When the contents of the scroll met his view, Sir Ingoldsby Bray in a passion grew, Backward he drew His mailed shoe, And he kicked that naughty Foot-page, that he flew Like a cloth-yard shaft from a bended yew, I may not say whither--I never knew. "Now count the slain Upon Ascalon plain,-- Go count them, my Squire, go count them again!" "Twenty and three! There they be, Stiff and stark on that crimson'd lea!-- Twenty and three?-- --Stay--let me see! Stretched in his gore There lieth one more! By the Pope's triple crown there are twenty and _four_! Twenty-four trunks, I ween, are there, But their heads and their limbs are no-body knows where! Ay, twenty-four corses, I rede, there be, Though one got away, and ran up a tree!" "Look nigher, look nigher, My trusty Squire!"-- "One is the corse of a barefooted Friar!!" Out and spake Sir Ingoldsby Bray, "A boon, a boon, King Richard," quoth he, "Now Heav'n thee save, A boon I crave, A boon, Sir King, on my bended knee; A year and a day Have I been away, King Richard, from Ingoldsby Hall so free; Dame Alice, she sits there in lonely guise, And she makes her moan, and she sobs and she sighs, And tears like rain-drops fall from her eyes, And she darneth her hose, and she crieth, 'Alack! Oh, when will Sir Ingoldsby Bray come back?' A boon, a boon, my Liege," quoth he, "Fair Ingoldsby Hall I fain would see!" "Rise up, rise up, Sir Ingoldsby Bray," King Richard said right graciously, "Of all in my host That I love the most, I love none better, Sir Bray, than thee! Rise up, rise up, thou hast thy boon; But--mind you make haste, and come back again soon! FYTTE II. Pope Gregory sits in St. Peter's chair, Pontiff proud, I ween, is he, And a belted Knight In armour dight, Is begging a boon on his bended knee, With signs of grief and sounds of woe, Featly he kisseth his Holiness' toe. "Now pardon, Holy Father, I crave, O Holy Father, pardon and grace! In my fury and rage A little Foot-page I have left, I fear me, in evil case: A scroll of shame From a faithless dame Did that naughty Foot-page to a paramour bear; I gave him a 'lick' With a stick, And a kick, That sent him--I can't tell your Holiness where! Had he as many necks as hairs, He had broken them all down those perilous stairs!"