Which fir'd it so, he rais'd his arm
Above his head, and rain'd a storm
Of blows so terrible and thick,
As if he meant to hash her quick :

But she upon her truncheon took them,
And by oblique diversion broke them,
Waiting an opportunity

To pay all back with usury,

Which long she fail'd not of; for now
The Knight with one dead-doing blow
Resolving to decide the fight,
And she with quick and cunning sleight
Avoiding it, the force and weight
He charg'd upon it was so great,
As almost sway'd him to the ground:
No sooner she the' advantage found,
But in she flew; and seconding,

With home-made thrust, the heavy swing,
She laid him flat upon his side,

And mounting on his trunk a-stride,
Quoth she, I told thee what would come
Of all thy vapouring, base scum!
Say, will the law of arms allow

I may have grace and quarter now?
Or wilt thou rather break thy word,
And stain thine honour, than thy sword?
A man of war to damn his soul,

In basely breaking his parole;

And when before the fight, th' had'st vow'd

To give no quarter in cold blood;

Now thou hast got me for a Tartar,
To make m' against my will take quarter,
Why dost not put me to the sword,
But cowardly fiy from thy word?'