Yea, ere we knew, Sir Philip's sword was drawn
With valiant cut and thrust, and he was gone.
Who now will praise the Wizard in the street
With loyal songs, with humors grave and sweet --
This Jingle-man, of strolling players born,
Whom holy folk have hurried by in scorn,
This threadbare jester, neither wise nor good,
With melancholy bells upon his hood?