Feeble women, damp and dingy, for a trifle came to show
All the ruins of the castles he had kept with many a blow;
And where cross-roads met, and where the best adventures once had been,
Whitewashed sign-posts bade him turn to Frogmore Pound, or Pogis Green.
Now and then athwart his course came, with a rumble and a scream,
Green and golden creatures, glaring fierce, and breathing fire and steam,
Seemed that each was dragging on a thousand victims at the least:
"By my knighthood," quoth Sir Lancelot, "this must be 'the questing beast;'
Something rusty have I grown by dwelling there at peace so long,