CASHEL. Dread monarch: this is called the upper cut, And this a hook-hit of mine own invention. The hollow region where I plant this blow Is called the mark. My left, you will observe, I chiefly use for long shots: with my right Aiming beside the angle of the jaw And landing with a certain delicate screw I without violence knock my foeman out. Mark how he falls forward upon his face! The rules allow ten seconds to get up; And as the man is still quite silly, I Might safely finish him; but my respect For your most gracious majesty's desire To see some further triumphs of the science Of self-defence postpones awhile his doom. PARADISE. How can a bloke do hisself proper justice With pillows on his fists? [_He tears off his gloves and attacks_ CASHEL _with his bare knuckles_. THE CROWD. Unfair! The rules! CETEWAYO. The joy of battle surges boiling up And bids me join the mellay. Isandhlana And Victory! [_He falls on the bystanders._ THE CHIEFS. Victory and Isandhlana! [_They run amok. General panic and stampede. The ring is swept away._ LUCIAN. Forbear these most irregular proceedings. Police! Police! [_He engages_ CETEWAYO _his umbrella_. _The balcony comes down with a crash. Screams from its occupants. Indescribable confusion._ CASHEL [_dragging_ LYDIA _from the struggling heap_]. My love, my love, art hurt? LYDIA. No, no; but save my sore o'ermatched cousin. A POLICEMAN. Give us a lead, sir. Save the English flag. Africa tramples on it. CASHEL. Africa! Not all the continents whose mighty shoulders The dancing diamonds of the seas bedeck Shall trample on the blue with spots of white. Now, Lydia, mark thy lover. [_He charges the Zulus._ LYDIA. Hercules Cannot withstand him. See: the king is down; The tallest chief is up, heels over head, Tossed corklike o'er my Cashel's sinewy back; And his lieutenant all deflated gasps For breath upon the sand. The others fly In vain: his fist o'er magic distances Like a chameleon's tongue shoots to its mark; And the last African upon his knees Sues piteously for quarter. [_Rushing into_ CASHEL'S _arms_.] Oh, my hero: Thou'st saved us all this day. CASHEL. 'Twas all for thee. CETEWAYO. [_trying to rise_]. Have I been struck by lightning? LUCIAN. Sir, your conduct Can only be described as most ungentlemanly. POLICEMAN. One of the prone is white. CASHEL. 'Tis Paradise. POLICEMAN. He's choking: he has something in his mouth. LYDIA [_to_ CASHEL]. Oh Heaven! there is blood upon your hip. You're hurt. CASHEL. The morsel in yon wretch's mouth Was bitten out of me.