So like in arms these champions were, As they had been a very pair, So that a man could almost swear That either had been either: Their furious steeds began to neigh, That they were heard a mighty way: Their staves upon their rests they lay; Yet ere they flew together, Their seconds minister an oath, Which was indifferent to them both, That on their knightly faith and troth, No magic them supplied; And sought them that they had no charms, Wherewith to work each other’s harms, But come with simple open arms, To have their causes tried. Together furiously they ran, That to the ground came horse and man; The blood out of their helmets span, So sharp were their encounters: And though they to the earth were thrown, Yet quickly they regain’d their own; Such nimbleness was never shewn, They were two gallant mounters. When in a second course again, They forward came with might and main, Yet which had better of the twain, The seconds could not judge yet: Their shields were into pieces cleft, Their helmets from their heads were ’reft, And to defend them nothing left, These champions would not budge yet. Away from them their staves they threw, Their cruel swords they quickly drew, And freshly they the fight renew, They every stroke redoubled: Which made Proserpina take heed, And make to them the greater speed, For fear lest they too much should bleed, Which wond’rously her troubled. When to th’ infernal Styx she goes, She take the fogs from thence that rose, And in a bag doth them enclose, When well she had them blended: She hies her then to Lethe spring, A bottle and thereof doth bring, Wherewith she meant to work the thing Which only she intended. Now Proserpine with Mab is gone Unto the place where Oberon And proud Pigwiggen, one to one, Both to be slain were likely: And there themselves they closely hide, Because they would not be espy’d; For Prosperpine meant to decide The matter very quickly. And suddenly unties the poke, Which out of it sent such a smoke, As ready was them all to choke, So grievous was the pother: So that the knights each other lost, And stood as still as any post, Tom Thumb nor Tomalin could boast Themselves of any other. But when the mist ’gan somewhat cease, Proserpina commandeth peace, And that a while they should release Each other of their peril: “Which here (quoth she) I do proclaim To all, in dreadful Pluto’s name, That as ye will eschew his blame, You let me hear the quarrel. “But here yourselves you must engage, Somewhat to cool your spleenish rage, Your grievous thirst and to assuage, That first you drink this liquor; Which shall your understandings clear, As plainly shall to you appear, Those things from me that you shall hear, Conceiving much the quicker.”