But why all this picture-drawing of a stray Oxford student, whom, while I talk about him, I keep standing in front of me on the floor of that poor kitchen? You shall hear.
It was not to do me obeisance that he rose as I entered. His dirk was drawn and his face was thunderous as he took a step forward and spoke.
“I want you not! So leave me.”
My Lord Burleigh himself could not have spoken the words more royally, although he would have spoken them with less music and more of an English accent in his voice.
Now, moved as I was by the look of my companion, it offended me to hear a loyal London ’prentice talked to thus like a dog, or, worse, like the drawer of the inn.
“By your leave,” said I, and it was not often I said as much to any man, “unless you be the landlord of the place, I have as good a right to be here as you.”
“Then,” said he, solemnly and, as I thought, sadly, “guard yourself.” I whipped out my sword. In my boastfulness, I thought I had too great an advantage with my long weapon against his short and not too highly-tempered blade, and I resolved with myself not to run him through if I could otherwise satisfy him. But my tune changed as soon as we closed. I could do nothing. My fine thrusts and parries wherewith I was wont to set Finsbury Fields a-gaping all went for nothing. He got in at me over my guard, under my guard, beside my guard, and through my guard. Nor could I even do myself justice. For while I fenced, I was fascinated by the flashing of his eyes and the noble gracefulness of his every motion. In two minutes he had me disarmed, pinned up against the wall, as helpless as a silly ox in the grip of a tiger.
It mortified me as much as anything to find that when he had me thus at his mercy he dropped me half disdainfully, half pitifully, and put his dirk back into its sheath.
“Will you go now?”
“No,” said I, doggedly. For so chapfallen was I that I wished nothing better than that he should do his worst with me.