"I see evident chance of a broken skull in this business," said Dismal. "That fellow with the green frock seldom amuses himself by a set-to in the ring but he either maims or lames his adversary for life."
The parties indeed had quickly engaged, for as speedily as the forester could shake the numbness from his fingers, he dealt a most uncompromising blow at his adversary, which had it taken effect would certainly have knocked out his brains. But the youth received it on his staff with great coolness, and shifting his right hand, returned it as swiftly. The forester in an instant lost his temper; he rushed upon his opponent with the intention of seizing him in his powerful grip, and throwing him to the earth; but he received so severe a check full in the teeth as he did so, that he stopped short, and shook his head with rage and pain.
"Well struck," cried the villagers, "Black Dick has met his match!"
Coolness and self-possession will always tell in a combat of this sort.
The temper once lost, the conflict within tells more against the combatant than the blows of his adversary. Every available function is over-exerted and blind rage baffles the skill.
Thus it was with the bulky forester. Strong drink and violent anger rendered him tremulous as he fought. He dealt his blows thick as hail, most maliciously, and without any regard to the rules of such a combat. He would have killed his opponent if he could, and so young Shakespeare found, and dealt with him accordingly, quite aware that the slightest mistake on his own part would result in his either being killed or lamed for life. The youth, who in reality possessed greater strength than his appearance seemed to warrant, kept well away from the shower of blows, till his antagonist was completely out of breath. He then stood more up to him, returned his blows with interest, and at length dealt him so severe a stroke on the head, that the forester reeled under the shock and almost fell.
Nothing but his own consummate skill could, however, have saved young Shakespeare up to this time from the fury of his antagonist. Nothing now but his own chivalrous feeling could have saved his antagonist from a severer lesson than he actually received at his hands.
The blow he gave the forester, and which struck him on the head, for the moment placed him at his mercy. The strong ruffian reeled and nearly fell, and as he still endeavoured to smite furiously with his weapon, it flew out of his hand, and he was at the mercy of his antagonist, who immediately dropped the end of his staff upon the ground, and waited for him to recover it.
At this moment several of the forester's comrades, who had been shooting at a target at the edge of the Green, attracted by the sound of the fray, came up. They were enraged at beholding the discomfiture of their companion, whose opponent they seemed inclined to handle roughly; and the villagers immediately taking part with Shakespeare, a general fight ensued, and with the true English bull-dog resolution, blows with fist and stick resounded on all sides. Master Grasp was overturned and trod under foot, swearing action and imprisonment against all and sundry the combatants. Master Dismal was fain to betake himself to flight, and Doubletongue said, as he made off also, that such a scene was a scandal to the whole country; whilst the village maidens, in a state of alarm, stood looking on at a distance, and calling to their lovers, cousins, and brothers, to desist for the love of heaven and their own sweet sakes.
In short, such was the rage of the combatants,—the keepers being for the most part Gloucestershire men, and objects of dislike to the Shottery lads,—that it seemed more than probable lives would be lost ere the matter ended.