Cockle in hat and staff in hand,
Come marching in pairs, a holy band!
Little boys twelve, dressed all in white,
Each with his brazen censer bright,
And singing away with all his might,
Follow the Palmers--a goodly sight;
Next high in air Twelve Yeomen bear
On their sturdy backs, with a good deal of care,
A patent sarcophagus firmly rear'd
Of Spanish mahogany (not veneer'd),
And behind walks a Knight with a very long beard.
Close by his side Is a Friar, supplied
With a stout cat o' ninetails of tough cow-hide,
While all sorts of queer men
Bring up the rear--Men-at-arms,
Nigger captives, and Bow-men and Spear-men.

It boots not to tell What you'll guess very well,
How some sang the _requiem_, some toll'd the bell;
Suffice it to say, 'Twas on Candlemas-day
The procession I speak of reached the _Sacellum_:
And in lieu of a supper The Knight on his crupper
Received the first taste of the Father's _flagellum_;--
That, as chronicles tell, He continued to dwell
All the rest of his days in the Abbey he'd founded,
By the pious of both sexes ever surrounded,
And, partaking the fare of the Monks and the Nuns,
Ate the cabbage alone without touching the buns;
--That year after year, having run round the _Quad_
With his back, as enjoin'd him, exposed to the rod,