Then Picardy’s pride, Le Chevalier de Lorris,
He soon stretch’d on the sand in most pitiful case,
And he rain’d on the rest, till they all danced a morris
To the music he played on their mails with his mace.
Till tired with his toil,
He breathed him a while,
And, bowing again, with a most courteous smile,
“Adieu, Messieurs!” said he,
“Je vous rend graces, Perdie!
For the noble diversion you’ve yielded to me.”