But all of wood, by pow'rful spell
Of magic made impregnable:
There's neither iron bar nor gate,

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Portcullis, chain, nor bolt, nor grate;

And yet men durance there abide,

In dungeons scarce three inches wide;
With roof so low, that under it

They never stand, but lie or sit;

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And yet so foul,, that whoso is in,

Is to the middle-leg in prison;

In circle magical confin'd,

With walls of subtil air and wind;

I have omitted large portions of the text, of this and the other cantos, it is not because they have not a relation to the moon as well as the rest; but, as in order to have a just conception of this poem, the author is not to be considered as limiting himself even to the enlarged view assigned above, in note on line 489 (he has in truth a still higher and more important object in view, that of inculcating a genuine philosophical theory of the moon's motions, and of the tides); so (the passages omitted being, for the most part, connected with the latter object) I have thought it better to reserve for a separate treatise, the consideration of a doctrine, entirely different from the doctrine of the moderns, but far more satisfactory; notwithstanding that the subject of the poem, and that theory itself, would undoubtedly give and borrow much additional light from each other, if the elucidation of both were coupled together.

Which none are able to break thorough,
Until they're freed by head of borough.
Thither arriv'd, th'advent'rous knight

And bold squire from their steeds alight,
At th' outward wall, near which there stands
A bastile, built t' imprison hands;

By strange inchantment made to fetter
The lesser parts, and free the greater:

For though the body may creep through,
The hands in grate are fast enough:
And when a circle 'bout the wrist
Is made by beadle exorcist,

The body feels the spur and switch,
As if 'twere ridden post by witch,
At twenty miles an hour pace,

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And yet ne'er stirs out of the place.

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On top of this there is a spire,

On which Sir Knight first bids the squire,

The fiddle, and its spoils, the case,

In manner of a trophy, place.

That done, they ope the trap-door-gate,

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To dungeon they the wretch commit,
And the survivor of his feet:

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But th' other, that had broke the peace,
And head of knighthood, they release,

Though a delinquent false and forged,
Yet b'ing a stranger, he's enlarged;

While his comrade, that did no hurt,
Is clapp'd up fast in prison for't.
So Justice, while she winks at crimes,
Stumbles on innocence sometimes.

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CANTO III.

THE ARGUMENT.

The scatter'd rout return and rally,
Surround the place; the knight does sally,
And is made pris'ner: then they seize
Th' inchanted fort by storm, release
Crowdero, and put the squire in's place;
I should have first said Hudibras.

Ay me! what perils do inviron

The man that meddles with cold iron!
What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps
Do dog him still with after-claps!

For though dame Fortune seem to smile, –

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And leer upon him for a while,

She'll after shew him, in the nick

Of all his glories, a dog-trick.

This any man may sing or say,

I' th' ditty call'd, What if a day:

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For Hudibras, who thought h' had won

The field, as certain as a gun,

And having routed the whole troop,

With victory was cock-a-hoop;

Thinking h' had done enough to purchase 15

Thanksgiving-day among the churches;

Wherein his mettle and brave worth

Might be explained by holder-forth,
And register'd by fame eternal,
In deathless pages of diurnal;
Found in few minutes to his cost,
He did but count without his host;
And that a turnstile is more certain
Than, in events of war, dame Fortune,

For now the late faint-hearted rout,
O'erthrown and scatter'd round about,
Chas'd by the horror of their fear,
From bloody fray of knight and bear,
(All but the dogs, who in pursuit
Of the knight's victory stood to 't,
And most ignobly fought, to get
The honour of his blood and sweat,)
Seeing the coast was free and clear
O' th' conquer'd and the conqueror,
Took heart again, and fac'd about,
As if they meant to stand it out:
For by this time the routed bear,
Attack'd by th' enemy i' th' rear,

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Finding their number grew too great
Forhim to make a safe retreat,
Like a bold chieftain fac'd about;

But wisely doubting to hold out,

Gave way to fortune, and with haste

Fac'd the proud foe, and fled, and fac'd;
Retiring still, until he found

H' had got th' advantage of the ground;

And then as valiantly made head,

To check the foe, and forthwith fled;
Leaving no art untry'd, nor trick
Of warrior stout and politic;
Until, in spite of hot pursuit,
He gain'd a pass to hold dispute
On better terms, and stop the course
Of the proud foe. With all his force
He bravely charg'd, and for a while
Forc'd their whole body to recoil;
But still their numbers so increas'd,
He found himself at length oppress'd,
And all evasions so uncertain,
To save himself for better fortune;
That he resolv'd, rather than yield,
To die with honour in the field,
And sell his hide and carcase at
A price as high and desperate

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50

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As e'er he could. This resolution
He forthwith put in execution,

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