For when the name gat there, such dereliction
Came, you must know, sirs, in his jurisdiction.

He had a Sumner ready to his hand;
A slyer bully filched not in the land;
For in all parts the villain had his spies
To let him know where profit might arise.
Well could he spare ill livers, three or four,
To help his net to four-and-twenty more.
'Tis truth. Your Sumner may stare hard for me;
I shall not screen, not I, his villainy;
For heaven be thanked, laudetur Dominus,
They have no hold, these cursed thieves, on us;
Nor never shall have, let 'em thieve till doom.

["No," cried the Sumner, starting from his gloom,
"Nor have we any hold, Sir Shaven-crown,
On your fine flock, the ladies of the town."
"Peace, with a vengeance," quoth our Host, "and let
The tale be told. Say on, thou marmoset,
Thou lady's friar, and let the Sumner sniff."]

"Well," quoth the Friar; "this Sumner, this false thief,
Had scouts in plenty ready to his hand,
Like any hawks, the sharpest in the land,
Watching their birds to pluck, each in his mew,
Who told him all the secrets that they knew,
And lured him game, and gat him wondrous profit;
Exceeding little knew his master of it.
Sirs, he would go, without a writ, and take