“A damsel once danced it,” the great witling said,
“When her sweet mamma wanted the great Baptist’s head.”
If he meant to be gruesome, they said he was shallow,
And as none would dance with him he danced with his shadow.
The bold Roland Rare was possessed with a swagger
That had all the grace of a common blind stagger,
While Simon, the cynic, looked on with a sneer,
And every time Roland passed grinned with a leer.
The folly went on as it had gone before,
Till some growing thoughtful, refused to dance more;