What Pleases the Ladies.
Now that the brilliant God of Day
Burns Afric' up with forcing ray,
Now that the tropic in a sphere
Oblique contracts his bright career;
Whilst slowly lags each winter's night,
My friends, this story may delight.
'Tis of a knight, as poor as bold,
The adventure's worthy to be told.
'Tis Sir John Robert that I sing,
He lived when Dagobert was king.
A trip to holy Rome he made,
Less splendid when the Cæsars swayed;
From that famed capital he brought
Not laurels plucked in fields well fought,
Of dispensations, pardons, store,
Indulgences he plenty bore;
Of money little had he; then
Knights errant were poor gentlemen,
Then, to the Church's sons alone
Were affluence and riches known.
A suit of armor, which, with rust,
Revolving years must needs incrust,
An ambling steed, a dog was all,
Robert his property could call;
But what's more precious he possessed,
With youth's bright gifts our knight was blessed;
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