Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls
The sick man's passport in her hollow beak,
And in the shadow of the silent night
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings;
Vex'd and tormented, runs poor Barrabas,
With fatal curses towards these Christians.
Jew of Malta


The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached his pavilion, than
squires and pages in abundance tendered their services to disarm
him, to bring fresh attire, and to offer him the refreshment of
the bath. Their zeal on this occasion was perhaps sharpened by
curiosity, since every one desired to know who the knight was
that had gained so many laurels, yet had refused, even at the
command of Prince John, to lift his visor or to name his name.
But their officious inquisitiveness was not gratified. The
Disinherited Knight refused all other assistance save that of his
own squire, or rather yeoman---a clownish-looking man, who, wrapt
in a cloak of dark-coloured felt, and having his head and face
half-buried in a Norman bonnet made of black fur, seemed to
affect the incognito as much as his master. All others being
excluded from the tent, this attendant relieved his master from
the more burdensome parts of his armour, and placed food and wine
before him, which the exertions of the day rendered very
acceptable.

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal, ere his menial