But he with petronel upheav'd,
Instead of shield, the blow receiv'd.
The gun recoil'd, as well it might, 790
Not us'd to such a kind of fight,
And shrunk from its great master's gripe,
Knock'd down and stunn'd by mortal stripe.
Then HUDIBRAS, with furious haste,
Drew out his sword; yet not so fast, 795
But TALGOL first, with hardy thwack,
Twice bruis'd his head, and twice his back.
But when his nut-brown sword was out,
With stomach huge he laid about,
Imprinting many a wound upon 800
His mortal foe, the truncheon.
The trusty cudgel did oppose
Itself against dead-doing blows,
To guard its leader from fell bane,
And then reveng'd itself again. 805
And though the sword (some understood)
In force had much the odds of wood,
'Twas nothing so; both sides were ballanc't
So equal, none knew which was valiant'st:
For wood with Honour b'ing engag'd, 810
Is so implacably enrag'd,
Though iron hew and mangle sore,
Wood wounds and bruises Honour more.
And now both Knights were out of breath,
Tir'd in the hot pursuit of death; 815
While all the rest amaz'd stood still,
Expecting which should take or kill.