But now the inward yearnings of Sir Tray Grew pressing, and in hollow rumblings spake, As in tempestuous nights the Northern seas Within their cavern cliffs reverberate. This touched her: “I have marked of yore,” she said, “When on my palfry I have paced along The streets of Camelot, while many a knight Ranged at my rein and thronged upon my steps, Wending in pride towards the tournament, A wight who many kinds of bread purveyed— Muffins, and crumpets, matutinal rolls, And buns which buttered, soothe at evensong; To him I’ll hie me ere my purpose cool, And swift returning, bear a loaf with me, And (for my teeth be tender grown, and like Celestial visits, few and far between) The crust shall be for Tray, the crumb for me.” This spake she; from their peg reached straightway down Her cloak of sanguine hue, and pointed hat From the flat brim upreared like pyramid On sands Egyptian where the Pharaohs sleep, Her ebon-handled staff (sole palfry now) Grasped firmly, and so issued swiftly forth; Yet ere she closed the latch her cat Elaine, The lily kitten reared at Astolat, Slipped through and mewing passed to greet Sir Tray. Returning ere the shadows eastward fell, She placed a porringer upon the board, And shred the crackling crusts with liberal hand, Nor noted how Elaine did seem to wail, Rubbing against her hose, and mourning round Sir Tray, who lay all prone upon the hearth. Then on the bread she poured the mellow milk— “Sleep’st thou?” she said, and touched him with her staff; “What, ho! thy dinner waits thee!” But Sir Tray Stirred not nor breathed: thereat, alarmed, she seized And drew the hinder leg: the carcase moved All over wooden like a piece of wood— “Dead?” said the Dame, while louder wailed Elaine; “I see,” she said, “thy fasts were all too long, Thy commons all too short, which shortened thus Thy days, tho’ thou mightst still have cheered mine age Had I but timelier to the city wonned. Thither I must again, and that right soon, For now ’tis meet we lap thee in a shroud, And lay thee in the vault by Astolat, Where faithful Tray shall by Sir Hubbard lie.” Up a by-lane the Undertaker dwelt; There day by day he plied his merry trade, And all his undertakings undertook: Erst knight of Arthur’s Court, Sir Waldgrave hight, A gruesome carle who hid his jests in gloom, And schooled his lid to counterfeit a tear. With cheerful hammer he a coffin tapt, While hollow, hollow, hollow, rang the wood, And, as he sawed and hammered, thus he sang:— Wood, hammer, nails, ye build a house for him, Nails, hammer, wood, ye build a house for me, Paying the rent, the taxes, and the rates.