h wars had often borne the Knight;--
His symmetry beyond the power of praising,
And prouder than Bucephalus, in fight!

Once, how he paw'd the ground, and snuff'd the gale!
Uncropp'd his ears, undock'd his flowing tail;
No blemish was within him, nor without him;
Perfect he was in every part;--
No barbarous Farrier, with infernal art,
Had mutilated the least bit about him.

Of high Arabian pedigree,
Father of many four-foot babes was he;
And sweet hoof'd Beauties still would he be rumpling;
But, counting five and twenty from his birth,
At grass for life, unwieldy in the girth,
He had obtain'd, alas! the name of Dumpling.

Now, at the postern stood the gay old Charger;
Saddle'd, and house'd,--in full caparison!--
Now on his back,--no rider larger,--
Upright, and stiff, and tied with cords, sat John:
Arm'd cap-a-pie completely, like a knight
Going to fight.

A Lance was in the rest, of stately beech:
Nothing was wanting, but a Page, or 'Squire;--
The Duke, with thistles, switch'd old Dumpling's breech;
And off he clatter'd with the martial Friar.

Now, in the Convent let us take a peep,--
Where Roger, like Sir Thomas, couldn't sleep:

Instead of singing requiems, and psalms,
For fat John's soul, he had been seize'd with qualms,
Thinking it would be rash to tarry there;--
And having, prudently, resolve'd on flight,
Knock'd up a neighbouring miller, in the night,
And borrow'd his grey Mare.

Thus, trotting off,--beneath a row of trees
He saw "a sight that made his marrow freeze!"
A furious Warrior follow'd him, in mail,
Upon a Charger, close at his Mare's tail!

He cross'd himself!--and, canting, cried,
Oh, sadly have I sinned!
Then stuck his heels in his Mare's side;
And, then, old Dumpling whinny'd!

Roger whipp'd, and Roger spurr'd,
Distilling drops of fear!
But while he spurr'd, still, still he heard
The wanton Dumpling at his rear.

'Twas dawn!--he look'd behind him, in the chase;
When, lo! the features of fat John,--
His beaver up, and pressing on,--
Glare'd, ghastly, in the wretched Roger's face!

The Miller's Mare, who oft had gone the way,
Scamper'd with Roger into Norwich town;
And, there, to all the market-folks' dismay,
Old Dumpling beat the mare, with Roger, down.

Brief let me be;--the Story soon took air;--