Fugaces! These, indeed, are fled,
But thoughts of dashing Montagu,
That dauntless soul now lying dead,
After long fight with pitiless pain
Make the old memories live again.
Before the triumphs of the Court,
Before the honours of the Bench,
Wild days there were of toil and sport,
Long ere our brows had learned to blench
At threatenings of the first grey hair.