But all of wood, by pow'rful spell 1135 Portcullis, chain, nor bolt, nor grate; And yet men durance there abide, In dungeons scarce three inches wide; They never stand, but lie or sit; 1140 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, And bold squire from their steeds alight, By strange inchantment made to fetter For though the body may creep through, The body feels the spur and switch, 1145 1150 1155 And yet ne'er stirs out of the place. 1160 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, 1165 To dungeon they the wretch commit, 1170 But th' other, that had broke the peace, Though a delinquent false and forged, While his comrade, that did no hurt, 1175 CANTO III. THE ARGUMENT. The scatter'd rout return and rally, Ay me! what perils do inviron The man that meddles with cold iron! For though dame Fortune seem to smile, – 5 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: 10 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, For now the late faint-hearted rout, 20 25 30 35 Finding their number grew too great But wisely doubting to hold out, Gave way to fortune, and with haste Fac'd the proud foe, and fled, and fac'd; H' had got th' advantage of the ground; And then as valiantly made head, To check the foe, and forthwith fled; 40 45 50 55 60 As e'er he could. This resolution 65 |