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Rh

Then I my coat of mail will don, And couch my trusty lance; There's many a castle to be won In fair and jocund France. My halls are empty—but I'll come, St. George my weapon guide! With laurel-crested basnet home And the red gold beside.

The blue eyed maids of England scorn My ruined house and me, But there are brides as highly born In stately Normandy; And he who in the battle field Shall prove the stoutest knight, Will find the eye of beauty yield Its smile of sunniest light,