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Rh That poor and hungry men should break The laws which wreak them toil and scorn, We understand; but Lionel We know is rich and nobly born. So wondered they: yet all men loved Young Lionel, though few approved; All but the priests, whose hatred fell Like the unseen blight of a smiling day, The withering honey dew, which clings Under the bright green buds of May, Whilst they unfold their emerald wings: For he made verses wild and queer On the strange creeds priests hold so dear, Because they bring them land and gold. Of devils and saints and all such gear, He made tales which whoso heard or read Would laugh till he were almost dead. So this grew a proverb: "don't get old Till Lionel's 'banquet in hell' you hear, And then you will laugh yourself young again." So the priests hated him, and he Repaid their hate with cheerful glee.