. 

 MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. XXIX 



Still hundreds of staunch pilgrims 



Are journeying towards the shrine, 

 Not on jennet, mule, or palfrey, 



But along the Kentish line ; 

 And their talk is not of martyrs, 



But of fleece, and flitch, and chine. 



From deep green valleys on the Wharfe, 



From Devon's quiet lanes, 

 From the breezy wolds of Brocklesby, 



And Wiltshire's chalky plains 

 Men of eagle-eye and delicate touch, 



And calm far-seeing brains. 



Ye Colonel Towneley is there who taught 



The Warlaby Knight to yield, 

 In the days of his Windsor and Bridesmaid might 



With Culshaw to bear his shield : 

 His arms two butterflies quartered, 



With gules on an azure field. 



In vain 'gainst his Eoyal Butterfly 



Four Princes in conclave met, 

 Fortune has smiled on the roan once more ; 



And his buxom bride Rosette 

 Has baifled the spells of the fair Queen Mab, 



And beat Lady Pigot's pet. 



Will Wetherell, the Nestor of Shorthorns sits 



(On a tub or a truss) at ease, 

 And countless disciples around him flock, 



To hear how he likes the decrees ; 

 Ne'er lived a rarer judge of a beast 



On the banks of the stately Tees. 



Grundy from Eochdale has come with his Faith, 



Determined no fight to shirk ; 

 Wood Rose is there to boast for herself 



Of descent from the famed Grand Turk ; 

 Aye ! little did Captain Gunter wot 



Of the thorns in a rose which lurk. 



But first and second the Captain stood, 



With his beautiful Duchess twins. 

 Liverpool judges endorsed the white, 



But orthodox roan now wins ; 

 And Bedfordshire was a capital third 



With Claret from Clifton bins. 



