Whence came it that, whilst yet the sunny moon Of roses showed her crescent horn; the day Fix'd for the pageant dawn'd on Coventry; And Sanger--he of circus fame--arose Betimes; for much was on his mind. Perchance An elephant had shed its trunk; perchance Some giant camel had "the hump" too much; Or piebald horse had moulted all its spots. Most feared he, though, lest she who had agreed To act Godiva, having slept on it, Should from her bargain flinch; so sought he her With, "Well, and ride you through the town to-day?" And she--for eggs and toast had made her bold-- "Ay, that will I!" Then he: "'Tis well!" and went And whistled as he walked. She, left alone, When the effect of eggs and toast had gone, Did half repent her promise; then again Thought of her fee, and so grew bold once more. And as she sat, rejoicing that 'twas warm, There came the sound of trumpet and of drum, And driving past she saw the circus car, And on it was a placard calling all Good people to come forth and gaze at her. Then knew she that undressing time had come, So sped her to the inner room, and there Unhook'd the clinging bodice of her frock, Hair-pinned on locks to show'r down to her knee, Donned the rose "fleshings" that she was to wear; Then throwing on a shawl she waited there Till such time as they brought her palfrey, trapt In purple, blazoned with armorial gold. So came at last the sound of pattering hoofs, And up the stairs a voice, "The 'oss is come!" And tripping to the door she found a steed, Milk-white and bony, meek, and pink of eye, And with a chair and Mr. Sanger's help Clomb on his back, and then one bang'd a door And shouted, "Right!" and so the charger past.