And in rush'd a troop
Of strange guests!--such a group
As had ne'er before darkened the door of the Scroope!
This looks like De Saye--yet--it is not De Saye--
And this is--no, 'tis not--Sir Reginald Braye,
This has somewhat the favor of Marmaduke Grey--
But stay!--_Where on earth did he get those long nails?_
Why, they're _claws_!--then Good Gracious!--they've all of them _tails!_
That can't be De Vaux--why, his nose is a bill,
Or, I would say a beak!--and he can't keep it still!--
Is that Poynings?--Oh, Gemini! look at his feet!!
Why, they're absolute _hoofs_!--is it gout or his corns,
That have crumpled them up so?--by Jingo, he's _horns!_
Run! run!--There's Fitz-Walter, Fitz-Hugh, and Fitz-John,
And the Mandevilles, _père et filz_ (father and son),
And Fitz-Osbert, and Ufford--_they've all got them on!_
Then their great saucer eyes--
It's the Father of lies
And his Imps--run! run! run!--they're all fiends in disguise,
Who've partly assumed, with more sombre complexions,
The forms of Sir Guy Le Scroope's friends and connections,
And He--at the top there--that grim-looking elf--
Run! run!--that's the "muckle-horned Clootie" himself!

And now what a din
Without and within!
For the courtyard is full of them.--How they begin
To mop, and to mowe, and to make faces, and grin!
Cock their tails up together,
Like cows in hot weather,