He grieved, that day their games cut short, And shouted loud," Renew the bowl! And, while a merry catch I troll, Let each the buxom chorus bear, Like brethren of the brand and spear."- V. Soldier's Song. Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, * A Bacchanalian interjection, borrowed from the Dutch. Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker, Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar! Our vicar thus preaches-and why should he not? For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot; And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch, Who infringe the domains of our good mother Church. Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor, Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar! VI. The warder's challenge, heard without, Staid in mid roar the merry shout. A soldier to the portal went, "Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent; And, beat for jubilee the drum ! A maid and minstrel with him come." A harper with him, and, in plaid All muffled close, a mountain maid, Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. "What news ?" they roared :-" I only know, From noon till eve we fought with foe, As wild and as untameable, As the rude mountains where they dwell. On both sides store of blood is lost, Nor much success can either boast." "But whence thy captives, friend? such spoil As theirs must needs reward thy toil. Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp, Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, The leader of a juggler band."— VII. "No, comrade ;-no such fortune mine. After the fight, these sought our line, That aged harper and the girl, And, having audience of the Earl, For none shall do them shame or harm.". "Hear ye his boast!" cried John of Brent, Ever to strife and jangling bent, "Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, And yet the jealous niggard grudge To pay the forester his fee? I'll have my share howe'er it be, But Ellen boldly stepp'd between, And dropp'd at once the tartan screen ; So, from his morning cloud, appears The sun of May, through summer tears. The savage soldiery, amazed, As on descended angel gazed; Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed, Stood half admiring, half ashamed. VIII. Boldly she spoke,-" Soldiers, attend! Cheered him in camps, in marches led, Not from the valiant, or the strong, Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." Answered De Brent, most forward still In every feat or good or ill, "I shame me of the part I played; And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid! An outlaw I by Forest laws, And merry Needwood knows the cause. Poor Rose,-if Rose be living now," He wiped his iron eye and brow, "Must bear such age, I think, as thou. |