And noble Nottage waves his lens, and seeks the thickest strife,
And woe to those who stand to him—he’ll “take ’em from the life”!
* * * * *
But why this shadow o’er the board, this phantom at the feast?
The day is won, the foe has fled, his fierce assaults have ceased.
Yet still the hollow laugh is forced, as though each heard the cry:
“Let’s eat and drink and merry be—to-morrow we must die!”
In vain the jewelled cup is passed, the speech and song go round;
Each song seems but a requiem, each speech a ghostly sound,
While o’er the Master’s anxious face a cloud hangs like a pall;