Meanwhile th’ incomparable Colon,
To aid his friend, began to fall on. 
Him Ralph encounter’d, and straight grew
A dismal combat ’twixt them two: 
Th’ one arm’d with metal, th’ other with wood; 830
This fit for bruise, and that for blood. 
With many a stiff thwack, many a bang,
Hard crab-tree and old iron rang;
While none that saw them cou’d divine
To which side conquest would incline, 835
Until Magnano, who did envy
That two should with so many men vie,
By subtle stratagem of brain,
Perform’d what force could ne’er attain;
For he, by foul hap, having found 840
Where thistles grew on barren ground,
In haste he drew his weapon out,
And having cropp’d them from the root,
He clapp’d them underneath the tail
Of steed, with pricks as sharp as nail. 845
The angry beast did straight resent
The wrong done to his fundament;
Began to kick, and fling, and wince,
As if h’ had been beside his sense,
Striving to disengage from thistle, 850
That gall’d him sorely under his tail: 
Instead of which, he threw the pack
Of Squire and baggage from his back;
And blund’ring still with smarting rump,
He gave the Knight’s steed such a thump 855
As made him reel.  The Knight did stoop,
And sat on further side aslope. 
This Talgol viewing, who had now
By sleight escap’d the fatal blow,
He rally’d, and again fell to’t; 860
For catching foe by nearer foot,
He lifted with such might and strength,
As would have hurl’d him thrice his length,
And dash’d his brains (if any) out: 
But Mars, that still protects the stout, 865
In pudding-time came to his aid,
And under him the Bear convey’d;
The Bear, upon whose soft fur-gown
The Knight with all his weight fell down. 
The friendly rug preserv’d the ground, 870
And headlong Knight, from bruise or wound;
Like feather-bed betwixt a wall
And heavy brunt of cannon-ball. 
As Sancho on a blanket fell,
And had no hurt, our’s far’d as well 875
In body; though his mighty spirit,
B’ing heavy, did not so well bear it,
The Bear was in a greater fright,
Beat down and worsted by the Knight. 
He roar’d, and rak’d, and flung about, 880
To shake off bondage from his snout. 
His wrath inflam’d, boil’d o’er, and from
His jaws of death he threw the foam: 
Fury in stranger postures threw him,
And more than herald ever drew him. 885
He tore the earth which he had sav’d
From squelch of Knight, and storm’d and rav’d,
And vext the more because the harms
He felt were ’gainst the law of arms: