Thou canst aver that Bayard’s steed Thy cousin was, and say (andante) Thine aunt the knight Don Quixote bore, The most heroic Rosinante. But Sancho’s donkey thou’lt not own As kin, he being much too lowly; Thou’lt e’en disown the ass’s foal That whilome bore the Saviour holy. And thou art not obliged to stick A long-ear surely in thy scutcheon; Of thine own value be the judge, And thou wilt never lay too much on. 2. THE SYMBOL OF MADNESS. We’ll now begin to sing the song Of a Number of much reputation, Known by the name of Number Three: To joy succeeds vexation. Though sprung from an old Arabian stock, In Christian estimation Nothing in Europe higher stood Than this Number of proud reputation. A very pattern of modesty, How great was her indignation At finding the man in bed with the maid! She gave them a sound castigation. In summer her coffee at seven A.M. She drank with much gratification, In winter at nine, and slept all night Without the least molestation. But now ’tis time to alter our rhyme, To-day is changed to to-morrow, And, sad to say, poor Number Three Must suffer pain and sorrow. There came a cobbler who said: “The head “Of Number Three at present “Is like a small Seven that’s placed on the top “Of the moon when she’s shaped like a crescent. “The Seven the mystical number is “Of the ancient Pythagoreans; “The crescent Diana’s worship denotes, “And also recals the Sabeans. “The Three herself the famed Shibboleth is “Of the senior bonze of Babel, “Intriguing with whom she at length gave birth “To the Holy Trinity’s fable.” A tailor came next, with a smile on his face; Poor Number Three, he insisted, Was nought but a name, and nowhere else Except upon paper existed. When poor Three heard these cruel words, Like a duck in a state of distraction She waddled here and waddled there, Lamenting with vehement action: “I’m just as old as the sea and the wold, “As the stars that in heaven are blinking; “I’ve seen kingdoms ascend, and presently end, “And nations rising and sinking. “I’ve stood on the ceaselessly whirling loom “Of time for many long ages; “I’ve peep’d into Nature’s fashioning womb, “Where everything rushes and rages. “And nevertheless I withstood all assaults “Of darkness and sensuality, “And safely preserved my virgin charms, “Despite their cruel brutality. “What use is my virtue now? By the wise “And the fools I am evil entreated; “The world is wicked, and ne’er content “Till every one is cheated. “But cheer up, my heart! thou still hast left “Thy faith and hope and charity, “With excellent coffee and glasses of rum “Above the reach of vulgarity.”