I plucked it right out, when it thus to me said:
“Thou mayest smile, if thou wilt, at thy treatment of me,
But a score of my friends soon will make mock of thee.”
II
The Song of the Pen. By Alcharizi[[67-3]].
My Muse, though airy, glides softly along,
Singing full oft a voiceless song;
My pen, though frail and slim of figure,
Has a serpent's tooth and a lion's vigour.
III