“Nay, by my troth, thou gavest me a round knock,” replied the Captain; “do as much for this fellow, and thou shalt pass scot-free; and if thou dost not⁠—why, by my faith, as thou art such a sturdy knave, I think I must pay thy ransom myself.⁠—Take thy staff, Miller,” he added, “and keep thy head; and do you others let the fellow go, and give him a staff⁠—there is light enough to lay on load by.”

The two champions being alike armed with quarterstaves, stepped forward into the centre of the open space, in order to have the full benefit of the moonlight; the thieves in the meantime laughing, and crying to their comrade, “Miller! beware thy toll-dish.” The Miller, on the other hand, holding his quarterstaff by the middle, and making it flourish round his head after the fashion which the French call faire le moulinet , exclaimed boastfully, “Come on, churl, an thou darest: thou shalt feel the strength of a miller’s thumb!”

“If thou be’st a miller,” answered Gurth, undauntedly, making his weapon play around his head with equal dexterity, “thou art doubly a thief, and I, as a true man, bid thee defiance.”

So saying, the two champions closed together, and for a few minutes they displayed great equality in strength, courage, and skill, intercepting and returning the blows of their adversary with the most rapid dexterity, while, from the continued clatter of their weapons, a person at a distance might have supposed that there were at least six persons engaged on each side. Less obstinate, and even less dangerous combats, have been described in good heroic verse; but that of Gurth and the Miller must remain unsung, for want of a sacred poet to do justice to its eventful progress. Yet, though quarterstaff play be out of date, what we can in prose we will do for these bold champions.