XXIII.

Then on a turtle came proud London’s Mayor, Followed by Aldermen, a frowsy crew, Strong smelling of Cheapside, and luscious fair, Yet apoplexy made his followers few. Long antlers on the head of each man grew, So that they seem’d a host of moving horn; Anon as on they came they’d mump and chew, Stuffing their guts from dawning of the morn, Till shades of evening fell—for eating only born.