Why, he can heel the lavolt and wind a fiery barb as well as any gallant in Christendom. He’s the very pink and mirror of accomplishment.
Shakspeare.
Fair star of beauty’s heaven! to call thee mine,
All other joy’s I joyously would yield;
My knightly crest, my bounding barb resign
For the poor shepherd’s crook and daisied field!
For courts, or camps, no wish my soul would prove,
So thou would’st live with me and be my love.
Earl of Surrey, Poems.
For thy dear love my weary soul hath grown