hind beat,
    That breathes in his dog’s way:  and this is great. 
  Nay more, for greatness’ sake, he will be one
    May hear my epigrams, but like of none. 
  Surly, use other arts, these only can
    Style thee a most great fool, but no great man.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

(1612-1680.)

XIV.  THE CHARACTER OF HUDIBRAS.

This extract is taken from the first canto of Hudibras, and contains the complete portrait of the Knight, Butler’s aim in the presentation of this character being to satirize those fanatics and pretenders to religion who flourished during the Commonwealth.

  When civil dudgeon first grew high,
  And men fell out they knew not why;
  When hard words, jealousies and fears,
  Set folks together by the ears,
  And made them fight like mad or drunk,
  For Dame Religion as for punk: 
  Whose honesty they all durst swear for,
  Though not a man of them knew wherefore: 
  When gospel-trumpeter surrounded
  With long-ear’d rout to battle sounded,
  And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,
  Was beat with fist, instead of a stick: 
  Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling,
  And out he rode a-colonelling,
    A wight he was, whose very sight wou’d
  Intitle him, Mirrour of Knighthood;
  That never bow’d his stubborn knee
  To any thing but chivalry;
  Nor put up blow, but that which laid
  Right Worshipful on shoulder-blade: 
  Chief of domestic knights and errant,
  Either for chartel or for warrant: 
  Great in the bench, great in the saddle,
  That could as well bind o’er as swaddle: 
  Mighty he was at both of these,
  And styl’d of war, as well as peace,
  (So some rats, of amphibious nature,
  Are either for the land or water). 
  But here our authors make a doubt,
  Whether he were more wise or stout. 
  Some hold the one, and some the other: 
  But howsoe’er they make a pother,
  The diff’rence was so small his brain
  Outweigh’d his rage but half a grain;
  Which made some take him for a tool
  That knaves do work with, call’d a fool. 
  For ’t has been held by many, that
  As Montaigne, playing with his cat,
  Complains she thought him but an ass,
  Much more she would Sir Hudibras,
  (For that the name our valiant Knight
  To all his challenges did write)
  But they’re mistaken very much,
  ’Tis plain enough he was no such. 
  We grant although he had much wit,
  H’ was very shy of using it;
  As being loth to wear it out,
  And therefore bore it not about
  Unless on holidays, or so,
  As men their best apparel do. 
  Besides, ’tis known he could speak Greek
  As naturally as pigs squeak: 
  That Latin was no more difficile,
  Than for a blackbird ’tis to whistle.