Chapter XVII

Awhile the hero now reposes,
In knightly hall an honoured guest;
His brow by beauty crowned with roses,
And filled his belly with the best.

But soon the life of idlesse palls,
For daring deeds his heart is "game;"
"Farewell," he cries, "ye lordly walls!"
And starts anew in quest of fame.

Over hill and dale he wends;
Fate no fresh adventure sends
To reward him for his pains,
Till a mountain's foot he gains.

Underneath that hill prodigious
Dwelt an anchorite religious:
He batter'd the door with divers knocks;
He didn't make a little din;
And the hermit old, with his hoary locks,
Came forth at the summons to let him in
"Reverend sire," cried Jack, "I say,
Can you lodge a chap who has lost his way?
The grey-beard eremite answered "Yea--
That is if thou cans't take 'pot luck.'"

"I rather think I can, old buck!"
The hero answer made, and went
To supper with no small content.

{049}