“Make room, my merry-men!” he exclaimed; “room for your godly father and his prisoner⁠—Cry welcome once more.⁠—I come, noble leader, like an eagle with my prey in my clutch.”⁠—And making his way through the ring, amidst the laughter of all around, he appeared in majestic triumph, his huge partisan in one hand, and in the other a halter, one end of which was fastened to the neck of the unfortunate Isaac of York , who, bent down by sorrow and terror, was dragged on by the victorious priest, who shouted aloud, “Where is Allan-a-Dale, to chronicle me in a ballad, or if it were but a lay?⁠—By Saint Hermangild, the jingling crowder is ever out of the way where there is an apt theme for exalting valour!”

“Curtal Priest,” said the Captain, “thou hast been at a wet mass this morning, as early as it is. In the name of Saint Nicholas, whom hast thou got here?”