I had whistled as blithe as yon knave that sits

    By Muncaster's Castle gate!

   "Would that my crown were a bonnet of blue,

    And my sceptre yon shepherd's crook,

   I would honour, dominion, and power eschew,

    In this holy and quiet nook.

   "For England's crown is a girdle of blood,

    A traitor is every gem;

   And a murderer's eye each jewel that lurks

    In that kingly diadem!

   "Hunt on! hunt on, thou blood-hound keen;

    I'd rather an outcast be,

   Than wade through all that thou hast done,

    To pluck that crown from thee!"

   "Then tarry, my liege," Sir John replied,

    "In Muncaster's Castle gate;

   No foeman shall enter, while sheltered here

    From Edward's pride and hate."

   "I may not tarry, thou trusty knight,

    Nor longer with thee abide;

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