And, like a flag, his fealty was unfurl'd;
And Kings who flourished ere thy son was born
Shall live through him, from morn to furthest morn,
In all the far-off cycles yet to come.
V.
He gave us Falstaff, and a hundred quips,
A hundred mottoes from immortal lips;
And, year by year, we smile to keep away
The generous tears that mind us of the sway
Of his great singing, and the pomp thereof.