I scarcely need say Sir Guy didn't delay To fulfil his vow made to St. Cuthbert, or pay For the candles he'd promised, or make light as day The shrine he assured him he'd render so gay. In fact, when the votaries came there to pray, All said there was nought to compare with it--nay, For fear that the Abbey Might think he was shabby, Four Brethren thenceforward, two cleric, two lay, He ordained should take charge of a new-founded chantry, With six marcs apiece, and some claims on the pantry; In short, the whole County Declared, through his bounty, The Abbey of Bolton exhibited fresh scenes From any displayed since Sir William de Meschines,[49] And Cecily Roumeli came to this nation With William the Norman, and laid its foundation. For the rest, it is said, And I know I have read In some Chronicle--whose, has gone out of my head-- That, what with these candles, and other expenses, Which no man would go to if quite in his senses, He reduced, and brought low His property so, That, at last, he'd not much of it left to bestow; And that, many years after that terrible feast, Sir Guy in the Abbey was living a Priest; And there, in one thousand and--something,--deceased. (It's supposed by this trick He bamboozled Old Nick, And slipped through his fingers remarkably "slick"), While, as to young Curly-wig,--dear little Soul, Would you know more of him, you must look at "The Roll," Which records the dispute, And the subsequent suit, Commenced in "Thirteen sev'nty-five,"--which took root In Le Grosvenor's assuming the arms Le Scroope swore That none but _his_ ancestors, ever before, In foray, joust, battle, or tournament wore, To wit, "_On a Prussian-blue Field_, a _Bend Or_;"-- While the Grosvenor averred that _his_ ancestors bore The same, and Scroope lied like a--somebody tore Off the simile,--so I can tell you no more, Till some A double S shall the fragment restore.[50] MORAL. This Legend sound maxims exemplifies--e. g.-- _1mo._ Should anything tease you, Annoy, or displease you, Remember what Lilly says, "_Animum rege!_"[51] And as for that shocking bad habit of swearing,-- In all good society voted past bearing,-- Eschew it!--and leave it to dust-men and mobs, Nor commit yourself much beyond "Zooks!" or "Odsbobs!" _2do._ When asked out to dine by a Person of Quality, Mind, and observe the most strict punctuality!-- For should you come late, And make dinner wait, And the victuals get cold, you'll incur, sure as fate, The Master's displeasure, the Mistress's hate-- And--though both may, perhaps, be too well bred to swear, They'll heartily _wish_ you--I need not say _Where_.