Nugalone, O how lightly,
O how gloriously he dances!
Like the tawny spotted panther,
When he dances from his lair.
With his left hand, Nugalone
Curls his moustache, dark and glossy:
Then unto his Paynim warriors
Thus he speaks, the haughty Moor:
Forward! in the name of Allah!
Dance them down, the dogs of Christians!