“‘Live these fifty years!’ the Bishop roared, with actions made to
          suit. 
     ’Are you mad, my good Lord Keeper, thus to speak of King Canute! 
     Men have lived a thousand years, and sure his Majesty will do’t.

“’Adam, Enoch, Lamech, Cainan, Mahaleel, Methusela, Lived nine hundred years apiece, and mayn’t the King as well as they?’ ‘Fervently,’ exclaimed the Keeper, ‘fervently I trust he may.’

     “‘Heto die?’ resumed the Bishop.  ’He a mortal like to us? 
     Death was not for him intended, though communis omnibus: 
     Keeper, you are irreligious, for to talk and cavil thus.

     “’With his wondrous skill in healing ne’er a doctor can compete,
     Loathsome lepers, if he touch them, start up clean upon their feet;
     Surely he could raise the dead up, did his Highness think it meet.

     “’Did not once the Jewish captain stay the sun upon the hill,
     And, the while he slew the foemen, bid the silver moon stand still? 
     So, no doubt, could gracious Canute, if it were his sacred will.’

     “‘Might I stay the sun above us, good Sir Bishop?’ Canute cried;
     ’Could I bid the silver moon to pause upon her heavenly ride? 
     If the moon obeys my orders, sure I can command the tide.

“‘Will the advancing waves obey me, Bishop, if I make the sign?’ Said the Bishop, bowing lowly, ‘Land and sea, my lord, are thine.’  Canute turned towards the ocean—­’Back!’ he said, ’thou foaming brine

     “’From the sacred shore I stand on, I command thee to retreat;
     Venture not, thou stormy rebel, to approach thy master’s seat: 
     Ocean, be thou still!  I bid thee come not nearer to my feet!’

     “But the sullen ocean answered with a louder, deeper roar,
     And the rapid waves drew nearer, falling sounding on the shore;
     Back the Keeper and the Bishop, back the King and courtiers bore.

     “And he sternly bade them never more to kneel to human clay,
     But alone to praise and worship That which earth and seas obey: 
     And his golden crown of empire never wore he from that day. 
     King Canute is dead and gone:  Parasites exist alway.”

At this ballad, which, to be sure, was awfully long, and as grave as a sermon, some of the courtiers tittered, some yawned, and some affected to be asleep and snore outright.  But Roger de Backbite thinking to curry favor with the King by this piece of vulgarity, his Majesty fetched him a knock on the nose and a buffet on the ear, which, I warrant me, wakened Master Roger; to whom the King said, “Listen and be civil, slave; Wilfrid is singing about thee.—­Wilfrid, thy ballad is long, but it is to the purpose, and I have grown cool during thy homily.  Give me thy hand, honest friend.  Ladies, good night.  Gentlemen, we give the grand assault to-morrow; when I promise thee, Wilfrid, thy banner shall not be before mine.”—­And the King, giving his arm to her Majesty, retired into the private pavilion.