the bell clangs and the crowd roars. mr. shelley advances in typically aggressive fashion, going on the offensive with stanza xiii of the tenth canto of the revolt of islam, while delivering a series of lightning quick jabs to the midsection.
mr. blake dodges nimbly, hanging back and watching while reciting a lyrical snippet of the lamb, from songs of innocence. mr. shelley segues adeptly into panthea’s opening words from act iv of prometheus unbound and unleashes a hard left hook. mr. blake blocks. before mr. shelley can react, he takes a step back, makes a jarring transition to the middle section of the marriage of heaven and hell and delivers a sweeping roundhouse kick, catching his opponent on the side of the head.
mr. shelley’s eyes glaze and his knees buckle. he catches himself and retreats, shaking his head and taking deep breaths. mr. blake does not press the advantage. he hangs back and launches into a stirring rendition of to the evening star.
mr. shelley switches to the opening stanzas of the witch of atlas and stammers, losing his train of thought. he wavers and then roars the opening lines in perfect cadence, repeating his opening flurry of short, sharp jabs.
mr. blake is nearly flummoxed by this brilliant subterfuge. he stumbles over a word, breaks into a poison tree, from songs of experience, and delivers a reverse roundhouse kick, which catches mr. shelley square in the back. it would have been a devastating blow had mr. blake not been slightly off balance.
mr. shelley whirls and counters with the final lines of adonais and three spinning roundhouse kicks. it is his signature helicopter maneuver – the one that laid mr. wordsworth low in manila.
mr. blake is hard pressed to defend. he quickly recites the last two stanzas of the tyger, dodging the first kick and parrying the second. it appears as though the third will connect, but he feints ever so slightly, dodging the blow as he blurts out the closing stanza of milton’s paradise lost.
it is a brilliant maneuver – one that will have fight fans and commentators buzzing for years. he delivers a vicious sweeping left, catching mr. shelley on the point of the chin. mr. shelley drops like a bucket of bricks. he is not dead, but he could pass for it right now. the crowd roars.
mr. shelley switches to the opening stanzas of the witch of atlas and stammers, losing his train of thought. he wavers and then roars the opening lines in perfect cadence, repeating his opening flurry of short, sharp jabs.
mr. blake is nearly flummoxed by this brilliant subterfuge. he stumbles over a word, breaks into a poison tree, from songs of experience, and delivers a reverse roundhouse kick, which catches mr. shelley square in the back. it would have been a devastating blow had mr. blake not been slightly off balance.
mr. shelley whirls and counters with the final lines of adonais and three spinning roundhouse kicks. it is his signature helicopter maneuver – the one that laid mr. wordsworth low in manila.
mr. blake is hard pressed to defend. he quickly recites the last two stanzas of the tyger, dodging the first kick and parrying the second. it appears as though the third will connect, but he feints ever so slightly, dodging the blow as he blurts out the closing stanza of milton’s paradise lost.
it is a brilliant maneuver – one that will have fight fans and commentators buzzing for years. he delivers a vicious sweeping left, catching mr. shelley on the point of the chin. mr. shelley drops like a bucket of bricks. he is not dead, but he could pass for it right now. the crowd roars.
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