Explore "Ye Knyghte-Mare" by Oliver Herford on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A POST-MORT-D'ARTHURIAN LEGEND.
Ye log burns low, ye feaste is donne, / Twelve knyghtes of ye Table Rounde / Slyde down fromme ye benches, one by one, / And snore upon ye ground.
Ye log to a dimme blue flame has died, / When ye doore of ye banquet halle / Is opened wide, and in there glyde / Twelve spectral Hagges ande Talle.
Ye log burns dimme, and eke more dimme, / Loud groans each knyghtlie gueste, / As ye ghoste of his grandmother, gaunt and grimme, / Sitts on each knyghte hys cheste.
Ye log in pieces twaine doth falle, / Ye daye beginnes to breake, / Twelve ghostlie grandmothers glyde from ye hall, / And ye twelve goode knyghtes awake.
Ande ever whenne Mynce Pye was placed / On ye table frome thatte daye, / Ye Twelve knyghtes crossed themselves in haste / Ande looked ye other waye.