Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

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and sat down on the overhanging ledge of the rock, lighting his pipe, and affecting
unconcern, but in reality most deeply interested in the event which was about to ensue.
As soon as the word "coward" had been pronounced by Sir Ludwig, his opponent, uttering
a curse far too horrible to be inscribed here, had wheeled back his powerful piebald, and
brought his lance to the rest.
"Ha! Beauseant!" cried he. "Allah humdillah!" 'Twas the battle-cry in Palestine of the
irresistible Knights Hospitallers. "Look to thyself, Sir Knight, and for mercy from heaven! I
will give thee none."
"A Bugo for Katzenellenbogen!" exclaimed Sir Ludwig, piously: that, too, was the wellknown
war-cry of his princely race.
"I will give the signal," said the old hermit, waving his pipe. "Knights, are you ready? One,
two, three. LOS!" (let go.)
At the signal, the two steeds tore up the ground like whirlwinds; the two knights, two
flashing perpendicular masses of steel, rapidly converged; the two lances met upon the two
shields of either, and shivered, splintered, shattered into ten hundred thousand pieces,
which whirled through the air here and there, among the rocks, or in the trees, or in the
river. The two horses fell back trembling on their haunches, where they remained for half a
minute or so.
"Holy Buffo! a brave stroke!" said the old hermit. "Marry, but a splinter wellnigh took off
my nose!" The honest hermit waved his pipe in delight, not perceiving that one of the
splinters had carried off the head of it, and rendered his favorite amusement impossible.
"Ha! they are to it again! O my! how they go to with their great swords! Well stricken,
gray! Well parried, piebald! Ha, that was a slicer! Go it, piebald! go it, gray!—go it, gray!
go it, pie—Peccavi! peccavi!" said the old man, here suddenly closing his eyes, and falling
down on his knees. "I forgot I was a man of peace." And the next moment, muttering a
hasty matin, he sprung down the ledge of rock, and was by the side of the combatants.
The battle was over. Good knight as Sir Gottfried was, his strength and skill had not been
able to overcome Sir Ludwig the Hombourger, with RIGHT on his side. He was bleeding at
every point of his armor: he had been run through the body several times, and a cut in
tierce, delivered with tremendous dexterity, had cloven the crown of his helmet of
Damascus steel, and passing through the cerebellum and sensorium, had split his nose
almost in twain.
His mouth foaming—his face almost green—his eyes full of blood—his brains spattered
over his forehead, and several of his teeth knocked out,—the discomfited warrior presented