Now the Silver Knight had sworn--that the Standard so long borne
By the Aureate One, in scorn irreducible
Should not solitary wave. He'd squabosh that champion brave,
Or would find a torrid grave--
In some crucible!

Such cremation he would dare if that Standard he might bear
To the dust, and upraise there one more Silvery.
For this Argent Knight, though pale, was right sure he could not
fail,
He was proud of his white mail,
And his skill--very!

So here, Gentles, you behold that brave Knight in mail of Gold,
Sworn his Standard to uphold high and aureate;
And that blusterous battle-bout, twixt those champions stern and
stout,
Will inspire, I have no doubt,
Our next Laureate!

Yank Knights-Errant may evince interest grave; that Indian Prince
Will alternate swell and wince as they struggle;
The young Scottish Knight BALFOUR (who looks callow more than dour)
Hopes the Silver Knight may score,
By some juggle.

But in spite of Yank and Scot, and the Bimetallic lot,
They who're fly to what is what, back the Gold 'un.
And did _I_ bet--for fun--ere this Standard fight is done,
I should plank my ten to one