But the Knight told him fat was prone to float.
The Lout, at length, having bethought him,
Heave’d up the Friar on his back once more;
And (Castles having armories of yore)
Into the Knight’s old Armory he brought him.
Among the gorgeous, shining Coats of Mail,
That grace’d the walls, on high, in gallant shew,—
As pewter pots, in houses fame’d for ale,
Glitter, above the Bar-maid, in a row,—
A curious, antique suit was hoarded,