Aladdin’s boast is still,
Before the gallant glory of Sir John Maundeville!
So we march—tramp! tramp!—and the ringing of our tread
Hales forth the highway swaggerers of lusty times long dead.
When so the glad world’s purple clad, it’s hail the romance scamp,
With the zesting of our jesting, and our march—tramp! tramp!
II
THERE’S Spindleshanks and Bonfire-head and trolling Heneree,
And each as mad a braggart bred as any age may see.