Oh, who can tell of the schemes that flew Through his head, as the treasure met his view, And he knew that again his note was good? He may have felt as a debtor would Who has dodged a dogging dun, Or a bank-cashier in his hour of dread With brokers behind and breakers ahead, Or a blood with his last "upon the red,"-- And each expecting a run. What should he do? 'Twas very true That all of his debts were overdue; But the "real-whole-souled" must use their gold To run new scores,--not to pay off old. That night he lay till the break of day, The doubtful question solving: Himself in his bed, and that in his head, He kept by turns revolving. That selfsame day, not very far From the country castle of Vidomar, The king had been progressing: A courtly phrase, when the king was out On a chivalrous bender; any route As good as another: what about Were little good in guessing. That night, as he sat and drank, he frowned, While courtiers moodily stood around, All wondering what the journey meant, Till a scout reported, "Treasure found!"-- With a rap that made the glasses bound, He swore, "By Arthur's table round, I'll have another tournament!" No more, as he sat and drank, he frowned, Or courtiers moodily stood around, But all were singing, drinking; And louder than all the songs he led, And louder he said, "Ho! pass the red!" Till he went to bed with a ring in his head That seemed like gold a-chinking. 'Twere wrong to infer from what you're read That Richard awoke with an aching head; For nerves like his resisted With wonderful ease what we might deem Enough to stagger a Polypheme, And his spirits would never more than seem A trifle too much "assisted." And yet in the morn no fumes were there, And his eyes were bright,--almost as a pair Of eyes that you and I know; For his head, the best authorities write, (See the Story of Tuck,) was always right And sound as ever after a night Of _"Pellite curas vino!"_ As soon as the light broke into his tent, Without delay for a herald he sent, And bade him don his tabard, And away to the Count to say, "By law _That gold_ was the king's: unless he saw The same ere noon, his sword he would draw And throw away the scabbard." An hour, for his morning exercise, He swayed that sword of wondrous size,-- 'Twas called his great "persuader"; Then a mace of steel he smote in two,-- A feat which the king would often do, Since Saladin wondered at that _coup_ When he met our stout crusader. A trifle for him: he "trained to light,"-- Grown lazy now: but his appetite, On the whole, was satisfactory,-- As the vanishing viands, warm and cold, Most amply proved, ere, minus the gold, The herald returned and trembling told How the Count had proved refractory: