ROBIN: Buzzeth, buzz, O buzz!
SIR PALAMON: Mine, thou paltry knave, I say mine—
ROBIN: Buzz—ha—buzz!
JOCELYN: I pray you, Sir Knight, doth the Red Gui tilt at to-morrow's joust?
SIR PALAMON: Base mime, he doth! My Lord Gui of Ells, Lord Seneschal of Raddemore, is myfriend, a very mirror of knightly prowess, the sure might of whose lance none may abide. He is, in very truth, the doughtiest champion in all this fair country, matchless at any and every weapon, a-horse or a-foot, in sooth a very Ajax, Achilles, Hector, Roland and Oliver together and at once, one and indivisible, aye—by Cupid a very paladin!
“'Tis so I've heard,” said Jocelyn thoughtfully.
SIR PALAMON: Two knights only there are might cope with him, and one Sir Agramore and one Jocelyn of the Helm, Duke of Brocelaunde. The fame of which last rumour hath so puffed up that thrice my Lord Gui hath sent his cartel of defiance, but the said Duke, intent on paltry battles beyond his marches, hath thrice refused, and wisely—so 'tis said.
“Aye me, messire,” quoth Jocelyn, strumming his lute, “and so bloweth the wind. Yet mayhap these twain shall meet one day.”
ROBIN: And heaven send me there to see! Now as to thee, Sir Softly Sweet, fair Lord of Tong, thy goodly horse and armour are mine henceforth, first because thy need of them is nothing, secondly because thou art my prisoner—
SIR PALAMON: And thirdly, Sir Riotous Roughness, I do freely on thee bestow them, hide and hair, bolt and rivet.