’Twas cut, thrust, and parry—the fellow fenced well—
But at last on his shoulder a heavy blow fell,
And his sword dropped to earth—in an instant he felt
With his left for a pistol that hung at his belt,
And he fired. O’er my temple the ball ploughed its track,
When I tripped him, and threw my bold youth on his back.
I said as I held him, “This rage has no use;
You’re two-thirds a lion and one-third a goose.
Do you want to fight armies! This passes a joke;
Surrender at once, or your throttle I’ll choke.