| It nods and curtseys and recovers |
|
|
| The Immortal Part |
|
|
| Hughley Steeple - |
|
|
| Twice a week the winter thorough |
|
|
| Shot? so quick, so clean an ending? |
|
|
| Oh fair enough are sky and plain |
|
|
| If it chance your eye offend you |
|
|
| The Street sounds to the soldiers' tread |
|
|
| Bring, in this timeless grave to throw |
|
|
| The Lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair |
|
|