Disguis'd in all the masks of night, We left our champion on his flight, At blind man's buff, to grope his way, 45 In equal fear of night and day, Who took his dark and desp'rate course, He knew no better than his horse; And, by an unknown Devil led, (He knew as little whither,) fled. 50 He never was in greater need, Nor less capacity, of speed; Disabled, both in man and beast, To fly and run away his best; To keep the enemy, and fear, 55 From equal falling on his rear. And though with kicks and bangs he ply'd The further and the nearer side, (As seamen ride with all their force, And tug as if they row'd the horse, 60 And when the hackney sails most swift, Believe they lag, or run a-drift,) So, though he posted e'er so fast, His fear was greater than his haste: For fear, though fleeter than the wind, 65 Believes 'tis always left behind. But when the morn began t' appear, And shift t' another scene his fear, He found his new officious shade, That came so timely to his aid, 70 And forc'd him from the foe t' escape, Had turn'd itself to RALPHO's shape; So like in person, garb, and pitch, 'Twas hard t' interpret which was which. For RALPHO had no sooner told 75 The Lady all he had t' unfold, But she convey'd him out of sight, To entertain the approaching Knight; And, while he gave himself diversion, T' accommodate his beast and person, 80 And put his beard into a posture At best advantage to accost her, She order'd th' anti-masquerade (For his reception) aforesaid: But when the ceremony was done, 85 The lights put out, and furies gone, And HUDIBRAS, among the rest, Convey'd away, as RALPHO guess'd, The wretched caitiff, all alone, (As he believ'd) began to moan, 90 And tell his story to himself, The Knight mistook him for an elf; And did so still till he began To scruple at RALPH's Outward Man; And thought, because they oft agreed 95 T' appear in one another's stead, And act the Saint's and Devil's part With undistinguishable art, They might have done so now, perhaps, And put on one another's shapes 100 And therefore, to resolve the doubt, He star'd upon him, and cry'd out, What art? My 'Squire, or that bold Sprite That took his place and shape to-night? Some busy indepenent pug, 105 Retainer to his Synagogue? Alas! quoth he, I'm none of those, Your bosom friends, as you suppose; But RALPH himself, your trusty 'Squire, Wh' has dragg'd your Dunship out o' th' mire, 110 And from th' inchantments of a widow, Wh' had turn'd you int' a beast, have freed you; And, though a prisoner of war, Have brought you safe where you now are;