But let me see the Mayor, to make sure.

The Soldiers:

These are his printed orders, all secure.

Pass through or back, you must not linger here,

Blocking the road with all this circus gear.

Which will you do, then: back or pass along?

The Showman:

Pass.

The Soldiers:

Then away, and save your breath for song,

We cannot bother with your right and wrong.

George, guide these waggons through the western gate.

Now, march, d'ye hear? and do not stop to bait

This side a mile; for that's the order. March!

[Pg 35]

[Pg 35]

 The Showman toppled like a broken arch. The line-squall roared upon them with loud lips. A green-lit strangeness followed, like eclipse They passed within, but, when within, King Cole Slipped from the van to head the leading team. He breathed into his flute his very soul, A noise like waters in a pebbly stream, And straight the spirits that inhabit dream Came round him, and the rain-squall roared its last And bright the wind-vane shifted as it passed. And in the rush of sun and glittering cloud That followed on the storm, he led the way, Fluting the sodden circus through the crowd That trod the city streets in holiday. And lo, a 

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