staircases hopelessly drunk; they cannot even
be aroused to receive vails which it is still
customary for friends of the house to give them on
public holidays.

Beyond the town is a fair. There are
whirligigs and roundabouts, with men of fifty
turning in them. There are strong drinks,
many mountebanks, loud music, much dust,
much noise. So this, then, is why you robbed
me, my domestic Birbantaki? Are your rackety,
rioting, and joyless debaucheries, your head-ache
and parched throat, with that scar on your
nose, worth the quiet conscience and good
character you paid for them? Come and tell me,
ten days hence, when you and your friends will
be sober again.

CHRISTIAN, THE DOL HERTZOG.
(SO CALLED FROM HIS FURIOUS BEHAVIOUR.)

1660.

CHRISTIAN, Duke of Brunswick, and Bishop of
   Halberstadt,
For a token of love, wore a lady's glove, in the loop
   of his riding-hat.
For he had seen the Bohemian Queen in England;
   and, they say,
In the sole soft part of his rock-rough heart, slept
   the memory of that day.
For Christian, the Dol-Hertzog, was half a brute at
   the best,
With but little space for a lady's face to lie and be
   loved in his breast.
Yet he may have loved well, for he hated well (tho'
   he showed his hate like a beast,
With tooth and claw), and the thing of things that
   he hated most was a priest.
He maul'd the monk, and flay'd the friar, nor left
   the abbot a rag.
And "Gottes Freund, and Pfaffers Freind," was the
   boast on his battle flag.
Yet he worshipt God in his own wild way — as a
   beast might worship too—
Simply by thoroughly doing the work which God
   had set him to do:
With never a "Pater noster" said, never a candle
   burned,
And never a "pleni gratia," for any good gift
   returned.
Worship no better than any beast's! yet with
   reverence, too, to spare,
Of its own dumb kind, in the silent mind, for what
   God made gentle and fair.
At least, from one touch I argue as much in this
   wild man of Halberstadt,
Since, for token of love, a pure lady's glove he wore
    in his riding hat.

Christian, the Dol-Hertzog, came riding to
   Paderborn;
And his men were dropping for lack of bread, and
   his horses for lack of corn.
Not a crown-piece in the coffer, either bread or corn
    to buy!
"What shall we do, Duke Christian?" "Anything,
   Friends, but die!"
"The Saints us save," saith some one, " for we are
   weary and faint."
"'Sdeath! and so they shall, good fellows! Who
   is the Paderborn Saint?"
"The Paderborn Saint is the Saint Liboire; and
   his image stands by itself
As large as life in the church, all cover'd with jewels
   and pelf."
"The Saint Liboire is a saint of saints, for he to our
   pious wishes
Shall accord a final miracle in the way of the loaves
   and fishes!
Faith! since he hath jewels, and since he hath pelf,
   he shall buy us both bread and corn,
And if ever I swear by a saint, it shall be by the
   Saint of Paderborn."

Christian, the Dol-Hertzog, rode on into Munster
   town,
There, in the great Cathedral (greater for their
   renown!)
Carven in silver, and cover'd with gold (truly a
   glorious band!)
Round the altar, all in a row, the Twelve Apostles
   stand.
Christian, the Dol-Hertzog, call'd his captains of
   war—
" We will visit these Twelve Apostles, and see how
   their worships are,"
Then they all went clanking together (godless knaves
   as they were)
Over the sacred flintstones, up to the altar stair:
Never a " De profundis" was heard, never an anthem
   sung,
But where, thro' great glooms, 'twixt the solemn
   tombs, those iron footsteps rung,
Each priest, like a ghost, from that grizzly host,
   patter'd off o'er the pavement stone,
And the iron men and the silver saints stood face to
   face and alone.
To that Sacred Dozen, thro' a silence frozen, strode
   the wild man of Halberstadt,
As when Brennus the Gaul stalkt into the hall where
   the Roman senators sat.
The Duke loves little speaking; but he made, that
   day, a speech
To those Twelve Apostles, as pregnant as any the
   preacher can preach;
For, " You Twelve Apostles," said he, " for many a
   year and a day
How is it that you have dared your Master to
   disobey—
Who bade you ' ite per orbem,' go about in the world
   where ye can,
From city to city for ever, succouring every man?
But you, yet unmoved by the mandate, you slothful
   and rascally crew!
Stand there stock-still, letting others be stript to
   give succour to you.
Therefore, about your business! down instantly all,
   and disperse!
Comfort the needy! circulate freely! profit the
   universe!
The better to serve which purpose, divinely ordain'd
   from of old,
I hereby will and command both ye and your
   ill-gotten gold
To assume the shape of Rix-thalers!"

                      The Apostles had nothing to say,
As it seems, in defence of themselves. They at
   least were obliged to obey.
At dawn they were down from their niches; ere
   night on their mission they sped;
And the broken were bound up and heal'd, and the
   hungry were speedily fed.

This way Duke Christian affirm'd, little heeding
   Apostles or Priests,