For, certainly, (tho’ not with wit) the Knight

Had hit the Friar very hard, indeed!

And heads, nineteen in twenty, ’tis confest,

Can feel a crab-stick sooner than a jest.

There was, in the Knight’s family, a man

Cast in the roughest mould Dame Nature boasts;

With shoulders wider than a dripping pan,

And legs as thick, about the calves, as posts.

All the domesticks, viewing, in this hulk,

So large a specimen of Nature’s whims,