Day being far spent, and the numerous forces of the Moderns half
inclining to a retreat, there issued forth, from a squadron of their
heavy-armed foot, a captain whose name was Bentley, the most deformed of
all the Moderns; tall, but without shape or comeliness; large, but
without strength or proportion. His armour was patched up of a thousand
incoherent pieces, and the sound of it, as he marched, was loud and dry,
like that made by the fall of a sheet of lead, which an Etesian wind
blows suddenly down from the roof of some steeple. His helmet was of old
rusty iron, but the vizor was brass, which, tainted by his breath,
corrupted into copperas, nor wanted gall from the same fountain, so that,
whenever provoked by anger or labour, an atramentous quality, of most
malignant nature, was seen to distil from his lips. In his right hand he
grasped a flail, and (that he might never be unprovided of an offensive
weapon) a vessel full of ordure in his left. Thus completely armed, he
advanced with a slow and heavy pace where the Modern chiefs were holding
a consult upon the sum of things, who, as he came onwards, laughed to
behold his crooked leg and humped shoulder, which his boot and armour,
vainly endeavouring to hide, were forced to comply with and expose. The
generals made use of him for his talent of railing, which, kept within
government, proved frequently of great service to their cause, but, at
other times, did more mischief than good; for, at the least touch of
offence, and often without any at all, he would, like a wounded elephant,
convert it against his leaders. Such, at this juncture, was the
disposition of Bentley, grieved to see the enemy prevail, and
dissatisfied with everybody's conduct but his own. He humbly gave the
Modern generals to understand that he conceived, with great submission,
they were all a pack of rogues, and fools, and confounded logger-heads,
and illiterate whelps, and nonsensical scoundrels; that, if himself had
been constituted general, those presumptuous dogs, the Ancients, would
long before this have been beaten out of the field. "You," said he, "sit
here idle, but when I, or any other valiant Modern kill an enemy, you are
sure to seize the spoil. But I will not march one foot against the foe
till you all swear to me that whomever I take or kill, his arms I shall
quietly possess." Bentley having spoken thus, Scaliger, bestowing him a
sour look, "Miscreant prater!" said he, "eloquent only in thine own eyes,
thou railest without wit, or truth, or discretion. The malignity of thy
temper perverteth nature; thy learning makes thee more barbarous; thy
study of humanity more inhuman; thy converse among poets more grovelling,
miry, and dull. All arts of civilising others render thee rude and
untractable; courts have taught thee ill manners, and polite conversation
has finished thee a pedant. Besides, a greater coward burdeneth not the
army. But never despond; I pass my word, whatever spoil thou takest
shall certainly be thy own; though I hope that vile carcase will first
become a prey to kites and worms."
Bentley durst not reply, but, half choked with spleen and rage, withdrew,
in full resolution of performing some great achievement. With him, for
his aid and companion, he took his beloved Wotton, resolving by policy or
surprise to attempt some neglected quarter of the Ancients' army. They
began their march over carcases of their slaughtered friends; then to the
right of their own forces; then wheeled northward, till they came to
Aldrovandus's tomb, which they passed on the side of the declining sun.
And now they arrived, with fear, toward the enemy's out-guards, looking
about, if haply they might spy the quarters of the wounded, or some
straggling sleepers, unarmed and remote from the rest. As when two
mongrel curs, whom native greediness and domestic want provoke and join
in partnership, though fearful, nightly to invade the folds of some rich
grazier, they, with tails depressed and lolling tongues, creep soft and
slow. Meanwhile the conscious moon, now in her zenith, on their guilty
heads darts perpendicular rays; nor dare they bark, though much provoked
at her refulgent visage, whether seen in puddle by reflection or in
sphere direct; but one surveys the region round, while the other scouts
the plain, if haply to discover, at distance from the flock, some carcase
half devoured, the refuse of gorged wolves or ominous ravens. So marched
this lovely, loving pair of friends, nor with less fear and
circumspection, when at a distance they might perceive two shining suits
of armour hanging upon an oak, and the owners not far off in a profound
sleep. The two friends drew lots, and the pursuing of this adventure
fell to Bentley; on he went, and in his van Confusion and Amaze, while
Horror and Affright brought up the rear. As he came near, behold two
heroes of the Ancient army, Phalaris and AEsop, lay fast asleep. Bentley
would fain have despatched them both, and, stealing close, aimed his
flail at Phalaris's breast; but then the goddess Affright, interposing,
caught the Modern in her icy arms, and dragged him from the danger she
foresaw; both the dormant heroes happened to turn at the same instant,
though soundly sleeping, and busy in a dream. For Phalaris was just that
minute dreaming how a most vile poetaster had lampooned him, and how he
had got him roaring in his bull. And AEsop dreamed that as he and the
Ancient were lying on the ground, a wild ass broke loose, ran about,
trampling and kicking in their faces. Bentley, leaving the two heroes
asleep, seized on both their armours, and withdrew in quest of his
darling Wotton.
He, in the meantime, had wandered long in search of some enterprise, till
at length he arrived at a small rivulet that issued from a fountain hard
by, called, in the language of mortal men, Helicon. Here he stopped,
and, parched with thirst, resolved to allay it in this limpid stream.
Thrice with profane hands he essayed to raise the water to his lips, and
thrice it slipped all through his fingers. Then he stopped prone on his
breast, but, ere his mouth had kissed the liquid crystal, Apollo came,
and in the channel held his shield betwixt the Modern and the fountain,
so that he drew up nothing but mud. For, although no fountain on earth
can compare with the clearness of Helicon, yet there lies at bottom a
thick sediment of slime and mud; for so Apollo begged of Jupiter, as a
punishment to those who durst attempt to taste it with unhallowed lips,
and for a lesson to all not to draw too deep or far from the spring.
At the fountain-head Wotton discerned two heroes; the one he could not
distinguish, but the other was soon known for Temple, general of the
allies to the Ancients. His back was turned, and he was employed in
drinking large draughts in his helmet from the fountain, where he had
withdrawn himself to rest from the toils of the war. Wotton, observing
him, with quaking knees and trembling hands, spoke thus to himself: O
that I could kill this destroyer of our army, what renown should I
purchase among the chiefs! but to issue out against him, man against man,
shield against shield, and lance against lance, what Modern of us dare?
for he fights like a god, and Pallas or Apollo are ever at his elbow.
But, O mother! if what Fame reports be true, that I am the son of so
great a goddess, grant me to hit Temple with this lance, that the stroke
may send him to hell, and that I may return in safety and triumph, laden
with his spoils. The first part of this prayer the gods granted at the
intercession of his mother and of Momus; but the rest, by a perverse wind
sent from Fate, was scattered in the air. Then Wotton grasped his lance,
and, brandishing it thrice over his head, darted it with all his might;
the goddess, his mother, at the same time adding strength to his arm.
Away the lance went hizzing, and reached even to the belt of the averted
Ancient, upon which, lightly grazing, it fell to the ground. Temple
neither felt the weapon touch him nor heard it fall: and Wotton might
have escaped to his army, with the honour of having remitted his lance
against so great a leader unrevenged; but Apollo, enraged that a javelin
flung by the assistance of so foul a goddess should pollute his fountain,
put on the shape of ---, and softly came to young Boyle, who then
accompanied Temple: he pointed first to the lance, then to the distant
Modern that flung it, and commanded the young hero to take immediate
revenge. Boyle, clad in a suit of armour which had been given him by all
the gods, immediately advanced against the trembling foe, who now fled
before him. As a young lion in the Libyan plains, or Araby desert, sent
by his aged sire to hunt for prey, or health, or exercise, he scours
along, wishing to meet some tiger from the mountains, or a furious boar;
if chance a wild ass, with brayings importune, affronts his ear, the
generous beast, though loathing to distain his claws with blood so vile,
yet, much provoked at the offensive noise, which Echo, foolish nymph,
like her ill-judging sex, repeats much louder, and with more delight than
Philomela's song, he vindicates the honour of the forest, and hunts the
noisy long-eared animal. So Wotton fled, so Boyle pursued. But Wotton,
heavy-armed, and slow of foot, began to slack his course, when his lover
Bentley appeared, returning laden with the spoils of the two sleeping
Ancients. Boyle observed him well, and soon discovering the helmet and
shield of Phalaris his friend, both which he had lately with his own
hands new polished and gilt, rage sparkled in his eyes, and, leaving his
pursuit after Wotton, he furiously rushed on against this new approacher.
Fain would he be revenged on both; but both now fled different ways: and,
as a woman in a little house that gets a painful livelihood by spinning,
if chance her geese be scattered o'er the common, she courses round the
plain from side to side, compelling here and there the stragglers to the
flock; they cackle loud, and flutter o'er the champaign; so Boyle
pursued, so fled this pair of friends: finding at length their flight was
vain, they bravely joined, and drew themselves in phalanx. First Bentley
threw a spear with all his force, hoping to pierce the enemy's breast;
but Pallas came unseen, and in the air took off the point, and clapped on
one of lead, which, after a dead bang against the enemy's shield, fell
blunted to the ground. Then Boyle, observing well his time, took up a
lance of wondrous length and sharpness; and, as this pair of friends
compacted, stood close side by side, he wheeled him to the right, and,
with unusual force, darted the weapon. Bentley saw his fate approach,
and flanking down his arms close to his ribs, hoping to save his body, in
went the point, passing through arm and side, nor stopped or spent its
force till it had also pierced the valiant Wotton, who, going to sustain
his dying friend, shared his fate. As when a skilful cook has trussed a
brace of woodcocks, he with iron skewer pierces the tender sides of both,
their legs and wings close pinioned to the rib; so was this pair of
friends transfixed, till down they fell, joined in their lives, joined in
their deaths; so closely joined that Charon would mistake them both for
one, and waft them over Styx for half his fare. Farewell, beloved,
loving pair; few equals have you left behind: and happy and immortal
shall you be, if all my wit and eloquence can make you.
And now. . . .
_Desunt coetera_.