650
With lackies, grooms, valets, and pages,
In fit and proper equipages;
Of whom some torches bore, some links,
Before the proud virago minx,
That was both Madam and a Don, 655
Like NERO’S SPORUS, or Pope Joan;
And at fit periods the whole rout
Set up their throats with clamorous shout. 
The Knight, transported, and the Squire,
Put up their weapons, and their ire; 660
And Hudibras, who us’d to ponder
On such sights with judicious wonder,
Could hold no longer to impart
His animadversions, for his heart.

Quoth he, In all my life, till now, 665
I ne’er saw so prophane a show. 
It is a Paganish invention, —­
Which heathen writers often mention: 
And he who made it had read Goodwin,
Or Ross, or CAELIUS RHODOGINE, 670
With all the Grecians, speeds and stows,
That best describe those ancient shows;
And has observ’d all fit decorums
We find describ’d by old historians: 
For as the Roman conqueror, 675
That put an end to foreign war,
Ent’ring the town in triumph for it,
Bore a slave with him, in his chariot;
So this insulting female brave,
Carries behind her here a slave:  680
And as the ancients long ago,
When they in field defy’d the foe,
Hung out their mantles della guerre,
So her proud standard-bearer here
Waves on his spear, in dreadful manner, 685
A Tyrian-petticoat for banner: 
Next links and torches, heretofore
Still borne before the emperor. 
And as, in antique triumphs, eggs
Were borne for mystical intrigues, 690
There’s one with truncheon, like a ladle,
That carries eggs too, fresh or addle;
And still at random, as he goes,
Among the rabble-rout bestows.

Quoth Ralpho, You mistake the matter; 695
For all th’ antiquity you smatter,
Is but a riding, us’d of course
When the grey mare’s the better horse;
When o’er the breeches greedy women
Fight to extend their vast dominion; 700
And in the cause impatient Grizel
Has drubb’d her Husband with bull’s pizzle,
And brought him under Covert-Baron,
To turn her vassal with a murrain;
When wives their sexes shift, like hares, 705
And ride their husbands like night-mares,
And they in mortal battle vanquish’d,
Are of their charter disenfranchis’d
And by the right of war, like gills,
Condemn’d to distaff, horns, and wheels:  710
For when men by their wives are cow’d,
Their horns of course are understood