Last Colon came, bold man of war,
Destin’d to blows by fatal star;
Right expert in command of horse;
But cruel, and without remorse. 445
That which of Centaur long ago
Was said, and has been wrested to
Some other knights, was true of this;
He and his horse were of a piece. 
One spirit did inform them both; 450
The self-same vigour, fury, wroth: 
Yet he was much the rougher part,
And always had a harder heart;
Although his horse had been of those
That fed on man’s flesh, as fame goes. 455
Strange food for horse! and yet, alas! 
It may be true, for flesh is grass. 
Sturdy he was, and no less able
Than Hercules to clean a stable;
As great a drover, and as great 460
A critic too, in hog or neat. 
He ripp’d the womb up of his mother,
Dame Tellus, ’cause she wanted fother
And provender wherewith to feed
Himself, and his less cruel steed. 465
It was a question, whether he
Or’s horse were of a family
More worshipful:  ’till antiquaries
(After th’ had almost por’d out their eyes)
Did very learnedly decide 470
The business on the horse’s side;
And prov’d not only horse, but cows,
Nay, pigs, were of the elder house: 
For beasts, when man was but a piece
Of earth himself, did th’ earth possess. 475

These worthies were the chief that led
The combatants, each in the head
Of his command, with arms and rage,
Ready and longing to engage. 
The numerous rabble was drawn out 480
Of sev’ral counties round about,
From villages remote, and shires,
Of east and western hemispheres
From foreign parishes and regions,
Of different manners, speech, religions, 485
Came men and mastiffs; some to fight
For fame and honour, some for sight. 
And now the field of death, the lists,
Were enter’d by antagonists,
And blood was ready to be broach’d, 490
When Hudibras in haste approach’d,
With Squire and weapons, to attack ’em: 
But first thus from his horse bespake ’em: 
What rage, O citizens! what fury
Doth you to these dire actions hurry? 495
What oestrum, what phrenetic mood,
Makes you thus lavish of your blood,
While the proud Vies your trophies boast
And unreveng’d walks —­ ghost? 
What towns, what garrisons might you 500
With hazard of this blood subdue,
Which now y’are bent to throw away
In vain, untriumphable fray! 
Shall SAINTS in civil bloodshed wallow
Of Saints, and let the CAUSE lie fallow? 505
The Cause for which we fought and swore
So boldly, shall we now give o’er?