In less time than by name you Jack Robinson can call,
Sir Eppo dashed forward o’er hedge, ditch, and hollow,
In a steeple-chase style I’d be sorry to follow,
And found a young lady chained up by the ankle—
Yes, chained up in a cool and business-like way,
As if she’d been only the little dog Tray;
While, the more to secure any knight-errant’s pity,
She was really and truly excessively pretty.
Here was a terrible state of things!
Down from his saddle Sir Eppo springs,