, to shew how tall
His person was above them all.
This equal shame and envy stirr'd
l' th' enemy, that one should beard
So many warriors, and so stout,
As he had done, and stav'd it out,
Disdaining to lay down his arms,
And yield on honourable terms.
Enraged thus, some in the rear
Attack'd him, and some ev'ry where,
Till down he fell; yet falling fought,
And, being down, still laid about:
But all, alas! had been in vain,
And he inevitably slain,
If Trulla and Cerdon, in the nick,
To rescue him had not been quick:
For Trulla, who was light of foot,
As shafts which long-field Parthians shoot,
(But not so light as to be borne
Upon the ears of standing corn,
Or trip it o'er the water quicker
Than witches, when they stave their liquor,
As some report,) was got among
The foremost of the martial throng;
There pitying the vanquish'd bear,
She call'd to Cerdon, who stood near,
Viewing the bloody fight: to whom,
Shall we, quoth she, stand still hum drum,
And see stout Bruin all alone,
By numbers basely overthrown?
Such feats already h' has achiev'd,
In story not to be believ'd;
And 'twould to us be shame enough
Not to attempt to fetch him off.
I would, quoth he, venture a limb,
To second thee, and rescue him;
But then we must about it straight,
Or else our aid will come too late;
Quarter he scorns, he is so stout,
And therefore cannot long hold out."
This said, they wav'd their weapons round 125
About their heads, to clear the ground;
And joining forces, laid about
So fiercely, that th' amazed rout
Turn'd tail again, and straight begun,
As if the devil drove, to run.
Meanwhile th' approach'd the place where Bruin
Was now engag'd to mortal ruin:
The conqu'ring foe they soon assail'd,
First Trulla stay'd, and Cerdon tail'd,
Until their mastives loos'd their hold:
And yet, alas! do what they could,
The worsted bear came off with store
Of bloody wounds, but all before.
Which eglantine and roses made:
Close by a softly murm'ring stream,
Where lovers us'd to loll and dream.
There leaving him to his repose,
Secured from pursuit of foes,
And wanting nothing but a song,
And a well-tun'd Theorbo hung
Upon a bough, to ease the pain
His tugg'd ear suffer'd, with a strain ;
They both drew up, to march in quest
Of his great leader, and the rest.
For Orsin (who was more renown'd
For stout maintaining of his ground
In standing fight, than for pursuit,
As being not so quick of foot)
Was not long able to keep pace
With others that pursu'd the chace;
But found himself left far behind,
Both out of heart, and out of wind;
Griev'd to behold his bear pursu'd
So basely by a multitude;
And like to fall, not by the prowess,
But numbers of his coward foes.
He went in quest of Hudibras,
To find him out where'er he was;
And, if he were above ground, vow'd
He'd ferret him, lurk where he wou'd.
But scarce had he a furlong on
And Talgol, foe to Hudibras:
Cerdon and Colon, warriors stout,
And resolute, as ever fought:
Whom furious Orsin thus bespoke.
Shall we, quoth he, thus basely brook
The vile affront that paltry ass
And feeble scoundrel, Hudibras,
With that more paltry ragamuffin,
Ralpho, with vapouring and huffing,
Have put upon us, like tame cattle,
As if th'ad routed us in battle?
For my part, it shall ne'er be said,
I for the washing gave my head :
Nor did I turn my back for fear
O' th' rascals, but loss of my bear,
Which now I'm like to undergo ;
For whether those fell wounds, or no,
He has receiv'd in fight, are mortal,
Is more than all my skill can fortel ;
Nor do I know what is become.
Of him, more than the pope of Rome.
But if I can but find them out
That caus'd it, (as I shall no doubt,
Where-e'er th' in hugger-mugger lurk,)
I'll make them rue their handy-work;
And wish that they had rather dar'd
To pull the devil by the beard.
Quoth Cerdon, Noble Orsin, th' hast
Great reason to do as thou say'st,
And so has ev'ry body here,
As well as thou hast, or thy bear.
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