He tripped up the steps with a bow and a smile,
Offering snuff to the chaplain the while,
A rose at his button-hole that afternoon—
’T was the tenth of the month, and the month it was June.
Then shrugging his shoulders, he looked at the man
With the mask...
This I got on the day that Goring
Fought through York, like a wild beast roaring—
The roofs were black, and the streets were full,
The doors built up with packs of wool;
But our pikes made way through a storm of shot,
Barrel to barrel till locks grew hot;...
The Jester shook his hood and bells, and leaped upon a chair;
The pages laughed, the women screamed, and tossed their scented hair;
The falcon whistled, staghounds bayed, the lapdog barked without,
The scullion dropped the pitcher brown, the cook railed at the lout;...
