'Bide, if ye will, secure at home, and sleep while others bleed.
I second Alfred's motion, boys,—let's try the chance of lot;
And monks shall sing, and bells shall ring, for him that goes to pot.'
"Eight hundred minstrels slunk away—two hundred stayed to draw;
Now Heaven protect the daring wight that pulls the longest straw!
'Tis done! 'tis done! And who hath won? Keep silence one and all,—
The first is William Wordsworth hight, the second Ned Fitzball!"
FYTTE THE SECOND
Oh, bright and gay hath dawned the day on lordly Spitalfields,—
How flash the rays with ardent blaze from polished helms and shields!