So he flung it away with a very gladness.
And the baron died—and the bridegroom, well,—
Unlucky that bridegroom, sooth!—to tell
Of him there is nothing. The baron died;
The last of the Strongbows he, gramercy!
And the Clare estate with its wealth and its pride
Devolved to the Bloets, Walter or Percy.
Ten years and a score thereafter. And they
Ransacked the old castle and mark!—one day
In a lonesome tower uprummaged a chest