Some play’d on the dulcimer, some on the lute,
And some, who had nothing to talk of, were mute,
’Till the Morning, awakened, put on her grey suit—
And the Lark hover’d over the Hall.
It was in a vast gothic Hall that they sate,
And the Tables were cover’d with rich gilded plate,
And the King and his minions were toping in state,
’Till their noddles turn’d round, one and all:—
And the Sun through the tall painted windows ’gan peep,
And the Vassals were sleeping, or longing to sleep,