King Francis was a hearty king，and lov’d a royal sport，And one day，as his lions strove，sat looking on the court；The nobles fill‘d the benches round，the ladies by their side，And ’mongst them Count de Lorge，with one he hoped to make his bride；And truly ‘twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show，Valour and love，and a king above，and the royal beasts below.
Ramp’d and roar‘d the lions，with horrid laughing jaws；They bit，they glared，gave blows like beams，a wind went with their paws；With wallowing might and stifled roar，they roll’d one on another，Till all the pit，with sand and mane，was in a thund‘rous smother；The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air；Said Francis then，“Good gentlemen，we’re better here than there！”
De Lorge‘s love o’erheard the King，a beauteous，lively dame，With smiling lips，and sharp bright eyes which always seem‘d the same：
She thought，“The Count，my lover，is as brave as brave can be；He surely would do desperate things to show his love of me！
King，ladies，lovers，all look on；the chance is wond’rous fine；I‘ll drop my glove to prove his love；great glory will be mine！”
She dropp’d her glove to prove his love：then looked on him and smiled；He bow‘d，and in a moment leap’d among the lions wild：
The leap was quick；return was quick；he soon regain‘d his place；Then threw the glove，but not with love，right in the lady’s face！
“In truth！”cried Francis，“rightly done！”and he rose from where he sat：
“No love，”quoth he，“but vanity，sets love a task like that！”