Punch, or the London Charivari, Volume 153, October 17, 1917 by Various
page 18 of 53 (33%)
page 18 of 53 (33%)
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BEASTS ROYAL. IV. KING HENRY'S STAG-HOUND. A.D. 1536. Ten puffs upon my master's toes, And twenty on his sleeves, Upon his hat a Tudor rose Set round with silver leaves; But never a hunting-spear, And never a rowel-spur; Who is this that he calls his Dear? I think I will bark at her. The Windsor groves were fresh and green, Dangling with Summer dew, When my master rode with his Spanish queen, And the huntsman cried, "Halloo!" Now never a horn is heard, And never the lances stir; Who is this that he calls his Bird? I think I will follow her. To-night my master walks alone In the pleachéd pathway dim, And the thick moss reddens on the stone Where she used to walk with him. |
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