They gave the king a piece of plate,
Which they hop’d never came too late;
But cry’d, Oh! look not in, great king,
For there is in it just nothing:
And so prefer’d with tune and gate,
A speech as empty as their plate.
Now, as the king came neer the town,
Each one ran crying up and down,
Alas poor Oxford, thou’rt undone,
For now the king’s past Trompington,