Now hearkening thus, they both became aware Of distant bells that throbbed upon the air, A faint, insistent sound that rose and fell, A clamour vague that ominous did swell. As thus they stood, well hidden from the road, Footsteps they heard of feet that briskly strode. And, through the leaves, a small man they espied, Who came apace, a great sword by his side. Large bascinet upon his head he bore,   'Neath which his face a scowl portentous wore; While after toiled a stout but reverend friar Who, scant of breath, profusely did perspire And, thus perspiring, panted sad complaints Thus—on the heat, his comrade and the Saints.    “O Bax, O Bax! Saint Cuthbert aid me now! O Bax, see how to sweat thou'st made me now! Thy speed abate! O sweet Saint Dominic! Why pliest thou thy puny shanks so quick; O day! O Bax! O hot, sulphurous day, My flesh betwixt ye melteth fast away. Come, sit ye, Bax, in shade of yon sweet tree, And, sitting soft, I'll sagely counsel thee.”    “Not so, in faith,” the small man, scowling, said,   “What use for counsel since the cause be fled? And since she's fled—Saints succour us!” he cried; As 'mid the leaves all suddenly he spied Sir Pertinax in his unlovely trim, His rusty mail, his aspect swart and grim—   “Ha!” gasped the little man, “we are beset!”    And starting back, off fell his bascinet. Whereat he fiercely did but scowl the more, 

   And strove amain his ponderous sword to draw.   “Hence, dog!” he cried, “lest, with my swashing blow, I make thee food for carrion kite and crow.”    But in swift hands Sir Pertinax fast caught him And, bearing him on high, to Joc'lyn brought him, Who, while the captive small strove vain aloft Reproved him thus in accents sweet and soft: 

       “Right puissant and potential sir, we do beseech thee check thy ferocity, quell now thy so great anger and swear not to give our flesh for fowls to tear, so shalt thou come down to earth and stand again upon thine own two legs. And thou, most reverend friar, invoke now thy bloody-minded comrade that he swear to harm us not!”      

       The stout friar seated himself hard by beneath a tree, mopped moist brow, fetched his wind and smiled.     

       “Sir Fool,” said he, “I am thy security that thou and thy brawny gossip need quake and tremble nothing by reason of this Bax, our valiant reeve—he shall harm ye no whit.” Here, meeting Jocelyn's eye, Sir Pertinax set down the small Reeve, who having taken up and put on his great bascinet, scowled, 

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