Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/189

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"You must be very old, Sir Giles,"
I said; he said: "Yea, very old:"
Whereat the mournfullest of smiles
Creased his dry skin with many a fold.

"They hammer'd out my basnet point
Into a round salade," he said,
"The basnet being quite out of joint,
Natheless the salade rasps my head."

He gazed at the great fire awhile:
"And you are getting old. Sir John;"
(He said this with that cunning smile
That was most sad;) "we both wear on,

"Knights come to court and look at me.
With eyebrows up, except my lord,
And my dear lady, none I see
That know the ways of my old sword."