The Knight

Our good knight, Ted, girds his broadsword on
(And he wields it well, I ween);
He's on his steed, and away has gone
To the fight for king and queen.
What tho' no edge the broadsword hath?
What tho' the blade be made of lath?
'Tis a valiant hand
That wields the brand,
So, foeman, clear the path!

He prances off at a goodly pace;
'Tis a noble steed he rides,
That bears as well in the speedy race
As he bears in battle-tides.
What tho' 'tis but a rocking chair
That prances with this stately air?
'Tis a warrior bold
The reins doth hold,
Who bids all foes beware!