 | The Ingoldsby Legends |  |
I scarcely need say Sir Guy didn't delay
To fulfil his vow made to St. Cuthbert, or pay
For the candles he'd promised, or make light as day
The shrine he assured him he'd render so gay.
In fact, when the votaries came there to pray,
All said there was nought to compare with it—nay,
For fear that the Abbey Might think he was shabby,
Four Brethren thenceforward, two cleric, two lay,
He ordained, should take charge of a new-founded chantry,
With six marcs apiece, and some claims on the pantry;
In short, the whole County Declared, through his bounty
The Abbey of Bolton exhibited fresh scenes
From any displayed since Sir William de Meschines,
And Cecily Roumeli came to this nation
With William the Norman, and laid its foundation.
To fulfil his vow made to St. Cuthbert, or pay
For the candles he'd promised, or make light as day
The shrine he assured him he'd render so gay.
In fact, when the votaries came there to pray,
All said there was nought to compare with it—nay,
For fear that the Abbey Might think he was shabby,
Four Brethren thenceforward, two cleric, two lay,
He ordained, should take charge of a new-founded chantry,
With six marcs apiece, and some claims on the pantry;
In short, the whole County Declared, through his bounty
The Abbey of Bolton exhibited fresh scenes
From any displayed since Sir William de Meschines,
And Cecily Roumeli came to this nation
With William the Norman, and laid its foundation.
For the rest, it is said, And I know I have read
In some Chronicle—whose, has gone out of my head—
That, what with these candles, and other expenses,
Which no man would go to if quite in his senses,
He reduced, and brought low His property so,
That, at last, he'd not much of it left to bestow;
And that, many years after that terrible feast,
Sir Guy, in the Abbey, was living a Priest;
And there, in one thousand—and something,—deceased.
(It's supposed by this trick He bamboozled Old Nick,
And slipped through his fingers remarkably “slick.”)
While, as to young Curly-wig,—dear little Soul,
Would you know more of him, you must look at “The Roll,”
Which records the dispute, And the subsequent suit,
Commenced in “Thirteen sev'nty-five,”—which took root
In Le Grosvenor's assuming the arms Le Scroope swore
That none but his ancestors, ever before,
In foray, joust, battle, or tournament wore,
To wit, “On a Prussian-blue Field, a Bend Or;”
While the Grosvenor averred that his ancestors bore
The same, and Scroope lied like a—somebody tore
Off the simile,—so I can tell you no more,
Till some A double S shall the fragment restore.
In some Chronicle—whose, has gone out of my head—
That, what with these candles, and other expenses,
Which no man would go to if quite in his senses,
He reduced, and brought low His property so,
That, at last, he'd not much of it left to bestow;
And that, many years after that terrible feast,
Sir Guy, in the Abbey, was living a Priest;
And there, in one thousand—and something,—deceased.
(It's supposed by this trick He bamboozled Old Nick,
And slipped through his fingers remarkably “slick.”)
While, as to young Curly-wig,—dear little Soul,
Would you know more of him, you must look at “The Roll,”
169
Commenced in “Thirteen sev'nty-five,”—which took root
In Le Grosvenor's assuming the arms Le Scroope swore
That none but his ancestors, ever before,
In foray, joust, battle, or tournament wore,
To wit, “On a Prussian-blue Field, a Bend Or;”
While the Grosvenor averred that his ancestors bore
The same, and Scroope lied like a—somebody tore
Off the simile,—so I can tell you no more,
Till some A double S shall the fragment restore.
It is with the greatest satisfaction I learn from Mr. Simpkinson this consummation, so devoutly to be wished, is about to be realised, and that the remainder of this most interesting document, containing the whole of the defendant's evidence, will appear in the course of the ensuing summer, under the same auspices as the former portion. We shall look with eagerness for the identification of “Curly-wig.”
| The Ingoldsby Legends | |