But the one who swung it, never
Gave a second stroke; his own throat,
Where by armour not protected,
Being cut by Werner's weapon.
Three steps backward then he staggered
Sinking: "Devil, stir thy fire!
Hast me now!" Dead lay the soldier.
Werner, thy young life guard well now!
Raging were the peasants, thronging
In great crowds around this handful.