Chapter LXXXVII

But {244}she looked with disdain, for, that moment, again
From the thick cloud of dust just emerging,
Fowle stood forth quite plain ‘mid the wounded and slain
His heroes to energy urging.

LXXXVIII.

“False Tracy,” he cried, “from my beautiful bride
Avert your detestable gazes,
Descend to my side that the fight may be tried!”
Says Sir Marmaduke, “Fowle, go to blazes!”