fled across some ploughed land with such precipitation, that the
rider was obliged to quit his spear, and lay fast hold on the mane, that
he might not be thrown out of the saddle. Dawdle, who was much better
mounted, seeing his condition, rode up to the unfortunate novice, and
belaboured his shoulders without fear of retaliation.

Mr. Clarke, seeing his kinsman so roughly handled, forgot his fears, and
flew to his assistance; but, before he came up, the aggressor had
retired; and now perceiving that fortune had declared against his friend
and patron, very honourably abandoned him in his distress, and went off
at full speed for London.

Nor was Timothy Crabshaw without his share in the noble achievements of
this propitious day. He had by this time imbibed such a tincture of
errantry, that he firmly believed himself and his master equally
invincible; and this belief operating upon a perverse disposition,
rendered him as quarrelsome in his sphere, as his master was mild and
forbearing. As he sat on horseback, in the place assigned to him and
Sycamore's lacquey, he managed Gilbert in such a manner, as to invade
with his heels the posteriors of the other's horse; and this insult
produced some altercation which ended in mutual assault. The footman
handled the butt-end of his horsewhip with great dexterity about the head
of Crabshaw, who declared afterwards, that it sung and simmered like a
kettle of cod-fish; but the squire, who understood the nature of long
lashes, as having been a carter from his infancy, found means to twine
his thong about the neck of his antagonist, and pull him off his horse
half strangled, at the very instant his master was thrown by Sir
Launcelot Greaves.

Having thus obtained the victory, he did not much regard the punctilios
of chivalry; but, taking it for granted he had a right to make the most
of his advantage, resolved to carry off the spolia opima. Alighting with
great agility, "Brother," cried he, "I think as haw yawrs bean't a
butcher's horse, a doan't carry calves well--I'se make yaw knaw your
churning days, I wool--what, yaw look as if yaw was crow-trodden, you do
--now, you shall pay the score you have been running on my pate, you
shall, brother."

So saying, he rifled his pockets, stripped him of his hat and coat, and
took possession of his master's portmanteau. But he did not long enjoy
his plunder. For the lacquey complaining to Sir Launcelot of his having
been despoiled, the