This sword a dagger had t' his page, 375 That was but little for his age; And therefore waited on him so, As dwarfs upon Knights Errant do. It was a serviceable dudgeon, Either for fighting or for drudging. 380 When it had stabb'd, or broke a head, It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread; Toast cheese or bacon; tho' it were To bait a mouse-trap, 'twould not care. 'Twould make clean shoes; and in the earth 385 Set leeks and onions, and so forth. It had been 'prentice to a brewer, Where this and more it did endure; But left the trade, <c> as many more Have lately done on the same score. 390 In th' holsters, at his saddle-bow, Two aged pistols he did stow, Among the surplus of such meat As in his hose he cou'd not get. These wou'd inveigle rats with th' scent, 395 To forage when the cocks were bent; And sometimes catch 'em with a snap As cleverly as th' ablest trap. They were upon hard duty still, And ev'ry night stood centinel, 400 To guard the magazine i' th' hose From two-legg'd and from four-legg'd foes. Thus clad and fortify'd, Sir Knight From peaceful home set forth to fight. But first with nimble, active force 405 He got on th' outside of his horse; For having but one stirrup ty'd T' his saddle, on the further side, It was so short, h' had much ado To reach it with his desp'rate toe: 410 But, after many strains and heaves, He got up to the saddle-eaves, From whence he vaulted into th' seat, With so much vigour, strength and heat, That he had almost tumbled over 415 With his own weight, but did recover, By laying hold on tail and main, Which oft he us'd instead of rein.