_Ralph._ Farewell, fair lady, and your tender squire. If pricking through these deserts, I do hear Of any trait'rous knight, who, through his guile Hath light upon your casket and your purse, I will despoil him of them and restore them. _Mist. Mer._ I thank your worship. [_Exit with_ MICHAEL. _Ralph._ Dwarf, bear my shield; squire, elevate my lance, And now farewell, you knight of holy Bell. _Cit._ Ay, ay, Ralph, all is paid. _Ralph._ But yet before I go, speak, worthy knight, If aught you do of sad adventures know, Where errant knight may through his prowess win Eternal fame, and free some gentle souls From endless bonds of steel and lingring pain. _Host._ Sirrah, go to Nick the Barber, and bid him prepare himself, as I told you before, quickly. _Tap._ I am gone, sir. [_Exit_ TAPSTER. _Host._ Sir Knight, this wilderness affordeth none But the great venture, where full many a knight Hath tried his prowess, and come off with shame, And where I would not have you lose your life, Against no man, but furious fiend of hell. _Ralph._ Speak on, Sir Knight, tell what he is, and where: For here I vow upon my blazing badge, Never to lose a day in quietness; But bread and water will I only eat, And the green herb and rock shall be my couch, Till I have quell'd that man, or beast, or fiend, That works such damage to all errant knights. _Host._ Not far from hence, near to a craggy cliff At the north end of this distresséd town, There doth stand a lowly house Ruggedly builded, and in it a cave, In which an ugly giant now doth dwell, Yclepéd Barbaroso: in his hand He shakes a naked lance of purest steel, With sleeves turned up, and he before him wears A motley garment, to preserve his clothes From blood of those knights which he massacres, And ladies gent: without his door doth hang A copper bason, on a prickant spear; At which, no sooner gentle knights can knock, But the shrill sound fierce Barbaroso hears, And rushing forth, brings in the errant knight, And sets him down in an enchanted chair: Then with an engine, which he hath prepar'd With forty teeth, he claws his courtly crown, Next makes him wink, and underneath his chin He plants a brazen piece of mighty bore, And knocks his bullets round about his cheeks, Whilst with his fingers, and an instrument With which he snaps his hair off, he doth fill The wretch's ears with a most hideous noise. Thus every knight adventurer he doth trim, And now no creature dares encounter him.