XXIII.
Then on a turtle came proud London’s Mayor,
Followed by Aldermen, a frowsy crew,
Strong smelling of Cheapside, and luscious fair,
Yet apoplexy made his followers few.
Long antlers on the head of each man grew,
So that they seem’d a host of moving horn;
Anon as on they came they’d mump and chew,
Stuffing their guts from dawning of the morn,
Till shades of evening fell—for eating only born.