The Second Charles of England
Rode forth one Christmas tide,
To hunt a gallant stag of ten,
Of Chingford woods the pride.
The winds blew keen, the snow fell fast,
And made for earth a pall,
As tired steeds and wearied men
Returned to Friday Hall.
The blazing logs, piled on the dogs,
Were pleasant to behold!
And grateful was the steaming feast
To hungry men and cold.
With right good-will all took their fill,
And soon each found relief;
Whilst Charles his royal trencher piled
From one huge loin of beef.
Quoth Charles, “Odd’s fish! a noble dish!
Ay, noble made by me!
By kingly right, I dub thee knight —
Sir Loin henceforward be!”
And never was a royal jest
Received with such acclaim:
And never knight than good Sir Loin
More worthy of the name.
