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ARMS AND EQUIPA G‘E

Thus

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hus was he gifted and accouter'd,

We mean on th' inside, not the outward:
That next of all we shall discuss:

Then listen, Sirs, it follows thus.

His tawny beard was th' equal grace
Both of his wisdom and his face; -
In cut and dye so like a tile,
A sudden view it would beguile:
The upper part whereof was whey,
The nether orange, inix'd with grey.
This hairy meteor did denounce
The fall of scepters and of crowns: '
With grisly type did represent
Declining age of government,

And tell, with hieroglyphic spade,
Its own grave and the state's were made:
Like Samson's heart-breakers, it grew
In time to make a nation rue;
Though it contributed its own fall,
To wait upon the public downfal.
It was monastic, and did grow
In holy orders by strict vow **);
Of rule as sullen and severe,
As that of rigid Cordeliere:
'Twas bound to suffer persecution,
And martyrdom, with resolution;
Toppose itself against the hate
And vengeance of th' incensed state,
In whose defiance it was worn,
Still ready to be pull'd and torn,
With red-hot irons to be tortur'd.
Revil'd, and spit upon, and martyr'd,
Maugre all which, 'twas to stand fast,
As long as monarchy should lasi;
But when the state should hap to reel,,

Hudibras, P. I. Canto I. v. 257402.

*) Verschiedene

Fanatiker hatten gelobt, ihre Bärte nicht eher zu scheren, als bis das Parliament den König überwältigt hätte.

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"Twas to submit to fatal steel, And fall, as it was consecrate,

A sacrifice to fall of state,

Whose thread of life the Fatal Sisters
Did twist together with its whiskers,
And twine so close, that time should never,
In life or death, their fortunes sever;

But with his rusty sickle mow

Both down together at a blow.

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His back, or rather burthen, show'd,
As if it stoop'd with its own load.
For as Aeneas bore his sire

Upon his shoulders through the fire,
Our knight did bear no less a pack
Of his own buttocks on his back;
Which now had almost got the upper-
Hand of his head for want of crupper.
To poise this equally, he bore

A paunch of the same bulk before,
Which still he had a special care
To keep well-cramm'd with thrifty fare:
As white-pot, butter-mil, and curds,
Such as a country house affords;
With other victual, which anon
We farther shall dilate upon,
When of his hose we come to treat,
The cupboard where he kept his meat.
His doublet was of sturdy buff,
And though not sword, yet cudgel-proof,
Whereby was fitter for his use,
Who fear'd no blows but such as bruise.

His breeches were of rugged woollen,
And had been at the siege of Bullen;
To old king Harry so well known,
Some writers held they were his own.
Through they were lin'd with many a piece
Of ammunition bread and cheese,
And fat black-puddings, proper
food
For warriors that delight in blood:
For, as we said, he always chose
To carry victual in his hose,
That often tempted rats and mice,

The ammunition to surprise;

And when he put a hand but in
The one or th'other magazine,

They stoutly in defence on't stood,

And from the wounded foe drew blood,
And till they were storm'd and beaten out,
Ne'er left the fortify'd redoubt;

And though knights- errant, as some think,
Of old did neither eat nor drink,
Because when thorough deserts vast,
And regions desolate, they past,
Where belly-timber above ground,
Or under, was not to be found,
Unless they graz'd, there's not one word
Of their provision on record:
Which made some confidently write,
They had no stomachs but to fight.
"Tis false: for Arthur wore in hall
Round table like a farthingal,

On which, with shirt pull'd out behind,
And eke before, his good knights din'd;
Though 'twas no table some suppose,
But a huge pair of round trunk hose,
In which he carry'd as much meat
As he and all the knights could eat,
When laying by their swords and truncheons,
They took their breakfasts, or their luncheons.
But let that pass at present, lest

We should forget where we digrest,

As learned authors use, to whom

We leave it, and to the purpose come.
His puissant sword unto his side,
Near his undaunted heart was ty'd:
With basket - hilt that would hold broth,
And serves for fight and dinner both;
In it he melted lead for bullets

To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets,
To whom he bore so fell a grutch,
He ne'er gave quarter to any such.
The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty,
For want of fighting was grown rusty,
And ate into itself, for lack

Of some body to hew and, hack:
The peaceful scabbard, where it dwelt,
The rancour of its edge had felt:
For of the lower end two handful
It had devour'd, 'twas so manful,
And so much scorn'd to lurk in case,
As if it durst not shew its face.
In many desperate attempts

Of warrants, exigents, contempts,
It had appear'd with courage bolder
Than Serjeant Bum invading shoulder:
Oft had it ta'en possession,
And pris'ners too, or made them run.
This sword a dagger had, his page,
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:
When it had stabb'd,' or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread,
Toast cheese or bacon, though it were
To bait a mouse - trap, 'twould not care:
"Twould make clean shoes, and in the earth
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 *).

In th' holsters of the saddle-bow
Two aged pistols he did stow,
Among the surplus of such meat

As in his hose he could not get.

These would inveigle rats with th' scent,
To forage when the cocks were bent;
And sometimes catch 'em with a snap,
As cleverly as th' ablest uap:

*) Man sagt, Cromwell's Vater sey ein Brauer in Huntingdon gewesen.

They were upon hard duty still,
And ev'ry night stood centinel,

To guard the magazine i' th' hose

From two-legg'd, and from four-legg'd foes.

ROCHESTER.

JOHN WILMOT EARL OF ROCHESTER, 1647 zu Ditchley in Oxfordshire geboren, wurde 1654 in das WadhamCollege geschickt, und 1661 durch den Lord Clarendon in eigener Person zum Magister der Künste erhoben. Nachdem or hierauf eine Reise durch Frankreich und Italien gemacht hatte, ging er an den Hof, und überliefs sich hier seinem Hange zu Ausschweifungen in einem solchen Grade, dafs er dem Dr. Burnet, der ihm nachmals bessere Gesinnungen, besonders in Ansehung der christlichen Religion, einzuflöfsen suchte, gestand, er sey 5 Jahre fast ununterbrochen trunken, und während der wenigen Augenblicke von Besinnung von dem überstandenen Rausche so erhitzt gewesen, dafs er nie über sich selbst habe Herr werden können. In den lucidis intervailis beschäftigte er sich mit den schönen Wissenschaf ten, und schrieb Schmähschriften, Boileau und Cowley waren seine Lieblingsdichter. Diese wenigen Zwischenräume abgerechnet, lebte er in sinnloser Zerstreuung und vichischer Lust, bis es Burnet gelang, ihn auf bessere Wege zu leiten, ein Verdienst, das sich der Doctor übrigens nicht hoch anrechnen konnte, da er es mit einem schon entnervten Wollustling zu thun hatte. S. seine interessante Schrift: some passages of the life and death of John Earl of Rochester. Eine Entkrüftung machte 1680 dem Leben des unglücklichen Mannes ein Ende. Man hat von ihm eine Sammlung vermischter Gedichte, die in seinem Todesjahre erschien, und hernach öfters aufgelegt worden ist. Die vierte Ausgabe führt folgenden Titel: the works of John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, containing poems-on several occasions, his Lordship's letters, with Valentinian, a Tragedy, London 1732, 8. Zu den vorzüglichsten und zugleich echten Stücken (denn mehrere scheinen nicht von Rochester's Hand zu seyn) zählt Johnson: the imitation of Horace's Satire, the verses

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