The ground besprinkled was with blood: Tarquin began to yield; For he gave back for weariness, And low did bear his shield. This soon Sir Lancelot espied, He pull'd him down upon his knee, Forthwith he struck his neck in two, And, when he had so done, From prison threescore knights and four Delivered every one. * Tearing. OW as fame does report, a young duke keeps a court, One that pleases his fancy with frolicksome sport: But amongst all the rest, here is one I protest, Which will make you to smile when you hear the true jest: A poor tinker he found, lying drunk on the ground, As secure in a sleep as if laid in a swound. The duke said to his men, William, Richard, and Ben, Then they stript off his clothes, both his shirt, shoes, and hose, Having pull'd off his shirt, which was all over dirt, They did give him clean holland, this was no great hurt : On a bed of soft down, like a lord of renown, They did lay him to sleep the drink out of his crown. In the morning when day, then admiring he lay, Now he lay something late, in his rich bed of state, The poor tinker amaz'd, on the gentleman gaz'd, Tho' he seem'd something mute, yet he chose a rich suit, From a convenient place, the right duke his good grace Did observe his behaviour in every case. Bare-headed. + Wondered. To a garden of state, on the tinker they wait, With commanders and squires in scarlet and blue. A fine dinner was drest, both for him and his guests, In a rich chair or bed, lin'd with fine crimson red, As he sat at his meat, the music play'd sweet, While the tinker did dine, he had plenty of wine, Like a right honest soul, faith, he took off his bowl, Till at last he began for to tumble and roll From his chair to the floor, where he sleeping did snore, Being seven times drunker than ever before. Then the duke did ordain, they should strip him amain, Then he slept all the night, as indeed well he might; For his glory to him so pleasant did seem, That he thought it to be but a mere golden dream; Then his highness bespoke him a new suit and cloak, Then the tinker reply'd, What! must Joan my sweet bride Be a lady in chariots of pleasure to ride? Must we have gold and land ev'ry day at command? Then I shall be a squire I well understand : Well I thank your good grace, and your love I embrace, I was never before in so happy a case. |