"And I am come from a far countree, And have visited many a holy shrine; And long have I trod the sacred sod Where the Saints do rest in Palestine !" "An thou art come from a far countree, "Arede me aright the most wonderful sight, Grey Palmer, that ever thine eyes did see, And a manchette of bread, and a good warm bed, And a cup o' the best shall thy guerdon be!”— "Oh! I have been east, and I have been west, And I have seen many a wonderful sight; But never to me did it happen to see A wonder like that which I see this night! "To see a Lord Abbot, in rochet and stole, He felt in his gown of ginger brown, And he pull'd out a flask from beneath; It was rather tough work to get out the cork, O'er a pint and a quarter of holy water He made the sacred sign; And he dash'd the whole on the soi-disante daughter Of old Plantagenet's line! Oh! then did she reek, and squeak, and shriek, And fizzled and hiss'd, and produced such a mist, Her dove-like eyes turn'd to coals of fire, And her bosom went in, and her tail came out. On her chin there appear'd a long Nanny-goat's beard, The Palmer threw down his ginger gown, The Fiend made a grasp, the Abbot to clasp ; And, just in the nick, let fly such a kick" On his elderly Namesake, he made him let go. And out of the window he flew like a shot, For the foot flew up with a terrible thwack, And caught the foul demon about the spot Where his tail joins on to the small of his back. And he bounded away, like a foot-ball at play, Oh! happy the slip from his Succubine grip, That saved the Lord Abbot,- though, breathless with fright, In escaping he tumbled, and fractured his hip, And his left leg was shorter thenceforth than his right! * On the banks of the Rhine, as he's stopping to dine, And, while "saur-kraut" she sells you, the Landlady tells you That there, in those walls, now all roofless and bare, One Simon, a Deacon, from a lean grew a sleek one, On filling a ci-devant Abbot's state chair. How a ci-devant Abbot, all clothed in drab, but How he rose with the sun, limping, " dot and go one," To yon rill of the mountain, in all sorts of weather, Where a Prior and a Friar, who lived somewhat higher Up the rock, used to come and eat cresses together; How a thirsty old codger, the neighbours call'd Roger, With them drank cold water in lieu of old wine! What its quality wanted he made up in quantity, Swigging as though he would empty the Rhine! |