Ii

Among the maidens of low degree The poorest of all was Cicely-- A shabbier girl could hardly be.

“O I should like to see the feast, But my frock is old, my shoes are pieced, My hair is rough!”--(it never was greased).

The clock struck three! She durst not go! But she heard the band, and to see the show Crept after the people that went in a row.

When Cicely came to the castle gate The porter exclaimed, “Miss Shaggypate, The hall is full, and you come too late!”

Just then the music made a din, Flute, and cymbal, and culverin, And Cicely, with a squeeze, got in!

Oh what a sight! full fifty score Of dames that Cicely knew, and more, Filling the hall from daïs to door!

The dresses were like a garden-bed, Green and gold, and blue and red,-- Poor Cicely thought of her tossy head!

She heard the singing--she heard the clatter-- Clang of flagon, and clink of platter-- But, oh, the feast was no such matter!

For she saw Sir Nicholas himself, Raised on a daïs just like a shelf, And fell in love with him--shabby elf!

Her heart beat quick; aside she stept, Under the tapestry she crept, Touzling her tossy hair, and wept!

Her cheeks were wet, her eyes were red-- “Who makes that noise?” the ladies said; “Turn out that girl with the shaggy head!”