In doublet, slash’d hose, martial bonnet, and plume;
And he look’d, as he walk’d ’neath the moon’s silver light,
Half hero, half mortal;—half bourgeois, half knight.
If upward he gazed into heaven’s soft skies,
He saw nothing there half so soft as her eyes;
Or, at least, the young lover thus gallantly swore,
As he ran the long roll of his soft nonsense o’er,
And mincingly walk’d by the damosel’s side,—
The latter all fondness, the former all pride;—
With one arm round the maiden, one hand on his dirk,