Page:Hudibras - Volume 1 (Butler, Nash, Bohn; 1859).djvu/171

CANTO III.] More wistfully, by many times. Than in small poets' splay-foot rhymes, That make her, in their ruthful stories, To answer to inter'gatories. And most unconscionably depose To things of which she nothing knows; And when she has said all she can say, 'Tis wrested to the lover's fancy. Quoth he, O whither, wicked Bruin, Art thou fled to my—Echo, ruin. I thought th' hadst scorn'd to budge a step, For fear. Quoth Echo, Marry guep. Am not I here to take thy part? Then what has quail'd thy stubborn heart? Have these bones rattled, and this head So often in thy quarrel bled? Nor did I ever wince or grudge it, For thy dear sake. Quoth she, Mum budget. Thinks't thou 'twill not be laid i' th' dish Thou turn'dst thy back? Quoth Echo, Pish. To run from those th' hadst overcome Thus cowardly? Quoth Echo, Mum. But what a-vengeance makes thee fly From me too, as thine enemy?