They are not to be told by the dozen or score,
By thousands they come, and by myriads and more;
Such numbers had never been heard of before,
Such a judgment had never been witness'd of yore.

Down on his knees the Bishop fell,

And faster and faster his beads did he tell,

As louder and louder drawing near

The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.

And in at the windows, and in at the door,
And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling, and up through the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below,
And all at once to the Bishop they go.

They have whetted their teeth against the stones, And now they pick the Bishop's bones;

They gnaw'd the flesh from every limb,

For they were sent to do judgment on him.

LXXIV

R. Southey

THE OLD COURTIER

An old song made by an aged old pate,

Of an old worshipful gentleman who had a great

estate,

That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,

And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate; Like an old courtier of the queen's,

And the queen's old courtier.

With an old lady whose anger one word assuages; They every quarter paid their old servants their

wages,

And never knew what belong'd to coachman, footman, nor pages,

But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges;

Like an old courtier of the queen's,
And the queen's old courtier.

With an old study fill'd full of learned old books, With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks,

With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, And an old kitchen, that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks;

Like an old courtier of the queen's,
And the queen's old courtier.

With an old hall hung about with pikes, guns, and bows,

With old swords, and bucklers, that had borne many shrewd blows,

And an old frieze coat to cover his worship's trunk hose,

And a cup of old sherry to comfort his copper

nose;

Like an old courtier of the queen's,
And the queen's old courtier.

With a good old fashion when Christmas was

come

To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and

drum,

With a good cheer enough to furnish every old room, And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb;

Like an old courtier of the queen's,
And the queen's old courtier.

With an old falconer, huntsman, and a kennel of hounds,

That never hawk'd nor hunted but in his own grounds,

Who like a wise man kept himself within his own

bounds,

And when he died gave every child a thousand good
pounds;

Like an old courtier of the queen's,
And the queen's old courtier.

Old Song

LXXV

JOHN GILPIN

John Gilpin was a citizen

Of credit and renown,

A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London Town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
'Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

'To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,

All in a chaise and pair.

'My sister and my sister's child,
Myself, and children three,

Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after we.'

He soon replied, 'I do admire
Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.

‘I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know,
And my good friend, the Calender,
Will lend his horse to go.'

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, 'That's well said;
And for that wine is dear,

We will be furnish'd with our own,
Which is both bright and clear.'

John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife;

O'erjoy'd was he to find

That, though on pleasure she was bent,

She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought,

But yet was not allowed

To drive up to the door, lest all

Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was stay'd,
Where they did all get in,

Six precious souls, and all agog

To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels,
Were never folk so glad;
The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin, at his horse's side,
Seiz'd fast the flowing mane,
And up he got, in haste to ride,
But soon came down again;

For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,
His journey to begin,

When, turning round his head, he saw
Three customers come in.

So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it grieved him sore,
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.

'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind,

When Betty, screaming, came downstairs, 'The wine is left behind!'

'Good lack!' quoth he, 'yet bring it me,
My leathern belt likewise,

In which I bear my trusty sword
When I do exercise.'

Now mistress Gilpin, (careful soul !)
Had two stone-bottles found,

To hold the liquor that she loved,
And keep it safe and sound.