Now is he risen and got to horse,
For he would seek his love perforce,
Where'er she may be kept.
Then over hill and over down,
Through meadows green and moorlands brown,
His peerless charger stept.

The birds sang loud, there is no doubt,
Some sang in tune and some sang out;
The throstle and the jay.
The flowerets sprang about his feet,
Arrayéd in their garb so neat,
With every colour gay.

When the birdies thus did sing,
Sir Thopas fell in love-longing,
And spurred his gallant steed.
The sweat ran down his sides amain,
To any gentle heart 'twas pain
To see him thus to bleed.

The larks on high trilled out their song,
And some sang right and some sang----

"Stop, for Heaven's sake!" cried the Host at this point. "I'm tired
out by this story. Never in my life did I hear worse doggerel."

I must say I was offended by this remark. "Well," I said, "you have
let everyone else finish. Why should _I_ be prevented from going on?
I'm doing the best I can." "Are you?" said Harry Bailey. "Then I