Where thou might'st stickle without hazard

Of outrage to thy hide mazzard;

And not for want of bus'ness come

To us to be thus troublesome,

To interrupt our better sort

Of disputants, and spoil our sport?
Was there no felony, no bawd,
Cut-purse, nor burglary abroad?
No stolen pig nor plunder'd goose,
To tie thee up from breaking loose?

710

715

Might cut out journey-work for thee;
And set th' a task, with subornation,
To stitch up sale and sequestration,
To cheat with holiness and zeal,
All parties and the common-weal?
Much better had it been for thee,

H' had kept thee where th' art us'd to be;
Or sent th' on bus'ness any whither,

725

So he had never brought thee hither.

730

But if th' hadst brain enough in skull
To keep itself in lodging whole,
And not provoke the rage of stones
And cudgels to thy hide and bones;

Tremble, and vanish, while thou may'st,
Which I'll not promise if thou stay'st.
At this the knight grew high in wroth,
And lifting hands and eyes up both,

Three times he smote on stomach stout,

735

From whence at last these words broke out: 740

Was I far this entitled Sir,

And girt with trusty sword and spur,
For fame and honour to wage battle,
Thus to be brav'd by foe to cattle?
Not all that pride that makes thee swell
As big as thou dost, blown up veal;
Nor all thy tricks and sleights to cheat,
And sell thy carrion for good meat;

Not all thy magic to repair

745

Decay'd old age in tough lean ware,
Make natʼral death appear thy work,

750

And stop the gangrene in stale pork;

Not all that force that makes thee proud,
Because by bullock ne'er withstood;

Though arm'd with all thy cleavers, knives, 755

And axes made to hew down lives,

Shall save or help thee to evade

The hand of justice, or this blade,

Which I, her sword-bearer, do carry,

For civil deed and military.

760

Nor shall these words of venom base,

Which thou hast from thy native place,

Thy stomach, pump'd to fling on me,

Go unreveng'd, though I am free.

Thou down the same throat shall devour 'em, 765

Like tainted beef, and pay dear for 'em.

Nor shall it e'er be said, that wight

With gauntlet blue, and bases white,

And round blunt truncheon by his side,
So great a man at arms defy'd

With words far bitterer than wormwood,

770

That would in Job or Grizel stir mood.
Dogs with their tongues their wounds do heal,
But men with hands, as thou shalt feel.

This said, with hasty rage he snatch'd
His gunshot, that in holsters watch'd;
And bending cock he levell'd full
Against th' outside of Talgol's skull:

775