Page:Hudibras - Volume 1 (Butler, Nash, Bohn; 1859).djvu/156

80 Vowing to make Crowdero pay For all the rest that ran away. But Ralpho now, in colder blood, His fury mildly thus withstood: Great Sir, quoth he, your mighty spirit Is rais'd too high; this slave does merit To be the hangman's bus'ness, sooner Than from your hand to have the honour Of his destruction; I that am A nothingness in deed and name, Did scorn to hurt his forfeit carcase, Or ill entreat his fiddle or case: Will you, great Sir, that glory blot In cold blood, which you gain'd in hot? Will you employ your conqu'ring sword To break a fiddle, and your word? For tho' I fought and overcame, And quarter gave, 'twas in your name: For great commanders always own What's prosp'rous by the soldier done. To save, where you have pow'r to kill, Argues your pow'r above your will; And that your will and pow'r have less Than both might have of selfishness. This pow'r which, now alive, with dread He trembles at, if he were dead. Would no more keep the slave in awe, Than if you were a knight of straw; For death would then be his conqueror, Not you, and free him from that terror. If danger from his life accrue, Or honour from his death to you, 'Twere policy, and honour too, To do as you resolv'd to do: