The poetical works of Leigh Hunt Now finally collected, revised by himself, and edited by his son, Thornton Hunt. With illustrations by Corbould |
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 | The poetical works of Leigh Hunt |  |
“That palfrey of thine's a good palfrey, Will;
He holdeth his head up, and danceth still,
And trippeth as light by the ostler's side,
As though just saddled to bear your bride;
And yet, by Saint Richard, as drench'd is he
And as froth'd as though just out of the sea:
Methinks I hear him just landed free,
Shaking him and his saddle right thunderously.
And he starteth at nothing?”
He holdeth his head up, and danceth still,
And trippeth as light by the ostler's side,
As though just saddled to bear your bride;
And yet, by Saint Richard, as drench'd is he
And as froth'd as though just out of the sea:
Methinks I hear him just landed free,
Shaking him and his saddle right thunderously.
And he starteth at nothing?”
“No more than the wall.”
“And is sure of his footing?”
“And is sure of his footing?”
“As monarch in hall.
He's a thunder in fight, and a thief on the road,
So swiftly he speedeth whatever his load!
Yet round the wolf's den half a day will he hover,
And carrying a lady, takes heed like a lover.”
“And therefore Sir William will part with him never?”
“Nay, uncle, he will;—forever and ever.”
“And what such a jewel may purchase, I pray?”
“Thanks, thanks, dearest uncle, and not saying Nay.
Now prythee deny me not grace so small:
The palfrey in truth is comely withal,
And you still shall lend him to bear my bride;
But whom, save our help, should he carry beside?”
“I'm vex'd.”
He's a thunder in fight, and a thief on the road,
So swiftly he speedeth whatever his load!
70
And carrying a lady, takes heed like a lover.”
“And therefore Sir William will part with him never?”
“Nay, uncle, he will;—forever and ever.”
“And what such a jewel may purchase, I pray?”
“Thanks, thanks, dearest uncle, and not saying Nay.
Now prythee deny me not grace so small:
The palfrey in truth is comely withal,
And you still shall lend him to bear my bride;
But whom, save our help, should he carry beside?”
“I'm vex'd.”
“For pity.”
“I'm griev'd.”
“Now pray.”
“'Tis cheap,” thought the uncle, “this not saying Nay.”
“'Tis cheap,” thought the uncle, “this not saying Nay.”
| The poetical works of Leigh Hunt | |