What power can stay the burst of song
When throats with ale are mellow?
What wight with nieve so stout and strong
Dares lift it, jolly freres among,
And cry, “Knaves, cease to bellow?”
“‘ Twas doleful drear,” — the gossips vowed,—
To hear the minstrel's piteous tale!
But, when the swineherd tuned his crowd,
And the gosherd began to grumble loud,
The gossips smiled, and sipped their ale!
“A boon, bold Thorold!” boldly cried
The gosherd from Croyland fen;
“I crave to sing of the fen so wide,
And of geese and goosish men!”
Loud loffe they all; and the baron, with glee,
Cried “begin, good Swithin! for men may see
Thou look'st so like a knowing fowl,
Of geese thou art skilled right well to troll!”
Stout Swithin sware the baron spake well,—
And his halting ditty began to tell:
The rhyme was lame, and dull the joke,—
But it tickled the ears of clownish folk.