Which they used in those days 'stead of little Queen's heads.

When the contents of the scroll met his view,
Sir Ingoldsby Bray in a passion grew,
Backward he drew His mailéd shoe,
And he kicked that naughty Foot-page, that he flew
Like a cloth-yard shaft from a bended yew,
I may not say whither--I never knew.
"Now count the slain Upon Ascalon plain--
Go count them, my Squire, go count them again!"

"Twenty and three! There they be,
Stiff and stark on that crimson'd lea!--
Twenty and three?--Stay--let me see!
Stretched in his gore There lieth one more!
By the Pope's triple crown there are twenty and _four_!
Twenty-four trunks I ween are there
But their heads and their limbs are no-body knows where!
Ay, twenty-four corpses, I rede there be,
Though one got away, and ran up a tree!"

"Look nigher, look nigher, My trusty Squire!"
"One is the corse of a bare-footed Friar!"

Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray,
"A boon, a boon, King Richard," quoth he,
"Now Heav'n thee save, A boon I crave,
A boon, Sir King, on my bended knee;
A year and a day Have I been away,
King Richard, from Ingoldsby Hall so free;