And cut the wicked wizard’s weasand?
’Tis true, alas! I’m loth to say,
That you forsake the good old way,
And tread a path so very odd,
So unlike that your fathers trod.
With what delight the poet fancies
He sees their worships plague old Francis;[60]
While he, sad wight, wo-worn and pale,
Is dragg’d about from jail to jail!
For he was such a stubborn dragon,