Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads :: :: University of Virginia Library

First the herald's gilded show;
How the lusty trumpets blow!
Then the merchants, rank and file,
Next the nuns that pray and smile;
Then the strong knights in their mail,
Banner blowing like a sail,
Gilded housings shining out
Through the dust that wraps the rout;
So our band of pilgrims went
To A'Becket's shrine in Kent.

Shields that with their burn and blaze
All the peasants' eyes amaze;
Starred and tongued with herald gold,
Blood-red crosses manifold,
Bars of azure, spots of sable,
Scutcheons gay with scroll and label,
Silver tears on purple field,
Crimson lattice, azure shield,

292

Bezants, each one like a sun,
From the Moslem Sultans won;
So our band of sinners went
To the holy shrine in Kent.

Rare devices, strange and quaint,
As the king-at-arms can paint;
Broken daggers, dripping gore,
Eagles chained that cannot soar;
Bleeding hart and wyvern's wing;
Viper with his poison sting;
Griffin with the golden scale,
Dragon with the emerald mail;
Tiger-cat with gory tongue,
Bear that to the pine tree clung:
So in stately guise we went
Flaunting to that shrine in Kent.

Legends, too, so full of pride,
Blazoned letters, bright and wide;
On one pennon, blowing free,
“Strike” 's the only word I see;
“Try me,” in defiance writ—
There was lion's wrath in it;
“I may break, but never bend,”
On a flag from end to end.

293

“God alone,” another bore
On the tabard that he wore.
So in knightly garb we went,
Tramping to the shrine in Kent.

Then the abbot with his ring,
And the white-clad boys that sing;
Monks in grey, and friars in black,
Shouting chorus at his back.
Then the crosier, gold and stately,
Born aloft and held sedately;
Fuming incense, tossed and flung,
From the silver censers swung.
Mitres shining with the gem,
Marked the bishops each of them,
As the band of sinners went
Ambling to the shrine in Kent.

Blubber lip and leering eye,
Downcast face that blushes dye;
Lolling tongue, and brutal jaw,
Wrinkled foreheads full of law.
Sallow visage, envy wrung,
Where the sweat-drops clammy hung;
Hypocrite! among the rest,
Fat hands clasped upon his breast.

294

Then the coward's writhing face,
Looking round as from a chase,
Next him, with a sullen mouth,
Burning eyes, all red with wrath,
Came a murderer fresh from guilt,
With his red hand on his hilt:
So the sinners mocking went
To Saint Thomas' shrine in Kent.

Lust was there with full-ringed eye,
With his ready start and sigh;
Avarice thinking of the bond,
Never of the man it wronged;
Gluttony, with peeping eyes
Never lifted to the skies;
Anger, hot and vexed of face,
Pulling at his doublet lace;
Stealthy slander eager eyed,
Pressing to his patron's side;
There were lovers joining lips,
Caring not, though sun eclipse:
So the motley sinners went
Praying to the shrine in Kent.

Anger's stern and stony stare,
Shooting lip, and scornful glare;

295

Vanity's light, fickle gaze;
Wonder gaping with amaze;
Pride that's trying to look meek,
Treble chin and double cheek,
Mouth with black teeth all awry,
Waxen skin and blood-shot eye.
Bright eyes all athirst for sin,
Rose-leaf velvet soft the skin,
Hands would turn a lily grey,
Were a lily in the way:
So the ladies smiling went
To A'Becket's shrine in Kent.

Some were singing David's psalms,
Others holding hats for alms;
Some, with broken sobs and faint,
Praying to a road-side saint;
Others doling out a creed,
(Every line they touch a bead);
Friar, with rope about his waist,
By the horsemen sturdy paced;
While the abbot, silken clad,
Ambled on his glossy pad,
Playing with his gilded rein,
With his jewels and his chain:
So the mocking sinners went
To the holiest shrine in Kent.