But Sidrophel, who from the aspect
Of Hudibras, did now erect
A figure worse portending far,
Than that of most malignant star;
Believ'd it now the fittest moment 1045
To shun the danger that might come on't,
While Hudibras was all alone,
And he and Whachum, two to one:
This being resolv'd, he spy'd by chance,
Behind the door an iron lance,[1] 1050
That many a sturdy limb had gor'd,
And legs, and loins, and shoulders bor'd;
He snatch'd it up, and made a pass,
To make his way thro' Hudibras.
Whachum had got a fire-fork,[2] 1055
With which he vow'd to do his work;
But Hudibras was well prepar'd.
And stoutly stood upon his guard:
He put by Sidrophello's thrust,
And in right manfully he rusht, 1060
The weapon from his gripe he wrung.
And laid him on the earth along.
Whachum his sea-coal prong threw by,
And basely turn'd his back to fly;
But Hudibras gave him a twitch 1065
As quick as lightning in the breech.
Just in the place where honour's lodg'd,[3]
As wise philosophers have judg'd;
Because a kick in that part more
Hurts honour, than deep wounds before. 1070
Quoth Hudibras, The stars determine
You are my prisoners, base vermin.
Could they not tell you so, as well
As what I came to know, foretell?
- ↑ A spit for roasting meat.
- ↑ Spelt "fiër-fork" in the old editions, so as to make fire a dissyllable.
- ↑ Butler, in his speech at the Rota, says (Genuine Remains, vol. i. p. 323): "Some are of opinion that honour is seated in the rump only, chiefly at least: for it is observed, that a small kick on that part does more hurt and wound honour than a cut on the head or face, or a stab, or a shot of a pistol, on any other part of the body."
