His breeches were of rugged woollen, And had been at the siege of Bullen; 310 To old King HARRY so well known, Some writers held they were his own. Thro' they were lin'd with many a piece Of ammunition bread and cheese, And fat black-puddings, proper food 315 For warriors that delight in blood. For, as we said, he always chose To carry vittle in his hose, That often tempted rats and mice The ammunition to surprise: 320 And when he put a hand but in The one or t' other magazine, They stoutly in defence on't stood, And from the wounded foe drew blood; And 'till th' were storm'd and beaten out, 325 Ne'er left the fortify'd redoubt. And tho' Knights Errant, as some think, Of old did neither eat nor drink, Because, when thorough desarts vast, And regions desolate, they past, 330 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, 335 They had no stomachs, but to fight. 'Tis false: for <a> 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. 340 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 cou'd eat, When, laying by their swords and truncheons, 345 They took their breakfasts, or their nuncheons. But let that pass at present, lest We should forget where we digrest, As learned authors use, to whom We leave it, and to th' purpose come, 350 His puissant sword unto his side, Near his undaunted heart, was ty'd; With basket-hilt, that wou'd hold broth, And serve for fight and dinner both. In it he melted lead for bullets, 355 To shoot at foes, and sometimes pullets, To whom he bore so fell a grutch, He ne'er gave quarter t' any such. The trenchant blade, <b> Toledo trusty, For want of fighting, was grown rusty, 360 And ate unto itself, for lack Of somebody to hew and hack. The peaceful scabbard where it dwelt The rancour of its edge had felt; For of the lower end two handful 365 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, 370 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.