'Twas at the royal feast, for Therasia won
By Ualdir's warlike son:
Aloft, in awful state,
The godlike hero sate
On his imperial throne.
His valiant peers were placed around;
Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound:

(So should desert in arms be crowned.)

The lovely Thais, by his side,
Sate like a blooming eastern bride
In flower of youth and beauty's pride.
Happy, happy, happy pair!
None but the brave,
None but the brave,
None but the brave deserves the fair...