Surprised at first he paused awhile,
And then accosts the knight,—
What makes you here, Sir Samuel,
In this unhappy plight?
At this the knight gave’s breast a thump,
And stretching out his hand,—
If you will pull me up, he cried,
I’ll try if I can stand.
And then I’ll let you know the cause;
But first take care of Ralph,
Who in my good or ill success
Doth always stand my half.
In short, he got his worship up
And led him in the door;
Where he at length relates the tale
As I have told before.
When he had heard the story out,
The gentleman replies,—
It is not in my province, sir,
Your worship to advise.
But were I in your worship’s place,
The only thing I’d do,
Was first to reprimand the fools,
And then to let them go.
I think it first advisable
To take them from the rabble,
And let them come and both set forth
The occasion of the squabble.
This is the Vicar, Sir, of Bray,
A man of no repute,
The scorn and scandal of his tribe,
A loose, ill-manner’d brute.
The cobbler’s a poor strolling wretch
That mends my servants’ shoes;
And often calls as he goes by
To bring me country news.
At this his worship grip’d his beard,
And in an angry mood,
Swore by the laws of chivalry
That blood required blood.