VII
This said, he rose, and sought with feeble pace,For he was stiff and sore, the Market Place;Where, without horses and their shafts turned down,Are ranged the carts that come into the town;Until at dusk, all loaded up, they’re gone.He found the cart that went to Clarendon.Beneath it lay a yellow dog who shookHis brazen collar, but his churlish lookPassed off when Jocko hailed the man insideWho, loading parcels and not looking, cried,—“We start in Butcher Row, sir, from the Bear.At four o’clock.” Said Jocko “I’ll be there.”
This said, he rose, and sought with feeble pace,For he was stiff and sore, the Market Place;Where, without horses and their shafts turned down,Are ranged the carts that come into the town;Until at dusk, all loaded up, they’re gone.He found the cart that went to Clarendon.Beneath it lay a yellow dog who shookHis brazen collar, but his churlish lookPassed off when Jocko hailed the man insideWho, loading parcels and not looking, cried,—“We start in Butcher Row, sir, from the Bear.At four o’clock.” Said Jocko “I’ll be there.”
This said, he rose, and sought with feeble pace,For he was stiff and sore, the Market Place;Where, without horses and their shafts turned down,Are ranged the carts that come into the town;Until at dusk, all loaded up, they’re gone.He found the cart that went to Clarendon.Beneath it lay a yellow dog who shookHis brazen collar, but his churlish lookPassed off when Jocko hailed the man insideWho, loading parcels and not looking, cried,—“We start in Butcher Row, sir, from the Bear.At four o’clock.” Said Jocko “I’ll be there.”