YE KNIGHT OF YE GOLDEN CYRCLE.

  A veray parfit gentil knight,
  Thatte of ye Golden Cyrcle hight,
    One day yridden forth;
  But ne to finde a fayre mayde,
  He went on errants of his trade,
    To fight or filch ye North.

  He was a wight of grisly fronte,
  And muckle berd ther was upon ’t,
    His lockes farre down did laye: 
  Ful wel he setten on his hors,
  Thatte fony felaws called Mors,
    For len it was and grai.

  Ilk knight he hadde ne vizor on,
  His busynes were then undone,
    All time was for attack;
  More than, he hadde ne mail, either,
  But armed with a revolver,
    He like-Wise chawed toback.

  He sayde his was a mightie hond,
  Ne better in ye Southron lond
    To yearn anly battail: 
  Mony a dewel hadde he fought,
  And put his foe alway to rout,
    Withouten ony fail.

  Eke fro his sheld ther stroke the ee,
  These letters golden, ‘F.F.V.,’
    Thatte mony a clerk did pain;
  Which guessed it, ‘Forte Fuor Vi!’
  The people giggled, ‘l’ your ey;
    It’s Fume and Fight in Vain!’

  Eftsoons hire cloke ye awful Night,
  Yspreaden roun ilk warrihour wight,
    Ye glasse of chivalrie;
  But nothing daunt, he kept his course,
  As well as mote his sorry hors,
    Farre to the North countree.

  And thus in darkesse all yclad,
  He hied him, gif he weren mad,
    O’er feld and eke through thicket;
  When ‘Stop, by God!’ some one began,
  ‘You’er mine—­’or any other man!’’
    Jesu! a Yankee picket!

  ’Gent knight, yclept of Golden Cyrcle! 
  Why in the devil don’t one dirk all? 
    Where now’s your chivalrie?’
  ‘Goode sir,’ quod he, ’twas ne for fight
  I hied me out ilk murkie night,
    It was for poulterie!’

  ’Wal, damn your ’poulterie’—­and you! 
  Such deed no generous knight would do! 
    So I mote thee deter! 
  I’ll show thee, though, the coop, sir knight,
  Where chickens such as thee are blight—­
    You are my prisoner!’

  Mony maydens weren grieved—­
  Cleopatras, slouchy-sleeved—­
    Darksome maydes of work all;
  And mony felaws of much might
  Ydrink the hades of ye Knight
    Of ye grete Golden Cyrcle.

We much fear that it may be said of the chief cavalier of the Golden Circle, what the old German lanzknecht, in Rabelais, said of the Gascon adventurer:  ’The knight pretends that he wants to fight, but is much more inclined to steal; therefore, good people, look out for your property.’

* * * * *

The following story, it is averred, can be vouched for, to any reasonable extent, by a large crowd of witnesses.