Would ride among the arrows with high heart
Or scatter with an open hand, had not
Our heady craft commended wasteful virtues.
And when that story’s finished, shake your coat
Where the little jewels gleam on it, and say
A herdsman sitting where the pigs had trampled
Made up a song about enchanted kings,
Who were so finely dressed one fancied them
All fiery, and women by the churn
And children by the hearth caught up the song