Folk are warned against his play.
How may you know him? by the quiver,
By the bow he’s wont to bear.
First on your left there comes a shiver,
Then a twinge—the arrow’s there.
By his eye of pansy colour,
Deep as wounds he dealeth free;
If its hue have faded duller,
’Tis not that he weeps for me.
By the smile that curls his mouthlet;