There thought upon their own gray tower,
Their waving woods, their feudal power,
And deem’d themselves a shameful part
Of pageant which they cursed in heart.
XXII.
Now, in the Castle-park, drew out
Their checker’d[305] bands the joyous rout.
There morrisers, with bell at heel,
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel;
But chief, beside the butts, there stand