If that be he who doth stand there
That slew my master's son and heir,
If he be sprung from royal blood,
I'll make it run like Noah's flood.
St George.—Hold, Hector! do not be so hot,
For here thou knowest not who thou'st got;
For I can tame thee of thy pride,
And lay thine anger too aside,
Inch thee and cut thee as small as flies,
And send thee over sea to make mince-pies,
Mince-pies hot and mince-pies cold,
I'll send thee to Black Sam before thou'rt three days old!
Hector.—How canst thou tame me of my pride,
And lay mine anger too aside,
Inch me, and cut me as small as flies,
Send me over the sea to make mince-pies,
Mince-pies hot, mince-pies cold,
How canst thou send me to Black Sam before I'm three days old?
Since my head is made of iron,
My body's made of steel,
My hands and feet of knuckle-bone,
I challenge thee to the field.
(They fight, and Hector is wounded.)
I am a valiant knight, and Hector is my name,
Many bloody battles have I fought, and always won the same.
But from St George I received this bloody wound,
(A trumpet sounds.)
Hark! hark! I hear the silver trumpet sound;
Down yonder is the way (pointing).
Farewell, St George! I can no longer stay. (Exit.)
