XXI
The Horse from Cleres and Valery,
The foot from Yvetot,
And all the men of the Harbour Towns
That live by fall and flow.
And all the men of the Beechen Ford
—Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!—
And all the sails in Michael’s ward,
And all the shields of Caux,
Shall follow you out across the world,
With sword and lance and bow,
To Beachy and to Pevensey Bar,
To Chester through the snow,
With sack and pack and camping tent,
A-grumbling as they go:
My lord is William of Falaise.
Haro!
FOOTNOTES:
But do not think I shall explain
To any great extent. Believe me,
I partly write to give you pain,
And if you do not like me, leave me.
And least of all can you complain,
Reviewers, whose unholy trade is,
To puff with all your might and main
Biographers of single ladies.
[C] Never mind.
The plan forgot (I know not how,
Perhaps the Refectory filled it),
To put a chapel in; and now
We’re mortgaging the rest to build it.
[E] To be pronounced as a monosyllable in the Imperial fashion.
[F] Mr Punt, Mr Howl, and Mr Grewcock (now, alas, deceased).
[G] A neat rendering of “Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.”
[H] To the Examiners: These facts (of which I guarantee the accuracy) were given me by a Director.
[I] A reminiscence of Milton: “Fas est et ab hoste docere.”
[J] Lambkin told me he regretted this line, which was for the sake of Rhyme. He would willingly have replaced it, but to his last day could construct no substitute.