And straight depositeth some forty guineas,
And after some few words of mystic import,
Of Mowbray, Howard, Vere, Plantagenet,
And other necromantic terms of art,
Most gravely utter’d by the smoke-dried sage,
He takes, in lieu of gold, the vellum roll,
With arms emblazon’d and Earl Marshal’s signet,
And struts away, a well-born gentleman.
Observing this, I to myself did say,
“And if a man did need a coat of arms,