A universal knocking of knuckles by the knucklers[73] was followed by profound silence. The sage spoke: "The city of Canterbury, pals," said he; "and may it never want a knight of Malta." The toast was pledged with much laughter, and in many bumpers. The knight, upon whom all eyes were turned, rose, "with stately bearing and majestic motion," to return thanks. "I return you an infinitude of thanks, brother pals," said he, glancing round the assemblage; and bowing to the president, "and to you, most upright Zory, for the honor you have done me in associating my name with that city. Believe me, I sincerely appreciate the compliment, and echo the sentiment from the bottom of my soul. I trust it never _will_ want a knight of Malta. In return for your consideration, but a poor one you will say, you shall have a ditty, which I composed upon the occasion of my pilgrimage to that city, and which I have thought proper to name after myself." THE KNIGHT OF MALTA _A Canterbury Tale_[74] Come list to me, and you shall have, without a hem or haw, sirs, A Canterbury pilgrimage, much better than old Chaucer's. 'Tis of a hoax I once played off upon that city clever, The memory of which, I hope, will stick to it for ever. _With my coal-black beard, and purple cloak, jack-boots, and broad-brimmed castor, Hey-ho! for the knight of Malta!_ To execute my purpose, in the first place, you must know, sirs, My locks I let hang down my neck--my beard and whiskers grow, sirs; A purple cloak I next clapped on, a sword lagged to my side, sirs, And mounted on a charger black, I to the town did ride, sirs. _With my coal-black beard, &c._ Two pages were there by my side, upon two little ponies, Decked out in scarlet uniform, as spruce as macaronies; Caparisoned my charger was, as grandly as his master, And o'er my long and curly locks, I wore a broad-brimmed castor. _With my coal-black beard, &c._ The people all flocked forth, amazed to see a man so hairy, Oh I such a sight had ne'er before been seen in Canterbury! My flowing robe, my flowing beard, my horse with flowing mane, sirs! They stared--the days of chivalry, they thought, were come again, sirs! _With my coal-black beard, &c._ I told them a long rigmarole romance, that did not halt a Jot, that they beheld in me a real knight of Malta! Tom à Becket had I sworn I was, that saint and martyr hallowed, I doubt not just as readily the bait they would have swallowed. _With my coal-black beard, &c._