“Nor think you secure that your friends will be truer Than others have been in like cases; Sir Guy is too poor, and I’m perfectly sure ‘Twill be long ere the Tracy he faces. LXV. “And the Lord Montereaux died lately, I know (He always was rather dyspeptic); ‘Tis a good week ago since they popped him below, Carried off by a fit epileptic. LXVI. “‘Tis never my bent, you must know, to relent, And trouble you’re surely enough in, So your aid must be lent to make Ida consent, Unless you’re a regular muffin. LXVII. “Meantime, to a dungeon I’ll order you off, Where the damp very constant and dense is; And when crippled entirely with fever and cough, You’ll probably come to your senses.” LXVIII. He spoke, and withdrew, and the baron they threw Into dungeon both damp and unpleasant; And left him to ponder, as well he might do, On the change from the past to the present. LXIX. Still, {241}with wonderful pluck, to his orders he stuck That his child shouldn’t marry the tyrant; And Ida, sweet duck, though quite “down on her luck,” Still frowned on the daring aspirant. LXX. Then Sir Tracy, irate, said she tempted her fate, Declining so firmly to choose him; For he ne’er could abate in his love for a mate, Who he knew would be sorry to lose him. LXXI. Ten days he’d allow her, he swore, when much vexed, And partially drunk on his own ale; But each day she refused to be his, on the next Should be wrenched from her father a toe-nail! LXXII. Now the baron was gouty and tender of feet, A man, too, of delicate nurture, And to injure him thus would be making complete The system of underground torture. LXXIII. So Ida she stood on the turreted wall On that very identical even, And loudly for aid and assistance did call On Roderick Fowle and on Heaven. LXXIV. What is it she sees through the leaves of the trees? By Jove! ’tis a warrior’s banner, And men, thick as bees, drawing nigh by degrees In a most unmistakable manner. LXXV. She {242}views them approaching the castle so dread, And prays they may soon overwhelm it; For she sees they are led by a chief at their head With a Hen, painted large, on his helmet. [Illustration: 260] LXXVI. At this gladdening sight, she exclaimed in delight, “My Fowle is at hand to assist me! I’m positive quite I shall soon be all right, And again those dear lips will have kissed me!” LXXVII.