Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/79

xii.

"Ere yet, in scorn of Peter's-pence,

And number'd bead, and shrift,
Bluff Harry broke into the spence,
And turn'd the cowls adrift:

xiii.

"And I have seen some score of those

Fresh faces, that would thrive
When his man-minded offset rose
To chase the deer at five;

xiv.

"And all that from the town would stroll,

Till that wild wind made work
In which the gloomy brewer's soul
Went by me, like a stork:

xv.

"The slight she-slips of loyal blood,

And others, passing praise,
Strait-laced, but all-too-full in bud
For puritanic stays: