They held it time to play.
The bookman was a reverend wight,
With a studious face so pale,
And the curfew bell, with its sullen swell,
Broke duly on the gale.
And so passed on, in the brave old world,
Those merry days and free;
The king drank wine and the clown drank ale,
Each man in his degree.
And some ruled well and some ruled ill,