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And now a Múbid, from the Champion-knight, Requests the royal sanction to the rite; O'erjoyed, the King the honoured suit approves, O'erjoyed to bless the doting child he loves, And happier still, in showering smiles around, To be allied to warrior so renowned.
The scoffing Turks will cry, 'Behold our might! We won the trophy from the Champion-knight! From him who, reckless of his fame and pride, Thus idly slept, and thus ignobly died," Girding his loins he gathered from the field, His quivered stores, his beamy sword and shield, Harness and saddle-gear were o'er him slung. Bridle and mail across his shoulders hung.
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