Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/347

Rh


 * At the open doors, with wide saluting eyes,
 * Congées and scrape-graces of every sort,
 * And all the smooth routine of gallantries,
 * Was seen, to our immoderate surprise,
 * A motley crowd thick gather'd in the hall,
 * Lords, scullions, deputy scullions, with wild cries
 * Stunning the vestibule from wall to wall,

Where the Chief Justice on his knees and hands doth crawl.


 * Of moth's down, to make soft the royal beds,
 * The Common Council and my fool Lord Mayor
 * Marching a-row, each other slipshod treads;
 * Powder'd bag-wigs and ruffy-tuffy heads
 * Of cinder wenches meet and soil each other;
 * Toe crush'd with heel ill-natured fighting breeds,
 * Frill-rumpling elbows brew up many a bother,

And fists in the short ribs keep up the yell and pother.


 * Rode to the Princess swift with spurring heels,
 * And close into her face, with rhyming clack,
 * Began a Prothalamion;—she reels,
 * She falls, she faints! while laughter peals
 * Over her woman's weakness. "Where!" cried I,
 * "Where is his Majesty?" No person feels
 * Inclined to answer; wherefore instantly

I plunged into the crowd to find him or to die.