At this the knight gave’s breast a thump, And stretching out his hand,— If you will pull me up, he cried, I’ll try if I can stand. And then I’ll let you know the cause; But first take care of Ralph, Who in my good or ill success Doth always stand my half. In short, he got his worship up And led him in the door; Where he at length relates the tale As I have told before. When he had heard the story out, The gentleman replies,— It is not in my province, sir, Your worship to advise. But were I in your worship’s place, The only thing I’d do, Was first to reprimand the fools, And then to let them go. I think it first advisable To take them from the rabble, And let them come and both set forth The occasion of the squabble. This is the Vicar, Sir, of Bray, A man of no repute, The scorn and scandal of his tribe, A loose, ill-manner’d brute. The cobbler’s a poor strolling wretch That mends my servants’ shoes; And often calls as he goes by To bring me country news. At this his worship grip’d his beard, And in an angry mood, Swore by the laws of chivalry That blood required blood. Besides, I’m by the Commonwealth Entrusted to chastise All knaves that straggle up and down To raise such mutinies. However, since ’tis your request, They shall be call’d and heard; But neither Ralph nor I can grant Such rascals should be clear’d. And so, to wind the tale up short, They were call’d in together; And by the gentlemen were ask’d What wind ’twas blew them thither. Good ale and handsome landladies You might have nearer home; And therefore ’tis for something more That you so far are come. To which the vicar answer’d first,— My living is so small, That I am forced to stroll about To try and get a call. And, quoth the cobbler, I am forced To leave my wife and dwelling, T’ escape the danger of being press’d To go a colonelling. There’s many an honest jovial lad Unwarily drawn in, That I have reason to suspect Will scarce get out again. The proverb says, _Harm watch harm catch_, I’ll out of danger keep, For he that sleeps in a whole skin Doth most securely sleep. My business is to mend bad soals And stitch up broken quarters: A cobbler’s name would look but odd Among a list of martyrs. Faith, cobbler, quoth the gentleman, And that shall be my case; I will neither party join, Let what will come to pass. No importunities or threats My fixt resolves shall rest; Come here, Sir Samuel, where’s his health That loves old England best. I pity those unhappy fools Who, ere they were aware, Designing and ambitious men Have drawn into a snare.