The knight, who heard the noise within,
Runs out with might and main,
And seeing Ralph amidst the crowd
In danger to be slain,
Without regard to age or sex
Old basket-hilt so ply’d,
That in an instant three or four
Lay bleeding at his side.
And greater mischiefs in his rage
This furious knight had done,
If he had not prevented been
By Dick, the blacksmith’s son,
Who catch’d his worship on the hip,
And gave him such a squelch,
That he some moments breathless lay
Ere he was heard to belch.
Nor was the squire in better case,
By sturdy butcher ply’d,
Who from the shoulder to the flank
Had soundly swinged his hide.
Whilst things in this confusion stood,
And knight and squire disarm’d,
Up comes a neighbouring gentleman
The outcry had alarm’d;
Who riding up among the crowd,
The vicar first he spy’d,
With sleeveless gown and bloody band
And hands behind him ty’d.
Bless me, says he, what means all this?
Then turning round his eyes,
In the same plight, or in a worse,
The cobbler bleeding spies.
And looking further round he saw,
Like one in doleful dump,
The knight, amidst a gaping mob,
Sit pensive on his rump.
And by his side lay Ralph his squire,
Whom butcher fell had maul’d;
Who bitterly bemoan’d his fate,
And for a surgeon call’d.