The fourth never wanted meat on dish.
The fifth he would strike the golden lyre,
And young and old to the dancing fire.
The sixth on the horn would blow a blast,
Who heard it would shudder and stand aghast.
The seventh go under the earth could he;
The eighth he could dance on the rolling sea.
The ninth tamed all that in greenwood crept;
The tenth not a nap had ever slept.
The eleventh the grisly lindworm bound,