END OF THE BANQUET.
"There was turning of keys, and creaking of locks,
As he stalked away with his iron box.
Oh, ho! oh, ho! The cock doth crow,
It is time for the fisher to rise and go.
Fair luck to the abbot, fair luck to the shrine!
He hath gnawed in twain my choicest line;
Let him swim to the north, let him swim to the sout
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