(I’ faith, we swear we will!)
Mad tales and lays your ghost shall praise
Sir John Maundeville.
Oh, Sir John Maundeville, Sir John Maundeville,
The world that gaped at romance then shall gape at romance still.
There’s portents in each autumn leaf,—Vale Parlous o’er the hill,—
And our jolly dreamland captain is Sir John Maundeville!
So we march—tramp! tramp! Do you wonder that our tread
Stamps up the ghosts of gallant knights from dust of days long dead?
When so the glad world’s romance-clad, it’s hail the romance scamp,