Reliques of ancient English poetry: consisting of old heroic ballads ...

AND BALLADS. 303
It is not ftrength that always wins,-
For wit doth ftrength excell
Which made our cunning champion
Creep down into a well
Where he did think, this dragon would drink,
And fo he did in truth
And as he floop'd low, he rofe up and cry'd, boh !
And hit him in the mouth.
;
;
;
100
Oh, quoth thedragon, pox take thee, come out, 105
Thou difturb'ft me in my drink :
And then he turn'd, and f . . . at him ;
Good lack how he did ftink !
Befhrew thy foul, thy body's foul,
Thy dung fmells not like balfam ;
Thou ion of a whore, thou flink'fi fo fore,
Sure thy diet is unwholfome.
Our politick knight, on the other fide,
Crept out upon the brink,
110
And gave the dragon fuch a doufe, 1 15
He knew not what to think :
By cock, quoth he, fay you fo :
And then at him he let fly.
do you fee ?
With hand and with foot, and fo they went to't;
And the word it was, hey boys, hey ! izm
Your