[7] The Butlers, it is conjectured, were patrons of the priory of the hermit friars of St Augustine, founded before 1379, near the bridge. In 32 Henry VIII., this institution was dissolved, and its possessions were granted to the great monastic grantee, Thomas Holcroft.--_Vide_ Tanner's _Not. Mon._ About forty years ago the remains of a gateway of the priory stood on Friar's Green, and some years after that period a stone coffin was dug up near the same place. [Illustration: THE BLESSING] THE BLESSING. "I had most need of blessing, and amen Stuck in my throat." --_Macbeth._ We have been unable to identify the spot where the occurrence took place, the subject of the following ballad. It is in all likelihood one of those wild and monkish legends that may be fitted or applied to any situation, according to the whim of the narrator. Many such legends, though the number is lessening daily, are still preserved, and an amusing volume might be made of these unappropriated wanderers that possess neither a local habitation nor a name. The chase was done--the feast was begun, When the baron sat proudly by; And the revelry rode on the clamouring wind, That swept through the hurtling sky. No lordly guest that feast had blessed, No solemn prayer was said; But with ravenous hands, unthankfully, They brake their daily bread. The chase was done--the feast was begun, When a palmer sat in that hall; Yet his pale dim eye from its rest ne'er rose, To gaze on that festival! The crackling blaze on his wan cheek plays, And athwart his gloomy brow; While his hands are spread to the rising flame, And his feet to the embers' glow. For the blast was chill, o'er the mist-covered hill, And the palmer's limbs were old; And weary the way his feet had trod, Since the matin-bell had tolled. The baron spake--"This morsel take, And yon pilgrim greet from me; Tell him we may not forget to share The joys of our revelry!" Then thus began that holy man, As he lowly bent his knee-- "I may not taste of the meat unblessed; I would 'twere so with thee." "Then mumble thy charm o'er the embers warm," That baron proud replied; "No boon from my hand shalt thou receive, Nor foaming cup from my side." The palmer bowed, the giddy crowd, With mirth and unseemly jest, His meekness taunt, when he answered not, The gibe of each courtly guest. The minstrel sang, the clarions rang, And the baron sat proudly there, And louder the revelry rode on the wind, That swept through the hurtling air. "What tidings for me from the east countrie? What news from the Paynim land?" As the baron spake, his goblet bright He raised in his outstretched hand.