This sword a dagger had t’ his page, 375
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. 380
When it had stabb’d, or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread;
Toast cheese or bacon; tho’ it were
To bait a mouse-trap, ’twould not care. 
’Twould make clean shoes; and in the earth 385
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. 390

In th’ holsters, at his saddle-bow,
Two aged pistols he did stow,
Among the surplus of such meat
As in his hose he cou’d not get. 
These wou’d inveigle rats with th’ scent, 395
To forage when the cocks were bent;
And sometimes catch ’em with a snap
As cleverly as th’ ablest trap. 
They were upon hard duty still,
And ev’ry night stood centinel, 400
To guard the magazine i’ th’ hose
From two-legg’d and from four-legg’d foes.

Thus clad and fortify’d, Sir Knight
From peaceful home set forth to fight. 
But first with nimble, active force 405
He got on th’ outside of his horse;
For having but one stirrup ty’d
T’ his saddle, on the further side,
It was so short, h’ had much ado
To reach it with his desp’rate toe:  410
But, after many strains and heaves,
He got up to the saddle-eaves,
From whence he vaulted into th’ seat,
With so much vigour, strength and heat,
That he had almost tumbled over 415
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, 420
It doth behoves 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 wou’d say eye; for h’ had but one, 425
As most agree; tho’ some say none. 
He was well stay’d; and in his gait
Preserv’d a grave, majestick state. 
At spur or switch no more he skipt,
Or mended pace, than Spaniard whipt; 430
And yet so fiery, he wou’d bound
As if he griev’d to touch the ground: 
That CAESAR’s horse , who, as fame goes
Had corns upon his feet and toes,
Was not by half so tender hooft, 435
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)