Or sent th' on bus'ness any whither, 730
So he had never brought thee hither.
But if th' hast brain enough in skull
To keep itself in lodging whole,
And not provoke the rage of stones
And cudgels to thy hide and bones 735
Tremble, and vanish, while thou may'st,
Which I'll not promise if thou stay'st.
At this the Knight grew high in wroth,
And lifting hands and eyes up both,
Three times he smote on stomach stout, 740
From whence at length these words broke out:

Was I for this entitled SIR,
And girt with trusty sword and spur,
For fame and honor to wage battle,
Thus to be brav'd by foe to cattle? 745
Not all that pride that makes thee swell
As big as thou dost blown-up veal;
Nor all thy tricks and sleights to cheat,
And sell thy carrion for good meat;
Not all thy magic to repair 750
Decay'd old age in tough lean ware;
Make nat'ral appear thy work,
And stop the gangrene in stale pork;
Not all that force that makes thee proud,
Because by bullock ne'er withstood; 755
Though arm'd with all thy cleavers, knives,
And axes made to hew down lives,
Shall save or help thee to evade