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,