For a spring on thy victim: what caused thee decline
Advantage till challenged to-day?"
"That challenge I meet with contempt," quoth the fiend.
"Thus much I acknowledge: the man 's armed in mail:
I wait till a joint 's loose, then quick ply my claws.
Thy friend's one good custom—he knows not—has screened
His flesh hitherto from what else would assail:
At 'Save me, Madonna!' I pause.
"That prayer did the losel but once pretermit,
My pounce were upon him. I keep me attent: