Turned his back upon the tempter, caracoled with coltish glee;
Struck out with his heels behind him, smote that slave upon the
nose,
Kicked the bags until the bullion in a Danaë shower arose.

Never DON FERNANDO's charger, _Bavieca_, gave such spring,
In the sawdust-sprinkled circus of AL-WIDDICOMB, the King!
Never did DON GOMERSALEZ fill the Moslem with more fear,
When he smote him o'er the mazzard with his streak-o'-lightning
spear!

And the scattered gold flew widely, urged by that prodigious kick,
Smote the Frank behind the throne, although he dodged amazing quick;
Spattered that insulting Sultan, like a splash of London mud,
Blackening his dexter eye, and from his "boko" drawing blood.

Then Sir CARLOS EUAN-SMITHEZ gave that Moorish Sultan beans,
Holding it foul scorn--as did the pluckiest of Christian Queens--
a Christian Knight should take an insult from a turban'd Moor,
Without landing him a hot 'un, without giving him what-for!

Speed thee, speed thee, noble charger! Speed thee faster than the
wind!
Stout Sir CARLOS EUAN-SMITHEZ leaves that Moorish Fez behind;
Shakes its sand from off his shoes, and, having wiped the Sultan's
eye,
Turns his back, and takes his hook, without e'en wishing him
"Good-bye!"

* * * * *