And snorting foam’d, and champ’d the golden bit. 
  The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride,
  Files in their hands, and hammers at their side, 460
  And nails for loosen’d spears, and thongs for shields provide. 
  The yeomen guard the streets, in seemly bands;
  And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands.

    The trumpets, next the gate, in order placed,
  Attend the sign to sound the martial blast;
  The palace-yard is fill’d with floating tides,
  And the last comers bear the former to the sides. 
  The throng is in the midst:  the common crew
  Shut out, the hall admits the better few;
  In knots they stand, or in a rank they walk, 470
  Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk;
  Factious, and favouring this or the other side,
  As their strong fancy or weak reason guide: 
  Their wagers back their wishes; numbers hold
  With the fair freckled king, and beard of gold: 
  So vigorous are his eyes, such rays they cast,
  So prominent his eagle’s beak is placed. 
  But most their looks on the black monarch bend,
  His rising muscles, and his brawn commend;
  His double-biting axe, and beamy spear, 480
  Each asking a gigantic force to rear. 
  All spoke as partial favour moved the mind;
  And, safe themselves, at others’ cost divined.

    Waked by the cries, the Athenian chief arose,
  The knightly forms of combat to dispose;
  And passing through the obsequious guards, he sate
  Conspicuous on a throne, sublime in state;
  There, for the two contending knights he sent;
  Arm’d cap-a-pie, with reverence low they bent;
  He smiled on both, and with superior look 490
  Alike their offer’d adoration took. 
  The people press on every side to see
  Their awful prince, and hear his high decree. 
  Then signing to their heralds with his hand,
  They gave his orders from their lofty stand. 
  Silence is thrice enjoin’d; then thus aloud
  The king-at-arms bespeaks the knights and listening crowd: 

    Our sovereign lord has ponder’d in his mind
  The means to spare the blood of gentle kind;
  And of his grace, and inborn clemency, 500
  He modifies his first severe decree! 
  The keener edge of battle to rebate,
  The troops for honour fighting, not for hate: 
  He wills, not death should terminate their strife,
  And wounds, if wounds ensue, be short of life: 
  But issues, ere the fight, his dread command,
  That slings afar, and poniards hand to hand,
  Be banish’d from the field; that none shall dare
  With shorten’d sword to stab in closer war;
  But in fair combat fight with manly strength, 510
  Nor push with biting point, but strike at length;
  The tourney is allow’d but one career,